Jonathan

Around noon, the fully-healed Pat, Eric, and I slipped through the underground tunnels to one of the empty family cabins. We're scanning the immediate area visible beyond the windows for signs of the hunters before we go exploring. I doubt the rifle-toting bastards will leave their secure positions covering the inn, just yet.

Earlier this morning, shots were fired at the doors when our organized groups of Weres attempted to leave the main building. A new plan had to be hastily thrown together. Not willing to go against Vivian's prime directive that the tunnels remain a secret, I told the others there's a hidden way onto the property only accessible by employees.

The pack grumbled quite a bit and Romeo looked frustrated enough to challenge me at one point, but the devastating loss of Deneishia, Kotsana's overwhelming grief, and the two healing Weres were enough to waylay him for a while.

"All clear in this direction," Eric says from behind the curtains near the living room window.

Pat's voice carries from the master suite. "Same here."

"Ditto for my end," I say after dropping the window blinds over the kitchen sink.

The three of us gather in the living room and start to disrobe. I stop before removing my pants, deciding to watch out for danger while the pups change. It can take them upward of a minute or more some days and they're vulnerable during the transition.

We already discussed what we plan to do-track and find the hunters' base camp. Once we determine how many we're up against, we can devise an effective strike. It's times like this, Asa's military background really comes in handy.

I watch the slow transformation of the young wolves and remember my own pain during that first year. It's not unbearable, but it's no walk in the park, either. Soon, the two are standing before me in wolf form, sides heaving from exertion. After one last survey with binoculars through the front curtains, I crack open the front door and remove my jeans before calling the change.

In a burst of energy, the air around me vibrates, and I'm forced to the floor. The muscles shift and flow in a speed too fast for the human eye to track. Fur rushes over my reshaped flesh. With a shake to settle my pelt into place, I glance over at my packmates. We wait a few minutes more until their breathing has returned to normal before venturing into the sparse woods surrounding the cabin.

As agreed, we angle through the brush, noses lowered, in a large circle around the main building of the resort. We already determined how far away the shooters would have to be to cover more than one exit and planned half a mile beyond that to ensure we'd be undetected while searching for scent trails.

The warm spell yesterday reached the low forties, creating mud that sucked at our paws, leaving the hunters a clear trail to find us when we hunted. Last night the temperatures returned to normal and today's high will still leave the top soil frozen solid.

We would cover more ground if we split up, but I'm not risking Eric and Pat's lives with silver-loaded rifles in the vicinity. Pat rumbles a low growl. Eric and I slow our looping pace to see what caught his attention. A faint trace of artificial deer musk hangs on the low branches of a nearby bush.

We fan out and search deeper into the surrounding scrub to pick up the next mark in the scent trail. Eric yips, from the south, and Pat and I trot over to investigate. He's found a series of footprints set in the hardened mud, like uncovered dinosaur tracks frozen in stone. After five or six paces, the footprints disappear, hidden by the decaying, frozen vegetation covering the ground from last summer.

The general direction leads away from the main building, pointing deeper into the land bordering the park. While we don't technically have the right to patrol the protected lands, I am familiar with the terrain and lead the two young wolves into the thickening trees.

The hunter's musk, used to disguise a bow or rifle hunter in a deer stand, sends us on a twisting path. A wiff here, a stronger dash there. Part of me wonders if we could be walking into danger, and I slow our pace, watchful for hidden traps ready to spring. Brittle branches snag our fur as we weave through narrow gaps in the underbrush.

After a while we come to camouflage netting draped in a tent fashion between trees. Pat flanks right and Eric to the left, both on the lookout for signs of approach while I investigate the makeshift camp. There are no leavings from a fire, which is smart on their part. We would've been able to track them easier if they lit one.

Coils of rope, four shovels, and a few silver-coated steel traps lie piled near a long camo painted box. I can't lift the lid in my present furry state, but I can smell the gun oil and steel of the weapons the locker held. High-tech equipment lies further away the enclosure, near three rolled up sub-zero mummy sleeping bags. These men came armed with night scopes, infrared sights, GPS systems and several boxes of ready-made food pouches.

Are there only three men as the bags indicate, or are they sleeping in shifts? Even if there were more men, I'd think they'd want their own sleeping bag. I'll have to wait and discuss what I've found with Eric and Pat when we return. They may have found scent trails further from camp that will give us an exact number.

Nothing here leads me to think they plan on capturing a werewolf alive-ropes can't hold one of us, and I don't see anything large enough to hide a cage. A shiver raises the hackles across my shoulders. The shovels imply they plan to leave bodies here in the tundra. Too bad the bastards have no idea you can't dig deep enough to bury a body up here-not without a good fire going for days to thaw the permafrost.

What I don't see are ATVs of any kind to answer how they arrived here. I circle outside of the makeshift tent and nose around 'til I find what I'm looking for. Hastily bundled parachutes have been haphazardly shoved into a bunch of packs. Someone flew them here and would be radioed to pick them up, which means it will be much harder for us to kill these men and hide their presence.

I snuff loudly, trying to clear the musk smell out of my sensitive nose. Worry over this new development weighs on me and I'm not sure how we're going to get out of this scot-free.

In less than ten minutes I've found all there is to uncover-which also means there's no conveniently left-open diary or map that might betray the hunters' motives, either. There are too many variables at play, too many reasons they could be here, and a very real risk that others know where they are and why.

I woof softly and the two young Weres pad through the brush toward me, not leaving a sign of their passing behind. Unwilling to risk encountering the hunters, we head due east before angling north, slowly making our way around the main building to the family cabins. No new scents mar the afternoon chill near the small house. We return undetected and change back to human form in the darkened living room.

I get dressed then rummage through the fridge while the pups struggle to complete their transformation. The contents of the fridge are sparse, mainly condiments, soda and a six pack of beer. I grab three Miller Lites and mosey to the loveseat.

I twist off the top and take a long pull. Bunny won't mind that we drink them, she's a pretty hospitable sort. I make a mental note to grab the rest and a bottle of wine to give to her when we pass her temporary location in the tunnels. There's no telling how long she'll be down there with the kids and I bet the alcohol will be welcome.

By the time I finish half the beer, both young men are dressed and panting on the couch. Even though they've been practicing, two changes in under two hours is very taxing. Eric's hand shakes as he reaches for a beer.

Pat flops to the floor in a dramatic fashion and groans. "Hand me my beer, dude. I don't think I can move."

I open one, passing the bottle to the grinning bastard. He raises his head to take a long swallow before dropping his skull back to the carpet with a thunk. "I'd tell you I love you, but I might disappoint you when I don't grow tits and sprout a pussy."

Eric spits some of his beer and glances my way with a shocked expression. I casually lean down and snag Pat's beer. He's too weak to put up much of a resistance. I put my thumb over the end and shake the bottle up and down vigorously before shoving it back in his hand. The carbonated liquid foams over the top and soaks the front of Pat's shirt.

The crooked-nose punk sputters, but doesn't move fast enough to avoid the worst of the mess. I settle back on the couch with a smile. "What were you saying, Pat?"

He eyes the remains of his beer and shakes his head. "Too soon to start with the bad jokes?"

My face hardens when I look down at my packmate. "Some things shouldn't be joked about. Especially when you don't know shit. Keep that in mind, puppy."

Pat lets it drop and drinks his beer in silence. I finish the remains of mine and relay what I discovered at the camp. When I'm done, their bottles stand empty, too. "Did you two find anything useful?"

"I can confirm their numbers," Eric says. "I found three unique piss spots."

I look to Pat, who's pulling his wet shirt away from his chest with a scowl on his face. "Pat?" I prompt.

"Huh?" He looks up. "Yeah. Three distinct scents."

"Alright," I grab their empties and stand, "let's talk over what we found with Romeo and Elsa."

"Not their whole pack?" Eric asks.

I shake my head and wander to the kitchen with the recyclables. "I'm getting tired of the drama in talking to their whole group. Since they are effectively grounded inside the inn 'til this mess is over, I figured their alpha's can deal with telling the others what they want them to know."

Remembering first to grab the booze for Bunny, I make my way to the master bedroom where the tunnel hatch is located.

"Should we try to flush them out?" Elsa asks.

We're gathered in Viv and Rafe's kitchen, seated around the wood table. Eric and Pat did a good job with covering the damaged window with plywood, so we're safe from pesky gunfire at the moment.

"Not a bad idea," I say. "How do you suggest it? Use one of us as bait?"

The pixie-like features of the female alpha screw up in a measure of distaste. "I don't want to suggest something that could get one of us killed."

Romeo nods and leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. "We could ask the vamps to give it a shot tonight when it gets dark. There are two of them now, right? It wouldn't be like we're sending one out alone."

"With any luck," Elsa adds, "the hunters won't be aware of their presence."

"Okay," I nod. "I'll talk it over with Asa and Cy when they wake. What stance are we going with here-kill or catch and question?"

Elsa and Romeo look to each other, and Romeo nods. "In light of the information regarding their transportation into the resort, and possible outside connections, we think catching them and finding out what they know is the safest course."

Tension I wasn't aware I'd been holding drains away at his answer. If they had answered differently, Romeo and I might have had our first physical fight, a confrontation I avoided eight years ago by leaving his pack, and one I still wasn't looking forward to now. The stocky man is built like a tank, even if he is a few inches shorter than me. I'm not saying I couldn't take him, but the wily bastard has been Manitoba's alpha for three decades for a reason-he's a tough and a scrappy fighter, proven to have the stamina to outlast his opponents, no matter their size.

"Good. The bloodsuckers will be up in a few hours." My stomach growls and I recall the food we have in the fridges for cooking outside in the grotto. We can't use the grills anymore, but we've still got stoves in here. "Who wants to eat?"

The couple smiles and moves through the apartment toward the resort's kitchen, with Eric and Pat right behind them. I shout I'll join them in a few minutes, and make my way into the couple's office to stand near an uncovered window. She and Rafe need to know what's going on, plus I haven't heard from them in a while.

I power up the gadget, hearing a warning blip indicating a waiting message. It's Paul, calling from a plane, telling me to call him back pronto. A sliver of worry skates across my back, bringing a chill of apprehension in its wake. I punch in his number while panicked thoughts bounce through my mind. Why and where are they flying to? What the hell has happened down there?