“It’s me,” Harlan said, trying to sound as much like a fellow logger as he could. “I couldn’t sleep. But I’ve got a bottle of Canadian Club that’ll fix that. Want some?”

The guard gave an exaggerated nod. “A sip of whiskey would go down real nice right about now,” he said under his breath. “Maybe even two sips.”

Harlan changed back into a wolf and darted away from the site and into the woods. The guard was slow to rise to his feet, and wasted even more time stretching his legs, but eventually he began walking in Harlan’s direction. “Where you goin’?” he said.

Harlan stopped in his tracks. The question was a fair one and required an answer…and soon. He quickly changed his shape to allow himself speech, then whispered hoarsely, “I don’t want the boss man to see us.”

“Good thinking,” the guard said cheerfully. Harlan could almost hear the man’s smile.

Harlan lead the guard into the woods east of the site, but it wasn’t long before the man became suspicious.

“Hey, where are you?” he asked. “I can’t go too far from camp. I’m still on duty.”

Harlan closed the distance between them and growled, low and menacingly, as if he were ready to tear the man’s body apart.

“That’s not funny,” he said, a slash of fear in his voice.

Harlan growled again.

The guard leveled his shotgun at waist height and began to twist his body left and right. “I’ll shoot if I have to,” he said. “I swear I will.”

Harlan had no doubt the man would pull the trigger. Whether or not he’d hit anything was another matter entirely. But even if he did manage to catch Harlan with a blast, as long as the buckshot in the gun wasn’t made of silver—which was highly unlikely, since all commercially produced shot is made of lead—the gun could hurt Harlan, but not kill him. Still, gunshots were painful and best avoided if possible. He moved around so that he was between the logger and the campsite, and snarled.

The man ran deeper into the woods, doing his best to weave between the trees and over fallen logs. It was only a matter of time before he stumbled or ran into something he didn’t see.

About fifteen seconds to be precise.

A branch jutted out from a spruce at neck height. The logger slammed into it at full speed, his head snapped back, his feet flew out in front of him, and he landed flat on his back. The back of his head absorbed most of the impact. He was out cold.

Harlan smiled as best as his wolfen form would allow. He hadn’t planned on this turn of events, but it would certainly do.

* * *