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was breathing at all. The blood had drained from his face, leaving his complexion ghostly in the light of Toby’s flashlight.
    “Oh, come on …” Mason shook her head sharply and pointed to his gear bag where it lay on the ground beside him. “Rory—do you have any extra gym clothes in there?” she asked.
    “What? Oh, uh, yeah. I guess …” He kicked the bag over to her and went to bar the door, moving as if in a daze.
    She knelt down and rooted through the bag, pulling out a pair of sweats and a hoodie. She took them and walked over to where the stranger stood, keeping her gaze focused somewhere over his left shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his mouth quirk upward in the shadow of a grin.
    “Here,” she said, handing them over.
    “Thanks.”
    Mason nodded and turned away, walking swiftly back to stand just behind Toby as the guy put his sword down long enough to pull on the sweats and shrug into the shirt—both of which were too small for him and only served to emphasize his physique even more.
    “Are those things gone?” Toby asked.
    “Most of ’em are dead,” the stranger grunted. “The rest are gone. For now.” Once he was dressed, the stranger turned to face them, the sword hilt once again clutched tightly in his fist. “Where am I?” His voice was a low, husky growl. “Who are you people?”
    “This is a school,” Toby answered, shifting his bulk so that he stood in front of Mason and the others. “They’re students.”
    “A … school. Where? What realm?”
    “Realm? What are you talking about?” Rory asked, looking at the young man with extreme suspicion. “You on foreign exchange or something?”
    “From a country where they don’t wear pants?” Heather murmured, recovering a small measure of her usual self-possessed snark.
    “Maybe he means borough,” Mason suggested, ignoring Heather’s comment. She turned to the stranger. “This is Manhattan. Uh … New York City? You know?”
    A fleeting expression of recognition flashed across his angular features. “New … I remember …” Then it vanished. “Something.”
    “Hey.” Rory crossed his arms over his chest as if he’d decided that enough was enough and it was time for him to play tough guy. Mason hated it when he got like that. “What the hell kind of name is Fennrys Wolf?”
    “I don’t know. And it’s the Fennrys Wolf, actually. I think—”
    “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Rory asked. “Who are you, really?”
    The young man looked back and forth between them and said quietly, “I was hoping you could tell me.”
    There was something so naked in his expression, Mason thought. And then she started to actually blush at the memory of what he’d looked like just a few moments ago. Okay, not naked … more like raw—uh, no . That wasn’t helping either. She winced inwardly. How about … vulnerable ?
    Yes. That was exactly it.
    Whoever this guy was, in spite of his sheer brute strength and fighting skills, there was an almost fragile quality to him. As if he was barely holding it together. Mason frowned, staring at the handsome blond enigma, and wondered where in the world he’d come from.
    Suddenly a sound caught Mason’s attention—a low groan, coming from the corner where Calum had gone from leaning against the wall to slumped in a heap on the floor, semiconscious. Heather ran over and knelt beside him, and Mason heard her gasp.
    “Guys,” she said. “Guys … he doesn’t look so good. I mean … he’s—oh, shit. Shit . Cal?” She shook his shoulder, but there was no response. “Toby?” Heather looked up, and there was a shine of tears in her eyes.
    Toby pushed Rory and the stranger aside and went to go look at Cal for himself. “Aw, damn …” Mason heard him mutter.
    “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?” Aside from the obvious …
    “His skin is getting streaky around the wounds and he’s burning up,” Toby said, sounding really worried.