Bound to Shadows (Riley Jenson Guardian 8)

Except that he was a werewolf.

That bit didn't fit with what I was expecting.

I tore my gaze away from his and motioned toward the body. "There's something else here. An odd sort of energy. "

It was thick and strong, and it felt like fingers of ice caressing my flesh, cooling the heat of sunburn, sucking at my strength.

It was also something I'd felt before, back in the times I couldn't remember. I had no fear of it, even when the slivers of pain began to stab at my brain - a pain that was scarily similar to the pain that occurred when I'd tried to shift shape.

Something had obviously gone seriously wrong when I'd hit whatever it was I'd hit.

"I can't feel - "

I grabbed Harris's arm, stopping him. His muscles tensed under my fingertips, but he didn't pull away. I pointed with my other hand. "There. "

"What?" His voice was patient, as if he were dealing with a crazy person. And who knew, maybe he was.

Except that I could see it. A faint wisp of white hovering just above the victim's head.

"A soul. "

"A soul? Lady - "

"Damn it, it's there. Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it doesn't exist. "

"Yeah, right. Evin, I think you'd better - "

"Sorry, Hanna," Evin said, and before I could react, something hit me over the head and the world went black.

I woke to darkness. I lay there for several seconds, staring upward but not really registering that there was a ceiling above me rather than sky and stars.

Then memory hit and I jerked upright. Only to wince in pain as my head protested the movement. I raised a hand and felt a bump the size of an egg on the side of my head. Evin. The bastard didn't have to hit me so hard.

I swung my legs off the bed. A dozen different aches awoke, and my skin felt like it was glowing. Obviously, the werewolf quick-healing thing wasn't working too well on my sunburn.

I was still wearing Evin's shirt, and his scent hung on the air. How could my own brother smell so familiar and yet so strange? It was weird, and I really didn't think it had anything to do with the lack of memory. It was something that went deeper.

Everything that was happening went far deeper than a lack of memory - of that I was sure. I just had to try to figure out the what and whys without raising anyone's suspicions in the process. I don't know why, but I had a bad feeling that would not be a good idea just yet.

There were voices in one of the rooms beyond mine, and it took me several minutes to realize it was probably the TV. I couldn't hear Evin moving about, but I could smell coffee, and my stomach rumbled a reminder that I hadn't had anything to eat or drink in a while.

I scrubbed a hand across my face. I felt grimy and achy, and I desperately needed a shower, food, and coffee. But more than anything, I needed to understand what was going on.

And first on that list was remembering me.

I rose and walked across to the mirror attached to the small dressing table. My reflection was thin and sunburned. My face was pleasant enough, and there was a sense of familiarity about it - though why this surprised me, I'm not entirely sure. I mean, it was my face. What did I expect? Surgical changes?

My hair was the same red-gold as Evin's and cut into a short, elfin style. That felt different. I touched it lightly, feeling oddly bereft. It should have been longer. Had been longer.

There were fading bruises and cuts over my cheeks and above my eyes, and one earlobe looked as if someone had taken a knife to it. Weirdly enough, that apparently didn't prevent me from wearing earrings. They were overly large stud earrings with a blue stone in the center, and really ugly. I tried to take them off, but the damn things seemed to be attached to my flesh and would not be budged.

I frowned and undid the shirt instead. The bruises over my torso were as bad as they'd felt, and the gunshot wound looked puckered and red. It wasn't infected, but it had been. If I'd been able to change before the accident with the roo, why hadn't that healed? Surely I would have taken steps to heal my own flesh?

But then, if I'd been depressed, maybe not.

Maybe not remembering anything was a good thing, not bad.

I stepped back, then caught sight of the wallet sitting on the bedside table. I opened it up and dragged out the driver's license tucked into the one of the side pockets. The picture was crappy - as they always were - but the face on the license matched the face in the mirror. And the name listed was Hanna London. I was who Evin said I was.