She fired even as he sprang toward her, then fired again.

Two spots of pain blossomed along Harry's side. He went down hard on the cold ground. As the world went dark, his last thoughts were,Oh no, not again !

chapter 10.

"Tranquilizer darts."

"Yep," Marj answered.

"That's the second time this week, dammit."

Marj watched warily as Harry sat up from where he'd been lying on the concrete barn floor, wrapped the red blanket around his chest, and glared at her. She was sitting on top of an old trunk, her legs tucked beneath her and an old quilt covering her lap. All the overhead lights were blazing, and the wide doors were closed and locked. It was just the two of them, as she'd left Taffy and Noel locked in the house.

There was no way she was risking her dogs' safety around a wolf.

She also noticed that he gauged the distance between them and looked at the rifle she cradled on her lap. Harrison Blethyin was not a happy camper.

"How's your head?" she asked.

"Pounding. Brutally, viciously pounding."

"I can do something about that."

"You've already done quite enough."

She guessed she had, but she'd dragged the wolf in out of the cold and kept him warm with a blanket while he slept off the drugs and turned slowly back to the shape of a man. And she hadn't used as strong a tranquilizer as the men who'd shot him. She had questions about those men, and Harry's involvement with them. But there was another matter to deal with first.

"You're a werewolf," she said.

At first his expression was a mixture of wariness and anger, but gradually he began to look a little bit annoyed. Maybe it was just the headache. Eventually, he said, "Don't get all hysterical about it, or anything."

Well, at least he didn't try to deny it. What did he expect from her? Did he think the appropriate response would be to scream, to panic? To call the tabloids?

"I could exchange the darts for silver bullets, if it would make you feel more threatened," she suggested.

"Besides, I had hysterics when I first figured it out. Should I have videotaped it for you?"

"You sound bitter," he said, as though it concerned him. "I don't know what you have to be bitter about."

"You lied to me."

He rubbed his jaw, dark with stubble at the moment. He slowly got to his feet, still wrapped in the blanket. He kept his gaze on the rifle, and moved slowly toward a shelf stacked with twenty-pound bags of animal feed. "I'm going to get dressed now."

"Your stuff's not there."

He dropped the blanket as he turned around, looking annoyed.

She just looked. She already knew he was gorgeous. After all, she'd seen him naked in a cage, and in her bedroom. She'd watched the slow, graceful transformation from wolf to human form while he was unconscious. Perhaps that should have disturbed her-but it had been beautiful; like a kind of art. And here he was naked again, and looking at her with angry sparks in his blue eyes. Sparks went through her, as well-she couldn't help it when she was around him. She wasn't going to try to deny how much physical attraction she felt for this-man? For the man-shaped part of him?

"You found my clothes in here, too? How?"

His angry question refocused her attention. "Taffy found the clothes out by the drive. Then I showed them to Bailey. He's a beagle/bloodhound mix. Once I told him what to look for, he had a ball."

"Once youtold him?"

She found it odd that he sounded suspicious and skeptical. Then, again, why did she a.s.sume he knew everything about her? It seemed like she'd known him forever, but that wasn't true at all. And most of what she did know was false.

"Are you going to let me stand here and freeze to death, woman?"

"Are you going to turn into a wolf and attack me?"

"Of course not!"

His indignation slapped against her psychic senses, and she believed that he believed what he said.

Which would have to do. His folded clothes were lying next to her on the trunk. She nipped back the quilt and tossed shirt, pants, socks, and shoes to him.

She continued to watch him closely while he dressed, and when he pushed aside some of the bags and perched on the storage shelf.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Now you tell me what's really going on."

He stared at her, his expression blank. But she could feel his thoughts teasing and tickling around hers, trying to get into her head and change what she believed and remembered. She didn't like his reasons, but she welcomed the connection. She'd never shared this kind of communication with a human before.

Heck, if there wasn't a wolf part of him, maybe she wouldn't be able to doit.

Stop that! she finally told him, and conjured up a mental image of her smacking the big, black wolf on the nose.

Harry blinked. Then he threw back his head and laughed. "You're not afraid of me, are you? Not one little bit. I'm a werewolf, you know," he added seriously.

"And I'm Dr. Doolittle," she answered.

She's not scared, Harry realized.And she's not freaked . She was, in fact, incredibly accepting of the fact that he was a very different type of being than she was. It didn't bother her that he could turn into a dangerous animal. She accepted him for who he was, and knowing that she did filled his heart, and his head, with-her.

He could also tell that her knowledge and acceptance of hisotherness did not stop her from being really p.i.s.sed off at him.

"You want explanations," he said.

She settled the rifle back across her lap. "How can you tell?"

As he was faster and stronger than a human, he could take the weapon away from her at any time. But he wasn't going to strip away a prop that made her feel safe. He didn't blame her for not trusting him just yet.

Harry rubbed a sore spot over his ribs. "I really hate getting shot."

"At least I only use tranquilizers. My neighbors wouldn't be so humane."

"You were worried that a rancher would take a shot at me?"

"Of course. That's why I hired you to find-you," she finished with an annoyed grimace. "I suppose you found that really funny?"

He shook his head. "No. I found it sweet. And useful," he admitted. "I have been using you, but for the very best of reasons. I really am a missing persons-"

"Werewolf."

"Which gives me the perfect skills for the job. But it's my being a werewolf you want to know about first.

I canfeel your curiosity. You want explanations, a.s.surances, background-all that stuff that's supposed to be secret. Stuff that has to be secret," he added. "We only have two choices in dealing with humans that learn it."

He waited for her to ask what those two choices were.

"Tell me about werewolves," was all she said.

She was not paying attention to consequences. Harry didn't understand that, because Marj struck him as the sensible sort. He supposed that learning that the myths and legends of the supernatural world were real could shake even sensible people into reckless behavior.

She knew he was a real shapeshifter, and had proved that he couldn't make her forget. That left him with those two choices-and he already knew that he wasn't going to kill her.

He sighed. "Okay. You know all the ancient tribal stories about shamans taking on animal forms?" She nodded. "Well, a long, long time ago those shapeshifting abilities were a well-known and accepted part of the world. I'm talking prehistoric times. We evolved as humans, among humans. We were people with psychic gifts that could also be manifested with the physical ability to take on the form of certain totem animals-wolves, bears, foxes, tigers-just about any mammalian predators. The ability to turn into wolves has always been the most prevalent. But as humans stopped living in small tribes of hunter-gatherers and settled into farming communities, they didn't have any need for predators in their midst anymore. The were-folk were driven out. We ended up banding together into our own tribes and mating only with our own kinds. So, what was originally a rare mutation for a specific psychic gift turned into dominant traits in our offspring."

"So, you have to be born a werewolf? What about the legends of people being becoming werewolves by being bitten by one?"

Harry shrugged with discomfort. "Yeah, well, unfortunately that can happen. None of our scientists have been able to figure that out yet. But we've only really had the ability to study the infectious properties of-"

"Werewolves have scientists?" she interrupted.

This was not the time to explain to her that most of the real research into the scientific aspects of supernatural phenomena was being carried out by vampires. Information about his own kind would do for the time being.

"There are werefolk involved in the research. We go to college," he added. "We're not animals, you know."

Marj laughed. "Don't get your tail in a twist. Go on."

He laughed, too, delighted to hear such a common werewolf joke from this human woman. Of course, it was probably a common sort of joke for a vet who ran an animal shelter, too. Either way, it reinforced the connection between them.

"I wonder," he said, "if you would let me make love to you right now, knowing what I am."

That wasn't what he'd meant to say, but suddenly it was very important for him to know. He was almost scared to look at her, afraid of seeing disgust openly on her face. Or, even worse, her trying to hide it.

But she looked at him steadily, thoughtfully. Her emotions rippled around her. He picked up brief, overlaying shades of surprise, curiosity, anger, impatience, and l.u.s.t. Harry especially liked that deep, rich ribbon of l.u.s.t that wound through everything else Marj was feeling.

"So, you still like me," he said. "I can feel it, even if you won't answer my question."

"Because it's not a relevant question for the moment. It's a matter of trust," she said. "Liking has nothing to do with whether or not I should trust you."

"I'm very trustworthy."

"You didn't tell me you were a werewolf." She made a face at her own words. "Okay, if I were a werewolf, I wouldn't spread the news around, either. The world isn't safe for the radically different. I'm not forthcoming about my own-peculiarities."

"There is nothing at all peculiar about you, lovely Marjorie."

She waved off his flattery. "Tell me more about werewolves-or should I say werefolk?"

"Werefolk. We are separate breeds, but we all answer to rules set up by an elected group Council. The Council is very conservative. For the last fifty or sixty years they've made it the priority for all memory and belief in werefolk to be wiped out of human consciousness. It'll be safer for us if people don't believe we exist."

"Peopledon't believe werewolves exist."

"See, it's working."

She didn't even crack a smile. "It would be dangerous for your kind if you were discovered. Everybody knows the legends, and the horror movies and books about how people get bitten and turn into bloodthirsty monsters during the full moon. That sort of bad publicity could get real werefolk killed."

"Precisely."

"Do you turn into a ravening monster during the full moon?"

Harry curbed his indignation. "Not my style," he told her. "But the legends have a basis in reality. People who are bitten by weres do change physiologically. What's normal for someone born as a were manifests more like a disease-at least initially-with someone who's been bitten. While a natural-born werewolf can change almost anytime, without pain or difficulty, a bitten develops a monthly cycle that forces the change. The process is not only painful, but it makes them crazy. The animal self takes control, and it's vicious, hurting, and terrified. Eventually, most bittens will get control of their minds and bodies and blend in to normal shapeshifter society. If they're protected and cared for from the first, the transition is an easier process."

"So, you're saying that the stories of werewolves as monsters are strictly about people who've been bitten and gone on a rampage?"

"There are good and bad people in every society. I will say thatmost of the legends of violence come from the bittens. We're trying to kill the legends, which is why the council has encouraged closing off our society to outsiders. There's been a long moratorium on taking human mates. Biting has been forbidden."

He shook his head. "It's helped keep our secrets, but it's been h.e.l.l on our gene pool. Some of the younger people are getting rebellious about it. Which brings me to why I'm looking for the runaways."

Good Lord, what had he just said? It was all very right to tell Marj some basic stuff. But he had no right to give away information about anyone else. Confiding in her came way too naturally.

Marj heard Harry's mentalOOPS loud and clear. She believed he was searching for something, and he claimed it was runaways. Runaway what? Werefolk? If that were true- The realization came to her with a start. "Phil Fennick's a werewolf!"

"Werefox." Harry gave a deep sigh. "I've already told you too much, but I do want your help to get the case closed safely, and soon. The kids I'm looking for are a pretty mixed bag of radical hippie kits, kittens, and cubs."

"Radical hippies? Uh, the sixties were over about thirty years ago. Hippies have grandchildren now."

Her parents had actually met at some rock concert back in the sixties, and they'd traveled around the country in a VW Beetle. She'd seen photos of them in long hair, bell-bottoms, and fringed vests. They had ended up as very successful lawyers, then retired young to raise the only child they had late, out in the dean, open, independent West And they'd raisedher to be independent, to respect the environment, to celebrate rather than to fear the differences among people, to follow her love of animals wherever it led her. They'd certainly encouraged her to develop her psychic gift and never to fear it.

Marj supposed that qualified them as clinging to their original hippie ideals. And how she missed them! It was a pity that they'd never lived to see grandchildren. Not that she was likely to produce any, in any case. Because the one man she was insanely attracted to had turned out to be werewolf. And Harry had already told her that werewolves didn't take human mates.

One-night stands, as she already knew. Brief liaisons. But not lifetime partners.

d.a.m.n.

"You know the generation problems humans went through back then?" Harry asked, drawing her out of her reverie.