Blood Trail

to be ignored in my own home," growled a voice from the door.

    Shadow flung himself out from under Vicki's fingers, charged across the kitchen barking like a furry little maniac, and leapt up at the man who'd just come into the house - who caught him, swung him up over his head, and turned Daniel upside down.

    Vicki didn't need an introduction. The same force of personality that marked Nadine marked Stuart and he was definitely very male. He was also very naked and that added considerable weight to the latter observation. Vicki had to admit she was favorably impressed although at five ten she could probably give him at least four inches. Judging by human standards, which was all she had to work with, Henry's warning aside, he appeared to be younger than his wife by about five years. His hair - all his hair, and there was rather a lot of it all over his body -
    remained unmarked by gray.

    "Stuart. ..." Nadine pulled a pair of blue sweatpants off the back of her chair and threw them at her husband.

    He caught them one-handed, Daniel tucked under the other arm, and stared at them with distaste. Then he turned and looked straight at Vicki. "I don't much like clothing, Ms.
    Nelson," he told her, obviously as aware of her identity as she was of his. "It stops the change and in this heat it's damned uncomfortable. If you're going to be here for a while, you're going to have to get used to the little we wear."

    "It's your house," Vicki told him levelly. "It's not my place to say what you should wear."

    He studied her face, then smiled suddenly and she got the impression she'd passed a test of some kind. "Humans usually worry about clothing."

    "I save my worry for more important things."

    Henry hid a smile. Since they'd met, he'd been trying to figure out if Vicki was infinitely adaptable to circumstances or just so single-minded that anything not leading to her current goal was ignored. In eight months of observation he'd come no closer to an answer.

    Tossing the sweatpants in the corner, Stuart held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Ms.
    Nelson."

    She returned both smile and handshake, careful not to come on too strong. Come on too strong to a naked werewolf. Yeah, right. "And you. Please, call me Vicki."

    "Vicki." Then he turned to Henry and by the tiniest of changes, the smile became something else. He held out his hand again. "Henry."

    "Stuart." The smile was a warning, not a challenge. Henry recognized it and acknowledged it.
    It could change to challenge very quickly and neither man wanted that. As long as Henry kept to his place, the situation between them would remain tense but stable.

    Uninterested in all this grown-up posturing, Daniel twisted against his father's side, found the grip loose enough to allow change, did, and began to bark. His father put him down just as the screen door opened and Cloud and Storm came in.

    For the next few moments, the two older wer allowed themselves to be attacked by their younger cousin, the fight accompanied by much growling and snapping and feigned - at least Vicki assumed they were feigned - yelps of pain. As none of the other adults seemed worried about the battle, Vicki took the time to actually look at her surroundings.

    The kitchen furniture was heavy and old and a little shabby from years of use. The wooden table could seat eight easily and twelve without much crowding. Although the chairs had chew marks up each leg they - to judge by the one under Vicki - had been made to endure and still had all four feet planted firmly on the worn linoleum. The lounge that the twins were perched on, tucked under the window by the back door, had probably been bought in the fifties and hadn't been moved from that corner since. The refrigerator looked new, as did the electric stove. In fact, the electric stove looked so new, Vicki suspected it was seldom used.
    The old woodstove in the far corner would likely be not only a source of winter heat but their main cooking facility. If they cooked. She hadn't thought to ask Henry what the wer ate or if she'd be expected to join in. A sudden vision of a bleeding hunk of meat with a side of steaming entrails as tomorrow's breakfast made her stomach lurch. The north wall was lined with cupboards and the south with doors, leading, Vicki assumed, to the rest of the house.

    To her city bred nose, the kitchen quite frankly swelled. It smelled of old woodsmoke, of sheep shit - and quite probably sheep, too, if she had any idea of what