Free Derik's Bane by MaryJanice Davidson

pawing through the pile of last year’s Lancet .
    “And that he was sent to kill me so I wouldn’t destroy the world.”
    Dr. Cummings found the issue he wanted and settled back in his chair. He grunted again, an invitation for Sara to keep speaking.
    “And I was wondering,” she continued, feeling foolish, “what you might have to say about that.”
    “I’m surprised the boy’s still alive,” Dr. Cummings said, not looking up from the magazine. “And disappointed, I might add. I don’t have anything to say beyond that, Your Highness.”
    She blinked. Thought that over. Started to speak. Changed her mind. Changed her mind again. Said: “Your Highness?”
    “Well. You are the sister of a king. A centuries-dead king, but there you go.”
    “Oh, dude,” Derik said, and flopped down into the nearest chair. “You’re in major trouble, Cummings.”
    “You keep your hands to yourself, werewolf.”
    Sara’s mouth fell open. Derik nearly fell out of the chair. “Dude! How’d you know? You are so not Pack.”
    “Do I look like I like my steak served tartare ?” Cummings snapped. “It’s all over you. Predators walk, stand, move, and run quite a bit differently from the rest of us. If you want to fool Homo sapiens, I’d advise not walking around sizing everyone up like you’re wondering how they’d taste. And as for you , Your Highness,” he said, swiveling toward Sara, “what are you doing with this—this riffraff? Fooled by his over-the-top handsomeness, I’ve no doubt. Strongly consider killing him, dear. Werewolves are nothing but trouble, and they do not make good husbands.”
    “That’s not true!” Derik said hotly.
    “Where’s your father, lycanthrope?” Dr. Cummings asked with deceptive courtesy.
    “He’s . . . um . . . look, let’s stay on-topic, shall we? And don’t call me that. Cough up what you know, chum. Right now.” He turned to Sara, who was desperately trying to follow the conversation. “But let’s get back to this for a sec—we do too make good husbands. You know—once we find the right girl.”
    Dr. Cummings made a sound. It was not a sound of encouragement.
    “See, most of the guys I know really want a mate—a wife, I mean—and kids. They really do. But there aren’t very many of us, and there’s tons and tons of you guys, so lots of times they don’t really think it through before they settle down, and, well, humans are different from Pack, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about—”
    “Derik.” She was exasperated—who cared ?—and amused at his distress. “Can we stay focused on this whole Your Highness thing? And you!” Dr. Cummings flinched as she shook a finger at him. “Start talking. Start with, ‘I moved to Monterey Bay and knew your mother before you were born,’ and end with, ‘and then you and a werewolf came to my office.’ Start now .”
    “Yeah!” Derik added.
    “Don’t raise your voice to me, pup.” Cummings looked at Sara. “I moved to Monterey Bay because by my art I knew Morgan Le Fay was to be born there in seventy-two hours. I found you at this hospital and befriended your mother. I explained to your mother who you were, but she wouldn’t believe me, and forbade me to tell you.
    I kept you safe these many years and looked after you after your mother died. Now Arthur’s Chosen is trying to kill you. It has nothing to do with saving the world. They just don’t like you. Then you and a werewolf came to my office.” He picked up his magazine again.
    “Oh, dude.” Derik rubbed his forehead. “You are so asking for a heart attack or for your lungs to pop or your eyeballs to explode or something. I mean, I don’t even know her and that whole story pissed me right off.”
    “My mother?” Sara coughed and tried again. “My mother knew this?”
    “No. You weren’t listening, Dr. Gunn, a trait I’ve discussed with you before.”
    “Sorry,” she muttered.
    “Want me to pull his lungs out for you?” Derik asked