Free Werewolf in the North Woods by Vicki Lewis Thompson Page B

I don’t want to frighten you, but you’ve stumbled into something you don’t understand.”
    “Then I need to understand.”
    He shook his head. “The less you know, the better. Your best bet is to destroy these pictures, wipe that flash drive clean, and stay out of the woods while I take care of business.”
    “Unless you have one of those gizmos from Men in Black that wipes out my memory, I just can’t do that. I’d feel that I’d let down Grandpa Earl.”
    “That was a handy little item Tommy Lee Jones had.” Roarke gave her a wry smile. “Believe me, if I had one, I would have used it on you by now.”
    “Lucky for you I can be trusted not to blab.”
    His gaze intensified. “Everything depends on that, Abby.”
    In for a penny, in for a pound. She’d come this far, so she might as well see this through. “But in return for not blabbing, you have to take me on your Sasquatch hunt.”
    “Looks like I do.”
    “Then let’s get going.” She reached for the door handle. “We could make some progress this afternoon. Where should we meet?”
    “At Dooley’s General Store. I want to accept your grandfather’s offer of camping supplies so we can stay out there. That would increase the chance of finding the Sasquatch pair and decrease the chance that the Gentrys will know you’re with me.”
    “You don’t want them to know?”
    “I think it’s better if they don’t. They’d think I was fraternizing with the enemy by taking Earl’s granddaughter along on a Sasquatch hunt.”
    “Sure. Okay.” She squashed the uneasy feeling in her tummy. Better not to think about the fact that she’d just agreed to spend at least one night in the woods with a werewolf. “Small matter, but do you . . . ah . . . shift every night? I mean, it’s okay if you do. I’m totally cool with that. Don’t worry about me freaking out or anything, but it might be good for me to know what—”
    “I only shift when I choose to.”
    “Oh.” What a surreal discussion. “So that whole full moon thing is not an issue?”
    “Not anymore. We’ve— I’ve evolved to the point where the phase of the moon or time of day doesn’t matter.”
    “Good to know.” But she’d caught his little slip with the we part of that sentence. He wasn’t the only werewolf in the world.
    “So in other words, I’m in full control of my shift, so you don’t have to worry about . . .” He smiled. “Spontaneous fur.”
    “I do believe you just made a joke.” She lowered her voice. “A werewolf joke.”
    “You were looking a little tense.”
    “I think that’s perfectly understandable, under the circumstances, don’t you?”
    “Yes. In fact, I think you’re handling this amazingly well.”
    “Thank you. I do have one question.” A car with the sound system blaring drove past and she waited until the noise died down. “Let’s say we’re out in the woods, and you feel the need to shift. And then let’s say you bite me, either by accident or on purpose.”
    “I won’t, either by accident or on purpose.”
    “Pretend that you did, for the sake of argument. Would I become one of your kind ?”
    “No. That’s a myth.”
    “Yes, but you’re a myth. If you’re real, then anything is possible, including the stories about bites turning the human into . . . you know. Those stories must be based on something.”
    “They’re based on fear and superstition.”
    “So if you don’t make new werewolves by biting people, then how do you become one?”
    “Born that way.”
    She knew a little something about genetics. If Roarke had been born a werewolf, then he had others in his family tree. And she suspected that the Gentrys did, too. It was a lot to assimilate. She took a shaky breath and told herself to stay calm.
    Roarke crossed his forearms over the steering wheel and glanced at her. “You don’t have to go with me. I can come back and tell you what I saw. Wouldn’t that be enough evidence for you to relay to your grandfather