I rushed at him before he noticed Clay. He wheeled, fists going up. I danced back. He swiped a fresh gush of blood from his lip and smiled. I was spoiling for a fight, but I was afraid-an irresistible combination. He turned his back square on Clay. I took one boxer's two-step forward, then back, going a little farther back than for ward, as if inching away while trying to convince myself I was ready to take him on.

Finally Clay reached the point where Tesler smelled him. His nose jerked up and he spun so fast he almost lost his balance. Then he tore off south… just as the train started to pass-a solid wall of slow-moving cars blocking his escape route.

He turned almost full circle and realized he was trapped. I braced myself for him to charge the weakest obstacle-me-and he started to, then he feinted to the side and ran full out toward the train.

"Fuck no," Clay growled under his breath.

"Fuck yes," I said as Tesler grabbed a ladder between cars.

We followed. It always looks so easy in the movies. But even with a slow-moving train and werewolf agility and strength, getting on that ladder was a feat… particularly with a 250-pound mutt at the top of it, determined to keep you from catching his ride.

Clay was almost to the top when Tesler's foot shot out, aiming for his jaw. Clay grabbed him by the ankle and wrenched. Tesler went down, scrabbling and kicking to keep from being pulled over the edge, holding on with every ounce of strength in his overpumped arms. Meanwhile, I was hanging from the bottom rung, trying to keep my back from scraping along the tracks.

Tesler scrambled out of Clay's reach, got to his feet and took off across the tops of the cars. We gave chase.

At any moment, I expected the train to grind to a halt, throwing us through the air as someone spotted us and sounded the alarm. But it kept chugging along, picking up speed as we raced over the cars, bent forward, the metal vibrating under our feet, train rocking from side to side, every freezing-rain-filled dent enough to send us skating, the stink of diesel filling our nostrils, the whine and grind of metal setting our teeth on edge, drowning out every word Clay called back to me. Well, not every word… just the ones like "stay there" and "keep back" and "wait."

And of course every car had to end… in a fifteen-foot drop over ground whizzing past fast enough to make my stomach lurch. That leap between shaking cars set my stomach plummeting every time, no matter how much clearance I had. My first foot would land and it always slid a little, just enough to rip an "oh shit" from my lips before I found my balance.

Finally Tesler reached a flatcar loaded with timber, took one look and decided that jumping onto those logs was one feat he didn't care to attempt.

He feinted left, then right, then took a running leap toward the side of the car. Clay did the same, and leapt off… as Tesler checked himself at the last moment and stayed on board. With me.

He turned to face me, that ugly smile twisting his lips-then disappearing as it met my fist. It took him a second to recover from the shock, not of the hit, but of finding me standing my ground when surely I should be running as fast as I could. I hit him again, knocking him over. Predictably, he tried to grab my legs and bring me down with him. I stomped his hand hard enough to make him howl.

As he scrambled up, I kicked. He instinctively closed his legs, but I wasn't aiming there. When it works, it works, but if that move was as reliable as it looked in the movies, no man would ever get the best of a woman in a fight.

As he concentrated on protecting his valuables, he hunched over, his jaw coming into perfect alignment with my foot. I kicked him, and he fell back hard enough to make the roof twang.

I grabbed his shirtfront and hauled him up. Clay was back on board now four cars away, making his way toward us. He motioned for me to hold the mutt and wait for him. I pretended not to notice and dragged Tesler to the front of the car.

I held him over the edge, getting a good long look at his face, drinking in his fear as he realized he was about to drop head-first under a running train-

Tesler bucked. I braced, steadying myself, but when he rocked again, his bulk was too much and I lost my balance. He grabbed me and, for a second, I was the one looking down at the train tracks rushing below, hearing Clay's bellow, his pounding feet. Then I twisted and kicked, and we rolled onto the roof of the car.

Tesler caught me and tried to toss me over the side, but I grabbed his wrist and flipped him over my shoulder. He managed to snag my leg at the last second, and dragged me over the edge as he fell. My fingers grazed the steel edge, found a hold and clung on. One solid back kick with my free leg struck Tesler square in the jaw and he let go, hitting the ground and rolling away from the train.

"Hold on," Clay shouted into the wind as he made his way toward me.

"That's what I'm trying to do!" I called back.

And trying was the operative word. I was barely clinging by my fingertips, legs knocking against the side of the train as it chugged along. I glanced back at Tesler, now up and running, and flexed my fingers.

"Don't you dare," Clay said, grabbing my wrists before I could drop and go after Tesler.

He was right, of course. Given the angle I was hanging at, letting go would run me a good chance of falling right under the train. That didn't keep me from watching with regret while Tesler disappeared into the distance as Clay hauled me onto the car.

"We have to go after-" I began, heading for the ladder.

Clay caught me and pulled me down into a crouching position to keep my balance. "Take a second."

"I don't need-"

"Yes, you do, and he's already too far away. Whether we leave now or in two minutes, his trail will still be there."

As I looked out over the now empty field, shame licked through me. How long had it been since I had done something so stupid? I always appreciated that Clay never tried to fight my battles, never interfered unless I was in serious danger. So when he'd warned me to stand down, I should have known he had good reason.

When I apologized for the bone-headed move, he said, "Circumstances." Nothing more, but it was all that needed to be said.

It had been the circumstances-Tesler plus that damned letter, coming too close together, those old fears resurrected. An explanation, but not an excuse. If I was going to be Alpha, I couldn't have weak spots. I had to overcome my ego and my fear and my rage, and trust my bodyguard.

I stayed on the train only long enough to catch my breath, then we climbed down, backtracked, found and followed Tester's trail. A real warrior would have laid in wait and ambushed us. Tesler ran straight for a wide stream that, judging by the signs, was a popular fishing spot, and waded through the icy water to hide his trail.