If the humans couldn’t help him find Meg, the terra indigene who lived around here could—and would.
When he howled again, it was a Song of Battle. And it was answered.
Monty leaned against the patrol car, blinking away tears as he listened to Simon’s heartbroken howl.
Jimmy had done this to Simon, to all of them. Just another scheme that might have consequences for everyone but Jimmy. Except this time he had miscalculated and had paid dearly. Would his wife and children grieve, or would they secretly be relieved that he wasn’t coming back?
Gods, what a thing to wonder about a brother.
Monty wiped away the tears. This wasn’t the time for him to grieve or wonder. Meg Corbyn was still out there, somewhere.
He pushed away from the car and noticed how O’Sullivan immediately turned toward him. The ITF agent didn’t need to worry; he wasn’t going to try to see what had been left inside the crime scene tape. Not again.
Kowalski hurried over to join him.
“What’s our status?” he asked, taking in the Wolves’ body language as Nathan and Blair stood with Simon, howling: defeat.
“Captain Miller gave me the exact location where Meg escaped from Cyrus,” Kowalski said. “Sounds like a few men started at that point and searched along the edge of the woods for a couple of miles in both directions. So far, there’s been no sign of her.”
“How far could she travel?”
Kowalski snorted. “You’ve never played chase with the Wolves. Uninjured, I think Meg could cover some distance.”
And if that distance took her deeper into the wild country, they had no chance of finding her because there was no mercy in the wild country, no safety in the dark—even when the dark was the shade and shadows of the woods. The men who patrolled these roads knew that, and while a commander might risk his men if they had a solid location and were going in to rescue someone, no one would send in men to search for a body.
Simon howled again, but it sounded different now.
“Lieutenant, I have to tell the Wolves . . .”
“ARROOOOO!”
The Wolves froze. Burke and the local police officers scrambled onto the road.
“ARROOOOO!”
Based on the deep voice, whatever was out there was huge.
“Arroo!” Simon replied. “Arrrrrooooo!” He turned east, running past them as he headed down the road in the direction of the howl. Blair followed him.
“Nathan, wait!” Monty said when the other enforcer started to follow Simon. “What is it?”
The Wolf bristled with impatience, but Nathan shifted to a mostly human form. “The Elders found something.”
“Meg?”
“They’re not sure. It might be the not-Wolf.” He shifted back to Wolf.
“Wait.” Monty held up a hand. “Let us go with you as far as we can.”
Nathan growled. Not a welcoming sound.
“We have water,” Kowalski said. “And food. And a first-aid kit. When you find Meg, she’ll need all those things. It will be easier to carry them in the car.”
Nathan stopped growling. Monty decided that was as much agreement as they would get. Apparently Kowalski thought the same thing because he was behind the wheel of the patrol car in seconds.
Monty pulled open the passenger door, then stopped and looked at Burke.
“Go,” Burke said. “O’Sullivan and I will handle things here. Good luck, Lieutenant.”
Monty dove into the passenger seat. Kowalski had the car rolling before Monty closed the door.
The Wolves ran, and the patrol car stayed close enough to see them but far enough back to maneuver around anything unexpected.
Then Simon caught a scent—fresh enough and so familiar.
He stopped, explored the shoulder of the road. Followed the scent across the road and into the trees on the other side.
The patrol car pulled up. “Wait!” Montgomery shouted.
He hesitated, but the need to find his Meg was stronger.
<I’ll help them follow the trail,> Nathan told Simon and Blair.
That much decided, Simon waited just long enough for Blair to join him. Then they headed into the woods, following Meg’s scent on the game trail.
<This way,> Simon said when they reached the fork. He lifted a leg and marked a tree for Nathan to find.
<Why would she go east?> Blair said, also marking the tree.
<Meg would follow the trail in her visions.>
They followed the game trail, followed the scent, moving at a steady pace that wouldn’t leave Nathan and the police pack too far behind.
<Blood,> Blair growled, sniffing some leaves.
<More here.> Just drops from a small wound, but for Meg, there was no such thing as a small wound.
They kept moving, following the game trail and the blood trail.
Then Simon stopped, his ears pricked. Was it . . . ?
“Arroo!”
They were barely in range of that howl, but it filled him with joy. “Arroo!”
“Arroo! Arroo!”
Found you. He ran toward the sound.
The odd silence wasn’t quite so silent anymore, and Meg felt very grumpy about that—but not quite grumpy enough to tell an Elder that it wasn’t polite to laugh at someone else’s howl just because it wasn’t . . . whatever.
“Arroo!” Practice makes perfect. Miss Twyla had said that. She hadn’t said it about howling, but she had said it. In fact, she’d said a few other things about howling when Lizzy and the other children had been trying to see who could howl the loudest, but they didn’t apply to Meg.
She looked out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t see the Elder, but she sensed that something large had settled just above one end of the small bowl of land. It hadn’t tried to communicate with her, but maybe its presence would attract some of the Crowgard and she could ask one of them to take a message to Lakeside.
Meanwhile, she was still tired and thirsty, and her ankle hurt. But that presence, while not benign, didn’t feel threatening either. At least she wasn’t alone.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath . . . and howled. “Arroo!”
Moments later she heard “Arroo!”
“Simon,” she whispered. “Arroo! Arroo!”
She waited, hardly daring to breathe. She didn’t wait long before a big Wolf came over the lip and leaped into the small bowl of land.
“Simon!” She threw her arms around him and held on, shaking. Then she felt skin instead of fur, and strong arms wrapped around her as Simon pressed his face against hers.
“Meg.” His voice shook. His body trembled. “Meg.”
“I knew you’d find me.” She squealed when something licked her ankle. Something that wasn’t Simon.
“Blair says you’re hurt.”
Meg pulled back enough to see Simon’s face. “He can tell that by licking my ankle?”
A deep growl near her hip discouraged her from saying anything sassy. She thought of telling Blair that there was an Elder nearby, but she figured he already knew that—and would nip her anyway.
“I tripped and hurt my ankle—and found . . .” She turned her head just enough to indicate a direction without actually looking at the body.
Blair moved away to inspect the body. Simon just hugged her.
“There’s an Elder here,” she whispered in his ear.
“I know,” he whispered back.