Legend of the White Wolf hotw-4

by Terry Spear

  Officer Whitson bit back a chuckle, while Adams gave his partner an annoyed look. "Did the wolf… was he attempting to kill you? Or did he just bite you and then run off?"

  "I didn't ask, but the way he lunged at me, I'd say he went for the throat—for a kill—but I blocked his teeth with my arm. If Faith hadn't clobbered him in the hip with a snow shovel, he might have eventually given up on my arm and gone for the jugular again. So yeah, I think he intended to kill me, not just play with me."

  His eyes wide, Whitson cleared his throat. "What did the wolf do when Faith hit him?"

  Cameron glowered at the officer, not liking that he still seemed interested in Faith. "After Miss O'Malley struck him, he looked surprised. I expected him to growl at her, but instead I'd swear he smiled."

  Whitson shared a look with Adams, who closed up his notebook.

  Although Cameron figured he wouldn't get a response that would satisfy him, he asked anyway. "So now are you going to put an All Points Bulletin out on the wolf and its owner?"

  "It's just your word that the wolf intended to harm you. You might have made a move that to him meant you intended to hurt Faith," Whitson said, "and he was protecting her. Or he might have thought something you did meant you wanted to play with him. Kintail's wolves are good-natured and wouldn't hurt a soul, unless provoked. Did you provoke him, Mr. MacPherson?"

  Cameron clenched his teeth, unwilling to get into a pissing match with Whitson. He knew the officer didn't like that he had any kind of relationship with Faith and so was bound to be antagonistic toward him. On the other hand, Adams was looking at the dead body as if he was uninterested in the conversation. But it was only a ploy. Cameron knew that whatever he said Adams was considering as important to any investigation.

  "If a dog bites someone, no matter its motive, it's considered vicious, unable to live safely amongst humans. Even if one was provoked, the charges against the animal would be taken seriously. We're talking feral wolf here. Not some centuries-tamed family pet. It wouldn't matter if they'd been raised as a second- or third-generation house pet either. They're wild animals. Period."

  Adams finally spoke up. "We'll talk to Kintail about it. But if you don't even know which wolf it was, we couldn't very well put down his whole pack, now could we?"

  "Whole pack? How many damn wolves has he got?"

  "At least two make a pack," Adams clarified. But he didn't enlighten Cameron any further about numbers.

  "How many does he have?" Cameron insisted, figuring from Adams's response, the police officers knew.

  Adams's gaze pinned Cameron with warning. "You'd have to ask him. But he's touchy about his wolves. So I'd ask real nice if I were you. You're not from around here. He brings a lot of business into the area, so we take care of our own, if you get my meaning."

  "If you mean you can get away with murder if you have enough money and connections, I completely understand. Works that way where I'm from also. Universal policy." Without evidence that he'd been bitten, just Faith's word, Cameron figured he didn't have much of a leg to stand on anyway though. "But next time, I won't just play with the wolf."

  For the first time, Adams offered a slight smile, on the sinister side. "Your business. Just be sure to stick around in case we need to question you further."

  "I'll be here, and if I find my friends and get ready to return home, I'll let you know." Cameron gave Whitson the same icy hard stare, then returned to his snowmobile and headed back to the lodge.

  He patted the gun under his coat. He didn't like shooting animals, any kind. He'd never been a hunter, just of the predatory human variety. So killing a wolf didn't appeal. But he'd shoot it, if the wolf attacked again, just to make sure it didn't harm anyone else, whether Kintail liked it or not.

  As he reached the resort, he saw Charles Roux putting a snow shovel up at a shed and veered his snowmobile in his direction.

  The man turned to look at him. A few gray strands running through his dark hair braided behind his back. His round face, darker skin, and dark eyes looked Native American, and since Cameron had heard many of the tribes felt some kinship to the animals of the wild, he wondered about Charles's take on Kintail's wolves.

  "The word is you're looking for Kintail." Charles's gaze quickly shifted to Cameron's bloodied and torn parka sleeve. "You were attacked?"

  "By one of Kintail's wolves. Although they were with Lila. Two of my partners went on a hunt with Back Country Tours. They haven't returned and I haven't gotten word from them. So yeah, I'm looking to speak with Kintail. I haven't had any luck with Lila."

  Approaching snowmobiles garnered their attention. Adams and Whitson headed their way.

  Charles responded to Cameron's concern. "Communications in these parts are pretty sketchy."

  "I understand, but I have to make sure that they're all right." Which brought to mind another concern. Faith. "Can you tell me anything about one of your guests? Hilson Snowdon? When he got here?"

  Charles looked back at the police officers who were nearly there. "Officer Adams, Whitson," he said in greeting.

  "Tell your sister we'll be back when she's made some more of that chocolate cream pie of hers," Adams said, tilting forward on the snowmobile.

  Charles gave them a stiff nod. "Will do."

  The officers gave Cameron another hard look. Adams said to Cameron, "We'll keep in touch." Then he and Whitson drove down the road in the direction of the trailhead.

  "So what do you know about Hilson Snowdon?" Cameron asked Charles again.

  "You can talk to him when he's around. He might be at his cabin now, or off on another excursion. Folks come here to get away. I don't ask their business. Does Miss O'Malley still want to see Trevor Hodges?"

  Cameron frowned and looked back at the lodge. "Didn't she talk to you about it already?"

  "I've been busy shoveling snow so I haven't been up at the main lodge. She's probably talking to my sister, while she prepares the next meal, unless she's off seeing to something else. Work's never done around here in the winter." Charles motioned to Cameron's bloodied and torn parka sleeve. "About the wolf that bit you, which one was it?"

  "I figure it was a male, as big and aggressive as it was." Cameron couldn't understand why everyone seemed to think that he should know which wolf it was as if they all had names and separate identities.

  When he'd raised a litter of Labrador retriever pups, they all looked similar, too, although, as they grew, personalities began to appear and some physical differences were noticeable—one was chubbier than the rest, one taller. But the only way to tell the difference for most of the rest was to observe them for some time. The brief encounters he'd had with Lila and her wolves were just that—way too brief.

  "Do you know how many wolves Kintail has?"

  Charles's eyes widened a bit. Then he frowned and rubbed his chin. "No. A few."

  "Lila Grayson was with a few of them earlier. They ought to be put down if they attack people, and Lila ought to be brought up on charges."

  The old man didn't respond one way or another, so Cameron couldn't get a feel for what Charles was thinking. But he was surprised when Charles asked, "How do you feel?"

  "Better. The bite's all healed up."

  "Come with me while I feed my dogs. We need to talk."

  He led Cameron to a barn where he kept his dogs and sleds. A slew of huskies greeted Charles as soon as he and Cameron entered the building, licking and poking their noses at Charles's hands and legs.

  Immediately, Cameron had the overwhelming need to show them who was in charge. Which wasn't like him. Befriend the animal? Sure. But make sure they knew he was boss? Not him. Whoever the dogs' owner was, as far as he was concerned, served as the boss man.

  But this time, the oddest feeling snowed him under, forcing him to acknowledge each and every one of them eye to eye with a glance—not a confrontational stare at first—but then he considered them closer, looking for the leader of the pack. And when he found the bigger male, Cameron stoo
d taller, stiffer-legged, and pinned him with his gaze, acting as though he was in charge. As if he instinctively knew this would work with the alpha dog of the pack.

  The dogs sniffed Cameron from a distance, looking wary, which surprised him. Dogs and kids always gravitated to him. But the alpha leader lifted his head, lowered his tail, and arched his back slightly in submission, and Cameron knew he had won the confrontation. He didn't feel superior to the dog for the rapid change in pack dynamics, just that it was the natural order of things.

  Charles turned on a lantern, although it was light enough in the building that Cameron was surprised he would bother. Then Charles opened a hefty-sized canister and poured food into dog trays. "Best sled-pulling huskies in the territory. One of these dogs weighing in at only forty pounds can pull over eight hundred pounds." He pointed to their bootie-covered paws. "The huskies are strong, but their feet aren't meant for this kind of weather. So they wear polar fleece booties to keep them warm."

  Cameron counted sixteen huskies. "So is Faith navigating a sled, or are you taking her for a ride when you look for Trevor?"

  "She just wanted me to take her to see Trevor."

  "I'll be going with you."

  Charles looked up at him. "Has she agreed to allow you to go along? I had the impression the matter is personal to her. She wouldn't even enlighten me as to why she wished to speak with him."

  "She's agreed." At least Cameron figured she would once he gave his reasoning. "So how will we work this?"

  "The five-foot-long wooden sled's not big enough for three. We have several sleds and can divide up the dogs, but I doubt either of you are trained in mushing. Although, that's what I do. Give rides and teach folks how to handle a team. Faith can snuggle up in the sled bag on my sled, but of course if the going gets tough, we'll all be walking. How are you with dogs?"

  Charles gave Cameron a look as if he were judging him for the job.

  "Good. Never found one that didn't like me." He reached down to pet one of the darker-faced huskies. The animal bowed its head to him as if she was afraid.

  "That's Nikki. She's a real beta and pretty shy, but for her to greet you first indicates she really likes you." Charles packed the rest of the dog food into a sturdy can. "Bear-proof. A bear can smell dog food through anything. One broke into my barn and tore it up good, but at least he can't get into one of these. Nothing worse than reaching my place and having no food for the team."

  "I can imagine. Ever try a husky/wolf breed?"

  Charles snorted. "These dogs love to pull a load and they love to please humans. Plus they get along with each other great. A wolf mix?" He shook his head. "Wolf blood made the wolf dogs skittish and aggressive with one another. But mostly, they like their freedom. Pulling a load for a human? Forget it." Charles took a deep breath. "What I wanted to talk to you about was the wolf that bit you. Normally, when a wolf like that bites someone, the pack takes the person in."

  "A wolf pack?" Cameron wasn't following him.

  "Has anyone talked to you about, well, ahem…" Charles looked back at his dogs and began stroking one of them on the head. "Has Kintail talked to you since you've been bitten?"

  "I haven't met the man."

  Charles looked up at Cameron. "Seeing the extent of damage to your parka and the fact no one's talked to you about what's happened, I'm assuming something else is going on."

  "You mean that Kintail has trained wolves to attack certain people? Like attack dogs?"

  Charles shook his head. "No, that's… not exactly what I'm trying to say. I'm Cree, if you were wondering. In ancient times, my people believed that when the aurora borealis danced across the night sky, magical or divine wolves came to earth. In many Native American cultures, wolves have been revered. Wolves take care of their packs, much as we take care of our families, our tribes. My people much admired wolves' superior hunting skills in cooperating with one another. And like the wolves, in ancient times, we would keep outsiders from invading our territory." Charles smiled as if he was remembering the stories passed on by his elders.

  Then he sighed. "The Inuit tell the story of an old lady, abandoned, who became a wolf. The Navajo believed a man or woman who wore a wolf's skin would transform into the wolf. The Sioux believe the wolf has a powerful spirit. The Pawnee were often known as the Wolf People, who, like some other tribes, stored their magical tools in wolf skins. Unless I'm mistaken, one of these wolves has infected you."

  In disbelief, Cameron raised his brows. "A magical wolf?" The wolf was big, but there wasn't anything magical about it. Just one mean-spirited beast, although the way Cameron healed so quickly was pretty bizarre.

  "Have you… experienced any changes? Heightened senses? Or feel anything out of the ordinary, like cabin fever?"

  Hell, that was what was making Cameron so antsy. His senses were on higher alert. Everything from seeing well in the low light of the barn before Charles turned on the lantern, to smelling the differences between the dogs. Normally, they would have all smelled like wet dog, period. But now, he noted subtle differences—one had rolled in something. And how he should know that beat him. Another's breath smelled bad, although the dog was not anywhere close to him. It was more than that though.

  It seemed as though every gland associated with each hair follicle produced an individual odor signal that he could easily recognize. And pheromones that cast off a different smell—more of a form of communication— like when one of the bigger dogs, the alpha male, maneuvered closer to the food that was left. As soon as he did, the dog next to him lifted its nose, sniffed the air, and moved out of the bigger male's way.

  Sounds were more pronounced also, now that he thought about it.

  Charles eyed Cameron closely. "Do you feel any different?"

  Yeah, although Cameron wasn't a runner, he had the worst urge to stretch out his legs and run for miles. Hiking, swimming, and skiing were more his style. "Nothing that can't be explained."

  "Don't you have any… empathy for the wolf now? More so than you might have had before?"

  "What I feel is irritation that anyone would stick up for a wild animal that bites people unprovoked."

  Charles just shook his head.

  Cameron took another tack, figuring that wolf lovers couldn't understand unless maybe one bit them. "So what is a magical wolf's bite supposed to do to me?"

  Charles cleared his throat again. "Have you had any cravings to rip off your clothes and run like the wolf?"

  Faith considered Leidolf Wildhaven as he stood in the entryway of the Eagle's Nest cabin, his amber eyes studying her just as much in return. "Uhm, no, I'm not lost. I'm looking for someone," she said.

  "Ah. Did you knock? I didn't hear you."

  "Yes." She had, although probably not hard enough, wearing her gloves, which had muffled the sound.

  He wore a hint of a smile, as if he was saying he knew very well she was planning on searching his place without his permission. But then again, maybe she only thought so because she was feeling guilty.

  "I'm sorry. I'm at the wrong place."

  She started to step off the porch when Leidolf said, "Watch out for the Arctic wolves, young woman. They can be troublesome in these parts."

  She turned around. "You've seen them? My friend got bitten by one. But the evidence of the bite marks are already gone. Do you know Lila Grayson? She owns the wolves. And Kintail Silverman, I guess. They run Back Country Tours."

  "I'm Leidolf Wildhaven. And you are?"

  "Sorry, Faith O'Malley." She walked back over and extended her hand.

  He studied her way too closely, took a deep breath, and smiled a bit ominously, belatedly shaking her hand with a firm touch. "Your friend? The one who was bitten? Is he a very close friend?"

  Closer than she would admit to a perfect stranger. "We just met."

  "Ah. So you have separate cabins."

  The statement was more of a question, but she treated it as a statement, and none of his business. "You didn't say if you knew Li
la Grayson."

  "No, I don't know of the woman or this Kintail. But I've seen their wolves. Your friend, where is he staying?"

  She hesitated. Hell, she was lousy at lying. "He's at White Wolf Den."

  "Appropriate. His name?" When she hesitated to say, Leidolf added, "I've been bitten by a wolf before, and maybe we can swap stories. Sometimes it helps to air our concerns with someone who has experienced the same… trauma."

  Faith hadn't even considered that Cameron might have been traumatized by the attack and thought it was a great idea, warming up to Leidolf instantly. "Cameron MacPherson. I'm sure he'd love to talk to you."

  "You said he was your friend, that he stayed at White Wolf Den, which means you were looking for someone else?"

  "Yes. I thought maybe this was his cabin. But obviously not."

  "He wouldn't happen to be Hilson Snowdon, would he?"

  "Uh, yeah, do you know him?" From Portland? Friends? She hadn't known Hilson to have any friends in Portland. But it seemed like too much of a coincidence that they both were from there and now here, at the same time.

  "I ran into him while he was pacing down by the lake. He seemed to be bothered by something. Didn't like it that I intruded on his privacy. Although from what I understand, he's the only other one here right now. So I assumed he was either Hilson or Cameron. And since White Wolf Den isn't occupied yet, or I should say until more recently, the one I met must have been Hilson."

  "Dishwater blond hair? Amber eyes?"

  "Yep. That would describe him. And irritated. I'm not sure he's in the mood for company. Would you like me to walk you back to your cabin? Or to the main lodge?"

  "No, thank you. Is his place in this direction?"

  "Next cabin over. Porcupine Cove. The other four places are under renovation. Or at least will be when the spring thaw comes."

  "Have you seen three men in their late twenties, and a gray-haired older lady around? Or had any trouble with theft?"

  Leidolf looked darkly amused that anyone might try to steal from him. "No. Why?"

  "They were at the hot tub last night, but apparently they aren't staying here. And two guys stole our snowmobiles, then parked them behind the shower facilities."