Out of the corner of her eye Tora could see Argus still holding the silver-gray wolf by the throat, not wanting to kill it, but not wanting to let it go, either.

Just then another wolf entered the clearing.

Harlan bounded through the air and skidded to a stop at Tora’s side, hunkered down on all fours and ready for a fight. He snapped and snarled with a confidence and intensity Tora hadn’t seen before. She had to admit that even she felt intimidated by his show of ferocity and fury.

The three wolves slowly backed off, taking a few tentative steps backward and pulling themselves out of the fight.

When they were finally a safe distance away, Tora turned her attention to Argus, who was still holding the fallen wolf by the throat.

The fight was over.

She nudged at Argus’s side with her snout, gently at first, but then with more force when it appeared that Argus wasn’t about to let go.

Finally, Argus opened his maw and released his hold on the silver-gray. There was blood streaming from the fallen wolf’s throat, and if the myths about werewolves were true, if this wolf survived the fight, he too would be a lycanthrope one day.

A werewolf like them.

Their brother.

The silver-gray rolled onto its feet. At first it didn’t want to leave, but Argus snarled at it and feigned another attack. That was enough to get it moving.

It stepped slowly at first, torn muscles and an injured leg giving it a dramatic limp. The animal was weak and wouldn’t travel far before stopping to lick its wounds. And if it lived, it would come back bigger, stronger, and meaner than ever.

But that was a concern for another day. Right now, the pack had a little girl who needed their help.

Tora went to her side and saw that Angelina was in pretty bad shape. There was a deep gash on her forehead and blood was running down her face, soaking the inside of her snowsuit. The scent of her blood was strong, and that was probably what had made the silver-gray wolf put up such a fight. Her eyes fluttered open and closed as she drifted in and out of consciousness. On top of that, her lips and face were turning blue, and her body trembled from the cold. But despite it all, she was still alive.

Then Tora turned to Argus, who was lying on the forest floor, the fur around his shoulders matted with blood and his chest still heaving as he fought to catch his breath.

“You’re hurt,” she said.

Argus managed enough of a shape change to speak. “Just a flesh wound,” he said, with a smile that was twisted by a wince of pain.