Call of the Wild

Call of the Wild Sierra Dafoe All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2008 Sierra Dafoe

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ISBN: 978-1-60521-079-7

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Editor: Chrissie Henderson

Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

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Call of the Wild Sierra Dafoe Welcome to Wolf Creek Cove… In an isolated area of northern Manitoba lives an unusual breed of wolf. They are the Shumani, the wolves who walk as men. But the longer they go without contact with humans, the more they regress into wild wolves. Larak and his den-brother Kam watched helplessly as the Shumani dwelling in the hills above Wolf Creek were taken over by Hunt, a vicious black wolf who will do anything to retain control of the pack. Now, with the arrival of the only human they’ve seen since cubhood, Larak and Kam vow to end Hunt’s domination. Sarah Hartwell, domestic disaster and wolf aficionado, has left her fiancé to spend eight months studying the wolves. Little does she know she will become a pawn in the battle for control of the Shumani -- a pawn Hunt is determined to remove from the game. Can Larak and Kam convince her to give up a safe, secure life among her own kind for one of danger, passion and the call of the wild?

Chapter One I swear to God, Sarah, you’re the only woman I know who can burn water. John’s words grated in her mind like the nagging, insistent whine of the Cessna’s engine. As if pushed by an unseen hand the little plane lurched upward, and Sarah Hartwell’s stomach did a slow, unpleasant roll. “Good one there, eh?” Piers Anders, piloting the bush plane easily with one hand on the yoke, flashed her a grin. Weakly, Sarah tried to return it, then sighed. Leaning her cheek against the vibrating glass of the window, she stared absently at the endless miles of forest rolling past below, seeing instead the way John’s face had darkened as she’d picked up the phone to hear Piers’ voice on the other end. It’s him, isn’t it? John’s eyes had narrowed, watching her. It wasn’t like that, though. It wasn’t. It never had been… although okay, maybe there had been a time when she’d entertained a crush on the tall, rugged man beside her in the cockpit -- a crush he’d never shown the faintest sign of returning. Which didn’t surprise her -- she was too tall, too gawky. Raw-boned as a plow horse, as her father had put it. Even among the granola-heads of the conservation movement, she’d never met a guy who’d shown the slightest interest in her, preferring to pair up instead with the cute, curvy little volunteers who whined about their aching feet and complained about the weight of their backpacks. Trail-bunnies, Sarah had always called them with thinly-veiled disdain. Her gaze drifted down to where Piers’ right hand rested on the throttle, a broad gold wedding band gleaming against his deeply tanned skin, and nothing but empty space above the knuckle of his third finger. “When did that happen?”

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Glancing down at it, Piers chuckled. “Last spring. Had a little dust-up with a wolverine. Damn things are half pit bull, I swear. Once they get their teeth in you, they don’t let go.” His expression turned serious, his gaze flicking briefly to her face before he looked back out the windshield, squinting against the afternoon sun. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were new, as well. “You sure about this, Sarah? We can still turn back, you know.” They could. They could turn around right now, retrace the six hour route south and east to Winnipeg, then the shorter but more jarring flight back to Minneapolis and civilization, back to John and the neat, suburban split-level ranch he’d purchased and moved her into eight days after their engagement. Her castle in the clouds, the fulfillment of every woman’s dream… wasn’t it? Wasn’t it supposed to be exactly that? Then why in the middle of one more raging fight with John had her heart lifted, soaring like a bird suddenly freed of its cage, at the sound of Piers Anders’s voice on the phone. John was right, much as it stung to admit -- she couldn’t do anything right. She clogged the vacuum cleaner. She forgot to sort the laundry, turning John’s boxers a dingy slate gray when she’d thrown them in with a new pair of jeans. And, as John had pointed out, his eyes both icy and flashing with annoyance, she was probably the only woman in the world who could burn water. Maria Anders, Sarah suspected, didn’t burn water. Or order take-out pizza eight nights in a row. Or, she thought ruefully, glancing at Piers’ tee shirt -- as gleaming white as his strong, even teeth -- forget that brand new blue jeans bleed. She’d met the woman three years ago, at a Christmas party Piers had thrown for the North American Wolf Conservation Council. One look at the tall, statuesque beauty and Sarah had known immediately why, despite all the chances he must have had over the years, Piers Anders had never once wavered in his faithfulness to his wife. Why couldn’t anyone ever feel that way about her? Okay, so maybe she wasn’t exactly stunning, but still…

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Rather than dwell on that depressing subject, Sarah returned her attention to the window. The air was so crystalline she felt she could practically count the spires of pine and fir rushing past below them, broken here and there by gleams of gold and magnificent, blazing splashes of red. The shadow of the plane skated across the hilltops, lengthening and stretching as it chased itself across mile after mile of green, unpopulated forest. If you leave this time, Sarah… John’s voice had been as flinty as the expression in his eyes. If you leave this time, don’t bother coming back. Sarah took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “Yeah, Piers. I’m sure.”

*** They’re back, Sarah. Three breathless, excited, words, that’s all Piers had had to say. She’d known immediately who, or rather what, he was referring to. It had been Piers who’d first named the small, swift stream that tumbled down from the rocky heights, dubbing it Wolf Creek in honor of the pack they’d discovered in the hills west of Three Mile Lake. The tree-lined inlet of the lake quickly became Wolf Creek Cove, and the ancient, log-sided camp left behind by some long-ago trapper was converted into home base for the three months they’d spent studying the wolves. Every day they’d hiked the five miles up along the stream in the misty gray of dawn, concealing themselves behind the rough blind they’d built so as not to alarm the animals. They’d squatted in the snow, teeth chattering with cold, to watch the three fat little pups take their first shaky forays out of the den onto the granite ledge, their cloudy eyes squinting against the early spring sunlight. Later, as the snow slowly retreated and clouds of blackflies and mosquitoes infiltrated the dense northern forests, she and Piers had grinned at each other as the pups, their limbs lengthening rapidly, tumbled over each other in an excess of exuberance, watched over patiently by the four older wolves. Then they’d disappeared, literally overnight. Mike Zuckerman, another of the WCC volunteers, had come crashing back down the path to where she and Piers, still bleary in the early summer morning, had been

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brewing coffee over a campfire, to tell them the wolves had gone. Unbelieving, they’d followed him up to the broad granite ledge, stopping short at the solitude that pervaded the scene; the sun-warmed rock, the empty den, the wolves gone as if they’d never been there at all. She could still remember the desolation that had filled her, the look of angry grief on Piers’ handsome face, the sickly sense of guilt they’d shared between them -had they chased the wolves away? A ragged fluff of fur, caught on the spindly arms of a wild aster, had captured her attention, and she’d watched the wind tug at it, the small, bright flowers nodding in the stiff breeze, until at last the wind pulled the silky strands away. Then there’d been nothing. No cracked, sun-dried bones. No scat. No wolves. It was difficult to explain what had made them so special. She’d followed a lot of packs over the years, both with Piers and alone, but somehow the wolves of Wolf Creek had been different. Less skittish maybe, more certain of their sanctity in this isolated spot. It was hard to put a finger on, but it had been there. Real. They’d all felt it. That had been four years ago, and she could still remember the excitement which had filled her every morning upon waking, an excitement that had outweighed even the droning of mosquitoes in her ear, or the blackfly bites which stung and itched no matter how much calamine lotion she’d slathered on them. An excitement Sarah realized she was feeling again now, despite the queasiness in her stomach and the long, tiring flight. She could see the lake now -- one of the hundreds of gleaming stretches of water dotting the endless undulations of northern Manitoba. It glimmered in the sunlight, sparkling like a bowlful of diamonds cupped between the hills ahead, growing larger and larger until at last they were above it, the shadow of the plane skimming across its surface. Pines and tall, spindly firs hugged the shoreline in every direction as the plane descended, buzzing toward the small cove at the western end of the lake. The pontoons touched down, meeting the waves with a lurch that felt like a wild bronco bouncing on

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a mattress. Spray flew in a glittering arc as the Cessna taxied on the surface, losing speed. Finally, it nudged against the rickety dock extending out from the shore near the camp, and Piers killed the engine. The silence that followed was an almost tangible thing, broken only by the angry caws of ravens and the small shush of the Cessna’s wake against the shore -- and in the distance the deep, throaty chatter of Wolf Creek, falling swift and sure out of the mountains to spill into the deep, silent waters of Three Mile Lake. Eight months. Eight months of complete and utter solitude, with nothing but intermittent radio contact and the occasional supply drop. Eight months of bitter cold, frozen feet, grudging campfires… And the wolves. Sarah grinned to herself as she followed Piers out of the pilot’s door, climbing awkwardly across his seat. Piers opened the cargo hatch with a clang. “Camp’s still solid,” he said as he started unloading her supplies. “I checked on it last month. You might want to give the roof some attention, though -- I got you some shingles, just to be safe. Still know how to swing a hammer?” Grabbing a heavy duffel bag from his hands, Sarah awarded him a scowl. Piers laughed. “I guess that’s a yes.” It took them the better part of an hour to unload the supplies, piling them haphazardly on the bank: camp gear, canned goods, sacks of rolled oats and flour, dried beans, rice, rope, peanut butter, a jug of kerosene for the lamp, hatchet, tools, heavy bundles of shingles, nails, first aid supplies, radio, clothes, books, and maps. Bucking them over the creaking dock wasn’t pleasant, but soon enough the lake would be frozen solid, allowing Piers to simply drop her supplies on the ice. Casting a dubious eye at the slimy, rotted pilings supporting the dock, Sarah decided she could barely wait. Piers heaved the last bundle of shingles to the bank and hesitated, running his gaze over the pile of supplies. “You sure you’re going to be all right, Sar?” “Piers…”

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“All right, I’m only asking. You’ve got your medi-kit, right? And the radio. You run into any trouble, stake out the signal flag.” “Piers, I know what to do.” Bracing her hands on her hips, she glowered at him. He grinned. “Just watch where you put your feet, then. Zuckerman thinks there’s been trappers up using the cabin -- leastways he swears he saw somebody this past spring on a fly-over. Keep your GPS on, and I’ll see you in four weeks.” Sarah nodded, fingering the global positioning tracker on a string around her neck -- the same sort of transmitter they used to track wolves. She suppressed a shudder at what his words implied, thinking of the evil, steel-toothed traps still employed by fur-hunters up here in the north. But in her excitement, her apprehension quickly faded. How long had it been since she’d felt this, this tingling in her fingers and thrumming in her blood as if all her senses were coming slowly out of hibernation? Too long. Way too long. She watched Piers stride back down the dock, trying to contain her impatience. When he turned to give her one last wave, she made shooing motions at him. He grinned, climbed into the Cessna, and fired up the propeller. The already irate ravens burst from the trees, their croaks hoarse with complaint as they circled overhead. Sarah stood on the bank, one hand shielding her eyes, watching the little plane settle into a flat, full-throttle glide before lifting with a flash of silver into the spacious azure sky. Slowly, the hum of the engine faded into the distance. The echoes died away. The ravens flapped off through the trees, cawing defiantly as they disappeared. Then there was nothing but the tiny lap of waves against the rocks, the rustle of dying leaves… and the burble of water, steady and constant, where Wolf Creek tumbled down between the trees, leading like an arrow west to where the wolves waited.

*** The crack of the hatchet rang through the trees, and Sarah grimaced as her grip slipped on the handle. A blister stung in the webbing between her thumb and

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forefinger, and while in late September the blackflies might be gone, the mosquitoes were having a field day. They whined around her in hungry anticipation, settling quickly on her bare arms every time she paused for breath. Hell with it. It was getting dark, anyway. The rest of the firewood could wait till tomorrow -- if not till after a good solid frost had laid the mosquitoes to rest. Gathering up the armful of firewood she’d split, she carried it into the cabin, banging the screen door shut behind her.

*** In the gathering dusk, the two wolves were so still as to be practically invisible. One a pale silver-gray, the other an unusual tawny color with dark, distinctive blazes almost like eyebrows above each eye, they stood just inside the tree line, watching as the human female disappeared into the log den. A moment later, warm yellow light blossomed in the one tiny window and streamed out, glinting in the eyes of the gray wolf as he stirred. All right, Lar. We’ve seen all we need to. Let’s go. No, wait. The second wolf stayed where he was, his attention still fixed on the small, quiet camp. Wait for what? We’ve already done what Hunt sent us down here for. Yes, but… Kam, what do you think Hunt will do when we tell him about her? The gray wolf, Kam, bobbed his head in a motion eerily reminiscent of a shrug. Not your business or mine, den-brother. I don’t ask questions any more -- it’s safer that way. Safe the way it was for Dal? Larak’s tone was harsh, and Kam cringed at the memory his words invoked. There was something haunted in Lar’s golden eyes, a fierce, desperate look that frightened Kam, more so because it echoed his own emotions. How long can this go on, Kam? You can’t challenge Hunt, Lar! Don’t even think it. Too late. Larak grinned sourly, but excitement flickered in his eyes as he glanced back at the log building. Kam, don’t you see what this could mean?

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Kam checked, startled. Uncertainly, he followed Larak’s gaze. In the gathering darkness, the log den was no more than a darker bulk now against the trees. He stared at it, knowing what Larak was thinking. It was part of the lore of the pack, legends they’d learned even as they suckled at the teat… He shook his head and gave a low, disgusted whuffle. Probably another trip north, if that human stays around. It had been Rak, Larak’s father, who had insisted on that long-ago removal. He’d been right to order their evacuation, Kam admitted. The risk of having humans around when the pups hit adolescence was simply too high. But the memory of that frightening, disjointed time, ripped away from everything he’d ever known to follow his father and uncles and mother for mile after endless mile, his short, stubby legs aching as he tried to keep up, still woke him in the darkness at times, his heart racing with a long-ago fear. Rak had been right… and yet he’d been wrong as well. He’d foreseen the danger of exposure but he’d discounted the danger of complete isolation from humans, a danger emphasized again and again in all their pack’s lore. A danger which Kam and Larak had seen grow into a terrifying reality over the past four years. Hunt. Hunt was the danger. The living proof of what could happen without humans… Larak stared at him, his golden eyes burning with hope, and fear, and the undying rage which had been lurking deep in his eyes ever since the day his father had died. Kam, we’ve got to! What else can possibly save the pack? Or are you so eager to continue Hunt’s madness, Hunt’s violence… No! The denial rose in a growl in Kam’s throat. He turned away, studying the camp, the warm golden glow streaming like a beacon from its window. He was no fool. He knew what Lar was driving at. And he understood -- oh, how he understood! -- the blaze of hope in Larak’s eyes. But this was like proposing to walk into a dream, a myth. For a moment Kam could almost feel the warmth of his mother pressed against him, her soft belly fur tickling his nose and the scent of her surrounding

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him, her gentle voice in the darkness enclosing him and his den-brothers in a small, warm pocket of absolute safety… There was no safety. Not anywhere. Not any more. He looked at his den-brother. No, Lar. Do this, if you must. But you’ll have to do it without me. Anger rose like bile in Larak’s throat as his den-brother left, sliding away through the trees. Part of him wanted to spring after Kam, pin him, growling, to the ground, force him to accept what was to Larak so blindingly obvious. And he could do it, too. He could best every wolf in the pack… Except Hunt. Even his father had been unable to defeat Hunt. Larak shook his head, trying to set aside the rage he felt whenever he thought of that day, crouching, furious and helpless, in the blood-stained snow as the two wolves snapped and tore at each other… That had been over three years ago. He’d been little more than an adolescent then, lean and rangy, without the weight and strength of maturity yet. And when Hunt had howled his victory Larak had kept his head down, hiding his hatred, biding his time… Until now. Determinedly, he started toward the cabin -- and froze in his tracks as Kam screamed in the forest behind him, a high, desperate sound that shot terror into Larak’s belly and sent his paws racing, racing through the night.

*** Sarah lay back on the musty mattress, the rusty springs of the cot squealing in protest. Her muscles silently echoed the noise, aching in places she’d almost forgotten existed. She’d take her boots off in a minute -- really, she would -- but for now it was so nice just to lie here, listening to the tiny, almost inaudible hiss of the lantern as she stared up at the low ceiling, her body lax and exhausted. Piers was right; she’d have to give the roof some attention. She could see the dark marks where water seepage had stained the bare boards. Tomorrow. She’d do it tomorrow. She was so tired.

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It wasn’t even that late. Maybe seven-thirty. But the night had closed down fast, and the square of darkness in the window was broken only by the bright gleams of stars through the trees and the faint silvery tint of the just-rising moon. She yawned, thought briefly about blowing out the lamp, and curled instead on her side, her face nestled against the dusty blankets. Her sleeping bag would be cleaner -- and warmer -- but it was too much effort to dig it out right now. Idly, she pictured John’s king-sized bed, remembering the immaculately clean sheets that had to be folded just so… If you go this time, Sarah… don’t bother coming back. The cold words cut through her thoughts, and Sarah twisted uneasily. He hadn’t meant it. He couldn’t have meant it. Could he? Remembering the icy rage in his eyes, Sarah suspected he probably could. It was hard to let go of that, to let go of the one man who’d ever found her attractive. But she couldn’t be what he wanted, she just couldn’t. She’d tried. And finally she’d had to admit what they’d both likely known all along, deep in their hearts -- Sarah Hartwell was simply not cut out to be a housewife. Tears leaked from her eyes as she stared at the wall, remembering the feel of John’s arms around her, the exhilarating novelty of a man holding her close… Not that there was much novelty in the act itself after a while -- John had his preferences in bed and never deviated from them. And Sarah, who certainly hadn’t meant to keep her virginity till the age of twenty-six, had never mustered enough courage to say anything. What did she want, anyway? Why couldn’t she be content with what she’d had? Why could she never master the simple tasks demanded of her? Why, when the alternative was this -- an empty bed, a damp, tear-stained pillow, a life that, no matter how fulfilling, would nevertheless be spent alone? In the silence of the cabin, with only the tiny hiss of the lantern and the trees rustling lightly outside, Sarah stared at the wall… and then jerked up abruptly, her heart hammering like a piston, as something screamed in the darkness outside.

***

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Kam! Larak tore through the trees, following Kam’s shrieks and the clear scent of blood. Stumbling into an open glade not far from the camp, he skidded to a stop, appalled at the scene before him. Kam writhed on the ground, yelping in agony, one hind paw clamped in a brutal metal trap. Blood pooled on the ground, black in the silver moonlight. Kam! Larak shouted again, but nothing could penetrate the searing torment in Kam’s mind. Desperately, Larak tore himself out of wolf-shape, fumbling for the cold, pitiless metal. He struggled with it, trying to find the release with awkward fingers as Kam thrashed below him in a blur of fur and fangs and limbs. “Hey! Hey!” In his frenzy, Larak hadn’t heard the swift, heavy footfalls approaching. Now light flooded the scene, making the gushing blood glow red. “Get away from him!” A strong hand closed on his shoulder, yanking him around -- and Larak found himself on the ground with the human female looming over him, her eyes blazing with fury like a mother wolf’s, violence radiating from every line of her body. A sensation both unfamiliar and overwhelming buffeted him, and he gazed up at her, his head whirling. Oh, Great Mother, he whispered, awed. She’s magnificent! For half a second she stared back at him, her brown eyes wide and luminous with shock. Then her scowl deepened, and Larak threw himself back as she swung the hatchet. It whistled through the air where his head had just been. “I said, get away!” Behind her, Kam shrieked in pain, and Larak felt an answering blaze of fury within himself. The urge to change back was almost overwhelming, to spring at her throat with teeth bared… No. That would be disastrous. There was more at stake here than even Kam’s life. Mastering his own impulses, he leapt to his feet. Casting one last, despairing look at the gray wolf pinned to the blood-smeared ground, Larak felt his heart wrench inside his chest. Oh, brother, forgive me!

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Then he ran.

*** She’d been so angry when she’d actually seen the trapper squatting over the injured wolf as she’d dashed into the glade. The shock when she’d pulled him around had paralyzed her, his stunning, naked body, and his strange golden eyes staring up into hers. Who in hell was he? A native? Some distant part of her mind scrambled to remember what tribes might live in this part of Manitoba even as she spun back to the wounded wolf. It’s frantic yips ripped the night, piercing her ears as she dropped to her knees, the hatchet tumbling from her fingers. Trembling but determined, she set the lantern on the ground and reached for the trap -- and yanked her hand away barely in time as white teeth slashed the air inches from her fingers. “Damn it, wolf!” Shit, what was she going to do? She couldn’t just leave him. She could see the blood gushing in spurts from around the rusty metal. He’d die if she didn’t get him out of there, and fast. “Damn it, I’m trying to help you!” His eyes -- eyes as golden as the man’s had been -- blazed with rage and febrile pain. He lashed below her, trying pointlessly to escape, driving the teeth of the trap deeper into his flesh with every agonized lunge. Sarah thought she caught a flash of bone -- and seized up the hatchet, reversing it in midair to bring the flat back of the blade down squarely between the wolf’s ears. He dropped like a sack. Terrified she’d killed him, Sarah felt for a pulse, laying her hand on the warm, soft fur of his belly. His ribs heaved beneath her touch, his unconscious body still panting with exertion, and she sighed in relief and reached for the trap. As gently as she could, she pressed the release, gritting her teeth as the trap sprung wide, tearing fresh gashes in the wolf’s leg in the process. For just a moment, she sat back, looking down at the wolf. He was huge -- one of the largest she’d ever seen. He had to weigh well over a hundred pounds. Good thing I’m not some simpering little trail-bunny, she thought grimly as she bent forward and hauled the wolf up, working first his forelegs, then his hindquarters over

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her head and across her shoulders. Grunting with exertion, she struggled to her feet, staggering slightly under the wolf’s weight as she reached for the lantern, her fingers just barely snagging the wire loop. Then, the light swinging precariously, she started back through the trees.

Chapter Two At last Sarah sat back, rolling her shoulders and kneading her neck to try to work the cramps out of her muscles. God, she was tired! But when she looked at the wolf, she felt a small, warm glow of satisfaction. Three hours it had taken her. Three hours of careful concentration, cleaning out the wound, stitching the ragged flesh back together, splinting the leg and wrapping it to give the fractured bone a chance to set. So maybe she burned water. And shirts. And dinners. But she could do this, God damn it. And well, too. For the first time in months, she actually felt good about herself. Carefully rewinding the surgical thread, she put it back into the medi-kit, then wrapped the empty syringes in a scrap of cloth and shoved them deep into a pocket of the canvas bag. The instruments she’d used -- the needle and clamps and scissors -- she dumped into a pot to boil. Bleary-eyed, she levered herself to her feet and stood, swaying slightly, looking down at the wolf sprawled on the cot, excitement blooming in her heart. They’d come back. They really had come back. Sarah smiled sleepily, remembering the fat little pups who’d spilled out of the den, yapping and tumbling on the broad granite ledge looking out toward the lake. Maybe this wolf had been one of those pups, four years ago. There was no way of knowing. Sighing in weariness, she knelt to light the wood stove. Her knees popped as she straightened. With one last glance at the wolf, she lifted her bucket from its hook by the door and stepped outside. Only then did she remember the strange man she’d seen, his tangled hair falling around those eerie yellow eyes. Sarah hesitated. Her hatchet was still where she’d

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dropped it in the glade, some two hundred yards from the camp. Never mind -- she still had her knife. And whoever he was, he was long gone by now. Still, she couldn’t help thinking about him as she strode down to the lake, the waning moon hanging low over the peaks behind her. It had been higher earlier, bright and silver, shading the planes and angles of his body with luminous light. For a moment she’d simply stared, feeling a ridiculous wave of sensual hunger -- even with the wolf screaming in agony behind her, still she’d felt that. God, Sar, one lousy lover and you turn into a nymphomaniac. Disgusted with herself, she squatted down by the water’s edge, careful not to disturb the bottom as she filled the bucket. But she wasn’t one, she knew that. So okay, maybe John hadn’t been exactly everything she’d hoped for in a lover, but she’d been perfectly willing to live with it, if only… If only he’d been willing to live with her faults, too. Her faults, and her fascination with wolves. But John sure never had a body like that, she mused, sitting back on her heels to gaze out over the lake. It was a landscape done in monochrome -- the blackness of the water, the sparkling diamonds of moonlight, the shadowy bulk of the mountains beyond… She was only half-seeing it, she realized, her inner eye still dwelling on moonlit curves of muscle, the dark patch of hair at the man’s groin… Oh, stop it, Sarah! Impatiently, she turned away from the lake, the bucket banging against her thigh as she started back to the cabin. It made no sense. What was a naked man doing running around northern Manitoba? She’d dismissed her first thought, that he’d been a member of some native tribe. His tangled hair, tumbling down well past his shoulders, had been a deep, tawny amber, two shades darker than his eyes… Sarah shivered, not with fear, but with an echo of the hunger which had pierced her when those eyes had met hers. The same, sudden fire beat through her groin, awakening an ache deeper than anything she’d ever felt. Her knees actually buckled as

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she stopped still, remembering… and cold water sloshed over her thigh from the bucket, propelling her back into motion. Who in hell was he? What had he been doing here? And why did she feel this inane sense of disappointment at the thought of never seeing him again? Maybe it was that disappointment which stopped her reaching for her knife as the dark shadow on the cabin steps moved. Sarah’s mouth worked silently, her skin prickling as he came toward her, his strange eyes gleaming. Dressed only in moonlight, he looked like a ghost, a phantom. But no phantom could feel so real, so solid. Strong, powerful arms closed about her, and the bucket tumbled from her fingers as a warm mouth closed on hers, silencing words she hadn’t spoken.

The unfamiliarity of bare, hairless skin against his own teased Larak’s senses. He’d never mated before, not even in wolf form, turning away in disgust that first winter when Hunt had dragged a captive female wolf -- an ordinary wolf -- into their midst. Sneering, Hunt had taken her in front of them, her mute terror an effective reinforcement of the point the black wolf was making. He was the leader now, and he’d run the pack however he pleased, tradition be damned. The birth, late the following spring, of those two misbegotten half-breeds, black as their sire, had only underscored what Larak had already known -- the more their blood was thinned by that of ordinary wolves, the more violent and unpredictable they became. The Shumani, the Cree had called them -- wolf spirits who walked as men. They’d been revered as powerful guides and protectors, sometimes taking a young hunter with them and teaching him the ways of elk and deer and moose. And every so often, on a moonlit night, a young Cree or Chipewyan woman would come to them as well, standing in the forest like an offering, her deep brown eyes bright and unafraid.

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The human female in his arms could have been one of the Cree women his mother had told them of. She was as tall, as strong of limb, her chestnut hair falling like a ripple of water over his arms as he pressed her tighter against him, smelling the unfamiliar but immediately recognizable scent of her arousal. And there was no fear in her. Had he not seen it? Only a trembling, bone-deep, that made his own body tremble with unfulfilled desire, his shaft stiffening painfully against her belly. The buttons of her shirt scratched against his chest and impatiently he tugged it off her, baring the softness of her breasts to the cool night air. Fascinated, he stared at the dark, flushed tips, the tiny crinkles in their surface as they contracted against the cold. Some hard, dark thing hung from a cord between them, and he brushed it aside as he lowered his head, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around her waist to draw one hard nipple deep into his mouth. She moaned above him, arching into his touch, and Larak suckled harder, stirred to an aching hardness by the feel and taste of her breast in his mouth. Her scent filled his nostrils, dizzying, driving away all fear, all thought, even the memory of Kam lying as still as death but breathing easily on her bed. Rumbling deep in his throat, he slid his mouth downward. He wanted to smell her, to taste her, learning the essence of her in typical wolfish fashion. But the closing of her jeans confused him, and he sat back on his heels as her hand slid between their bodies, tugging open the strange metal clasp which had balked him. With a low growl of satisfaction, he pushed the rough fabric downward and cupped the strong, solid curves of her ass as he plunged his tongue into the sweet wetness of her opening. She moaned aloud and Larak glanced up, his tongue tickling her nub, to see her eyes closed in ecstasy and her mouth hanging open. Her hands gripped his shoulders for support as she swayed. Moving his hand between her thighs, he sank one finger, then two, into the honeyed nectar of her slit, and pumped them in and out of her as he felt her climax start. Crying out in abandon, she tossed her head back, and Larak closed his mouth around the hard ridge of her nub, suckling as avidly as he’d sucked her breasts. She

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screamed, the sound high and intoxicating, her hips rocking forward, urging his fingers deeper, his mouth harder against her. Wrapped in the delirious grip of her scent, he devoured her with a hunger both like and unlike the hunger of his belly. It was sharp, keen, aching in his groin and his balls and his heart. It made him feel both invincible and tender, as if he could tear the very Moon from the sky and place it as gently as a mother’s nudge at her feet. Had his mother ever looked like this, her face flushed with desire, holding his father to her in such abandoned bliss? Larak didn’t know. He had never seen his parents couple. Leelo had preferred privacy for all that passes between male and female, and only once in his life had he seen her human face. Only once as she lay dying, her throat torn open in the snow. Even then her mouth had moved, trying to form the words he could hear in his mind: Do not fight him, Larak. Not now. He will kill you. Let it wait a while, my son, until you’ve grown stronger. Looking up at him, she’d managed somehow to smile through her pain. It would break my spirit to have you slain. He’d stood over her, her slim-fingered hands buried in the ruff of his coat, watching her eyes slowly dim. Protect the others, she’d whispered. Kam and Dal. The only children of my loins… Great Mother, I am glad I never had a daughter. Her last words. Her last thoughts. Her fingers had slid from his fur, and she’d died as her mate had died before her, bleeding into the snow. Rage pounded through him, as potent as his need, and he caught the human female as she slumped above him, clasping her to him with a ferocity tempered by gentleness as he lowered them both to the soft, needle-covered ground.

She had no idea who he was. She hardly knew who she was at the moment -- this woman who had moaned like a wild thing, pushing her mons tighter against the mouth of a total stranger. Aftershocks still buffeted her even as she felt him move between her thighs, the hard, engorged head of his shaft nudging against her. “Wait,” Sarah whispered desperately, trying to think. “Wait!”

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But he was beyond waiting, she realized as he raised his head, a frenzied urgency compounded of need and hunger and what might have been grief burning like wildfire in those alien eyes. She didn’t even know his name, nevertheless she felt she could almost have traced the contours of his heart, so strong were the emotions beating at her. He’d given her a release so overwhelming that it had blanked her mind, leaving nothing, not even the memory of self, to stand between her and the rapture filling her body. Couldn’t she at least give him that? Didn’t she owe him that? Didn’t the coiled violence in his muscles suggest he needed it even more acutely than she had? Yes. She could. He did. And she would. Staring up into his wild, frenzied eyes, she yanked the GPS tracker over her head, locked her hands behind the corded column of his neck and drew her down to him. With a soul-deep groan, he sank into the warm, wet sheath between her thighs. His powerful body flexed, driving his shaft into her so deep it made her gasp. Nothing had ever felt like that; certainly John had never felt like that! Huge, almost painfully hard, he buried himself inside her with an urgency that stoked her own need even as it caressed some wholly feminine part of her. What other man had ever wanted her so badly? What other man had ever needed her, as this inexplicable stranger obviously did? She stroked his hair, his back, his shoulders, clinging to him as one might cling to a piece of driftwood while being battered by the indomitable sea, surrounded, controlled, possessed utterly by the sheer driving force of his desire. With John it had always been over so quickly, once his pace quickened and his strokes grew fast and hard. But the stranger in her arms kept going, the pressure of his pubic bone against her own driving her again to her peak. Again Sarah heard herself crying out in delirium, her fingers fisting in his hair, drawing him even closer as he rocked inside her, his massive shaft buried so deep she felt his full, firm balls press against her ass. She could sense his climax coming like a tsunami, gathering force with every frenzied stroke. Building, building, it rose inside him till he too was sobbing, his breath

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rasping with a harsh, pleading note as he panted above her. His muscles strained, his hips working desperately, his cock so hard that Sarah could only whimper in delight, impaled deliciously on that huge, throbbing shaft. His peak, when it came, crashed over her like lightning, spearing straight through her core and triggering another flare of ecstasy in her groin. Shuddering, she clung to him, her passage spasming, squeezing his shaft so tight he groaned in response. She felt his balls clench one final time, flooding her with yet another burst of his seed. Seed. Oh, God. Sarah froze for a moment, then counted rapidly. Three days. It’d been only three days since she’d stopped taking the pill. Surely -- surely that was too short a time for her body to have reset itself? But that concern was quickly drowned out by the blazing emotion in the strange man’s eyes. There were tears on his cheeks, and Sarah touched them wonderingly. He turned into her touch, his eyes falling shut as he pressed his face against the palm of her hand. It was such an artless, vulnerable motion that Sarah felt her throat tighten in sudden yearning. Why couldn’t John ever have touched her like that? Why couldn’t the one man who’d wanted her to share her life with him look at her the way this stranger was doing, raising his gaze again to her face with something like awe flickering in his eyes? If John had ever looked at her like that, Sarah thought, if he’d ever looked at her even once like that, he never would have had to ask her not to leave. Not that John had exactly asked… which was the whole point, maybe. She didn’t know. All she knew was that for some reason it felt like her heart was breaking and she seemed to be crying for no reason she could name. Pulling the man down against her, she held him fiercely as he lay on top of her, his pulse -- and hers -- still thundering with the force of their lovemaking. Slowly, their heartbeats eased. An errant breeze, whispering through the pines, dried the sweat on their cooling skin. Sarah shivered, and the nameless stranger rolled

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to one side, his cock sliding out of her, and gathered her close. Drawn tight against him, her back against the warm, flat plane of his belly, Sarah turned her head just enough to gaze into his weird amber eyes. “Who are you?” she whispered. The man didn’t answer. He only smiled slightly and dropped a gentle kiss on her shoulder, another along the curve of her neck. Sleep, Sarah, he whispered -- or she thought he did, at least. Weary and sated, Sarah obeyed.

Chapter Three Sarah flinched back from the cabin’s doorway, her ears assaulted by the furious snarls and barks from within. Ah hell. It served her right, she supposed, for not listening to Piers all the times he’d insisted they not interfere with the natural process. Only what was so damned natural about a rusty, abandoned wolf trap? Looked at from that perspective, all she’d been doing was balancing out the interference of the trapper who’d set it. None of which changed the fact that her cot was now occupied by a huge, snarling wolf, intent despite its injury on preventing her entrance to the tiny cabin. What on earth was she going to do now? Awakening, she’d been startled to find herself on cold earth, the hard lump of the GPS device digging into her ribs and her head pillowed on the chest of the man beside her. He’d still been deeply asleep, his face relaxed and easy in the first pearly light of dawn. She’d propped herself up on one elbow, studying the lines of it, the strong, forceful cheekbones beneath the alabaster skin. And how did his skin stay so pale anyway? Apparently he never wore clothes… She’d brushed his tangled, honey-brown hair back, tracing one eyebrow with a curious touch. Like the curls at his groin, they were darker than his hair -- dark enough to be almost black. Maybe that was why his eyes had seemed so strangely colored last night. Maybe they were really just hazel, or a very light brown… Feeling her touch, though, his eyes had opened, putting that possibility to flight. They were as amber as a cat’s, a disconcertingly surreal color that was both compelling and disturbing. It wasn’t human. It simply wasn’t human. He’d smiled, pulling her down to him, his full, mobile lips moving against hers in a way that was all too human, effectively blotting any questions from her mind for

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the next little while. When she’d raised her head again, the sun had just touched the treetops… and suddenly she’d remembered the wolf. Now she stood in the doorway, trying to figure how she was going to get a hundred pounds of bristling, injured timber wolf out of the cabin before it peed all over her mattress. The man had followed her unquestioningly, padding silent and barefoot across the forest floor. She’d kept glancing back at him, towering behind her, feeling incredibly uncomfortable that she didn’t even know his name. Really, what kind of slut was she turning into? She remembered the way he’d taken her into his arms -- forcefully, commandingly, as if he’d known exactly what he was doing -- which, Sarah reflected, he had. Now, with that same brusque, decisive air, he brushed past her… “No, wait!” she shouted, catching his arm. … and pushed his way into the cabin. Immediately, the snarls ceased. Mouth agape, Sarah stumbled back down the steps, then stared as he came back out, his shoulder muscles bulging beneath the weight of one full-grown male wolf. The wolf slitted his eyes at her, as inscrutable as the man who carried him, and limped awkwardly to a tree trunk after the man set him down. Sarah watched the wolf, utterly mystified. “How did you… What did you do to him? Who are you, anyway?” The man’s brow furrowed at her words, and she demanded, “Can you even understand a word I’m saying?” Yes. The word sounded so clearly in her mind that it was a moment before Sarah realized his lips hadn’t moved. She stopped short, gaping. “Did you just…” Talk to you? Yes. Holy fucking shit. The tone was deep, rumbling, utterly sexy. The small, secret throb of heat it provoked only deepened her pique. “Great. Can you read my thoughts too?”

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No. Only your words. Or at least their meaning. She realized suddenly that there was something odd about the sound of his voice in her head, almost as if he had an accent. Which was crazy. How could a disembodied voice have an accent? She shook her head, chasing the question away. There were more pressing ones. “Can you talk?” I don’t know. I’ve never tried. What? Sarah’s head spun, and she glanced around quickly, looking for hidden cameras, maybe, or microphones. The entire situation had turned totally surreal with a speed that dizzied her, and yet everything that lay around her, right up to and including the peeing wolf, was so normal, so ordinary, it only confused her further. Giving into the dizziness, Sarah slumped to a seat on the ground. This was going to take some getting used to. I wonder… She tried a small experiment. Are you lost? Do you live here? No answer. She repeated the words aloud. He shook his head “no” at the first question, nodded at the second. “How long?” she demanded. I was born here. He shrugged gracefully, but did she catch a hint of hesitation in his reply, the mental equivalent of a sideways glance? Sarah rather suspected she did. “Where? In Manitoba?” He glanced at her oddly, cocking his head like a dog trying to understand, and repeated simply, Here. “What about your parents?” His brow knotted again -- not in confusion -- in a scowl so fierce it made Sarah shiver. They’re dead. “I’m sorry.” She was -- the pain radiating off him was an almost palpable thing. “How… how did they die?”

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At the edge of the trees the wolf suddenly lifted its head and the man checked his reply, his gaze going oddly inward. After a pause, though, he answered, his tone suddenly guarded. It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago. Well, fair enough, she supposed. One night -- and morning -- of copulating on the ground like wild beasts didn’t exactly entitle her to a stranger’s secrets. Which reminded her… “What’s your name?” Larak. And yours is Sarah. “I thought you didn’t read minds.” I don’t. His gaze was so level, so neutral, Sarah decided she believed him. Larak. It suited him -- both soft and hard, both gentle and demanding. She was going to be walking bowlegged for a week, she thought ruefully. But she wouldn’t change it for the world. She stood carefully, feeling unaccustomed tendons creak, and looked over at the wolf. Having relieved itself, it now stood, looking dubiously from one human to the other, then hobbled haltingly toward them. Her half-formed plans of taking it back to the pack died a swift, sudden death -- only how was she going to feed a wolf? What worries you? Those exotic eyes studied her. Sarah gestured. “Him. That leg’s going to take weeks to heal.” She ran her hands through her hair, distractedly tugging at a twig which had become entangled during the night. “I just don’t know how I’m going to take care of him, that’s all.” It was knotted in there too tightly, and she dropped her hands in defeat. Reaching out, Larak deftly unwound the tangled twig. I’ll help you. “You?” She snorted. “How much do you know about wolves?” Quite a lot. The private, amused smile which curved his lips made Sarah flush in sudden embarrassment. Had she actually forgotten this man had just carried a fullgrown wolf, quiescent as a puppy, in his arms? “Fine,” she snapped, chagrin sharpening her tone. “Then you figure out how we’re gonna feed it.”

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Leave that to me. His smile this time was directed at her, a confident, flashing grin which somehow left her even more confused than before.

*** As soon as he was out of sight of the cabin, Larak dropped back into wolf-form, sliding into it as gratefully as a sore man slips his weary body into a warm tub. It felt good to have all four feet on the ground again. He grimaced, remembering Kam’s caustic comment. You look like a stork. He’d felt like a stork, actually. Although he’d been able to take human form since he’d reached adolescence, sometimes involuntarily, as his mixed hormones and instincts had rioted within him. It was something most of his kind did only infrequently. He’d found it disconcerting and a little dizzying, seeing the world from so high above the ground. But the feel and taste and scent of Sarah more than made up for any discomfort. Larak smiled to himself, thinking of the way Rak used to strut, his deep chest puffed out like a rooster’s, after a night spent in the forest with Leelo. Now, years later, he finally understood his father’s good humor. He himself felt capable of bringing down an elk single-handed, or bounding from hilltop to hilltop without touching the ground in between. Loping easily through the forest, his nose to the ground for the scent of game, he wondered if perhaps he’d already gotten pups on Sarah. It was something to think of, pups of his own! They wouldn’t be pups, though, he suddenly remembered. His mother had explained it to them, passing the wisdom of the pack down to her three sons just as her mother had passed it down to her, and her mother, and her mother before that. If the dam was full human, the offspring would likewise be human at birth, and more vulnerable than any wolf pup. There was a great burden of responsibility on any Shumani who sired such a pup -- a burden of responsibility Larak was more than willing to take on. If she let him, that was. If she stayed here. If he could protect her from Hunt.

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Larak’s pace slowed as a sudden misgiving chilled his heart. He’d been on the verge of telling her this morning, his deep-banked rage at his parents’ death almost forcing the story out, when Kam had spoken warningly in his mind. Don’t, Lar. Why not? he’d demanded. Isn’t that what we came for? Yes, but your emotions are as tangled as a blackberry patch right now. You’re not thinking clearly. How can she agree to help us if she doesn’t even know what we are? And how likely is she to agree to help us when you tell her there’s a vicious black wolf in the hills that will kill her as soon as look at her, if he doesn’t do even worse? Kam’s tone was harsh with a deep, inbred caution -- a caution which had only been reinforced by Rak’s death, their mother’s murder, and the vicious slaughter of their third den-brother, Dal. And whose fault had that been? The old pang of guilt pinned Larak in place, and he had scowled stubbornly as Kam added, You know I’m right, Lar. Let it wait a while. Let it wait a while, my son… His mother’s own words. Larak scowled as he picked up the scent of a hare, his black lips pulling back from his teeth in silent anger. How was he supposed to let it wait? How long could he keep knuckling under Hunt’s vicious temper, his cruelty, his sarcasm? The only reason Hunt had let him live at all, Larak often thought, was for the pleasure of humiliating Rak’s only son. That, and the fact that he’d yet to give the massive black wolf any reason to slay him. Today, with the heady memory of Sarah’s embrace flowing like wine through his veins, Larak was more than ready to face down Hunt to protect her. The interloper had come across their pack during that first winter north, when all of them -- even Rak and Kam’s father, Kamuk -- had been thin and exhausted. Game had been scarce, and they didn’t know these lands. They didn’t know the patterns of the herds or where were the best places to forage. Weakened by privation, they’d been vulnerable to the massive black wolf who’d at first seemed to offer friendship, showing them where to hunt, leading them to a cave which provided good shelter…

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Then, when he’d had them ensconced where he wanted them, Hunt had attacked Rak without warning, without even the ritual challenge for the leadership. But Kam was right, Larak realized, remembering how Sarah had reeled when he’d first spoken in her mind. It was a feat he still marveled at -- nothing in his mother’s teachings had suggested such a thing was possible. Her mother’s mother had been the daughter of a Cree, and even Leelo had still retained some smatterings of the language. But her sons, when she’d tried to teach them, had merely grinned at her without interest and resumed their wrestling. Even if he had learned, the language she’d known was not the one this woman spoke, Larak was sure. The sounds were all different, clipped and harsh. But amazingly enough, he’d heard the sense of them in her mind, and more amazing still he was able to answer. All of which would make explanation easier -- but not belief. Or acceptance. There was far too much chance she’d simply run from him, if he told her now… Was he willing to risk that? Risk the future of the pack just by being impatient? No. Kam was right. Better to wait until she knew him more, until he had her trust. And he was decidedly looking forward to getting to know her more. Every part of her. As often and as thoroughly as he could. He grinned to himself, the warm, pleasant ache in his groin increasing in intensity. All this time, Larak had been trailing the hare, following its scent to where… Ah! He paused, gazing ahead. Yes. It was crouched now under a bush ahead of him, nearly invisible beneath the dry brown leaves. It would break soon, and when it did… Like lightning, the hare flickered from its hiding place, shooting across the level ground. He sprang after it, his long legs eating the distance between them. Lunging forward, he seized the hare and gave a swift shake, snapping its neck cleanly and dropping it to the ground.

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It was only when he lifted his head that he saw the black wolf between the trees ahead, its slitted, evil eyes watching him closely.

*** One by one, Sarah plucked the surgical instruments from the boiling water, using tongs to drop them onto a clean towel to dry. She glanced wryly at the massive wolf lying like a dog across the doorway, dozing in the warm afternoon sunlight. It hadn’t moved from where Larak had set it down. “See what I go through for you, you big brute?” The wolf raised his head slightly, shot her a glance Sarah interpreted as disdain, and dropped his head back to his paws with a sigh. But at least he’d let her change the bandage, and unlike most wild animals hadn’t gnawed at the gauze-wrapped splint, almost as if he understood its purpose. Which was fanciful thinking on her part, Sarah knew. And yet she was more and more certain this was one of the pups from that long-ago litter. There’d been that same sense of intelligence, that same extraordinary self-possession… She smiled to herself, then frowned, wondering if any of the older wolves were still alive. They could be, certainly. Wolves often lived for a decade or more in the wild. Glancing at the slanting sunlight, she decided against hiking up the creek to see. It was too late in the day, for one thing. She’d undoubtedly startle them if she hiked up now. And however inexplicably tame this one seemed, they were nevertheless wild -- and dangerous -- animals. Packing the instruments away in the medi-kit, Sarah whistled to herself as she dumped the used water back into the bucket and carried it to the door. She reached for the GPS tracker, which she’d hung from a nail in the doorframe. The wolf growled slightly, and she gave it a stern glance but left the tracker where it was. “Now look, it was bad enough trying to keep me out of my own house. I’ll be damned if I let you barricade me in it.” Giving her a dubious look, the wolf subsided, and Sarah tried not to let her nervousness show as she stepped over the animal, bucket in hand. She heard it shift

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behind her as she went down the steps, its claws scrabbling on the wood floor as it tried to get up. “I’m only going right over there, silly, so relax.” She pointed at the lake. “See? I’m not going anywhere.” It was unnerving to feel the wolf’s gaze on her back as she strode down the path, whistling as she went. She paused to dump the used water in a thick patch of brown, dying ferns, glancing back over her shoulder as she did. Her hunch was correct. The wolf was watching her as sharply as a mother with a disobedient toddler. Sighing, she turned away and glanced up at the sky as she walked. The air was brisker today, the colors in the leaves deeper. There’d be frost tonight, if she was any judge -- and she’d burned up most of the firewood she’d chopped yesterday. Refilling the bucket, she headed back to the camp, trying to remember where she’d put the hatchet. It was still in the clearing, she realized. She’d have to go get it. Plunking the bucket on a moss-covered stump rather than risk her luck stepping across the wolf too many times, she strode toward the woods, then stopped at a frantic, pained yipping behind her. “Oh, you stupid…” Half aggravated, half frightened for the wolf’s injured leg, she dashed back to the cabin where the silver-gray beast, awkwardly trying to navigate the steps, had slipped and gotten wedged between the boards. Without pausing to think, she wrapped her arms around its belly, feeling a brief flare of agony in her back as she heaved it out onto the sparse, yellowed grass. It gave a yelp of pain as she set it down, holding the splinted leg awkwardly off the ground. “Serves you right,” Sarah said, rubbing her back. “Now stay there this time, damn it.” But as she turned back to the forest the wolf hobbled in front of her, clearly in pain but equally obviously determined to not let her leave. She stared at it, stymied, but then went into the cabin and got a rope.

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This time, though, when she approached the wolf he hunkered down, his lips peeling back from his teeth in a snarl. Damn thing acts like he knows exactly what it’s for, she thought, dropping the rope in frustration. So fine. The wolf wouldn’t let her go get her damn hatchet. She cast her gaze around, trying to decide what else she could do. As she started toward the cabin, her guard limped along with her. She looked down at him, torn between amusement and annoyance. “You know, if I freeze tonight, wolf, it’s going to be all your fault.” Except she wouldn’t freeze, would she? Not likely, not with Larak around. Sarah found herself grinning as she dug out her hammer. Even just thinking of him, she was feeling decidedly warm.

*** The blood ran cold through Larak’s veins, pooling like ice water in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t Hunt, he realized as the wolf sidled forward. It was Kren, the dumber and more vicious of the two half-breeds Hunt had gotten on the captive female. The relief Larak felt was only relative. Kren’s appearance could well prove as dangerous as Hunt’s own. Slanted eyes gleamed at him beneath the low, dish-shaped brow, and the voice speaking in his head was both scratchy and unctuous, like thorns dipped in grease. Is that for me, Larak? Glancing at the hare, Kren licked his jaws. How thoughtful. Hunt’s getting impatient. He’s starting to wonder where you got to. Maybe if you give me that, I’ll forget I saw you. Larak didn’t retreat. Instead, he crouched low to the ground, fear and tension thrumming like a hawk’s scream along his nerves. The younger wolf hesitated, eyeing him warily. You look different, Larak. Like you’ve finally grown some balls. Or are you just preparing to roll over and show me your belly? He should, Larak knew. He should do exactly that. It wouldn’t be long before Hunt got impatient and came looking for him and Kam -- and what would happen then? The possibilities were too frightening to even think of.

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And a fight with his son would only bring Hunt down on his head the faster. He knew all this, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t do it. He simply couldn’t make himself grovel before those oily yellow eyes, eyes in which nothing stirred but a sort of brute, malicious cunning. Not this time. Not today. He stood his ground, hunkered low on his haunches, his muscles coiled like living iron beneath his heavy fur. The three year old, unused to being challenged, stared at him, trying to make sense of Larak’s change in demeanor. He could take Kren, Larak knew; he’d always known it. But there’d been Kam to look after, and Dal… Why don’t you run, Larak? the other wolf taunted. Why don’t you run away like your den-brother did? It’d be fun hunting you, more fun than hunting Dal was. Did I ever tell you how he screamed at the end, begging for mercy as I tore off his balls? He had. Every chance he got. Larak clamped down on his boiling rage with a vicious intensity. Leave now, Kren. Turn around and leave, and I might let you live. Kren’s eyes widened in shock, then narrowed as a smile twisted his lips. That smile looked rather queasy to Larak, as if it had just occurred to Kren they were alone. His next words confirmed it. How long do you think my father will let you live, dog, when he hears about this? Larak kept his expression impassive, although behind his cold eyes his thoughts tumbled furiously. Maybe it would be better to kill Kren now. But no. As far as they were from the ledge, sound would carry, and at top speed he knew Hunt could cover the five mile distance in twenty minutes. Dangerous as it was, he had to let Kren go. Unless, of course, he’s stupid enough to attack. He almost hoped Kren would, giving him an excuse to unleash the rage clamoring inside him. Maybe Kren sensed that, or maybe like most bullies he simply favored fights where the odds were in his favor. Either way, the black wolf smiled again. To Larak the expression looked more like a grimace.

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You’ll regret this, Lar. Elongating the nickname into a sneer, Kren turned away, stalking stiffly through the trees like a bear in a temper. As soon as he was out of sight, Larak turned and ran.

Chapter Four Well, don’t we look spiffy, Kam’s sarcastic words greeted him. The gray wolf eyed him up and down. Where’s my dinner? I forgot it. Water dripped from Larak’s long, tangled hair, turning it the color of raw honey. His wet skin was pebbled with gooseflesh. As he looked around the space, seeing no sign of Sarah, his heart gave a nasty thump beneath his ribs. Then a loud, rhythmic pounding made him look up. There she was, kneeling on the top of the log den, something that looked like metal thorns bristling from her mouth. Suddenly, Larak didn’t feel quite so cold. What’s she doing up there? Making a racket, that’s all I know. Normally, Kam’s disgruntled tone would have made Larak smile. Now, though, he glanced uncertainly at the surrounding trees, barely even hearing Kam as his den-brother continued, She’s as senseless as you are. What possessed you to go swimming without even any fur? Covering my scent. Kam, we have a problem. Quickly, he told Kam about the encounter with Kren. Kam’s eyes grew more and more somber as he listened. We always knew Hunt would come after us, Lar. So it’s sooner rather than later. Kam gave the cabin a speculative glance. What if we went in there and blocked the entrance? For how long? Be sensible, Kam. Although… He looked down at his injured denbrother, nodded to himself, and scooped the wolf up. Hey! Kam protested. “There you are!” Sarah waved merrily from her perch then complained, grinning, “Why is it every time I see you, you have a wolf in your arms instead of me?” Larak merely grunted. Kam was heavy.

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“Come on up.” Up? He glanced down at Kam, who gave a restless stir like a shrug. She climbed a tree. Don’t ask me why. She’s a female, and human. I’m out of my range here. Are you going to carry me somewhere or just hold me all day? Carrying Kam to the cabin, Larak put him inside and shut the door, then gazed around uncertainly. Climbed a tree. He’d seen porcupines climb trees, hunching themselves upward, their entire bodies hugging the trunk. Going to the dense stand of spruce shading the eastern side of the cabin, Larak located the one Sarah had used by scent and wrapped his arms around it. He heaved himself up -- and bellowed in pain as the bark scraped his most sensitive places. He dropped hastily back down, hearing Kam laugh inside the cabin, and looked up to discover Sarah’s head protruding over the edge, her dark hair hanging down around her face and her mouth a comical ‘o’ of surprise. “You can’t climb a tree?” Yes I can, he answered grimly. Just let me think about it a minute. Or a year, more like. “Just grab a branch,” she suggested. Grab a branch -- oh. Right. Opposable thumbs. Scowling at his hands as if it was somehow their fault he’d forgotten them, he leaped up, caught a branch, and swung himself easily up onto the roof. Dizzy at the elevation, he swayed, and Sarah, who was still kneeling, grabbed him. “Whoa, there. Not much for heights, are you?” Just not used to having my pa-… feet off the ground, is all. He steadied himself, looking around, starting to enjoy the unique sensation. It was both like and unlike standing on the ledge. There, one was standing on granite, solid and predictable underfoot. Here, although the flat slabs of what looked like dead trees seemed perfectly sound, there was a sensation of weightlessness, of

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being lifted up. He felt like he was floating, and wondered briefly if this was how birds felt when they flew. He knew now why they built nests, though. He felt safe up here. Protected. It was an illusion, he admitted. Hunt could climb that tree as readily as he had. But still the feeling persisted. What are you doing? Sarah had turned back to her activity, swinging something heavy and metal so it struck the wood. It seemed a nonsensical activity, and unsafe besides. What if she broke it? “Re-shingling the roof,” she replied, an answer that made no sense to Larak, although he got that roof was this slanted thing he was standing on. “It leaks,” she added. Caves are better. They don’t leak. “Is that where you live? A cave?” He nodded, watching as she swung the metal thing again. The thud echoed through the clearing, loud in the cool air. How far would that pounding carry? Stop, he told her. She squinted up at him, one hand blocking the sunlight. “Larak, I’m trying to get this done.” I understand. But not now. “Why not?” Helplessly, not knowing what to say, he resorted to subterfuge. Bending down, he kissed her, tasting the salt tang of sweat on her lips. Even with the fear of Hunt bearing down upon them -- perhaps especially because of that fear -- his hunger for her flared back into clamoring life. Or maybe it was the way she kissed him back, her tongue dancing against his, her mouth sweet as wild berries, warm as sunlight. The metal thing slid from her hand, and she reached up to run her fingers through his wet hair. Digging her hands into it,

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she tugged him down beside her, and sighed in contentment as he took her into his arms. She had no idea that being in his arms might kill her. Spurred by his guilt, Larak kissed her harder, his hands roaming possessively over her flesh. She gasped when he squeezed her breasts, startled by the roughness with which he pinched her nipples through her tee shirt, but he felt the heat inside her spike up sharply. Mine, he growled, and heard her quick, indrawn breath, the tremulous note in her voice as she whispered, “Yes.” He tweaked her nipples again, feeling her lips part hungrily under his prodding tongue. Then he slid his mouth downward, scraping his teeth lightly over the column of her throat. Sarah quivered beneath him. Mine, he repeated, danger lacing his tone. “Yes.” Her breathing was heavy now, labored. Moving down her body -- literally down, on the slanting roof -- he buried his face in the crotch of her jeans, inhaling the rich, yeasty scent of her. He nipped at one thigh commandingly and she gasped again, spreading them wider. Closing his mouth over the swell of her mons, he bit down lightly. Mine. “Oh, God. Larak, yes.” Take them off, he ordered brusquely. Take them off and spread yourself for me.

Her face flushed with both embarrassment and arousal, Sarah hastened to follow his command. Kicking off her boots, she shoved her jeans downward, inhaling sharply as he grabbed the cuffs and yanked them off her. She lay before him, her nipples poking up beneath her white tee shirt. Kneeling between her legs, he seized her ankles and forced them upward. Now show me, he murmured, his gaze fixed on her sex. With shaking fingers she reached down, spreading her folds wide to his piercing view. His nostrils flared, catching the scent of her, and a fresh burst of wetness slicked her aching passage.

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She was so horny, she could almost come just from this. Just from having him stare at her sex, those strange molten-gold eyes devouring her ravenously. There was something inhuman in his rapt attention, something almost feral. Sarah quivered, trembling inside at the way his gaze bored into her, his fingers tight on her ankles, his bare chest heaving. Touch yourself, he whispered. Touch yourself for me. Sarah slid one finger into herself and saw Larak’s pupils grow huge. His erection, huge and hard, stood straight out from his groin like a staff. She pushed her finger deeper and watched that huge cock jerk in response. Closing her eyes, she imagined how she must look to him, her thighs spread wide, her pink inner folds glistening with moisture. His hands trembled on her ankles, his grip tightening convulsively. It was incredibly erotic being held like this, pinned, her thighs outspread and her sex exposed to his view. Larak’s will beat down against her, as tangible as sunlight. It was paradoxical that surrendering herself to that will could make her feel free, free in a way she’d never felt before. Harder, her lover’s voice murmured in her mind, deep and growling and with that stirring hint of danger. Sarah plunged her finger into herself and gasped as the sensation triggered an electric response along her nerves. Opening her eyes, she gazed up at Larak, loving the sight of him -- the strong, almost fierce line of his jaw, the broad curve of his cheekbones, the golden eyes devouring her from beneath incongruously dark brows. His hair gleamed in the sunlight, falling down over his shoulders. Pushing her ankles higher, he spread her even further, rising on his knees so that his cock dropped its shadow across her belly. Turn over, Sarah. He released her and quickly she rolled on the roof, pushing up onto her hands and knees as he shifted behind her. Warm, strong hands caressed her ass, spreading her cheeks wide, and she froze, quivering, as she felt something wet and firm prod her small opening. Even this, Sarah?

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“Yes,” she whispered, panting, unfamiliar fires blazing through her. Her furred outer lips felt swollen, the ache they concealed sweet and full of juice. Like a peach, she thought deliriously, ripe and warm and full. “Yes, yours.” With a deep, guttural roar, he surged up behind her, his cock plunging deep into the waiting honey of her sex. She moaned like a wild thing, tilting her hips, and he grabbed her ass tightly, shoving himself home. Her passage spasmed around him, and Sarah gasped in surprise. She was coming already, sweet Jesus! The fire inside her spiraled upward, spreading outward. Her arms shook as he took her, his shaft tugging at her inner walls as he pistoned in and out. Panting, she let the fire take her, exploding outward in a deep, molten ecstasy that was almost pain. Gently, he withdrew, his shaft still hard as iron. She cried aloud at the sudden emptiness but he turned her over, his hands urging her tenderly. Stretching out beside her, he rolled onto his side and pulled her into his arms. Oh, Sarah, he whispered, kissing her forehead. Looking up, she was amazed to see tears in his eyes, clinging to his black lashes like raindrops or dew. She reached up, brushing them away, and the smile he gave her nearly broke her heart. “Why did you stop?” She could feel his erection, swollen and stiff, against her thigh. Because I don’t want it to be over yet. I want to do this forever, Sarah -- to hold you, and touch you, and be inside you. She burrowed into his arms, warmed by his words, and pressed her cheek against his chest. His heartbeat thundered within it, strong and reassuring. But why had there been such doubt in his eyes? A dark, haunted look, like a man who knows his own death? Lifting her head, she saw the same look there still. “What’s wrong, Larak?” He shook his head, his eyes closing briefly, hiding their expression. He pulled her closer, hugging her tight, and Sarah stroked the firm, flat plane of his shoulder

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blades, feeling the velvety skin beneath her palms, wishing she knew how to comfort him or even why he needed comfort. Blindly, like a newborn kitten, he nuzzled downward, and Sarah lifted her shirt to allow his access to her breasts. He buried his face between them, his hands cupping their weight, covering their curves with kisses as his thumbs stroked the tips. You’re so sweet, Sarah. Sweet and salty and soft and firm. Sarah laughed, cradling his head. “I wouldn’t be salty if you’d have let me take a bath first. Oh!” She broke off as his mouth found her nipple, and sudden heat unfolded again between her thighs. He suckled hungrily at first one breast, then the other, moving back and forth between them till she was squirming against him. She wrapped her leg over his, rocking against him, feeling the full, swollen head of his cock gliding between her sodden curls. He pressed his hips upward, his cock prodding her clit, teasing her unmercifully as his tongue grazed her nipples. She wanted it to go on forever. At the same time, she wanted him to take her right now, riding her with the same desperate urgency he’d shown last night. Without releasing her nipple, he rolled her over on top of him, his mouth tugging at her breast as she sank down on his shaft. Sarah moaned, her head lolling. It was too much, too overpowering. He filled her completely. It made her head spin. Not wanting to give up an inch of his hardness, she began rocking slowly, her breasts swinging full and free above his lapping tongue. He groaned against them as she circled her hips, working him inside her, his full length encased. The blazing point of heat at the top of her sex grew steadily stronger, brighter, like a star going nova. She gazed down at him, his face lax with desire, his eyes closed in ecstasy as her nipple dragged across his open mouth. The sense of power it gave her was heady, exhilarating. She’d never felt like this with John. This wanton, this wild. She’d felt trapped beneath him, imprisoned by his weight. This, now… this was so totally different. She felt like a bird, flying above Larak,

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and at the same time like nothing so much as some wordless woodland creature, rutting in the enclosed warmth of some small, hidden burrow. She felt pinned, held in place like the world on its axis, balanced between earth and sky by his shaft within her. It throbbed, and he groaned deep in his throat, his voice whispering like a warning in her mind. Sarah… “I know,” she whispered back. “Just let it happen.” He said nothing more, but his mouth closed on her breast, tonguing and tugging at her hard, aching nipple. She pressed down harder, working her clit against the flat plane of his pubic bone, rocking her hips hungrily as she felt his shaft swell even more, impossibly more, filling her till there was nothing, nothing in the world but his hardness inside her, his mouth suckling her breast, his sharp, rasping breaths as he stiffened beneath her. Something tightened inside her like a lasso made of fire, and she held onto it desperately, clinging to the bliss that hovered, hovered like a bird… Larak roared, arching upward, his hips lifting her as he came. His erection jerked and throbbed within her, sending her tumbling, falling, white-hot waves of sensation coursing through her again and again. His hands clamping her hips, his hips pushing her up into the sky, the sky spinning above her, endlessly wide… Sarah cried out, the sound piercing and free. Like a hawk plummeting from the sky, she let herself tumble -- and felt Larak catch her, his arms holding her tight, clasping her against his chest like a man with a treasure, like a woman with a child. Warm autumn sunlight pooled around them, a weightless blanket. Drowsy, Sarah pressed her face into the crook of Larak’s shoulder, inhaling the sharp, tangy scent of him. What did it matter where he had come from? She was his, his, heart and body and soul. I would do anything for you, he whispered. She nodded sleepily, her arms hugging his neck, too relaxed to hear the intensity in his tone. Anything. I would die for you, Sarah. Which was a pretty sentiment, she reflected as she yawned, but kind of silly. Like a man saying he’d give her the moon. Not that any man but Larak had ever said such a

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thing to her. She didn’t need the moon. She didn’t need anything. She was light as air, free as a bird… Her thoughts scattered, drifting into fragments. Held tight in Larak’s arms, Sarah slept.

*** Tell her.

Larak started. He’d almost forgotten Kam.

Wake her up and tell her.

He glanced down at Sarah’s head pillowed on his chest, a bit of pink sunburn on

the tip of her nose. How do you know she’s asleep? I’ve got ears, haven’t I? Kam’s tone was disgruntled. After all that I’d be exhausted, too. Tell her, Lar. Larak hesitated. She was so warm above him, so precious, her face lax in sleep, her passage sweet and silken around his softening sex. The hazy afternoon droned around them. Late bees buzzing in the patches of goldenrod, the trees rustling in a fitful breeze, the very air heavy with a sense of peace. I thought you said this wasn’t the time. This might be all the time there is. Sighing, Larak admitted Kam was right. But for the first time, the thought of her probable reaction frightened him. Not because she was important to the pack, not because she was the key to their survival -- survival as Shumani at least, rather than the twisted, vicious things they’d become without a fresh infusion of human stock -- but because he, Larak, needed her. Somewhere in the past twenty-four hours, his heart had become no longer his own. Beating beneath his ribs, nevertheless it belonged completely to the strong, playful woman now drowsing on his chest. What would happen if she recoiled in horror? If she ran from him, would his heart simply stop beating entirely?

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What if he defeated Hunt and didn’t tell her? Was there really any need to tell her, after all? With the threat of Hunt removed, there was nothing to prevent them from continuing just like this… Exactly how long, Kam inquired tartly, picking up on his hesitation, are you willing to stay in that stork-like shape? How well do you think you’ll survive winter in that form? Can you even hunt as a human, Lar? I can if I have to. Kam’s mental snort was half sigh, half growl. And you tell me to be sensible… What about offspring? What will she do when her pups suddenly sprout fur? All right. What will you tell her then, Lar? All right! Sarah murmured a sleepy protest as Larak tensed beneath her. Looking down at her, he forced himself to relax. She shifted slightly, settling her head more comfortably in the hollow of his shoulder, and drifted off again. Larak held her as delicately as a fluff of down, or a jewel-bright butterfly that might take flight at any moment, borne away forever by the jealous wind… But later, Kam. Later. For now, let her sleep. Kam whuffled, unconvinced, in the cabin below him, but said nothing. The sound was muted by the boards between, and Larak ignored it. Dropping his head against Sarah’s, he stroked his cheek over the soft silk of her dark hair, watching the sunlight catch in its glistening lengths in unexpected glints of copper and gold.

Chapter Five It was evening before she stirred, yawning and stretching in the reddening light. Glancing at Larak with a fond smile, Sarah kissed him, murmuring, “How come you let me sleep so long?” All that afternoon he’d held her, his ears straining for any sound in the woods, the stealthy pad of approaching paws, the blood-curdling hunting howl of the wolves, trying desperately to formulate some plan. He understood now why Kam had refused to help him last night. Kam would never be a leader -- he was too cautious, too hesitant to hold a pack -- but he’d always been the quickest of them all. No doubt he’d seen this impasse coming. Through no fault of his own and against his will, Kam was now embroiled in it. Another life at stake over Larak’s desperate gamble. And the woman in his arms, the strange human female who’d somehow come to mean more to him than anything else on Earth, had no idea at all of the danger she was in -- had been in, really, since the moment she’d arrived. It didn’t matter whether Larak loved her or not. It wouldn’t have made a difference if he’d left her alone. Sooner or later Hunt would have found out she was here. The question of whether Hunt would have killed her or raped her was hardly important. All his life, it seemed, Larak had felt helpless. Helpless to save his father. Helpless to save his mother, or Dal. He was sick of it, sick of watching the people he loved die because of Hunt. Over and over, through the long, sleepy afternoon, he’d sworn he would not let Sarah die too. The only problem was, he had no way to protect her. If Hunt had been any other Shumani, Larak could simply have challenged him for the leadership. Although, Larak reflected, if Hunt had been any other Shumani none

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of this would have happened. What Hunt’s story was, Larak didn’t know -- not where he’d come from, or why he was the way he was. Larak could guess, though. The far northern woods where they’d encountered Hunt had been even less sparsely settled than here. And the native clans who had once lived and moved through those regions had largely withdrawn, leaving vast reaches without any trace of human life. How many generations had it been since Hunt’s pack, wherever it might be, had had a human female among its ranks? Eight? Nine? Maybe more. There was no way of knowing. What Larak did know, though, was Hunt wouldn’t honor a leadership challenge. It was forbidden to interfere in such a combat, but undoubtedly Hunt’s two sons would charge him as soon as he attacked their father. And of the rest of the pack, Rak and Leelo had been slain, Kam was injured, his father, Kamuk, was far past his prime, and Dal’s father, Ledo, had simply died -- of old age or grief -- during the snows of the previous winter. Which left only Larak. Had he thought he’d felt helpless before? The sense of powerlessness now was practically choking. But there was nothing else for it. He would have to fight Hunt, and his sons too, if necessary. Fight, and probably die… But it was all he could do. He let none of his thoughts show as he kissed Sarah gently. His shaft stirred again, and she reached down to caress it, cocking a playful eyebrow at him as she did. “So are you hungry, or hungry?” Both, he growled. But the tension inside him was too tight to ignore. With a pang of regret he let her go, his heart full of trepidation as he watched her pull on her clothes and swing down from the roof. More cautiously, he moved to follow her. She’d made it look so easy, swinging down. But try as he might, Larak couldn’t find a foothold in the thin, bending branches. He hauled himself back up to the roof to try again -- and froze in sudden fear. Sarah, stop! Where are you going?

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She was halfway across the clearing, just past the wood pile, heading with long, swinging strides for the trees on the far side. She waved back carelessly. “To get my hatchet. I’ll be right back!” Sarah, no! Larak leapt from the roof, feeling his ankle twist under him, cursing at the unexpected frailties of the human body. As he straightened, a black, inky shape hurtled out of the forest, flinging itself like a living missile at Sarah. Larak growled, his body wrenching from man-shape to wolf. Ignoring the flare of agony in his hind leg, he raced across the clearing. Sarah had dropped back, her face mask-like in shock. Immediately, though, she recovered herself, spinning to grab a stout branch from the wood pile. The wolf landed, missing her, and sprang again. This time, Sarah was ready. She swung the branch, knocking the wolf sideways, midair. It was Kren, Larak saw. A hot, satisfying fury burned in his belly as he leaped to meet him. His teeth latched onto Kren’s throat even as he flew through the air, bringing them both crashing down. Larak stood over Kren’s body, panting. The attack had been almost silent, Kren’s death mercifully so. Maybe, if they’d been luckier than they deserved… Then he looked up at Sarah, and felt his heart sink. She was staring at him, terrified, holding the branch before her as protection. He stepped toward her, and she hefted it threateningly. Her terror was too much for Larak. He whispered, Sarah… Her eyes widened further, the blood draining from her face. Distantly, he was aware of Kam’s frenzied yips coming from inside the cabin but he couldn’t spare time to think about that now. Sarah, I… “What are you?” she shrieked at him. “What are you?” He moved toward her, and she stumbled backward, waving the branch. “Stay away from me! Just…” She trailed off, her voice dying with a tiny squeak. Glancing over his shoulder, Larak saw why.

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Two black wolves stood just under the eaves of the forest. One, low-browed and roped with muscle, was Kren’s brother, Kar. His slanted yellow eyes blazed with fury. The other was Hunt. Sarah gasped behind him. Standing half a head taller than Larak, Hunt’s face was a mask of old scars and malice. One ear was half missing. His eyes glinted like knife blades. Watching him walk forward was like watching the approach of a bear. His planted paws sent ripples up through the rolling muscles of his shoulders. He sniffed at Kren’s body, then looked at Larak. You’re dead, fool. With a snarl, he launched himself at Larak’s throat. Sarah! Larak shouted desperately. Sarah, the cabin! Run! Then he turned to meet Hunt’s attack. The larger wolf plowed into him, bowling him to the ground. Desperately, Larak clawed at Hunt’s belly, trying to keep the older wolf’s jaws away from his throat. If Hunt once got a good grip on him, it was over. His claws scraped a gash across Hunt’s ribs, and Larak twisted frantically as Hunt howled in pain. Scrabbling out from under the heavy wolf, Larak dashed a few yards away, turned, and sprang. His only chance was to keep Hunt from closing in. Rather than go for a hold, he raked Hunt across the face, forcing Hunt to duck his head to protect his eyes. Taking advantage of this, Larak ripped at an ear and then was past Hunt, spinning again, crouching to attack again or spring aside. He was younger than Hunt. Faster. He could wear the larger wolf down, given time. If he could keep himself alive, that was. Why hadn’t Kar attacked? Horror shot through him like a lightning bolt as he pictured Kar dashing after Sarah, the powerful jaws clamping around her ankle as she ran for the cabin… Sarah wasn’t running. She’d ignored his shout, turning instead to face Hunt’s offspring, her face set with determination. Kar lunged at her, and Sarah swung the branch -- for all the world like a major league batter, had Larak only known -- catching

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the wolf squarely on the side of the muzzle. Kar let out a sharp, high-pitched yelp, then turned, snarling, his muzzle wrinkled in fury and his gleaming teeth bared. But Larak couldn’t watch any longer. Hunt was coming for him. Weaving to one side, he evaded Hunt’s first lunge, but on the second Hunt changed direction abruptly, going not for Larak’s throat but for his front leg. Larak roared as Hunt’s teeth sank in up to the bone. It would snap in a heartbeat. Overriding the instinct to pull away, he thrust himself forward instead, throwing the weight of his entire body against Hunt’s massive shoulder. Hunt went over heavily, his teeth ripping free of Larak’s foreleg, and Larak limped aside, gasping desperately for air. Let’s see you dance now, pup, Hunt sneered. The black wolf pulled himself up, massive and indomitable. Larak crouched before him, favoring his injured leg. He was going to have to go for a hold now, he realized, try to tear Hunt’s throat out before Hunt could slash his. He had little hope of success, but he also had no choice. He couldn’t evade Hunt’s rushes with a badly hurt leg. At least it was a foreleg, he thought as he sank back on his haunches, preparing to spring. But as he pushed off, the leg gave way underneath him, and he tottered to one side even as Hunt, seeing his opening, leaped at him, the ravening jaws open, the cave of his mouth red as blood, lined with white, gleaming teeth. Larak stared, seeing over and over his father falling in the snow, red blood on white snow, white teeth in Hunt’s red mouth… Crack! Bringing the branch down like an axe, Sarah knocked the black wolf to the ground, then screamed as Kar leaped on her from behind, sending her sprawling. He came down on her back, claws ripping through her tee shirt as he plunged his head down to bite the back of her neck. He never made it. Roaring, Larak plowed into Kar, knocking him sideways. His injured leg flared with agony, but what matter? He couldn’t let Kar hurt Sarah, he couldn’t!

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He crouched between her and Kar, his ears flattened, his eyes narrowed to slits as he snarled. Kar rose to his feet, and Larak barked and lunged. Kar flinched back, then stopped himself, his eyes narrowing with determination. You killed my brother. And he killed mine, Larak answered. Did you help him, Kar? Did you hold Dal down while Kren ripped off his balls? Come on, then. Come on and attack me. Larak’s growl deepened and Kar slunk back, clearly unwilling to re-engage the furious wolf. Which was good -- Sarah’s gasp gave Larak warning, and he turned to see Hunt climbing unsteadily to his feet, shaking his head as if to clear it. Hunt took in the scene. The panting, frightened human, the branch still gripped in her hands, the tawny wolf crouched before her, snarling protectively. He chuckled, an ominous rumble which deepened Larak’s fear. So this is where you’ve been hiding, Larak. She’s a feisty thing. I can see the attraction. Do you think she’ll fight like that when I have her pinned under me, my teeth at her throat as I take her? Behind him, Larak heard Sarah’s sudden intake of breath. She’d heard Hunt’s words, then. And Hunt knew it. I do hope so, Larak. I most sincerely hope so. His tongue hanging, Hunt flashed Sarah a salacious grin before looking back at Larak. Larak coiled, black fury twining with terror in his heart. Fight me, Hunt. Now. You and me. No. The huge black wolf drew himself upright, towering against a red-painted sky. No, Larak, if you want to fight me, come and get me. I’ll be waiting for you at the ledge. His gaze flicked to Larak’s injured leg. It’s all a question of how far you’ll go… for love. Laughing cruelly, Hunt turned away, jerking his head for Kar to follow, and slipped back into the shadow of the trees.

Sarah stared at Kren’s crumpled body, her stomach heaving. Slanting sunlight fell across it, red as the blood staining the dry autumn grass. As the tawny wolf moved, coming toward her, she lifted her head dully.

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Sarah… With a ripple of motion, the wolf was gone and a man stood there instead, a man with honey-brown hair and a wolf’s yellow eyes, his face and arms and hands smeared with blood. Horror rose in her at the thought of those hands touching her, caressing her, holding her close as she made love to this… this… Those alien eyes, those inhuman eyes, bored into hers. They were filled with anguish, with fear, with what might have been regret. She couldn’t tell. She didn’t care. His mouth worked awkwardly. Strange, broken bits of sound fell from his lips. He lifted his hands toward her, helplessly. She flinched away. His hands dropped, and he simply stood for a moment, his eyes hungry, yearning… Sarah, he whispered. I would die for you, Sarah. He turned from her, toward the forest -- and a second later there was nothing but a tawny, limping wolf disappearing into the trees.

Chapter Six It took no more than a hundred yards for Larak to admit he couldn’t possibly make it all the way to the ledge. Not in wolf form, anyway. But what hope would he have, defenseless and on two legs, against a creature with the speed, strength, and cunning of Hunt? For it was Hunt’s cunning that was driving him, clawless and fangless, up the slope to fight him. Sighing, he shifted shape again and sank down on a moss-covered log. He was trapped, and he knew it. How could he defend himself as a human, let alone defeat Hunt? He stared down at his hands, turning them forward and back in the gathering gloom. Amazing things, hands. They really were. They could hold things, pick up things, swing a branch or a hatchet… Larak’s eyes opened wide, seeing not the trees around him but a bright gleam of metal swooshing through the air. He glanced around. He wasn’t far from the glade where Kam had been injured. Springing up with renewed energy, he ran through the forest, pausing only to scoop up the dropped hatchet. It wasn’t nearly as big as it had looked, watching it whistling toward him. Compared to Hunt’s fangs, it seemed a pitiful thing, but it was all he had. Gripping it grimly in his uninjured hand, he strode up the steep path toward the ledge, the creek chattering and roaring beside him in the dusk.

*** Kar sat on a boulder near the peak, staring down the long slope up which Larak would come. If he came, that was. Hunt seemed confident he would, but Kar wasn’t so sure. You killed my brother. And he killed mine.

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He hadn’t known that. He’d suspected, but he hadn’t known. Somehow, in the lopsided triangle made up by Hunt, Kren and himself, Kar had always been the odd one out. His father ignored him except when he wanted something. The others avoided him, skittering aside in a way that had always made Kar distinctly uneasy. Did you help him, Kar? Did you hold Dal down while Kren ripped off his balls? He hadn’t known that either, but it helped explain the antipathy of the other wolves, whom Kar had always instinctively sensed were very different from him, somehow. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know why. He’d liked Dal, actually. The lean gray wolf had been the nearest thing he’d had to a friend. Sometimes they’d hunted together, flushing rabbits between them. It had been Dal who, when Kar had still been a yearling pup, had taught him how to hunt the quick brown mice tunneling under the snow, the mice which made up the wolves’ major winter food source. In fact, now that Kar thought about it, he’d liked Dal a lot more than he’d ever liked Kren. Larak had been right about one thing, though. Kren could never have taken the older wolf down alone. Kar glanced back over his shoulder at the black outline of Hunt, waiting alone on the moon-washed ledge. No, he hadn’t held Dal down -- but someone had. In the distance the lake was a gleaming patch of silver, and the hills on the far side no more than bulky ghosts in the night. There was a noise, still far below him but approaching. A rustle of motion on the path. His injured leg, Kar told himself. No healthy wolf would make so much noise. He hesitated a moment and then called, He’s coming. Good. Hunt looked down from his perch, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. But when the approaching figure finally appeared to sight, Kar gave a shout of surprise. It wasn’t Larak. It was a creature like the one who’d fended him off. A human. He heard his father laugh. No, it’s Larak, all right. Let the fool come.

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Kar stayed frozen on the boulder as the being approached, his thigh muscles working as he ascended the steep path. Passing under the boulder, the creature looked up, and Kar saw Larak’s eyes in that strange, flat, hairless face. He recoiled, his claws scrabbling for a hold on the boulder, but Larak went past with no more than that one glance. Recovering himself, Kar trailed behind the creature who was and yet wasn’t Larak -- not the Larak he’d always known. Was this the difference between himself and the others, then? Could they all inexplicably change themselves like that too? Yes, his father answered. Can you do that? Kar demanded. His father seemed to hesitate before answering. If I wanted to. Obviously tired and in pain, hugging his injured arm to his chest, Larak nevertheless drew himself upright, facing Hunt across the broad expanse of the ledge, open on one side to empty air, ending on the other in a sheer bluff. In the face of that bluff was a small, low opening -- the entrance to the den where the others, Dal had told him, had been born. It was a good location, warm in winter, secure from attack. Kar understood why his father had chosen to bring the pack back here -- or always thought he’d understood. Now, watching the grimness of Larak’s face -- Larak whom his father had always enjoyed tormenting more than any other -- Kar wondered if maybe even that hadn’t been merely another way to goad Larak. Kamuk, the old wolf, was watching from the far side of the ledge. Tired, nearly toothless, he whined apprehensively. He’d tried to fight Hunt once, Kar remembered, a fight which had been over almost before it had started. Fleetingly, he wondered if Hunt hadn’t left him alive for the same reason he’d brought the pack back to their old den -to humiliate him. This fight looked like it would be over as quickly. What chance did this strange, naked Larak stand against his father? But still Larak had climbed up here, defenseless and alone. It was incomprehensible to Kar -- as incomprehensible as Larak’s new form. Something glittered in the moonlight, clenched in Larak’s good hand.

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Come on, Hunt. Let’s get this over with. Even Kar, the outsider, knew those weren’t the words of challenge. They were flat, brutal, almost despairing. But Hunt smiled, his black lips pulling back from his teeth. Welcome to your death, fool. And Hunt sprang.

*** Woodenly, Sarah pulled open the cabin door. The wolf had climbed once again onto the cot, but she ignored it, walking like an automaton to the jumble of supplies piled against the back wall of the cabin. She hunted through it, pulling out a backpack which she proceeded to fill with clothes, food, a water bottle, a tarp… Digging for the rolled-up cylinder of her sleeping bag, she glanced at the wolf. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?” It wasn’t a question, and the wolf didn’t answer. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered any more. With quick, practiced motions, she lashed the sleeping bag to the bottom of the backpack, and slid it over her shoulders. From the shelf over the stove, she took down the signal flag. She’d stake it out in the clearing where Mike Zuckerman or someone would see it on a fly-over and either land or radio Piers. Lifting the GPS tracker from the nail by the door, she dropped it over her head. “You don’t need to deny it. Just tell him not to come after me. I’m leaving.” You’re a fool, you know that? Yes, she probably was. If she had any sense, she’d simply barricade the cabin, assemble the radio, and broadcast an SOS. Of course, to do that, she’d have to throw the wolf out. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing except never seeing him again. And if she stayed here, he’d come back. She was sure of it. Don’t be. She blinked, glancing at the wolf. “Great. So you all do read minds.” Not really. You have loud emotions.

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Which was nonsensical, considering she didn’t feel anything. Just numb. Numb, and impatient to be gone… Piers would find her. With the tracker he could locate her no matter where she went. And it was fall still -- she could survive without shelter till he came for her. If you leave now, Sarah… “What? Don’t bother coming back?” Her voice cracked in her throat. The irony was too much. You’ll take away the only reason he has for living. Yeah, right. “He’ll survive.” Maybe. I don’t know. The wolf lifted its head, as if it was gazing straight through the wall at some distant peak. He’s gone to challenge Hunt, hasn’t he? “How should I know?” What did he say to you before he left? “He said… He said…” I would die for you, Sarah. Larak’s voice, deep and warm, whispered in her memory. The numbness inside her cracked like a dam and she slumped to the floor, the backpack bowing her shaking shoulders like grief.

*** Larak was pleasantly surprised by the ease with which he met the first rush. The massive wolf, once launched, couldn’t change direction, and it was easy to leap aside. Easier still to swing the hatchet as he did, scoring Hunt a glancing blow along his side. Hunt bellowed. Pivoting as he landed, he sank his teeth into the meat of Larak’s thigh. Larak screamed, the sound splitting the night, beating at the wolf’s head with the hatchet until he let go. As soon as Hunt backed away, a black, growling shape hunched low against the rock, Larak saw his mistake. He should have let the wolf keep his hold and swung the hatchet at his neck, or ribs. One solid blow would have ended the fight. Now, though, the chance was gone, and he was lame in both arm and leg, while the black wolf despite his wounds was barely breathing hard. Larak glanced across the ledge at Kamuk, but the old wolf was silent, his eyes flickering with fear.

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*** Take this off me. This thing. The wolf shifted awkwardly, extending his leg. Tears still blurred Sarah’s sight, but she shrugged off her backpack and fumbled the bandages off, then the splint. The wolf sniffed at the wound, licking the stitches. Take them out.

“It’s not healed yet.”

Take them out. It’ll rip.

She didn’t have the energy to fight about it. Woodenly, she obeyed, snipping the

thread and pulling it out stitch by stitch. The wolf closed its eyes and lay back -- and suddenly a man was there instead, stretched on his side, coal-black hair falling around a face that made Sarah think of a knight, or a monk. It was a stern, thoughtful face, as still and pale as if carved out of marble. For all his differences from Larak, they shared similarities too -- the high, broad cheekbones, the full lips, the yellow wolf’s eyes. And a certain masculine beauty she could only think of as ethereal. Certainly no human man could be so flawless, so perfectly formed. It occurred to her distantly that if she’d met this man before Larak… Flawless, though, hardly applied to the gashed, bleeding wounds in his left calf. His mangled ankle seeped blood, and Sarah reached for the medi-kit. Leave it. With a hiss the man sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. He attempted to stand, but immediately his alabaster face grew even paler, and he fell back on the cot, panting in pain. No good. I can’t get up there.

“What about me?”

You? The wolf -- man -- whatever he was, stared at her. You’d only get yourself

killed. Pique stirred within her. “I fought off the other one.” Did you? He grinned. Good for you. I’m Kam, Larak’s den-brother.

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“I’m…” Oh, what was she saying? Larak could be up there right now, injured or dying. Whirling, she dug through her backpack for the Swiss Army knife and reached for the door. Sarah, no! Don’t. By the time you get up there, it’ll be over. She stared back at Kam, knowing he was right. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Larak. “Don’t wait up,” she muttered, and plunged out the door.

*** He was going to have to do something unexpected. The only problem was, Larak had no idea what. Hunt was stalking him now, weaving back and forth before him, his massive head slung low. Larak kept his eyes on the wolf, thinking furiously. He’ll go for the throat next. Watch him. The words whispered in his mind. Startled, Larak let his glance flick to Kamuk, but the old wolf seemed not to know quite what was happening. Only those unexpected words saved him because Hunt had sprung the second Larak’s gaze had shifted. Catching the sudden movement from the corner of his eye, Larak ducked and swung the hatchet. It didn’t bite deep, but the added impetus sent Hunt crashing into the bluff. He yelped once, shrilly. Maybe a rib had snapped. Larak didn’t wait for the black wolf to find his feet. He swung again, laying open the side of Hunt’s muzzle. The black wolf snarled and dashed aside, putting distance between himself and his attacker. Then he lifted his head, looking at his remaining son.

*** Sarah pounded up the path, her pulse thundering in her ears so loudly she could barely hear the creek beside her. Five miles. How fast could she run five miles? Could she even run that far? Gasping for breath, she strained to hear beyond her laboring heartbeat, halffearing and half-hoping for some noise ahead. But she could make out nothing. Muted beneath the rush and thud of her pulse, the night seemed almost eerily silent, as if the trees themselves waited with indrawn breath for some final culmination beyond her sight.

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***

Kar! Go for his legs, Hunt snarled in Kar’s mind. Kar stared back at his father, his scarred, snarling face made even more gruesome by the ragged, hanging flap of skin. Black in the moonlight against his black fur, the blood gleamed slickly, like oil. Above it, Hunt’s eyes burned with a mad, feral light. Kar looked from his father to the strange, upright Larak. The man was panting, and the blood pouring down his leg was painfully obvious, black against white skin. There was every chance Hunt would still win this fight, and if he did Kar’s punishment would be painful and swift. Kar! Kar, attack him! Kar glanced back at his father, remembering Dal’s gentle face. No.

*** Hunt shrieked with rage, turning Larak’s blood cold. There was nothing in that sound -- no intelligence, no reason, just a blank, bestial fury… Not even that. Even the simple beasts had codes of behavior. Indeed, their behavior was limited by their very simplicity. Hunt’s scream was the bellow of a creature wholly out of control, both his own and nature’s. And the preternatural speed with which he sprang was terrifying, unstoppable. Larak threw his injured arm up before him, protecting his throat. Hunt’s weight slammed into him, smashing him to the ground, and white fire exploded in his skull as his head hit the granite. The black wolf plunged his head down even as he landed. Hopelessly, knowing it was all over, Larak nevertheless pistoned his legs up between them, thrusting his feet against Hunt’s belly. Carried as much by his own momentum as by the force of Larak’s shove, Hunt hurtled past his head, twisting in midair -- and disappeared into the darkness past the end of the ledge. Panting, Larak rolled over. He was too exhausted to stand. Instead, he crawled to the edge, staring down at the sheer drop below. The cliff face looked dusted with powder in the moonlight, plunging forty feet down to where it sloped outward, and the trees, struggling upward, met its face.

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Nothing stirred in all that stony expanse. Nothing slipped between the black shadows of the trees. The only thing that showed any sign of movement was the creek, chattering and tumbling, sparkling with moonlight as it danced between the trees, racing its way to the lake -- and to Sarah. Despite the blazing fire in his thigh and the throbbing wound in his hand, Larak found he did have the strength left to stand after all. Take care of him, Kar, he said, nodding toward Kam’s ancient father. And thank you. The black wolf said nothing, only watched him limp down the path. An unexpected emotion flickered in his slanted eyes, but Larak was gone. There was no one there to read it.

Chapter Seven Wolves they might be, but they were still men, Sarah had discovered to her exasperation. Even with the stitches in his thigh, Larak tried to help with the firewood, tearing the barely-healed flesh -- again. She scolded him back to the cot, ignoring Kam’s laughter. “And you!” she snarled, rounding on him where he sat at the table, his injured foot propped up on the water bucket. “If I catch you up on that foot one more time before it’s healed…” He held up his hands in surrender, but his grin was unrepentant. Spitefully, Sarah kicked the bucket out from under his cast, grinning to herself at his bellow of pain as she grabbed the bucket and slammed out the door. It had been four days since she’d met Larak coming back down from the ledge. Her presence there, and the way she’d thrown her arms around him, had apparently been all the apology he’d needed for her earlier rejection. And he had needed it. He’d been dangerously close to collapse when she’d reached him, stumbling drunkenly down the path, dizzy with blood loss and exhaustion. She’d half-carried, half-dragged him to the camp where she’d bandaged his wounds and gotten him onto the cot, then awkwardly tended to her own minor injuries, grateful for Kam’s assistance. It would be churlish to resent his presence now, but she knew part of what was causing her pique was the aggravation of sharing such close quarters with two naked, gorgeous men. And Larak was still far too weak for such activities, even if they’d had any privacy. Gritting her teeth, Sarah strode to the lake. The evening air had a sharp bite to it, and in four days the blazing colors of the deciduous trees had already begun fading to a dull, sere brown. Soon, winter winds would rattle through those dry leaves, bringing

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snow and ice. What would she do then? Stay in her cabin and pretend she was studying wolves who weren’t wolves? Lie to Piers and tell him the wolves had left? The truth, naturally, was out of the question. Sighing, she walked out onto the dock, hunkering down to dip the bucket into the lake. Maybe she should just dip herself in it, that would cool her frustration. At least for a while. Well, she’d simply have to bear it. She was a big girl after all. She could go a few days without getting laid. But it’d be easier, so much easier, if she didn’t have to lie awake listening to Larak’s soft breathing every night. Listening and longing for his fiery touch. Had it not been for the presence of Kam, who slept on the far side of the stove -- she’d forbidden Larak, injured as he was, to sleep on the cold floor -- no doubt she would have found some way to make love without letting him over-exert his strength. Not like you haven’t already thought these things five thousand times, Sarah snapped at herself. Just forget it. Or go ahead and throw yourself in the damn lake. Exasperated with herself, she headed back to the cabin. And was even more exasperated to find both cot and chair unoccupied, and the cabin empty. “God damn it! Larak! Kam!” She stood on the steps, shouting in the dusk. Her voice echoed back to her from over the lake, made eerie by distance, and Sarah shivered. “Larak?” In the glade. Larak’s voice was soft, laughing, rich with promise. Come join me, Sarah. Oh, drat the man! Or wolf. Or whatever. At this rate, that bite in his thigh was never going to heal. But as she set down the bucket and started for the glade, Sarah felt her nerves singing with anticipation.

*** Are you sure about this, Lar? Kam shifted uneasily. His den-brother, straddling the moss-covered log beside him, nodded. Couldn’t you smell it? She’s in heat, Kam.

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I know, but… Kam was seated on the ground, his injured leg straight out before him. The heavy cast glimmered softly in the dusk. They must have looked a sight, he thought wryly, hobbling out here leaning on each other like two half-fallen trees holding each other up. Lar, how much have you told her? Not much, Larak admitted. Kam chewed meditatively on a dry stalk of grass. Have you even asked her to stay yet? Larak’s nervous grin looked a trifle ill. Why do you think I wanted you out here with me? Kam knew how he felt. What had only a week ago seemed like a fantasy to him had come incredibly, impossibly true. And for all Larak’s courage or Kam’s own cunning, the one person who’d truly made it happen was Sarah. Without Sarah, Kam knew, he would have died in that trap. Or from blood loss and shock, had Lar managed to get him out. Without her own courage, Kren would have killed her -- and Hunt and Kar between them would have killed Larak. And if she hadn’t gone out to meet him, Lar would probably have died on the path. It would never have occurred to Kam to fight Larak for her. Not because he was a coward or because he thought he’d lose -- he wasn’t sure that he would, actually -- but Lar was the natural leader. The risk-taker. He always had been. And Kam, cynical, cautious Kam, had always been content to follow. He’d do so now, no matter what happened. But the truth of it was, Kam loved her too, loved her with all the shattered, hungry yearning of his cautious heart. Sarah wasn’t one of those long-ago Cree maidens, though, who had come to the Shumani knowing what to expect, and what would be expected of them. No Shumani female was ever forced against her will. The very idea was anathema to them, which had made Hunt’s rape of the ordinary wolf that much more shocking. Hunt’s control of the pack had been unnatural in more ways than that, though. The very foundation of their pack structure was built around one central female whom all

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the males -- not only the alpha -- would die to defend. Indeed, it was truly the female who held the pack together, not the alpha male. And although the choice was always hers, a Shumani female was expected to bear pups to more than one male. That was the way it was with them. The way it always had been. Now all that remained was to explain it to Sarah. No wonder Lar looked more than a little nervous. Kam wasn’t feeling exactly calm himself. It had been agony, listening to her and Lar on the roof top. Harder still to be stretched on the floor not five feet from where she slept, his nostrils full of the intoxicating scent of her arousal. There’d even been a time or two in the past few days when he thought he’d seen her glance at him with something more than frustration or friendship… Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Kam threw the stalk of grass aside. It doesn’t matter, Lar. If you don’t want to risk it… But Larak wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at Sarah who stood just inside the glade, completely naked, the confusion on her face giving way to disappointment as she glanced at Kam. Kam’s heart plummeted. Clumsy with his cast, he started to rise. No, wait, Kam. Sarah…

This wasn’t exactly what she’d been hoping for, but when Larak beckoned to her she went and joined him on the log. She felt a bit uncomfortable -- but hell, they were naked. They were naked all the time. Why should she be embarrassed? She was, though, just the same. It was a comfortable seat at least, the moss springy beneath her. But what were they doing out here? Questioningly, she looked from one to the other, and was surprised when Kam flushed, dropping his gaze. Beside her, Larak shifted awkwardly, clearing his throat. Which seemed totally unnecessary to her, considering he didn’t talk.

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“Does somebody want to let me in on the secret?” she demanded. She was tense enough herself, for God’s sake, without these two acting like guilty teenagers! Sarah… Larak repeated, his voice trailing off. Frustrated with his hesitation, she turned to him, and realized she wasn’t the only one who was tense. Or frustrated. Straddling the log as he was, his erection was obvious even in the semi-darkness. It strained against his belly, not hesitant at all. The mere sight of it made her mouth water. Along with another part of her anatomy. Sarah… She dragged her gaze back to his face, noting at last the somber expression in his eyes. He looked wary but determined, like a man steeling himself for an unpleasant task. Oh God. Her heart clenched. Was he going to ask her to leave? He’d said nothing to her about staying, now that she thought about it. Not except for that time on the roof. I want to do this forever, Sarah -- to hold you, and touch you, and be inside you… But that was in the middle of making love, and virgin though she might have been till last year, Sarah still knew enough of men to know that what they said with a hard-on they didn’t always mean. With everything that had happened, she hadn’t had time to think much about what came next. The idea that what might come next would be nothing was like a punch to the stomach. It left her feeling queasy, disoriented, not in pain yet but bracing herself, knowing it was coming. “What?” she asked cautiously. “Whatever it is, just say it.” Sarah, I… I’m trying to ask you to stay. To be my mate. Our mate. The relief that flooded through her at his first words was so acute it left her reeling. Her blood sang through her veins. Almost against her will, her mouth twisted upward in a grin… Wait. Wait a second. “Say that again.” I want you, Sarah. I want you to stay with me. But Kam… She glanced questioningly at the black-haired man sitting on the ground near her feet. Once again he reminded her of a knight, or maybe a druid. His head was turned aside, his face pale as marble and carefully composed, but she could see the moistness

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on his soft, full lips, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed each time he swallowed nervously. The thought of those lips on her nipples made them stand up impatiently. Kam wants you, too. In the dusk under the trees, Larak’s eyes were full of shadows. It’s our way, Sarah -- one female, one pack. Now it was Larak who swallowed, his haunted eyes holding hers. He wasn’t nervous. He was petrified. With good reason, she admitted, considering how she’d flinched away from him before, shocked to the core by his transformation. And Kam -- Kam sat on the forest floor as rigid as an alabaster saint. But his averted eyes and the two spots of color high on his cheekbones belied his stillness. Caustic, teasing, cynical Kam… Sliding to her knees on the soft pine needles, Sarah took his face between her hands, turning it toward her. Kam’s startled gaze flicked past her to Larak, then came back to her when she spoke his name. “Kam. Kiss me.” His throat worked as he swallowed, but his gaze never left hers. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against hers, only then closing his eyes with a sigh as if that one brief, feather-light touch overwhelmed him. Sarah’s lips tingled, hungry for more. “Again, Kam.” More firmly, he pressed his mouth to hers, his lips parting awkwardly, his tongue shyly seeking hers. When they touched, he groaned. Saliva flooded Sarah’s mouth. Reaching out blindly, she found his erection, wrapping her fingers around its warm thickness. It was like velvet and iron, silk and steel. She slid her hand upward, and Kam growled and plunged his tongue deep in her mouth, pressing her against the log behind her. Careful, Sarah. He’s a novice. Larak’s voice, both laughing and rough with arousal, infiltrated her scattered thoughts. Lifting his head, Kam scowled up at him, and Sarah looked over to see Larak caressing his shaft, not five inches away from her face. And you were so much more experienced six days ago, Kam growled in return.

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Surprised, Sarah glanced up from Larak’s cock to his face. “Really?” Really. Kam grinned devilishly. “In that case…” Sarah leaned back against the log, raising one hand to trail her fingers just below Larak’s. He started to move his hand, and she shook her head. “No, don’t stop.” It was fascinating and arousing, watching him stroke his shaft. He squeezed it tightly, making the head bulge above his fingers, then thrust his fist downward, working the skin. Transfixed, Sarah reached out without looking and, tangling her fingers in Kam’s jet-black hair, tugged him forward, leading his mouth to her breast. The feel of those full, soft lips closing around her areola, coupled with the sight of Larak’s fist pumping his cock, was almost enough to make Sarah come right there. She felt dizzy, light-headed. Never in her life had she imagined being so horny! And she would have this, she knew, not once or twice, but over and over and over again. It was enough to make a girl believe in miracles. She arched her back, pressing her breast into Kam’s working mouth. With a deep, hungry groan, he suckled harder, sending a jolt of sheer pleasure straight to her womb. Glancing down for a moment at those working lips, she was struck again by the ivory purity of his face. Lax with arousal, it seemed almost exalted, as if her breast were an altar and he a fervent devotee. Larak, she saw, was watching Kam also, his gaze fixed on her nipple between Kam’s tugging lips. She slid her fingers lower, caressing Larak’s balls. They were full and tight, so swollen they overflowed her palm. Playfully, she squeezed them. He moaned, his fist clenching convulsively as he stroked his cock harder. Kam’s head slid downward, his hands spreading her thighs. Sarah gasped as his tongue flicked the length of her slit, then dove into her pussy, tasting her juices. His thumb found her clit, circling it lightly. That teasing pressure made her hips jerk upward, and he thrust his tongue deeper. With a small, mewling cry, Sarah rolled her head to one side, her mouth open, seeking… Reading her desire, Larak tilted his shaft toward her and growled deep in his

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throat as she lapped at the tip. Swirling her tongue around the smooth, bulbous head, she darted it against his tiny slit, prodding it. Warm fluid leaked out, salty-sweet and delicious, and she moaned, opening her mouth wider, taking more of him in. Do you like that, my beloved? Her mouth full, she nodded. Larak stiffened suddenly, his balls hard as iron in her grasp. Don’t… don’t do that. I’m barely holding back as it is. But she didn’t want him to hold back. Or Kam, either. Thrusting her head forward, she sucked on him, hard. His fingers loosened their grip, but she closed her hand over his, curling it tightly back around his shaft. His cock was too big. She couldn’t possibly take it all in her mouth. Hesitantly, her hand urging his, he began stroking the base of it as she licked his shaft. As if following her example, Kam’s mouth moved to her clit, his lips sliding over it, his tongue working in circles. Her hand was still in his hair. She pressed his head down lightly. With a groan, he closed his mouth over her clit, sucking it harder. God, she was so close! Her whole body throbbed. The emptiness inside her ached and yet she didn’t want to move, didn’t want Kam to stop. The feel of him devouring her, the taste of Larak’s cock… She could feel him stroking himself harder now, faster, his fingers brushing her lips as she plunged her mouth forward. Squeezing Larak’s hand beneath her own, she urged him onward, picturing his torso above her gleaming with sweat, his abs tight as he stared down at her, watching her suck his cock… With a hoarse, desperate cry, Larak plunged between her lips. She opened her eyes to see him supporting himself with one hand on the log as he leaned forward, pressing down with his hips. His other hand still gripped his shaft, stroking the bottom half mercilessly as he plunged into her waiting mouth, over and over. Kam lapped at her in a frenzy, his breath coming faster. Then he lifted his head and kneeled between her thighs, his hands sliding under her ass to lift her up, up… Sarah cried out around the warm shaft in her mouth as Kam’s cockhead spread her open, pushing inward.

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Great Mother, Larak! She feels so good! She felt a rumble of laughter from Larak in answer, followed swiftly by a harsh gasp as she squeezed his hand tighter. Then Sarah forgot what she was doing as Kam thrust his hips forward, slamming himself home. His hands cupped her ass, his fingers kneading her flesh, as he rocked out and in again, sliding easily on her gushing juices despite his size. Glancing up, she saw Larak’s face turned to one side, watching his denbrother drive his cock into her. Harder, Kam. I can’t hold it… I know. Neither can I. Great Mother, Lar, I’m… Sarah! Roaring her name, Larak shoved his hips downward, his shaft filling her mouth, hot and pulsing. It throbbed between her lips and she swallowed convulsively, whimpering mindlessly as Kam pounded into her, once, twice… and slammed himself home. Holding himself there, his whole body shaking, he rocked back and forth. The pressure against her clit sent her over the edge, falling into a wide, wild whiteness where everything exploded, aching and sweet, washing over her and over her in endless waves of bliss… Slowly, she became aware of Kam’s head on her shoulder, his forehead, damp with sweat, pressed against her collarbone. Larak was stroking her cheek tenderly, his cock, throbbing slightly, still in her mouth. Kam was trembling, and she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight. He lifted his face, his black hair tumbling around it. Oh, Sarah, he whispered. Don’t ever leave us.

Epilogue Sarah closed her backpack, pulling the straps tight. “That’s it, then,” she said, looking around the empty cabin. She’d come to love the place in the time she’d been there. There were so many memories… But it was time to leave. Slinging the pack to her shoulders, she picked up the lantern. She lit it, walked out the door, then threw it back inside. Glass shattered and flames licked quickly across the floor as the kerosene spread. Sarah watched for a moment, then shut the door. You all right, Sar? She looked over at Larak who stood barefoot in the snow. The first snow of winter; there’d be plenty more. Behind him, Kam lifted a sack from the pile they’d made by the treeline, and glanced back at her as he hefted it to one broad shoulder. “Yeah,” she answered. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She wasn’t though, not entirely. It was hard to hear the flames hissing inside the cabin, to imagine them devouring the roof where she and Larak had made love. It was a wrench to let it go, but it was necessary. So were the supplies. Unlike her pack-mates, she couldn’t eat mice all winter. Especially not in her present condition. Smiling, she placed a hand on her belly. It was still flat, but before the snows melted there would be a new generation of wolves on the ledge above Three Mile Lake, a new pair of pups blinking blearily at the spring sunlight. And to protect them, she had to remove every trace she could. Are you ready? “Almost. Wait here a moment.”

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Leaving them with the supplies, she walked down to the lake. Sheet ice was beginning to form along the shore, but the center was still open, the water black under the lowering clouds. The dock creaked beneath her as she walked out to the end and stood for a moment, picturing the little Cessna buzzing down over the lake. Imagining Piers’ shock and anguish when he saw the burned cabin. And he would be in anguish, she had no doubt. She hated to do it to him… but again, it was necessary. Fingering the small plastic tracker on its thong at her neck, she thought for a moment about all she was giving up. Electricity. Comfort. Indoor plumbing. Movies… Then she lifted the GPS from around her neck, drew her arm back, and flung it far out into the lake. It hit with a splash, small ripples spreading as it sank, disappearing. Then the ripples, too, disappeared. “All right,” she said, turning back to the shoreline. Despite her telling them to wait, Larak and Kam had followed her to the lake. They watched her from the shore, their faces worried. They couldn’t know how little, in truth, she was giving up. A splitlevel ranch. Appliances she couldn’t run. A man who, she realized now, hadn’t truly loved her. Not as her wolves loved her. Not even close. With a small, private smile, she walked to the shore. “All right,” she repeated, “I’m ready.” As she strode up the bank, fresh snow began falling. By morning, even her footprints would be gone. Loud and clear in the stillness, Wolf Creek Cove babbled and chattered like a voice calling her home.

Sierra Dafoe Sierra Dafoe published her first erotic romance in May of 2006, receiving three CAPA nominations that year including Favorite Erotic Author. She has since gone on to earn numerous recommended reads and awards for her work including a second Favorite Erotic Author nomination in 2007. Sierra lives in the White Mountains of New Hampshire with her incredibly tolerant hubby, her fourteen-year-old puppy and one extremely bouncy new feline acquisition named Took who aspires to be the first romance-writing cat, judging from the amount of time she spends trying to commandeer Sierra’s keyboard. Come visit Sierra on the web at www.sierradafoe.com!