"Maybe you ought to take someone else," she said, finally, as she shut out the winter's cold. "Another wolf might be more helpful."

Charles turned and looked her in the face. He slowly took off his gloves while he stared at her, his eyes black in the dimmer light of the house. She met his gaze for a breath or two before dropping her own eyes.

"I don't like bringing reinforcements to a kill," he told her after a moment. "More wolves tend to muck things up."

He took off his coat and set it deliberately across the back of the couch. "This is a werewolf who is killing humans. It might be a plant, someone who intends to stop my father's plans to carefully unveil our presence to the humans. I've been considering that, though, and I don't think that's what is going on. It would take a desperate person to go into the Cabinets this time of year when Missoula or Kalispell are so much more convenient-and more sure to attract attention. Running around in the wilderness in the winter is too much trouble, I think, for a planned attack or a hardened killer. I think we're dealing with a rogue. Someone who doesn't know much and is trying to keep out of sight. Dangerous, as he has so ably demonstrated, but nothing I can't handle."

"I'll do as you tell me," she told the floor, feeling stupid for insisting on going and heartsick because he didn't want her with him. "I'll try not to get in the way."

"I would not have considered taking you without my father's insistence," he said slowly. "And I would have been wrong."

His words took her totally by surprise. Half-suspecting that she'd mistaken him, she looked up to see his sheepish smile.

"I think," he said, "that even a werewolf deserves a chance, don't you? A rogue hiding out in the Cabinets is pretty desperate, and there's a good chance he's as much a victim as the dead hunter and Heather's Jack. But even if I knew for certain he was only moonstruck, out of control through no fault of his own-I'd still probably have to kill him if I went alone. But look at what you did with Asil this morning. If you come with me, we just might be able to give this wolf a chance."

She weighed his words, but he seemed serious. "You aren't angry? Don't wish I'd kept my mouth shut?"

He closed the distance between them and kissed her. When he pulled back, her heart was pounding-and not from fear. She could see his pulse beat in his throat, and he smelled of the crisp snow-covered outdoors.

"No," he murmured. "I don't want you to keep quiet." He ran a light finger down her jaw. "Tag will be here in a minute. Let me fix some food before he does."

Though he was obviously still sore and claimed not to be much of a cook, he fixed the stew she'd been organizing when Bran had called. He did send her for the potatoes, which he kept hidden downstairs in a fifty-pound gunny-sack, but otherwise seemed perfectly content to do all the work himself.

She watched him cook, and the euphoria induced by his kiss faded. Here was a man used to being alone, used to depending upon himself. He didn't need her, but she was completely dependent on him.

While they waited for the stew to simmer, he turned on the small TV in the dining room, the only TV she'd seen in his house, and a cheery woman in bright lipstick told them it was going to be colder tomorrow. He sat down, and she took a chair on the opposite side of his oak dining table.

"As local as we get," Charles told her as they watched the forecast. "Missoula and Kalispell."

She wasn't sure why she didn't just let the TV fill in the time.

"Your father told me I should ask you about contacting my family," Anna said, while the anchor woman introduced a story on local Christmas shopping over the weekend: retail sales down from last year, Internet sales up.

"Is there some problem with them?"

"I don't know. I haven't talked to them since shortly after I Changed."

"You haven't talked to your family for three years?" He frowned at her. Then a look of comprehension came to his face. "He didn't let you."

She looked at him a moment. "Leo said that any human even suspected of knowing about us would be killed. And any prolonged contact with my family would be adequate cause to eliminate them. At his suggestion, I took offense at something my sister-in-law said, and haven't spoken to them since."

"Idiot," snapped Charles, then shook his head at her. "Not you. Leo. Why should...I suppose he thought your family would object to the treatment you were receiving and cause a fuss-and I hope he was right. If you'd like to call them right now, go ahead. Or when we get back from this, we can fly to your family for a visit. Some things are best explained in person."

Her throat closed up, and she tried to blink back sudden, stupid tears. "I'm sorry," she managed.

He leaned toward her, but before he could say anything, they both heard the unmistakable sound of a car driving up.

Without knocking, Tag blew in like a warm blizzard, a paper bag in one hand and a map in the other.

"Here you are." He stopped and sniffed appreciatively. "Tell me there's enough for a third. I've been out on your errands and haven't gotten a bite to eat."

"Help yourself," said Charles dryly since Tag had dumped his burdens and was already in the kitchen.

Anna heard him rattle around for a moment, then he was striding into the dining room with three bowls of stew in his big hands. He set one in front of Anna, one in front of Charles, and one at a place next to Charles. Another visit and he had three glasses of milk and spoons. He handled the dishes with a professionalism that made Anna think that he'd spent some time as a waiter somewhere.

He kept an eye on Charles while he sat down, and Anna realized something that she'd been noticing subconsciously for a long time. Despite his casual demeanor, Tag was afraid of Charles, just as Sage had been, for all of her "Charlie's."

There was a reason, Anna thought, that Bran's mate Leah had come when Charles was occupied elsewhere, why she'd been unfamiliar with the house. Anna had recognized Heather's fear, but Heather was human. The others were all werewolves, and their reaction was in subtle body movements like Tag's watchfulness.

Tag took a couple of slurping spoonfuls that Anna's mother would have slapped his hand for, then told Charles, "She needs feeding up. Leo never could take care of the gifts he was given."