I didn’t ask how River knew this, and I didn’t question the fact that Mr. Mitchell had an entire cabin full of weapons. Under normal circumstances, I would have, because—River’s fondness for shotguns aside—werewolves didn’t need weapons. They were weapons. But thinking back to the look on Mitch’s face when he’d told me, all calm like, that male werewolves could get funny around females, I wasn’t surprised.
Against humans, werewolves didn’t need weapons. Against other werewolves, being armed to the hilt might come in handy, at least in human form.
“Okay,” I said. “So you’ll take care of the weapons situation. Now we need to know where we’re going and we need a way to get there.”
I kept coming up with small problems, like transportation, because no matter how many times I turned it over i
