Nathan walked, leading his horse, until he found fresh horse droppings on the ground, still warm to the touch. At that point he climbed into the saddle, driving Bairn in a last effort. They were crossing through a light forest at that point, so he heard them—heard someone screaming, hidden in the underbrush—before he saw the light of their torches: two men, no longer on horseback, that was all he could tell in the predawn gloom. One had his crossbows out, the other bent over a brush with a knife.

Another wail, high pitched and scared.

As soon as he had a clear line of sight, Nahan slowed his stallion down to a smoother, ambling gait and fixed the spear to the saddle. Then he swung the crossbow off his back. It didn’t look like he was going to kill a werewolf tonight, yet he didn’t bother with replacing the quarrel. The nice thing about silver bolts was that they killed humans just as dead as werewolves.

The stranger bending over whatever hid in the brush never had a chance. He probably wasn’t even aware that Nathan was there when the bolt hit him in the back. He staggered, trying to look over his shoulder, trying to reach for the silver.

Good luck with that.

Nathan watched, crossbow raised, as the man coughed and swayed. Waited for the second hunter to turn to him or to help his comrade, so that he’d present his back or front for a second shot. Unfortunately, the man was smarter than that. He jumped behind a tree, out of sight, out of the line of fire.

“Cease fire!” he called. “It’s not what it looks like!”

“Really! So you two aren’t unsanctioned hunters killing a werewolf without a crown warrant?”

The high-pitched voice whimpered again somewhere in the shadows. The werewolf in question, Nathan hoped. Then at least they were still alive.

“Fuck,” the stranger whispered, then added louder: “You’re one of the crazies? You really think the monsters will save you? She’s cute now, but you just wait till your back is turned!”

“I’m Nathan Feleke,” Nathan called back, mostly for the werewolf still hidden in the dark. “My brother is a werewolf.”

“Mithras have mercy,” the hunter interrupted him. “Are you that infidel who killed the High Inquisitor?”

“You heard about that, huh? No, that was my other brother. But if you’d like to join your dear Inquisitor in his watery grave, I’m sure I can arrange that.”

It wasn’t quite enough to make the other hunter leave his hiding place. Shame.

Nathan climbed out of the saddle and, keeping Bairn’s body between himself and the stranger, replaced the missing quarrel with a steel-tipped one in his crossbow. The sound of the lever pulling the string echoed loudly between the trees.

“Want to do this the easy or the hard way?” Nathan called. And then he waited. He wasn’t good at waiting, so he counted, slowly, to a hundred in his head, listening for any move.

When he got to a hundred, he smiled. “I had hoped that would be your answer. It’s a child, isn’t it? The werewolf you were about to murder?”

“A monster,” the other hunter growled.

“See, I doubt that. Children don’t turn into monsters so easily. That’s what the professors at the university think, at least, and they know how to make the numbers dance and sing.”

That was for the kid again, wherever she was hiding.

“I think I just shot a monster. Your companion. Think he’s dead? Slowly bleeding out? I hope so. I don’t think there should be room in this world for grown men who stalk little girls.”

“That is not—”

“Wasn’t it? How old is she? Naked, too, after running as a wolf, isn’t she? What did you feel when you saw her turn human, you sick bastard? How holy were your feelings?”

Everyone had a trigger point. If he could figure out the stranger’s…

Unfortunately, the other hunter wasn’t stupid. “You won’t goad me like that. I’m on the righteous path. She killed her father and bit several honest folks, three days after new moon. Tell me how that doesn’t make her a monster, go on!”

Nathan’s heart sank, right until he heard the sobbing. Mad werewolves didn’t sound like that. David would have long since broken if they cried like that.

But then why?

“What happened?” he asked. “Hey kid. I can hear you. I can hear you cry. Rabid werewolves don’t cry, except in fury. So tell me. What happened?”

He waited, but all there was was a sniffle, a stifled sob.

“Did they do stuff to drive out the demon after you got bitten? To cure you? Did they hurt you?”

No reaction.

“Did they hurt someone else perhaps?”

Another sob, louder this time.

“A friend of yours? Someone who sheltered you?”

He held his breath, held it until it became painful. And finally, there was a whisper. “Gramps.”

Nathan exhaled softly. “He, your gramps, he was helping you? Hiding you?”

“Granny. Gramps didn’t know. But he helped. When dad and the bad men came.”

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Where’s your gramps now? And your granny?”

“They hit him. Dad brought a flail. He hit gramps. And then granny.”

Nathan decided not to ask again if they had survived. It was almost funny: One man killed, several more bitten, probably, three days after new moon? If you left out the grandparents and the flail, it sounded like so many other spreaders starting their killing sprees.

“You heard her,” Nathan called out to the hunter. “That’s self defence in my book.”

“She’s lying.”

Nathan smiled grimly. “I thought you’d say that. I’m even somewhat glad. If you’d turned out to be a reasonable fellow, I’d have felt bad about killing your comrade.”

He swung the crossbow back onto his back and loosened the spear from the saddle. “Last chance, man. Drop your weapons and come forwards, hands raised!”

He counted to thirty this time, that was as long as his patience lasted.

“All right then.”

He slapped Bairn’s flank with a flat hand. The stallion neighed and bolted, right past the tree the bastard was hiding behind. Nathan jogged after the horse, but took the other side of the tree. The stranger’s pistol barked like thunder. Bairn reared, screaming, hooves flashing, kicking at the hunter. The man cursed and realised just a second too late that there was nobody in the saddle. He whirled, bringing the pistol around, but lost his nerves and fired blindly. The shot went wide and the pistol was empty.

Nathan smiled grimly. The other hunter stumbled backwards, but his spear snaked forwards, goring the man like a boar. In through the stomach and out the back, shattering the ribs.

“Should have come quietly,” Nathan muttered. He pulled the spear back slowly, to stop it from splattering the man’s guts all over himself. It didn’t make much difference. He still ended up covered in blood.

“Damn it,” he muttered. He’d look really reassuring when he found the kid.

Over Bairn’s pained snorting, he couldn’t hear her.

The bastard had shot the stallion. Bairn was still up and moving, but there was blood running down his chest.

“Fucking asshole,” Nathan muttered. “David better spring for a healer. Come here, Bairn, lemme see…”

To his relief, the blood didn’t come from the chest, but further up. A clean through and through, tunnelling the thick muscle of the stallion’s neck. Better than the chest, at the very least.

“Bloody idiot.”

Nathan sighed and put down the spear, then the crossbow, too. “Hey kid. You still there? I’m not going to hurt you.”

He took a step forward, then checked himself. After all the things he’d just hurled at the dead hunter, he probably should keep some distance. Some clothes would be great?

“Hang in there, kid. I’ll be back in a moment. Let me see if I can find something for you to put on that isn’t covered in blood.”

The two hunters had come on horseback. A spare shirt would do, for now, right? Hells, he’d take a horse rug.

The animals hadn’t run far, and even better, they had stuck together. Yet when Nathan returned to the site of the fight, there was no child in sight. Only a trail leading further north. Now that they weren’t trampled over by hooves, and dawn was coming, it was quite obvious that they were smaller than regular werewolves’ tracks. But the most notable thing was the limb.

“Hey kid!” he called out. “Do you have a plan? I can get you to a safe place.”

There was no answer. He hadn’t really expected one, but it would have been nice. “Sorry, Bairn,” he muttered. “Job’s not done yet.”

He climbed into the saddle of what he judged to be the fitter horse of the dead hunters’, leading the second one along. Bairn followed like the well-trained animal he was. And on they went.

“Where’s David when you need him?”

He could really use his brother’s stoic patience right now. Where did the girl think she was going?

Hells, Andrew would have been complaining for the past three hours, but at least he would have some food to share.

“Food would be nice right now. Shouldn’t have left all the provisions behind.”

It took him a minute before he remembered that he had now two fully packed horses. He stared down at the saddle bags. “Damn, I’m an idiot.”

Maybe it was time for a break. His head felt all foggy. How many hours was he up now? He’d feel better once the sun rose all the way, but right now it seemed like a tricky task just to get the saddle bags open and check for food.

“Dry bread and mouldy cheese. Great. So bait is out, too.”

He started whistling to himself, just to stop his head from dropping down onto his chin.

“No wonder David hates going out alone. Nobody to stop you from falling out of the saddle. Fuck.”

The girl was still running in a straight line. It looked nearly as unnatural as the zig-zagging of a werewolf fighting itself. Something was surely drawing her in, and he could only hope that it really was an elder. Maybe he should rearm his crossbow with silver.

But if it was an elder, that wouldn’t be helpful, would it? And a Rot-queen wouldn’t be impressed by a bolt, either.

He checked the weapon anyway. One silver bolt, one steel. It would have to do. It wasn’t like he wanted to shoot anyone else.

Maybe he’d catch up with the girl before they reached whatever was out there.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard a loud bark echo through the trees. It sent a jolt through his whole body, a bolt of energy. Stronger even than really good coffee. His head snapped up, his back straightened, and his eyes no longer wanted to fall shut.

“Right. That’s an elder. Awesome. I probably smell like blood and death a mile against the wind. And there Andrew keeps saying I don’t know how to make a good first impression.”

He spurred the horse on. Time to get this over with. Before he did fall asleep in the saddle.

A minute or two later, he saw movements through the light trees, huge, dark shapes moving around something in their middle. The werewolves spotted him at the same moment. Again, that magical bark sounded, and the horse bucked under him in sudden terror. Nathan lost the one he’d been leading as he fought to stay in the saddle. Even Bairn bolted, but slowed quickly. As quickly as the echo faded, the horses’ panic subsided again.

A powerful elder. Rumour had it that no dog would ever hunt Morgulon, but Nathan had never seen Bairn flee from a werewolf. Why hadn’t it driven them further away, though?

Nathan clung to the saddle, waiting for another bellow of magic. His bad leg cramped up painfully, trying to make up for muscles that weren’t there anymore as his whole body awaited the next magical bellow.

It didn’t come.

Breathe in, slowly. Exhale. Count to three. Breathe in. His hands slowly unclenched around the saddle horn, until he could rub his thigh. He glanced up, looked around. The strange horse snorted and danced nervously under him. The werewolves were still where he had first seen them.

Had the kid told them he wasn’t after them? But Greg had said it took months, even years, for a werewolf to learn to communicate in their other body.

So what were they waiting for? If they had wanted to attack him, they could have done that already.

Nothing for it but to ask.

By the time he managed to regain control over his mount, catch the one he’d been leading, and whistle to Bairn to come back to his side, the werewolves had formed a line. There were ten of them standing shoulder to shoulder, one gangly cub in their midst, and a final one standing a few steps in front of them. All of them stared at him warily as he prompted the horses towards them, but they didn’t move and he didn’t reach for his crossbow. If this pack wanted him dead, he didn’t have a chance in hell anyway.

The lead wolf took another step forwards, into a patch of light. It looked much like the others, brown and grey, a lighter shade at the belly and darker at the back. Still, there was something about it—them, Nathan reminded himself—something familiar?

Wait a second.

“Lee? Is that you?”