Book 1 - Page 13 (1/2)

”How did you find out so much about werewolves?”

I opened my mouth to give him the short version, but decided the whole story might better serve to distract him from the dead body.

”My mother was a rodeo groupie,” I began, sitting down beside him. ”She liked cowboys, any cowboy. She liked a Blackfoot bull-rider named Joe Old Coyote from Browning, Montana, enough to get pregnant with me. She told me that he claimed to come from a long line of medicine men, but at the time she thought he was just trying to impress her. He died in a car accident three days after she met him.”

”She was seventeen, and her parents tried to talk her into an abortion, but she would have none of it. Then they tried to get her to put me up for adoption, but she was determined to raise me herself-until I was three months old, and she found a coyote pup in my crib.”

”What did she do?”

”She tried to find my father's family,” I told him. ”She went to Browning and found several families there with that last name, but they claimed they'd never heard of Joe. He was certainly Native American.” I made a gesture to encompa.s.s my appearance. I don't look pureblood; my features are too Anglo. But my skin looks tanned even in November, and my straight hair is as dark as my eyes. ”But otherwise I don't know much about him.”

”Old Coyote,” said Mac speculatively.

I smiled at him. ”Makes you think this s.h.i.+fting thing must have run in the family, doesn't it?”

”So how was it that you were raised by werewolves?”

”My great-grandfather's uncle was a werewolf,” I said. ”It was supposed to be a family secret, but it's hard to keep secrets from my mother. She just smiles at people, and they tell her their life stories. Anyway, she found his phone number and called him.”

”Wow,” said Mac. ”I never met any of my great-grandparents.”

”Me either,” I said, then smiled. ”Just an uncle of theirs who was a werewolf. One of the benefits of being a werewolf is a long life.” If you can control the wolf-but Adam could explain that part better than me.

His gaze was drawn back to our dead friend.

”Yes, well.” I sighed. ”Stupidity will still get you killed. My great-grandfather's uncle was smart enough to outlive his generation, but all those years didn't keep him from getting gutted by a moose he was out hunting one night.”

”Anyway,” I continued, ”he came to visit and knew as soon as he saw me what I was. That was before the fae came out and people were still trying to pretend that science had ruled out the possibility of magic. He convinced my mother that I'd be safer out in the hinterlands of Montana being raised by the Marrok's pack-they have their own town in the mountains where strangers seldom bother them. I was fostered with a family there who didn't have any children.”