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  “What is this?” Kitty whispered. “Is some guy roaming the countryside murdering people he just happens across?”

  The thought of a crazed murderer running around out here didn’t frighten her; she was a werewolf. Unless his weapons were silver, he couldn’t hurt her without really working at it. Even so, this was turning into one of her more harebrained adventures.

  “What are we going to do if we find the killer?” David said.

  “Call 911?” Then she grumbled, “Ignoring for a moment the fact that I didn’t bring my cell phone and I’m betting you don’t have one … we tell the police what?”

  “I don’t know. I thought you were the one with all the answers.”

  Ha. Why did everyone think that again? Just because she ran her mouth more often than not was no reason to actually put any faith in her.

  She had no desire to get closer to this murder scene, and the killer’s trail was fading.

  “Let’s go,” she said, and took off at a jog. After a moment’s hesitation, David followed her.

  It made her wonder, just for a moment, what it would be like to have a pack again. The thought made her lonely, so she shook it away. The thing now was to find this killer. Figure out a way to throw him at the cops. Or to stop him, if it came to that.

  The guy was on foot. If he had left footprints, the falling snow covered them. They tracked by scent alone, but the smell of human blood was strong. Not exactly subtle. Nothing about these murders was subtle. Kitty could tell that much by the police response, without even seeing the bodies. She didn’t have to be a trained profiler to tell these were unplanned. He was lashing out, haphazard.

  David must have been thinking along the same lines. Briskly, they walked side by side, following the trail that the police hadn’t found yet. “He’s racking up a body count, isn’t he? That’s what this is about. Whoever he is, he’s gone postal.”

  “Looks that way,” Kitty said.

  “We’re going to have to kill him if we find him, aren’t we?” David said.

  “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to get in the habit of killing people. Even if they are bad guys. I don’t think you want to get into that habit either.”

  He pursed his lips and nodded.

  When they spotted another house up ahead, lit by the yellow circle of a lamp by the door, Kitty’s stomach sank. They’d found his next target.

  It wasn’t really a house, but a weather-beaten single-wide mobile home, white aluminum siding rusting at the edges, sitting by itself at the end of a long dirt road. The minimum of what could be called a homestead. But it had a fenced-in yard with spinning plastic sunflowers sticking out of the snow, and a satellite dish attached to the roof, which was outlined in colored holiday lights. Somebody loved this place and called it home, and the killer had headed right for it.

  She tugged on David’s arm and broke into a run. Dodging the fence, they went to the front door. The place seemed peaceful. Soft, shaded light shone through the fogged windows. Faintly, the sound of Christmas carols played on a radio, muted. Maybe nothing was wrong. Maybe they’d made a mistake.

  They hesitated at the base of a trio of steps leading to the front door. Their breaths, coming fast after the effort of running, steamed in the chill air. David glanced at her.

  “What do we do?” he whispered.

  “We knock on the front door,” she said, shrugging. “If nothing’s wrong, we can sing ‘Jingle Bells.’”

  He actually chuckled. The boy was coming around.

  She mounted the steps first, raised a fist to knock on the door—and saw that it already stood open a crack. Shit.

  Then she thought, What the hell, and pushed open the door all the way.

  Her nose flared with the scent of blood at the same time she saw the spray across the linoleum floor of the entryway before her.

  Wolf’s senses sprang to the fore, the instinct to Change and defend herself ripping through her gut. She swallowed back bile and forced that feeling down, told herself to keep it together, stay human, keep that beast locked away. Her gut clenched, but she didn’t shift.

  Still, she looked over the scene with a hunter’s gaze, and a growl burred in her throat.

  Standing over his prey, the man glanced at Kitty with surprise. He was tall and thin—unnaturally thin, like he hadn’t eaten well in some time. His clothes hung oddly on him. He wore a green canvas jacket, white T-shirt, threadbare jeans. All shone wet with blood. He was covered with red, presumably from his previous two stops. She could smell violence on him, illness, like an animal that had gone out of control, that no longer worked by instinct, but by madness, striking out at everything. His pale eyes gleamed with it. His ear-length hair was matted, uncombed, and an uneven beard grew around his slack mouth. His whole body was rigid.

  He loomed over two people, a middle-aged man and woman, husband and wife probably, who lay in the middle of what passed for a living room—a plush sofa shoved up against one wall and a large TV in the opposite corner. They were both a little worn out and overweight, both wearing jeans and T-shirts—they matched the trailer, Kitty thought absently. They were trussed up like a holiday meal. That was the only way Kitty could think of it. Each had wrists and ankles bound fast in front of them with thin twine. Both were gagged with strips of cloth, so tightly their teeth were bared, their lips stretched back in grotesque smiles. Their eyes glared large and white with fear. Bloody marks shone on their heads, as if the killer had subdued them by hitting them with something. But they were alive, trembling, pressing themselves away from the killer even while bound.

  He’d started with her, slashing her arms, spilling blood everywhere. He held an eight-inch-long serrated knife, dull-looking, something that might rip like the teeth of an animal. It dripped blood onto the floor.

  The killer regarded Kitty and David.

  Wolf, the voice of wild instinct, spoke to Kitty: Can’t show fear, can’t show terror, then he’ll know he’s stronger and he’ll attack, he’ll kill. We must be stronger, we must dominate, we are alpha here.

  Wolf was right. Kitty wanted to scream, but she didn’t. Instead, she looked him in the eye. Glared. Bared her teeth a little. He was in the wrong here. He must be made to relent—to show his belly. Cow him before they had to fight it out.

  Beside her, David was doing the same. His fingers were curled, stiff, as if showing claws. For a moment, she worried. Much more of this, and he’d shift. Hell, they both might. And maybe that wouldn’t be so bad—no way could this guy escape from a couple of werewolves with full-on claws and teeth.

  The killer took a step back. He sensed something, obviously. The aggression, the challenge. The fact that these were a couple of monsters standing in front of him, no matter how harmless they might look. But he didn’t know how to read the signs. He didn’t know how to respond. A wolf would either return the challenge or back down—slumped shoulders, lowered gaze. Make himself small and helpless before them, to show that they were stronger.

  This guy twitched, feet shifting in place. His grip tightened and retightened around the handle of the knife. His gaze shifted between them, the door, his captives, the knife in his hand, and back. He didn’t know where to look, where to go, what to do. His eyes were wide, shocky, and his lips trembled.

  Then he asked a strange question.

  “What are you?”

  I’m your worst nightmare, Kitty wanted to mutter in a bad accent. But she didn’t. She wondered what he saw in them, though—two people with wolves staring out of their eyes, tense and glaring like they were ready to rip his throat out. The guy ought to be scared.

  She had to swallow a couple of times before she could speak instead of growl.

  “You’re not going to do this anymore. You’re not going to get away with what you’ve already done.”

  After staring at her for a moment, he bit his lip and made a noise that almost sounded like a giggle.

  What had she thought he would do, put the knife down and his
hands up and wait for the cops to get here?

  He stepped toward her, and Kitty braced to defend herself—kicking and scratching his eyes out if she had to. She wasn’t worried about the knife. It was stainless steel, not silver. He’d have to just about cut her head off before it would do real damage.

  Not that it wouldn’t hurt a whole lot in the meantime.

  David moved to intercept him. His shoulders were bunched up, like hackles raised, and his glare seemed to bore through the killer. In response, the man stumbled back, clutching the knife with both hands and pointing it defensively. The knife was shaking, just a little.

  Hell. Maybe she could just talk him out of it.

  “You’re going to put the knife down now,” Kitty said, her voice low, rough. “You’re not going to kill anyone else. We won’t let you.”

  Then, unbelievably, he started crying. Didn’t make a sound, but tears spilled from his eyes. Kitty thought, Something drove him to this. Something pushed him over the edge and he couldn’t cope, and he was psychotic enough to begin with that he did this. This was something else that could happen when you didn’t have a place to go home to at Christmas.

  Wolf didn’t have an ounce of sympathy for a predator who slaughtered for no reason, who didn’t recognize territory, who didn’t obey the rules. Wolf could spot the signs and see what was happening right before the killer tensed and raised his knife to attack. Shouting, he made a mad plunge for the door, ready to slash his way past her and David.

  She’d have let him go. They could call in an anonymous tip, let the cops go after him. They’d saved these people—wasn’t that enough?

  But David stopped him.

  She thought he was shifting, that he’d lost it and his predator had burst forth to meet this human predator in challenge. The killer lunged forward, ready to stab down and cut his way through to the door.

  David ducked and tackled him. Planted his shoulder under the guy’s ribs and shoved. Werewolves were stronger than people. David threw more power into the move than appeared possible. The killer swung sideways and banged into the flimsy plywood wall dividing the living room from the kitchen.

  David didn’t shape-shift. His wolf hadn’t taken over. He had used the wolf’s power and managed to stay in control, though he was breathing hard, and his teeth were bared.

  He didn’t let the killer recover. Pouncing, he pinned the guy to the floor, tossed the knife away, and leaned a rigid hand on his neck, pressing down with all his weight. The killer sputtered, gasping for air, thrashing, but he couldn’t escape David’s strength.

  So maybe he wasn’t entirely in control of himself.

  “David,” Kitty said. David flinched, startled, and glared at her, something amber and animal lurking in his eyes. He was barely under control. “Keep it together. You don’t have to kill. Just keep it together.”

  “Then what do we do?” His voice was a growl.

  “We’ll leave him for the cops.”

  Kitty waited until he nodded, until his muscles relaxed, until he stopped looking like a wolf in human skin, before she knelt by the victims. But when she approached them, they screamed around their gags.

  “No, no, I’m not going to hurt you,” Kitty murmured. Once again, she wondered what she and David looked like from the outside. Were their eyes glowing or something? Maybe they were. Her senses were on a trip wire.

  She moved slowly, and the husband let her work off the gag and the cords on his wrists. “Do you have rope or duct tape or something?” she asked.

  He nodded quickly. “Kitchen. By the sink.” Then, just like the killer had, he asked, “What are you?”

  That question again. And those wide, fearful eyes.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said. She went to the kitchen and found a length of clothesline in the drawer by the sink.

  Kitty helped David tie up the killer. They probably tied him much tighter than he needed to be. But she didn’t want to take chances.

  “I don’t want to have to answer questions from the cops,” David said.

  “That’s okay,” Kitty said. “I don’t think we should stick around.” She turned to the couple, who were now free of their cords. “Call 911. Get help.”

  “Thank you,” the man said breathlessly. “Thank you, thank you—”

  “Thank us by not telling the cops about us. Okay? The guy got sloppy. You did this yourselves. Okay?”

  Both of them nodded frantically. They kept looking at the bound killer like they expected him to attack. But he lay limp, staring unblinkingly at nothing. He whined with every breath. Like a hurt wolf.

  In a moment, the man was talking on the phone, and Kitty and David stood by the door. She had a weird urge to say “Merry Christmas” or something before they left. The woman was looking back at her, cradling her torn and bloody arms in her lap, gasping for breath. But smiling. Just a little.

  Kitty smiled back, then pulled David out the door with her.

  They trudged back to town, led by the sounds of cars on the freeway and the faint glow of lights through the misty air. Snow was falling picturesquely. Her feet, and the rest of her, were soaking wet. David was using the snow to wash blood off his hands.

  He looked at her. “Why the hell are you smiling?”

  Kitty was grinning so hard she thought her face would break.

  “Why am I smiling? Because we totally saved those people. We’re werewolf superheroes! We’re Batman and Robin! That’s so awesome!”

  Then again, that might have been the adrenaline talking.

  * * *

  David wanted to howl at the night sky in joy and triumph. He’d almost shifted. He’d almost gone over the edge. Attacking that guy had come instinctively. It had been like hunting. But he came back from the edge. With Kitty’s help, he’d pulled himself back and stayed human. And that felt powerful.

  The glaring yellow sign of the Waffle House shone like a beacon over the snow-covered prairie. Like the Star of Bethlehem over the manger. David felt a surge of relief when he and Kitty came back in sight of it. Civilization. A roof and hot coffee. Glorious.

  No telling how much time had passed since they’d left. They crept in through the still unlocked kitchen door. The cook was gone. Both of them were soaking wet from running in the snow. At least it made the blood he’d gotten on him less noticeable. Almost, he could think about the blood without wanting to turn wolf.

  Kitty rubbed her arms and shook out her shirt, squeezing water out of the hem. “Not the smartest thing I’ve done recently,” she muttered. “The one time I didn’t bring a change of clothes…”

  David resisted an urge to reach out and hug her. From affection. From happiness. How long had it been since he’d been happy? Despite the adventure, the running, tracking the killer, and the violence of what he’d witnessed, the urge to turn wolf had faded, a whisper rather than overwhelming thunder. He’d taken a step toward asserting his dominance over that part of his being. The world looked brighter because of that.

  Jane, the waitress, came in. “There you are. I thought maybe you’d ducked out on me, but your coat and bag are still here, but you weren’t in the bathroom, and I was starting to worry…” She narrowed her gaze. “What are you two doing back here?”

  David opened his mouth but couldn’t think of what to say. It was Kitty who announced, cheerfully, “Oh, you know. Looking for mistletoe.”

  He blushed, which must have lent some truth to her excuse, because Jane quirked a smile and left again.

  “Sorry,” Kitty said. “But people tend not to ask more questions if you tell them you’ve been fooling around.”

  He wanted to burst out laughing. “Does this sort of thing happen to you a lot?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  He had a feeling he wouldn’t.

  Out front, they returned to their booth. Other customers glanced at them, but no one seemed unduly concerned. The TV was still tuned to local news. The same reporter stood by what looked like the same snowy roadside,
speaking grimly at the camera. Similar text scrolled along the bottom listing details: five murders and two attempted murders at three different locations. But instead of “serial killer on the loose,” the text now read, “serial killer caught.”

  Then David listened. “Police apprehended the suspected murderer just a little while ago. He appears to have been overpowered by his latest would-be victims, both of whom were injured in the encounter and have been taken to a local hospital. The police have made a statement that they cannot speculate on the exact series of events, and the lone survivors of these horrific events are not talking to reporters.”

  Maybe they were safe. The witnesses wouldn’t remember them. No one would come looking for them. Just a couple more monsters in the night.

  He and Kitty got refills on their coffee and made a little toast. “To Christmas,” Kitty said. He just smiled. He’d faced down a killer. Captured a killer, and kept his own killer nature locked inside him. Now that he knew he could do it, he wondered if it would become easier. Wondered if maybe he could go home again. He thought he knew what Kitty would say if he mentioned it to her: He’d never know until he tried.

  Maybe it wasn’t too late to go home for the holidays.

  “Thank you,” he said to Kitty.

  She glanced away from the TV. “For what?”

  “For helping me. For teaching me. For making my day a little more interesting. For giving me hope.”

  She shrugged and gave a surprisingly shy smile. “I didn’t do much but get in trouble. As usual.”

  “Well, thank you anyway. I think I’m going to go back home. See if I can’t get my old job back. See if I can’t cope with this a little better. I think I can do that now.”

  “Really?”

  He shrugged. “I’d like to try. Not much future for me waking up naked in the woods every couple of days.”