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by Prudence, asking the girl to come to the stand of cottonwoods down by the stream that night, and not to mention the meeting to anyone.
    “It won’t matter if she talks about it. If she does, she’s sure to mention an old Navajo brought the note. All fuel for our fires,” Jake chortled.
    Jake seemed boisterous and ebullient, but he wasn’t so far gone as to forget to make sure Prudence took the silver bullets out of her guns, and that she left those guns behind.
    “You won’t be needing them,” he said, “not on a full moon night, not when your prey is a mere child.”
    And Prudence had to agree.
    She shifted shape and they ran shoulder to shoulder in the direction of town. It was a glorious experience. The summer night that had seemed hot and clinging to her human form was alive with such interesting smells and sounds that she hardly noticed the heat. The loneliness that had been her lot since Jake had vanished, dissolved. Wolves didn’t talk as humans did, but she was keyed to his mood through his scent.
    Glorious in all his enhanced powers, Jake was supremely alpha. Running beside him, dropping back a pace or two when some obstacle presented itself, Prudence felt a contentment she’d forgotten could be hers. Someone else was in charge. Her job would be to follow orders.
    The note had told April to come out at midnight. When the two werewolves arrived about eleven, there was some activity around a few of the saloons, but everything else was dark and quiet. They had hardly quenched their thirst at the stream when an owl flew soundlessly into the grove.
    A moment later, Clyde Begay’s flat, Navajo-accented voice said, “The child is coming.”
    Jake shifted back to human. He stood, naked and very male, looking down at Prudence.
    “We’ll fall back now. Just in case you have some fancy ideas, remember I’m here. I can kill the child, too. If I do it, I’ll make her dying last, and I’ll make it ugly.”
    Prudence shivered in her skin. It took no feigning at all for her to roll over on her back, then display her belly and throat in submission. Jake laughed softly and rubbed her belly fur with his bare toes.
    “Good, Sis,” he was saying when Prudence struck.
    There is one type of weapon other than those made of silver or blessed by a suitably devout priest that can harm a werewolf—the fangs and claws of another werewolf.
    Prudence twisted and sunk her fangs into Jake’s bare ankle. She bore down and felt the bones twist, then crack and break. Jake started to bellow in pain and anger, but swallowed the sound.
    Yellow eyes glowing bright with fury, Jake bore down on his mutilated limb. Prudence felt his weight, felt his blood hot on her belly fur and in her mouth. Almost as quickly, she felt the bleeding slow, felt the stream in her mouth dry to a trickle, felt the torn skin begin to knit.
    There was a reason for their clan name. All werewolves have strengths: some can tap the moon’s power farther away from the full, some can control wild wolves, some can hear the thoughts of their fellows.
    The Bledsloe’s strength was that they healed far faster than normal, even in human form. When the moon’s power was upon them, even a normal Bledsloe healed quickly—and Jake was far more powerful than normal.
    But Jake was in human form. Of the werewolf’s three shapes, this was the weakest.
    Prudence knew minutes would be needed for those broken bones to knit. Jake might choose to ignore the pain, but he could not make a crushed ankle carry him.
    She rolled from beneath the pressure of Jake’s foot, heard him stumble. As he stumbled, she wheeled around. Launching herself from a crouch close to the ground, bringing all her weight to crash into his chest, Prudence knocked Jake flat onto his back. She leapt to hold him down.
    The breath whooshed out of Jake’s lungs as he landed, whistling around teeth that were already turning into fangs. Prudence knew that Jake would choose the man-wolf form. If he made that