"You stayed in the mountains for all those years?" Anna put her chin on her hand, and Charles noticed that two of her nails were broken to the quick-and looked around until he saw her gloves sitting beside her.

Walter nodded. "God knows I knew how to hunt. Didn't have a gun-but hell, half the time your gun didn't work in the jungle, either."

He pulled a knife nearly as long as his forearm out from somewhere and contemplated it. Charles tried to figure out where it had come from. There weren't actually all that many people who could move that fast, werewolf or not.

Walter looked sideways at Anna, then back to the knife, but Charles knew he'd seen the sympathy on Anna's face, because he tried to downplay his survival. "It wasn't that bad, really, ma'am. Winters can get rough, but there's an old cabin I stay in now and then if conditions get too bad."

Walter wasn't the only one who escaped to the mountains, Charles thought. There had been a few places, twenty years ago, where whole communities of broken men had holed up in the wilds. Most of the old soldiers had healed and moved on years ago-or died.

Before this trip he wouldn't have believed there was anyone here; the Cabinets had little gentleness to share with the hearts of men. Charles had never come here that he hadn't felt the old places pushing him out on his way. They weren't meant for man-even one who had a Brother Wolf. Even in the old days, the trappers and hunters had avoided this area for somewhere with a gentler nature.

A man who lived here over thirty years, though, might not be an intruder anymore. He might be accepted as part of the mountain.

Charles looked into the night-dark sky and thought that a man who stayed here that long might become beloved of those spirits. Spirits who could hide someone even from Charles's own keen senses.

Walter wiped the spork in the snow and handed it back to Charles. "Thank you. I haven't eaten like that in...a long time."

Then, as if his words had just run out, he closed his eyes and leaned against the nearest tree.

"What do you know about the werewolf that attacked you?" Charles asked.

Walter shrugged without opening his eyes. "They came in the fall on a four-wheeler and took over my cabin. After it Changed me...I did a little hunting of my own. Wish I'd seen it before it confronted that boy. If I'd been a little faster that day, I might have killed it-if I'd been a little slower, it'd have killed me. Good thing silver's bad for werewolves." Walter heaved a loud sigh, opened his eyes, and pulled the long blade out of a forearm sheath again. This time Charles saw him do it-though, come to think of it, he hadn't seen him put it away.

"This old knife of mine burns my hand now when I clean it." He looked at his hands, or maybe the knife. "I figured I was dead. I hurt that demon bad with this old blade-it's got silver etched into it, see? But the monster opened my gut before it fled."

"If a werewolf attack almost kills you, you become one," Anna said in a low voice.

Did she still regret that? Charles was overcome with the wild desire to kill them all again, Leo and his mate, the whole Chicago pack-but at the same time he was pathetically grateful that his mate was a werewolf who wouldn't fade and die the way Samuel's wives all had.

Brother Wolf stirred and settled down, just like Walter had.

"The wolf who attacked you didn't come back to you, then, after you Changed?" Charles asked.

Usually when a wolf Changed someone, it was drawn back to the new werewolf for a while. Mostly, Samuel had theorized to him once, some genetic imperative to make sure that an untaught, uncontrolled werewolf wasn't going to draw too much unwanted attention.

Walter shook his head. "Like I said, I tracked her down myself, after the first full moon-she and that woman. What is she anyway? She sure as hell ain't human-sorry, ma'am- not with the things I seen her do. She tried to call me to her the first time I Changed. I didn't know what she was, only that she smelled bad-like the beast. I thought for a while that she and the beast were the same creature, but then I saw them together."

It had begun snowing gently an hour ago, but now big, fat flakes fell with more intensity, sticking to eyelashes and hair. A little more of his tension fell away; snow would hide them.

"Have you ever seen the wolf in her human form?" Charles didn't know what Asil's mate looked like in her human form, but a description might be useful.

Walter shook his head. "Nope. Maybe she doesn't have one."

"Maybe not." Charles didn't know why he was so sure that the other werewolf wasn't what she seemed. They'd been running, it was possible he'd missed her tracks. But he tended to believe his instincts when they were whispering this strongly.

He turned his attention to Walter. Two months, and he'd had the control this afternoon to stop his attack as soon as he'd realized that Anna was a werewolf and not a victim. That was more control than most new wolves had.

"Your control is very good for someone who has only just been Changed-especially someone who didn't have help," Charles observed.

Walter gave him a grim look, then shrugged. "Been controlling a beast inside me ever since the war. Except that now I grow fangs and claws, it ain't that much different. I have to be careful-like when I went after you. When I'm the wolf, I like the taste of blood. If I'd broken skin instead of ripping up your pack...well, then my control ain't so good." He glanced at Anna again, as if worried about what that would make her think of him.

Anna gave Charles an anxious look. Was she worried about Walter?

The thought that she might try to protect another male from him brought a snarl from his chest that never made it to his face. He waited until Brother Wolf quieted, then said, "For someone who's been a wolf for only a couple of moons with no one to help him that is extraordinarily good."

He looked directly at Walter, and the other wolf dropped his eyes. He was dominant, Charles judged, but not enough to think of challenging Charles-most wolves weren't. "You thought Anna was in danger, didn't you?" he said softly.

The rawboned man shrugged, making his crudely stitched-together cape of furs rustle. "Didn't know she was a werewolf, too. Not until I was right between you."

"But you knew I was."

The man nodded his head. "Yes. It's that smell, it calls to me." He shrugged. "I've lived alone for all these years, but it's harder now."