Cry Wolf

She let her hand drop away. “Who are you?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I think you get to answer the questions first. Who are you?”

“I’m looking for the missing hunter,” she said.

That was truth as far as it went. He frowned at her a moment, trying to find some way to make that a half-truth. “To get him to safety?” he murmured. Or to use him for her magic?

She gave him a sad smile. “I doubt that there is a need for that by now. He’s been lost in the woods with a rogue werewolf. How likely do you think it is that he is still alive?”

“So you knew about the werewolf?”

She raised her chin. “The werewolf is why I am here.” Truth. “Who are you? And what do you know about witches and werewolves?”

It was possible she was exactly who she represented herself as. He knew that there were witches who regularly worked for the various law-enforcement agencies. He also knew that just because she was a black witch didn’t mean that she wasn’t actually out looking for the missing man. Witches often hired themselves out-and sometimes, even if only by chance, a black witch could find herself on the side of the angels.

She’d been careful in her answers, though, and he did not discount what the spirits told him. She was no ally of his. The spirit-wolf was usually his guide-though he’d always thought it would have been more ironic if it had been a deer or rabbit. That show of fangs might not mean she was an enemy, but it did indicate that she wasn’t friendly.

“You can leave the werewolf to us, now,” he told her. “It’s not your business.”

“It is,” she said calmly.

Truth. The full truth this time. How very interesting that a witch would believe a werewolf to be her business.

“You don’t want to get in my way,” she told him softly, her breath caressing his face in a sweet flow.

“No,” he said, taking a step back from her and shaking his head-but he couldn’t remember what he was objecting to.

“Now it is my turn for questioning.”

If he’d been capable of it, he would have cursed his own arrogance, which had kept him from grabbing A

Witch, he’d called her-and she hadn’t denied it. Doubtless that meant something, but A

Whatever she was, if she didn’t get her hands off Charles pretty damn soon, A

The violent urge caught her by surprise, and she hesitated just long enough for Charles to stagger away from the witch. Something had happened, some balance had shifted. The air smelled faintly of ozone, as if, despite the time of year, lightning was ready to strike.

The hair on the back of A

“I’m looking for a man,” said Mary, her voice still incongruously sounding like a cheerleader’s. “His name is Hussan, though he also goes by Asil or the Moor.”

“I know him,” responded Charles, his voice sounding thick and reluctant.

“Ah,” she smiled. “You are a werewolf. Are you one of the Marrok’s? Is Asil in Aspen Creek, too? Is he one of the Marrok’s wolves?”

A

He just nodded stiffly, and said, “Yes” as if the word was dragged out of him.

Something was very wrong. A

The witch muttered a word and flung it at A

Charles growled.

“Hush, I haven’t hurt her,” the witch told him. “I have no wish to face the Marrok yet by hurting one of his wolves. She’s a werewolf, too, I assume. That would explain why she was able to damage my guardian so badly. Tell me. What do you think would be the best way to get Asil to come here?”

“Asil doesn’t leave Aspen Creek,” he told her, his voice rough with rage.

A

A

When her wolf asked to take over, A

Though she didn’t start shifting, her perception of the world changed, shadows faded back. She could see farther and more clearly, but the beauty and intensity of the colors grew dull. It wasn’t as silent as she’d thought. There were birds in the trees-she could hear the soft sound as they shuffled their feet on the bark of the tree branches.

But more interestingly, she saw a web of light encasing Charles in sickly strings of yellow and green. Unable to drop her head, she couldn’t see the web that held her. But her skin’s sensitivity allowed her to feel the fine strands like a net of dental floss.

If it had been only her in danger, A

“If you died, who would the Marrok send?” the witch asked.

The implied threat brought a roaring in A

“He would come himself.”

The witch pursed her mouth as if trying to decide whether that was something she wanted or not.

A

She couldn’t look for long at the multiple strands she held together or they dazzled her eyes and made her head ache, but she didn’t have to; the witch’s cable of magic cut into her hands so she knew where it was.

She set her free hand on the cable just before it widened into the net that held her and pulled with both hands. She expected it to break or hold, as if it were really cable. Instead, it pulled like taffy, thi

If the witch had looked at her, she might have seen what A

Dominant, A

A