Cry Wolf

A

“Do you smell that?” he asked A

She tilted her head and considered what she smelled. “Is it blood?”

“Fresh,” he said. “Does it bother you?”

“No. Should it?”

“If you were like any other wolf, Omega, you’d be getting hungry about now.”

She frowned up at him, and he answered her look. “Yes, me, too. But I’m old enough it doesn’t bother me much.”

He didn’t bother knocking on the door; his father would have heard them drive up. He followed the scent of blood into the spare bedroom.

Samuel had been here. He recognized the neat wrapping of the bandages, even if he didn’t recognize the middle-aged man who lay on the bed. The man was as human as Heather Morrell, who sat in the chair beside the bed holding his hand.

Heather looked up. He saw the flash of fear on her face but didn’t do anything to mitigate it. Frightening people was part of what made him an efficient enforcer for his father. Besides, until he talked to his father and found out what was going on, there wasn’t anything he could say to reassure her.

“Where’s the Marrok?” he asked.

“He’s waiting for you in his study,” she told him.

He took a step back and started to leave when she said his name softly.

He stopped.

“Jack’s a good man,” she whispered.

He looked over his shoulder to find her staring at him intently. He could have asked her what she meant-but he needed to talk to his father first.

A

So he nodded and headed for the study, A

The fire was lit-a bad sign, he knew. Da only lit the fire in here when he was worried. His father was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of it, staring into the flames.

Charles stopped just inside the door, but A

Finally, Bran sighed and stood up. He walked slowly around Charles. “How are you feeling?” he asked as he came around front.

His leg burned, and it was too weak to run on yet. He wouldn’t lie to his father, but he didn’t have to enumerate his aches and pains, either. “Better. What do you need?”

Bran folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve already killed someone I didn’t want to this week, and I don’t want to do it again.”

“Heather’s Jack needs killing?” Did his father want him to do it? He glanced at A

Bran shrugged. “No. If it needs doing, I’ll take care of it. I hope to avoid it. He’s one of Heather’s coworkers. They were out doing some work with Search and Rescue in the Cabinets, looking for another lost hunter, when they were attacked by a werewolf. No question about what it was. Heather saw it clearly. She shot it and drove it off-she’s been carrying silver bullets since she identified what killed that other hunter. She told me her friend Jack made the co

“She brought him here because he’s been Changed?”

“She thought he might be, but Samuel says not. Not enough damage, not healing fast enough.” He made one of those gestures he was so good at; this one said, I’m just an amateur, I’ll leave it up to the experts. “His problem is apparently more blood loss than wound. And our Heather has been regretting bringing him here ever since Samuel made his pronouncement.”

“What are you considering?” He couldn’t help but be aware of A

Bran leaned back in his chair and sighed. “If a forest ranger comes out and claims he was attacked by a werewolf-an experienced, respected man like Heather’s Jack- people are going to listen. And, before she clammed up, Heather told me that he’s a forthright man. If he thinks that there’s a danger to others, he’s going to trumpet the news as loudly as he can no matter how crazy that truth sounds.”

Charles met his father’s eyes. Another time, they might just have been able to let it go. If they killed the problem wolf and there were no more deaths, any fire that the ranger built would go out for lack of fuel. But his father believed that they were going to have to reveal themselves to the public soon-within months. They couldn’t afford bad publicity.

To give himself time to see if there was a good way out of the dilemma, Charles asked, “How did she manage to get him out?” He knew the Cabinets. This time of year a lot of the mountain range was snowshoe or four-footed travel only. Heather wasn’t a werewolf, who could carry out a man who weighed more than she did.

“She called her uncle. Tag brought him out.”

Ah. So that was the reason Bran seemed merely reflective instead of closed down, the way he got when there was unpleasant business to take care of.

Charles gave his father a small, relieved smile. “Drat the brat,” he said. Heather was forty-three, but he’d seen her born and she was still a child to him-and, more importantly, to her formidable uncle, Colin Taggart. “So if you do as you should, and eliminate this apparently respectable, responsible i

Bran gave a put-upon sigh. “I’d be happier about it if it didn’t mean I had to send you out half-healed to go after some rogue wolf. I’m pretty sure if we eliminate the threat-and show Heather’s Jack that his attacker was a criminal as well as a monster-Jack would be willing to hold his peace when we come out. But you’ll have to do it soon. I need that wolf dead before Jack is out of his bed and demanding to be let go.”

“There isn’t anyone else you could send?” A

Bran shook his head. “This needs to be handled quickly and quietly-and permanently. Charles is the only one I can trust to keep the human authorities in the dark if things get messy.” He smiled a little. “I can also trust that he won’t be joining the killer to go eat humans.”

Charles eyed his father narrowly; he could have put that in less…desperate terms. “The wolf isn’t likely to be more dominant than I am, so he can’t outbluff me or recruit me,” he explained to A

“That and there isn’t another wolf in Aspen Creek who could handle a hunt with a kill like this one without losing it.” Bran turned his gaze to A

“So all the wolves in your pack are psychotic?” she asked. Charles couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. Maybe, he thought, giving the matter a little consideration, she wasn’t far off.