Blood Trail

territorial imperative."

    "It isn't that easy to overcome a .30 caliber slug either."

    "What the hell are you two talking about?" Celluci took a step forward. "What the hell is going on around here?"

    "Later, Mike. I think he's going to need a hospital."

    "I think you're right. Cloud!"

    To Celluci's astonishment, the big white dog galloped out of the room. "What's it going to do?
    Call 911?"

    "Yes," Vicki snapped, pushing at her glasses with the back of a bloody hand.

    Henry started across the kitchen. Someone was going to have to take care of Michael Celluci and, as much as he might wish otherwise, it looked like it was going to have to be him. No need for concern, Detective, it's just werewolves. Coercion would be safer than explanation; get him outside and twist his mind until he no longer knew exactly what he'd seen.

    Unfortunately, by the time Henry had covered the four meters to Celluci, the situation had changed again.

    Stuart, who had seen a stranger's car parked at the end of the lane, had grabbed a pair of shorts from the barn and changed before coming to the house. A voice and a pair of hands could often make a difference in an unplanned confrontation, but now he wished he'd stayed with tooth and claw. A member of his pack was down and the blood scent drew his lips back from his teeth.

    "What's going on?" he growled.

    "Donald got hit. Vicki thinks it was a ricochet. There's an ambulance coming." Nadine shot the words out without looking up.

    "He changed?"

    "As he went out."

    Stuart turned to face the stranger, hackles rising, ears tight against his head. "And this one saw?"

    "Yeah, this one saw." Celluci's jaw jutted out at a dangerous angle. "And I want some explanations of what I saw and I want them now."

    "Don't push, Detective." Henry could see that Stuart was close to the edge and was facing Celluci's aggression the way he'd face a challenge from a dominant male of his own kind.

    "Stay out of this, Fitzroy!" His fingers curled into fists, Celluci locked eyes with the man in the doorway. He'd taken as much abuse as he was going to. Dogs did not change into men. "I want answers now."

    The growl was a warning and something deep in Celluci's hindbrain recognized it as such. He didn't listen. "Well? I'm waiting!" He didn't have to wait long. His tottering world view fell and shattered as thumbs were shoved behind shorts, shorts hit the floor, and a great black beast that seemed mostly teeth leapt suddenly for his throat. Then something pushed him back and Henry and the beast were on the floor.

    Henry had thrown his good shoulder under the charge and managed to force Stuart's fur-form down. With only one arm, however, he couldn't keep him there without injuring him. At least his anger's been redirected. .

    Celluci knew a man couldn't possibly move as fast as Henry Fitzroy was moving. The beast lunged and Fitzroy was somewhere else. Instantly. Or as near as made no difference. Again.
    And again. And again. With barely a heartbeat between. And through it all came the deep-throated growl of an enraged animal, building to a savage crescendo with each attack.

    A deadly little dance, Henry realized as teeth snapped closed on the air beside his hip. Even with one bad arm he knew he could force the wer to submit - he was stronger and faster, but then what? Defeat the dominant male and rule the pack. No thank you, he thought as they scrabbled through another movement. But he could feel himself responding to the scents and the sounds and the anger and wondered how much longer he'd be able to maintain control.
    There has to be a way to break through. ...

    Suddenly, it was no longer his problem.

    With Donald still on the floor, the red wer attacking had to be Storm. Henry backed quickly out of the way while the two rolled snarling and snapping then sprang apart, circled, and charged together again.

    Enough! Celluci dropped to one knee and pulled his gun from his ankle holster. He wasn't thinking exactly clearly, he had no real idea of what he was going to shoot - This is someone's kitchen for Chrissakes! - but he felt more in control with the weight of the weapon in his hand.
    Then Storm yelped and threw himself down on his back, all four feet in the air and the edge of one ear split. Long white teeth closed around his throat.

    Celluci raised the gun.

    A high-pitched, piercing howl cut through the chaos and everyone froze, looking like they'd been playing a demented game of statues. Then, in