“What are you doing?” I growl as Brennan turns south onto the main road.

“Getting us the fuck outta here,” he growls back.

“No!” I snarl. “We can’t just go! Even if we fucking want to—we need someone to take us to Torrin’s.”

“Yeah, fuck that! Dugan’s a write-off! Even money he set this whole thing up. We can just go straight to Carrigan’s from here—nobody’ll be the wiser.”

“Yeah, great plan, Brennan,” I sneer. “Let’s make even more enemies than we’ve already got.

“Turn the fuck around!”

“No!”

“Brennan, this is my mission. Turn the fucking car around now!” I resist the urge to grab the wheel from him—that would just turn this into a contest of strength, and he’d win. Instead, I glare at him and wait. It’s my best option. If he takes over, Faolan comes down on him if we fail. He’s already made it clear he isn’t willing to take that risk. He turns to glare back, but I know it’s hollow. He wants me to give in, and I won’t. If he wants it, he has to take it.

“Fine,” he spits at last, and slams on the brakes. He wheels the car around and we speed back the way we came. “You know you’re killing us, right?”

“No, actually, I don’t know that.”

I don’t. But I have to admit, it’s within the realm of possibility. But nothing about Dugan struck me as false. Hell, nothing about Keely did, either. I’m giving them the benefit of the doubt.

Besides, he’s wrong. We do need them.

We zip past the side-road, and there’s no sign Declan-and-friends have found their keys yet. Fuckers.

“Slow down—we don’t want to miss the turn off.”

He ignores me, and doesn’t slow down until we are right on top of it. He grinds it around the corner and floors it again.

Whatever. Better he gets his frustration out now.

“Stay in the car,” I say as we roll to a halt in front of their gate. He looks over, a snarl on his lips. “Honk three times if someone comes up behind,” I say, and climb out. “Follow me in only if you have to.”

I slam the car door before he has a chance to reply.

I don’t bother to change. I know the way, this time, and I’d rather not be caught without clothes if Declan and friends come in behind us. Besides, if the danger comes at us from both directions, we’re screwed no matter what form we’re in.

I follow the trail around the rise and down into the gully—it’s harder going on two legs than it was on four, but I manage—and vault up into their yard. The whole family seems present, and, again, I seem to be expected.

“Tiergan!” Dugan says, walking forward to meet me. “What are you doing back here? You should be halfway to Torrin’s by now.” He seems calm and open, and legitimately puzzled. Not disappointed. Not annoyed. Nothing to indicate he’s involved.

“Sir, I came to warn you—we ran into some trouble with some of the local—”

“Where’s Keely?” he interrupts, looking behind me. There’s a hint of worry—and of threat—in his voice. Several of the others—some human, some wolf—rise and start to close in around.

“She ran off, Sir,” I answer. I recognize the poor choice of words as I say them.

“Ran off?”

“I think she’s headed here, Sir,” I add hastily. “She was trying to draw them off of us—gave us a fighting chance.”

“You fought with them? Who?”

“Four locals, Sir. Ah, Declan—apparently the son of the woman who owes the petrol station? And three other large men.”

“And she ran off?” he repeats, frowning.

“There were demanding we turn her over, Sir. I told her to stay in the car, but when it looked like they were about to attack us, well, I guess she thought she could lead them off. She ran. I’m sure she’s heading here, Sir.”

“And the men?”

“Brennan and I, we dealt with them, Sir.”

“You killed them?”

“No, Sir,” I protest, shaking my head. His worry worries me, but it could be he just knows the shitstorm he’d face if they turned up dead. “We left them unconscious, Sir, and we parked one of their cars across the road and lost the keys. They’ll probably have to walk back.”

He cracks a smile—still worried, but less so. “You and Brennan.”

“We couldn’t have done it if Keely hadn’t distracted them, Sir.”

He chuckles softly, for a moment, before growing serious again.

“You said she was coming here?”

“We were on that little side road, a bit south of here—the one that goes east? We got boxed in. She ran back this way. I would imagine she’s coming here.”

He turns to two of the nearest wolves and jerks his head to the south—they sprint away immediately. He returns back to me.

“Brennan’s okay?” he asks, with just the right amount of concern.

I nod. Behind him, the two wolves skitter to a halt at the top of the rise. “Yes, Sir. I told him to stay with the car—to warn us if . . . .” The two wolves turn, as a third joins them from the south. There’s some quick and genuine-seeming relief—sniffing and wagging of tails—before the newcomer sees me and stops dead. Her tail drops and her siblings stop their greeting at her change in attitude. It’s me she’s reacting to, not her father. His back is to her.

But that could go either way.

Dugan turns to follow my gaze, and exhales loudly when he sees her. His shoulders visibly drop. Exactly what a worried father would do.

“Keely!” he yells with a mixture of anger and relief. Her tail and head drop even lower. Her siblings grow very serious, and take up positions on either flank, and escort her back toward us.

“Sir, I—” I start to say, but he cuts me off with a sharp wave of his hand. Finally, as they arrive, he breaks the silence.

“I regret that you got caught up in this mess, Tiergan,” he says, loudly enough that they can hear it. Keely pulls her tail even more tightly beneath her as she crosses the last few paces. He turns to me again. “I would never have sent Keely if I thought that any of this would happen.”

And I decide: if she’s acting, she’s the best damned actor I’ve ever met. Hell, they all are.

I nod, and mean it. ”I know, Sir.”

The three stop next to him. Keely’s head is so far down, she looks as if she wants to crawl under a rock and die. “This is my son, Ardal,” he says, pointing to the outer wolf. “I will send him with you, instead,” he says, shaking his head slowly at Keely, “and we’ll deal with Declan. You won’t have any more trouble.”

He turns and nods to Ardal—who runs off to the house—then sets his gaze on Keely. She watches the ground, not daring even to meet my eyes.

And fuck . . . I must be a real sucker . . . or a glutton for punishment, at least. Because I can’t let him do it. It’s not like it’s her fault . . . . Well, I guess it is—as much as it is anybody’s. But everybody screws up. And I can’t leave her like this, not with this much weight on her. ‘Cause I know how it is.

Brennan’ll fucking kill me, if he finds out.

Yeah, well, if this is a trap, Keely will be easier to handle than Ardal. That’s what I’ll tell him.

I chuckle, almost mirthlessly, and kneel down to her. I catch her jaw and raise her head. She meets my eyes with sadness and shame, and tries to pull away. I hold her steady. “If it’s all the same to you, Sir,” I say, with just a flicker of a smile to her, “I’m pretty sure Keely knows the way.”

I approach Top-heavy warily while Brennan rifles through Brawler’s pockets. Top-heavy seems out, but I don’t trust it. Maybe because I took him out by accident. Or maybe it’s just always this way, when the adrenalin leaves me.

I kick his foot, but he doesn’t react. Not that he would . . . .

I glance over at Pipe-man, but he’s still clearly out. I guess I gave him quite a blow to the head.

Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.

“Uh . . . ” I hear myself say, as I return to Top-heavy.

“Problem?” Brennan replies instantly. I look up. He has Brawler pressed up against the bonnet, his hand in one pocket.

I watch him for a moment, then shake my head.

“Promise me you’re going to kill that bitch,” he growls at me and returns to his search.

Kill her?

“What, you think she screwed us?” I say. But I’m avoiding. Clearly. Top-heavy isn’t moving himself, and we have to go before we’re discovered. I kick him hard in the knee. He groans, but doesn’t move, or open his eyes.

“What the fuck do you think just happened?”

Fine. Just get over it! He’s out or he isn’t. If he isn’t, you’ll deal.

I kneel down and shift an ankle under each of my arms, and start to drag him. He doesn’t react. And holy shit is he heavy.

Yeah, but at least it’s dead weight. I laugh silently.

I drag him up near Pipe-man and drop him. I jump clear. Just in case.

“I don’t see how this plays as a setup. They clearly wanted her, and they clearly wanted to chase after her when she took off.

“I think she was trying to lead them away from us.”

“Found ‘em!” he exclaims, holding the keys up victoriously. He tosses Brawler down toward the other car. He lands with a wet, squishy thud on top of Declan.

Brennan reaches into his own pocket and tosses me our keys. “Back her out once I’ve got this one clear.”

I nod.

Maybe I should suspect worse of her. She really has been nothing but trouble since Dugan called her name. But I can’t help it. At her age, in her position . . . I might have done all of the same things. And, if it hadn’t been for her distraction, the fight would have been nearly impossible. She broke them up. Even if she didn’t intend it, she saved our asses.

I don’t care what Brennan thinks. She gets a chance to explain, and if I don’t like the explanation, we’ll take her home. We’re wolves, not humans—we don’t play each other this way.

I shift the car into reverse and wait while he backs out Brawler’s car, then back through the space. Top-heavy’s hand moves slowly to his head as I clear the gap.

I pull up past Brennan and get out.

“Park it across the road,” I say as I climb out of the drivers seat. He gets back into Brawler’s car and moves it, then runs over.

“Give me his keys,” I say as he approaches. He tosses them over, and I turn and chuck them as far into the field as I can.

I climb in to the passenger’s seat.

“Let’s go.”

I growl deeply and reach up to undo my collar. Beside me I hear Brennan rip open his whole shirt. “Bluffing!” I want to whisper to him, but there isn’t time.

Declan and Brawler stumble backward, and Top-heavy turns to run. But Pipe-man isn’t taken in. He raises his pipe to his shoulder, and yells, “Bring it on!”

Suddenly, I hear our car door open and, as I turn to yell at her to stay put, a brownish-grey streak launches from the passenger side and crosses to the wall in two bounds. She leaps it in a third, banks back in, and tears off toward the main road, only her bouncing tail visible above the wall.

It all seems to happen in slow motion, but suddenly time catches up as Declan yells, “Forget them! She’s getting away!” In a heartbeat, he, Brawler, and Top-heavy are all running for their car doors. Only Pipe-man hesitates.

“Stop them!” I yell, launching forward toward Pipe-man. Brennan heads straight for Declan and Brawler, who are already nearly at their doors.

I jerk to the outside and roll beneath as Pipe-man steps forward and swings down his pipe toward my head. I roll up short, beside him and drive my fist up and around his front thigh, hard between his legs, as he overbalances from his swing. He groans and his knees collapse beneath him, his momentum carrying his head toward the ground. An instant later, I slam my left hand into his tailbone as I rise, knocking him forward into an even sharper fall. I reach out with my right hand and sweep his hands out from under him. The pipe slips from his grasp and bounces away. His shoulder and forehead smack into the bitumen and he bounces forward along the ground beneath me. I throw my weight into my knee and drop it straight into his unprotected kidney. The wind rushes out of him with an agonized groan and his hand flails back, weakly, and far too late to protect himself. I knock it away, grab and pull back on a handful of his hair, and drive his forehead into the road.

Behind me, Brennan has Brawler pinned against his car, but Declan is making a nuisance of himself. Brennan sends his leg back and knocks Declan back against his door, using Brawler as a counterweight, but Top-heavy is racing back around the front of the car to join the fray.

I dive forward onto my palms, a few feet in front of Top-heavy, and swing my legs around hard. He tries to stop, but too late. My feet smash into his outer knee, knocking it into the inner one, and sending him twisting down into bonnet of the car. I roll back, away from him, and rise to a crouch as he starts to push himself back up off the bonnet. I launch forward again, low, towards his thigh, reaching forward to grab his knee. His kick is late and slow, and it only helps me yank his knee forward as my shoulder ploughs into his hip. He flails backward, and I push off and roll away from him as he crashes into the ground.

Between the cars, Declan is rising for another cheap shot at Brennan’s back while he wrestles with Brawler. I take off to try to head him off, when suddenly there’s an anchor on my heel. My body jerks taut and I barely have time to get my hands in front of me as I fall toward the ground beside him. I kick back with my free leg, but not soon enough to cut my momentum. I hit hard, my hands and arms sliding into sharp pebbles and rough bitumen, but—too late to help me—my foot contacts something, too. His grip slips from my hands and I pull forward and roll away from him. As I rise, he is slumping back down onto the ground. Fucking idiot! Must have been trying to pull himself up with my heel when I kicked.

I spin to find Brennan pulling up short at the front of the two cars. Brawler is behind him, slumped over the bonnet, sliding slowly down. Declan is lying motionless and face-down on the ground.

“You okay?” he gasps, and glances quickly at my contributions. Top-heavy is out, on his back. Pipe-man is lying mostly face-down, an ugly red smear showing on the near side of his face. His back is moving slowly up and down.

I nod, panting for breath and look down the road, but Keely’s nowhere in sight. When I look back to him, Brennan hasn’t moved. He’s staring at me, his mouth hanging a bit open.

“Get his keys,” I say, nodding towards Brawler. “We need to move his car.”

Brennan slams it into reverse and floors it back up the hill. There are stone walls on either side of the road—no chance we can turn. I check behind.

We’re too late.

“There’s two of them—we can’t get past!” I say.

“I know.”

Fuck.

Well, I guess there’s only one choice left.

“Stop the car.”

“What?”

I turn back to face him and growl impatiently, “Stop the fucking car!”

He glares at me and hits the brakes. We screech to a halt. They roll up behind us and stop about five yards out, one beside the other, completely blocking the road. There’s two men in each car.

“Keely, stay put.”

“Bu—”

“Don’t you dare argue with me! You’re the one they want. We are not making it easy for them!”

I haul myself out and step forward.

Our favourite drunk, Declan, climbs out of the passenger side of the leftmost car, a bit unsteady, and glaring to curdle milk. His driver is more of a threat, but at least he’s further away. He’s sixteen stone, easy—and sober from the looks of him. There’s something in his right hand, but he slips it behind his leg as he gets out. A pipe, maybe. Too narrow to be a cricket bat. The second driver is a bit slimmer, and unarmed, but his nose looks like it’s been broken a few times. Huge hands. Probably a brawler. His passenger is tall, and top-heavy. Probably used to dominating with his fists, but won’t have a clue what to do with his legs.

Still, all in, we’re nearly fucked. This can’t come to a fight.

I step forward, into the gap, and fake my best smile. I sense Brennan moving to follow me, but I wave him back, as subtly as I can. “Gentlemen! We seem to have taken a wrong turn. Would one of you mind pulling over so we can back out past you?”

Declan stumbles forward and snarls, “Give ush the girl, and you two can be on yer way.”

“The girl?” I ask, feigning confusion.

“You heard me.”

“And what, exactly, do you want with the girl?” I ask, trying to stall while I figure out a plan.

He steps forward another step—his motion is just off, just a little bit slow. He, at least, shouldn’t be a problem, if it comes to it.

“That’sh none of your conshern! Give her over, and be on yer way!”

“Hmmm,” I say, nodding as if considering his point. “I think her father might disagree with you on that point. I’m fairly certain, in fact, that he would consider this very much my concern.”

“That girl is a evil!” Pipe-man growls. Brawler and Top-heavy sound their agreement. “She’s in league with the Devil!”

I raise an eyebrow. “Well,” I say, “I can’t speak to that, but I’ve found her to be quite pleasant company, so far today.”

“She’s a werewolf!” Declan spits. “I’ve sheen her change with me own eyes!”

I stare at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.

“A werewolf? Fuck, Declan—the publican was right—you have had a few too many, today!”

“Gentlemen,” I continue, to the group, “clearly your friend here has been having his fun with you. I mean, werewolves? Seriously?”

Declan snarls, “It’sh none of your conshern! We will have her, and you”—he jabs his finger towards me—”won’t shtop us.”

Pipe-man backs up Declan’s threat by shifting his pipe out into full view beside him—it’s three feet long, and lead, from the looks of it. His grip tightens on it as he glares at me. I hear Brennan shift his weight forward.

I laugh again, and return my gaze to Declan. My smile slips from my eyes as anger—and fear—jabs upward, but I hold it in as best I can. Declan’s the lynchpin in all of this—if I can dissuade him, the others will follow.

“Okay, okay. Let’s say for a second I do as you ask, and give you the”—I snort—”werewolf. What next? Silver bullets? Wolf’s bane? Beheading? What exactly do you plan on doing next? Hell, do you even have a muzzle for her? I mean, you wouldn’t want her biting one of you, now, would you? You know, turning you into a creature of the night.”—I sneer.—”Fuck, you really haven’t thought this shit through at all, have you?”

I see doubt cross three faces, but not the one I need it to. He steps forward, clenching his fists, and snarls, “That’s not your problem. Give ush the girl. Now!”

I’ve lost. Pipe-man moves over to his side, and Brawler steps forward, too. Top-heavy hangs back, but that won’t last. I feel Brennan loom up near me, to my right, and, this time, I don’t try to stop him.

I glance at Pipe-man—I can take him, I think. If I keep moving. Brennan will be better against Brawler, anyway.

Yeah, and Top-heavy’s just going to wait.

Fuck.

A last desperate thought bubbles up, and I let it out. “Fine, Declan—fine! You want the truth? She is a werewolf. Has the strength of three men, easy. In league with the Devil, all of that.

“But you know what? You’ve got a bigger problem.

“Did you seriously think her father sent her on a roadtrip with a couple of humans?”

Keely and I look back up the road, toward the village. Sure enough, there’s a car idling on the shoulder, about a hundred yards back. And I can just make out a second, behind it.

Well, at least they aren’t professionals.

“Friends of yours?” I ask Keely. She turns back to me, mouth slightly open. No words come out as she slowly shakes her head.

“Don’t ever lie to me again,” I say. I don’t wait for her response. I turn to Brennan as I reach for my seatbelt.

“Lose ‘em.”

“It’s going to be tough, out here,” he replies. “Too open.”

“Yeah, I know. But we can’t lead them to Torrin’s. Imagine the welcome we’d get if we did that.

“Keely, are there any places around here that would work?”

“Ummmm . . . I don’t think so? Ummm, no. There aren’t a lot of roads we can take . . . .”

“Fuck.” I turn to Brennan. “Any ideas?”

He looks at me for a moment, expressionless, then shifts the car into gear and floors both pedals. The engine revs, quickly louder and higher. He looks at me and smiles coldly, then turns back to the road, and we launch as he releases the brake. Dust and stones skitter down the shoulder and road behind us, and we’re gone. I crane around and watch—our pursuers are slow off the mark, but they’re reacting quicker than I thought they would. Definitely not professionals, though—they don’t care if we know.

“Keely—where are we going?”

“Ummm . . . “

“Towards a town, someplace we might lose them. Preferably without losing the whole day.”

“Ummm, ummm . . . left! up ahead, about a mile. It’s narrow, and winds a bit, but it’ll get us over to toward Pallas. You might lose ‘em there.”

Brennan shifts into fifth and we fly down the road at a reckless speed.

I glance behind us. “Shit—I don’t think they’re falling behind, any more. In fact, I think the nearer one’s gaining.”

Brennan responds with more acceleration, and I lose sight of them as we slip round a curve, and down a small rise. Out the side window, the landscape blurs to grey and green, only snapping into sharp focus as I blink.

“Not far now,” Keely says. “Just over that rise.”

“How far over?” Brennan asks.

“Um . . . .”

“How far over?”

“I don’t know. A hundred yards, maybe?”

We crest the rise and I see the narrow little road off to the left. It’s empty, and the intersection is clear.

“Brennan, shouldn’t you slow down, you’re gonna miss the—shiiiiiittttt!”

He pulls the wheel hard left at way too much speed and yanks up on the parking brake and the tail of the car swings around violently, screeching rubber and smoke, before he drops the brake and floors it again. We barely avoid the ditch, as we rocket into the narrow strip of road, a cloud of stones and rubber vapour spraying thickly down our old route.

“Holy shit!” I exhale, giggling with shock, my heart pounding in my chest like a bass drum. I gasp in another couple of breaths. “I always knew you were crazy, man, but, fuuuck!”

His eyes don’t leave the road, but he cracks a smile.

I crane around again to check for our friends as we head up another rise. They haven’t reached the turn yet, but with the cloud of smoke and dust, there’s no way they miss it. Still, a lead’s a lead, and a few more tricks like that, we might actually lose them.

We float over the top of the hill and—

Keely yells, “Watch out!” I’m thrown forward as our tires re-contact and we screech to a halt.

“Brennan,” I growl, as I spin back, “what the fuu—

“—ck.”

A flock of sheep are spread out across and down the road. The nearest one looks up, chewing casually on something green. He belches at us and turns to pretend we aren’t here.

There isn’t a shepherd in sight.

Brennan wheels the car back out into the road and floors it until we’re a little over the speed limit. I turn to Keely and growl, “Your family doesn’t seem to have been very careful around humans. Apparently, half the village is convinced you all are werewolves!

She holds my gaze at first, but drops it at “werewolves”. I don’t care.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that game is? For all of us?”

She studies her lap, while I wait. Finally, without looking up, she says, “Please don’t blame my whole family. It’s my fault—no one else’s.”

“Your fault,“ I repeat.

She looks up. “And no one else’s.”

“Explain.”

She watches me, but doesn’t answer.

“Brennan,” I say, without turning, “pull over.

“Outside the pub, you were nervous and I asked you if something was wrong. You said, ‘no’. Inside, I asked you if you knew that guy who called you an ‘abomination’, and, again, you said, ‘no’. Then I find out half the village knows more about you than they should, and you tell me it is all your fault.”

Feeling no change in our momentum, and I turn to find Brennan still driving down the road.

Is everybody deaf, today? Why THE FUCK AM I HAVING TO REPEAT MYSELF?

“Brennan! Pull, the, fuck, over!”

He glances at me with a flicker of anger, but finally moves to comply.

I return to Keely. “You’ve lied to me twice already, and I’ve only known you for an hour! Why the fuck should I believe a single word that comes out of your mouth?”

She quails under my assault, and grabs for the door handle as we grind to a halt on the soft shoulder. Without even thinking, I smack the center console control to lock the back doors, and activate the child safety for good measure.

“Girl,” I hear myself growl, through my teeth, “you are trying my patience.”

“I fucked up, okay!” she cries. “I was angry at Mrs. Flynn—the lady who owns the petrol station—and I tried to scare her. I didn’t think she’d know it was me, but her son saw me when I changed.”

“You changed in front of her to scare her?” I demand, incredulous.

“Of course not! I’m not that stupid! I just ran a line around her house a few times, and howled a bit. Scared the crap out of her, too.

“I changed later—thought I’d go back and ring her doorbell a few times—rattle her some more. I didn’t realize her son was across the road. He was drunk—but he saw me.”

Her eyes drop and her voice follows. “Father grounded me for three months, when he found out. I just . . . .” She looks up again. There are tears in her eyes. “When Father asked me to take you to Torrin’s . . . I just thought I could start again. I lied because . . . because I didn’t want you guys to think less of me.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I won’t fuck up again. I promise.

“Please don’t send me home.”

Fuuuuck.

What am I supposed to say to that?

“Touching,” Brennan growls, “really touching. But have you noticed the two cars back there?

“They pulled over when we did.”

“Brennan,” I mutter, as he puts down his empty glass, “slip out the back and circle ‘round.”

He nods and slides out from the table, ostensibly heading for the washroom. I fill in with the necessary distraction and step over to the bar. “How much do we owe you?” I ask.

“Let’s see . . . ” she says, her eyes no longer following Brennan as she starts punching numbers into the till. “Three of the stew, two half pints, and a Coke, plus taxes . . . that’ll be 25.30.”

Wow, good deal. I peel off three notes and hand them to her saying, “Lunch was excellent—thank you.”

She smiles and rings in the sale, then starts collecting change out of the cash drawer.

“No, no—keep it,” I say.

“Well, thank you, sir!”

Time to take a risk. I chuckle, and lean in conspiratorially, dropping my voice so neither Keely nor the other patron at the bar can hear. “Look, maybe you can help me. We’re new around here—thinking of doing some business with the girl’s family. We keep getting dirty looks from people, any time we’re with one of them or even mention them—any idea what gives?”

She eyes me—then Keely, still at the table—and very quietly says, “It’s nothing. People around here”—she glances over to the other patron, but his attention seems focussed on his glass—”tend to be a little superstitious. The Coey’s, they have some very big dogs. Sometimes they roam about and, well . . . people think they see strange things. And, with the Coey’s no’ being Catholic, well . . . Declan—the man in here earlier? He’s convinced the Coey’s are some kind of evil. If you catch him when he’s drunk enough, he likes to talk of”—her voice drops to barely a whisper—” werewolves.”—I force my breathing to remain even—”And he’s got a few of the others thinking the same.”

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “It’s all a load of cattle dung, if you ask me, but that don’t stop people talking.

She lays her hand on my arm and leans in a little closer. “I don’t think you’ve got anything t’ worry about. The Coey’s seem nice, respectable people, every time I’ve had dealin’s with ‘em. They keep to themselves, mostly. That can make people nervous.” She winks at me and adds, “People around here—they like to talk. If you don’t give ‘em things to talk about, they make ‘em up for themselves.”

I lay my hand over hers and squeeze it gently against my arm. “Thank you—I appreciate your candor.

“Werewolves . . . ”—I roll my eyes—“now that’s funny.”

We share a quiet laugh and I walk back over to the table. Keely’s just finishing the last of her Coke. The door of the pub opens and a couple of women step in. The first’s face lights up as she sees the publican. “Mary!” she exclaims, and she and her friend walk over to the bar, exchanging warm greetings as they go.

Brennan steps in around the door, nods once, and steps back out.

“Need to use the washroom?” I ask Keely. I’m careful to keep the . . . whatever . . .  out of my voice. She shakes her head.

“Let’s go, then.”

She gets up and we walk to the door. This time, I take the lead. Even with Brennan out there, no point being careless.

We step outside. With the exception of Brennan, and someone filling up their tank at the petrol station, across the road, there’s no one in sight.

“We passed this place on the way in,” I say to no-one in particular as I climb out of the car. Across the road, about thirty yards away, is the petrol station we stopped at.

Maybe it’s best if we get inside quickly.

Keely climbs out and looks around, her eyes settling in the same direction I’m looking. I’m hoping I’m being paranoid, but she seems nervous.

“Something wrong?” I ask. I feel Brennan’s focus snap to me at the words, and he catches his door short, just before it closes.

But she turns back to me and smiles. “Nah.” She steps around me and . . . bounces toward the pub door. Brennan waits silently for an explanation. I shrug, close the car door, and follow her.

Morning flips to dusk as we enter, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. The place reeks of stale beer and old carpet, but there’s an overtone of fresh stew, so I guess it can’t be all bad. A couple of patrons at the bar are nursing a pint each. One looks like he’d been laughing when Keely came in, interrupting him. He scowls at me, and returns to his beer.

The publican looks up from her pour. “Good morning to ya, gentlemen, and welcome.” She glances over to Keely and back to me, “I’m sorry, but I’m gonna need to see proof of age for her.”

I shake my head, and reply, “She’s not of age. We’re just here for some lunch. Is that okay?”

She nods and smiles. “Oh, that’s fine then. Have a seat and I’ll be right over.” She returns to her pour, and I turn to find Keely already settling in at a table. Facing the door.

“Nuh-uh,” I say to her and direct her to the other side of the table with my finger.

“Aw, come on,” she whines, but I hold firm—I watch the front door, Brennan watches the back. She gets the wall, furthest from the action. The sooner she figures out her place in this, the better.

With a loud groan, she pulls herself out and slides in on the other side of the table. Brennan scowls at me again as he settles in beside her.

Our host arrives, all warmth and sunshine, and nods around the table. “Gentlemen, m’lady, we have a couple of pots on today—a very nice lamb stew, with potatoes and carrots;”—Keely grimaces at the mention of lamb—“and a delicate fish stew, trout with potatoes and leeks. Both come with fresh soda bread—made it m’self, this mornin’—and, of course, we have an all day breakfast, if you prefer. So, what can I interest you in?”

Her gaze settles on Brennan—perhaps only natural, as he is visibly the eldest at the table—but he directs her to me. I smile, and almost laugh, at the weirdness of being first. But, at least he’s consistent.

“I think I’ll have the fish stew,” I say to her, “and a pint of Smithwick’s, please.”

Brennan follows: “The lamb. And a pint of Guinness.”

Finally, Keely: “Can I have the fish stew, please.” She glances at me again—as if for permission—and adds, “And could I get a some chips with it?”

“Chips? I’m sorry, dear—we don’t turn on the frier for lunch—there’s just not enough people in.”

Keely’s face drops, as if she’d just received the worst news ever.

“There’re potatoes in the stew, love . . . ” the publican adds. Unhelpfully.

Keely shakes her head, then recovers suddenly. She looks over to me again, her face alight with new hope. “Can I have a Coke, then?”

I burst out laughing. Where the hell have they been keeping this poor girl?

“Absolutely.”

Her smile is suddenly bright again—it’s remarkably unguarded for someone her age. But, then, I guess she has every reason to want us to like her.

“Then I’ll have the fish stew and a Coke!”

The words are barely out of her mouth when her gaze shifts off our host—past her, toward the bar—and her smile drains away. I follow her gaze. The other patron—the one who scowled at me—is standing halfway between the bar and the door. He’s glaring at Keely. His body is tense.

“Is there a problem?” I say, leaning back in my seat so he can fully see me.

His eyes meet mine, for an instant, before he looks down and mutters something under his breath. I catch the word, “abomination”, more from the way his lips move than from the sound.

He steps to the door, glares at Keely again, then at me, and stomps out.

I exchange a glance with Brennan—his eyes are a question, but I shake my head in reply—and settle finally on Keely. She’s still watching the door.

The publican laughs—a bit uncomfortably—and returns to us. “Oh, don’t mind him—he’s had a few too many already this mornin’—always makes him grumpy. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

The moment she’s gone, Brennan leans in. “I don’t like it. We should leave.”

He’s probably right.

“Keely?” I whisper to get her attention. She turns back from the door, and slips a giggle on over what is clearly worry. “Do you know him?”

She watches me for a moment, then shakes her head once.

“This isn’t the first time today a local has made odd comments about your family.” I feel Brennan’s gaze sharpen, but I ignore him. “Should we leave?”

She watches me for a moment—nervous, I think, but I’m having trouble reading her—and finally says, “No.” She holds my gaze as she says it.

I look over to Brennan, who says with his eyes everything I know I should be thinking.

But we’re all hungry, and we won’t be here for long. Besides, how much trouble can she possibly get us in?

Yeah, that’s always a safe thing to think.

I call over to the publican, “I’m sorry, we’re in a bit of a hurry. Can you make those half-pints, please?”

“This is a nice car!” she says, from the back seat, as I drop into the front. She looks around with a big smile, and buckles her seat belt.

Brennan glowers at me—a very clear, “Why the hell did you agree to bring her along?” Part of me wants to explain, to get him onside . . . but that’s not the way this works. I’m in charge. I ignore him and lean down to tie my shoes.

The engine roars to life. He guns it a few times, then slams it into reverse and we launch backward up the weed-choked drive, away from the still-closed gate. At this angle, the motion is sickening, and I push myself upright and crane around to watch the track. Keely’s smile has turned into a huge grin—but her eyes look around nervously. Gleeful, but a little terrified, too. The car almost bottoms out as we blast through the large puddle, and we leave the depression almost dry. Keely squeals with delight.

“Brennan,” I growl, not nearly as impressed. “Chill!”

He doesn’t look at me—fortunately—but does drop the speed a bit.

I hope he’s not going to be like this for the rest of the trip. I’ve already got one child to worry about. I don’t need a second.

We bounce across the rough edge of the bitumen and Brennan veers off into a flat space on the right, then pulls the wheel around in one short, smooth movement, and floors it back toward the main road. We’ve barely come to a complete stop in the whole motion.

Keely giggles again, clearly in love with Brennan’s driving.

“So, Keely,” I ask, as my stomach returns to rest, “I probably should have asked earlier, but you can get us to Torrin’s, right?”

“Oh, yeah—no problem! I’ve been there a few times. Do you want to go by good roads? Or take the scenic route?”

“Well, we need to get there as quickly as possible.”

“Oh. Scenic route it is, then,” she says, and before I can ask, she adds, “Can we stop in town for a bite, first? You guys were in such a hurry, I didn’t get to have lunch.”

I glance at Brennan, but he doesn’t even acknowledge me. Come to think of it, he hasn’t said a word to me since we left Dugan’s.

But I am getting a bit hungry. “Sure,” I reply. “You know a place?”

“Oh yeah. There’s a pub just up the road from here. Haven’t been there in a long time, but I’m pretty sure they serve lunch. Just turn left when you get out to the main road.”

I nod. “Okay with you, Brennan?”

This time he does meet my eyes, with a scowl. But he doesn’t say, “no”.

“Okay, then Keely—lead on.”

Her eyes light up and she exclaims, “Cool!

“Do you think I can get some chips with mine?”

Chapter 5

I hear footsteps approaching the door and I scootch me and Morey out of the way just as it swings open. Dugan steps inside and takes in the room. Cold, autumn air sweeps in past him, causing the fire to flap, then blaze. Orlaith plunks down on the hearth, her back close to the heat, and Dugan’s mate crosses the room to sit down beside her. She drapes her arm around the girl’s shoulders.

“Met the rest of the family, have you?” Dugan asks with a smirk, and winks at his granddaughter as she snuggles into her grandmother. Morey’s paws hold my hand down on his belly, but he stops licking to stare at his grandfather.

I smile sheepishly and nod when Dugan’s eyes return to me.

“Arm fixed, I see.” he adds.

“Yes, Sir, thank you.” Shit. I need her name. “Your mate” would just be an admission.

“I’m sorry,” I say, turning to her, “in all of the excitement, I must not have caught your name.”

She grins. “It’s ‘Tieve’.”

I nod, “Thank you,” and return to Dugan. “Yes, Tieve’s ointment was a miracle. I probably couldn’t have fixed it without her help.”

He smiles and reaches down to offer me his hand—more a command than a question. I extricate my fingers from Morey’s grasp—who snorts and rolls to stand, then runs over to bump up against Dugan’s leg—and accept his help up.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he asks, as I reach my feet.

“Sir?”

“It’s lunch time. We hunt in the afternoon. You and your cousin will join us.”

“Oh, Sir, that’s quite an honour!”

He smiles and claps me on the back. “Good! Then it’s settled. Tieve—”

Shit. A hunt would be wonderful, I can’t believe he’s offering! But we can’t stay. We’d lose hours—at least.

Yeah. And you don’t trust Brennan to behave.

Shit.

“But, Sir . . . “

“Hmmm?” he asks.

“Sir, we would be deeply honoured to join you in a hunt,” I begin again, and slow to give myself time to pick words carefully, “and I can’t express how much your offer means, Sir . . . ”

He waves his hand impatiently. “But?”

I suppress a smile at his guess. “But, Sir . . . our business with Carrigan is rather urgent . . . and it is of vital interest to my family.”

“Vital?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Shit. I’m saying too much.

I take a deep breath. “Sir, you and your family have been very kind, and I am deeply grateful to you for your help. Please be certain, Sir—we mean you no insult. But we have to get to Carrigan’s as soon as possible. I hope you can forgive our haste.”

He watches me closely, and I try to stay relaxed—relaxed, yet sincere. Finally, he says, “Understood, son. I wouldn’t want one of mine talking out of turn to another First, either.

I smile and nod once in thanks.

“But the next time you visit, we hunt together. Agreed?”

“Agreed. Thank you, Sir.”

He steps back and leans his head out the door.

“Keely! In here, girl!”

He gets close and rests his hands on my shoulders, then, quietly says, “Now, Tiergan, I need you do me a favour.”

A favour?

“Keely’s my youngest. She’s a smart girl—strong, too. I want you to take her with you. You’ll need someone to introduce you to Torrin, anyway.”

Keely arrives—ten stone, just about full-grown, light grey over brown fur, tail high in the air—and he turns his head to her. “Go get dressed, girl. I need you to take young Tiergan here to Torrin’s.” Her tail begins to wag furiously, and she darts under the table and past the hearth into the back of the house.

He returns his attention to me.

“She’s been nagging me no-end to let her see more of the world, and you’ll be seeing a good part of it, on the way to Carrigan’s. Will you take her with you?”

“Sir?” All the way?

Shit.

“Oh, leave the poor boy alone, Dugan,” Tieve adds from her spot on the hearth. “Can’t you see he already has enough t’ worry about?”

He ignores her and presses me again. “Tiergan, take her with you.” Raising his eyebrows and leaning in, he adds, “I’ll owe you one.”

Fuck. I’ve turned down his invitation already, and he’s graciously accepted my apology. I can’t very well refuse him this. But she’s probably going to be as bad as Conlan. Worse, because I won’t be able to smack her into line. And if she screws up anything with Carrigan . . . .

But he’s asked, and we can use all the friends we can get. And if he trusts her to go . . . .

Screw it.

“We’d be honoured, Sir, to have your daughter along.”