"It is probably better," he said abruptly.
"Why?" She hadn't known if she'd be able to get out a word, but she sounded, to her ears, merely curious, none of the panicky feeling that had closed over her at his words evident in her voice.
But she didn't come anywhere near the disinterested neutrality he brought to his voice. "The main reason I didn't want to bring you with me today was that I didn't want you to see me kill again, so soon. But I've been my father's assassin for a hundred and fifty years; I don't suppose that will change. It's only fair that you see me clearly, when the hunt is upon me, before you choose."
The steering wheel creaked under the force of his grip, but his voice was still calm, almost detached. "In my father's pack there are a number of wolves who would worship the ground you walk upon. Wolves who are not killers." He sucked in a little air and tried to give her a reassuring smile-but it stopped somewhere short of effective since all it did was show strong white teeth. "They are not all psychotic."
He was trying to give her away again.
She looked at his white-knuckled hands-and suddenly she could breathe again. Telling her that she could look elsewhere was ticking him off, breaking that freaky calm he'd held since breakfast. She thought of his possessive rage last night and felt confidence steady her heart; he wanted her-no matter how stupid she'd been this morning. She could work with that. She couldn't stay embarrassed about how much she wanted him forever, right? A week or two, and she should be over it. And a year or so afterward, the strength of what she felt for him wouldn't scare her so badly, either.
Feeling better, Anna resettled herself in the Vee's roomy seat so she could get a good look at him. What had he been talking about before he offered to give her up?
Being a killer.
"I know about killers," she told him. "Leo's pack had Justin. You remember him, right? He was a killer." She tried to find a way to make the distinction clear. "You are justice." That wasn't the way-it sounded stupid.
" 'A rose by any other name...' " he said, angling his face away from her.
She took a deep breath to see if her nose could help her read what he felt, but all she could smell were the two strangers who had donated their clothing. Maybe she just didn't know how to work her nose-or maybe he was better at controlling himself than most people were.
Charles was a careful man. Careful about what he said and careful of the people around him. One night in his bed, and she knew that. He cared. Cared about her, about his father, even about Heather's Jack. Her stomach settled as she gathered the hints and actions into a coherent picture. How hard, she thought, must it have been for a man who cared so deeply to learn to kill, no matter how necessary it was?
"No," she said firmly. Ahead of them, and off to the right, a series of spectacular peaks thrust defiantly into the heavens. Their snowcapped summits, unfettered by trees or vegetation, gleamed in the sun so brightly that even through the tinted windows they dazzled her eyes and called to her wolf. This was a place a werewolf could run.
"A killer is just a murderer," she told him. "You follow rules, carry out justice and-try not to hate yourself for being good at your job."
* * * *
Her assessment, following the debacle of last night, took Charles totally by surprise. He looked at her, but she'd shut her eyes and snuggled down for a nap-his Anna who had been terrified of him not five minutes ago. Sleeping was not the usual reaction people had when he pointed out that he killed people.
The road they were following had more tracks than usual for this time of year-probably because of the Search and Rescue people. He hoped he and Anna wouldn't run into any of them.
The calls he'd had Heather make this morning should result in no more untrained volunteers and amateurs out in the woods, at least. He had wanted to limit the damage the rogue wolf might do as best they could.
Heather had, at his request, pointed out that the man they were looking for had been missing for too long. They were probably only looking for a body, so there was no sense in risking additional lives. She'd told them about Jack-though she'd blamed a cougar-and pointed out that a storm front was moving in.
The few searchers remaining were concentrating their efforts about twenty miles west of Jack's encounter with their rogue wolf-near where the missing man had left his truck, well away from any of the places the rogue werewolf had made his appearances. Charles and Anna shouldn't encounter the searchers at all.
They were climbing now. The Humvee's tires made a continuous crunching, moaning sound as they cut through the deepening snow. To the left, he occasionally caught a glimpse of the frozen creek, though mostly it was hidden by the thick brush choking the valley bottom. To the right, high-tension electrical wires ran between stark metal towers down a barren swath cut clear through the forest. Those wires, and the occasional need to maintain them, were the only reason for the lonely service road they followed.
Heat poured out of the Vee's defroster. The warmth of the vehicle's interior made the winter lands they drove through seem almost surreal, something separate from him. And as much as he usually hated that particular effect, he'd spent too much time in the snow and cold on horseback or on foot to dismiss the advantages of driving in as far as they could.
The climb got steeper, and he slowed the Vee to a crawl as it bounced and rolled over rocks and holes hidden by the snow. The wheels started to slip, so he slowed down and pushed the button to lock the axles. The resultant noise startled Anna awake.
Sometimes the extra width of the Humvee wasn't as useful as it might have been. He was forced to put his left tires up on the bank to keep his right on the road, such as it was. The resultant tilt of the vehicle made Anna take one glance out her window and close her eyes, shrinking in her seat.
"If we roll, it probably won't kill you," he offered.
"Right," she said in a snippy tone that delighted him for its lack of fear-at least fear of him. He wished he could tell how much of that was the wolf and how much Anna. "I shouldn't worry about a few broken or crushed bones because I probably won't die."
"Maybe I should have brought Tag's old Land Rover," he told her. "It's almost as good in the rough country, and it's a lot narrower. But it has a rougher ride, an unreliable heater, and doesn't quite get up to highway speed."
"I thought we were going to a wilderness area," she said, her eyes still tightly shut. "Aren't motorized vehicles restricted? "
"That's right, but we're on a road, so it's okay."