M y first clue that everything was about to change came on the night someone tried to kill me.

Hey, they don’t need to hit me over the head with a brick to get my attention. A bullet whizzing past my right ear does the trick just fine.

Roger, my bodyguard, shoved me to the ground behind the limo. Beneath my faux-fur coat, my evening gown tore with a shriek of rending cloth to rival the shrieks of the crowd as they stampeded down Central Park West.

Night had fallen over New York City hours ago. The drifting clouds made it seem as if there were cobwebs over the moon.

I’d been on my way to a charity event—the story of my life. I guess they’d just have to do without me. In truth, there was no one to miss me if I were gone. Not even my father, who’d started hiring men like Roger to protect me as soon as I could walk.

I’d never been able to figure out why J. Thomas Kelly IV—J.T. to everyone, including me—spent so many of his pretty green dollars protecting a daughter he’d never seemed to care for.

After having my mother committed, divorcing her, then marrying a succession of younger and younger wives who gave him blonder and blonder children, Daddy had no time for his dark-haired, dark-eyed, eldest, rudest child.

I’d learned how to handle the neglect; my mother hadn’t. Phoebe killed herself the day the divorce papers arrived.

“Keep your head down,” Roger snapped, shoving my nose into the pavement in case I didn’t get the concept. Then he dialed 911 on his cell. I assumed the doorman, who’d scurried back into my apartment building at the first sign of trouble, had done the same.

Of course, it was rush hour in Helltown, I mean Manhattan, so it was anyone’s guess when the cavalry would arrive.

“Carly.” The urgency in Roger’s voice made the world narrow to him and me, even as the danger made me hyperaware of every sound around us.

Someone was coming.

“Get behind me.” He duck-walked past, his broad bulk blotting out the frosty silver light of a nearly full moon.

Nevertheless, I saw the man who stepped around the limo quite clearly. His eyes went straight to me, and he smiled. I’d never seen another smile like it. Our attacker not only wanted to kill me, he wanted other things, too. Things that would give me nightmares—if I survived them.

Roger fired. Our attacker jerked once, then burst into flames.

I sat back on my rump, hard. The jolt did nothing to dissipate my shock, not only over Roger shooting the man without any kind of warning but…since when did bullets cause spontaneous combustion?

Roger stood slowly, keeping his head low as he scanned the street for a second gunman. I didn’t bother to get up. I doubted I could.

Several tenants came out of my building and gathered around the flames, staring into them as if they were at a bonfire. I half expected someone to break out the marshmallows.

A slightly hysterical giggle bubbled up at the thought. What was the matter with me?

A thud drew my attention to Roger, who’d keeled over at my feet. The new crisis brought me out of my lethargy as nothing else could. I was queen in a crisis. Give me a hundred members of the Women’s League at a Mother’s Day luncheon, serve Cabernet with the salmon, and watch me shine.

I crawled across the pavement, ignoring the scrape along my palms and the pain in my knees.

“Roger?” His eyelids fluttered open. “What happened?”

I asked the question as much about him as about the barbecuing assassin.

“I guess that first shot didn’t miss after all.” Roger touched his chest, and his hand came away covered in blood, which hadn’t been immediately visible in the dim light on his black shirt.

“Crap,” I muttered.

“I’ll be okay,” he said, though his eyes drifted shut.

The wail of what sounded like a hundred sirens came closer. “What am I supposed to tell the police?”

“Nothing.” His voice was fading.

“People don’t explode when you shoot them, Roger.”

“I know.”

“What is going on?”

“You’ll have to ask your father about that,” he said, and then he passed out.

Daddy. Swell. Just the guy I wanted to avoid.

 

The paramedics arrived, loaded Roger into the ambulance, and drove away. The police tried to take me in for questioning, but J.T.’s weasel-faced attorney showed up, and that was the end of that. I guess it paid to own the mayor.

Josh Branson hustled me into his limo, leaving the one Roger had hired behind. Half the police were already swarming all over it, while the other half stared at the still-burning corpse on the sidewalk.

“I need to go to the hospital,” I said.

Alarm flared in Lawyer Boy’s pale gray eyes. “You’re hurt?”

“Not a scratch,” I said, folding my fingers over my abraded palms and shifting so my dress did not reveal my skinned knees. “I’m worried about Roger.”

“Who?”

Branson rarely bothered to learn the names of underlings; he’d no doubt learned that from J.T.

“My bodyguard.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“I’d like to find that out for myself.”

“No,” he said simply.

I narrowed my eyes, but Branson wasn’t scared of me. Despite his fresh face and youthful appearance, he had an ancient soul, forged in the fires of hell. Or maybe just Harvard Law.

“You can call the hospital as soon as I get you to your father,” he continued.

“You’re taking me to J.T.?”

“Of course. He’s worried about you.”

I gave an unladylike snort. “If he was that worried, he could have come himself.”

“He had a meeting.”

Why I found that funny, I’m not quite sure, but I started laughing, and then I couldn’t stop. Branson turned toward the window and ignored me.

I’m sure he thought I was a waste of a good penthouse apartment, and he was probably right. If I really hated my father’s lifestyle, his choices, his filthy lucre, shouldn’t I be living in a rattrap somewhere and waiting tables?

I’d tried it, and you know what? It sucks.

I’d discovered I helped a lot more people by using my father’s money and his name to solicit donations for my charitable foundations. Rich people didn’t talk to waitresses unless it was to give their order; they did like to impress the eldest daughter of one of the richest men in Manhattan.

And the penthouse apartment? I just liked it.

We reached J.T.’s building on Broad Street, and I got out of the limo with nothing more than a nod for Branson. Before I’d even shut the door completely, the sleek black car pulled away. Guess I’d have to take a taxi home.

A single security guard remained in the foyer. “Miss Carly,” Warner greeted as he unlocked the outer door. “You all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good to hear. Your father said to send you right up.”

“Thank you.” I headed for the hallway leading to J.T.’s suite.

“You think it’s okay if I go?” Warner asked. “Mr. Kelly said I could as soon as you arrived. It’s my grand-daughter’s birthday.”

Warner was retired NYPD. This job was a cupcake compared with that. Still, he took it very seriously, as evidenced by the worry in his eyes.

J.T. always hired men for his security details who were grossly overqualified. Many of our bodyguards were former Special Forces; one had even been a colonel in the Israeli army. That guy had scared the crap out of me.

“Go ahead,” I answered. “Place is locked up, no one here but us, right?”

Warner nodded. “Mr. Kelly’s meeting ended half an hour ago.”

“Have a nice time.”

The reception area outside my father’s office was empty, which struck me as odd. If J.T. was working late, his executive assistant should be as well. Maybe she was inside taking notes, or whatever euphemism they used for it around here.

I’d pegged Julie as the next Mrs. J. Thomas Kelly IV. She had that look, and J.T. hadn’t impregnated anyone for a few years. He was due.

I knocked lightly on the door to his inner sanctum, and it swung open at my touch.

“J.T.?”

My foot slid on the ceramic tile, and when I glanced down, I saw a splash of bright red across the Italian marble. My skin prickled, and I wished for the first time in my life that my bodyguard was shadowing me.

J.T.’s bodyguard was at his side, as was Julie. They didn’t look any more alive than he did. Then my father groaned; I ran forward and knelt next to him.

A throat wound seemed to be the source of most of the blood. Tiny puncture wounds marred his hands, and the forearms of his usually pristine white dress shirt appeared russet.

“J.T.?” I touched his wrist, which was far too cold. “I’ll call nine-one-one.”

He grabbed my hand in a surprisingly strong grip, and his blue eyes bored into mine. “Wait.”

“I’m here,” I said.

If I’d expected any dying declarations of love, I was disappointed, but then I so often was when it came to J.T.

“Go. Now.”

“But—”

“Get out.” The force of the words made him cough. Pink foam appeared on his lips. That couldn’t be good.

“I’ll call for help.”

“Too late.”

“You’ll be fine,” I insisted.

“Phoebe,” he whispered.

My skin prickled again. “Mom’s dead, J.T.”

“No.”

Now I was as cold as the tile floor against my knees. “She isn’t dead?”

He closed his eyes, shook his head.

“You bastard,” I whispered. “Where is she?”

His breathing became more labored. “Alaska.”

That made sense. Phoebe had been adopted as an infant by a wealthy Boston couple. She knew she was Inuit, that she’d been born in Alaska. She’d always wanted to go there. When she’d started seeing and then believing things, J.T. must have granted her wish.

“Where in Alaska?” I demanded.

“Secret,” he muttered.

“J.T.—”

“Look in the safe. Two. Twenty-five. Eighty.”

“The date you made your first million,” I murmured. Figures.

His lips curved. “Always were smart…”

Was that praise?

“Smart ass,” he said more clearly.

Nah.

“Trust no one,” J.T. continued.

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” I’d always had trust issues. “Who’s after us?”

I could understand people trying to kill J.T.; half the time, I wanted to. But I wasn’t that big of a bitch.

“Phoebe,” J.T. murmured. “You were right.”

The silence in the room was so sudden it took me several seconds to register that he’d stopped breathing.

I got to my feet, then stared down at J.T. for several seconds. Interesting that his last words were for a woman he’d abandoned twenty years ago.

Slowly, I lifted my hands; they were covered in blood. The sight cut through the haze that had come over me. Since entering the room, I’d lost a father and gained a mother. I wasn’t sure what to think about that.

Better think later. J.T. had been murdered; someone had tried to kill me. I had to get out of there, then get out of town. Convenient, since nothing on heaven and earth was going to stop me from seeing my mother. I just had to be careful. I didn’t need to bring whoever was after me down on her.

Sure, I could have notified the police, been taken into protective custody, but hadn’t J.T. just said to trust no one?

Not that I’d ever listened to him before. Unless what he’d said suited me, and this did.

Quickly I called the hospital about Roger but no one would give me any information. I was on my own.

I hurried to J.T.’s private bathroom, washed away every speck of blood, then stripped off my formal gown and strappy sandals. I stuffed them and my fur coat—warm but too attention-grabbing—into the linen closet and, familiar with J.T.’s penchant for romantic getaways, easily located a travel bag full of woman’s clothes beneath the sink. The name on the tag was Julie’s.

“I guess she was in line for promotion,” I murmured.

Luckily, Julie was almost my size. Her black V-neck top was a little tight, the black jeans a little short, but her boots fit and covered up the high-waters nicely.

I hadn’t worn a bra with the evening gown, and there was no way I could shove my C-cups into Julie’s almost A’s, so the clingy shirt became a bit pornographic, but I’d live. I hoped I would.

My tiny evening bag was pretty, not practical. I’d only had enough room for my ID, tip money, and lipstick.

I was going to need lots more cash to hire a private plane, which was the best way to leave New York without drawing too much attention. Knowing J.T., there’d be rainy-day money in his safe.

I grabbed Julie’s bag and headed into the office, averting my gaze from the bodies. In the bottom right-hand drawer of J.T.’s desk was a dial. I spun the numbers, and the top popped open.

Beneath it lay twenty thousand dollars in cash and a brochure for Lake Delton Psychiatric Clinic in rustic Alaska. The place was located between Fairbanks and the Arctic Circle. Brrr.

I stuffed every last dollar into the bag. Straightening, I was unable to keep my gaze from drifting one last time to the bodies.

They were gone.

“W hat the—?”

I closed my eyes, squeezed hard, and opened them again. Still no J.T., no Julie, no bodyguard. I’d think I’d imagined everything, except the blood was still there. The blood was everywhere.

I had to get out of there, because those bodies hadn’t moved on their own, which meant I wasn’t alone. And anyone who’d moved them but hadn’t mentioned it to me was someone I didn’t want to meet.

I wished, not for the first time, that I hadn’t sent Warner home. I also wished that I’d thought to relieve the bodyguard of his gun.

I snatched Julie’s coat—a nondescript black wool—from her office and headed out the door.

The place was silent, eerily so, and Julie’s clunky-heeled boots thunked so loudly the sound bounced off the smooth marble walls, drowning out everything else.

It wasn’t until I paused to button the coat that I heard the faint ticks, like a clock but too staccato—more like a horse, clip-clopping, faster and faster. Ta-ta, ta-ta, ta-ta.

According to Warner, no one had been in the building but J.T., Julie, the bodyguard, and me. Since I was the only one left alive, who was hurrying down the corridor? Must be the murderer.

I glanced back, but whoever it was hadn’t reached the corner yet. As I stared, wide-eyed, a shadow skated across the gray tile floor, too ghostly to make out, but something was there. I knew it, even before that something growled.

Giving in to panic, I ran.

Julie’s boots made a horrible racket, but bless her, she’d put some kind of traction patches on the soles, so I didn’t slip and fall.

I raced into the foyer and slammed against the exit; the impact made my teeth rattle, but the door didn’t move.

“Oh, God,” I whispered.

The ta-ta, ta-ta, ta-ta got faster and louder. I lifted a hand to hammer on the glass, then I saw the latch.

Locked. Duh.

I exploded into the chilly December air. The lock clicked home behind me as I turned. Nothing was there but the darkness. I inched closer, then closer still, pressing first my palms, then my body, then my nose to the glass.

A dark shape shot out of the gloom, smashing into the door right in front of my face. I jerked backward with a shriek, catching my heel on a crack and hitting the sidewalk hard. My ass was going to be one big bruise come tomorrow.

I waited for a second strike, but none came.

Getting to my feet, I tried to reconstruct what I’d seen. Big, black, furry. Ears, tail, teeth.

When had J.T. gotten an attack dog?

“Beast could have killed me,” I muttered, then paused.

Had it killed J.T.?

He’d had puncture marks on his hands, which could have been made by teeth, and didn’t dogs always go for the throat?

Though the actual killer who’d been after me was ashes, I’d been thinking there was a mastermind to this plan. Why else would J.T. be so concerned that I trust no one and take care of Phoebe, if he wasn’t worried a mysterious “someone” was after us all?

But why shoot at me, then sic a dog on everyone else? For that matter, how could a dog kill two grown men, one of them adept with a gun, as well as a grown woman?

I headed toward the subway. I hadn’t ridden it in years, but I didn’t want to hail a cab and risk being traced to the airport too easily.

I doubted anyone would discover the blood in J.T.’s office until the building opened, if then. No one would have any reason to go into his inner sanctum unless they had an appointment, and J.T. didn’t do appointments before ten a.m. By then, I’d be halfway across the country.

 

Less than twenty-four hours later, I stood on a frozen lake as the bush pilot I’d hired headed back to civilization. The only way to reach this part of the state had been by private aircraft at an astronomical price. Since I’d pay anything to reach Phoebe, I’d forked over the cash and climbed onto the plane.

I’d been a little creeped out when I’d learned that at this time of year, in the place I was headed, only a few hours of pale light appeared each day, and that was if the sky wasn’t cloudy. Any farther north, and the sun wouldn’t be visible at all until spring.

A cozy log cabin sat on the shore of the lake. Both matched the photos in the brochure, so I strode to the front door and knocked.

A few minutes later, I knocked again. When no one answered, I got uneasy. Shouldn’t they have heard the plane? If I lived out here in the great big nothing, I’d be excited about visitors, no matter who they were. You could be pretty certain you wouldn’t open the door to a salesman or a Jehovah’s Witness.

I glanced around, which was just foolish, because no one was there to shout, “Stop! Thief!” if I walked right in, so I did. Then I stood staring at virtually the same scene I’d left behind in New York.

Dead woman, dead man, lots of blood.

I couldn’t breathe, terrified the woman was Phoebe. Then I realized she was too short, too young, too blond. The man was big, muscular, no neck to speak of—another bodyguard.

Why had Phoebe needed a bodyguard? Everyone thought she was dead.

A better question would be: Where was Phoebe?

“Mom?” I called. “It’s Carly. You okay?”

My voice shook. I was getting pretty sick of stumbling into rooms full of dead people. I might be good in a crisis, but this was ridiculous.

I searched every nook and cranny but came up empty. There was no help for it; I was going to have to call the authorities, regardless of my reluctance to give away my location. I had two more dead bodies and a missing mother. There was no way I could look for her out there.

However, my tour of the premises had not netted a phone. Though I wasn’t wild about the idea, I searched the bodies.

They’d been killed by massive throat trauma, same as the last set. The man had puncture wounds on his hands and arms as well.

“No big black dog around here,” I muttered as I went through his pockets. Or at least, I hadn’t seen one yet.

Neither one of them had a cell phone. I took the guard’s gun; he didn’t need it anymore.

With no choice, I dug my phone out of my travel bag. The tiny icon for service blinked, cell phone code for “In your dreams.” Maybe stepping outside would help.

I did. It didn’t. Now what?

I was stranded at the edge of civilization with two dead bodies, and I had no idea if the killer remained nearby. I’d never felt more alone in my life.

As if in answer to the thought, a mournful howl rose toward the full, white moon. What sounded like a hundred others joined the first; the serenade surrounded me, growing in volume until I wanted to wail, too.

As suddenly as the howls had begun, they stopped. The resulting silence made me more nervous than all the noise had.

They had big wolves in Alaska; I was sure of it, although any wolf would appear pretty damn big to me. The largest canine in Manhattan was a standard poodle. Not exactly a ferocious beast—unless you took away its sparkly jeweled collar.

Standing on the back porch, with the moon all aglow, surrounded by trees so big they seemed prehistoric—hell, they probably were—I got the first sense that perhaps running off to find my mother hadn’t been one of my brighter ideas.

My second hint came when twigs broke to the left, snow crunched to my right, and a thud directly in front made me reach for the gun in my coat.

I backed toward the door, but before I could get inside, a huge, hulking, furry creature emerged from the forest.

“B ig Foot?” I asked.

“Who the hell are you?” The voice, which had a Southern lilt so far out of place in this land of ice and snow that I gaped, came from the depths of a fur-shrouded hood. Was that a wolfskin coat?

Nah. Couldn’t be legal.

He strode forward, and I shrank back, shoving the gun in front of me and waving it around a little. “Don’t move.”

Reaching out with longer arms than a person should have, he yanked away the weapon.

“Use it or lose it.” He turned the thing over in his hands. “How’d you get Joe’s gun?”

“He’s—” I wasn’t sure how to break the news about Joe, or even if I should.

I’d come upon the scene of a multiple murder, again, and now this guy had walked out of the woods. I should run for my life. Except he had the gun, and he’d probably just shoot me. Talk about being too stupid to live.

My neck had a crick from peering up at him. At five-foot-ten, I was a tall woman, but this…person had to top me by six inches and outweigh me by a hundred pounds. Or maybe that was just the coat.

With an exasperated sigh, the beast shoved past me and went inside, coming to an abrupt stop almost immediately.

“Shit,” he muttered.

My sentiments exactly.

The man pushed back his hood as he turned.

Hello.

Tanned, rugged, with hazel eyes that held more green than brown and tawny hair shorn close to his head, he was handsome in the way of cowboys and NFL quarterbacks.

“You’re the kid,” he drawled. “Phoebe’s daughter.”

“Who are you?”

He hesitated, then glanced at the bodies and shrugged. “Phoebe had a guard and a nurse twenty-four seven. We rotated in biweekly shifts. One week new guard, one week new nurse.” He scowled. “Gonna need a new one of both after today.”

“You’re her guard.”

“No, I’m the nurse.”

Sarcasm? I wasn’t sure. He knelt next to the woman and set his big, blunt fingers to her wrist, checking for a pulse. Damn, I should have thought of that.

“Is she—?”

“Definitely.” He switched his ministrations to the man. “Ditto. What happened?”

“I walked in; there they were.” I left out the extreme case of déjà vu.

“Phoebe.” He rose quickly to his feet.

“Not here. I checked.”

“Not good.”

“Because?”

“She’s either out there alone—and your mother doesn’t have the sense to put on a coat to take a walk, let alone grab one when she’s running for her life—or someone took her.”

“Why would someone take her?”

“You tell me. Daddy paid big money not only to keep your mother way out here but to keep her protected. Why?”

“He was paranoid?”

“I’ve discovered that most people who are paranoid usually have a good reason.”

“Really? I’ve found that most people who are paranoid are nuts.”

His lips twitched. I wasn’t certain if I’d amused him at last or merely annoyed him even more.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

I wasn’t going to elaborate on what had brought me to Alaska. I barely knew the man. Instead, I gave the short version.

“I came to see my mother.”

He lifted one brow. “Good luck with that.”

God, he was annoying.

“What kind of nurse are you?” I demanded. “Army?”

“How’d you guess?”

“Your bedside manner sucks.”

“Since my bedside manner usually takes place in a war zone, I can’t imagine why.”

I wasn’t surprised to discover J.T. had hired an Army nurse—if this guy was telling the truth, and why lie?—just another case of overkill.

“What’s your name?”

“Dylan Shepard.”

Didn’t mean anything to me, but why should it? Until yesterday, I’d thought my mother was dead. I certainly hadn’t kept tabs on her guards and nurses.

“Where’d you come from?” I continued.

“Originally or today?”

“Both.”

“Alabama and my cabin.”

“Which is where?”

“South of Tennessee, north of the Gulf.”

“Funny guy.”

“I get that a lot.”

I gave him a long look.

“I own a fishing cabin about two miles from here,” he continued. “Sometimes I’ll stay there between shifts.”

“And the other times?”

“I fly to Fairbanks and get a life.”

“You’re a pilot?” My voice rose with excitement.

“No, but I can call one.” He frowned at the bodies again. “Right now, I think I’ll call the police.”

“With what?” I asked. “If there’s a phone here, I can’t find it.”

“Extreme security. J.T.’s orders.”

“What if there was an emergency?”

He lifted a brow. “Like this?”

I spread my hands.

“I have a phone at my place.” He headed for the door, and I followed. When he stopped, I rammed into him, then bounced back about three feet.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

“I’m not staying here.” I glanced at the bodies. “With them. I’m going with you.”

“Listen, Your Highness, just because you’re queen of Manhattan don’t make you the boss of me.”

“Actually, I think I am the boss of you.”

“How you figure?”

“J.T.’s dead.”

He didn’t appear surprised. “How?”

I motioned to the bodies. “Same way.”

“That’s…weird.”

I had to agree.

Suddenly, he tilted his head.

“What?” I asked.

“Shh!” He punctuated the sharp hiss with an even sharper hand gesture. Since I wasn’t used to being shushed by anyone but J.T., I was shocked enough to do exactly that. I still didn’t hear anything.

Shepard crossed the floor. Inching to the side of the window, he peered out cautiously, then yanked his head back just as the glass exploded inward.

“Dammit!” Ducking low, he raced for the door, snatching my arm as he went by and dragging me along with him.

“What happened?”

“Shut up and run.” He shoved me outside. “Fast.”

“Where?” All the trees looked alike, and there wasn’t a path that I could see.

Shepard shouldered past. “Try to keep up. Try not to get shot.”

“Gee, I’ll do my best,” I muttered.

I glanced at the house. Shadows flitted beyond the windows. They were inside, but soon enough they’d discover that we weren’t. I hurried after Shepard, who was already a hundred feet ahead.

I jogged every day, but there was a heap big difference between jogging on a treadmill with my fancy-schmancy sneakers and hoofing it through the snow, wearing someone else’s boots and fearing for my life. Nevertheless, I managed to cling to Shepard’s heels.

I didn’t hear sounds of pursuit, probably because all I could hear were my own panicked breaths and the terrified pounding of my heart. I started to get winded; I didn’t know how much longer I could keep this up.

We burst from the trees and into an open field. I cringed at the glare of the full moon off all that snow. We were sitting ducks out here.

I slid into the cover of the trees, but that only brought me closer to our pursuers, although I still didn’t hear anything beyond a few crunches of snow in the distance. Shouldn’t they be calling out to one another, thundering after us, making a racket? That they weren’t only made me more nervous.

“Over here.” Shepard jabbed a finger to our right, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me after him. Instead of running straight across the pristine white field, we skirted the tree line.

Unable to stop myself, I glanced back. The moon revealed shadows fast approaching. The angle of the light made them appear almost inhuman.

My hesitation drew Shepard’s attention. “They’re good,” he muttered.

I’d been thinking the same thing. Shepard knew the area; we should be farther ahead than we were. Sure, we’d left tracks in the snow, but in the thickness of the forest, tracks should be pretty hard to see. Unless our pursuers had freakishly good night vision.

“Get inside,” Shepard ordered.

A cabin had popped out of nowhere, reminding me of Hansel, Gretel, and the witch’s house—an unpleasant image, considering the fiery death at the end, at least for the witch.

Nevertheless, I ran up the steps. The front door wasn’t locked, and I tumbled inside, Shepard on my heels. He flicked the lights, revealing a one-room cabin—stove, bed, table, and chairs.

Shepard lowered a heavy iron bar across the door, then slammed wooden shutters over the nearest window. I followed his lead, dealing with the shutters at the back of the house and struggling with a similar bar on the rear door.

When we’d finished, we stood on opposite sides of the room, listening. Not a sound came from outside. They had to be out there. What were they doing?

A sudden burst of howling made me start. My heart, which had been slowing, leaped and thundered once more. It sounded as if a pack of wolves had encircled the cabin.

I figured our pursuers would shoot a few, then start shooting us, but the howls continued, rising and falling in a wild chorus. Then, just as suddenly as they’d begun, the howls stopped.

Shepard cursed. “Let’s go.”

Before I could ask where and why, the lights went out with a tinny thunk, suspending us in navy blue darkness.

“Oh, goody,” I muttered. “Trapped.”

“Relax,” he murmured. “We aren’t trapped.”

“We’re in an isolated cabin with wolves and bad guys all around us. Electricity’s out—no phone, no lights. Feels pretty trapped to me.”

A sharp creak was followed by a draft of cool air, a snick, and a faint beam of yellow light illuminating a door in the floor. Steps led downward.

“You’re not really a nurse, are you?” I asked.

The flashlight splashed across his face, revealing a slight smile. Though the expression did not reach his eyes, it did soften the harsh lines of his face. He appeared younger when he smiled, and I was tempted to ask him how young, but he turned and disappeared down the steps.

I had little choice but to follow, even though dark, musty, spidery, rat-infested basements are not my thing. Shepard perched a few steps below, holding open the heavy trap door. He indicated with a jerk of his head that I should continue down.

He was big, and I wasn’t exactly small; as I went by, I brushed against him, chest to chest, hip to stomach. If I leaned forward just a little, my lips would brush his throat. God, he smelled good. Like moon-shrouded snow and fresh-cut evergreens.

His smile faded; he appeared almost confused. Had it been that long since a woman’s breasts had been near his chest? I know it had been quite a while since these particular breasts had been near anything but a bra.

If we weren’t running for our lives, I’d be tempted to discover what lay beneath that fur coat.

All my life, I’d dated slim, rich, Yankee men whose muscles had been honed by squash or a personal trainer and whose pedigrees had been much bluer than my own. I’d been interested enough, but I’d never felt the longing for them that shot through me now. The bizarre desire to get naked and sweaty and rough with a man whose muscles were bigger than my head and had been honed amid fire and blood and death.

Logically, I knew my reaction was the result of an innate need to mate with someone stronger than me, to be possessed, then protected. As soon as I was safe again, all of the lust would go away.

Why, yes, I was a psychology major. A lot of people with insane parents were.

I finished sliding past, the speed of the movement only serving to rub myself more thoroughly against him. Remembering the Lycra shirt and my lack of a bra, my nipples hardened. Shepard glanced down, his hazel eyes appearing almost blue in the faint ray of light. I’d opened my coat in the warmth of his cabin, and what I felt pressing against my shirt, straining toward him, had to be visible even in this light.

I wanted him to touch me, to push me against the wall, cup my aching breasts in his big, hard hands, put his mouth over my nipples, and suckle as he unbuckled his pants, yanked down mine, and thrusted.

He gritted his teeth, tore his gaze from mine, and pulled the trap door shut behind us. My cheeks flooded with heat. What was wrong with me? I preferred my sex neat and tidy, no emotional attachments, no spending the night, the less muss and fuss, the better. But out here, with him, more things had changed than the weather.

When Shepard handed me the flashlight, his face had gone blank, as if the encounter had never happened. I wasn’t sure if I should be insulted or relieved. Maybe he was gay.

I preceded him down the steps to a small earthen room. An even smaller tunnel led away from it.

“How did you do this?” I tracked the flashlight beam across the walls, the floor, the ceiling. “The ground has to be frozen solid.”

“With enough money, you can do anything.”

Understanding dawned. “J.T.”

He lifted one massive shoulder, then lowered it. “Nothing but the best for Phoebe and her keepers.”

I frowned. That didn’t sound like J.T. If he’d cared so much about Phoebe, why had he sent her there? Why had he told everyone she was dead? Perhaps to keep something like this—blood, death, panicked pursuit—from happening?

Shepard began to root around a shadowy corner. Seconds later, he held out a pair of gloves and a really ugly hat.

“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m trying to cut down.”

He rolled his eyes. “This isn’t the place for vanity, Highness. Without these, you’ll get frostbite, and I don’t have the time.”

“Thought you were a nurse.”

“You want your fingers and ears to fall off? That would not be a good look for you.”

“Fine.” I grabbed the gloves and the hat and put them on, while he grabbed a monstrous pack and slipped it onto his back, then headed into the tunnel.

The trip was a short one. I didn’t see a single spider. Not a rat to be had, which probably had more to do with the subzero temperatures than luck. My luck hadn’t been anything but bad since I’d stepped out of my apartment…had that only been last night?

The tunnel tilted upward, narrowing. By the time a lighter shade of darkness appeared, we had descended to our knees, Shepard removing the pack and shoving it ahead of him, as we crawled through a very tight space. I didn’t like it, but I doubted I’d like what happened if I turned around and went back any better.

“Once they’re inside,” Shepard murmured, “it won’t take them long to figure out where we’ve gone and follow. If we can get far enough ahead, we should be okay.”

I hadn’t heard sounds of pursuit, but I’d been too fixated on the possibility of spiders and rats to pay much attention.

We reached the exit hole. Shepard flicked off the flashlight and shoved it into the pocket of his fur coat. Then he made a staying motion with one gloved mitt and crept through.

I tensed in expectation of an outcry, a gunshot. When none came, he held out a hand and helped me from the passage.

We emerged much deeper in the forest, a place where the trees were so tall and thick you could barely see past them. In the distance, shadows danced—shadows that appeared more wolflike than human.

“You think they went inside already?” I whispered.

Shepard opened his mouth—and the world exploded into sound and fire and light.

“W as that your cabin?” I asked.

“Was,” Shepard agreed. He didn’t sound very concerned. “Guess they decided to do this the easy way.”

“Why is that”—I stabbed a finger at the brightly burning blaze—”the easy way?”

“No shootout, no storming the door. Just kaboom, and they’re done.”

“If it’s so damn easy to blow up a place, why didn’t they do that at the clinic?”

“Could be they wanted to make sure they had the right place, the right person—or anyone at all. Blow someone up, and you’re never quite sure.”

He had a point.

“What did I ever do to have people on opposite sides of the country trying to kill me?” I muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“Someone tried to kill me in New York, too.”

“That might have been a good thing to share before now.”

“You think?” I mocked, then really wished I hadn’t.

I’d learned sarcasm at J.T.’s knee, discovered it was the best way to fight back against a man who had no use or affection for me. Being good at being a smart ass was my only measure of control in a world where I had little. The habit was hard to break.

Around here—I glanced at the trees, the snow, the acres and acres of nothing else—I didn’t have much control, either. Still, being Sarcasm Girl with the only person alive for miles who hadn’t tried to kill me yet was probably not a good choice.

However, Shepard’s face had turned thoughtful; he didn’t even react to my comment, which made it no fun at all. “Someone tried to kill you, then they killed your dad?” he asked.

“Not the same person, but basically, yes.”

“Then they came for your mom.”

“Also probably not the same person; they would have needed to have a plane waiting in order to beat me here.”

“Not so hard.”

True, but…“Everyone thought she was dead, including me.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Well, that explains why you didn’t call, you didn’t write.” He glanced away. “She cried for you.”

My throat tightened. I’d cried myself to sleep a lot of nights missing my mother; she’d done the same missing me. If J.T. weren’t dead, I’d be tempted to kill him.

“J.T. could have told them Phoebe was alive and where to find her,” Shepard continued.

“Why would he do that?”

“People will do just about anything for one more minute of life.”

I liked to think I wouldn’t, but I’d never had the opportunity to test the theory. I hoped I never would.

“We should go,” Shepard said. “They think we’re dead, but that doesn’t mean they won’t make certain of it.”

He began to walk; I began to follow. “Where are we going?”

“I’ve got to stash you somewhere safe,” he said. “Then I’ll find your mother.”

“Like hell.” I stopped. “I’m going with you.”

Shepard didn’t even turn. “No, you aren’t.”

“She’s my mother.” He kept walking. “Hey!”

His shoulders flinched, but at least he turned. “Keep it down, Highness. The bad guys aren’t deaf, and noises travel fast and far around here.”

In Manhattan, noises blended. Shouting wasn’t a big deal; cab drivers did it every day.

“Sorry,” I said more quietly. “I just want to find my mother. I need to find her, to see her. To explain—”

To my horror, my voice broke. I wasn’t a crier, at least not anymore. Crying hadn’t brought my mother back; it hadn’t made J.T. love me. Nothing could.

I cleared my throat, stiffened my spine, and met Shepard’s hard hazel eyes. He said nothing, just turned and walked away.

I had no choice but to follow, and as I did, my mind picked at a single pounding question. Why had J.T. told me my mother was dead?

Not that I was shocked he’d lied—when hadn’t he?—but what was the point? Why would J.T. have cared if I visited Phoebe? It wasn’t as if he was competing for my affections. He’d never wanted them.

There was so much going on I didn’t understand, and there was no way I was going to sit somewhere safe, wherever that was, and wait for Dylan Shepard to find my mother for me. Just once, I was going to be there for the woman who’d brought me into the world.

Shepard paused; I did, too. His shoulders were so massive they blocked out the sight of whatever it was that had made him stop. I leaned to the right, the left. Nothing. I glanced behind us, then upward. The trees were so thick I could barely discern the moon, let alone the stars.

“Are we lost?”

He shot me a withering glare. “Stay here.”

Before I could argue, he strode into the forest and, despite his size, blended into the shadows.

Without Shepard, the night closed in. Logically, I knew the trees hadn’t moved nearer; nevertheless, I kept throwing glances over my shoulder to check. The wind whistled through the branches, the chill of the snow crept through my boots, and the air stung my cheeks. I was the last living soul for miles.

“Phoebe’s gone.” Shepard’s voice sounded right next to my ear, and I jumped, managing to bite off the shriek before it echoed everywhere.

“Don’t do that!” I rubbed between my breasts with the heel of my hand. How could such a big guy move so quietly?

“Sorry.”

He didn’t sound sorry. He sounded amused, which caused me to snap, “I know Phoebe’s gone. Tell me something new.”

“She was here less than an hour ago, and she headed”—he pointed north—”that way.”

I swallowed my childish annoyance. “How do you know?”

“Rangers lead the way. Hoo-ah.”

“You were in the Special Forces?” He nodded. “Thought you were a nurse.”

“Medic.”

Trust J.T. to hire the best of both worlds—medical training and supreme security.

“We need to find your mother before someone else does,” he said, and turned away.

I followed him to a small hole in the snow where human tracks led north.

“Abandoned coyote den,” Shepard explained. “I showed the place to Phoebe once. Made it our rendezvous point, just in case something like this happened.”

“You expected to be attacked?”

His eyes met mine, and I saw the man he’d been, the man he still was. “Guys like me always expect to be attacked.”

Which was probably how he’d stayed alive. “If this was a rendezvous,” I asked, “why didn’t she wait?”

“Probably got spooked.”

“Because of the continual darkness, prehistoric trees, gun-wielding maniacs with explosives, and marauding wolf packs? I can’t understand why.”

He studied me. “How much do you know about why your mother was sent here?”

“She had delusions.”

“Did anyone ever tell you what those delusions were?”

“No.”

A delusion was a delusion, as far as I was concerned. Phoebe had seen things that weren’t there, heard things that didn’t exist, believed things that weren’t true. What difference did it make what those things were?

“Phoebe thought there were monsters after her,” Shepard continued. “Werewolves, to be exact.”

“T hat’s ridiculous,” I snapped.

“There’s more to this world than you think, Highness.”

I doubted that. J.T.’d had no patience for tall tales. He’d set me straight on the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, and the Easter Bunny toot-sweet. Considering my mother’s slim grip on reality, that was probably for the best.

I’d had no delusions of my own. No hope that magic would change my life. No belief that love could conquer all. I knew better.

Shepard reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out Joe’s gun. He popped the clip, removed a bullet, and held it up. “What does that look like to you?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“Look at it closely. What’s the first thing you see?”

“Violence. Death. Blood.”

He made an exasperated sound. “I mean physical properties.” He turned the bullet this way and that, until a shaft of moonlight bounced off its surface and nearly blinded me.

“Shiny,” I answered.

“What kind of shiny?”

“Silver.” Shepard lifted his eyebrows, and I understood. “Joe carried silver bullets?”

“So did I before my guns were blown to smithereens.”

“Why?”

“Silver kills people, too.”

“Too?” I repeated. “You were expecting werewolves?”

“Phoebe was.”

“She was insane!”

“Was she?” He snapped the silver bullet back into the clip and popped the clip into the gun. “You said J.T. was killed in the same way as Joe and the nurse—throat torn, bite marks on the hands?”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

“You didn’t find this bizarre?”

“There was an attack dog.”

“Isn’t it too big of a coincidence for J.T.’s security hound to flip out and kill three people on one side of the country and another beast thousands of miles away to do the same?”

“That explanation makes more sense than werewolves. There’s no such thing. Believing there was put my mother in the nuthouse.”

“Burying your head in the sand will put you in the morgue.”

Now I was exasperated. “How can you stand there and tell me you believe in werewolves?”

“Because I’ve seen them.”

I opened my mouth, shut it again. If he believed that—and I could tell he did—Shepard was as crazy as Phoebe. For all I knew, he could have been a resident of the clinic and not an employee. I only had his word that he was a nurse, a former soldier, a sane person.

“Didn’t you find it odd,” he continued, “that the guys at the clinic were able to follow us to my cabin so easily, hardly making a sound?”

“They were highly trained.”

“They were werewolves.”

“That’s crazy,” I said, before I could stop myself. Crazy people often got crazier when you called them crazy. One of their many quirks. “They were assassins or government operatives, maybe both.”

When put that way, maybe werewolves were the better choice.

“I heard them howling, Carly. So did you. We were surrounded by wolves.”

Though I knew it was pointless, I tried one more time to convince him. “You don’t honestly think wolves blew up the cabin? Kind of hard to manage without thumbs.”

“They shape-shifted. That’s what werewolves do.”

“So they became wolves to follow us, shifted into people so they could blow us up, then became wolves again? Seems like a lot of hassle to me.”

“If I were in charge, I’d have some shift and some remain human. Takes care of all your hunting and killing needs.”

He had a point, but I still didn’t believe in werewolves.

“If there aren’t werewolves,” he pressed, “why the silver bullets in the guns at the clinic?”

“To keep Phoebe from flipping out?” And you, too, I wanted to add, but refrained. “Why would they kill J.T. and the others as werewolves, then try to blow us up?”

“To make certain you’re dead, that you won’t rise again as one of them.”

Though I knew he was nuts and none of this was real, nevertheless, his words made me shiver, or maybe it was just the continuous ill wind whipping my hair, stinging my cheeks, and insinuating itself through the fibers of Julie’s too-light-for-an-Alaskan-winter-night coat.

“The others aren’t dead?” I asked.

“Hard to say, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they turned up somewhere. You said there was an attack dog at J.T.’s office. Was it a big dog?”

“Aren’t all attack dogs huge?”

“Were the eyes human?”

I started to laugh. Shepard didn’t.

“Werewolves retain human eyes even in wolf form. If you’d gotten a good look at the animal, you might have recognized it.”

My laughter died as I rubbed my forehead. “You think the attack dog was a werewolf, the one that killed my father?”

“For all we know, it could have been your father.”

My hand dropped. J.T. as a werewolf—now, that was a frightening thought.

“Tell me one thing,” Shepard continued. “Were the dead people still dead when you left the building?”

My heart gave one hard, painful thump as if trying to jump from my chest, then began to patter too fast.

Shepard grabbed my elbow. “What happened?”

“The bodies were gone,” I whispered. “I thought the murderer had moved them.”

“Sounds like they moved themselves.”

I didn’t believe this. I didn’t. There had to be a logical explanation other than dead people returning to life as murderous beasts.

“We need to keep going.” Shepard glanced back the way we’d come. “At the moment, they think we’re dead, but that won’t last forever.”

“Why not?”

“Werewolves possess the physical abilities of wolves.” At my blank expression, he elaborated. “Superior senses of sight, sound, and scent.”

In other words, they’d be able to smell us out here, if they didn’t hear or see us first. I glanced over my shoulder, too. “We should have a good head start.”

“Won’t last. Wolves can run forty miles an hour. They’ve been known to range a hundred twenty-five miles in a single day—although forty is average. They’ll chase a herd for miles just to tire them out, then accelerate. Combine all of that with human intelligence…” He spread his hands.

I wasn’t buying this, but it wasn’t doing me any good to stand there, either. “Okay, let’s go.”

We began to walk again, Shepard leading the way, breaking a path through the snow so I could follow. Every once in a while, he stopped, pointing to my mother’s footprint. I only had his word that the prints were Phoebe’s, but who else would be walking around the Alaskan wilderness alone?

The longer I followed Shepard, the more nervous I became. He was leading me Lord knew where, for God only knew what reason. He’d walked out of the forest right after I’d found dead bodies. He could have killed them.

Of course, he could have killed me, too, if he’d wanted to. Why wait?

Why did a crazy person do anything?

Surreptitiously, I took out my cell phone and nearly dropped it when I saw I had a signal.

“I—uh—” Shepard stopped; I slipped the phone into my pocket as he turned. “Need to go.” I jerked a thumb at a nearby tree, and Shepard nodded.

As soon as I was out of sight, I increased my pace. As soon as I was out of earshot, I ran.

Stupid, really. Shepard had been tracking Phoebe; he could easily track me. But I had the crazy idea that if I could make a phone call before he caught me, the cavalry would arrive. Except, how would any cavalry find me in this vast wilderness, especially when I had no idea where I was?

I paused, breathing hard, wondering if I should zig to the right or zag to the left. Then the crackle of feet atop hard snow made me turn.

The wolf was huge, its fur both silver and black, enough like Shepard’s coat to make my skin prickle. Wasn’t there a legend about shamans who donned the skin of a wolf and became one?

It advanced as I retreated. The shape and shade of its eyes were difficult to determine in the night beneath the canopy of trees. Something light, perhaps hazel?

The beast growled, low, threatening, and I stumbled, nearly falling before managing to stay upright. What was it waiting for?

My boot slid as if I’d stepped on ice. I glanced down. I was on ice. My gaze returned to the wolf, which appeared to be grinning. But why?

That became evident as a sharp crack split the night, and the ice gave way beneath my feet.

T he shock of the water made me cry out. The wolf surged forward, and for the first time, I saw its eyes clearly. They were human.

Fear made me flail. Broken ice bobbed around me. My mouth filled with water so cold my teeth hurt. I needed to calm down, take one disaster at a time.

First, don’t drown.

Second, get out of the water—fast.

Third, don’t get eaten by the werewolf.

I managed to tread water despite the weight of my boots, clothes, and coat, but I wouldn’t be able to do so for long. I lunged at the side of the hole, my gloved hands scrabbling for purchase, and the wolf snarled, then snapped at my fingers. I let go and went under again.

What was going on? If the beast wanted me dead, there were faster ways than drowning me.

When I bobbed up, blinking water from eyeballs that burned with cold, the wolf lay on the ice, nose on its forepaws, staring right at me. This close, I could see the eyes quite clearly; I didn’t know them.

Nevertheless, I was screwed. If I tried to get out, the werewolf would attack; if I stayed in, I’d drown or freeze to death. Already, the lethargy that preceded hypothermia slowed my movements. My lips froze together, and my eyelashes dripped with teeny-tiny icicles.

Suddenly, the beast lifted its head. Something was coming. By the sounds of the approach, something big. Maybe a bear.

Would that be better or worse?

The figure that shot from the trees wasn’t a bear but Shepard. The wolf scrambled to its feet.

“Dylan.” I tried to shout, but my voice had gone hoarse from the cold. “It’s—”

I meant to say “a werewolf,” but Shepard finished the sentence with a single word: “Joe.”

The animal charged. Shepard drew his gun and pulled the trigger in a smooth, practiced movement that reminded me of old westerns and gunslingers—although I’d never seen one where the gunman wore fur.

The werewolf exploded, flames shooting so high I feared the trees might catch fire. Huh. The assassin in New York must have been a werewolf, too.

Shepard hurried past the burning ball of fire without even giving it a glance. “Why did you walk on the ice?” he asked, pausing at the edge. “It isn’t stable.”

“Like I’d know stable ice if it bit me on the ass.” I wasn’t making sense, but can you blame me?

Shepard dropped to his knees, then stretched flat, inching onto the surface, but every movement caused more cracks to race between him and me. He stopped, worry etching furrows in his face. “We’ve got to get you out of there. Fast.”

I didn’t have the energy to say something sarcastic, which bothered me more than the cold.

Behind Shepard, shadows emerged from the trees. I blinked several times, and enough of the icicles fell away so that I could see clearly.

“Wolves,” I whispered.

Shepard scooted backward so fast the ice crackled threateningly, but he managed to reach solid ground and draw the gun. This time, however, he didn’t shoot. The wolves were actually wolves, their eyes devoid of the whites that marked both a human and a werewolf.

The animals skirted Shepard, slinking nearer to me, their manner nonthreatening. A large black male paused at the edge, then hunkered down and crept forward in a movement that mimicked Shepard’s. Except that the wolf weighed less than I did, so the ice did not protest. It reached me and bent its head as if in submission. I wasn’t sure what to do.

“Grab on,” Shepard said quietly.

I hesitated, not wild about going anywhere near the powerful jaw and sharp teeth, but the cold had gotten so bad I didn’t much care how I died. So I used the last of my energy to make a final lunge, and my fingers found fur.

I clutched, pulled, then wrapped my arms around the wolf’s neck and hugged with all my might. The animal inched backward until we were both on solid ground, and I let go.

The wolf stood and shook itself. Bits of ice, snow, and water sprayed everywhere, and the world began to fade.

A chorus of growls snapped me back. The wolves stood between Shepard and me. Shepard pointed his gun at the nearest one.

“No,” I managed. “They’re trying to help.”

“I have to get you warm, or your heart will stop.”

As if they’d understood, the wolves closed in, encircling me, snuggling close, sharing their heat.

The last thing I heard before I passed out was Shepard muttering, “I’ll be damned.”

When I awoke, I still lay beneath the stars, surrounded by wolves. I began to shiver so violently my back ached with it. Would I ever be warm again?

“Let’s get inside.”

Inside? Where? How? I didn’t know. But the idea was so appealing I struggled to sit up.

My movements woke the wolves, and I stilled. Would they turn on me now?

One by one, the animals unwound themselves from the pile. As they did, they brushed my hands and face with their noses, gently, like a kiss, then faded into the trees.

“Were they real?” I breathed.

A single howl was answered by several more. The sound no longer made me feel sad and lonely but accepted, as if I were one of them.

Shepard lifted me into his arms and strode away from the broken river. Farther downstream, with the shelter of snow banks on three sides, he’d pitched the tent he must have been carrying in the huge backpack.

Inside, a small stove warmed the air. He set me on what appeared to be a deer hide so he could tie the flap, then turned. “Strip,” he said.

I blinked stupidly.

“You have to get out of the wet clothes, Carly. You’ll never survive in them.”

I was too cold to be modest; I was also too cold to be naked.

He released the buttons of my coat more quickly than I could have with my numb fingers, helping me slip out of it and the rest of Julie’s things as if I were a child. When I was naked, he threw his wolf coat around me. Oddly enough, the warmer I became, the more I shivered.

Dylan began to undress, too.

“Wh-wh-what are you d-d-doing?” My teeth chattered so much I was afraid I’d bite off my tongue.

“Skin-to-skin contact is the quickest way to offset hypothermia.”

He yanked off his shirt. Muscles rippled in the firelight, sleek and golden. Perfect. If I weren’t dying, I’d be tempted to lick him all over.

His boots, socks, and pants went the way of his shirt, then he scooted beneath the coat before I could get a decent look at anything else. I did, however, feel it.

He slid his body along mine, urging me to turn over. “Spoon, Carly, like this.”

My back to his front, we fit together like spoons in a drawer, something I’d heard about but never done. When you sleep with a guy just for the sex—my standard modus operandi, as I’d trusted no one long before J.T. had suggested it—spooning isn’t included. A damn shame, too. Spooning was nice.

My head rested beneath his chin; his arm lay heavy across my hip. Our feet tangled together, his so much warmer than mine.

“How did you know the wolf was Joe?” I asked.

“Same eyes, and Joe’s hair was black, with just a little gray.”

In other times—like yesterday—I’d have scoffed at that explanation. But yesterday I hadn’t seen human eyes in an inhuman face.

“He herded me onto the ice. After it cracked and I went in, he wouldn’t let me climb out.”

“That makes no sense. Werewolves like to kill in the most bloody, destructive way possible. They don’t try to drown or freeze their victims to death. They don’t have the self-control.” Shepard’s breath drew in, then sifted out, the movement pressing us more intimately together. “These aren’t behaving normally, and I don’t like it.”

“You’d prefer they tore me limb from limb?”

“Of course not. But they’re up to something, and it can’t be good.”

I had to agree. “In New York, the man who tried to kill me exploded when my bodyguard shot him.”

“Your bodyguard carried silver bullets?”

“Apparently so.” I wondered if they always had.

“If J.T. expected the werewolves to come, why didn’t he keep you in a glass cage like Phoebe?”

“I wouldn’t have stayed.”

Dylan went silent, tugging me closer, sharing his warmth. I would have liked to ask more questions, but in the aftermath of another brush with death, that urge to feel alive was back, much stronger than it had been on the steps of his cabin, when guys with guns were chasing us, before I’d ever heard about werewolves, before I’d ever seen one.

I arched my back, and his penis leaped, pressing against my spine.

“Carly.” Dylan’s voice was low, warning.

I turned to face him. “What?”

“This is about staying alive.”

“Exactly,” I said, and kissed him.

D ylan’s lips were cool, his mouth so warm, his skin soft over the hardness of bone and muscle. I sank into him—tasting, touching, needing the heat of his embrace in more ways than one.

He held back, believing I was fragile, dying, and maybe I was, but if this was my last night, I didn’t want to spend it cold and alone.

I swept my tongue into his mouth, grazing his teeth, the jaggedness of their edge a delicious sensation. My fingers explored his chest, all muscle and sinew and smooth, smooth skin. My thumbs ran along the hollow of his collarbone; my palms skated over broad shoulders.

“Carly, no.” His words vibrated against my lips. I lifted my head, searching for the truth. Did he truly mean no?

His eyes said the same thing as the erection pressing against my stomach. He wanted this; he wanted me, as much as I wanted him.

“It’s all right, Dylan.” I wrapped my hand around him—cold to warm, soft to hard. “Didn’t they ever tell you in nursing school about the best way to heat the blood?”

“They might have mentioned something,” he drawled, his accent more pronounced than ever before.

I leaned in, my mouth hovering over his as I let our breath mingle, let him think I might kiss him, then again I might not. The dip in ice water seemed to have hardened my nipples permanently. They grazed his chest, and I had to fight not to rub myself against him and purr.

Meanwhile, I stroked him, milked him, made him groan, pulse, nearly come before he grabbed my wrist and held me still.

“I want this.” I stared into his eyes, letting him see that I did.

He surrendered with a curse, his mouth capturing mine in a kiss that raised the temperature beneath the wolf coat several degrees in an instant.

He made love to my lips, gently at first—nibbling, then stroking. As the heat spread both through and around us, the kiss hardened, deepened. His teeth nipped; he enticed my tongue into his mouth, suckling just the tip, and his hands…

They were everywhere. I’d never felt a working man’s hands on my body. I’d never considered how arousing they might be—the subdued strength, the contrast of callused palms to skin pampered daily by lotions and potions. Every brush was a delight, every scrape an enticement. Shivering, I pressed myself against him, silently begging for more.

“Shh,” he murmured, tracing his lips from my mouth to my cheek, then my eyebrow. “I’ll make you warm.”

In the rush of desire, I’d forgotten the icy river bath, the pain in my extremities, the near-death experience, which had been the whole idea.

The firelight danced across his face, and I followed the flickers with my fingertips. His eyes opened, hazel darkened to evergreen, and he smiled. The expression did something odd to my heart.

He flipped the coat over our heads, and the world receded; everything important lay within the cocoon of heat created by our bodies. He walked his lips over my neck, then down to my breasts.

One slight flick of his tongue, and sparks ignited. A moan escaped. I couldn’t help myself. Nothing had ever felt this wonderful in my life.

Taking the sound for the encouragement it was, he drew me into his mouth; my hands tangled in his hair, showing him a rhythm.

I’d never been aroused by attention to my breasts. Perhaps because most of my dates said hello with their eyes locked beneath my neck and spent the better part of those dates the same way. Most men I’d slept with pawed and poked as if conducting a science experiment.

Dylan did none of these things. He treated my breasts as he treated the rest of me, with a respect bordering on reverence. Because of that, I opened myself to him in every way.

The pull of his lips caused my hips to arch in response, and his palm lowered, heat in my belly both without and within.

The pull of his roughened fingertips was a contrast to the gentleness of his touch. The scent of him, snow and evergreens, the land, the wind, the night…I’d never smell any of them again without thinking of him.

He kissed his way down my rib cage, tongue running along each curved bone. He rubbed his face against my belly, the scratch of his beard making me jerk, then the press of his lips grounding and settling me.

My hands drifted over his shoulders, across his back, then hesitated at what I felt there. But when I began to explore, he slid lower, flicked his tongue over me once, and I forgot everything else as he kissed me where I’d never been kissed before.

I cried out, as much from the shock as from the sensation. I’d never accepted oral sex, never been interested. To me, the act was more intimate than intercourse, and I wasn’t much for intimacy. But here in the land of eternal midnight, with a man I’d only just met—a man who’d saved my life several times—I could no more deny him that than I could deny him anything. I didn’t want to.

I wanted to learn everything he had to teach, both in the darkness and in the light. I wanted to be with him, to hold him, to welcome him into my body and my life.

My legs trembled. He ran his fingertips down the quivering muscles, then up again, urging me without a word to relax. His mouth did clever, amazing things, soft flickers of his tongue, hard, open-mouthed kisses. He tasted me deep inside, riding his thumb on my throbbing center until I convulsed, fighting to be free, even as I ached to become one with him.

He understood my need and met it, rising over me with one sleek, powerful surge and plunging inside as the orgasm rolled over me, and I cried out unintelligible words that ended in his name.

The coat fell away, revealing his face in the firelight, stark, open, and I got that funny feeling again just below my breastbone. Reaching up, I touched his cheek, and he opened his eyes, staring into mine as he came.

When the last shudders died, he buried his face in my neck and kissed me, then rolled aside, spooning us as he stroked my hair.

Now was usually the time when either I left or they did. Except there was nowhere to go, and I wasn’t sure what to do.

“Sleep,” Dylan whispered, and, amazingly, I did.

When I awoke, the flame in the small stove still burned merrily, sending shadows dancing across the canvas walls. Dylan was no longer wrapped around me; the tent had become quite toasty.

He lay on his stomach, fast asleep. His eyelashes created a shadowy crescent against his cheeks, the stubble of his beard making him appear paler than I knew him to be. Perhaps the pressure of dragging me along as we ran for our lives was wearing on him.

But shouldn’t he be used to pressure? He’d said he was in Special Forces—a Ranger. They fought for their lives all the time.

He’d also said he was a nurse. Was that truth or fiction? I knew so little about this man, and I wanted to know everything.

Reaching out, I ran my palm across his shoulder, down his back, and I felt again what I’d felt last night: deep ridges across what should be perfect flesh.

I propped myself on one elbow, drew back the makeshift blanket, and winced. Raised white streaks marred one shoulder.

Frowning, I leaned in close, but I didn’t need to see any better to know that claws had made those scars.

W hen I lifted my gaze, Dylan’s eyes were open. The stillness of his expression revealed that he hadn’t wanted me to see, even before he shifted and pressed his shoulders to the ground.

“Who did that to you?” I demanded.

“Not who. What.”

“A werewolf,” I murmured. “Tell me.”

“Not relevant.”

“We’re being chased by werewolves that want me dead. You don’t think scars from a werewolf are relevant?”

“One has nothing to do with the other. The werewolf that did this to me isn’t after us.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because he’s a coat.”

My gaze flicked to the wolfskin. “Good.”

He stared at me for several seconds, then shook his head. “You don’t want to throw it off while you make girlie, grossed-out noises?”

“Maybe later.”

A surprised bark of laughter escaped him. “You’re amazing.”

“Right back atcha.”

I was tempted to pull him into my arms and make him forget what haunted him, except I was pretty sure what haunted him was chasing me—or something very much like it. I wanted to know everything Dylan did about the creature that shouldn’t exist.

“Tell me,” I repeated. “Please.”

Maybe if I knew more, I’d be afraid less. Probably not. But knowledge is power; knowing more definitely couldn’t hurt.

Dylan stared at the roof of the tent as if he could see through it and into the night. Would the sky lighten even a little to signal the dawn?

I had no idea what time it was anymore, I didn’t know what day it was. My world had narrowed to Dylan and this place, and maybe that wasn’t so bad. Out there, people—make that things—were trying to kill me. In here, there was only us.

“I was in Afghanistan,” he began. “Place was mostly a wasteland even before we arrived. We searched those caves endlessly.”

“For Bin Laden?”

“Among others. There’s no shortage of nuts there—or anywhere else, for that matter. People in the U.S. think they understand what’s going on outside our borders, but they don’t. Not really. The majority of the world would be happy to see America fall like the Roman Empire, and we might. All the signs are there.”

My eyebrows lifted, my interest piqued, but I let it go. Werewolves first, Roman Empire comparisons later.

“We had constant intel about this terrorist or that whack job,” he continued. “Every day, every night, a new mission to check out a new cave. The things are like an endless honeycomb. I still see them when I close my eyes. When I sleep, I see what came out of them.”

My skin prickled. “Werewolves?”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “A whole pack. The moon was dark—”

“Dark?” I interrupted.

“New moon, or no moon, although the moon’s always there, we just can’t see it. Dark moon is the best time for an op. No shiny silver flares off the guns.”

Made sense, or at least as much sense as anything else he’d been saying. “I thought werewolves only came out under the full moon.”

“Under a full moon, they’re possessed by a blood lust so strong they can do nothing but kill. Under any other moon, they kill just for the fun of it.”

“Fun?” My voice wavered.

“They’re monsters, Carly. Once bitten, pure evil takes over—the love of the kill, the thrill of having power over life and death.

“That night, our intel said the usual: terrorists in a cave at such-and-such longitude and latitude. We’d bomb the hell out of that particular section, then we’d go in and check what was left of the bodies and hope like hell we’d find Bin Laden or at least a large enough part of him to be sure.”

“But that night, you found something other than terrorists?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know who the men were who came out of those caves in the shapes of wolves. The night was so dark,” he continued, his voice low, hoarse, his face still, eyes distant. I laced my fingers with his. He didn’t seem to notice, but I held on anyway.

“Before, whenever we reached the bombed-out caves, nothing moved; everyone was dead.” He took a deep breath, then another. “But not this time.”

“What happened?”

“No silver bullets,” he said simply.

The scene spread out in my mind. Wolves climbing out of the rubble, slinking shadows beneath the ebony sky. Coming closer, their forms solidifying into snarling, slavering beasts. The soldiers emptying clip after clip into them, and still they advanced—an army of wolves with human eyes. I shuddered.

“Hey.” Dylan tugged me into his arms, and I let him. “You okay?”

“I need to hear this. I have to know.”

Being held against him helped. He’d fought werewolves before and won. He’d do so again. We’d beat them; we’d survive. Together.

“How did you get out of there alive?” I asked.

“Pure chance, dumb luck. All of the others were killed. Kind of.”

“How can you be kind of dead?”

“Killed, not dead. Or at least, not dead completely, or maybe dead and then risen again.”

“Isn’t that a zombie?”

My voice was flippant; once again, he didn’t laugh. “There are more monsters in this world than you realize.”

We went silent for several seconds. I decided I didn’t want to know about the “more” right now. I had all I could handle with the werewolves.

Dylan’s chest rose and fell against my cheek, the movement already familiar and comforting.

“The first wolf knocked me aside,” he continued. “I flew several yards, fell down an incline. My shoulder burned. Didn’t realize how bad it was until I tried to climb out of the hole and passed out. The screams brought me back.”

He swallowed, and his throat clicked loudly in the sudden silence. “I made it to the top. By then, the screams had stopped, and the wolves milled around among the bodies. I still thought they were wolves.” He shook his head. “Even though hundreds of bullets had plowed into them and they’d kept coming. One of them sensed me, lifted its head, and I saw the eyes. There was no mistaking them for just wolves after that.”

“No,” I agreed. I’d seen one, too.

“I knew they’d come for me. I didn’t plan to go easily, but all of my weapons were useless.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t have to do anything. A howl sounded in the distance, and they disappeared.”

“Like that?” I snapped my fingers.

“No.” The ghost of a smile tilted his lips. “They left on four paws. Called by their leader, I think. I started to climb out of the hole again. I needed to check if anyone was alive, though I doubted it, then make sure they had proper burials back home where they belonged.” His accent became stronger, sounding as deep as the South where he’d been born. “But before I could, they began to change.”

“Change?” I whispered, but I knew what he meant.

“They rose again. First as men, completely healed of all the wounds that had killed them. Then they became wolves and followed the others into the night.”

“And then?”

“I called for help, and when they came, I told them I was the only one left. My shoulder was wrecked. Even with surgery, there was too much damage for me to stay in active service.”

“Did you ever see…” I trailed off, uncertain what to call the other Rangers anymore.

“I hunted down every last one, and I killed them.”

I started. “What?”

“I couldn’t let them wander the earth like that,” he whispered.

I laid my palm against his cheek, and he put his hand over mine, holding me to him.

To hunt down his friends and kill them had to have been the hardest thing Dylan had ever done. But he’d done it. For them. He was the strongest person I’d ever known.

Dylan kissed my forehead, then tucked my head beneath his chin. “It’ll be dawn soon,” he said. “We’ll have to get moving.”

I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay there forever, safe in our own little world. But we wouldn’t be safe. We might never be safe anywhere again.

“How did you figure out what they were?” I asked. “How did you learn what you needed to kill them?”

“I listened to the local legends, which were unsurprisingly full of werewolf tales. Then I went to Kabul and bought as much silver as I could and used it to make bullets.”

Dylan went silent after that. I guess there wasn’t much else to say.

I touched his arm, and he glanced up. “You were medically discharged?”

He nodded. “When I came back stateside, I decided to devote myself to medicine—saving lives instead of taking them. Then maybe I’d stop dreaming of wolves with the eyes of my friends.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“How did you end up in Alaska?”

“Everyone who worked with your mother had to believe in werewolves.”

I bet those had been fun interviews. “Why?”

“Keep her calm?” He shrugged. “Or maybe J.T. wanted to make sure we were prepared when they came calling. Not believing can get you killed.”

“J.T. didn’t believe in werewolves.”

“You sure? He did require all of his underlings to carry silver bullets.”

Had J.T. believed, or had he only been covering his bases? If he did believe, then why hadn’t he told me the truth once I was old enough not to panic?

Then again, was there ever an age when learning werewolves were real would not cause panic?

As Dylan had pointed out, not telling me might have gotten me killed. However, J.T. had made certain I was protected, and really, not a werewolf in sight for more than twenty years—as far as I knew.

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. Trying to understand my father’s motivations for anything was always good for a headache.

“Even if J.T. didn’t believe at first,” Dylan said, “I bet he changed his mind at the end.”

Phoebe, you were right.

Aha!

“How did J.T. recruit people who believed in werewolves?” I asked.

Dylan’s lips curved. “Your father had connections everywhere. I’ve heard whispers of a government agency that fights monsters.”

My headache was back.

“I’m sure for J.T., it was a simple thing to locate those who’d had close encounters of the wolf kind and survived,” Dylan continued.

Knowing J.T., he was right.

“We need to go,” Dylan murmured.

Moments later, we stepped out of the makeshift shelter. Snow had fallen while we were inside, just enough to obscure any tracks there might have been. Good news/bad news for us. On the one hand, maybe the snow had obliterated our scent, too. On the other hand, it had covered any trace of Phoebe.

Caw. Caw. Caw.

Several crows swooped out of the trees, dipping low, nearly brushing the tops of our heads, then flying upward. They headed north for a few seconds, came back, and dive-bombed us again.

“Is that normal?” I asked.

“No.” Dylan studied the birds. “Seems like they want us to follow them.”

“Because crows are capable of that level of thought?”

“Got me.” Quickly, we struck the tent and packed up. The crows still circled. Once we were ready, they continued on a path only they seemed to know.

“Is following them a good idea?” I asked.

“I don’t have another one.”

We walked steadily north for hours. The only other animals we saw were a pair of very jumpy coyotes. The two dashed out of the forest so close to me I gasped. They froze, then cowered, abasing themselves at my feet.

“What the—” I began, and the two yelped and ran as if I’d pulled a gun and started shooting.

Dylan and I watched their gray tails wave between the trunks and eventually disappear.

“Maybe they’ve never seen humans before,” Dylan murmured.

Out there, such a thing was possible; nevertheless, the encounter was disturbing. What was it about me that made wolves protective and coyotes terrified? What made all the werewolves want to kill me?

The crows flew ahead. They seemed to know exactly where we were going. Or at least, where they were going.

With the constant repetition of tree after tree that looked exactly alike, the blue-black sky, and the exhaustion of trudging through knee-deep snow, I began to zone out. The first sight of the wolf sailing through the air only made me pause and stare.

Until the beast hit Dylan broadside, and the two slammed into the ground. With the huge pack on his back, Dylan couldn’t maneuver.

He got one arm around the wolf’s throat and reached for the gun with the other, but in the struggle, the weapon skittered away. The animal lunged, and Dylan was forced to use two hands to keep from getting mauled.

I dived for the gun, and as my fingers closed on the grip, the wolf swung around, jaws snapping, teeth catching the meaty area below my thumb. A quick spark of pain, and it released me.

But that one instant was enough. Blood dripped onto the snow, bright red against stark white, the sound a patter of rain in the sudden silence.

I lifted my gaze and stared into familiar, human eyes.

“J.T.?”

T he wolf with my father’s eyes jerked back. No recognition, no remorse—not a big shock in either the man or the beast. He swung his huge, furry head toward Dylan, and I shot him.

Fire sent me stumbling back. Dylan threw the animal off and scooted away from the flaming, howling thing.

I dropped to my knees, the gun sliding from my limp fingers and onto the ground. Dylan crawled across the snow, yanking the pack off his back and pulling a first-aid kit out of a zippered pocket.

I took one look at the tiny blue box with the red cross on top and began to laugh. “I don’t think anything in there can help me now.”

He grabbed my injured hand, yanking off the torn and bloody glove. “Why didn’t you run?”

“You think I’d leave you behind, let J.T. tear out your throat?”

In the middle of hunting through the jumble of tiny tubes and bottles, Dylan glanced up. “J.T.?”

“Didn’t you see his eyes?”

“I was a little more worried about his teeth.”

“It was him,” I said firmly.

“I’m sorry you had to shoot your father.”

I remembered what I’d seen in those eyes. Not that J.T. had been warm and friendly, but he’d never been a stone-cold killer—until he’d turned furry.

“That wasn’t my father. Not anymore.”

Dylan found a small bottle of alcohol. “This is going to sting,” he said, and doused me.

I hissed as the liquid hit the punctured flesh, then gritted my teeth while he rubbed in antibiotic ointment and bound the wound.

“Will that help?” I asked.

“Won’t hurt.”

He wouldn’t meet my eyes. I reached out with my good hand and lifted his chin. “I’m going to change now.”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“You’ll kill me then?” He winced. “Do for me what you did for your friends, Dylan. Promise.”

He gave a sharp nod—he’d do what needed to be done—then leaned forward and kissed me. Gently at first, then harder, more desperate, as if he could stuff an entire lifetime of embraces into the hours we had left.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he dragged me into his lap. I lost myself in the scent, the taste, the heat of him. Images tumbled through my mind—naked, sweaty sex atop the snow. If we did it right now, I was certain we could finish before I turned into a wolf and tried to kill him.

I pulled away, though it wasn’t easy, but I wasn’t sure how long I had, when I’d begin to want more from Dylan than his body. When would I begin to want his blood?

We were both breathing heavily. His lips were swollen, and I’m sure mine were, too. A vein pulsed in his throat. I couldn’t stop staring at it.

I had a sudden image of him rising above me, plunging into me, again and again, and at the final moment, when the orgasm rushed over us both, I would bite down and let his life blood spill free.

I scrambled off Dylan’s lap and scooted away, wiping my mouth, staring at my shaking hand, relieved to discover it wasn’t covered in blood. “Maybe you should just shoot me now, before…”

“No.”

“What if I hurt you? What if I kill you?”

“I know how to stop a werewolf, Carly.”

That he was talking about me, or what would soon be me, sobered us both.

“How long?” I asked.

“Within twenty-four hours.”

“When the moon comes up?”

He shook his head. “Day, night, full moon, or new—the first time, it doesn’t matter.”

“What will happen?”

“Carly—”

“I want to know!”

My voice was too loud in the suddenly silent forest. Even the crows had deserted us. I took a deep breath and tried again. “I’m sorry. It would help if I knew what to expect.”

Dylan pressed his lips together, as if he wanted to keep the words in. Then he sighed, and they tumbled out.

“Lycanthropy appears to be a virus, passed through the saliva. You’ll become feverish, delirious. You’ll remember things that haven’t happened—at least, to you. A kind of collective consciousness that gets passed like a germ. You’ll experience the thrill of the hunt, the love of the kill, the taste of the blood.”

Oh, hell, that was happening already.

Dylan stood and began to set up camp.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t let you—” He yanked the tent free in one angry movement. “You should be inside when—” He broke off.

Where I was when I died didn’t matter to me, but it seemed to matter to him. At least, setting up camp was something to do. Until I grew a tail.

“Why do we seem to be running into one at a time?” I asked. “If the werewolves want me dead, wouldn’t it be simpler to send a whole pack and tear me limb from limb?”

“Who knows what’s in their mind? Joe and J.T. might have been scouting. The pack may have split up to cover more ground.” His gaze drifted over the prehistoric trees. “There’s a lot of ground.”

Which reminded me of what we’d been doing out there in the first place.

“When this is over, you have to find Phoebe.”

He frowned. “Of course, I’ll find Phoebe.”

“Tell her I love her. That I always have.” My voice broke. I’d really wanted to see my mother again, to explain that I hadn’t deserted her. “Tell her I’m sorry.” I glanced at the still-smoking wolf. “About J.T.”

Dylan took my good hand. He didn’t seem able to bring himself to touch the one that throbbed and stung and radiated heat. I couldn’t blame him. “You had to.”

“Remember that. When you have to.”

He pulled me into his arms. His grip was bruising, but his cheek against my hair was gentle.

I clung to him. I couldn’t help myself. I wanted Dylan’s embrace to be the last thing I remembered before the virus took me.

I got my wish.

Heat flowed over me like lava, burning away the last vestige of myself. My skin became too small for my body. I wanted to burst free, to run through the trees, roll in the snow, chase something human.

Images spilled into my mind—places I’d been, people I’d known, then eaten. I should have been horrified; instead, I was energized. Strength, power, the world was mine.

I could run for hours and never be tired. I could chase things and catch them. I was no longer alone. I had the pack. Soon I would join them, and everyone would be afraid.

I howled as ravenous hunger thundered in my head and pain tore through my soul. Something was coming, and that something was the dark side of me.

H ell isn’t hot or fiery red or full of lost souls. Hell is cold, black, silent, and lonely.

The darkness was a cool, velvet cloth across my face. Something stirred there, a scratch, a swirl of movement, and I skittered back, cringing.

The snick of a match, and my eyes closed tight. I didn’t want to see what awaited me on the other side.

“Carly?”

Dylan’s voice. That couldn’t be right, unless I’d—

My eyes snapped open, terrified I’d find him covered in blood and gore, because of me. But he appeared exactly the same as the last time I’d seen him.

He finished relighting the stove, which had gone out. Soft firelight lit the tent. He looked as tired as I felt.

“You okay?” he asked.

I glanced down, patted my naked chest, my face, tested my teeth. I held my hands out in front of me. No fur, no claws, no fangs.

“What the hell?” I asked.

Before I finished the last word, Dylan dragged me into his embrace. Then we both held on.

“I had the gun in my hand,” he whispered. “You were growling, snarling, saying terrible things.”

“I was seeing terrible things.” Although at the time, I’d kind of liked them. I trembled.

“Cold?” He rubbed my arms, then leaned away, returning with the wolfskin and settling it around me like a cloak.

“What happened? I—” Sounds and images flickered through my mind. What was real? What was not? Why was I still alive?

“You didn’t shoot me.” I sighed. “You really need to shoot me.”

“You didn’t shift, Carly.”

“The night’s still young.” I frowned. “Isn’t it?”

“The night passed. And another day, and now it’s night again. It’s been thirty-six hours since you were bitten, and you’re still you.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” I felt different somehow—stronger, calmer, more me than I’d ever been.

“Any desire to rip out my throat, drink my blood, rule the world?”

“No.” Although all this hugging in the dark was making me desire other things.

“I don’t know what happened,” he continued, “but you’re not a werewolf.”

“Just because I didn’t change yet doesn’t mean I won’t.”

“Everything I’ve learned about lycanthropy, every person I ever spoke with was adamant about one thing: first change within twenty-four hours. It’s inevitable.”

“Or not.”

“I touched you with silver. Not even a wisp of smoke.”

I yanked the bandage off my hand. Only faint red marks remained where J.T. had bitten me.

“None of this makes sense.”

“Does anything about werewolves make sense?” He pulled me into his arms again. “Let’s just enjoy the miracle.”

I snorted.

“Hey.” He leaned back to peer into my face. “Miracles don’t happen every day.”

“In my experience, they don’t happen at all.”

“Poor baby,” he murmured, his lips trailing from my temple to my cheek, then hovering over mine. “No magic in your life. I can fix that.”

“Promise?” I whispered, our breath mingling.

In answer, his mouth crushed down. Our teeth clanked, our tongues mated, our clothes flew every which way. This was the miracle—what we’d found together, what we felt for each other. I never wanted to let him go.

The tent was cool, but the wolfskin was warm. Burrowing beneath it was like coming home. Just as making love with Dylan was like finding my mate.

I stilled. Occupied with nibbling his way from my lips to my chin, down the slope of my neck to my breast, he didn’t notice.

Mate. What a strange thing to think.

His mouth closed over my nipple and tugged. I forgot all about it.

His warmth spilled over me like a wave. His body covered mine; he was already hard against my belly. My fingers fluttered over his back and stilled when they encountered his scar.

Fury flowed through me, heating from within. No one touched Dylan but me. No one marked him, ever. If he hadn’t already killed the wolf that had dared, I would have.

Anger pulsed in my blood, fueling the desire. I rose up, pushing him onto his back. He flipped over with a grunt. I guess I’d shoved a little hard.

I wanted to do things with him I’d never done with anyone else, things I’d never wanted to do. Lowering my head, my hair cascaded over his skin, a curtain between myself and the world. He sighed at the sensation, his breath catching when I rubbed my cheek over his belly, then my tongue over his tip.

“Carly,” he began, then gasped when I scored him with my teeth and drew him into my mouth.

He leaped in response, seemed to grow and pulse. The power flowed through me. I was in charge. He could do nothing but submit—on his back, vulnerable, clutching, begging, needing what only I could give. I was so turned on I moaned.

The sound vibrated against him, around him, and he shuddered. His fingers, which had been in my hair, tightened as if he meant to pull me away. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to seize control, to dominate, to make him come.

Slowly, I began to move, taking him in to the hilt, then withdrawing to the tip, hesitating as if I meant to release him, then plunging back once more. When he was perched on the edge, I rose up and over him, my hips repeating the motions of my mouth—plunge, release, accept, withdraw. Faster and faster, harder and deeper. My arms lifted, a glorious exultation to the night as I arched, clenched, then held my breath.

The orgasm flowed between us, the convulsions of one increasing the tremors of the other. I cried out; he did, too, and we both tumbled together into the light.

When the last tingles had made their way to my toes, I found myself draped over him. His palm cupped my hip; my hair shrouded both our faces.

“Whoa,” he said. “You really know how to take charge.”

I stilled. “Is that a problem?”

“Do it again.”

I laughed, and so did he, but the lighter mood didn’t last long. We weren’t in this tent for a camping trip. We had big problems awaiting us. Problems that hadn’t disappeared because I’d dodged the silver bullet.

There were still werewolves out there trying to kill me, and I didn’t know why. My mother was still missing.

Dylan sensed my withdrawal. He shifted, slipping out of my body and my arms. I felt his loss as an ache in my chest. I reached for him, and our fingers entwined as if we’d been holding hands for an eternity.

“Today,” he promised, “we’ll find her.”

Half an hour later, we were dressed, packed, and confused.

“No tracks. No crows,” Dylan muttered. “Where are they when you need them?”

“Crows rarely fly at night. They roost.”

“They what?”

“Gather in communal nests.”

“How do you know that?”

I blinked. “I’m not sure.”

He cut me a quick, suspicious glance. I couldn’t blame him. What Manhattan socialite knew the habits of crows?

I’d never been a whiz at Trivial Pursuit. I remembered things that applied to my work and myself, no problem, but other bits of info went right out of my head. So when, and why, had I learned any information about crows?

Dylan stared at the sky. “Which way should we go?”

I lifted my face to the night and closed my eyes. The breeze filtered over my skin, cool like a river, and on it I caught the scent of—

“Mother.”

“W here?” Dylan asked.

I opened my eyes and pointed to the navy blue shadow of a distant mountain.

Dylan gave me a wary glance. I didn’t blame him. I was acting weird.

So why did I feel so damn good? What in hell had happened in that tent, besides great sex and a miraculous recovery from a werewolf attack?

My mother was close. I could feel her, smell her. I practically ran through the trees—this time, I led the way—bursting free of them and into a snow-shrouded field. Ahead lay the mountains, and circling over one tall peak was a flock of crows.

The sky had lightened almost imperceptibly. But the crows felt the coming of what passed for dawn, and so did I.

Dylan and I crossed the field. We’d reached the opposite side and started up the incline when a chorus of howls erupted. I spun around, cursing at the sight of the wolves loping after us.

“Friends or foes?” Dylan murmured.

I couldn’t see the whites of their eyes, but just as I knew my mother was near, I also knew what they were. “Werewolves,” I said. “Run.”

However, running wasn’t an option while climbing a steep, craggy mountainside. Luckily, climbing isn’t on a werewolf’s top-ten list of talents. The pack fell farther behind, but they would catch us eventually, and we didn’t have enough bullets left to kill them all.

“Go,” I said. “I’m slowing you down.”

He actually laughed in my face. “Yeah, that’ll happen.”

“Dylan, please. I—”

“Carly.” His attention focused behind me.

I turned, terrified I’d discover the pack of werewolves had materialized right behind us. But when I followed his gaze, I discovered that dawn had arrived with just a slight graying of the horizon, and with it, our salvation.

The wolves dropped to the ground, writhing. Some of them skidded several feet down the mountain. Others slid off the side and into the abyss. The fall wouldn’t kill them, but it would certainly slow them down. So would the shape-shifting. Even in this land without sun, the werewolves could not hold their wolf form at daybreak.

“Let’s make some time,” Dylan said.

An hour later, we reached the peak where the crows circled. The wolves had disappeared; the men they’d become had not yet materialized.

We dragged ourselves over the last summit to find a shadowy oval carved into the side of the mountain.

“Shall we?” Dylan said, and started forward.

I grabbed his arm. “Me first.”

“Like hell.”

“Why don’t you both come in at the same time?”

My head snapped up. My eyes began to tear at the sight of the woman standing in the mouth of the cave.

“Mom?” I whispered. Then I didn’t know what else to say.

In the end, no words were necessary. She opened her arms, I went into them, and it was as if I’d never left.

Much too soon, Phoebe murmured, “We’d better get inside,” and I was forced to let her go.

“I thought you were dead,” I blurted.

She cupped my cheek with her palm. “None of that matters anymore.”

Inside was as I’d expected—dark, cold, stone, and ice. Dylan pulled out his flashlight, and Phoebe led the way. The cave continued back much farther than I would have believed possible. We passed several small, dark caverns. In one, I could have sworn I saw a body or two hovering at the edge of the light.

“What is this place?” I asked, my voice hushed.

“You’ll see,” Phoebe said.

Eventually, the narrow passage widened into a cavern. A backpack lay against the wall. Several discarded food wrappers were piled nearby.

My mother stared at me, as if she couldn’t get enough of the sight. I knew how she felt.

“You look exactly the same,” I said.

Tall, slim, with long, silky black hair and a dark gaze that made her seem exotic, I could understand how J.T. had fallen in love with her. What I could never understand was how he had fallen out.

“You don’t.” Her eyes filled. “I missed everything.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Your father couldn’t help it. He didn’t understand.”

“I hate to interrupt,” Dylan said, “but what is going on, Phoebe? You know there are werewolves after us?”

“Of course. I sent the crows to bring you to me.”

“You sent them?” I repeated.

“How else would I get you here?”

“I think we need to get out,” Dylan muttered, glancing back the way we’d come.

“We will,” Phoebe soothed. “But first, I’ll explain.”

“Explain quick,” Dylan said.

She smiled. “I always liked you the best of any of my jailers, Dylan.”

He winced at the word, and she patted his hand. “As I said, that’s all over. I’m glad you weren’t there when they came for me.”

“How did you get away?” Dylan asked.

“I felt them coming before they arrived.”

Dylan glanced at me. I shrugged. I’d known the wolves were werewolves before I’d been close enough to see them. I’d felt my mother from very far away. Things that used to be crazy suddenly weren’t.

“How did they find you in the first place?” I asked.

“I have no idea. Your father was the only one who knew where I was.”

Something must have shown in my face, because she paled. “He’s dead.”

“Yes.” He was now, thanks to me, but I wasn’t going to get into J.T.’s dual demise.

“J.T. wasn’t the only one who knew where to find you,” Dylan said. “Over the years, there’ve been quite a few guards and nurses.”

“Fewer than you’d think. Everyone was like you, Dylan. They’d seen werewolves, and they believed. They were safer here; they didn’t want to leave.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Would you sell me out to the beasts?”

“Of course not!”

She patted him. “Exactly. J.T. wasn’t a nice man, but he was a smart one.”

I saw what she was getting at. In hiring people who’d seen what she’d seen, J.T. had protected Phoebe in the best way possible. Those who knew what werewolves could do, those who’d been hurt by them or lost loved ones to them, would never turn anyone over to the common enemy.

“Did J.T. believe in werewolves?” I asked.

“I’m not sure if he truly believed. He never saw one.”

Until the end.

“He sent you here,” I said. “He divorced you.”

“To keep me safe. Telling everyone I was insane kept people from wondering. Telling everyone I was dead kept them from searching.”

“You knew he told everyone you were dead?” I took a breath. “Even me?”

“I’m sorry, honey.” She brushed my hair away from my eyes. “It was for the best.”

Debatable, but now was not the time for that debate.

“If everyone thought you went insane and killed yourself, why the sudden search-and-destroy mission?” Dylan asked.

Phoebe winced. “I made a mistake. I wanted to know more about where I came from. I bribed the other nurse to get information about my adoption.”

“Red flag,” Dylan muttered.

Phoebe nodded. “First, some government yahoo showed up. The werewolves weren’t far behind. But at least I discovered how my parents died.”

“Wolf attack?” Dylan guessed.

“Yes and no. A pack of wolves ran onto the road, and my parents’ car went out of control. I survived, but my guardians made sure everyone thought I hadn’t. Then they sent me as far away from here as I could get.”

“Why?” I asked.

“We’re the last surviving members of a tribe descended from wolves.”

“Mom,” I said patiently. “That’s impossible.”

“I’d think you’d know by now that nothing is impossible.”

I had seen the eyes of my father in the face of a wolf. I’d seen wolves change into people. I’d seen people and wolves explode into flames at the touch of a silver bullet. Impossible just didn’t mean what it used to.

“There are many Native American tribes who believe they’re descended from animals,” Phoebe continued. “The Ojibwe, for instance, are divided into clans by the animals they are descended from. It’s a common enough origination legend.”

“Legends aren’t real.”

“Werewolves are considered a legend,” Phoebe said.

I gave up. “Fine, we’re descended from wolves.”

Which kind of explained why the real wolves had come to help me after I’d fallen in the frozen river. They’d known I was one of them, even though I hadn’t.

“If we’re part wolf, wouldn’t that make the werewolves our brothers or our cousins?” I asked. “Why do they want us dead?”

“Because something in our blood or our DNA makes us immune to lycanthropy.”

“Which explains why you didn’t shape-shift,” Dylan pointed out.

“You were bitten?” Phoebe’s hands fluttered, her face flushed, and she began to hyperventilate. “When? How?”

“Calm down,” I said. “If we’re immune, what difference does it make if I was bitten?”

I certainly didn’t plan to tell her by whom. That info might give her a stroke.

“You’re right.” She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Just the thought of you being attacked…”

“I’m fine. A little nip, healed right up.”

I showed her my hand, which was now completely void of any mark at all. She smiled. “You’re living proof that the legend is real.”

In the next instant, her smile disappeared, and the agitation returned. “They’ll want us more than ever now. The werewolves want us dead, and the government wants to put us in a lab and discover what makes us tick. I’m sure one of their Men in Black was right behind the werewolf assassins in Manhattan.”

I shuddered. If I hadn’t hopped a plane, I’d have been in a government-sanctioned cage by now, being poked and probed. I’d rather be here.

“Why did they attack J.T.?” I asked. “He wasn’t immune.”

“They don’t like to leave loose ends,” Dylan answered. “They were going after Phoebe and you. If they left J.T. behind, he’d raise a ruckus. With his kind of money, he could hunt them down for decades. If all three of you were gone…” Dylan spread his hands. “Retribution would most likely end there.”

“Why do the werewolves care if we’re alive or dead? It’s not like we can repopulate the world with anti-lycanthropy children.”

“No, but if whatever it is that makes us special is isolated,” Phoebe said, “perhaps made into a vaccine, all of their fun is over. If they can’t make new werewolves, sooner or later, they’ll die out.”

“That sounds like a good thing to me.”

“Are you willing to give up your life for it? Live in a lab like a rat? I just spent the last twenty years in a cage, Carly. I don’t recommend it.”

“You may not have a choice,” Dylan said. “If we can manage to get away from these werewolves, there’ll be others. They won’t stop. Maybe you’d be better off with government protection.”

“I know a place that’s safe for us. Where we can live free, together.” Voices sounded near the mouth of the cave, and Phoebe’s expression darkened. “We have to hurry.”

I glanced at Dylan. I still wasn’t certain how sane my mother was, although what she’d said made sense of a lot of things that hadn’t.

I guess anything was better than waiting there for the werewolves.

We followed Phoebe into the passageway, then turned away from the entrance. The narrow path twisted and turned, dipped, then inclined. We walked for at least ten minutes before a lighter shade of darkness appeared. Five minutes more, and we emerged into another world.

Still bound by ice and snow, the land was flatter, more tundra than forest, with miles of white on white, trailing into the darkness.

“We’re about a hundred miles from Barrow, inside the Arctic Circle,” Phoebe explained. “There’s a village here for people who need to hide.”

My gaze wandered over the barren landscape. “Are you sure?”

“The crows wouldn’t lie.”

I rubbed my forehead, wondering again if Phoebe was completely sane, despite the truth in her werewolf delusions.

“I’m not crazy,” she said. “Eventually, you’ll understand the crows, too. Along with our immunity, we also come into a little bit of magic.”

“Magic,” I repeated dully, now rubbing the bridge of my nose.

“You sound just like your father.” Phoebe made a tsking sound. “You’ve seen werewolves. If that isn’t magic, what is?”

She had a point. I dropped my hand. “What kind of magic?”

“You’ll gain some of the powers of a wolf,” Phoebe explained. “You’ll be able to smell, hear, and see much better than any human.”

My eyes widened. “I already can.”

Phoebe cast a quick glance at Dylan, then returned her gaze to mine. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought I was nuts. Instead of shifting when we’re bitten, we get these powers?”

Phoebe shook her head. “I was never bitten, Carly.”

“But—”

“You’re expecting a child.”

I started as if I’d been stuck with a cattle prod. I could do nothing but open and shut my mouth; no sound came out.

“Creating a child is magic,” she continued, “so it brings out the magic in us.”

I couldn’t look at Dylan. Every time we’d been together rushed through my mind. There hadn’t been that many, but one was all it took. We’d neglected, in our mad rush to avoid the werewolves, to bring along a condom. I hadn’t even thought of the lack until just that moment.

My heart raced; I felt dizzy. Dylan and I had only known each other a few days. Sure, extreme danger brings people closer, but does it keep them together forever? Did he even want children?

Dylan touched my shoulder. I glanced into his eyes, and suddenly everything was all right.

“I told you there was magic in the world,” he whispered, and kissed me.

There was definitely magic right here and now between us.

When he lifted his head, determination filled his face. “You two go ahead. I’ll make certain they don’t follow us.”

“You can’t fight them all,” I said.

“Sure I can.”

“They’re werewolves, Dylan. Not terrorists.”

“Same thing,” he muttered.

With my enhanced senses, I heard them on the other side of the cave—thumping, scrambling, muttering. They were definitely up to something.

“We need to go,” I said.

I didn’t want to watch a pack of werewolves come out of this cave. I certainly didn’t want Dylan to face his nightmare all over again.

“Relax,” Phoebe murmured. “They’re still ruled by the sun and the moon. They can’t shift for hours yet. Whatever they’re up to, they’ll be up to it as men.”

The three of us headed down the other side of the mountain. We’d no sooner reached the flatter frozen land than a huge kaboom rent the air. A sharp crackle, then a whoosh sounded. When we turned around, all we saw was a puff of white shooting up from the other side of the mountain.

“Avalanche,” Phoebe murmured. “That’s what you get for using explosives near that much snow.” She shook her head. “They’re so predictable. Always blowing people up whenever they can’t eat them. By the time they dig their way out, if they even can, they’ll think we’re dead.”

“What if they search for us?”

“All they’ll find are body parts. There were several frozen hikers in the caverns.”

I recalled the shadowy image of bodies hovering at the edge of the light as we’d hurried toward the exit.

“This place is dangerous if you aren’t careful.” Phoebe turned her back on the mountain, and her face took on a gleam of anticipation as she looked forward.

I wanted to as well, but first, I had to make certain of something. Taking Dylan’s hand, I drew him away from my mother.

“You don’t have to stay here,” I said.

“Did the cold freeze your brain? You think I’d walk away from you?” His face gentled. “From our child?”

“You didn’t ask for this.”

“Neither did you.”

“Living in an icebound wasteland village isn’t what you wanted out of your life, Dylan. You wanted to help people.”

“If what your mother says is true, I’ve found the best possible place on earth to use my skills. The werewolves might be put off for a while by the explosion and the avalanche, but they’ll be back. People here will need someone like me.”

I took a deep breath and said what was in my heart. “I need you.”

A shadow passed over his face. “For the baby?”

“For me. I don’t know how it happened or when, but I fell in love with you.”

“It probably happened at the exact same moment I fell in love with you.” He smiled. “Like magic.”

And speaking of magic…

“I’m descended from wolves, Dylan. Can you deal with that?”

He entwined our fingers, rubbing his thumb over my palm. “You’re wolf, not werewolf. You’ll never be a werewolf, Carly. That’s a comfort to me.”

After everything we’d been through, it was a comfort to me, too.

“They’ve come to welcome us,” my mother said.

People had materialized from Lord knows where. Tall, short, young, old, men, women, white, brown, red, they trailed across the frozen land in our direction.

“I still think we should help the world fight the werewolves,” I said.

“We will.” Phoebe lifted her arm and greeted the others. “In that group are some of the most brilliant scientists on earth. They came here to work in peace and not be hounded by anyone. We can be safe while we find the cure; then we can release it to the world. Someday we can go back.”

The hope of returning to a land without so much ice and snow flooded me with relief. I was thrilled to have found my mother, ecstatic to have found Dylan, but the thought of Manhattan being lost to me forever had been a dark blot on an otherwise stellar future. It was a fact of life—sometimes a girl just needed to shop.

“You think of everything, don’t you?” I asked.

“That’s what mothers do.” Her eyes met mine. “Ready?”

In answer, I reached for Dylan with my right hand, for my mother with my left, and together we walked into the chill twilight of a whole new world.