Hello, freak,” Drake said.<br />Lana backed away, but too late. Drake leveled his gun at her.<br />“I’m right-handed. ’Least I used to be. But I can still hit you from this distance.”<br />“What do you want?”<br />Drake motioned toward the stump of his right arm. It was gone from just above the elbow. “What do you think I want?”<br />The one time she’d seen Drake Merwin, he had made her think of Pack Leader: strong, hyper alert, dangerous. Now, the lean physique looked gaunt, the shark’s grin was a tight grimace, his eyes were red-rimmed. His stare, once languidly menacing, was now intense, burning hot. He looked like someone who had been tortured beyond endurance.<br />“I’ll try,” Lana said.<br />“You’ll do more than try,” he said. He convulsed in pain, face scrunched. A low, eerie moan escaped his throat.<br />“I don’t know if I can grow a whole arm back,” Lana said. “Let me touch it.”<br />“Not here,” he hissed. He motioned with his gun. “Through the back door.”<br />“If you shoot me, I can’t help you,” Lana argued.<br />“Can you heal dogs? How about if I blow his brains out? Can you heal that, freak?