the ground. When he didn't want to make noise, he didn't make noise.
A low growl caused a shiver of fear to slice through him, sending his adrenaline into the ozone layer. It wasn't a sound he'd ever heard here, and he knew every predator that lived in his territory.
Four feet farther and he had nothing impairing his view.
There in the middle of the path stood a dog-or something doglike, anyway. At first he thought it was a German shepherd because of the coloring, but there was something wrong with the joints of its front end that made it look more like a bear than a dog. And it was bigger than any damned dog or wolf he'd ever seen. It had cold eyes, killer's eyes, and impossibly long teeth.
Walter might not know what to call it, but he knew what it was. In that beast's face lurked every nightmare image that haunted his life. It was the thing he fought through two tours of ' Nam and every night since: death. This was a battle for a blooded warrior, battered and tainted as he was, not an innocent.
He broke cover with a wild whoop designed to attract attention and sprinted, ignoring the protest of knees grown too old for battle. It had been a long time since his last fight, but he had never forgotten the feeling of the blood pounding through his veins.
"Run, kid," he said as he blazed past the boy with a fierce grin, prepared to engage the enemy.
The animal might run. It had taken its time sizing up the boy, and sometimes, when a predator's meal charges it, the predator will leave. But somehow he didn't think that this beast was such an animal-there was an eerie intelligence in its blindingly gold eyes.
Whatever had kept it from attacking the boy immediately, it had no qualms about Walter. It launched itself at him as if he were unarmed. Maybe it wasn't as smart as he thought-or it had been deceived by his grizzled exterior and hadn't realized what an old veteran armed with a knife as long as his arm could do. Maybe it was aroused by the boy's flight-he'd taken Walter's advice at face value and was running like a track star-and just viewed Walter as an obstacle to its desire for fresh, tender meat.
But Walter wasn't a helpless boy. He'd gotten the knife from some enemy general he'd killed, murdered in the dark as he'd been taught. The knife was covered with magic charms etched into the blade, strange symbols that had long ago turned black instead of the bright silver they'd been. Despite the exotic fancy stuff, it was a good knife and it bit deep in the animal's shoulder.
The beast was faster than he, faster and stronger. But he'd gotten that first strike and crippled it, and that made all the difference.
He didn't win, but he triumphed. He kept the beast busy and hurt it badly. It wouldn't be able to go after the kid tonight-and if that boy was smart, he'd be halfway to his car by now.
At last the monster left, dragging a front leg and bleeding from a dozen wounds-though there was no question as to who was worse wounded. He'd seen a lot of men die, and he knew from the smell of perforated bowel that his time had come.
But the young man was safe. Perhaps that would answer, in some small part, for all the young men who hadn't lived.
He let the muscles of his back relax and felt the dried grass and dirt give way beneath his weight. The ground was cool under his hot, sweaty body, and it comforted him. It seemed right to end his life here while saving a stranger, when another stranger's death had brought him here in the first place.
The wind picked up, and he thought the temperature dropped a few degrees-but that might just have been blood loss and shock. He closed his eyes and waited patiently for death, his old enemy, to claim him at long last. The knife was still in his right hand, just in case the pain was too much. Belly wounds weren't the easiest way to die.
But it wasn't death that came during the heart of the first blizzard of the season.
Chapter ONE
Chicago: November
Anna Latham tried to disappear into the passenger seat.
She hadn't realized how much of her confidence had been tied to having Charles beside her. She'd only known him a day and a half,