Her shoulders drooped.

Home. Where the h.e.l.l was that? For Ren and Mouse, Little Dip was home now. Granted, she'd wanted Mouse there, far away from the virus that was rampaging through Singing Valley, but it meant Luc had little reason to go back north. And Ren would thump her if she ever got her hands on her. Where was sisterly love when you needed it? Luc felt abandoned without that particular safety net. Being a twin was a powerful bond. It felt strange, almost frightening, to be cast adrift without it.

A small whine quivered somewhere in her chest and she quelled it. She was feeling mighty sorry for herself. She lifted the backpack and buried her nose in the coa.r.s.e fabric and found strange comfort. From a long way out, she picked up the drone of an engine and grew anxious. It came closer and then stopped. Who had just driven in? Did the hunter have companions? She locked in on the silence and soon heard solitary footsteps approaching. She recognized the hunter's footfall. That was a pleasant surprise; she'd expected to be left cold and hungry for at least several hours. That's what she'd do to a victim. And now she knew there was a vehicle out there, too. Her data was building up. A car would come in handy when she decided to leave.

She had some idea what the hunter's plans were. The broken vials from the backpack and the small roll of surgical tools laid out on the windowsill told her this was serious. The hunting trophies this one wanted were a little more complex than Luc's head on a platter. She had to escape before the woman could take specimen samples, or anyone else arrived to help her. If she could stay drug free, Luc figured she had a good chance. All she needed was to stay warm and well fed. If she could build her strength up, she should soon be able to mutate and be out of here in a blink.

The footsteps came closer. She feigned an almighty sneeze to remind the hunter how sickly and unthreatening she was. The door opened and the woman walked in. She carried a small backpack and a thermos. Luc grinned. This was going to be a lot easier than she had thought.

Chapter Nine.

Luc watched the woman enter. She set the backpack by the door and unbuckled it, pulling out a bundle of clothing. Next, she lifted a long pole from the corner; the sort of thing used to open high windows, and approached Luc's cell. This was interesting.

"Stand back," she said, and dropped the clothes to the floor and began pushing them through the bars with the pole. She was keeping well out of Luc's reach. Luc took a short step back, more a token gesture than compliance. Despite her weakened state, she was still stronger, faster, and in her opinion, smarter, than the average human. Luc lunged. She grabbed the pole, and before the woman realized what was happening, dragged her rapidly forward. There was a lightning fast, unruly scuffle, but Luc managed to snag the woman's wrist and slam her body hard into the iron bars.

"Let go of m-me!" the woman yelled, her face a mask of terror inches away from Luc's. Luc tightened her grip painfully. Excitement soared in her at the struggle. This was fun.

"You're dead." Luc began to play with her prey. "I'm going to rip your-eep!" Luc yelped. With her free hand, the woman began to hit Luc repeatedly over the head with the thermos. "Hey. Stop that!"

A lucky swipe caught her on the bridge of her nose. Blood gushed and her eyes watered. The woman's panicked struggles intensified at the sight of blood. She was babbling nonsense, which Luc finally made out to be a stream of stammering. The woman was so frightened she was barely able to speak; she jabbered, and twisted, trying to jerk free. The terrified wrestling, along with the flow of blood from her nose, soon tired Luc out. Her excitement deflated, along with her energy. Maybe she wasn't as ready for the game as she'd thought. She hauled on the hunter's arm as hard as she could, pulling with all her weight, and slammed the woman against the cell bars. She slumped to the floor and Luc slid down with her, refusing to let go. The woman was out cold. Luc sat there, still holding her wrist, the pulse swimming under her fingertips. She counted the beats for a second feeling the heat of the woman's flesh in her palm. What to do next?

I should rifle her pockets. Wouldn't it be nice for a key to the cell door, never mind this stupid collar, to fall out into Luc's hand? Instead of a key, she pulled out a driver's license, an inhaler, and a strip of pills from the only pocket she could easily reach. Not what she wanted but useful enough.

"Well, h.e.l.lo there, Emily Jane Norma Johnston." Luc smiled at the small color photograph. "That's a bit of a mouthful, isn't it, Emily?" She considered the pale hand clamped in her own. "And I'm sure you will be," she said, sneering at her own joke.

She threw the license into a far corner. The inhaler she slowly examined, twisting it around and around in her free hand, looking at it from all angles before tossing it after the driver's license. The pills were another matter. She needed to think about them. She had no idea what they were but guessed they were connected to the strange odor she'd picked up on the backpack. These weren't ketamine, the drug used to knock her out. Never once letting go of the hand, she set the foil pack next to her. These pills had something to do with that dark, dreamless place she could detect on Emily's skin. Luc guessed they were antidepressants or maybe sleeping pills of some sort. What did that tell her about her enemy? Luc wished she had the emotional sensitivity to know. That would be a useful skill to have right now.

Luc hauled the bundle of clothing closer but didn't feel inclined to put anything on. It smelled of brash detergent and disinterested her. She'd rather be naked and interesting. She examined the hand she was holding. The skin was pale and the knuckles dusted with freckles.

I bet you're dappled all over. She raised the hand to her nose. Even with the blood clotting in her nostrils, she could make out the woman's scent under the sour drug odor. It was...it was...She didn't know what it was, but she sort of liked it. With another surrept.i.tious sniff, Luc pulled a finger into her mouth and sucked on it. Taste flooded her. She rolled her tongue around the finger, drawing in a tinny flavor laced with salt, and a mechanical oiliness that probably came from the handle of the crossbow. Anxiety under-laced everything.

Her gaze slid to the crossbow. It lay well out of reach by the door. It would be nice to have that inside the bars with her, too. She did not fear the silver tipped arrows. That was all superst.i.tious nonsense. But she'd love to see this hunter's face-this Emily's face-when she came to and found herself on the wrong end of her own weapon.

She withdrew Emily's finger from her mouth and examined the palm. It was grimy and red. Acting on instinct, she licked along the lines, cleaning the fine ridged dirt, imagining she was washing away fate and the future, and replacing it with her own divinations, though what they were she had no idea. She squinted at Emily's broken, bitten down nails. If she had the strength to turn Were, she would use her long fore claw to clean the stubby, dirt-laden things. Just look at those cuticles. This human was very neglected and unkempt; she needed a good grooming.

Emily groaned. Luc tightened her grip on her wrist and waited. Nothing happened. Luc sat still, holding Emily's hand, unsure of her next move. She felt as if she was on a cusp but was uncertain which line of action would be for the best. She should kill the hunter; after all, she had wanted to kill Luc, well, sort of. Luc glanced over at the surgical tools lined up on the window ledge. Whatever the plan was, it probably involved some sort of vivisection. But it was in Luc's interest to keep her captor alive. She needed to make sure she could get out of this cell and remove this stupid collar. Then she would decide what to do with the human.

She concentrated on the rain thrumming on the tin roof and on Emily's shallow breathing. The rain came down harder and harder until the whole structure vibrated. Water seeped through the eaves and ran down the walls to pool on the floor. The drumming, the dripping, the steady measure of Emily's breathing became almost meditative. And then she heard it, or thought she did, rolling in under the rattle of rain and the creaking of cabin walls...a lone howl. She sat up straighter and strained her ears, missing her wolven senses more than ever. Was it a howl? She cursed the incessant drum on the cabin roof. After several minutes, she decided she had heard nothing. It was just her mind playing tricks. But the imagined howling unnerved her. She was losing focus. What was she doing sitting in this paltry cellblock waiting to be hunted down and killed? She was ill and needed to recover as quickly as possible. The Garouls were after her, and the torrential rain would not slow them down for long. And what was she doing about it? Nothing, that's what.

She looked at the pale fingers enclosed in her palm. She was sitting here holding hands with a human. She was losing it; that's what she was doing. Enough! She had to get out of Wallowa and somehow limp north.

Emily moaned again and shifted but didn't awaken. She seemed content to drift along on the verge of consciousness like flotsam on a tropical sh.o.r.eline. Well, that was a luxury neither of them could afford. Luc lifted Emily's hand and nipped hard on the soft flesh at the base of her thumb. Emily yelped and struggled to a sitting position.

Oh? That got your attention. Excitement coursed through Luc, and her tongue tingled at the metallic taste of Emily's blood. Emily pulled her hand away and gazed stunned at the b.l.o.o.d.y indents on her palm.

"You bit me!" she screeched.

"I was all out of smelling salts."

"Y-you bit me. D-does this mean-"

Luc snorted. "You! A werewolf? A w-w-werewolf? I don't think so, somehow." She played on the stammer. "It's only a little nip. If I'd really bit you you'd be looking at a b.l.o.o.d.y stump." She was losing interest in the histrionics already.

Emily shuffled backward on her bottom, staring at her hand. Luc regretted letting her go, but really, apart from killing her, it was pointless to hold on. There were no keys in her pockets, and the clothes and thermos were already on Luc's side of the bars. In a few hours, she would have recuperated enough to transform and get the h.e.l.l out. All she needed was a few more hours of rest, Garoul free.

"You're a b-b-" Emily began.

"Babe? Beauty?"

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she finished.

"Ah, quit moaning. It woke you up didn't it? What's that for?" Luc nodded at the surgical instruments by the window. "You were planning to cut me open, weren't you?"

Emily had the grace to look embarra.s.sed.

"Who's the b.a.s.t.a.r.d now?" Luc said. She lay back down on the dirt floor, uncaring for the cold permeating through it. She was bone tired. She lay there listening to Emily fuss over her piddly little wound.

"Where did you hear about us?" she asked.

"There have always been rumors," Emily answered tiredly. "The black yeti of the Wallowas is famous."

"Liar." Luc's gaze fell on the quiver of silver tipped arrows. "Who goes after yetis with silver arrows?"

Emily ignored her.

"Have you always been fascinated with werewolves?" Luc continued. "Or is it a recent obsession? There's a name for werewolf groupies, you know. It's dinner."

"My name for captured werewolves is stupid." Emily rose to the bait as Luc had hoped.

"So where did you hear about us?" Luc asked again, ignoring the jibe.

"I knew what you were." Emily's voice was sullen. "I have an almanac. I've been studying it for years."

"You read an entire Garoul almanac?" Luc was surprised. "Good for you. I've never got past the first page without nodding off."

"It's a beautiful book," Emily sounded genuinely shocked. "And mine doesn't even have the pictures."

"Wow, no pictures. You really are a scholar. So what was your plan? Cut me into chunks and auction me on eBay? Or maybe sell me to a zoo in one big living lump?"

"The zoo was a last resort."

"Comforting, though I'd prefer the circus." Luc sat up. "I can juggle you know." She watched Emily dab some ointment on her palm. "It doesn't work like that," she told her. "You won't become a werewolf with a little nibble like that." Then a thought occurred to her. Perhaps she wasn't so far off the mark with the groupie thing? "Now, if you wanted to become one, I could help. Just let me out of here and-"

"Forget it. I'm more worried about teta.n.u.s than lycanthropy." Emily continued dabbing at her hand. "Have you any idea how many bacteria are in the human mouth, never mind yours?"

"Hey, I'm a natural balm. They say if you rub werewolf spit on the right place it can cure frigidity." She shot a knowing look and saw Emily's face burn. Ah ha, Miss Prissy took a direct hit.

"What you've got is lycanthropy, not Spanish fly," Emily snapped. "And your dirty saliva is all over my skin."

"Funny how your stammer stops when you're being a b.i.t.c.h."

"Oh, what a big sense of humor you have, Grandma. Goes well with that big red nose," Emily said.

Luc's hand involuntary reached for her sore nose. The bleeding had stopped, but the throbbing hadn't.

"You broke it." She lied to see if any remorse was forthcoming. You never knew with humans.

Emily snorted back laughter. "You look more Rudolph than werewolf."

Estranged as she was from her pack, it still went against every fiber in Luc's wolven being that a human should know the truth about the Garouls, and especially about her. Survival of the species meant secrecy. She had to fix this mess somehow, which was difficult, seeing as she could not eat the infiltrator.

"Hear that?" She whipped toward the window, diverting the conversation and pumping concern into her voice. She needed to get the upper hand again. This Emily was an all-knowing, spiteful thing.

"W-what?" As she suspected, the stammer came back. Emily was a born worrywart.

"Do you hear the howling?" Luc whispered. "They're closing in."

"The Garouls?" Emily asked, though she looked like she already knew the answer.

"No, that would be Alvin and the Chipmunks." Luc cast her a dirty look. "I bet they want their book back. Is it overdue? Have you been naughty and not checked your library ticket?" She tried to look self-satisfied.

"I c-can't hear anything."

"That's because you have puny human ears." Luc enjoyed the dread that flashed across Emily's solemn gray eyes. "They're going to eat you, and Luna help them because you're one poisonous little toad."

There was a moment of silence as Emily concentrated on hearing, anxiety etched across her face. She nursed her hand close to her chest, rather overdramatically, in Luc's opinion. Luna forbid I bite her properly; we'd be on Broadway.

"I can't hear anything," Emily repeated, trying to sound dismissive.

"Try harder."

Luc's tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth. She wished she had her wolf teeth. She'd have loved to run her tongue along the smooth enamel surface and imagine sinking them into Emily's throat and then shaking and shaking and shaking her.

There was a shudder.

The floor they were sitting on lurched. The cabin moaned like an old whaler, and from outside came the snap and splinter of tree roots upending.

"I heard that," Emily whispered, her face went even paler.

"Not that!" Luc barked, though she was all ears, concentrating on this newer, much more dangerous sound.

The roof shook and threw down a shower of debris. Wall planks bent and cracked. Shards of dirt and uprooted plants spilled through the gaps.

"Mudslide," Luc yelled, her gaze locked on the cell's back wall. It heaved and splintered. It tilted to a distorted angle and cracks rang out like gunfire. "Oh c.r.a.p."

The wall exploded inward, a torrent of mud and stone scree barreled through the planking and poured across the floor in an ear-splitting roar. The roof collapsed to the rear of the cabin, its corrugated tin shrieking as it tore apart. The world around them became a confusing slurry; a sharp-edged torrent of earth and stone and bruising darkness.

Chapter Ten.

Jolie followed Mouse as far as the highway that wound all the way down to Route 3. It was the best route through the mountainous region and heavily used by commercial traffic. Eighteen-wheelers and Mack trucks streaked past throwing up dirt and belching pollution. The gra.s.s and long-necked weeds swayed crazily in their back draft. She saw Mouse ducked down in the scratchy underbrush. She seemed hesitant, wary, and Jolie realized the youngster didn't have much experience with busy roads or how to navigate them in wolven form. Jolie lengthened her pace, hoping Mouse's momentary indecision would gain her the couple of seconds she needed to stop the cub from running out in front of a truck. Mouse waited, her head whipping from side to side as she watched the oncoming blaze of vehicle headlights, trying to judge a safe gap. Her hindquarters were bunched, ready for a mad dash across the wet pavement. Jolie could see her trying to time her run, unhearing and unseeing of anything else, her concentration fully on the thundering trucks. Jolie snuck up behind her undetected and grabbed Mouse by the heel as she lunged for the road.

Oh no, you don't! d.a.m.ned if I'm bringing you back to Marie sc.r.a.ped into a paper bag. Her growl was edged with anger. Mouse looked around in dismay as Jolie dragged her backward through the underbrush and deeper into the trees. Her ears flattened and she spat wildly but knew better than to struggle with Jolie holding on to her leg. Once she was released, she scrambled to her feet and stood hunched and hissing.

Hiss at me one more time, missy, and I'll nip your nose off. Jolie was livid and her growling grew deeper. What the h.e.l.l are you doing out here? Are you meeting up with someone?

Mouse averted her eyes, finding the forest floor fascinating. No one. I was just out running.

Running, my a.s.s. Tell me the truth, Jolie rumbled, there's no way you would even think to cross that road except you needed to be on the other side. What's over there? Who's over there? The cub was out of control, Jolie decided. She had grown up as good as feral with no notion of pack manners. What did Ren think she was doing raising cubs like this? But for Jolie's intervention, the little squirt would be squashed as a fly on a fender. All Jolie wanted was to get her back home before Hope found them missing. Marie and Ren could sort the runt out later. You came all this way for a run? No way am I swallowing that. Guess Marie can whup the truth out of you.

I'm following the hunt, Mouse conceded. Jolie smiled inwardly. Marie's name always worked like a charm.

Why? Marie will have your whiskers. Jolie frowned at this news.

I don't want them to hurt Luc.

Luc deserves all she gets, and she's d.a.m.ned lucky I'm not out there with- The bushes rattled behind them and they both stiffened. I knew it! You were meeting somebody, you lying little- Jolie took a defiant step toward the undergrowth determined to face down whoever was in hiding. With one last snap and shake of foliage, Tadpole bustled out of the bushes. His ginger snout snuffled inches from the ground and he b.u.mped into Jolie's shin before he noticed her. Ecstatic at his find, his tail began to wag and he jumped up on Mouse's leg for a pat of approval.

Jolie's shoulders slumped. Could this night get any worse?

What the h.e.l.l! Who's guarding Hope? she roared. Tadpole dropped to his belly. This is ridiculous, Jolie continued bellowing at him. You crazy ferret! Do you two realize what will happen if Hope wakes up and finds us all gone? I will die, that's what will happen! She will kill me. Now, back home, the lot of you-what? Her last word came out in a squeak of disbelief. She was standing there roaring at Tadpole, and Tadpole alone. Mouse was gone. She had slipped away while Jolie harangued the dog.

With a last hard glare at the dog, Jolie turned and stomped off to begin her search all over again. She snapped branches, and stormed through the greenery until leaves and blossoms littered the ground in her wake. Uncaring, she trampled over new shoots and bent fledgling trees, squashing everything that came into her path. Behind her with his tail waving proudly, Tadpole followed her swath of destruction.

Emily instinctively curled into a tight ball as a wave of mud and stones washed her into the corner. The noise was terrifying, and all she could do was squeeze her body as small as possible and hope the freezing deluge would stop before burying her completely. Stones and forest debris pounded on her back. Boggy water filled her ears, nose, and mouth until she spluttered for air, sure she would drown in the mire. And then the onslaught stopped. The thick, turbid gurgling gave way to the creak and crack of wooden walls.

Emily collapsed onto her aching back, resting on her elbows. Freezing mud covered the entire floor more than a foot deep. She was swamped in it, covered in it, every inch of her. Reclining like this, it came up to her chest. If she stood, it would be knee-deep. Toward the rear, where the roof had fallen in, mud banked up to nearly five feet, and huge boulders and twisted tree roots stuck out of the back wall at all angles.

She sat up, stunned but relieved she could move freely. It was pure dumb luck one of those huge boulders had not pulverized her to bits. Thankfully, she had been far enough back to miss the full onslaught.

But the werewolf hadn't.