Nathan hitched his good foot underneath a branch for a more secure seating, and swung his crossbow off his back. He didn’t even have time to switch the silver bolts for steel when the stranger slowed down their horse, searching the ground underneath the tree. As if he’d camp there, while there might be werewolves around.

“Oi!” Nathan yelled, as the rider made to climb out of the saddle. “Stay right there! What do you want?”

It was a woman, or possibly a girl. She was very short—petite was probably the better word—and had clearly been in a hurry. The headscarf that had covered her flax-blond hair was sliding away, and while she wore a travelling cloak, the clothes underneath were a little too fine for a longer journey. The only protection she wore was a large silver amulet that hung on a string onto her bodice. No weapons that he could spot. The horse was wet with sweat. She must have galloped all this way from the village, and the hack certainly was no race horse.

“It’s quite late to go for a walk,” Nathan prompted again, when the woman just looked around in confusion.

Finally, she seemed to spot him. She said something he didn’t catch, had to clear her throat, and finally called: “I—I heard something about an investigator. That’s coming to the village. Is that true?”

“The owners of the sawmill were murdered, weren’t they?” Nathan called back. “What did you think would happen?”

“The old woman was a werewolf, too!”

Rosie hadn’t mentioned that. “Since when?” Nathan asked.

“Ages! Everyone knew it. It wasn’t a problem, you see, until…”

Ages, great.

“So your village not only murdered an old man, but also killed an elder werewolf, who might have been the only reason this whole area hasn’t been taken by the Rot. Congratulations, I guess! What do you want from me?”

The woman raised her hands. She really didn’t seem to be armed. Either she was very brave, that amulet was truly excellent, or she was very stupid.

“You’re from Deva, right? From the palace? Can we talk, Sir? Please? I know about the other werewolves in the area! I think I’ve seen the one you’re after!”

Nathan bit his lips. Clearly, that was a desperate plea. The woman had probably been involved in the attack on Rosie’s grandparents, or she was close to someone who had been. Even if she did know something, could her word be trusted? It wasn’t like Nathan could offer her anything in return. The last thing he wanted was to try and influence an official investigation. Not while David was under so much scrutiny.

On the other hand, he was curious to hear more. If the whole village had known there was a werewolf, why had Rosie suddenly been a problem?

“All right,” he said. “But slowly. Hands where I can see them.”

He waited till she was out of the saddle and walking towards his tree, before he lowered himself down to the lowest branch, cursing softly to himself. The socket of his wooden foot ached after all the moving and walking he had done today—all week, really. He let it hang off the branch. That took the weight off a bit. He loosened the leather straps that attached it to his body, too, then had to stop himself from dangling it—the foot might fall off.

“I’m unarmed,” the woman assured him, when she saw Nathan leaning his head against the trunk, still holding onto his crossbow. She was a woman, after all, though very short. Not quite as young as he had thought from a distance. About Andrew’s age, he reckoned. Not a bad face, either. Nice curves.

“So you say.” Nathan called back. Somehow, something about her made him uneasy.

Sore snorted as the stranger crossed the last few yards to the tree, hands still raised.

“But you won’t come down, Sir?”

“Don’t see what for. I don’t know you. There’s a rumour that a werewolf is going around killing people in the area, don’t know if you’ve heard. And people are going around killing werewolves, apparently. I’d rather not get caught in the crossfire.”

The woman stared up at him. Her eyes were light and human-shaped, her hair that poked out from underneath a finely embroidered scarf was an even colour. The cloak was good quality, and so were the rest of her clothes. No hint that she wasn’t fully human.

“I can prove I’m no werewolf,” the woman offered, voice soft. “Would that help?”

“Some,” Nathan said. He found a more stable position, freeing up his hands, just in case. The whole situation was making the hairs on his arms stand on end.

The stranger reached into a pocket and produced a coin. She pressed it against her hand for a few seconds, then even put it into her mouth, glancing up at him.

“Does that suffice?” she asked.

Nathan nodded slowly. His instincts still screamed at him that she was dangerous. Was he going mad? Paranoid? Greg would never ever put a piece of silver anywhere near his mouth.

But he still had goosebumps and his heart raced in his chest.

Why would a woman even be here? To ask for leniency for her family? She could’ve done that tomorrow.

Except that scared people didn’t always think straight.

Do you want to gamble your life on this? The branch suddenly didn’t look all that high anymore. And how high could a werewolf jump from standing still?

The crossbow shifted in his grip. If he was wrong, he was about to shoot an innocent, unarmed woman for paranoia alone. He needed to be sure about this.

If he was right, she was here to murder him.

“Please?” she asked, when he didn’t say anything. “Will you just listen?”

There was a tremble in her voice, and he saw wetness glisten on her cheek. The tears looked real enough? It couldn’t hurt to listen, right?

But would he be thinking that if her face wasn’t as sweet? If she were old and ugly, or a man?

Would it even be possible to fake a silver coin? Or an amulet like that? And where might she have gotten the clothes? They were nice clothes. High quality wool and linen. A rich farmer’s daughter might wear clothes like these, not a werewolf coming in from the forest.

Very nice clothing. And the jewellery.

“That’s a nice amulet you’ve got there,” Nathan said. He got a perfectly blank look in return.

“Thank you? It was my mother’s.”

She looked down at it, playing with the string, but not touching the metal. Fine then.

Let’s try something more direct.

“Sir, if there’s anything I can do to allay your suspicions…”

“As a matter of fact,” Nathan replied, “there is.”

He eased a silver bolt out of his quiver. “Catch!”

She looked at him in surprise, holding out her hands, until Nathan actually dropped the bolt. It landed right in front of her feet, and she made no attempt to pick it up.

“I—would rather not cut myself,” she said.

“Of course not. Perhaps just the shaft?”

They stared at each other, Nathan grinning madly in relief. His instincts weren’t failing him after all. He wasn’t just paranoid.

Her lower lip quivered, her eyes wide.

And then, abruptly, she dropped the act. Her shoulders straightened, her eyes narrowed, her lips formed an annoyed line. As she did, the magic flared, sending a shudder down his spine.

“All right,” she said. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t know until you refused to touch the silver.”

“But you suspected. How?”

Nathan shrugged. “Sun’s setting in an hour, you’re a woman, alone, unarmed? In an area where werewolves are known to roam? Moreover, you’ve been a werewolf for years, haven’t you?”

He hadn’t known what it was that had set him off until the magic had flared. Sore pulled at the string, trying to get away from her.

“You’ve got the aura, or whatever it is. It’s still pretty weak, but you can’t really hide it, either, can you? Say, Rosie’s grandmother, was she really a werewolf?”

“Yes. It was an open secret.” She smirked, and then her voice rose in pitch. “Everybody knew, but we’d never would have thought… Biting her own granddaughter, how terrible!”

“Right.” Nathan stretched the word. He had thought the villagers had killed the two old people over Rosie. But the whole situation made a lot more sense now. “Did granny bite you,” he asked, “or was she just a convenient scapegoat?”

“Bite me? That old coward? No. Don’t think she ever bit anyone. Had it all figured out, the old hag. Ran me out of the village when I liked the taste of blood not only on full moon.”

“How terribly unfair of her. So you set the village on her and her husband?”

“Why else do you think the men went and killed them?” She tilted her head. “Oh! You thought it was about the girl, didn’t you?”

“Rosie thought it was about her,” Nathan shrugged. “And she never brought up that her grandmother wasn’t human, so yes. I figured the mob was after Rosie.”

She grinned at him. “Not at all. The pig botherers went and killed her because I said so. And then you went, just as I had hoped. Did you like your friends’ bodies? They talked about you, all the time. Feleke this, Feleke that. A real professional, if not as good or famous as your brother. It was as if they wanted me to come after you. Not as famous as your brother, of course. But don’t worry, I’ll visit him, too.”

“Aren’t you a little overconfident?” Nathan asked.

“Don’t you need a crown warrant to shoot me?”

She said that so earnestly, Nathan couldn’t help but laugh. Which was apparently what she had been aiming for: She used that moment of distraction to duck around the tree, transforming as she went, much faster than Greg ever could. Nathan swung the crossbow around, but before he could shift his position enough to aim, she was jumping, flying through the air—not quite high enough to reach the branch, but high enough to snap her teeth shut around Nathan’s foot that was still dangling down.

His wooden foot.

Even on her wolf-face, Nathan recognized the surprise when he shifted his weight just in time. The straps he had loosened just a few minutes ago slipped over his knee as soon as she pulled. She dropped back to the ground with nothing to show for her effort but a piece of wood wrapped in a leather boot.

Before she could get over the surprise, Nathan took aim. The first bolt hit her in the neck, the second in the back. As the blood welled up, she tried to run. Nathan smiled grimly to himself. He had rearmed his crossbow before she even reached the road. The third silver arrow made her hind leg crumble under her, and as she swerved and stumbled, he landed the last shot between her ribs.

He watched her crawl away, over the road and into the ditch on the other side. She didn’t come out again.

“Pity for the pelt,” he muttered to himself, before he remembered that he couldn’t sell it anyways.

Then he let his head fall back against the trunk. All his belongings hung a couple of branches above his head. That included the rope. Which he needed, to tie himself to the tree, so he wouldn’t break his neck if he fell asleep.

And sun, he was suddenly tired.

Cussing, he struggled up the tree again.

“Should have brought beer,” he muttered. Instead, he emptied a glass of excellent apple preserve, then secured his position and closed his eyes with every intention of getting a nice, long night of sleep. Possibly sleeping in. He had earned it, he thought.