Cry Wolf

Getting angry wasn’t going to help with A

Charles was better at frightening people than removing their fear. He wasn’t sure how to discuss this morning, last night, and the way their mating had not been completed without making things worse.

If matters didn’t improve, he’d go to his father for advice…or Heaven help them all, Asil, again. If he explained everything in plain words, Asil might laugh at him, but he was too much a gentleman to leave A

That left him with one more task. She needed to know that the other males would still feel free to offer themselves, because that was dangerous to her and anyone around him when someone tried.

And because she had the right to know that she might be able to accept one of those other males-at least that seemed to be Asil’s opinion. Charles thought that once their wolves had bonded it was permanent-but he didn’t know anyone who’d had that happen before their human selves had bonded. Maybe A

The Humvee was an artificial oasis, A

The dark, almost black, stands of evergreen trees stood out in stark contrast to the snow. Occasionally, roads, distinguishable more by the way they cut through the trees than by any vehicle track, branched off the highway they were traveling. As their road narrowed into a white scar between steep hills crowding in on both sides, she wondered if “highway” was the right word for it.

“Our mating bond didn’t become permanent last night,” he said out of the blue.

She stared at him, feeling the familiar flutter of panic. What did that mean? Had she done something wrong?

“You said that all we needed to do was…” She found she couldn’t quite get the next few words out. In the cold light of day they sounded so crude.

“Apparently I was wrong,” he told her. “I assumed since we’d gotten the most difficult part of being mated out of the way, all we needed was consummation.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

“It is probably better,” he said abruptly.

“Why?” She hadn’t known if she’d be able to get out a word, but she sounded, to her ears, merely curious, none of the panicky feeling that had closed over her at his words evident in her voice.

But she didn’t come anywhere near the disinterested neutrality he brought to his voice. “The main reason I didn’t want to bring you with me today was that I didn’t want you to see me kill again, so soon. But I’ve been my father’s assassin for a hundred and fifty years; I don’t suppose that will change. It’s only fair that you see me clearly, when the hunt is upon me, before you choose.”

The steering wheel creaked under the force of his grip, but his voice was still calm, almost detached. “In my father’s pack there are a number of wolves who would worship the ground you walk upon. Wolves who are not killers.” He sucked in a little air and tried to give her a reassuring smile-but it stopped somewhere short of effective since all it did was show strong white teeth. “They are not all psychotic.”

He was trying to give her away again.

She looked at his white-knuckled hands-and suddenly she could breathe again. Telling her that she could look elsewhere was ticking him off, breaking that freaky calm he’d held since breakfast. She thought of his possessive rage last night and felt confidence steady her heart; he wanted her-no matter how stupid she’d been this morning. She could work with that. She couldn’t stay embarrassed about how much she wanted him forever, right? A week or two, and she should be over it. And a year or so afterward, the strength of what she felt for him wouldn’t scare her so badly, either.

Feeling better, A

Being a killer.

“I know about killers,” she told him. “Leo’s pack had Justin. You remember him, right? He was a killer.” She tried to find a way to make the distinction clear. “You are justice.” That wasn’t the way-it sounded stupid.

“ ‘A rose by any other name…’ ” he said, angling his face away from her.

She took a deep breath to see if her nose could help her read what he felt, but all she could smell were the two strangers who had donated their clothing. Maybe she just didn’t know how to work her nose-or maybe he was better at controlling himself than most people were.

Charles was a careful man. Careful about what he said and careful of the people around him. One night in his bed, and she knew that. He cared. Cared about her, about his father, even about Heather’s Jack. Her stomach settled as she gathered the hints and actions into a coherent picture. How hard, she thought, must it have been for a man who cared so deeply to learn to kill, no matter how necessary it was?

“No,” she said firmly. Ahead of them, and off to the right, a series of spectacular peaks thrust defiantly into the heavens. Their snowcapped summits, unfettered by trees or vegetation, gleamed in the sun so brightly that even through the tinted windows they dazzled her eyes and called to her wolf. This was a place a werewolf could run.

“A killer is just a murderer,” she told him. “You follow rules, carry out justice and-try not to hate yourself for being good at your job.”

Her assessment, following the debacle of last night, took Charles totally by surprise. He looked at her, but she’d shut her eyes and snuggled down for a nap-his A

The road they were following had more tracks than usual for this time of year-probably because of the Search and Rescue people. He hoped he and A

The calls he’d had Heather make this morning should result in no more untrained volunteers and amateurs out in the woods, at least. He had wanted to limit the damage the rogue wolf might do as best they could.

Heather had, at his request, pointed out that the man they were looking for had been missing for too long. They were probably only looking for a body, so there was no sense in risking additional lives. She’d told them about Jack-though she’d blamed a cougar-and pointed out that a storm front was moving in.

The few searchers remaining were concentrating their efforts about twenty miles west of Jack’s encounter with their rogue wolf-near where the missing man had left his truck, well away from any of the places the rogue werewolf had made his appearances. Charles and A

They were climbing now. The Humvee’s tires made a continuous crunching, moaning sound as they cut through the deepening snow. To the left, he occasionally caught a glimpse of the frozen creek, though mostly it was hidden by the thick brush choking the valley bottom. To the right, high-tension electrical wires ran between stark metal towers down a barren swath cut clear through the forest. Those wires, and the occasional need to maintain them, were the only reason for the lonely service road they followed.

Heat poured out of the Vee’s defroster. The warmth of the vehicle’s interior made the winter lands they drove through seem almost surreal, something separate from him. And as much as he usually hated that particular effect, he’d spent too much time in the snow and cold on horseback or on foot to dismiss the advantages of driving in as far as they could.