"Where here?"

"L-Lost Creek," Emily said.

Well, that explained her hunting habits. Only a local gal could be so slippery in these woods. "I've never seen you before," Luc said.

"I've n-never seen you either."

Luc shrugged. Something was bothering her. Something in Emily's manner, in her speech perhaps? "Well, I went away for a while. I'm visiting, too," she said.

"Visiting the rest of your pack." Emily sounded bitter, and Luc's curiosity rose. Then it clicked. The stammer. It appeared when Emily was nervous, but went when she had her temper up. So what had been making her nervous earlier? Luc was sure it wasn't her simmering s.e.x appeal. Her senses went on alert.

"Pack?" she said.

"I mean the Garouls." Emily snorted in derision. "Don't deny it. I know what the Garouls are. You're all out of the same fractured mold."

I like her much better when she's bitter. "So," Luc said, "what of it?"

"Everyone in town thinks the Garouls are witches," Emily said. "But I knew different. I spent years watching you all."

Oh, this isn't good. Back to plan A, eat the b.i.t.c.h. "And?"

"The Garouls are werewolves and I captured one. All those old folk tales about Sasquatch and black yetis, it's been creatures like you all along, and now I have evidence."

"You do not. All you have is a stupid old almanac." Luc enjoyed teasing her. Emily was such an easy target. She took another slurp of her tea. She was having fun. "And apparently, it doesn't even have pictures. The Garouls will love that. One of their holy moly almanacs vandalized. You are so dead."

"Yes, I have an almanac, and I have you," Emily said, her voice cool and clipped. She was fighting to keep control of the conversation. Luc had to change that.

"No," Luc said with a smile. "I think you'll find I have you."

This was greeted with silence, so Luc expanded on the situation as she saw it. "In fact, I think you and I are going on a road trip. You're going to drive me to Canada. We'll make a holiday out of it and camp along the way like regular folks-"

The RV lurched.

Luc looked around her worriedly. The walls began to blur and spin. Across the table, Emily watched her carefully.

"You drugged the tea!" Luc said. No wonder the devious cow had been stammering. She was waiting to see if Luc noticed. Luc was aghast she had fallen for such a simple ploy...again. Emily said nothing but continued to stare at her with those enigmatic gray eyes.

"You sneaky little b.i.t.c.h," Luc roared. She made a grab at Emily, who bolted from the table and flew out the partly opened side door, slamming it shut behind her.

Luc chased after her, s.n.a.t.c.hing at the door through blurred eyesight only to find the handle had been removed. She fell to the floor. The RV was choking and claustrophobic. The d.i.n.ky furnishings and garish colors swam in and out of focus. The plastic, unnatural odors contracted her stomach. Sweat saturated her skin, but she knew this drug dose was not as strong as before, or maybe she hadn't ingested as much. In human form, it was overwhelming, but if she could change then maybe it might be manageable in her wolfskin. She grunted as nausea washed over her. She had to force the change, and soon. The clothes she wore were too hot, too tight. She kicked them off. Her body twitched and her guts tightened. Luc closed her eyes and breathed hard into the pain.

A few minutes later, she sat upright. Her huge hulk took up most of the floor s.p.a.ce. On standing, she smacked her head against the roof lining. She stood awkwardly and hunched, panting in the constricted s.p.a.ce. Enraged that she had been tricked again, and so easily, she kicked against the side door until it hung askew on its metal runners. The cold night air blew through the opening and calmed her. It filled her head with the soothing smell of the nocturnal forest. She raised her muzzle and sucked in the odor of wet soil and rain-laden foliage...and the faintest scent of coconut shampoo. Excitement bubbled up in her. Emily was within reach. With a roar, she leapt into the night and began the hunt.

Emily broke into a wobbly run. Her injured leg was killing her, but she had to keep moving. Her only chance was to keep going until the ketamine took hold. Though Lord knew how long that would take, as she had very little left to dose the tea. She dodged low branches and vicious root hooks trying to put as much distance between herself and the RV as possible. She swerved around low scrub brush, cursing her blackened eye and its partial vision. The twists and turns of her ill-conceived revenge had become catastrophic. Loose shale rattled under her feet, and the harsh rasp of her breathing filled her ears. She was making no headway at all. She needed a change in strategy; she needed to find somewhere to hide.

She hobbled onward and hit a slope, her momentum propelling her forward. Arms outstretched, she felt the soft clay give way beneath her feet. She pitched forward losing control of her balance and speed. The tree loomed out of nowhere and she slammed straight into it, her shoulder taking the brunt. Emily catapulted onto her back and rolled down the steep bank scrabbling for purchase, too weak to slow her fall.

Around her, the forest roared and shook. Leaves and twigs scattered under her. Roots clawed at her and she clawed back, desperate for a handhold. Then the bank dropped away and she plunged into the roaring waters of the Silverthread. The hurtling cold took her breath away. She surfaced and gulped down air. Thrashing and struggling, she flung herself at the sh.o.r.eline, but the fierce current, swollen by days of rain, washed her farther out. The stars above swirled and lunged crazily, zigzagging across the sky. And then she understood. She was watching them from underwater. She was held by an underwater current. She was drowning. Her body, numbed and useless with cold, floated just under the surface like river weed. She was slipping into nothingness.

I'm dying? I came home and I'm dying- The water around her exploded. She was hauled by the neck of her shirt out of the river and into the bitter, windswept night. The pain in her body came back tenfold. The river water roared and she was lifted upward, light as a child, and her head came to rest on a broad hairy shoulder. Her face was crushed against dense, wet fur that stank of dirt, water, and bark sc.r.a.pings and...and...coconuts?

The world spun as she was carried to the river's edge and dumped on the bank. Emily retched repeatedly. At last, she lay still and drew a breath, giddy with the air now swelling her lungs. She was wet and freezing and hurt all over, aware only of a microcosm of wet, pungent earth, the scratch of dirt on her back, and two ma.s.sive clawed feet inches from her head. The werewolf had found her. It had dragged her from the river and threw her here. It stood immense and panting, towering over her p.r.o.ne body, droplets of water falling from its fur over her.

Then its breath was on her face. First, a mudslide, then drowning, and now my throat's ripped out. She closed her eyes. Not that it mattered anymore. Her revenge plan had failed, and she couldn't care less. She was so tired of it all anyway.

Except her throat was not ripped out. Instead, a ma.s.sive pink tongue trailed along her left cheek, then the right one and across her brow until her face glowed warm and wet. She was again bundled up into a muscular leathery chest. Coa.r.s.e fur tickled her nose and stuck to the damp on her face making it itch. She was slipping into a thick fog, into a darkness she accepted she might never stir from, accepting this was death...and then...and then...

And then she was opening her eyes, and she was alive?

It was dark and she was warm, too warm. Overheated, in fact. Her mouth was dry and her shoulder hurt. She vaguely remembered running into a tree? Her gaze swam into focus and she found herself staring at the bottom vent of her small built-in fridge. She was lying on the floor of her RV swaddled in a pile of blankets and rugs, and what looked like her gingham tablecloth? Everything was piled up around and over her, like a nest.

She shifted, aware of a weight along her side covering her like a heavy woolen blanket. That was why she was stifling hot. Emily pulled away. A bottle of water sat on the floor beside her, along with a split tea bag, a twig, two packets of pills, and some acorns. Emily frowned at the strange collection of items. Were they some sort of comfort offerings? At the moment, only one mattered. With great effort, she reached for the water and gulped it greedily. She checked out the pills-her standard painkillers and her Lexotanil capsules. She popped two painkillers and collapsed back into the snug hollow.

The weight behind her shifted. A wet snout burrowed into her neck just below her ear. Emily froze. This was not a blanket. She was nestled in with the werewolf! So much for the collar keeping them in a single state and malleable. The beast seemed able to transform back and forth at will.

There was a snuffle, then a sleepy snort that puffed the tendrils of her hair. A heavy, furry arm reached over and covered her, dragging her back into the warmth of a s.h.a.ggy chest that felt wider than a barn door. She was spooned by an immense body of hard muscle and silky furred smoothness.

She twisted around until her nose was pressed against a furry throat. She levered backward until the arms holding her relaxed and allowed her a little more room. Emily leaned back and examined the leathery maw before her. The muzzle was squat with thin black lips that rested over the sharpest, cruelest teeth imaginable. The canines were so long they curved over the lower lip. The snout was warm and wet, and the elongated nostrils quivered as they drew in her scent even in sleep. A huge pink tongue lolled from its mouth and traced the teeth, licking the thin lips. It was such a hungry, predatory action Emily worried she smelled like dinner. The leather of the muzzle gave way to a smattering of black fur that grew denser toward the brow and small pointed ears. The head, shoulders, and back were covered with a thick ebony coat, except for the chest and belly area where Emily's hands rested on spa.r.s.e hair that barely covered a heavily muscled torso. Heat pounded off the werewolf's body and she could feel the tremor of its heart against her palms.

It opened its eerie yellow eyes and regarded her with mute caution. She lifted a hand and delicately explored the coa.r.s.e muzzle. Her fingertips itched under the scratchy texture of its fur, and she found herself exploring swirls and tufts and the crease lines beneath. Its eyes narrowed and the gleam in them softened. Fascinated with the long curve of a canine, she traced it to its razor-sharp point and rested her fingertip there in awe. Its teeth were vicious, monstrous things, and it thrilled her to touch one.

Its gaze darted across her face, equally fascinated at this intimacy. Her touch wandered through thick fur to the next wonder to catch her attention. The left ear was misshapen by a bite taken out of it. She caressed the crimped shape and played with the tuft of crown hairs until the ear twitched and flicked her fingers away. The creature's eye color had mellowed to warm amber, and it pushed its face even closer until the heavy meatiness of its breath blew directly into her face. Emily tried to withdraw, but the arms around her tightened until she thought the air would be squeezed from her lungs. Then the beast's tongue swept across her cheek and forehead, washing her with lathering strokes, and she went limp. There was no fight left in her. She had seen lions do this on TV. She was being marinated.

The arms encasing her became gentle and she relaxed into a sort of...cuddle? The creature gave a final snort and then its eyes drifted shut and, unbelievably, it fell back to sleep almost at once.

Emily watched it sleep for a few moments more until the heat from its body became overwhelming, and the tension within her own exhausting. As she lay there, the ache in her muscles began to melt as the painkillers kicked in and she could feel her body grow slack. She was in a makeshift bed, snuggling with a werewolf. It was all too much for her brain to compute, and her chest began to pinch. She turned away and reached for the Lexotanil, then hesitated. She was sore, and tired, and warm. When had she last felt warm? She felt as if she had been dragged through torrential rain for months on end, not a few days.

Emily closed her eyes and breathed out her exercises. She concentrated on inhalation and exhalations, slow, steady, smooth. She counted, and held, and released, and counted again. Over and over, until she found it impossible to open her eyes as sleep claimed her. The immense size of the creature cradling her was oddly comforting.

Luc, she reminded herself, the creature was called Luc. And it was sleeping so soundly because she had drugged it. I should get out of here. Run away. Now. But her mind was a jumble of hazy, unconnected thoughts. I should be scared. I lost Dad's good Winchester. What day is it? Is it Sunday? Her world was full of troubles and questions, but for this single moment in time, all was suspended. She stopped fighting her anxieties. She was far too tired to reexamine these old and constant companions. And she found that instead of rattling around in her head all night, her anxieties fell away, letting her tip over into dreamless slumber.

Chapter Twelve.

Jolie was fed up. These young ones kept a sprightly step, and she was growing tired and more and more cranky trying to catch up with Mouse. Dawn marbled a pewter gray sky. In a few hours, Hope would be waking to find herself in an empty bed. A bed Jolie longed to be curled up in right now. She imagined Hope shuffling sleepy-eyed around the cabin looking for her companions only to realize she was alone. Would she worry? Would she be angry? Jolie's ears twitched and then drooped. Hope would be livid. And who would get it in the whiskers for everyone's disappearance? Jolie would, that's who! Hope would a.s.sume they were all out in the woods frolicking and having werewolf fun without her. A wet branch slapped at Jolie's face, and mud caked her fur right up to her knees. She was soaked through and miserable. Some frolic this is.

Ears slicked tight to her head, Jolie trudged on. Behind her, Tadpole grubbed along the forest floor, sniffing at this, piddling on that, totally unconcerned that his den mother had been abandoned. Some affiliate werewolf he is. Useless mutt.

Jolie's huff was cut short by the rumbling of her stomach. Breakfast time. She raised her muzzle to the cold morning air and sucked in all the exciting smells of daybreak. The nocturnal animals were retiring, sleepy and sated after a night's hunting. The day dwellers were awakening, blinking at the cold morning. Every animal was at its most vulnerable at the crossroad of night and day. Dawn and dusk surrendered the sweetest hunting. Possum musk caught at her nose. It was in the trees overhead. Jolie drew its scent in hungrily and smacked her lips. Breakfast was served.

She found Mouse half a mile away. She had stopped to examine a clearing and was so confounded by the complexity of odors that she didn't hear Jolie approach.

Lesson number one, Jolie snarled, and flung a hank of possum meat at her feet. Mouse jumped back, startled. Always guard your back. Lesson number two. She hunkered down to examine the mishmash of muddy footprints Mouse had been so engrossed in. Eat well and often. Keep your energy level up. Remember, you burn hundreds more calories in Were form.

Mouse fell on the food. She was ravenous and had not had much luck in feeding herself. Jolie watched her gorge.

Lesson three. Jolie's ears twitched in amus.e.m.e.nt as Mouse suddenly stiffened, then gagged. Don't eat the musk glands. They stink.

That was mean. Mouse huffed, her muzzle twisted and sulky.

That was a learning curve. Now you know, never eat an animal's a.s.s. Jolie turned her attention back to the footprints. Tell me what you think is happening?

Mouse had only ever played in the Singing Valley back home. This was a whole new formidable world for her, but she had to learn how to keep safe. Jolie watched as she circled the clearing following her nose. The scent she was tracking was faint and played tricks even on Jolie's sensitive snout. It drifted in on the rain, flat and lackl.u.s.ter, only to fade away on the next twist of breeze. She watched Mouse stumble forward a few steps, zigzagging this way and that, chasing the elusive odor until she caught it again. To Jolie it was a soft and sticky scent, layered with pine and wet loam.

From where she sat, she could easily pick out Luc's scent. It was strong and purposeful. There was almost a c.o.c.ky gleefulness to it, which surprised Jolie. She had expected a furtive anxiety. Luc knew she was being hunted. Whatever she picked up, Mouse found, too, and it jangled her nerves. Jolie could see it in the hunch of her back and the nervous flick of her tongue across her muzzle. Something significant had happened here, but Mouse couldn't read the underlying story.

Jolie joined her. Werewolf footprints churned up the mud, and a curious wire hung from a tree limb. Nearby, a small fire had been stomped out. Rain pelted down on the drab little tableau, and Mouse hunkered down beside Jolie, unsure what to do.

Humans. Do you think she scared them away? Mouse looked worried. As a pack, the Garouls taught their young Weres to avoid humans at all cost. This was a lifelong lesson. But then, as far as Jolie was concerned, Luc had never learned the lessons, and she certainly had little regard for the rules. She was a rogue werewolf who would put her whole pack, her whole species, in peril through her irresponsibility.

Well, Mouse would definitely learn the rules if Jolie had anything to do with it. She turned her attention back to the cub. For her age, Mouse may be able to change super fast, but she had no idea how to timestamp a scent or read its narrative. Jolie roped in her impatience and began to teach.

One human. Luc may have scared her, but she didn't run away. See how she followed Luc out of here? She left Mouse to examine the markings and went to examine the wire hanging from the tree. She hadn't seen anything like it before but had a good idea what it was.

How do you know it was a she? Mouse asked, twisting and turning around the prints, trying to make some sense of them.

Jolie gave an exasperated snort. Look at the size of the boot prints. You need to learn to use your brains as well as your snout. She gave Mouse a rap between the ears with her fore claw to emphasize her point.

There's a wire in the tree, high up. See? She pointed it out, as Mouse had not looked up even once in her investigations, only concentrating on the forest floor. It's a trap. Luc got away. But barely. Jolie was worried. This hunter was clever and determined. And as far as Jolie could tell, she was still snapping at Luc's heels.

It was close to daybreak and time to turn back home. Jolie had done all she could do. She would return Mouse to Little Dip safe and sound and report Luc's latest shenanigans to Marie as soon as possible. Finally, she had the situation under control. Jolie breathed a sigh of relief as much as tiredness. All she wanted to do was go home to Hope and curl up in bed for a big sleep. It took stamina to remain in Were form all night without a decent kill for energy. The possum she caught for breakfast barely filled a fore claw, never mind her stomach. And she'd had to share it.

Luna knew how Mouse still held her wolfskin. She was one tough little cub, Jolie grudgingly conceded. With a paw planted firmly on Mouse's shoulder, she turned them toward Little Dip.

Come on, whelp. We need to tell Marie about this. She'll know what to do. She was relieved when Mouse fell into step beside her without complaint. She had expected whining and tantrums, but Mouse was as exhausted as Jolie was. It had been a long night for both of them.

Where's Taddy? Mouse asked, her question bringing them up short. A quick glance around the clearing showed no sign of the dog. In fact, Jolie wasn't sure of the last time she'd seen him. She prodded at a nearby bush.

Tadpole? She growled, hoping he would snuffle out from the undergrowth.

Taddy. Mouse yipped. Here, boy.

He didn't appear. Nothing moved in the forest except the breeze.

Stupid mutt. Jolie's heart sank. Hope would kill her. There was no going home now. Not until all their party was accounted for. No Garoul was ever left behind.

Chapter Thirteen.

"What's for breakfast?" a voice murmured close to Emily's ear. "Better be something good or it will be you."

Emily opened her eyes and stared straight into Luc's wickedly teasing gaze. The dawn light shone across the velvety curve of her shoulder. She was in human form and they were both naked. Emily felt only relief. She doubted she could cope lying nose to nose with a werewolf in the brash light of day.

"W-why don't you just kill me and go?" she asked. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, and sick to death of the whole accursed plan. She had been crazy to think it would work.

Luc lifted a lazy finger and tapped the collar around her neck. "Until you find the key, I think we'll be spending a lot of time together."

That was an unpleasant thought. Emily decided not to dwell on it and changed tack. "What's this?" She indicated the blankets balled up around her.

"It's a bed." Luc looked around her, very satisfied with the setup.

"It's a nest, you mean." Emily wriggled uncomfortably, then pulled a budding twig from underneath her. "It's even got leaves. What are you, a big chicken? Since when do werewolves sleep in a nest? Shouldn't you burrow or something?" She had no idea about werewolf sleeping arrangements. She heaved to her feet and pulled on her clothes using the idle chatter to hide her embarra.s.sment.

"I'm a werewolf, not a meerkat. We make nests when we're on the move." Luc began to dress as well, dragging her sweats out from the mess surrounding her.

"Oh," Emily said. "I tend to make up the couch bed when I'm on the move." She looked pointedly at the rear bench seat.

Luc wiggled her fingers.

"Claws. Last night I had claws. They tend to rip the stuffing out of things." She gave Emily a narrow-eyed look that reminded her how lucky she was her stuffing was still intact. "Now." Luc tapped her collar. "Get me the key and maybe, just maybe, you won't be breakfast."

"This is your breakfast." Emily opened the small cupboard over the sink and tossed a chocolate bar at Luc. "It's all I have left."

Luc regarded the bar with suspicion. "No dope?"

"No dope." Emily unwrapped her own bar and bit into it. Partly because she was starving, partly to prove she could be trusted, on this occasion at least. Luc copied her.

"Key?" she asked with her mouth full, still determined to get an answer.

Emily sighed. "I told you before. The key was on a chain around my neck, but it's gone. I think I lost it in the mudslide."

"Okay." Luc finished her breakfast in one more bite and tossed the crumpled wrapper toward the sink. "So we dig."

"Dig?" Emily picked up the wrapper and put it in the trash, frowning with annoyance. "There's a ton of earth out there. No way will we find a necklace."

"We know roughly where you were standing and where you ended up. It has to be in that corner." Luc was on her feet. "Come on," she ordered and stepped outside. With a heavy heart, Emily followed her.

The mud felt cold and gritty between her fingers. Several yards to her left, Luc was hacking at the dirt with a broken plank. Emily dug with slow deliberation, though her mind was working furiously. If they found the key and she was forced to unlock the collar, she would be dead in seconds and Luc would be halfway to Canada in her RV. Emily had no doubt about it. Not that she was exactly sure how the collar was keeping her alive. Her earlier a.s.sumption that it "froze" a werewolf in beast mode had proven untrue. If anything, it seemed to be improving the creature's health. Emily considered the state of the woman digging beside her. She had been such a grubby, wretched specimen only a day ago. Now she was just grubby. Did the collar somehow regenerate a werewolf's health? Wouldn't that just be typical of her c.r.a.ppy luck to give the d.a.m.ned woman a cure-all instead of a curse?

"Ah ha!" Luc cried out. Emily looked up sharply, heart in mouth, to find Luc holding aloft a sodden arrow quiver. There was only one arrow left in it and Luc was examining it closely.

"Vicious little thing," she said, looking at Emily. Emily felt her face heat. Then Luc said, "Hey, this tip is hollow. Is that where you put the drugs?" She sounded genuinely interested.