Wolf Whisperer. Karen Whiddon

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      But how?

      As she staggered to her feet, dread coiled in her gut. Her house was on fire. Her sister was missing. It all had to be tied together.

      Eyeing the man again, she checked his pulse, finding it steady and strong. He’d be fine, once she got him outside. After all, he was a shifter, like her except a Half ling. One of the only things that could kill their kind was fire.

      Fire. Focus. Her home was burning. She realized she must have hit her head harder than she’d realized. Everything seemed surreal. Out of kilter.

      Eyes smarting from the smoke, she looked around, trying to ascertain both the current location of the fire, and, second, if her enemies still remained nearby. Whoever they were. Whatever they were.

      Mac’s accomplices? What did they want? They already had her sister. Now they’d come for her. Apparently, they hadn’t thought Mac capable enough to do the job on his own.

      Thick black smoke rolled in. The roaring of the flames grew louder, tempered by the steady drum of rain and the hiss as the two met. She had to get out of here, now, and take the man with her. But how? He was a large man and she had no illusions as to her strength.

      One of her dogs yelped, making her aware again of the immediate danger to them, as well.

      Still, she couldn’t seem to focus.

      Damn.

      She got up, staggered to the back door and pushed it open. The instant she did, as fresh, rain-drenched air rushed in, the fire exploded in an angry roar.

      Ignoring this, she rushed to the bedroom and opened the door.

      “Come.” Amazingly, when she gave the command, her voice came out strong and certain, with no hint of panic. The terrified dogs darted past—she counted, all seven of them—barreling outside toward safety and rain and freedom. Kelly staggered after them, then remembered the man. Mac.

      “Wake up.” She shook him, wishing she were cold enough to simply leave him to his fate. After all, he deserved it. But if she got out of this—and she would—she needed him to tell her where he was holding her sister. “Please, Mac. Wake up.”

      He didn’t move. The heat, the smoke, the fire grew stronger, and still he didn’t move. She half thought that this event might be fate catching up with him. When his wife had perished, he should have died also.

      But he wouldn’t die here, because of her. Left with no choice, she hooked her hands under his armpits and began to drag. Adrenaline-fueled, she made it to the door, over the doorjamb, and outside. Despite the ache in her arms, she pulled him across the soggy grass to the edge of the trees that bordered her land. This should be far enough from the house, since she wasn’t sure if there’d be another explosion or even if the attackers—whoever they were—were still around.

      What was she thinking? Of course they were still around. They’d come for her and most likely weren’t going to leave without her.

      Her best gun. It was still inside, though she had a spare in the kennel. Even as she contemplated going back to retrieve it, fire blazed through the living room, destroying what was left of her little house. Her home. Even if there was a fire department in the area, they wouldn’t have been able to make it on time.

      Still, with a crowd of paramedics and firemen and policemen around, the attackers would be hampered from making a move. For the first time ever, she cursed living in the wilds of Wyoming. She needed help—she glanced at the man lying on his back in the wet grass—exactly what he’d been offering. Little good it did them both now. They were lucky to have made it out alive. And, she amended, fortunate all of her dogs had escaped.

      Of course, in the law of “what can go wrong, will,” the downpour slowed, becoming barely a misty drizzle instead of a downpour. Still, she knew any amount of rain would be too late to slow down the inferno. She needed to face facts—she would lose her home. Still, she was lucky.

      Mac moaned, drawing her gaze. He stirred, struggled to sit, before falling back to the damp earth. Kelly walked over to him, crouching down to help him sit up. No one had come to rescue him. Maybe she’d been wrong about the attackers being his people. Though she didn’t see how that could be, perhaps another party had jumped into the thick of things.

      “You’re okay,” she said softly. “I got you out.”

      “What the—?” He blinked, wiping at his face with his hand. “What happened?”

      As she opened her mouth to answer, another explosion sounded. Kelly winced. That had been the propane tank, on the western side of the house. The flames roared up again, spitting and hissing, undeterred by the misty rain.

      Something moved over by the barn. A shape too large to be a dog. The attackers.

      “We were attacked,” she said, leaning in close and talking urgently. “And they’re still here. For now, we’ll have to work together. Can you change?” She waited while he tried to process that information, aware they didn’t have a lot of time.

      “Change?” He nodded, wincing at the pain as he did. “I think so. Why?”

      “Because I think if we want to have a prayer of capturing them, we’re going to need to change to wolf.”

      He’d have to wait to get information from her. Worse, she’d saved him. Despite himself, Mac liked that instead of wanting to flee, she wanted to go on the offensive. Even better, she was right. Every instinct screamed in agreement that they needed to change to wolf. They could run faster, attack harder and fight fiercer.

      Crawling up to all fours, he nodded. “You first,” he said. “I’m still regaining my strength.”

      She gave him an intent look, her long-lashed green eyes appearing to glow in the murky light. “We are together, as one,” she said, immediately blanching as she spoke. “I can’t believe I just said that. But it’s necessary. Mo Anam Cara. Do you understand what this means?”

      Though a chill skittered up his spine, he didn’t—at least he didn’t think so. Yet he vaguely remembered seeing something like that in the file and, before that, hearing his wife laugh about it, calling it only superstitious nonsense. Words she was to say to protect him, though they would bind them together. Though she’d never done so and he hadn’t cared.

      And now … this woman wanted him to do what? Repeat them after her? Whatever.

      Damn, his head hurt. He couldn’t think. Did he have to say something similar back? If so, what? And why? He knew this, though he couldn’t remember what or where he’d heard it. “I … er …”

      “You’ve got to reply,” she repeated softly, her low-pitched voice vibrating with urgency. “I’ll say it again. We are one, Mac Lamonda. Mo Anam Cara. Do you understand?”

      Again he felt the same chill snake up his spine. Ridiculous. They were only meaningless words. Shaking it off, he grimaced. Though he wasn’t sure if repeating her words was what he should do, he jerked his chin in a nod. “Fine, we are one. Now what?”

      As he spoke the words, she froze, her gaze searching his face as though waiting for something else. When he didn’t elaborate, she finally nodded. “It is done, then.”

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