2

These were not bears, though, and she’d never thought to fear a wolf attack. Game was plentiful here, and wolves were shy; if it had been mid-winter and a lean year things might have been different.

They didn’t smell like wolves. Cold sweat gathered on her back, and Wiley cast a nervous glance at the fire. Maybe it would be enough to scare the animals off, but if not, a few bullets couldn’t hurt.

“Git!” she yelled, feeling like a fool. Contrary to the tree hugger’s expectations, these were not fat, mellow zoo buddies. Alaskan wolves could take down a lone human if they were hungry enough. The fact that these animals didn’t smell like wolves was still a problem, but there could be a good reason. Maybe they’d rolled in something strange. Maybe this was a bad dream. Maybe reconstituted food was as bad as Jasmine always claimed, and it had finally rotted her brain.

And then the darkness spoke.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” a man’s voice said from the shadows. An edge of dark amusement carried in his tone, and she shivered. He did not sound like a friendly hiker out for a stroll.

As the wind shifted, bearing his scent, she knew he was something much more dangerous.

He was not alone.

Three men melted out of the night into the fire’s glow. A quick glance showed them all to be armed with sheathed pistols and wicked-looking knives. Hunters? She didn’t think so, not running around in their shirtsleeves. If they’d been human, they’d have been freezing.

“What do you want?” she demanded, trying to look tough. Sweat made her hands slippery on the gun. The odds weren’t in her favor. Why hadn’t she heard them coming?

“You’re trespassing on private property,” the man spoke again. He and his companion were both tall, with the third man, the blond, only slightly less so. All three had long hair, though only the speaker’s was clipped back from his face.

“I didn’t see any signs posted,” she said warily.

“Maybe you missed them in the dark,” the dark one on his left said. “Are you alone here?”

“I’m camping. I expect company at any time,” she said coldly. “My roommate is coming with my dog.” No need to mention Jasmine was a petite asthmatic, or that Lemming would rather crawl up her leg than take on a wolf.

“What’s your name?” The leader asked. His steady gaze was unnerving. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but they were set in a strong, austerely handsome face. His voice was deep, and rang with authority. This was a man used to getting answers.

She couldn’t think why lying would help. “Wiley James.”

He jerked as if she’d slapped him. It was hard to tell through the smoke, but she thought he paled.

“It couldn’t be her, Jayems,” the blond said quickly. “It’s just a coincidence.” He glanced her way. “The girl couldn’t be more than …” He frowned. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four,” she answered cautiously. It was only a few days until her birthday, but she wasn’t going to age herself unnecessarily.

The men stared at her. Unnerved, she stared back. “What’s going on?”

“You…” The one called Jayems paused, then seemed to continue with difficulty. “You’re the same age as our cousin, who we lost many years ago. Her nickname was Wiley.”

A sickening slide of premonition made her shiver, and she started to lower the gun. Her arm ached. “I don’t know you,” she said with ruthless common sense. She didn’t want anything to do with these guys. “I’m sorry for your loss and sorry I trespassed. If you don’t mind, I’ll pack up and leave right now.”

The Cherokee look-alike stepped toward her. “Wait.” He looked at her stocking hat, noted the brown hair peeking out in wisps around her ears. “You have dark hair, but many people do.”

“Yes, they do,” she said edgily, keeping her arm loose and ready. One more step and the gun was going up again.

“What was your mother’s name?” the blond demanded.

Sweat trickled down her back. The subject stank, and the situation was extremely uncomfortable. “Don’t know; I was an orphan. Stay back!” She pointed her gun at the Cherokee, who’d gotten too close.

“Keilor,” Jayems said in warning, halting him.

Keilor stopped, canting his head in acknowledgment.

“Do you know where you were born?” Jayems asked carefully, as if he held himself in check. He sounded polite, but there was intensity to the question that made her uncomfortable.

“No,” she replied automatically.

“At what age were you orphaned?” Keilor asked casually. He shifted his weight ever so slightly.

“Young. I’m not the one you’re looking for,” she repeated, willing him to back off.

There was silence for several seconds. Then Jayems said, “We can’t take that chance.”

In a split second Keilor leapt the fire, snatched her gun and tossed it to Fallon. She screamed and struggled, tried to throw him off. Wiley was far stronger than she looked, but he had a surprising strength. He grunted when she stomped his foot, but he wasn’t going anywhere.

So she did the only thing she could, an act of ultimate desperation. She changed.

“Oof!” Keilor grunted as she broke loose and threw him. Barely avoiding the fire, he tucked into a roll and settled into a crouch, one hand braced on the ground as if poised to launch.

Wiley slowly backed up, bathed in cold sweat. She saw her hand, covered in long, silky brown hair. Her thick, strong nails had blackened and her hearing intensified. Her breath came in scared huffs as her sharpened night vision pierced the shadows, counting wolves.

Only they weren’t wolves. The faces were all wrong, and they had ridges on their backs like wild dogs.

“It is you,” Jayems breathed, and his eyes glowed. He stepped forward, his hand out. “Don’t be afraid. See, we’re just like you.” In a blink, he changed, growing dark hair all over, lengthening his nails. His face became the flattened face of a wolf, and his eyes gleamed golden in the firelight.