The ranger hung up.

“Is it Argus?” Phyllis asked, her fisted hands tucked carefully beneath her chin.

“Probably,” answered the ranger. Then, “Maybe.” And finally, “I don’t know.”

Phyllis rushed to the ranger’s side and put her arms around him. Then she started to cry.

At that point, the back door opened.

Argus stood in the doorway, drenched in sweat.

Everyone stared at him.

“What?” Argus asked.

“Where on earth have you been?” the ranger said, his voice strangely loud.

“I, uh, I just went out for, uh—”

“Ranger Brock!” Harlan interrupted. “I think you should come and see this.”

The ranger glared at Argus. Finally he went to where Harlan was standing. “What is it?” he said.

“Look,” Harlan answered, pointing into the backyard.

Phyllis and the rest of the pack went to the window that overlooked the yard. “Oh, no,” she said.

Noble and the others just stared. No one said a word.

Illuminated by the porch light, in the middle of the yard stood a huge silver-gray werewolf. There was no mistaking its coloration. This had to be the alpha male Argus had fought in the clearing to save Angelina Abruzzo, only now it was in its full werewolf form.

Seven feet of tangled fur and rippling muscle, arms like tree branches, legs like stumps. It stood erect and proud, its mouth open. Its face had a strange expression of anger and sorrow. And its eyes…its eyes looked wet and glassy, as if the animal were trying to shed a tear, but couldn’t.

All of this, because of the wolf in its arms.

Blood was dripping from its leg, where buckshot had torn into its hindquarter. The animal’s head was lolling left and right, and its eyes were open, blank, and lifeless.

Harlan was the first to speak. “What does it want?”

“It wants our help,” the ranger said, rushing to get a bunch of clean towels from a kitchen drawer.

“But how did it know to come here?”

“Maybe it knows I’m a forest ranger, or that you four live here.” He cut two of the dish towels with a pair of scissors and tore them into strips, then headed toward the back door. “The important thing is, it’s here now and it needs our help to save that wolf.”

The ranger stood for a moment in the doorway.

The werewolf’s body tensed in a fight or flight response.

“It’s okay,” the ranger said. “I can help.”

Slowly, the werewolf relaxed a little, but it remained where it was, holding the dying wolf close to its chest.

“But I can’t do anything unless you trust me,” the ranger said, still in the doorway.

Noble looked past the ranger, over to the werewolf in the yard. There was no sign that the silver-gray beast understood what the ranger was saying, but it did seem to be responding to his tone of voice.