Hours passed, dusk fell, and Cormac still hadn't returned. I decided not to worry. He was a big boy, he could take care of himself. I certainly wasn't capable of babysitting both him and Ben.

Ben hadn't stirred since the last time he passed out. I had no idea how long he had to stay like this before I had to start worrying. When I did start worrying, who was I supposed to call for help? The werewolf pack that had kicked me out of Denver? The Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology, the government research office that was undergoing reorganization after its former director disappeared—not that I knew anything about that.

I stared at the laptop screen for so long I started to doze off. The words blurred, and even though the straight-backed kitchen chair I sat in wasn't particularly comfortable, I managed to curl up and let my head nod forward.

That was when Ben spoke. “Hi.”

He didn't sound delirious or desperate. A little hoarse still, but it was the scratchy voice of someone getting over a cold. He lay on the bed and looked at me. One of his arms rested over the blanket that covered him, his fingers gripping the edge.

I slid out of the chair, set the laptop aside, and moved to the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” I said. “How do you feel?”

“Like crap.”

1 smiled a little. “You should. You've had a crappy week.”

He chuckled, then coughed. 1 almost jumped up and down and started dancing. It was Ben. Ben was back, he hadn't gone crazy.

“You seem awfully happy about my crappy week.”

“I'm happy to see you awake. You've been out of it.”

“Yeah.” He looked away, studying the walls, the ceiling, the blanket covering him. Looking everywhere but at me.

“How much do you remember?” 1 asked.

He shook his head, meaning that he either didn't remember anything or he wasn't going to tell me. 1 watched him, feeling anxious and motherly, wanting simultaneously to luck the blankets in tighter, pat his head, bring him a glass of water, and feed him. I wanted him to relax. I wanted to make everything better, and 1 didn't have the faintest idea how to do that. So I hovered, perched next to him, on the verge of wringing my hands.

Then he said, his voice flat, “Why did Cormac bring me here?”

“He thought I could help.”

“Why didn't he just shoot me?”

As far as I knew, Cormac's guns were still under the bed. This bed. Ben didn't have to know that. What if Cormac was wrong, what if Ben did have the guts to shoot himself? What would I have to do to stop him? I couldn't let Ben die. I wouldn't let him—or Cormac—give up.

I spoke quietly, stiff with frustration. “You'll have to ask him.”

“Where is he?”

“I don't know. He went out.”

His gaze focused on me again, finally. A glimmer of the old Ben showed through. “How long have I been out of it?”

“A couple of days.”

“And you two have been stuck here together the whole time?” His face pursed with thoughtfulness. “How's that working out?”

“He hasn't killed me yet.”

“He's not going to kill you, Kitty. On the contrary, I think he'd rather—”

I stood suddenly. “Are you hungry? Of course you're hungry, you haven't eaten in two days.”

Footsteps pounded up the porch then. Ben looked over to the next room at the same time I did, and his hand clenched on the blanket. Slowly, I went to the front room.

The door slammed open, and Cormac stood there. He carried a rifle.

“You have a freezer, right?” he said.

“Huh?” I blinked, trying to put his question into context. I failed. “Yeah. Why?”

He pointed his thumb over his shoulder to the outside. I went to the door and looked out. There, in the middle of the clearing in front of the cabin, lay a dead deer. Just flopped there, legs stiff and neck arced back. No antlers. I couldn't see blood, but I could smell it. Still cooling. Freshly killed. My stomach rumbled, and I fiercely ignored it.

“It's a deer,” I said stupidly.

“I still have to dress it and put the meat up. Is there room in the freezer?”

“You killed it?”

He gave me a frustrated glare. “Yeah.”

“Is it even hunting season?”

“Do you think I care?”

“You shot a deer and just… dragged it here? Carried it? Why?”

“I had to shoot something.”

I stared at him. That sounded like me. Rather it sounded like me once a month, on the night of the full moon. “You had to shoot something.”

“Yeah.” He said the word as a challenge.

So which of us was the monster? At least I had an excuse for my bloodlust.

“Ben's awake,” I said. “Awake and lucid, I mean.”

In fact, Ben was standing in the doorway, holding a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His hair was ruffled, stubble covered his jawline, and he appeared wrung-out, but he didn't seem likely to topple over. He and Cormac looked at each other for a moment, and the tension in the room spiked. I couldn't read what passed between them. I had an urge to get out of there. I imagined calling in to my own radio show: Yeah hi, I'm a werewolf, and I'm stuck in a cabin in the woods with another werewolf and a werewolf hunter…

“Hey,” Cormac said finally. “How are you feeling?”

“I don't know,” Ben said. “What's the gun for?”

“Went hunting.”

“Any luck?”

“Yeah.”

My voice came out bright with false cheerfulness. “Maybe you could cut us up a couple of steaks right now and we could have some dinner.”

“That's the plan. If you can stoop to eating meat that someone else picked out,” he said. “Oh, and I found another one of these.” He tossed something at me.

Startled, I reached for it—then thought better of it and stepped out of the way. Good thing, too, because a piece of barbed wire clattered on the floor. It was bent into the shape of a cross, like the other, which was still lying on the floor by the stove. I kicked the new one in that direction.

Ben moved toward the front door, stepping slowly like he was learning to walk again.

Cormac could change his mind, I thought absently. He gripped the rifle, all he had to do was raise it and fire, and he could kill Ben. Ben didn't seem to notice this, or didn't think it was a danger. Or just didn't care. All his attention was on the front door, on the outside. Cormac let him pass, and Ben went out to the porch.