Peter stood, walked to the cabinet near the door, and reached in to pull out his shotgun. I knew he had one, but I’d never seen him use it.
“I can handle Dillon.”
Chloe gasped.
“Do you have silver bullets in that thing?” My wisecrack came on autopilot.
“Don’t need ’em,” he growled, and for a second, I saw the wulf behind the pale-blue eyes.
* * *
Getting hold of Darlene on Easter Monday was a challenge. I managed it after a few false leads and negotiated a vacation with zero notice, based on the provision of yet another dinner for herself and her husband. And at an expensive restaurant of course.
I hoped I could keep that promise.
It took me longer to pack for Keen than it did for myself; her bed, toys, chew sticks, treats, and box of food occupied most of Peter’s back seat. When I argued that I should follow him in my SUV, he gave me a look.
“You won’t need it,” he said.
My mouth dropped open, and shut without saying another word. What could I say? If everything went south, this would be a one-way trip. Still, it wasn’t like me not to argue. As I let Keen into the bench seat in back, I wondered if he’d pulled some alpha wulf mojo on me.
We headed off on Highway 12, north of Beausejour. Peter drove with his usual close concentration, both hands gripping the wheel. Considering he spent part of his time running wild with big teeth and claws, he was a remarkably careful driver.
“So where are you taking me?”
“Chris is a friend. Ex-RCMP. Recently retired.”
“Wulfan?”
Peter shot me a look. “Wouldn’t do you much good if he wasn’t.”
“So, he’s going to what . . . help me? How?”
“You have seventeen days until the next full moon.” His brow furrowed but he kept his gaze on the highway. “I’ve seen the wulfleng change in action. The closer you get to your first moon, the more things start happening. The fever often returns. Your skin’ll itch and your bones’ll ache. You can suffer mood swings, sometimes violent. That’s for starters.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“I’ll not candy coat this, Liam. There are a hundred ways this could go wrong. Even if you make it through the transition to wulf, you still have to find the balance between human and beast. But I meant what I said: you’re young and fit, and you’re strong mentally. I believe you have a real shot at getting through the next few weeks, just don’t lose faith.”
When my jaw began to ache, I realized I’d clamped it tight. I worked to loosen it and forced my thoughts to him and Chloe. “Are you sure you can handle Dillon?”
“No,” he admitted. “He’s a loose cannon, and much as I hate to say it, Chloe should have let the enforcers do their job.”
My heart raced at the thought of Dillon hurting Peter or Chloe.
Peter sensed my angst. “Chloe is right that you being gone will ease things.” He sighed. “Dillon’s picked up on something between you two.”
“There’s nothing between us. She kissed me the other day, but it wasn’t serious. When we returned, he was waiting for her, and she . . . well, she’s obviously got feelings for him.” But if he hurts her or you, I’ll rip out his throat. The resulting visual startled me. Would I have craved such a visceral thing if I weren’t on the downslide to becoming a wulf?
Peter glanced at me. “She told me about that. Chloe worries about Dillon shredding you. She tried to reassure him there was nothing going on. Might have worked too, if you hadn’t challenged him in the backyard with a walking stick.”
Chloe’s trying to protect me? I remembered her rigidity when he’d kissed her. Right before she’d grabbed his neck and rubbed his chest with her hand. “Anyway, it’s her choice. I won’t interfere.”
Peter’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “She insists they’re only good friends.”
“You believe that?” I thought about the tone in Chloe’s voice when she defended Dillon.
“She feels guilty about what happened to Dillon.”
“She’s in over her head with him.” I was afraid for her and for Peter. “What if he loses it and hurts her? Or you?”
“Don’t have an answer for you,” Peter said. “Keep hoping she’ll see that the friend she had disappeared long before Tate bit him. Dillon was a sweet kid with an alcoholic mother and a father who beat him. That was before I moved here, and even then, he was focused on Chloe.”
“That explains why he has issues but doesn’t excuse his obsession.”
“No. Obsession’s another issue. But his behavior means more exposure than is safe for us—biting you, beating up a client at the shop.”
I remembered the day jogging in the woods, and Chloe’s reaction to what we’d found. “Not to mention two dead coyotes and possibly a deer.”
“Coyotes?”
“Chloe didn’t tell you?” She’s protecting Dillon.
“No.” Peter’s voice indicated this was worse news than I knew. “That’s bad.”
“He killed a hare the night he scared the horses. And two bison. Tore them to pieces.”
“When did that happen?”
When I told him, a spasm passed across his face. “That was the night Dillon and Chloe arrived. They’d been traveling for days to get here. Likely the first time he was able to shift in at least a week.”
“That makes it worse?”
“It can.” He hesitated. “Don’t mention any of that to anyone, especially Chris, okay?’
“But . . .”
“I’ll handle it.” His tone brooked no argument.
Peter shot me a glance and a muscle jumped in his cheek. “Hunting requires strict control over the beast, since it brings out our animal urges. Wulfan are careful when we hunt, and youngsters must prove they have a handle on their wulf first.”
“So is this another sign that Dillon is losing it?”
“He had no reason to kill the coyotes other than territorial instinct. I’ve lived with them for years.
