Drunk, he meant. He’d offered Alexandra help in getting Kieran out of the bar, and spoken to her afterward. Now he was here. Waiting.
“Why are you here?” Kieran said. He took a step forward, knotting his fists.
“I live here.” Gévaudan’s deep voice was mild, but his eyes were wary and alert as he dropped his pack. Kieran saw the same concealed readiness in his body that Kieran kept in his own. “I only flew back yesterday myself, but I knew you’d turn up.”
He knew. Kieran judged the space between them and analyzed Gévaudan’s size and weight in his mind. If it came down to a fight—
“I was the one who advised Julie Wakanabo to send you here,” Gévaudan said. “I knew the call was summoning you, but I thought I’d make it simpler, given your circumstances.”
Kieran kept himself from revealing his shock. “Explain,” he demanded, advancing another step. “Tell me exactly what the hell you’re talking about.”
Gévaudan held his gaze. “I think the best explanation is in the showing.”
Calmly and deliberately Gévaudan started to strip. When the first touch of gray mist formed around him, Kieran began to understand. And when the great gray wolf stood before him, ears pricked and tail high, Kieran knew.
“You,” he whispered. “You’re like me.”
Within seconds Gévaudan was dressing again with the same efficient nonchalance he’d shown before. “Yes. As I’ve known you were one of us ever since I saw you in Merritt.”
One of us. Us. Impossible, and real. Like himself. Kieran’s mind raced, but he let none of his confusion show. “You’re a werewolf,” he said.
“We prefer the name loup-garou.” Gévaudan finished buttoning his shirt and tossed back his hair with a jerk of his head. “You aren’t the first outsider to come to us. How long have you been hearing the call, Kieran Holt?”
Kieran braced his feet firmly against the ground. “What is it?” he countered. “What is this place?”
“Not here.” With fluid, unconscious grace Gévaudan settled onto his haunches. “Val Cache. A hidden valley, a village, and a sanctuary for our people. And now a source of gathering.” He cocked his head. “Did you think you were the only one? You aren’t the first to believe that, and you won’t be the last.”
Others. Others had been called here, just as he had. Others had believed themselves alone. “How many?” he asked.
“The call is erratic. A few more come to us every year, but how many exist outside Val Cache…” He shrugged, a gesture that belied the intensity in his eyes. “In Val Cache alone there are over fifty of us now.”
Fifty. A village of people like himself. “Did you… come to Merritt to find me?”
“No. Not exactly.” The yellow-green eyes had grew wary. “But as soon as I saw you I knew you were one of us. And I knew you were in trouble.”
Trouble. Far too mild a word, but Kieran was in no mood to appreciate the irony. “What does that have to do with you?” he challenged.
Gévaudan rose slowly. “It has everything to do with me. With all of us. You need help, Kieran Holt, and we are the only ones who may be able to provide it.”
Adrenaline pumped through Kieran’s body. “What help?”
“I was there in Merritt. I know about the murder. I know why you ran, and what the police believe.”
“And what do you believe, Gévaudan? That I murdered Schaeffer?”
“I don’t know. Not yet.”
Kieran backed away, shaking his head. “I don’t remember. I lost my memory of my past. If I killed—” He choked on the word. “I don’t remember.”
Gévaudan sighed. “I suspected something like that. I didn’t interfere in Merritt because I knew you’d come here when you ran. But I do know how the body looked. I did my own investigation before I left Minnesota.” He shifted his stance with a subtle motion. “I know what could have killed him.”
“A werewolf,” Kieran supplied, hearing the bitterness in his own voice. “A monster.”
“We aren’t monsters,” Gévaudan said sharply. “But it is possible that a few of us—some beyond our reach—could be sick or mentally ill, just as among humans. And if such a one killed Schaeffer, and the Indian girl five years ago—”