Legend of the White Wolf (15 page)

   "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 differ ences 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 stood 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 gravi tated 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 navi gating 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 wolfdogs 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."