"But knowing that a domestic animal would not have survived this winter doesn't matter, does it, Mary Alvarado? Because you know quite well it was a werewolf."

A blank look fell over the other woman's face. If he hadn't known what she was, he might have mistaken it for bewilderment. "A what? There's no such thing as a werewolf."

Her act fell apart when she tried to meet his eyes-she'd been avoiding that. But a woman who was used to batting her eyes at men sometimes forgot not to do it to a werewolf. She didn't take a step back, but she wanted to; he saw it in her face.

"No? Then there is no such thing as a witch, either." Charles's voice was even softer.

She let her hand drop away. "Who are you?"

"No." He shook his head. "I think you get to answer the questions first. Who are you?"

"I'm looking for the missing hunter," she said.

That was truth as far as it went. He frowned at her a moment, trying to find some way to make that a half-truth. "To get him to safety?" he murmured. Or to use him for her magic?

She gave him a sad smile. "I doubt that there is a need for that by now. He's been lost in the woods with a rogue werewolf. How likely do you think it is that he is still alive?"

"So you knew about the werewolf?"

She raised her chin. "The werewolf is why I am here." Truth. "Who are you? And what do you know about witches and werewolves?"

It was possible she was exactly who she represented herself as. He knew that there were witches who regularly worked for the various law-enforcement agencies. He also knew that just because she was a black witch didn't mean that she wasn't actually out looking for the missing man. Witches often hired themselves out-and sometimes, even if only by chance, a black witch could find herself on the side of the angels.

She'd been careful in her answers, though, and he did not discount what the spirits told him. She was no ally of his. The spirit-wolf was usually his guide-though he'd always thought it would have been more ironic if it had been a deer or rabbit. That show of fangs might not mean she was an enemy, but it did indicate that she wasn't friendly.

"You can leave the werewolf to us, now," he told her. "It's not your business."

"It is," she said calmly.

Truth. The full truth this time. How very interesting that a witch would believe a werewolf to be her business.

"You don't want to get in my way," she told him softly, her breath caressing his face in a sweet flow.

"No," he said, taking a step back from her and shaking his head-but he couldn't remember what he was objecting to.

"Now it is my turn for questioning."

If he'd been capable of it, he would have cursed his own arrogance, which had kept him from grabbing Anna and running as soon as he realized what she was. All he could do was wait for the witch's questions.

* * * *

Witch, he'd called her-and she hadn't denied it. Doubtless that meant something, but Anna had no idea what. Had the witch been following them? Or the werewolves?

Whatever she was, if she didn't get her hands off Charles pretty damn soon, Anna would do it for her, using a method involving pain and maybe blood.

The violent urge caught her by surprise, and she hesitated just long enough for Charles to stagger away from the witch. Something had happened, some balance had shifted. The air smelled faintly of ozone, as if, despite the time of year, lightning was ready to strike.

The hair on the back of Anna's neck rose helpfully-as if she needed any further evidence that something was wrong. Too bad the hair on the back of her neck didn't tell her what it was and what she could do about it.

"I'm looking for a man," said Mary, her voice still incongruously sounding like a cheerleader's. "His name is Hussan, though he also goes by Asil or the Moor."

"I know him," responded Charles, his voice sounding thick and reluctant.

"Ah," she smiled. "You are a werewolf. Are you one of the Marrok's? Is Asil in Aspen Creek, too? Is he one of the Marrok's wolves?"

Anna frowned at Charles, but he didn't seem to object to the witch's questions-or the amount of knowledge she had.

He just nodded stiffly, and said, "Yes" as if the word was dragged out of him.

Something was very wrong. Anna took a step sideways, and the remains of the rifle clicked on the aluminum edge of her snowshoe.

The witch muttered a word and flung it at Anna with a flick of her fingers, leaving Anna unable to move.

Charles growled.

"Hush, I haven't hurt her," the witch told him. "I have no wish to face the Marrok yet by hurting one of his wolves. She's a werewolf, too, I assume. That would explain why she was able to damage my guardian so badly. Tell me. What do you think would be the best way to get Asil to come here?"

"Asil doesn't leave Aspen Creek," he told her, his voice rough with rage.

Anna stole his anger for herself; it was better than the panic that was her alternative. Her wolf stirred as she seldom did unless called-being held against her will was something she disliked as much as Anna.

Anna knew nothing about magic, not even the magic she knew was part of every pack's existence. Leo had told her she didn't need to know, and she hadn't been brave enough to ask again. She didn't know what Charles could do, or couldn't-but she was fairly certain that they wouldn't be standing there with Charles answering the witch's questions if he could have done something about it. She was afraid her ignorance and stupidity were going to cost them both.

When her wolf asked to take over, Anna allowed it. If she could do nothing about it with her human half in charge, maybe the wolf could do better.

Though she didn't start shifting, her perception of the world changed, shadows faded back. She could see farther and more clearly, but the beauty and intensity of the colors grew dull. It wasn't as silent as she'd thought. There were birds in the trees-she could hear the soft sound as they shuffled their feet on the bark of the tree branches.

But more interestingly, she saw a web of light encasing Charles in sickly strings of yellow and green. Unable to drop her head, she couldn't see the web that held her. But her skin's sensitivity allowed her to feel the fine strands like a net of dental floss.

If it had been only her in danger, Anna was pretty sure that she'd have been standing in that one spot until spring thaw. Her wolf had submitted meekly to all the beatings, the forced sex-giving her only the strength to endure and something to hide behind when life became unbearable. But her mate was in trouble. A roar of anger hid itself under her diaphragm, making breathing difficult- but caution told her she needed to wait for the right opportunity.