Frostbitten

DOWNTIME

WE FOUND TRACKS about a half mile from the kill site. It looked as if the trail went in that direction, but we didn't dare follow it any closer-not until the people had left. I supposed they were waiting for the coroner or crime-scene techs. But whoever was coming was taking his time and I could still hear the men talking.

The tracks were definitely canine, as the young officer had said. While they seemed too big to be wolf. I won't say definitely too big, because wolves have been found weighing up to two hundred pounds. The average, though, is just over half that. These tracks were the size of Clay's, but the scent already told me we were dealing with a werewolf.

The trail was a few days old, the prints remaining only because the tree canopy protected this patch from the freshly fallen snow. I had to pace along it before my brain really latched onto the smell. Then I sat on my haunches and mulled it over, like a wine expert with a cork, trying to place the vintage. When it didn't tweak a memory, I sniffed again. No match to anything in my mental file cabinet.

I glanced at Clay, who was sniffing another section of the trail. He lifted his muzzle from the ground and shook his head-no one he knew either. My dossiers document twenty-five werewolves currently living in the United States, but we weren't arrogant enough to believe that actually meant there were only twenty-five.

Mutts were always immigrating and emigrating, plus there were a handful that stayed under the radar. Keeping tabs on all of them was impossible. We really only tracked the troublemakers and the ones from the oldest werewolf families, like the Santoess and the Cains.

Still, in the Lower 48, we could say with some confidence that we knew most of the werewolves around-either by reputation or by scent. Up here in Alaska, though, we might as well be in another country. The only Alaskans we had in our dossiers were the Stillwells, and if Clay didn't recognize this scent, then it wasn't either of them.

We couldn't follow the trail back to the kill site, but we could take it the other way. We'd tracked it for almost a mile before it ended at a clearing. Inside, we found a piece of plywood and a wooden crate. A werewolf's winter locker-a place to Change in the mud and snow, and to store your gear. We had something similar, if more elegant, at Stonehaven.

This clearing reeked of scent and sweat, meaning someone was using it regularly. As I sniffed more, I realized it was more than someone. We had two distinct scents and possibly a third.

Shit.

Two or more werewolves, none the Stillwells. And as soon as they set foot in this clearing, they'd know there were two werewolves in town, one of them female.

Double shit.

I started backing out of their change-room, but it was too late. The moment I got within ten feet of the spot I'd left a scent that was sure to get their attention. Upon consideration, though, I decided that wasn't necessarily a problem. With the size of Alaska, finding two or three werewolves would be needle-and-haystack work. Now they'd be looking for us, which would make things easier.

As long as we'd already left our scents, we might as well take a better sniff around. We covered every inch of that clearing searching for remnants of the man by the lake, and found not a speck of blood or shred of flesh. That didn't mean much-the long run through the snow would be enough to clean off their feet-but it bore keeping in mind. It could also suggest a deliberate cleaning before returning to this spot. Maybe one of the mutts was a man-eater trying to hide the habit from his buddies.

Once we were sure we'd gotten all the information we could and had committed their scents to memory, we left the clearing. As I stepped out, I caught a movement in the bushes. I froze, blocking Clay. He nudged my hindquarters. I edged backward, scanning the woods. The only noise was the wind rustling dead leaves overhead. It was too quiet. Clay went still, knowing something was wrong.

I kept looking, ears swiveled forward, nose working. Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. Nothing to smell. Yet the forest stayed deathly silent. Clay nudged me again-now he was worried and wanted to get moving.

I slid from the clearing. Clay followed. We stood in the dense, dimly lit forest, looking, listening, sniffing, catching nothing. Then a bird called. Another answered. A squirrel chirruped and scampered over a branch overhead, dead leaves raining down. I shook one off my head, and I rubbed against Clay, grunting an apology for overreacting. He licked my muzzle and waited for instructions, ready to cede the lead now that any danger had passed.

We found the scent from the werewolves in human form, and followed it. It didn't go more than twenty paces before ending at a trail thick with the stink of mixed gas and oil. Snowmobiles.

I turned around and loped back a quarter mile toward the kill site, but the men hadn't left yet. There was no reason for us to linger. By the time the crew removed the body, all their tracks would have erased the faint trail of the killer. We returned to our truck and Changed back.

AS DISAPPOINTED AS we were over the awkward end to our run, neither of us suggested we crawl into the back of the SUV and finish it properly. We'd already done the quick-and-dirty solution in the airport. Now we wanted more, and if we couldn't get it on our terms, we'd wait and build up an appetite.

Speaking of appetites, breakfast was long overdue. We drove back to Highway 1-the main route through Alaska… or the 5 percent of it that could be reached by car. It was a two-lane highway that didn't bear much resemblance to the interstates I was used to, and it didn't have the facilities I was used to either. Earlier we'd passed only one service center. We returned there now and found a gas station, bakery and pizza parlor.

I was surprised by the neon sign in the bakery window offering espressos-not the kind of thing one expects to find at a highway outpost. But I wasn't arguing. I'd always considered myself a straight coffee person, but when I'd been pregnant and nursing, I drank decaf lattes to up my dairy intake and developed a taste for them, especially if they came with caramel. These ones did, so I got a large, a coffee for Clay and a bag of pastries.

We headed outside to eat and couldn't find a single bench or picnic table. Given the view-snow-covered mountains with the sun cresting the ridge-I couldn't imagine why everyone chose to drink their coffee inside. I suppose the subfreezing temperatures had some thing to do with that.

But the chance to eat with a view like that was too tempting to ignore. And Clay was just as happy not to have to eat with strangers. So we settled onto the wooden ties of a raised flower bed. Then we phoned home.

Jeremy and his visiting girlfriend, Jaime, were getting ready to take the kids to swimming lessons, meaning our timing was perfect-Logan and Kate were too excited about swimming to ask when we were coming back. Clay, Jeremy and I work mostly from home, meaning the kids have grown up with us there all the time, so you'd think they wouldn't mind our occasional absence. But because we're always there, that's what they're used to, and when we take off, they raise a hell of a fuss.

Clay talked to Kate first, which would give me plenty of time to enjoy my latte and muffin. I listened in as she told Daddy everything that had happened since he'd called the day before. Everything. In detail. And through the entire fifteen-minute recitation, Clay's attention never flagged.

When the subject of kids first came up years ago, I'd joked that the only thing I could imagine worse than me as a mother was Clay as a father. I couldn't have been more wrong. Clay was an amazing parent. The guy who couldn't spare a few minutes to hear a mutt's side of the story could listen to his kids talk all day. The guy who couldn't sit still through the a brief council meeting could spend hours building Lego castles with his kids. The guy who solved problems with his fists never even raised his voice to his children. And if sometimes Clay was a little too indulgent, a little too slow to discipline, preferring to leave that to me, I was okay with it. He supported and enforced my decisions and we presented a unified front to our children, and that was all that mattered.

Finally, Jeremy interceded on the call-telling Kate they had to leave soon-and he gave the phone to Logan. That conversation was more two-sided. Clay had sent Logan a junior science set from Atlanta, and they discussed experiments Logan had done yesterday, under Jeremy's supervision. Science wasn't Clay's area of interest or expertise, but he was as fascinated by the working of his son's precocious mind as he'd been with his daughter's adventures.

As Clay and Logan talked, I could hear Kate in the background, telling Logan to hurry, that she had to talk to Mommy. He calmly continued his conversation, neither hurrying to please her nor stalling to annoy her. Even before they could walk, Kate-my boisterous little wolf cub-had tried establishing dominance over her brother and he'd made it clear that she might be bigger and stronger, but he wasn't putting up with that crap. They were equals and she'd best not forget it.

When he finally handed her the phone, I listened to a replay of her day, then Logan came on and informed me that he wanted to go to school in the fall. Apparently, he'd overheard a phone call Jeremy took from the school, inviting us to the prekindergarten registration session. The twins would be four in the fall and Clay and I were still debating whether to send them.

Clay wanted to hold off until kindergarten. Normally I'm all for any socialization opportunity, but here I was leaning toward agreeing with Clay-they just seemed so young for school, even half-days. But now, Logan was putting in his request to go, while in the background his sister howled her objections. She wanted to stay home with us. Splitting them up wouldn't be an option-they were inseparable. Luckily, at this moment, my plate was full with other tasks and I could safely postpone this one until we got home.

Finally I got Logan to hand the phone to Jeremy, but I could barely hear him over the kids bickering about school. Then I caught Jaime's voice, reminding them it was snack time, and the arguing was replaced by pounding footsteps, then silence.

"Food always works," I said.

"We'll be in trouble when it doesn't. So, how was your flight?"

I told him what we'd done so far. He was impressed by the progress we'd made. Jeremy knew we wouldn't have landed in Alaska and holed up in a hotel for eight hours, but like any good leader, he understands that the day he starts expecting his troops to perform above and beyond is the day when they'll start feeling underappreciated and drag their heels.

"Go check into the hotel and get some sleep," he said.

"Has Paige gotten a hit on Reese's cards?"

He paused.

"That means yes," I said. "I could call her myself, you know."

"He used one to book a motel, but after that expensive flight, he's not leaving Alaska anytime soon, so you can get some sleep-"

"I napped on the plane. If Clay's tired, I'll drop him off-"

"I'm fine," Clay said.

"I know Reese isn't the most urgent item on our agenda… " I said.

"There's nothing urgent on your agenda."

"Which is why I want to clear him off my slate."

"You're wasting your time, Jer," Clay called.

Jeremy heard and sighed, then gave me the information. "Go to the boy's motel, speak to him and then get some rest."

"Do we have an address for Dennis or Joey Stillwell? I was just thinking, if it's on the way… "

He sighed again, and gave me the address.

"DENNIS'S APARTMENT IS closer," I said as I got into the driver's seat. "We should probably stop there before Reese's motel."

"Yeah."

"And I'm guessing you'd rather we checked on Dennis first."

A pause, then a softer "Yeah."

I glanced over as I pulled from the lot. "I know you're worried about them-Dennis and Joey."

"I'm not sure worried is the right word. I feel… " He looked out the side window, fingers drumming the armrest. "I don't really know how I'll feel, seeing Joey again."

I waited. There's no sense prodding Clay to talk. He doesn't need to be encouraged to share his feelings. If he wants to, he will.

"I feel bad, I guess," he said after a moment. "Falling out of touch."

"You were friends."

He nodded. "I was closer to Nick. Joey was a few years older. But, yeah, we were friends. Pack mates. Pack brothers. I should have kept in contact. I just… I was pissed off about them leaving. They didn't have much status in the Pack and that made them afraid to cross Malcolm. I get that. But I would have protected them. Joey wasn't a kid. He didn't need to follow his father. He could have said it wasn't right, abandoning Jeremy after all he'd done for them."

"But he didn't. They ran."

Clay went silent, loyalty to old Pack mates warring against a deeper feeling of betrayal.

"Yeah, they ran," he said.

"And you couldn't forgive that."

"No. I couldn't." He looked at me. "It was their duty-their obligation-to stand by us. They ran, and things got worse. Their support may not have counted for much, but it would have tipped the balance. Jeremy would have won the Alpha race without bloodshed. He could have used their help and I would have protected them."

And that is what it came down to. In leaving, they'd abandoned Jeremy and hadn't trusted Clay. I used to think that Clay was incapable of seeing other points of view. He can see them though-he just can't feel them. Dennis and Joey hadn't fulfilled their duty to the Pack and that felt wrong, so it was wrong.

"If they came back after Jeremy ascended, I would have been pissed, and it wouldn't have been the same between Joey and me. But I would have gotten over it."

"Why didn't they return?"

"Jeremy said they were still worried about Malcolm, that he'd come back and take revenge against those who didn't support him. That's bullshit. Malcolm was a vicious, manipulative son of a bitch, but more than anything, he was a fighter. A fighter doesn't crawl back after a defeat, even for revenge. Once he's beaten, he moves on and picks a new battle. Later, when we heard Malcolm was dead, Jeremy told them. By then, though, they'd made a life for themselves here in Alaska."

"But now you're looking forward to seeing Joey. Having an excuse to get back in touch."

"It's been a lot of years, and whatever I felt then is gone. You'll like Joey. Lucas reminds me a bit of him, but Joey isn't as… He never had much confidence, much… " He trailed off again. I suspected the word he wanted was backbone, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. "He was a decent guy. Quiet, thoughtful. A good friend."

"And a nice change from Nick now and then?"

A short laugh. "Yeah."

I drove another mile, then Clay said, "Speaking of Alpha ascensions… "

My hands tightened on the steering wheel. "You know."

"Yeah, Jeremy said he finally told you." His voice went uncharacteristically soft. "You didn't need to wait for me to get home to discuss this."

"It wasn't something I wanted to discuss over the phone."

He swore under his breath. "Jeremy can have the worst timing… "

"No, he was being very careful about the timing. He told me the news just before I was supposed to meet you in Atlanta, thinking that would give us a chance to discuss it in private. Then our kids decided to play Superman out the window. Oh, and about that, Kate finally admitted-"

"Which you can tell me later," Clay said. "Right now, we should discuss this. You just found out Jeremy wants you to be Alpha. That's a big deal. We need to talk about it. You need to talk about it."

"Yes, but not now. It isn't something I want to discuss in the car. And it's not critical. I'm just… "

"Worried."

My hands death-gripped the wheel, breaths coming so fast my chest hurt.

"Elena… "

I didn't look at him. "I'm fine. We'll discuss it later."

"Pull over and-" My expression stopped him short. He rubbed his hand over his mouth. "Okay. We'll talk at the hotel. But I don't like thinking you've been this upset-"

"I'm not upset."

"Concerned, and waited a week to talk to me. No wonder you were so happy to see me."

I looked at him. "Yes, I want to talk, but I did miss you. A lot."

"Can I get that in writing?"

I managed a smile. "Not a chance."