I gave Stefan the rundown, starting from sunrise, while Samuel took another look at Gena's wound and Anna and Charles examined the dead skinwalkers - visually only, I was happy to see; we still had a ceremony to finish. Scott had settled himself contentedly across Gena's feet, his injured paw out at an angle and his ears up, swiveling to catch rustles in the growing darkness. As I talked Stefan drifted that way as well, until his arm was around Gena's shoulders. Her eyes were still wolf-dark, but with Stefan beside her the shared hint of vampire glitter was impossible to mistake. I know almost nothing about Stefan's background beyond his former profession and country; no idea how he ended up trapped as an undead predator. But it was my plan that had linked Gena to the vampires enough to let their magic show in her face. It took a lot for a human to react that way – a long time as a sheep. I hadn't thought a couple feedings would have such an effect on Gena. Magic doesn't behave normally around walkers, and a lot of it won't work at all. It works just fine on werewolves, though, and how much of Gena was what seemed to be an outstanding question. Now that we were done, that tie would need to be cut in a hurry. I love Stefan, but seeing him in her face like that made me a little queasy. Looking at the skinwalker corpses wasn't any better, though, and neither was Paul's ghost. He could not have been a pleasant person back when he was alive. I moved between watching Samuel work and puzzling out which bits of scenery occupied Warren's roving and alert senses.

A lot of the story made more sense in the retelling. The sing had worked, drawn the monster in just like it was supposed to. Steeped in death magic as he was, he'd responded to Gena and I like a dead thing, a ghost rather than a man. Maybe that was part of the reason they supposedly didn't like us much? Had he known that was possible? We'd never know, now. I hoped it wouldn't ever matter again.

Owl had been paid to clear the way – hired by another skinwalker who was also a wolf, and who had tried to goad Owl into triggering a curse and killing himself to stop the interrogation when he got caught. Ray must have thought witchcraft would give him the dominance the wolf-magic and his own character hadn't. He'd have been in for all kinds of surprises on that, but he must have had some successes to get him this far. Successes like having Jonah killed, which had somehow involved Owl as well as Trent and the witch. And Gena and I had seen that, been there, when—

"Mercy?" Warren's hand had suddenly appeared on my shoulder; all around the circle concerned faces were turned toward me. Samuel, Stefan, Charles and Anna, even Scott, across Gena's feet, and Ben, out patrolling the brush, cocked heads at me. I fidgeted under the weight of all those eyes, and Warren took a step closer. "Mercy, are you alright? You drifted out for a minute there."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking." I turned to Paul, facing him fully and planting my feet against the condescension on his sour face. "That part was you, wasn't it? When Owl mentioned the Puritan. He meant Jonah, and that's what you showed us. Jonah, the night he died."

"The cream one," Gena confirmed, swallowing hard. Her eyes were creeping back toward red, and so were Stefan's. "The one who handled the witch. That was Jonah. The blond was Trent, and the other two were Amar and Ricky. And Paul," she added softly, turning her head to nod at him. "On the ground by the truck, that was Paul."

Not quite dead werewolf, then. Or maybe a slightly different kind of dead. He was certainly a slightly different kind of ghost. I'd never known one to be able to hijack senses before. Usually ghosts were just a continuation of the living person; they could talk, and listen, and occasionally move physical objects or interact with the environment, but they didn't much. Paul had never said a word, so far as I knew, and he wasn't sticking to the places he'd been as a living man. There had been an awful lot of magic floating around the night he died…

Samuel's approach roused me from my thoughts again. "Paul?" he asked softly, inclining his head the tiniest bit toward the space riveting Gena and I. To him it would look empty.

"He's been tagging along with us," I confirmed. "Trying to help, is my guess. And maybe a little stuck. Gena and I can help him," probably, "but not tonight. Not tomorrow, either. When we get back to Los Alamos. Now that we know what happened his business here is finished," I waited for his confirming nod before I went on, "so Gena and I can send him on his way when we get back. She could use the practice." And I could use the time to figure out what the hell I was doing. I'd interacted with ghosts before, but always making it up as I went. It wasn't like there was a manual for this. I'd ask Charles about the magic later, see if he had any suggestions.

Charles was already looking better. He smelled better, too. No remaining taint of skinwalker magic. I couldn't tell if he could see Paul or not; Charles sees more than other people, but he's never been very forthcoming about it. "Very well," he said. "His assistance is appreciated, and we'll return to the pack house after the full moon."

Without acknowledgment or warning, Paul was gone. One problem successfully saved for later. I sighed and focused on Stefan again, resuming my interrupted narrative. "So when Owl mentioned Jonah, Paul gave Gena and I a vision of the night he died, the night the Los Alamos pack fought the witch. While we were out, the Los Alamos wolves killed Owl."

"No one knew what was happening to them," Warren growled, his fingers tightening on me. "They both just collapsed. He could have been killing them." Scott, who had gotten up to sniff suspiciously at the dirt where Paul had stood, returned to Gena's side, sitting so close he almost knocked her over; she took a tiny step sideways to stay upright, but not so far she wasn't pressed against his solid, furry form.

"Better safe," Stefan agreed, quietly stroking Gena's hair. He raised an eyebrow at her. "That would have been when you drew on me so heavily, cara?"

She nodded. "When it finished Charles let me question them, to see which one of them paid Owl to have Jonah killed. We found him." She tightened her arm against the bandage on her side.

"And he was also dispatched," Stefan noted, looking over the corpse of the rattlesnake with interest before he cocked his head at Charles. "I may have charge of the remains?"

Charles nodded. "You may." The look that came over Stefan's face was smug and a little eager; I shivered as his eyes swept the gloom-shrouded brush. I wouldn't want to be the object of his hunt tonight, or anything out in the path of it.

Warren brought his free arm around me, tucking me against his lean body. "We should get back. It's cold out here, and dark."

Not enough to bother the werewolves, or the vampire. Just the weak little walker. Stupid smug, semi-invulnerable wolves. He was right, though, it was cold. And Kyle would be anxious, and there was singing still to do. "They'll be waiting for us," I agreed. "We still have the rest of the ceremony to get through. It'll run through dawn."

"I'll look for you tomorrow night, then. I have work, too. Goodnight." Stefan leaned in and whispered something to Gena, too low for even my ears to pick up, and then pushed her gently in the direction of the hogans, waving at the rest of us. Scott lurched to his feet, staying right with Gena, and Warren started pulling me that way as well, his arms still forming a second coat around me. I managed a little wave back at Stefan despite my limited range of motion. His lips quirked up in a fond smile, visible despite the way the darkness was swallowing his outline. The weight of his red eyes stayed with me all the way back to the hogan.

The bonfire in front of the medicine hogan burned brightly against the dark, destroying my night vision and sending flickering shadows along the uneven ground and the people staggered around the hogans, the brush arbor, and the trailer. The Los Alamos wolves formed a beleaguered knot beside the campfire; David's grandsons kept on eye on them. David himself stood like a bouncer in the door of the medicine hogan, his muscled form blocking all entrance and egress. As we reached the trampled ground near the fire, though, he stepped aside, throwing me a hint of a conspiratorial grin. A figure shot out from behind him the second he moved, and then commenced moving toward us at a more dignified but still very rapid pace. Kyle. Warren let me go a little abruptly.

It wasn't a Hollywood reunion – there was no running hug, and no kissing. Mostly they just stood there looking at each other. That was good enough for me. It was a very loquacious look.

"I'm going to call Adam while I have the chance," I announced in the Cornicks' general direction. "I'll meet you in the medicine hut in a few minutes. Gena, you going in now?"

She shook her head, her body still aimed at the camper. "She'd better sleep," Samuel offered. "Scott, too."

Well, that should be safe enough. I'd probably even envy her in four hours or so. "Alright." That left Ben, who'd taken up a position just outside the firelight, staring down Derrick's huddle and David's men with equal animosity. He wouldn't be joining us for the ceremony. "Alright. I'll be right there, then."

There was no point in going very far – too many people around for anything but the superficial semblance of privacy. As the Cornicks headed to the Nezs' hogan to get (un)dressed and Gena and Scott, both really starting to show wear, vanished into the camper, I stuck by the bonfire to make my call. It was exciting to finally have really good news to share with Adam. We could all relax now, and soon I'd be home, with my family and my garage and my life.

Adam answered right away, so fast that I didn't even hear the ring. "Mercy," he breathed, tension and relief both heavy in his voice.

"We caught him. Them. Both. There were two. They're both dead now, and Stefan is out hunting their associates, and David is still here keeping an eye on the camp. Charles is better and we're going to finish the sing, but we're in the clear."

My husband let out a long, slow sigh that roused my pity for anyone who'd had to spend much time with him in the last 48 hours. I was going to owe Jesse for this. "Good. Thank you," he said, the tension mostly gone.

"I'll tell you all about it when I get home – I don't have much time right now, unfortunately. But you don't have to be worried anymore."

"With you? That's never true. I do think I can relax a little, though. Everyone's ok? No injuries?"

"Strictly minor. Everyone's fine. We'll stay long enough to hunt tomorrow night, and then head back to Los Alamos."

"And then east." He didn't sound happy about it, but he did seem accepting still.

"That's my plan, yes. I haven't really had the chance to talk to Gena about it. Or anything at all – it's been a little busy. But we won't be gone long. Just a day or two." Just long enough to reintroduce her, and maybe for me to have a chat with her family.

"I miss you."

"I miss you, too."

"I won't expect you to call me in the morning, not if your ceremony goes all night. But in the afternoon sometime would be nice."

He'd be out hunting with the pack tomorrow night. If I were home I'd probably end up out with them, running… the way the pack magic felt around the full moon, if I were close enough to feel them I wouldn't have much choice in the matter, whether my actual body went with them or not. "As soon as I wake up. We should have a couple hours then, if you can get the time free."

"Done," he promised. "I'll reserve the afternoon for you."

I laughed. "Sounds good to me. While we're banking time, I want a day or two when I get back, as well."

"Already on the calendar."

"Good. Thanks." We were quiet a moment, each of us wishing we were a few days farther along. But I didn't have all night to stand around being homesick. "Give Jesse a hug from me."

"I will. I'll tell her you said to clean her room, too."

"I think she'll spot that one, but you can try."

"Yeah, well…" he chuckled and then sighed; I could hear him rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't stop being careful. There's still plenty of trouble out there, even if there's a little less now than there was this morning. And well done on the skinwalkers."

"Thanks. Love you."

"Love you, too. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

He hung up quickly. I waited outside the hogan a little longer, watching the logs pop and spark and smelling the piñon smoke. The drum sounded pretty quickly, though, drawing the last stragglers like me in to do our part. It was hard to find a seat; Sofia and her husband had to squeeze together to make room for me. I'm not normally huge on crowds, but… it was pretty nice of all these people to come out for us, for Charles. Even if they were strangers, and most of them probably wouldn't want to talk to me because of the coyote, I was glad to be with them tonight.

We emerged from the medicine hogan the next morning to greet the sunrise, drained and elated by the conclusion of our joint undertaking. Despite the trying day before hand, Charles looked good – better than he had since Thanksgiving dinner. All traces of the curse and the silver buckshot were gone. A more subtle but just as important change had come over Samuel. When he lifted off the wolf mask at the end of the sing he was smiling - a real smile, not the shallow, defensive one he used so reflexively and so often lately. It was smaller, and quieter; by the time he joined Charles at the hogan door it was only a lifting of his features, an extra brightness in his eyes. It made me warm anyway. Sophia looked at them, talking quietly by the embers of the bonfire, and gave me a pleased nod. Balance. Hozho. For a little while, maybe only for this moment, everyone was in harmony.

The high of the sing surrendered gently to exhaustion over breakfast. We stood around in clumps on the frosted ground, trying to keep our eyes open long enough to consume beans and cornbread and tamales in companionable quiet, and even the coffee couldn't keep the jubilant crowd from staggering off in search of a quiet spot and a corner of blanket. It was a little dangerous, braving the camper on my stiff and tired legs – Ben, still furry, was sprawled and snoring by the door, and Gena and Scott were in their favored tangle on the blanket beside and under the tiny table, ears and tails sticking out of a cloud of fur. That didn't leave much floor for actually walking. After a few seconds of contemplation I stuck my head back out the door. Kyle and Warren were lingering out there, drawing out the dregs of their coffee as an excuse for prolonging their conversation. "Human gets the bed," I announced, and then closed the door again before the meager accumulated heat could slip out. I undressed as fast as I could, then piled my clothes beside the bed and shifted. My coat was now proportioned correctly to be a bed, and I burrowed into it. In five seconds I was dead to the world.

When I woke up almost eight hours later, Gena, Scott, and Ben were gone. Kyle was stretched out on the bed with Warren causing what was going to be a pretty major crick in his back. Kyle had one arm flung behind him, draped over Warren's shoulder, fingers buried in the soft fur, and Warren's tail was shedding werewolf hairs all over the shins of his partner's not-for-the-outdoors jeans. It was adorable, and if I'd had a camera I would have braved the wrath of both parties and preserved the scene for future generations despite the inevitable repercussions. Since I didn't, I went hunting for lunch instead – someone was cooking outside, and the delicious aroma was tempting enough to drag me around by my nose, like a character in an old cartoon. I'd bring something back for the boys. Warren was about a week behind on sleep by now; he deserved the chance to catch up a little.

I stepped outside to find a lot had changed while I slept. The medicine hogan and the brush arbor were both gone, along with most of the motley collection of trucks and cars at the edge of the road. There was no one else near the camper, and of our helpers only David's men and the remnants of the Los Alamos pack were still around. David was at the fire, a large plastic sack beside him, and that amazing smell was wafting towards me from the coals at his feet. Werewolves appreciate good food.

"You have enough to share?" I asked hopefully, and he chuckled.

"Miraculously enough, I do. Mostly because this is the fourth batch. Thought we might still have some stragglers to roust out and top up." One dark hand reached into the sack; he withdrew a sturdy paper plate and passed it over to me, then leaned over to drag an ashy tinfoil packet from the embers by one blackened corner. "Don't you wanna know what it is that's in here before you beg for a piece? Might get more than you bargained for."

"The smell tells me all I need to know about it," I assured him, testing the air again and sifting the mouthwatering signature of lunch from the ubiquitous landscape scents, the campfire smoke, and the more or less subtle traces of people in the area. "Chicken, potatoes, onions, bell pepper, paprika, cayenne, garlic, ginger, cumin…"

"Cardamom, abesh, few others," he added as I hesitated, "not as common in the States. The chicken's an Ethiopian recipe – learned it about ten years ago. Pull it out now and again when we're out and about and things are quiet. Lends itself well to stove-free cooking." He deftly separated the edges of the packet, releasing a puff of fragrant, steamy air; my arms extended of their own initiative to bring my plate close to the inviting jumble inside the charred foil. David used a long-handled, large-bowled metal spoon to transfer some of the piping contents from foil to plate and then tucked the packet back into the coals and handed me a fork.

"You must have a lot of those kinds of recipes," I noted, squatting down next to him and stabbing into a blackened chunk of chicken. I blew on it just enough to not burn my tongue and then popped it into my mouth, savoring the unfamiliar blend of seasonings. "Wow. And you must be everyone's favorite camp chef, too. This is great."

"I'll send Sarge the recipe," he promised with another dry chuckle. Lunch successfully served, he sat back, his arms draped across his knees and his hands loosely clasped, the path of his eyes across the camp alert but not uneasy. "You gonna run tonight?"

"Probably." I didn't need to hunt the way the wolves did, but I could enjoy it, especially now that… huh. Now that things were changing between me and Samuel, and Charles, and even Ben… between me and my pack. Or packs. Warren would be out there tonight, and Gena and Scott and I were friendly, if not solidly friends. Even David liked me, now that we were over last year's misunderstandings. I'd actually fit in the ragtag, cobbled-together group that went bounding from the frozen scrub to the national forest and back under tonight's full moon. With the dregs of the Los Alamos pack along, there would actually be someone on the hunt less popular than me. That's never happened to me before.

I chatted with David for a little while and then brought a pair of loaded plates back to the camper for Warren and Kyle, leaving them on the table where the smell would act as a pleasant alarm clock. They were still the only ones in the camper, though, so I slipped right back out again and over to the fire.

"You seen the rest of my group around here somewhere?" I asked David.

"The Marrok's sons and the Omega are with the local pack. Then you have one sleeping in the SUVs, two over the hill there," he nodded south, behind the camper, "and the two still inside."

"Thanks." Whatever the Cornicks were doing with the Los Alamos pack, I didn't want to interrupt it. They were probably deciding where everyone would move when the pack disbanded tomorrow, and that conversation wasn't going to leave anyone happy. Ben was likely the one asleep in the car; I headed over hill to check on Scott and Gena.

I almost didn't see them. The sun was already sinking toward the horizon– we were only an hour or so from sunset again, the shadows growing longer across the sand. The shade of a particularly large juniper darkened the hollow they curled in enough to obscure Scott's black coat, and his bulk hid her entirely except for one paw and the tip of an ear. The air was still and cold, away from the warm currents of the campfire, and it didn't advertise the scents it bore. Scott looked up, though, when he heard me moving, and the motion of his head and welcoming thump of his tail drew me to the right spot.

"Morning," I said as I got close. "How's the foot doing?"

Scott yawned, curling his long tongue elaborately, and shook his head, his casual unconcern announcing the snakebite was no big deal. When he lowered his head, though, to gently whuff at Gena's cinnamon coat, a tiny whine escaped. Gena hadn't looked over when I walked up, despite the fact that there was nothing of interest in the six inches of desert sand where her eyes were focused.

"You two get something to eat yet? David's got lunch. It's worth checking out."

Scott looked back towards camp, then cocked his head and stood, stretching slowly. Gena didn't move. When he reached down to nudge her with his nose she snarled, turning her head to snap at his muzzle. Not an attack – her teeth closed several inches short of his flesh, and she could have caught him if she wanted. She wouldn't be heading back to the fire, though. The cut across her ribs, scabbed but not yet beginning to heal, gaped a little with the sudden movement, adding a tang of blood to the air. Despite the fact that she was less than a third his size in her current form, Scott cringed back from her, his head low and his body still. She subsided with a grumpy-sounding growl, once more staring blankly, and after a few seconds of nothing happening Scott inched forward far enough to lick gently at the crimson slash on her side.

"Really?" I said, keeping my tone light despite the way Scott's body language was putting my back up. What was she snarling at him for? I took a few steps toward her, but on a circular path that let me see more of her face without getting too close. "You're picking now to throw a-"

She turned to look at me and I stopped short and quit moving. It wasn't the walker-wolf looking out from behind that stony face, it was the were. The look she gave me made me acutely mindful that humans are soft and I was a long, long way from home.

"Alright," I said quietly, backing up a step but keeping my posture relaxed. "If that's what you want, you can stay here. But Scott needs to eat. I'm going to take him back with me, ok? He'll come find you again when he's done. Scott, come on."

He whined, but Gena turned her head again, slower this time, and gently brushed her nose against his muzzle before laying her chin back on her paws. He dropped his nose to her shoulder, and then gave her ribs one more careful lick before turning around and trotting over to me, limping a little on his bitten forefoot. We made our way back over the hill in silence.

When I'd insisted on Gena coming, I may have miscalculated.

If we'd been in a populated area I wouldn't have left her alone, but out here there was no one for her to eat except for us and the mercenaries, and she wouldn't get very far with that. I thought she was still stable enough that she'd confine herself to sulking alone, but… violence is always close to the surface with werewolves, and with the kind of damage they can do it doesn't pay to take chances. Finishing things with her pack was supposed to make her feel better, not worse. What was going wrong?

"I know you'll have to be wolf again right away," I said while Scott and I were still in the no-man's-land between the dirt road and the camper, "but I could use your input on something." I twitched a hand back the way we had come; his shoulders hunched and his tail dropped, so I knew he understood what I meant. "Think you could change for a little bit?"

He gave a single, quick wag of his tail and veered toward the cars; I popped a door open for him. "Thanks. I'll bring you some clothes." He yipped in acknowledgment and jumped into the back.

Warren and Kyle were awake when I grabbed Scott's clothes, but I only stayed to chat for a minute; they had a lot of catching up to do between them. Relationships in the pack could be pretty open – it was a little shocking still just how little privacy there really was. But that made the bit that could be salvaged all the more precious. I kissed them both on the cheek and made myself scarce as soon as I could politely manage.

I jogged back out to the cars and tossed Scott's clothes into the front seat for him before I rejoined David. "We expectin' anyone else?" he asked, his eyes flicking back the way I'd come and then around the edges of the camp.

"One more. But it'll be a few minutes."

He nodded and moved the last of the food to the edge of the coals. "It'll keep there. Mind taking over the lunch line? I should see to a few things before tonight."

"Sure. Everyone in your group's already had their mystery meat?"

He raised an eyebrow at me, but his dark eyes were twinkling; he had a sense of humor his wary, hard-edged twin grandsons didn't seem to have inherited. "You think that's a surprise," he said, nodding at lunch as he rose to his feet, "wait until you find out what you're having for breakfast tomorrow."

I laughed, only a little bit nervous that I'd end up eating Gila monster or something on the way back to town in the morning. After a full night of hunting, most of the wolves would be too pleased to bother with practical jokes on the coyote. Samuel might; the old Sam, anyway. He liked to tease. If he did, though, I'd take it as a good sign. I'd also take full retribution.

The afternoon sun was putting out zero heat, but David's recently vacated seat was bathed in the campfire's warmth. It was also a good place to puzzle at my problem a little while I waited for Scott; campfires are sort of inherently meditative. I hunkered down and prodded the embers with a stick, watching the colors change and hunting options. They weren't good.

I'd thought I was getting better at masking my emotions from the pack bonds in my head, but I hadn't been alone two minutes when Samuel came out of the hogan headed straight for me. "Awake less than an hour and you already have a new problem to gnaw on, huh?"

"Not a new one. An old one not being fixed when it's supposed to."

"What do you need?"

I shrugged. "Clairvoyance would be nice. Got any?"

"Fresh out, and that one's likely to be a case of 'careful what you wish for'."

I grimaced; that was true. Magical powers tend to come with some pretty heavy downsides. My own little abilities were plenty for me to manage. "I'd settle for a little backup, then. I'm going to have to have a sensitive conversation with a surly canine and I need her to not eat me until I've had the chance to talk her around."

"Why don't you just do it the way you always do?"

"The way I always do?"

He grinned. "Nobody's eaten you yet – you must have a system. If I hadn't heard you talk I'd think you had a silver tongue."

"Very funny." A silver tongue would never have let me get with Adam – I didn't want one. "Maybe I'll just go ask Anna. She'd rather help than listen to herself be clever."

That settled him down a little. "I'll help." He sighed. "Mercy… you know she was never just going to spring back. That's not how it works, even for a being as immediate as the wolf."

"I know. But a few days ago she could still smile, and twenty minutes ago…" She'd been walking a line since the day we met, fighting to handle what had happened to her. That was the first time it looked like she might give up.

"Last night wasn't easy for any of them. And for her… it's been more than just a rough few months. She's been holding on to see this through, and now that she's made it…" he shrugged. "She cut herself loose last night. Severed the bonds. You can't—you can't understand yet, what it feels like to be without a pack. She's had one her whole life, she doesn't remember ever being on her own. And to lose it like she did… that's a lot of pain. Loneliness, distrust. Loss. It's going to take her some time."

With the cold, too-empty spot in my middle where Adam's horde usually shoved themselves I was starting to have a little inkling of what it would be like to have a pack, a real pack, and then lose it. I certainly understood personal loss – both the sudden kind and the wasteful kind. I understood being alone. And I knew that Gena's approach wasn't going to make any of that better, for her or for the people still left in her life. "The way she's going, that might not be something she has."

"Not everything can be fixed, Mercy." Samuel's tone was gentle, and way too accepting. My sense of him through the pack bond was still hard to read, but some new thread in the fuzziness ran up a red flag, waking the gnawing uneasiness that had almost been put to rest by his face this morning when we finished the sing.

Fear, especially vague fear, makes me angry. "Not if you sit back singing 'que sera'," I snapped. "I'd rather pick up a wrench and give something a try. If you don't mind?"

"Be my guest," he replied, shrugging amiably and holding his hands out to the flames. "I'll back you up, although," a wry smile tugged at the corner of his lip, "we're not exactly using the same tools."

Yeah, yeah. He could laugh all he wanted, as long as he helped. We each had our own skill set, and together I was pretty sure we could work this out. "Thank you."

Now, if only I had some clue where to begin.

Samuel had the grace not to immediately point out my deficit, although I know he noticed. "I think you hit it on the head when you talked Adam into letting her out of the basement. She needs something to do. She could belong in Adam's pack, or with Da, or Scott, or anywhere she wanted to be, but she'd have to want to be there. Right now she doesn't. Not anywhere. None of it seems worthwhile."

"So what are Adam and Jesse and Scott? Chopped liver?"

His eyes jerked from the fire to my face, and his voice took on a bite for the first time. "That's not fair. You know she cares about them." His gaze dropped back to the blackening wood, all traces of his smile gone. "Sometimes that makes it harder instead of easier."

"You've talked to her about this."

"A little."

I shifted my weight a little, watching the tight line of his mouth carefully. "But you haven't talked her out of it."

"Words aren't going to be enough."

"Well it's a good thing we have more than that, then." She needed something to keep her busy, fine. I had something in mind that could keep her occupied for a while; hopefully until she could find the next thing on her own, or until she and the wolf recovered enough that she didn't have to bribe herself through every day. It would give her somewhere to belong besides, if it went right. But she was going to have to gain some ground before we could take her back to civilization at all. Trying it out right now would be a disaster.

Samuel was watching me, one eyebrow quirking upward. "You're plotting."

"I'm planning."

He snorted.

Before I could educate him on the subtle differences between the two, Scott trudged over, good hand jammed in his pocket and a scowl on his face. He held his injured hand, a little swollen and ruddy, out from his body a tiny bit, not letting it move freely, but while I was sure it hurt more than he was letting on, it also didn't look like a danger to him. Samuel seemed to agree; his eyes glanced over the injury, but he settled back on his heels without a change of expression.

"I appreciate this," I said, digging a plate out of the plastic bag and fishing the chicken packet to cooler ground. He grunted in response, dropping what passed for heavily for a werewolf to a seat on an upturned firewood log. "Given what I just saw, I don't think we ought to wait for tomorrow to do something about Gena."

Scott looked at me, and it was not a look of confidence and enthusiasm. Fair enough. Werewolf 'do something' in cases like this tended to be blunt and often final. Maybe I wasn't giving Bran enough credit; he cared about his people, and he could be awfully devious when he felt like it. Maybe he would have some brilliant strategy to help Gena. But he hadn't been able to help Bryan when Evelyn died, and he hadn't been able to convince Dr. Carter to live, either. I still believed Gena's best chance lay outside of Aspen Creek.

"Tomorrow when we go back, Charles is going to want to take her back to the Marrok. She shouldn't go. That pack is a short-term solution, and not a good one. She needs a pack, but she also needs someone who cares about her, so that means Scott's pack or ours."

"Mercy—" Samuel started, but I cut him off.

"I know, but I have a plan. You can help me talk them into one more week. Between you and Warren she can't cause any trouble even if Charles decides to leave us to our own devices and go home. One week. At the end of that, if she's still not safe, I won't argue over Montana. But if she is, then she gets to decide where she goes. Where she stays."

Scott's shoulders were relaxing millimeter by millimeter, and his scowl lightening at the same cautious pace. When I handed him the paper plate, piled high with all that was left of the chicken, he actually stopped slouching, plucking the fork stuck like a triumphant flag at the top of the mountain and tearing into the meal without ever taking his eyes off me.

Samuel's arms were folded across his chest. "I think I could get Da to agree to that," he said cautiously. "How are you planning to make it worthwhile?"

"That's going to depend a lot on her, but between the three of us I bet we can find something to help. The first step is going to be getting her talk. Did she talk to you at all last night?"

Scott shook his head and swallowed an enormous mouthful of chicken. "She shifted almost as soon as she got back. Didn't say anything. I don't think she intends to."

"Samuel said she severed her pack bonds last night? But not her bond to you."

Scott's eyes went wary again, and he glanced over at Samuel like he was expecting some reaction, but he shook his head slowly. "Not yet."

"And how is your pack? Do you think she could be comfortable there if she chose to stay in Tennessee?"

Something close to hope lit Scott's face. "We could make it work. She could stay with me – I have a house. Phil's not bad; nothin' at all like that dumb piece of—"

"Pascarella would be a decent alpha for her," Samuel interrupted. He wouldn't be editing for my sake – he's heard me say all the words I don't use in front of Adam. Once Scott got started describing Bains, though, we'd miss the hunt waiting for him to finish. There hadn't been enough profanity invented yet to express what Scott thought of Trent Bains.

"Alright, you start marshalling arguments on that for me; I'll need them later." I had plenty lined up for bringing her back to Washington, but it didn't hurt to have options. "Scott, finish up your lunch; I'm going to go grab something to keep her warm while we talk. I'll meet you both on the hill?"

"Not unless you can pull this off in fifteen minutes. Which I think would be pushing it, even for you." Samuel nodded at the horizon—not the western one, which was glowing in hot neon colors already, but the eastern one, still a respectable dusky blue. He closed his eyes, stretching his chin out and cocking his head, focusing on something I've never been able to hear: the song of the moon. "It's almost time for the hunt."

Dammit. I still had to call Adam.

"Tomorrow, then." It wouldn't hurt for me to have a little longer to think things over. I'd like Adam's advice on the whole thing, too; we could discuss it in the morning. I had other uses for the time we had right now. "Before we break camp. We'll convene at the trailer. Thanks, guys!" The last few words were tossed over my shoulder as I jogged for the creek, fishing my phone out of my pocket as I went. I'd have maybe an hour to talk before things officially got underway here – it takes the wolves way longer to change than it takes me, and it would be the moonrise that started them off – and I didn't want to lose a minute more.