He had said as much to Archer and Miranda after the autopsy. They hadn’t been pleased.

Neither was Daisy. She drew herself up and away from him. “Then I’ll go to Miranda and Archer.”

He caught her hand again. “You’ll be staying with me,” he all but growled.

“You? Don’t be absurd.”

Miranda had said the same thing. Rather, she’d said, “Over my dead body.” Which was, unfortunately, a possibility given the speed and strength of a mad werewolf. The only way he’d been able to convince Miranda of his plan was to point out that the were was likely carrying a contagious disease, something Miranda, for all her firepower, had no defense against. After that, Archer had been adamantly in favor of Ian taking care of Daisy’s safety. Smart man.

Daisy, however, did not appear as convinced. “Why on earth do you think you can protect me?”

And here was the moment he had dreaded. For she was going to run. And he would chase her.

Ian tightened his grip on her hand, securing her to him. “Because, luv, he is the darkest version of my future.”

Chapter Six

His words hung between them as Daisy’s gaze darted over his face, trying to understand. “Your future?”

The last human he’d willingly revealed his true self to had been Archer. Of course, Archer hadn’t been precisely normal himself, which made it easier. But if Ian was to properly guard Daisy, she needed to know the truth. Even so, the words were hard to utter.

“The same sort of beast resides inside me.” On a silent sigh, he let his inner wolf show through his eyes, knowing she would see the inhumanness and the way they now appeared utterly lupine.

He was prepared when she reared back. “Calm down,” he said as she yanked at her hand. Her chair screeched as he hauled her close.

A few men glanced their way, and Ian gave them a sharp look of warning before leaning into Daisy. “Hold, lass,” he whispered.

Her breath blew hot and scented with fear against his face. “You… you’re a werewolf,” she hissed. Daisy’s pulse beat a wild tattoo against his fingertips. He fought the urge to stroke it.

“No,” he said in a low tone. “But I could become one.”

“Am I to understand the difference?”

“There is a great difference. And I’ll tell you if you can calm yourself.”

The tang of human sweat and beer was thick in the air. He could hear her heart pounding within her breast. But she stopped struggling. For that he was grateful. When her pulse slowed, he looked her over. “Are you calm then?”

She glared but nodded shortly.

“You won’t run?”

Daisy made a noise. “Just get on with it, Northrup.”

Lovely woman. He moved closer so that only she could hear him. “What you have to understand is that a lycan—”

“Lycan? What is that?”

“If you’d let me get a word in—”

“It is a pertinent question.”

One. Two. Three. He opened his eyes and focused on the little furrow between her brows.

“Lycan is the name we use. It hails from the Greek lycos, which means ‘wolf,’ and the myth of Lycaon, the Arcadian king who served Zeus the flesh of man disguised as a roast. An angered Zeus turned him into a wolf as retribution.”

“How very gruesome,” Daisy murmured with a moue of disgust.

He couldn’t contain the smile that tugged at his lips. “Quite.”

“But why not simply call yourselves werewolves?” she asked, folding her arms on the table to provide a lovely bed for her br**sts.

No. Do not look.

“Because there is a difference. A lycan,” he said, raising his voice, for the blasted woman had opened her mouth again—as curious as a pup, this one—“has control. He turns at will.”

“So stories of the full moon and all of that…”

He laughed shortly. “Doesn’t turn us. Mother Moon does, however, intensify our strength. The brighter she glows in the night, the stronger we are. And we are weakest on the new moon, when the sky is utterly devoid of her silver rays.”

“Why? What is it about the moon’s rays that give you strength?”

“I don’t know.”

She frowned the way a child might, as though put out for not getting the answer she wanted, and a strange, aching sensation spread within his chest.

Damn if she didn’t remind Ian of himself. Before he had lost heart. When he had tackled life with lusty abandon, and frank curiosity. But there was a look that clouded her eyes, as if something was killing her natural vivaciousness, like a frost creeping along tender spring grass. As if she too were slowly giving up the struggle. He found himself wanting to banish that look, perhaps save in her what he couldn’t save in himself.

He almost laughed. Ian was no one’s savior, and no one wanted him to be. He shook himself out of such fanciful thoughts and gave her his best schoolmaster expression.

“Look, we don’t know how we started, why we live this endless life, or from where we came. It’s all speculation. But the closest our elders can figure, it has to do with reincarnation. Once we were wolves. Over several lifetimes, our spirits evolved and we became men, but the wolf spirit lived on as well. Think of it as a soul divided.”

“Two souls in one body?”

“Precisely. So wolf and man are at odds.” He spread his hands out in supplication. “Man wants to be in control and so does the wolf. A lycan is a being in which the man’s soul is in control but the wolf’s soul alters his makeup to create an immortal capable of using the strengths of both. Man may call upon the wolf, shift into a hybrid of wolf and man, gaining extra strength and speed, but man is always in control.”

She sat back with a little huff. “Seems hardly fair to the wolf trapped inside of you. Surely, he wants his time in the sun?”

His beast whined, agreeing, and Ian pushed against it. Discomfort and irritation coiled within. “Had the wolf his way, the wolf would remain so, the man’s body shifting fully to wolf and his soul fading into the background, never to return.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because,” he hissed, “it has always been so. Have you any idea how many of my brethren I’ve seen lost to the wolf? None came back.”

“Perhaps it is because the wolf has had to fight for his right to be free. Perhaps if it were given a turn…” His wolf paced within him, making his bones ache, surely lighting his eyes if Daisy’s paling expression were any indication. She closed her mouth abruptly.

He took a sip of her ale and felt the fangs that had threatened to grow recede. “D’ye think any man wants to risk his soul to test the generosity of his wolf by fully shifting?”

“No.” She trailed her nail along a groove in the wood. “I suppose not.”

“I give him what I can,” Ian said. “I let him run far and long each night.” His conscience and his wolf chided that this was not precisely true but was a recent occurrence. Ian swallowed down his guilt. “It is essential that I keep control.”

She didn’t seem frightened anymore but curious. “And if you fully lose control, that is the werewolf of which you speak?”

“Yes. The wolf is in control but he is not a normal wolf. He is bigger, much bigger, his head at the height of my shoulder.”

Daisy’s blue eyes went as round as saucers. “Yes, exactly.”

“And he is damaged. Rage and unpredictability rule him. A were often kills because it feels compelled.” At this, Ian lowered his head. “It isn’t the wolf but the man, yearning to return, that prompts this, I’m afraid to say. Murder is man’s specialty. Wolves do not kill for sport. Only for food or dominance within the pack. A werewolf is an unstable beast, and it is a lycan’s responsibility to put him down, which is not easy as a werewolf has the full strength of the wolf while the lycan must retain some of his human frailties.”

“And this werewolf that attacked Alex”—Daisy’s voice pulled to a thin whisper, her milky skin going the color of whey—“you called him mad, but aren’t they all?”

“Not in this way.” He felt the weight of his words as he spoke them. “His scent is heavy with sickness. I fear that it makes him even more unstable.”

“I smelled the sickness in him as well. A rotten scent.”

She never failed in surprising him.

“Aye,” he said.

Daisy nibbled on her bottom lip. “There is one thing I do not understand. We both smelled illness on the werewolf. How can that be if you are all immortal? One would think sickness doesn’t affect you.”

Ian reached for her mug and took another drink. “Lycan do not become immortal until we reach physical maturation. Until then, we are as mortal as you. We can get sick…” The mug in his hand rattled as he set it down. “We can die. If one was to contract a degenerative disease beforehand”—Ian shrugged—“our makeup is such that the change into becoming full lycan would not destroy the disease, only slow its tide. The disease would be working on this were’s body, slowly breaking him down. Unfortunately, that doesn’t lessen the were’s strength, but simply makes the beast’s behavior more erratic.”

She moved to take a hasty sip of ale but set the cup back down when she found it empty. Her hands wrapped around the pewter mug as if to keep them still. “So where do we go from here?”

“As I said before, you will stay with me so that I may protect you.”

Daisy sat back abruptly. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?” he said. “Have you not heard a word I’ve been saying?”

“I heard every word, Northrup.”

His mouth was hanging open for he could not fathom her resistance. “Surely you can understand that you need protection.”

“Of course, I understand. Only I don’t see why you have to be the one to protect me.”

There were a few tempting oaths he’d like to shout, but he bit them back and went to the heart of the matter. “Are you afraid of me? Is that your worry?”

Daisy was silent for a moment, nibbling at the corner of her lip as she considered, but when she spoke, she looked directly at him. “Well, you would know I was lying if I denied feeling fear when you told me.”

He gave a short nod and she continued. “But looking at you, and sitting with you now, I don’t feel afraid.” She shook her head slightly, and a small, self-deprecating laugh escaped her. “I suppose I must be daft”—her blue gaze grew sharp“—for annoyance is the most prevalent emotion I feel when I am around you.”

“Annoyance I can live with,” he said, hoping that he wasn’t grinning like a fool. “Come along then, we’ll go and collect your things.”

This time it was Daisy who caught ahold of his sleeve. “That was a lovely attempt, Northrup, but I’ll not be managed by you.”

He sat back with a grunt and ran a hand through his hair. “What is your objection then? What fool notion is it, for I’m sorely tempted to throw you over my shoulder and haul you off without further discussion.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He simply raised a brow, and she crossed her arms in front of her chest as if the action could somehow stop him. “Are you worried about your reputation?” he asked.

“Posh,” she said with a snort. “My reputation had been reduced to tatters long before you came sniffing around. Craigmore made certain of that.” Despite her bravado, her golden brows knitted as if the memory pained her.

Craigmore sounded like an ass.

“Well,” Ian said in satisfaction. “Then we needn’t resort to complicated subterfuge. Society will simply presume you are my mistress for the season.”

Her nose wrinkled as if she’d scented something foul. “Such is man’s logic. Has it not occurred to you that I’d rather not be thought of as your mistress?”

“You could do a lot worse!” Hell, the bloody woman could twist a conversation. Unable to help himself, he caught her hand again, not precisely caring what she thought of his need to touch her. “I would say we are fairly comfortable in the other’s presence. At least enough to spend a couple of weeks together.” She looked so aghast that he smiled grimly. “Maybe less if we’re lucky.”

“Well, that is comforting.” She rolled her eyes and pulled at her hand.

“It should be,” he said, not letting go. “Perhaps I need to make a few things clear. I am a lycan. Which means I have a superior sense of smell, hearing, and sight.” He inclined his head toward the bar. “Thus, I can hear your man Clemens over there berating his serving wench for not watering down the gin.”

Daisy’s gaze shot past his shoulder, no doubt seeing Clemens leaning over some woman named Alice as he grumbled on about lost revenue. Daisy’s lips compressed in stubborn refusal.

“I heal quickly and have the strength and agility equivalent to five men.” Ten when he was in top form, though he was getting closer to that once more. Every day that he let his wolf have more freedom, his strength grew.

At this, however, Daisy did scoff. With his free hand, he clasped the pewter mug between them and crumpled it. The ball of metal wobbled about as he let it go. Ian but took a small bit of pleasure in seeing the way her eyes went wide and her pretty mouth fell open.

“It is my duty to protect those under threat of my own kind. You, my dear, are under threat. It is that simple.”