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He smiled. "All right, then. What do you think I'm doing out here? No, wait, let me guess. Wounded and scarred by life, I've decided to turn my back on the world and retreat into the forest, embracing my purer, simpler half."
"You don't look particularly scarred to me."
"Oh, I have my share. I'd show you, but I know that mate of yours can't be far behind, and I'd better not be taking off my clothes when he comes by."
"Actually, I'm more worried about her taking offense." I nodded to the wolf, who growled as our eyes met. "So are you going to tell me why you're running with the wolves? Or was that another polite brush-off?"
He leaned back against a tree, hands going into his pockets, looking out at the forest before answering. "Have you ever wondered what it would be like to switch? Live as wolf, Change to human only when you need to?"
"Sure."
"I finished college a few years ago. Got a job. Hated it. Quit. I'm young. No ties. Other guys, they'd backpack through Asia, bum around for a while until they got their shit together."
"Instead, you did this. How long have you been out here?"
"Since summer. I figure I'll give it a year."
"And how did you get the wolves to take you in?"
"Food," said a voice behind me.
As Clay stepped into view, Morgan jumped. He quickly recovered, retreating behind an impassive expression, but his eyes stayed wary, watching Clay's approach.
"Food, wasn't it?" Clay repeated.
Morgan found a smile for him, if only a small one. "It was. I'm a good hunter. It took some time, but if you leave enough offerings, they'll overcome their prejudices. There weren't many prejudices to be overcome before those knuckle-draggers set up camp. And I don't mean the beast-shifters. Yeah, that young one has been throwing his weight around this winter, but we just stay out of his way. Things got a lot worse when they showed up." He pointed at the clothing in my hands. "Before them, the only werewolves the wolves knew were the old guy and his grandson, and neither of them ever caused any problems." He glanced at Clay. "The old man was a friend of yours?"
"A Pack mate, once upon a time."
"Sorry for your loss, then. I didn't know him myself, but he seemed a decent guy. And, before you ask, no, I didn't know they'd gone to kill him. I was off hunting at the time. When I came back, the rest of the pack had found him--you probably saw their tracks at the cabin."
"We did."
"They..." He rubbed his chin. "It upset them. Confused them. It was as if they'd known your friend, even if they never made contact. They mourned for him. Anyway, I wasn't around at the time or--Well, as you can tell, I don't like getting involved. I've learned not to. But I'd have done something. And probably gotten myself killed. I'm a whiz at catching dinner, but I don't do so well with the predators." He glanced at me. "I mentioned the scars?"
"You did, and I appreciate what you did do, bringing the others to us."
"Tracking and hunting, those are my specialties. That means, though, that I usually arrive after the damage is done, like with your friend. But there's a reason I Changed back, and it's not just to say hello. I found something the other day you'll want to take care of before you leave. The beast-shifters buried the two girls that big son-of-a-bitch killed. Only I kept finding traces of a third."
My head jerked up. "There was a third missing girl. You found her body?"
"No, I found her."
"What? She's alive?" I wheeled on Clay. "Travis must have been keeping her locked up. We need to--"
"Whoa, slow down," Morgan said. "He wasn't the one keeping her. The way I figure it, he left her for dead. Someone else found her. She's recovering. But... Well, I think you'd better just come along and have a look. It's... a bit of a situation."
I glanced at Clay. He took Tesler's clothing from me. "You go on. I'll catch up."
THE FIRST HALF of the walk was nearly silent. I could say that Morgan had just been uncharacteristically chatty earlier, after months talking to no one, but I got the impression he was, by nature, the kind of guy who talks a lot to cover the fact that he doesn't say very much.
It was a trait I recognized well. Not so much the chatty part--I've never been the type--but I've always been quick to join a conversation and hold up my end, which usually hides the fact that I'm not giving away anything of myself. Act friendly and sociable, and peopl
e won't realize that you're keeping them firmly on the other side of your comfort zone.
I think what quieted Morgan down was Clay sending me off with him alone. Morgan was not only a stranger, but a younger, good-looking mutt. For Clay to casually allow me to go off with him must have seemed suspicious. Maybe he took offense at the suggestion that he didn't pose a threat. But if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say he suspected he was being tested... or set up.
After we'd walked for a while, with no sign of Clay or the others lurking in the trees, he relaxed and maybe understood the simple truth--Clay trusted me, trusted I could take care of myself, and trusted I wasn't the least bit susceptible to cute younger werewolves, which on this trip was proving to be a good thing.
