Page 102 of What a Wolf Demands

“What’s that?” Damian asked.

“Lily can’t Turn.” Thibeaux faced her with a triumphant air. “She never made the transition.” He let his gaze roam around the room, his voice raised as if he’d just delivered a fatal coup de grâce. “Until she Turns, she’s a latent.”

The room was silent, Thibeaux’s pronouncement seeming to echo off the walls.

Then Damian stepped forward. “That’s not necessarily true.”

Thibeaux glared at him. “The hell it ain’t. She can’t Turn.” He looked at Duncan, who still stood near Max’s desk. “You can write that down. That’s a fact.”

Duncan straightened, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement. “Uh, we don’t . . . That’s not really what I do.”

Damian gave Thibeaux a look of exaggerated patience. “No, you misunderstand me. Lily’s Gift isn’t something she can turn on or off. When someone is a Null, they block all supernatural abilities all the time.” He switched his gaze to Lily and murmured, “Even their own.”

Heads turned toward her once more, and Max said, “You mean she’s stopping herself from Turning without realizing it?”

“It’s very possible.”

“How do we help her?”

Damian seemed to think it over. “Among the witchborn, Nulls train from a young age to suppress their power. They meditate. It’s mostly about focus.”

Max glanced at Lily. “Is this something she can learn now, as an adult?”

“Absolutely, but it will take time. She’s suppressed her wolf for years. Now she has to coax it forth. That’s a long process.”

Lizette piped up, her body practically vibrating with excitement. “What if she had help? Like, say, a Bloodsinger to call out her wolf.”

A slow smile spread across Damian’s face. “Yeah, I think that could work.” He turned to Max. “Will you allow Lizette to try?”

Max’s expression was impassive. “I learned the hard way that I should never presume to allow Lizette anything.” He met his wife’s gaze, and his pale eyes softened. “Just make sure you’re up to it, petite.”

“I am,” she said softly.

It was as close as Dom had ever heard them come to publicly acknowledging the tremendous toll Lizette’s ability took on her body. Remy and Sophie knew, of course, but the knowledge was something Max tried to keep under wraps. Lizette had suffered from migraines for years without knowing why—and she’d had a difficult time putting on weight after making her own transition as a teenager. Mating Max had helped a bit, since she could draw on his strength. Even so, Turning a latent could wipe her out for days, leaving her exhausted and bedridden.

Max was like a madman every time it happened, pacing the Lodge and shouting at anyone stupid enough to cross his path. Lately, he’d begged her to stop. But she refused, explaining that Turning latents was the only way to save the species from extinction.

Dom looked at Damian, the witchborn wolf. Suddenly, Max’s recent travels made a lot more sense. He’d been tight-lipped about his top-secret mission, saying only that it was a “business meeting” that could “mean big things for the future.”

Then he’d returned home with a wolf who was supposed to be a myth—a member of a hybrid race with enhanced abilities and no latent wolves. Dom didn’t believe in coincidences. And Max didn’t go out of his way to make new friends. When he formed an alliance, it was because doing so was advantageous to his pack.

Lizette turned to Dom, drawing his attention away from Damian. She spoke in a low voice. “We’ll need to, um, remove her clothes.” Her eyes darted to the loup-garou over his shoulder. “If she’s going to Turn.”

Dom nodded to let her know he understood. Then he spun and pinned Thibeaux and the others with a glare. “Get out.”

Thibeaux recoiled. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“We’re not going anywhere.” Thibeaux used his chin to gesture toward Lily. “If she’s gonna Turn, I want to see it. I’m not letting you pull any sneaky tricks on me.”

“Like the one you pulled on Bart?”

Thibeaux narrowed his eyes. “He had it comin’, aiding and abetting a fugitive.”

Dom called up his wolf just enough to let the beast show through his eyes. He walked slowly toward Thibeaux. “I’m sure you’re impressed with yourself, using real police words you heard on television. But this conversation is over.” He kept moving forward.

Thibeaux backed up, glancing over his shoulder as he bumped into chairs.

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