“Miss! Miss werewolf! May we have a word? And take your picture?”

David flinched when the journalists came hurrying over. Mulley and Dawson had been wildly successful with their reports, and other journalists wanted a piece of the cake. These were some of the new ones.

Nathan blocked their advance by holding out his spear. He didn’t point it at them, but the message was clear.

Annabelle took one look at the journalists and fled, taking off clothes as she went. But, to David’s amazement, she came back just minutes later in her wolf shape. A yawning Rémy followed her.

“I’m told you need a translator,” he said, looking at the table full of reporters. Greg had mentioned that Rémy quite liked the attention of the press, who promptly crowded around. Some journalists still complained that they wanted to hear from their interview partners directly rather than trusting an interpreter, but the majority of them didn’t care. David suspected that it wasn’t all that important to them whether or not their stories were strictly true. The papers had always played up the horror and gore aspects of their werewolf pieces, because a grisly murder simply sold better than a wolf that got quietly shot in the woods before they ever harmed anyone. And talking to an “innocent” werewolf – one that hadn’t been given the choice between the rope and the bite – meant there was always an attack to write about, only with an added “happy end.”

Rémy introduced Annabelle without mentioning her full name, while strongly hinting that she had been from a lower noble house. He was good at staying vague but keeping it interesting, and it helped him frame the rest of Annabelle’s story. David listened and saw the pieces fall into place.

Annabelle had been a young mother. It had been late spring, the nights mild, and her little boy wouldn’t sleep. She could have handed him over to a nurse to handle him while she went to bed, but instead, she had decided to go for an evening ride. The baby was inconsolable and she had been restless herself. Vexed with her husband. It had been half moon, and the grounds were supposed to be safe.

David could see where the story was going quite plainly. Half moon, a late evening ride.

Safe grounds? He shook his head. There was always a spreader where you least expected them. Like Desmarais' lands. David had no idea if it was magic or something else, but they had a talent for staying hidden right until they went onto their mad sprees of biting every human soul in sight.

The only part he hadn’t expected was that George Louis had been there.

Her husband found her before she had made it out the gates. He offered to take the baby, tried to apologize for embarrassing her. She didn’t want to hear it, rode ahead. Not far. Just enough that he would have had to shout his apology for all to hear. Not that there was anyone else. And he still didn’t. So she rode ahead, just a few yards.

He had nearly caught up with her when the werewolf jumped her. She had been sure she was dead, then. Had been relieved that she hadn’t been holding the baby.

She had thought her husband would run off. Instead, he had shot the werewolf, making it flee. Then he had taken her home, had made a doctor take care of her injuries. Saving her from bleeding to death.

And then he let her go.

The journalists wanted her husband’s name, of course, but Annabelle simply walked out on them. Who was going to stop a wolf as big as a pony? Rémy claimed that it was hard to translate names and that he didn’t want to get it wrong. After all, the name might cause a bit of a scandal, right?

David nearly choked on his drink at that last comment. He spent the rest of the day wondering whether or not he should send a telegram to Deva, but ultimately decided against it. They hadn't agreed on a code for “by the way, I just met your dead wife” and he didn’t want to entrust this knowledge to the servants manning the telegraph at Deva.

Not before he had talked to George Louis.

He still sent a bunch of messages.

***

When they reached First Camp three days later, Greg couldn’t help but gape. There were people lining the street! Hundreds of people! All the way from the new, finished bridge to the gates, they were cheering as the pack walked past. How were there this many people here?

All the other werewolves were staring at him, to see if this was something to be expected. Greg kept shaking his head. He didn’t want to tell them that it used to be fairly normal for David, Andrew, and Nathan to be welcomed this way after successful hunts.

Most of the others hurried to get past the commotion, but Rémy was prancing, and Greg thought Alister would have been, too, if it hadn’t been for Pierre on his back. The elder was the only one of them looking human.

When they reached the railway station of the camp, there was a train waiting for them. As Greg tried to convince the other werewolves that it was safe to get into the waggon, the journalists from the crowd tried to take the opportunity to board right with them. Nathan had to stop some of them by blocking him with his spear.

“Sorry,” he said with a grin that showed quite clearly that he wasn’t sorry at all, “but you lot aren’t invited on this trip.”

David jumped out of the saddle and tossed Andrew the reins, before spreading his arms wide. “Ladies and gentlemen, I can answer some of your questions while we wait for the train to leave. Please leave the werewolves alone, they have travelled all the way from the wilds of the Argentum Formation to be here in time to fight an army of the Rot. They do not wish to answer questions right now.”

That did buy them some room. Nathan dropped out of his saddle a tad less elegantly than his older brother and planted his feet half a step behind him, leaning on his spear in a perfectly non-threatening manner.

“Right,” Andrew said, “let’s get everyone inside while they’re distracted?”

Annabelle walked past him promptly and jumped up into one of the open waggon gates. She was a lot less – timid – since her secret had come out. The other wolves followed her, still nervous. Greg brought up the rear, while Andrew took the horses into the next waggon, which had a ramp, and then joined them.

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David and Nathan stayed outside right until the whistle blew and then quickly ducked inside. Nathan cursed when the whole waggon jerked and he nearly lost his balance.

“No seats? Great.”

“There should be passenger compartments up front,” David replied.

But Nathan was already lowering himself down to the floor.

“You guys are all right?” David asked the pack. “Good. This train will go straight to Brines, without stopping in Eoforwic, so hopefully, we won’t have to deal with all the press again.”

He seemed to notice Greg’s confused expression, because he added: “I had this transport arranged for us through the company so we wouldn’t have to change trains.”

Your brother can just do that? Alister asked.

Greg shook himself, just as surprised, and looking at David. How much power had George Louis given him?

This is getting stranger every day, Gertrude grumbled.

I liked it, Remy said. Never had a parade thrown for me before.

That was hardly a parade, Pierre groused. And yes. This was strange.

Still nice, Laurent said.

Damn. So this is where you grew up, Greg? Rémy asked and stopped, when the house at Brines came into view just a bit over an hour later. So did the rest of the pack.

Greg shook his head. I mostly grew up at the house at Deva.

Really. How many houses does your family have?

This is the third, but it’s new. Let’s go?

Andrew was just reaching the door but stopped to let Thoko run through first. She paused at the sight of the pack, so Greg pushed past Alister. Once she spotted him, she stormed onwards to hug him for a long time.

“I’m so glad to have you back,” she whispered.

Greg leaned into her arms. He would have been perfectly happy to stay there for a while, but Rémi next to him wined softly. Greg sighed and looked up.

His father had stepped outside and was walking towards them. So Greg pressed his nose into Thoko’s ear, making her squirm, and went to greet him before the pack panicked.

“Hello, Greg,” Bram said. He stopped a few yards away from Greg, apparently unsure how to greet him. Greg just kept going, bumping his head into his father’s chest.

Bram gasped softly. “I’m glad to see you, too,” he said.

At least the pack was relaxing a little, which had been the whole point.

“This is Pierre,” Thoko said, introducing the elder who had climbed down from Alister’s back. “This is Baron Bram Feleke. He doesn’t bite.”

“Thank you, Thoko,” he said wryly. “No, I do not bite. Or shoot.”

He raised his empty hands to prove the point. “You are welcome to come inside.”

“If you prefer not to,” David took over, “we can arrange a dry spot for you in the stables from where you will be free to come and go. I only ask you to stay near the house, as an unaccompanied werewolf in the village might cause some concerns.”

“Thank you,” Pierre said, sounding a bit sourly.

Greg decided it was probably best if he just went ahead. He could see his mother peaking out of the front door. She hugged him, and Greg jumped up the stairs to his room to change and get dressed. There was water ready for him to wash himself, too. He was just getting into his shoes when Rémy and Leo walked in.

“It’s getting harder and harder to believe who your family is,” Rémy complained before Greg could get over his surprise. “Look at this!”

“Looks like shoes?” Greg ventured, confused by this invasion.

“Yes! Your family is giving us clothes? Shoes? Just like that?”

“Yes? David had clothes for you arrange at the camp, right? I don’t see how this is different?”

“How this is different?!” Rémy threw his hands into the air, almost hitting Leo with the shoes. “Those were uniforms! Not something he had to personally pay for!”

“I thought Pierre was a little crazy taking us here,” Leo said, more calmly. “But this is really nice.”

Greg grimaced. “Might not be as nice everywhere,” he warned them. “But my family won’t – they’ll try to help where they can.”

He walked past them, waiting impatiently for them to follow so he could close the door. He left them standing on the landing and hurried downstairs to the sitting room. Estelle and Alister hadn’t turned human and were already here: not quite pressed against the wall, but certainly not relaxed. Lane sat on the couch closest to the nest, pretending to read. Bram, likewise, was purposefully keeping a non-threatening pose in one of the chairs. Rémy and Leo still leaned against the walls with the others.

Greg hugged Thoko properly, now that he had arms to do so, and then his mother, too. He ignored the tension between the werewolves and the hunter in the room; he had more important things on his mind. Morgulon’s nest was still in the same spot. He felt the elder’s will charging the air, but it wasn’t aimed at him right now.

She greeted him with a low snuffling sound when he dropped to his knees right in front of the blankets, staring down at the cubs. They had changed both more and less than he had thought – certainly, they didn’t age like normal wolf cubs, or they would have all been chasing each other around the room by now. But did human babies normally change this fast? One of his daughters was smiling at him around the thumb she was sucking! His other girl was happily swinging a little rattle.

The other three were in their wolf shapes. One was fast asleep, but the other two had a piece of leather in their mouths. Greg could see some tiny, tiny teeth and neither of them could quite stand, even on their four feet. Still, they were playing a spirited game of tug-of-war, which ended just as Greg sat down a little more comfortable with both of them toppling over.

Had Morgulon given them names yet?

“We – well, I have been calling them Almaz and Hewan,” Imani said, when Greg voiced the question. “After your grandmothers. But if you want to name them differently, I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”

Greg whispered the names softly to himself. Would he have picked something different? But really, those were good names. He had fond memories of grandma Hewan.

His mother kneeled down next to him, picking up the little one sucking on her thumb. “This is Almaz,” she said softly. “This is Hewan.”

The little girl with the rattle actually looked in their direction when Imani said the name.

“You’re staying for a bit now, aren’t you?” Imani went on, placing little Almaz into his lab. “If David is making you run around the mountains again...”

She trailed off, grabbing his shoulder. “Greg, what happened to your neck?!”

At his mother’s cry, Thoko crowded around from the other side. Greg hunched up his shoulders when they both leaned in to look closer at his new scars.

“What happened?” Thoko asked again.

Greg cradled little Almaz closer and began to tell the story of how he and Lee had found the wrong pack in the mountains. He was about halfway through when Pierre walked in. Greg didn’t even have to turn around to know when the elder spotted his father again. The force of the elder’s worry nearly made him get up.

For the first time, Morgulon moved: she planted her forelegs wide and half-rose. She made no sound yet Greg felt suddenly cut off from Pierre. It was both a relief and disconcerting, but he finished his story.

It’s nice outside, Morgulon said when he fell silent. Want to see them roll over the lawn?

“Yes,” Greg said. “Yes, let’s take them outside.”

He jumped to his feet before anyone could try and stop him. He had no idea how Morgulon would get the cubs outside, but she simply padded off the blankets, gripped the edge, and dragged the whole nest over to the door. It was clearly a maneuver they had done before because Thoko hurried ahead and opened it.

A minute later, the cubs were rolling and stumbling around in the grass, clumsily swatting at the first butterflies. Greg sunk down to the ground again and let the cubs lick his hands. Later, both his daughters fell asleep in his lap.