The first thing I did was call the hospital. No, I didn't call the local hospital on some premonition that they might have Clay or know where he was. I called St. Michael's Hospital in Toronto. I hadn't forgotten that I'd left Philip bleeding on the floor of our apartment. I'll admit I might not have spent as much time dwelling on it as I should have, but I knew his injuries weren't life threatening, at least not after I'd stopped the bleeding and called for help, and Clay's situation was far more dire, so I think I can be excused if my attentions weren't evenly divided between the two. Philip wasn't at St. Mike's. The emergency room had been closed to new arrivals last Tuesday afternoon, not an uncommon occurrence after years of health care budget cuts. Philip had been taken to Toronto East General and was still there. I spoke to the nurse on his floor, introducing myself as his sister, and learned that he'd suffered some internal injuries and had required surgery, but he was recovering and was expected to leave on Monday, which meant he'd actually be feeling better by next Wednesday or Thursday-budget cuts again. She offered to put me through to his room to speak to him, but I declined, claiming I didn't want to disturb his rest. The truth was I was too much of a coward to speak to him. Even if he forgave me for abandoning him, there was the small matter of having watched me Change into a wolf. I settled for sending him flowers with a note saying I'd see him soon, and hoped that didn't scare him back into intensive care.

The next thing I did was call the local real estate office. No, not because I was planning to move out and needed a place to stay. Tempting idea, but I knew I wouldn't get far. If Jeremy had tracked me to a field in upstate New York-and he still wouldn't tell me how he'd accomplished that-then he could certainly find me living in Bear Valley, either before or after the mutts found me. Either way, I wasn't suicidal. I called the real estate office to check for homes rented or purchased in the past couple of weeks, particularly houses in the rural area. Only three homes had been sold in the Bear Valley district recently. Two were bought by young families and the third by a retirement-age couple. There were more rentals, but all to longtime Bear Valley residents.

When the house idea didn't pan out, I looked for a possible cottage rental. The bad news was that we lived in cottage country. The good news was that it was still early in the season and the Bear Valley area itself wasn't prime cottage land, having too many trees and too few lakes and waterways. I called the Bear Valley Cottage Association. With a little ingenuity, a lot of lying, and even more politeness-Jeremy had taught me well-I discovered that only four local cottages were being rented, three to honeymooning couples and the fourth to a bunch of middle-aged men from New York who came up every May for some kind of male-bonding-in-the-wilderness therapeutic retreat. Another dead end. I'd have to try another tack. I just wasn't sure yet what that might be.

***

Purposeful action made the hours fly past, leaving little time to brood over Clay's situation. By evening though, I was left alone with my thoughts. I was tending the fire in the study. It didn't need tending. It didn't even need to be lit, the temperature outside still hovering in the mid-seventies. But there was comfort sitting on the hearth, poking at the logs and watching the fire dance and spark. Unnecessary action was better than no action. Besides, staring at the flames had a mesmerizing effect, giving me something to concentrate on other than the thoughts and fears that kept slipping past the mental barriers I'd carefully erected in the past twenty-four hours.

I wasn't alone in the study. Nick was there, half dozing on the couch. Every so often he'd open his eyes and say something. We'd talk for a few minutes, then the conversation would begin moving dangerously close to Clay and we'd both fall silent. As the clock on the mantel chimed midnight, Nick woke again. He tilted his head backward over the arm of the sofa and looked at the window.

"Full moon coming," he said. "Two, three days?"

"Two."

"I'll need to run. How about you?"

I managed a small smile. "You know perfectly well that I don't need to run, since I did more than enough of that three days ago. What you really want to know is: will I run with you and save you from the horrifying prospect of having to run alone."

"I don't know how you did it in Toronto all those months," he said with a shudder. "I had to do it a couple times last winter. Tonio took off on business and Logan was wrapped up in some court case and Clay-Anyway, I had to Change by myself."

"Poor baby."

"It was awful. It was, like, walk out to the woods, Change, stand there until enough time passed, Change back. It was about as much fun as taking a shit."

"Nice analogy."

"I'm serious. Come on, Elena. Admit it. That's what it's like if you're by yourself. I remember when I was a kid, before my first Change, and Clay used to-"

He stopped. This time, he didn't pick up again. Silence fell and I turned back toward the fire, poking it and watching the sparks cascade from the logs. The door opened. I heard Jeremy come in, but didn't turn around. A moment later, the sofa springs groaned as Nick got up. He walked across the room and the door closed again. Jeremy sat beside me on the hearth. His hand touched the back of my head, hesitated, then stroked my hair.

"I know how difficult this is for you, Elena. I know how scared you are, how afraid you are of losing him."

"It's not that. I mean, of course I'm afraid of losing him. But if you think it's because I've suddenly realized how much I love him and that if-when we get him back, I'll come home and everything will be fine, then you're wrong. I'm sorry. I know you want that, that it would be easier for you and everyone else, but it's not going to happen. Yes, I care about him. Very much. And yes, I want him back. I want him back for you and for Nick and for the Pack. I'm upset because I hold myself responsible."

Jeremy said nothing.

I looked over my shoulder at him. "So you hold me responsible, too?"

"No, not at all. I didn't answer because I thought it best to hold my tongue about the rest. If you think that's why you're upset-"

"It is."

He was quiet for a moment, then reached over to rub my back, fingers moving to the tight ball between my shoulders. "Whatever the reason for your worry, I don't hold you responsible for what happened. We've been through this before. I should have sent you two someplace else. I thought I was being clever, but I didn't even realize something happened until I tried contacting Clay that night-"