"N-nothing." She looked ready to burst into tears again.

"Druse has to know for her own safety. I want Grandmother to take the three of you and lock you all up with her in the tower room when and if Stefan arrives. I'll confront him alone."

"No!" Samara cried. "I insist on being there when you and Stefan meet. It's my right. Besides, I'm the only one he ever listens to."

"He'll listen to me, all right." Wolf's tone was grim. "Who'll listen to you?" Grandmother asked as she came into the kitchen. She crossed to Wolf and hugged him. "It's good to have you home. We need you here."

Grandmother Liisi had never been demonstrative and Wolf was touched by her warm embrace. "I'm sorry to burden you with Hawk," he said, "but I had nowhere else to take him. Nowhere safe."

"If safe we are," Grandmother said. "The stones forecast peril and death."

Wolf tensed. Grandmother's predictions were true ones. "Samara, don't just stand there," Grandmother ordered. "We must offer Wolf a meal and eat ourselves. While we have the chance."

Samara was setting the table when Druse came down with Hawk. Wolf hauled the old kitchen cradle in from the pantry and settled the baby into it, rocking the cradle back and forth with his foot.

"I can remember rocking you in this same cradle when you were a baby," he told Druse.

She slanted him a look. "I don't remember you. Not at all."

Wolf sighed. "I'm sorry to have deserted you, Druse.

I don't expect you to forgive me."

"I lost my mother and my father at the same time," Druse said.

"Stop that!" Grandmother's tone was tart. "What's past is past. We've no time for recriminations. Druse, help Samara. Wolf, tell me what you've been doing all these years."

Wolf told her about his meeting with John Muir and how he'd helped Muir both at the ranch and in the older man's attempts to preserve the Sierras as a national park. "When I visited Washington, D.C., with him in '91," he finished, "I was able to meet President Harrison. His support helped push the park bill through Congress so that California now has three national parks in the Sierras-Yosemite, Sequoia and General Grant."

"I've read about John Muir in the Chronicle," Liisi said. "Your time's been well spent in helping him prevent men from despoiling the wilderness. We are the earth and if we kill it, we die."

Wolf nodded, pleased that Grandmother understood.

After they'd eaten, Wolf said, "We have no time to waste, Grandmother. As soon as I arrived at Volek House I found the bond Samara and I shared when she was a child was stronger than ever. Whether she willed the seeing or not, she showed me what Stefan has become."

Druse dropped her fork and covered her ears with her hands. Grandmother reached over and pulled her hands down, saying sharply, "You're too old to behave like a baby." "Samara told me Stefan shifted for the first time last year," Wolf went on. "When word came to me that Morning Quail had died, I traveled to her Miwok foothills village. There I found Hawk. I don't deny he's my son--I know he must be. After my last visit to the village she never sent word that she was with child so discovering I had a three-month-old son was a shock. I'd sworn never to father another child." He offered Druse a sad smile.

"Hawk was a surprise, yes, but the real horror hit me when they told me about Morning Quail's death--her throat torn out by the 'Spirit Wolf', a beast that couldn't be killed.

"'The Spirit Wolf has killed our game and terrorized the hunters,' the village medicine man told me. 'Morning Quail believed she could reason with the beast because she was its mother.'"

Druse covered her face with her hands and moaned.

Wolf's pity for her didn't stop him from going on. "The medicine man told me he thought the Spirit Wolf was living in an old cabin in the mountains, some miles from the Miwok village. I went there. The cabin was deserted but I found evidence someone had been using it." He spread his hands. "I may not believe in spirit wolves but I'm a Volek so I believe in shapeshifters. When I left Volek House years ago I knew of at least two potential shifters under this roof. Arno and Stefan."

Samara drew in her breath and Wolf glanced at her as he continued. "I told Grandfather but at the time neither of us were sure whether I had a true talent or not. I had to find out. After retrieving Hawk from the village, I rode here as fast as the pinto could travel. Samara let me through the gate and when she showed me the picture in her mind, I knew my talent was true. Stefan was-Stefan is--a shifter. Arno, I'm told, learned to control his shifting well enough to enter the University. But what about Stefan?"

"We didn't realize Stefan was afflicted." Grandmother's voice shook. "I would have helped him, if only--"

"He didn't want your help." Wolf spoke harshly. "He prefers the beast state." He felt his words were arrows thrust into Samara's heart but it couldn't be helped. She'd aided her twin in his perversity; she'd be hurt worse before this was over. "Grandmother Liisi, the help we need from you now is silver bullets."

Druse screamed and leaped to her feet, knocking over her chair and startling the baby. He began to wail. Grandmother rose and slapped Druse hard on each cheek.

"Whatever Stefan is to you," she said, "no longer matters. He has deliberately violated our trust and by doing so he has invited disaster into Volek House. Such evil behavior strips him of every right. He's not my grandson, not Samara's twin brother, not Druse's and Wolf's cousin. He's a vicious killer and a terrible danger to us all."

Druse sank to the floor where she closed her eyes, wrapped her arms about her abdomen and began rocking back and forth, moaning.

Grandmother reached down, grabbed an arm and yanked her to her feet. "I need your help melting silver," she snapped. "Pull yourself together and come with me." She all but dragged Druse from the room.

The telephone on the kitchen wall rang. Samara, who'd been trying to soothe Hawk, stared at the phone, then at Wolf. "The call's from Chung's cottage," she said.

Wolf lifted the receiver and spoke into the mouthpiece. "Wolf here."

"Chung, sir. Master Stefan at back gate."

Wolf frowned, wondering why Chung hadn't simply unlocked the gate and let him in. Did the Chinese man sense something was wrong with Stefan?

"Stay in your cottage," Wolf ordered. "I'll let him in." He hung up and turned to Samara. "Take the baby to your grandmother and warn her that Stefan's at the gate." Clutching the whimpering baby to her, Samara bit her lip. "What are you going to do?"

"Let him in."

Wolf strode down the path to the back gate, every muscle in his body taut with apprehension. Even though it was still early afternoon and the moon was five days from full, Wolf wasn't happy to see the rain had stopped and the clouds were lifting. He'd prefer an overcast sky tonight--he was taking enough of a chance as it was.

If he didn't unlock the gate for Stefan, who could tell where Stefan might go? Or who might be his next victim? Stefan had to be stopped. Now. But God only knew if he was doing the right thing by admitting an uncontrolled shifter to Volek House.

For all he knew, he was dooming them all.

Chapter 9.

Stefan's hackles rose as he watched the bearded man approach the gate. Where was Chung? What was this stranger doing on the grounds?

"I can see you don't remember me," the man said as he unlocked the gate. "I'm Wolf. I left Volek House when you were three."

The gate swung open. Enter or not? Stefan eyed Wolf uneasily. He didn't doubt the man's identity but how could he trust someone he didn't remember? Still, he didn't recall his grandparents mentioning that Wolf had any particular talent so likely it was safe enough.

He was inside before something Arno had once said came back to him: "Grandfather told me Wolf predicted I'd be the shifter."

Wolf slammed the gate and pocketed the key. Stefan shrugged--too late to retreat. But he feared no man. Except maybe Sergei.

"Grandfather still away?" he asked as casually as he could.

Wolf nodded. Without speaking, he led the way up the path to the house. In the kitchen, Stefan looked around. No pots bubbled on the stove--the place looked deserted. "Where is everyone?"

he demanded.

"Grandmother Liisi's stones foretold danger so she sent the servants home." Wolf's tone was terse.

"When did you get here?"

"A couple hours ago. I've brought bad news, Stefan." "Oh?"

"Your mother's dead."

Stefan stared at him, wondering what Wolf expected.

That he'd burst into tears? He couldn't even remember his mother's face. She'd been as good as dead to him from the moment she deserted him and Samara fifteen years ago.

"I'm sorry." His words were perfunctory but he couldn't express an emotion he didn't feel. Noting muscles clench in Wolf's jaw, he wondered what bothered his cousin.

"She didn't deserve to die," Wolf said coldly.

"She wasn't much of a mother to Samara and me," Stefan told him. He considered that more than enough explanation for his lack of grief.

Being inside the house was making him edgy. His clothes felt heavy, even his skin seemed too tight. Best to eat quickly, grab a few essentials and head for the safety of the hills. He started toward the pantry when footsteps on the uncarpeted back stairs made him whirl.

"Samara!" Wolf sounded upset. "I told you--" He broke off.

Stefan looked from one to the other. Samara wasn't herself; she eyed him like a frightened doe, taking care not to come near. What was up?

Every instinct told him to cut and run. But before he made up his mind to act, Wolf spoke.

"I told Samara how your mother died, Stefan. It's time you heard. The beast killed her."

A shock ran through Stefan. Not a beast but the beast. Wolf knew.

Tears glittered in his sister's eyes as she stared at him. "How could you?" she cried.

Useless to remind her that he had no memory of the beast's hunting.

"You killed her, tore out her heart and ate it," Wolf added, his eyes as icy as his voice.

Stefan swallowed, willing himself to silence.

Samara took a long shuddering breath. "No more shifting, Stefan. No more."

His control broke. "No more? What right do you have to tell me what to do or to pass judgement on me?" He looked from her to Wolf. "You, who have no notion of what shifting's like."

"I know what the beast is like," Wolf said. "Unhuman. Evil."

Stefan's lips drew back over his teeth. "Damn you! If you think you're locking me in some windowless cell--"

"I'll kill you rather than let you shift again." Wolf's voice, low but vehement, was convincing.

Taken aback, Stefan recovered quickly. "Go ahead and try." He smiled. "I'm not easy to best, let alone kill." With lightning speed Wolf bent, yanked a dagger from a boot sheath, and crouched. "Silver," he warned. "This knife belonged to a stalker. They know what kills shifters--and so do I."

"No, Wolf," Samara begged. "Please don't hurt him." Silver. Hadn't Arno said something about silver being dangerous to shifters?

Stefan controlled his all but overwhelming impulse to leap at Wolf. In an unarmed fight he was sure he could beat his cousin. But Wolf had the dagger. What if a wound made with a silver knife was poisonous? He couldn't take the chance.

"Please, Stefan, won't you at least try to learn control?" Samara pleaded.

Never! Not for her or anyone else. He had to be free. Calculating the distance to the back door against Wolf's possible quickness, he realized he couldn't make it. Out of the corner of his eye he located the nearest window. Plain glass, nothing fancy, because this was the kitchen.

"Warning me was your mistake," he snarled, diving for the window. He crashed through the glass, sprawled on the ground outside and came up running.

He got no farther than the great oaks when he felt his gut wrench. He didn't know why he was shifting in the fading light of day with the moon still so far from full but his heart leaped with surprised joy as he recognized the first sign of change. He'd soon be all but invulnerable.

Free! Raising his muzzle to the sky, the beast howled his defiance to all who might try to stop him. When his eyes fell on the great stone dwelling rising higher than the trees, the red of blood lust suffused him. He padded toward the building.

Silver. The word echoed in his mind, piercing through the crimson fury. He paused. Those inside the building meant to kill him with silver. Safer to satisfy his lust on the other side of the wall. In the house, they were ready and waiting for him. Sooner or later he'd drink their blood and gobble their hearts but better to return when they didn't expect him.

After one last angry glance at the house, he turned and ran toward the wall and the more helpless prey to be found on the other side.

Sergei, not far from Volek House, was riding along at an easy trot, thinking of Cump Sherman. General William Tecumseh Sherman. His old friend had died six years ago. It seemed only yesterday that he and Cump rode through the California hills together. So many good men from the old days were dead. Sitting Bull, too, shot down like a criminal by soldiers. Sergei had often wished he could have met the old medicine man in other circumstances than that fatal hill at Little Bighorn.

And Guy Kellogg. His death weighed on Sergei's mind most of all.

Somehow, by the grace of God, he still lived.

The chilling ululation took him by surprise. Before he had time to recover, his horse, a usually trustworthy black, shied so violently that Sergei was almost unseated. It took him long moments before he calmed the shivering animal enough to spur him into a gallop.

The black knew, as he did, what they'd heard sure as hell wasn't a coyote's call. Or a wolf's. It was a sound Sergei had hoped never to hear again.

There was only one explanation for that bone-zero howl. Unlikely as it seemed, a shifter was loose, running in the valley under the setting sun.

His heart contracted. Arno? Impossible. Early this very morning the twins had seen him onto the Oakland ferry when he left San Francisco.

Who then?

Not Cecelia. In the first place, she'd never shifted and he doubted she ever would. Besides, she'd taken the train for New York last week to perform at the Broadway Theater.

That left one more to consider--the third person Wolf had insisted was a potential shifter. Stefan. Stefan, who he hadn't seen in almost a year. Stefan, who came home at irregular intervals but never when Sergei was at Volek House. He recalled the "Spirit Wolf" article he'd read in the Chronicle and grimaced in belated and dismayed recognition. Stefan! Hadn't the boy been camping in the hills all this time? And avoiding his grandfather?

Apprehension gripped him. Night hadn't yet fallen and the moon wasn't full. Why had the shifter changed at such an unusual time? And where was he?

The black pounded up to the front gate. Sergei, who carried an extra key, reined him in, ready to dismount and open the gate. To his dismay, he saw the gate was ajar. Urging his horse closer, he widened the opening, pushed through, slid from the saddle and closed and locked the gate. Remounting, he advanced cautiously. When he reached the front of the house he jumped down and eased open the front door.

Liisi and a bearded young man stood arguing in the foyer. The man whirled at his entry.

"Wolf!" Surprise and joy rang in Sergei's voice. He strode to his grandson and embraced him.