Wolfsbane and Mistletoe (Charlaine Harris) (Kitty Norville 2.50)

"You'll be meat," he said, bitterly.

As Damian peeled furiously away from his lunatic boss, he thought, And I'll be blamed.

Ingrid waited in the tall grass, watching the headlights vanish.

That will keep him busy.

Quickly, because the dogs had never before faced a predator as wicked and vindictive as the one they would face tonight, she shed her clothes, including her socks and shoes. Without even pausing to fold them neatly as she usually did, she stuffed them into the knapsack she always kept with her. Tossed in her cell phone. Zipped the bag. Slung it onto her back. Dug a long hole in the dirt with her bare hands and buried the gun there. Sniffed the air, listened to it, tasted it, and then started running. By the time she had gone ten steps, she was racing on all fours, her feet and hands protected by the thick pads that had grown there, her breasts drawn back into her chest, her long red hair turned to thick white fur that streamed behind her as she sped through the night. She had been born a werewolf. Her parents had put her out in the mountains to die. Instead, while she was still fur-covered and smelling of canine, a family of wild dogs had sniffed around her, nudged her up, taken her along with them, nursed her, raised her, even through the transformations, which came unpredictably and frighteningly until she learned conscious control of them.

When she was a child, she had longed to be only wolf.

Now that she was an adult, she still wished her life could be that simple.

Every few kilometers, Ingrid howled, sounding frantic to her own acute hearing, praying there would be no answer.

Finally, off in the distance, a chorus howled back at her.

Oh, my God! I was right! Dammit, dammit!

The dogs were returning to where they had so successfully killed the strange beasts the previous year. They were so smart! Their group brain knew it would be tonight. Knew where to go back to. They must be excited, anticipating another glorious kill unlike any kills they had ever made before, except for last Christmas Eve.

A second kill would never be allowed.

She had to arrive before they did. Their lives depended on it.

I'm coming, I'm coming, my dear ones!

"We thought you meant bodyguard you!" Pasha protested.

They had glided to an astonishingly silent and smooth stop on the empty, dusty street of an African village. Once out of the sleigh and on the ground, Nicholas turned with a merry wink and said, "If you let anything happen to any of these reindeer, I will dress you in suits of silver crosses, set you on fire, and dump your ashes in a holy water pool. "

"You want us to guard the reindeer?" Serge said, dumbfounded.

He was also nauseous, having discovered that moving at supersonic speeds didn't sit well with a stomach full of "Blood, Yugoslavia, Christmas, 1242. " Either it hadn't been properly stored, or else it hadn't been a very good year.

Nick laughed at the looks of outraged pride on their faces.

"Fancy yourself too good for this job, eh?"

When neither dared give him a truthful answer - Yes! Duh! - he leaned close enough for them to learn that yellowed teeth didn't smell good. "Any one of my reindeer is worth a thousand of your sorry dead carcasses. " Then, laying a finger upside of his nose again, he pushed into the front door of the first hut, and said over his shoulder, "Watch out for the wild dogs. They'll disembowel you faster than my sled can fly. " And with that he was gone . . . only to pop his head back out again. "You do see the problem, don't you? These huts don't have what you could call a proper roof, so I can't land up there. I have to park in the street. Which leaves my reindeer vulnerable to attack. That's why you're here. It's the only reason you're here. It's the only reason you're still alive. Protect them. " He didn't mention they were there to be convenient scapegoats if killing the dogs got any werewolves riled up. "I had nothing to do with it!" he could claim. "It was those damned heartless young ones. "

Then he was gone into the hut again.

"Why do I ever listen to you?" Serge wailed.

"Shyut up. At least it's warmer here. "

They took up positions at either end of the sleigh with its huge harnessed animals: Serge took the Rudolph end, because the red nose gave off a rosy glow that he could read by - he was on War and Peace, in the original Russian, for the eighth time. Pasha hopped up to sit on the back of the sleigh while they waited for Nick to pop in and out of the huts that had put refreshments out for him.

Rudolph heard it first: the howling.

The big beast's ears perked up.

His red nose quivered. He snorted. He stamped the ground. Behind him, the other reindeer moved restlessly in their bridles and harnesses.

Serge stepped back and called quietly to his cousin, "What in the name of all that's holy was that?"

She was triangulating: her howl, their howls and barking, and the village where she knew it was all converging. If she hadn't been so frightened for them, she'd have been excited beyond words. Beyond words. That had been her life with them. Feeling loved, taken care of, taught, trained, encouraged, protected . . . and then nudged out on her own. She had to leave, because she was a female. In a wild dog family, only the dominant pair mated - the Alpha male and Alpha female - so the other females had to go off in search of their own new band, which would be made up of brothers who had broken away from a different parent pack.