She glanced at her watch. It wouldn't take long to fly down to the restaurant, but even so, she had to get moving. It was past four, and dusk was closing in fast. "I'll change and get going."
"Just be careful. And don't let the aura of the wolf overwhelm you."
"I won't." She knew her voice sounded as uncertain as she felt.
* * * *
Ethan sat on his haunches and studied the small cabin in the clearing below. The baby fresh scent had faded a good ten minutes back, but he'd continued to hunt around, desperate to find it again.
The only thing he had found was this cabin. It looked nothing out of the ordinary. Just a rundown old shack that appeared to have been abandoned for years.
Yet the smell of death hung so heavily in the air it almost choked him.
He sniffed the breeze, trying to discern if there were any other scents layering the air. Nothing beyond decay and the faint tang of balsam.
He rose and padded through the trees. There was no life, no movement to be seen anywhere. Even the quiet songs of the birds had faded away. Keeping to the deepening shadows as much as possible, he headed down to the cabin. Still no sound, no sign that anything living had been near this place in the last few months. Not even spiders — though there were plenty of webs to prove they'd once been here. He shifted shape, pressing his back against the rough-hewn walls as he edged toward the grimy rear window. And discovered the cause for the smell.
Dead men. Living dead men.
There had to be at least ten of them sleeping on the floor. He shifted position, trying to see into the shadows filling the corners. Janie wasn't there. He couldn't see her, couldn't smell her. But if these things were working for the woman snatching the kids, then maybe all he had to do was sit here and wait for either the killer to show up, or these things to lead him to the mara. And Janie.
He had nothing to lose by trying.
Nothing except time spent with Kat. Unease stirred, and the sudden desire to race back to her caught him by surprise. Because it wasn't motivated by the moon fever, but rather a surge of fear for her safety. And though he had the bruises to prove she was more than able to take care of herself, the certainty she was flying headfirst into trouble settled like a weight in his gut and refused to budge.
He frowned and shifted shape, making his way back to the trees. But as the shadows mottling the clearing became one and the sky drifted toward night, the feeling Kat needed help became a certainty he could not ignore.
He rose and ran for their cabin. Night had settled in by the time he arrived, and the wind was as cold as his heart. He entered their rooms, but knew from the lingering scents that Kat hadn't been there for at least two hours. He walked into the other cabin.
"Where's Kat?" he said the minute he saw Gwen.
The old woman lowered the newspaper and raised an eyebrow. "Out chasing up a lead."
"Where?" His voice was brusque, but right then he didn't care.
Gwen crossed her arms, her expression amused. "She's working, wolf, and you have no right — "
"She's in trouble."
Amusement fled from the old woman's face. "What do you mean?"
"I mean she needs help. That without it she could be seriously hurt." Perhaps even killed. The thought twisted something deep inside him, and for a minute he couldn't even breathe.
Gwen studied him, her green eyes intense, almost otherworldly. As if she were seeing things those of the mortal world never could. Then she blinked and rose, hobbling into her bedroom. "How do you know this?" she said over her shoulder.
He hesitated, but if anyone would understand his certainty, it would be this strange old woman. "I don't really know. It's just a feeling — a conviction — I have."
"Precognition," Gwen said. "Thought you might have that. She's at the restaurant you stopped at yesterday."
He felt like cursing. A two hour drive was going to stretch his nerves to the limits. He swung to leave, then stopped. "Why is she there?"
"Because the werewolf that tore apart the kid will be there trolling for victims. She's going to stop him."
The ice in his gut grew. "You sent her out alone after that thing?"
"She's hunted far worse than werewolves."
"When the moon is high, there is nothing worse than a berserk werewolf." He knew that for a fact, having seen it back home as a cub. He briefly closed his eyes, forcing away the images of the woman who'd been attacked, and tried not to imagine Kat in her place.