Free Broken Heart 08 Must Love Lycans by Michele Bardsley

you it’s the truth’ part of this process,” said the lady. “Perhaps you could simply believe all that I’m telling you.”
    Yeah. Right. If I believed even a tenth of the crap she’d just spewed, I’d be getting my own patient suite at the Dante Clinic.
    Tark pawed her thigh, his nails rustling in the folds of her dress.
    “Yes,” she said. “I know.” She glanced at me. “Our natures include robust passions that prove wearisome for lesser creatures. It is rare that a lycan will choose a human for anything other than a temporary lover. You see, our children have been unable to breed with humans.” She stroked the wolf’s head. “Tark is worried about your ability to procreate—even with your unique attributes.”
    “You mean my sunny disposition and gazellelike legs?”
    Her laughter was like the ringing of wind chimes. “You don’t yet know the secret locked within you.” Sadness flickered in her gaze, but she still managed to keep her hopeful smile. “Sometimes that which begins in sorrow ends in joy.”
    I couldn’t think of a response, so I said nothing and tried to keep my stare polite. All I had to do was wake up. When I did, this dream would fade like any other. I would probably even laugh at the way my subconscious had played around with my attraction to Damian.
    “You must help him to find his way again, Kelsey.”
    The wolf turned toward me and dipped his snout in recognition of the lady’s words. I wanted to help Damian, but I knew the reality of his situation. His delusion held him in thrall, and apparently me as well. We both needed to shake free of this madness.
    As I watched, the wolf rose to stand on his hind legs. His fur receded with feathered hushes as his bones snicked under his flesh. Within moments I beheld a naked man as strong and handsome as Damian with jade eyes, an aquiline nose, and thin-as-blades cheeks. His curtain of black hair brushed his buttocks. The collar around his neck remained. He was tall, well muscled, and regarded me with something between curiosity and suspicion.
    “You know how stubborn these humans are,” he said in a low, raspy voice. “They require proof.” He looked at me reproachfully. “Faith is too often discarded by your kind.”
    “Sometimes it’s taken from us,” I said softly.
    “Yes,” he agreed. “How pathetic that you give it up so easily.” He sighed. “If but one would stand and hold firm, others would follow.”
    “Doubt is its own monster, with teeth and claws and poison,” said the Goddess, “which is why two faithful souls are stronger still.” She pointed at me. “I bestow this symbol so that both you and Damian will embrace the truths we have given you.”
    Blue light sizzled from her fingertip. The bolt smacked into my flesh inches above my left breast and seemed to burn a hole right through me. Pain exploded. I cried out, grabbing on to my shoulder, only to let go when the spikes of agony worsened. The ground beneath my feet gave away, and once again I was spinning into the clasping darkness.
     
    When I awoke, I was in my own bed. My eyes felt puffy and heavy, my limbs ached. Fever flushed my skin, the heat of illness buried into muscle and bone. A single lamp on the nightstand offered a small glow of light that did nothing to dispel the shadows of my bedroom. I was tucked in tightly, the covers thick and suffocating.
    I wanted to push them off, but neither my arms nor my legs obeyed the commands to move. I turned my head, my mouth dry and my lips cracked.
    Just outside the circle of light sat a man in a chair that had once graced the left side of my bedroom hearth. He was leaning forward, his elbows balancing on his knees as he cradled his head.
    “Water,” I managed. “Please.”
    His head came up instantly, his eyes wide. “Kelsey.”
    “Mr. Dante.” Even through the haze of pain and unbearable heat, I saw how crumpled his suit looked, how his hair looked as though he’d furrowed his fingers through it