A round of applause please for LittleLoneWriterGirl who drew this beautiful illustration of Jeff's hut :)

We had to cut our way through a maze of brambles to reach the hut. One wolf would charge through first to break all the stems, then the others would crawl through the resulting gap. That made it easy for us, but Carter was considerably taller and ended up scratched to ribbons. I couldn't find it in me to care.

Old Jeff loved solitude, so he had made his home in a thicket and built a wall of brambles around it. It had been added to over the years by Jeff himself, I assumed. No one else bothered to come out here. There were a few pathways through the defences, but they were hard to find and often strewn with bear traps to keep out trespassers.

So we walked straight through the brambles. Being in the lead, I took the worst of the thorns. My fur was mottled with blood by the time the hut came into view, standing forlorn and lonely in the undergrowth. As rundown as it looked from the outside, the inside was presentable enough and mercifully empty that day. Old Jeff must have been hunting.

We took turns shifting and changing around the back, with at least one person watching the humans at all times. When all three of us were dressed decently, I pushed open a bright yellow door. The paint was an old coat, chipped in places but not faded.

The hut was the size of an average garage. Everything was crammed into the one room — stove, table, chairs and bed. Today the handmade furniture was littered with animal hides, left to dry. I moved a deerskin from a chair and eyed the stove, which was full of glowing embers, I noted.

Jeff couldn't be far away. And with the storm raging outside, I expected him home very soon. But we had a few minutes to ourselves before that happened. He had frightened all of us when we were kids, but now I was older, stronger and not alone. The three of us could handle Jeff when he returned. Hopefully.

I sat down on the freed chair and nudged a bench into interrogation position with my foot. It was only then I realised that everyone else was stood in the doorway, staring at the hut with horror. Well except Fion, of course, but she was stuck behind the stragglers.

"Oh, come on in. They don't bite after you take their heads off," I teased.

Carter tore his gaze away from the animal skulls which hung from the ceiling, barely even daring to glance at the shelves of pickling jars, and shuffled into the room. Leo sat him down on the bench roughly.

I leant forwards and grinned at our prisoner. "Alright, here's how this is going to go. I'll ask a question and you'll answer it honestly. Sound easy enough?"

Carter didn't reply — just stared at me. It was more than defiance, something more like puzzlement. Then he loosed a breath and blinked at me, wide-eyed. He muttered, "A black wolf with grey eyes. You're Lauren."

"Lauren," I repeated disbelievingly. That was my birth name, and until a week ago, not even I had known it. How did he? "My name's Skye."

"No." Carter shook his head firmly. "You're Lauren."

My mouth opened and closed like a fish. By the time I had got control over my emotions, it was too late. He would know for sure now, even if he hadn't before, that the name meant something to me. But I still slipped an impassive frown onto my face and narrowed my eyes.

"You just get more and more interesting, don't you? A hunter who thinks he knows it all. Who is this Lauren girl?"

"You," he insisted. "You've been on our hit list longer than you've been alive."

I tried not to show my alarm. "And how is that possible? Did my parents piss off the hunter community?"

Carter grinned slyly. Oh, I did not like that expression one bit. "Something like that."

"You're famous," Fion piped up. She had settled in a corner and was keeping the little girls out of my way. Leo, though, had pulled up a chair right next to me. It would be an educational demonstration for him.

It was my mate who finally ended the argument with, "What does it matter what her name is? Just start explaining. Who were your parents?"

Carter clamped his mouth firmly shut. It looked like he wanted to do this the hard way. I didn't really mind — it had been far too long since I had practised my intimidation skills.

"I'm bad cop," I spoke through the mind-link and heard twin groans of disappointment.

"Why do you always get to be bad cop?" Fion demanded.

"Because I always call dibs," I replied.

"Fine. I'll be good cop," Leo suggested sadly.

I nodded in agreement. Leo had never helped me with something like this before and Fion didn't seem all that interested.

"You're mind-linking," Carter observed.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," I muttered despairingly. It was such a human thing to state facts aloud for no particular reason.

He frowned at me, not seeming to understand it was sarcasm. I felt like facepalming. He was obviously a bit lacking in social interactions. "You're welcome, I guess. I know because you stopped moving. That was in the handbook."

"You want a cookie or something?" Then I considered his last words. "Wait, what handbook?"

"Oh, the handbook," Carter said breezily. "It explains everything about werewolves to the novice hunter. 'Bite the Bullet' by Scott Anderson."

"What?" Leo and I asked at the same time. And that was no coincidence. It was the standard reaction to discovering that someone had turned the killing of your species into a recreational pastime.

He stared sullenly at us, not dignifying it with a response. I tried to forget about the book and took a different track. "So ... about your parents. What happened to them, exactly?"

"I don't have to answer that," Carter replied, going into a sulk. It became obvious that he was still in the stage of teenagedom when moods could change fast and everything was annoying. Fifteen, I guessed. Or even younger.

"You do if you want to live," I explained darkly. My switchblade found its way out of my pocket and into my hand, where it began cleaning my fingernails. A tad over the top maybe, but Carter looked suitably afraid.

Leo seemed to finally remember he was good cop, and faked a convincing, sympathetic smile. "Can't you see he's just tired? Give the boy a break."

Carter's eyes flitted to Leo and stayed there, happy to have found a friend. The corner of his mouth twitched uncertainly as he said, "They were hunting a rogue. He killed my uncle, you see, years and years ago. So Mum and Dad went to find him, only I think he found them first."

"And the name of this rogue?" I demanded, unnecessarily because I already had a fair idea.

"Can't tell you that," he informed me. "Don't want to neither."

This was the crossroads. I could either drop it there and assume I was right ... or go the whole distance and torture him for the information. The latter wasn't an appealing choice. Carter was just a kid. A misguided, twisted, angry kid who wanted to follow in his parents' footsteps.

I sighed, knowing my conscience had already made the decision for me. "So what can you tell me? Maybe why you were following us?"

"Oh, that's an easy one." Carter smirked. "I wanted to shoot you like the dogs you are."

"You'd shoot dogs? That's sick, you know."

The boy opened his mouth to reply but I waved him off. "Don't bother answering that. What I really want to know is why you took your little sisters hunting."

The constant change of subject was a tactic in itself. It was confusing him and lulling him to forget what he should and shouldn't admit. This latest switch made him look incredibly sheepish. "It's just me looking after them now, unless I go to social services. They'd split us up, so that's not happening. I couldn't leave them at home alone and I didn't know what else to do with them..."

I rolled my eyes. "So you decided to drag them through miles of forest to attack werewolves."

"I'm sure he was doing the best he could," Leo said reassuringly.

"I don't like you as good cop," I muttered to my mate. "You're too nice."

He beamed as if it was a compliment. I gave his chair a lazy kick out of the way and then tugged mine into the resulting gap. Leo regained his balance and took the hint, staying back to let me finish the interrogation alone. Truthfully, I had been about to ask Carter a question which any sane person (namely, Leo) would disapprove of, and I didn't want him to stop me.

"What's a cop?" Carter asked almost shyly, as I opened my mouth to say the name Malcolm. Dammit.

"It's the American word for police," I told him in a duh tone. This boy seemed to have lived his entire life indoors.

"I'm not American." He frowned at me. "Are you?"

"No," I said in frustration. "And I know you're not either. It's an interrogation tactic."

"Then why—?" Carter's next question was cut off by Fion swearing loudly.

"Old Jeff is here."

We all looked at each other warily. Depending on what mood he was in, he would either attack us or laugh at us. I was obviously hoping for the latter. He was one intense pensioner — at least old enough to have grown grandchildren, yet still strong enough to kick ass.

"You got Carter's rifle handy?" I asked. She jerked a finger at the gun, which was leaning against the wall beside her. "Good. Load it quickly."

The signs which Fion had undoubtedly detected were muffled footsteps squelching in the muddy snow outside and a faint scent of mothballs and cobwebs. I cautiously rose from the chair as the door crashed open — carelessly flung inwards with one arm. Because the new arrival's other arm was clutching a brace of dead fish.

A tall old man stood in the doorway. Jeff. A wild tangle of silvered hair brought out green eyes so pale they were almost clear. The left of the pair span uselessly in its socket, looking at everything but seeing nothing. His olive skin was strangely faded and translucent. All in all, it looked like he wasn't all there anymore, and that was true of his personality, too.

Jeff paused as he noticed the six of us scattered around the room. His tongue flitted out to taste the air like a snake, and he croaked, "You're in my house. Nobody goes in Jeff's house no more, oh no they don't. It was since he took that girl's ear, Jeff reckons. Now they don't come no more."

As he got older and madder, old Jeff's mind had deteriorated. Now, half of what he said was nonsense and the other half was hard to understand. But I understood that tone well enough. He didn't want company, so he was trying to frighten us into leaving.

But I didn't scare easy. I didn't think I'd even been alive when he 'took that girl's ear.' It was a famous incident, the reason for his total isolation, some people said. There were even whispers among the rogues that Jeff's own daughter had been the one to lose an ear in this house. It was hard to tell if it was true. Rhys had worked up the courage to ask Rhodric once, only to be told roughly that it was none of his business.

"We're sorry. The storm didn't give us much of a choice," Leo explained. Jeff leaned right into his face and spat. I watched my mate wipe a glob of saliva off his cheek.

"My house," he hissed. "Not your house."

"Your house," I assented cheerfully, having previously found it the best way to speak to him. "But would you mind if we stayed here for a while? We really like your house."

He stooped to peer at me through those dreadful eyes. The working one easily made up for its broken partner, because it seemed to see right through me. I didn't flinch, but I was sure he knew I wanted to. Jeff tilted his head to the side and let a maniacal grin slip onto his face.

"Jeff's house is nice," he agreed, smiling happily. Then he forgot I was there for a minute. "Would I mind, the girls asks. She comes in here with her silly friends and makes herself at home then asks if old Jeff minds. Does he mind?

I stayed silent. When he began one of his monologues it was better to keep quiet. Interrupting was perilous, which I knew from experience.

"I suppose they'll be wanting some of Jeff's food too, won't they? Children are always wanting food, yesh, just like mine did when they was nippers. Jeff remembers, oh yes he does. Greedy children, they was. All grown now, they is. Ha! No one to take Jeff's lovely, lovely food."

He had a strange habit of switching between first and third person when referring to himself, as if he kept forgetting whom he was and then remembering again. I was in no hurry to remind him of his identity: old Jeff, the local serial killer.

"Who's Jeff?" Carter asked me in a loud whisper. I understood the confusion — it was like he was talking about someone else. But I did not understand why Carter thought now was a good time to sate his curiosity.

The old man turned sharply. He rocked back and forth on his heels as he fixed Carter with a lopsided glare. Oh, Goddess. I knew that look. Someone was going to die. Oops. Oh well, nothing to be done now. I had tried, but the idiot hunter had only gone and dug his own grave.

"The human kiddie is talking about Jeff, oh yes he is. Not talking to Jeff, about Jeff. Rude he is, but children always are. And mine ish the worst of all!" he shouted triumphantly, sounding oddly proud for a fleeting moment. That was unbelievably lucky for Carter, because this new emotion had made Jeff forget all about his anger.

"Jeff, this is Carter. He hunts werewolves." I stared expectantly, waiting for the inevitable murder, but quite the opposite happened.

Jeff grinned, a terrifying display of broken teeth and rotting gums. "Yesh! Kills all the wolfies, boy. Kills them all."

If his scent hadn't contained trace elements of shapeshifter, I would have begun to doubt that he was a werewolf himself. What kind of person endorsed the murder of their own kind? Oh, wait. Crazy people, duh.

The old man had gotten distracted all over again. He stalked about the room with a predatory gaze, staring at everyone. The little girls shrank away from him, which only made him laugh. "I haven't seen you before." He jabbed Leo in the chest. "The ginger one, once maybe. And the cloudy girl, she was always coming and going."

Leo's confusion battered at my mind like tidal waves. I reached out through the mind-link to explain. "He means the sky. And my eyes, too, I think."

Jeff hissed loudly in protest. It was his default anger noise — I didn't think I had even heard him growl. Odd, for an unstable werewolf. If anything, his wolf should have been more obvious. "Talking with your minds about old Jeff, are we? You're ruder than the human boy."

The alarm bells started ringing in my head. He shouldn't have known that. He really shouldn't. Not even Fion could tap into direct mind-link conversations. I felt a prickle at the back of my neck, reminding me of the presence from camp.

But I had to swallow the surprise or risk setting him off. "Sorry. How did you know what we were saying?"

"I can hear the whispering, oh yes I can. Not as loud as it used to be, but I still hear it." Jeff cackled to himself. Either he was hearing voices and it had been a lucky guess, or he was freaking talented.

Slowly, cautiously, I sat back down and drummed my fingers against the arm of the chair. Little Ellie let out a tiny whimper, and Fion covered her mouth hurriedly. Sensible. I had seen Jeff set off by less.

"Where's Rhysie?" the old man asked suddenly. "He was always coming and going with the cloudy girl. Everyone else scared, and the tiny kiddies come visiting. Ha."

"Rhys is busy now, but he'll visit you later," I promised. "We'll just sit here quietly until the storm passes. You don't even need to feed us. Is that okay?"

He didn't seem to hear me. "I likes Rhysie and Rhysie likes Jeff. Blood of mine is that one. And Bran. But Jeff hasn't seen that one in ages. More years than I can count on my fingers, oh yesh."

Most people would have been able to count it on their fingers, but Jeff had lost two to frostbite, both on his left hand. Living alone and without heating would do that for a person. He seemed to function fine without them, though.

I had no idea what he meant by 'blood of mine' but then again, I didn't really understand most of what he said. Asking tended to annoy him. Today Jeff was in a good mood, although I didn't want to assume we were safe and get complacent.

"Brandon came here?" I asked, finding it strange that the headstrong rogue would take the time to visit an old man. Carter's head popped up like a meerkat at that name, and I turned to him demandingly.

His sullen silence was forgotten about. "My parents mentioned him once. I heard he was working with us."

Well, that would certainly explain why there had been armed humans at our camp for so long. "So you're telling me that some of Brandon's men were professional hunters. He worked with people who want to exterminate his entire species?"

"I think so, yes." Carter shrugged. He had never taken his eyes off old Jeff for more than a second, probably fearing for his life.

"Bran and Rhysie did come together, oh yes they did. Blood of mine, blood of mine, blood of mine," Jeff started chanting happily. Then he forgot all about that, and prodded Carter with one of gutless fish, leaving a smear of blood on the boy's shirt. "What ish human kiddies doing in Jeff's house?"

"He was following us, Jeff." A spark of inspiration struck. "Trying to hurt Rhys."

If anything would spur him to help, it was danger to his favourite visitor. Most everyone liked my brother, but Jeff in particular had a strange affection for him. I had never once seen him lift a finger against Rhys, not even when I had been chased out of the hut repeatedly.

Sure enough, the old man bared his teeth. "I can makes him talk, oh yesh I can. The human boy wouldn't dare lie to old Jeff, not if he enjoys using his tongue."

Carter gulped and stood up hurriedly, knocking over the bench as he did so. He tried desperately to escape the hut, which Jeff put an end to when he caught the boy's collar and dragged him forcefully back towards me. After that display of force, his tongue seemed to loosen considerably.

"I told you, I was hunting you," Carter insisted.

Oh, I don't care about that. Who do you work for? Someone pointed you towards us."

"There are lots of us," he admitted reluctantly. "Some people track the signs — sightings and footprints and so on. The rest of us go out and do the dirty work."

"I want names," I told him. There was one in particular which I was trying to place.

Carter shook his head firmly. "I can't. I think they'd kill me. And I don't know much anyway — my parents tried to keep me away from it. Ellie and Kathy don't know anything at all."

"Yet here you are," I said sarcastically. It sounded familiar. A parent keeping their children ignorant to protect them. It was bullshit, but I understood why Rhodric did it. And I was sure he would understand why I had to go looking anyway.

He chewed on his lip, a tiny sign of the nerves and fear that a fifteen-year-old had learnt to keep so well hidden. "My bedroom was right above the living room. Sometimes I could hear them talking when they thought I was asleep."

"So they wouldn't have told you deliberately?"

"No. From what I gathered, the kids are kept out of it until they're old enough to make their own choice. Early twenties, usually. Hunting isn't exactly the type of work you can take home with you."

"But you can take your home to work?" I asked with a taunting nod at the little girls. Fion was doing a brilliant job of distracting them with some bourbon biscuits from the rucksack.

Carter scowled furiously. "Don't talk about my sisters. You don't even deserve to look at them. They'll grow up as orphans, completely alone in the world, all because of you monsters."

I frowned. "They have you."

"Not for much longer. I shot a wolf a few days ago, but before it died I- I..." Carter's voice broke and failed him until Jeff reached for an axe. "I got bitten."

For a moment, I didn't understand what the problem was. Then a combination of werewolf lore and Carter's ignorance came into play. I sniggered at him. "You actually think that—"

Leo picked up my train of thought, but he was a lot more sympathetic. "Getting bitten by a werewolf turns you into one? It's not true, kid."

Even Fion pricked her ears up from the corner and laughed. "That's too funny."

"Hilarious," I agreed, oblivious to Carter's embarrassment. "What, were you waiting for the full moon to transform?"

Carter didn't seem to find it funny at all. He sat there and scowled at us until we stopped making fun of him. But I could clearly see relief plain in his eyes. My gaze slid past him and through the grubby windows, to see that the weather was clearing. Maybe it was just a break between showers, or maybe the wind had picked up and cleared the clouds. Either way, I wasn't hanging around. I didn't want to stay in the hut any longer than necessary.

"Okay, Jeff, we're going now. But Rhys will come and see you later," I promised for a second time, just to make sure he hadn't forgotten.

Jeff's smile vanished and his eyes were downcast. If I didn't know better, I would have almost thought he was disappointed to see us leaving. Then, an idea occurred to him. "Wait, wait! Old Jeff has something you'll likes."

He shuffled to a crate in the corner, shooing Fion out of the way in the process, and produced a key which hung around his neck. It was inserted into a keyhole and turned. The lock creaked horribly, then clicked, and Jeff was able to tug the lid up. He reached inside and pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle.

It was pressed into my arms enthusiastically, with a clanging sound like metal on metal. The whole thing was larger than my rucksack and incredibly heavy. He beamed as I staggered. "For the cloudy girl, yesh. That other girl can't use it anymore, oh no she can't."

"Thank you," I replied quietly.

He cackled happily and repeated, "Oh no she can't."

I made a hasty exit as the old man started coughing and wheezing with sinister excitement. Leo followed me out, dragging Carter by the scruff of his neck, and then came Fion leading the girls by their hands. Jeff didn't even seem to notice us go.