Being sandwiched between North America's two most powerful werewolves wasn't the strangest place that Izzy had ever found herself, but it was easily in the top five.
Charles Cornick drove unhurriedly north on the raggedy, two lane highway that led away from the Montana Moose Motel, with his face casually unreadable. He was an incredibly handsome man, like the warriors of old, all granite and angles, and had she been a Reservation school girl, Izzy might have wanted to steal a second glance at his classic profile, ala Crazy Horse or Chief Joseph. But she wasn't a school girl. She was Hokdi Dasha, daughter of First Ones, Guardian of the North, second of The Six, she was a little hard to impress. Besides, she had been working as a bounty hunter for the First Nations for almost a quarter of a century, something that made you, unfortunately, a little wary of classic profiles.
How did a Zuni Guardian end up bouncing along on the squeaky bench seat of 1975 Chevy pick-up truck in the Montana mountains next to Charles Cornick, possibly the second most dominant wolf on the continent? Honestly, she was still trying to figure that one out.
She had arrived in Aspen Creek on a Bounty. Hired by the Navajo Nation to track down a Skinwalker Witch named Barney Tso who had been doing nasty things with sand paintings and curses that had caused a bit of a stink between the Dene (Navajo) and their ancient foes, the Apache. They forked over one half of her substantial fee to ensure that Tso return to answer for his crimes. She had easily tailed Tso to the Marrok's Pack Territory, were he had ran hoping for sanctuary due to some family connection. She had been just about to take custody when she met with her reason for both her presence in this truck, headed to some unknown destination, as well as her relative disinterest in the fine Charles.
Bran Cornick.
The Marrok and Alpha for all the werewolves in North America, as well as father to the aforementioned Charles, had her in a bit of a quandary. The Marrok was currently in his human form, jostling on the bench seat next to her, looking for all the world like a graduate student in his grey, low topped skate shoes and jeans. For a second, one might just forget he was centuries older than her, though she herself aged slowly, a side effect of her 'gifts'. He was scribbling something on a scrap of paper, using the dash as a makeshift desktop. After scrawling a few sentences, he handed it to her, placing his finger over his mouth in that universal way that meant to keep quiet, reminding Izzy incongruously of a ten-year old boy passing a love note during class time. This was adding only more questions to her quandary, which heightened her curiosity even more. Izzy ignored the sensation of electricity that lit through her belly when his fingers brushed hers, passing the note. Without making eye contact with Bran, she scanned the words quickly, without starting or showing surprise, though she might have, if he hadn't warned her.
Scribbled across the page in blue ink were the lines,
I need your help. Any price. Before full moon, kill me.