Then had come the first episode of Deni’s brain more or less shutting off and making her forget everything she was. Human doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with her, and Andrea couldn’t help.
What Deni needed was a Shifter healer—one stronger than Andrea, well versed in ailments from which Shifters could suffer. The trouble was, Shifter healers weren’t thick on the ground, if any even existed these days, and Deni was sick now.
“Deni,” Ellison said again, making his voice hard with command. “It’s Ellison.”
Deni snarled one last time, then attacked.
Ellison blocked her leap with arms folded to protect his face. He took the brunt of her weight, sparks from her Collar dancing across his skin, and they went backward together.
Ellison’s heightened Shifter senses scented his nephews in the hall, scared and unhappy. He smelled Deni, enraged and terrified, as her wolf untangled herself from him, whirled, and leapt at him again.
Ellison caught her in his arms this time and swung around with her, using the momentum of her impact to toss her away across the room. Deni smashed into a wall, the thud of the contact lost in her growls. She came to her feet with terrible swiftness, her eyes red with rage, her gray coat dusted with plaster that had cracked off the wall.
Deni went for Ellison again, fangs bared. The Collar was taking its toll on her—Deni was a little slower this time, the impact not as strong. Ellison saw pain in her eyes as she landed on him.
This time she clung on with her claws, her jaws snapping at his neck. Ellison changed under her grip, his favorite black cowboy shirt ripping as his massive wolf shoulders burst through it.
His own Collar sparked as he caught Deni’s muzzle with his mouth, now a wolf’s mouth, turning aside her deadly bite.
Ellison tasted her blood, the blood of his pack, and his feral rage ignited. No wolf attacked the alpha and lived.
The human part inside him knew that this was his sister, lashing out, scared. The wolf in him said it was one of the pack, hurt yes, but she needed to be subdued.
Both entities wove together and knew what to do. Ellison released Deni’s muzzle and went for her throat, locking his teeth around loose fur. Deni howled, her Collar sparking wildly as she shook her head to try to tear free.
Ellison held on tighter, carefully not letting his teeth break her skin. He put his large paw on her head and used his weight to bear her to the floor. He landed on top of her, his wolf big enough to cover her and keep her down.
He heard the distinctive footsteps of Andrea and then Glory, Dylan’s mate, following his nephews—Andrea sure-footed and graceful, like her wolf; Glory with the click-click of impossibly high heels.
Deni howled, still fighting, but Ellison’s hold was strong. Deni growled and snarled, terrified, not understanding.
“I can tranq her,” Glory said.
Ellison didn’t want Deni tranqed. She’d been given drugs and sedatives, poked and prodded. She didn’t need another round of tranquilizers that would leave her groggy and afraid.
But they might not have a choice. Deni was still fighting, weakening, but fighting. She still didn’t know who Ellison was—she was lost and scared, afraid to yield to the wolf who pinned her. In the wild, Ellison would have had every right to kill her for the safety of the pack. Deni’s wolf, by the look in her eyes, somehow sensed this.
“Mom,” Jackson said, voice thick with tears. “Mom, try. Please.”
Deni snarled again, trying to dislodge Ellison. Her Collar gave her a barrage of shocks, which shocked Ellison at the same time, hot bites of pain.