Page 234 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

He's lived on the edge of it his entire life.

"There's a drug," I begin. "It doesn't have the best name. I'm sorry. I know the term is… loaded."

His eyes narrow doubtfully.

"BioMuzzle," I say reluctantly, hating it even as it leaves my mouth.

He swallows hard enough the scars shift on his throat.

I pull out my phone and slide it across the table to him, screen up. The PDF I've been annotating all day fills the display. "Compassionate use protocols were just approved in Canada. You can bring it to the States," I continue. "It's a stabilizer. It targets the specific neural pathways responsible for dissociative episodes and feral regression. The preliminary data is…" I pause, choosing the right word. "It's promising."

A strongly optimistic word, medically speaking. I don't know if he'll take it that way.

Wraith stares at the phone.

Is it a pill?

I shake my head. "Injection."

He looks defeated, but he nods. Side effects?

"Manageable. Fatigue, mild nausea during the adjustment period. Some subjects reported dulled scent perception for the first two weeks, but it normalized."

I wouldn't be able to smell Ivy anymore?

"Temporarily… maybe not. But it wasn't permanent in any of the reported cases."

He's quiet for a long time. His scarred hand reaches toward the phone, hovering, then pulls back.

You've been researching this.

"Yes."

Why?

Because Wade Kelly's smear campaign is designed to paint Wraith as a violent beast. Because the league review board will use any evidence of instability to justify a ban.

Because I care about him—love him, even—and I refuse to let him drown.

"Because it's what I do," I say, shrugging.

His eyes hold mine, then he lets out a soft huff. You could have been a doctor.

"I could have been a lot of things." I clear my throat. "I'd like to sit down with you tomorrow," I say. "Go through the data properly. Dosing protocols, eligibility criteria, how to access the compassionate use program. If you want."

He hesitates long enough that I prepare myself for refusal.

Then he nods once.

"Does Ivy know?" I ask. "About the nerve damage getting worse?"

He shakes his head. I'll tell her when I get a chance.

"You should ask her to go back to Cedarbrook with you." My lips quirk into a sympathetic smile. "Second time's the charm, right?"

He just sighs, his enormous shoulders dropping. And for a second, the supposedly most terrifying player in the league—although I'd argue that title doesn't go to him, or even Valek, but Whiskey—looks almost like a tired kid who doesn't want to go to the doctor again.

I understand the feeling.