The pale light of dawn found Ulric and Ingrid riding toward the secluded cabin of Magnus Jorgenson, the only shaman Ulric knew to reside within twenty miles of Sparrow's Hallow. If there had been any other option, or if he had had more time, he would have taken it. But he'd promised Ingrid they'd get married today, so Magnus would have to do.

He just hoped the shaman would cooperate and grant his request. Five years had passed since the first and last time he'd crossed paths with Magnus, and the meeting had gone so poorly that there was a strong chance he'd refuse even to see Ulric, let alone perform a wedding ceremony.

Looking back, it was easy to understand why Magnus had been so offended. Their association appeared doomed from the very beginning the night they first met. It was a frigid winter night, only slightly warmer than today was proving to be.

Ulric had spent the better part of the past two days tracking Gifford Irondale, a murderer and train robber, who had managed to escape from the jail in Lone Pine, evading his scheduled date with the gallows.

Gunnar and Esmund were on a separate mission over fifty miles away but had plans to meet up with Ulric by the end of the week. In the middle of nowhere, Ulric came upon what appeared to be an abandoned cabin. Hungry, cold, and tired, he gave a half-hearted attempt at scouting out the area before deciding it would do for the night.

After getting Toots ready for the night in the small barn, Ulric gave the stubborn front door a persuasive nudge that tore the top leather hinge free as he stumbled inside.

He propped the broken door closed and immediately went to the cold fireplace, where he started a warm blaze, breathing his first sigh of relief when feeling rushed back to limbs gone numb with cold.

Scrounging around the sparse kitchen, he managed to find several jars of canned peaches and other foodstuffs. Full and warm, the only thing left was to find a few hours of sleep before heading out to continue his search.

Raising his hands over his head as he arched his back, he stretched and covered a yawn before dropping his arms to his sides and letting out a weary exhale. It had been a brutal, long day in the saddle, and he was more than ready to sleep.

He turned his attention to the bed and grimaced. After one too many bad experiences sleeping under animal furs, he was reluctant to place himself willingly in a bed fully covered by them. But he was dead tired, and maybe, if he were lucky, he could rest despite their dreaded smell.

At least he wouldn't freeze tonight. It was a pathetic attempt at bolstering his motivation to move to the bed instead of sleeping on the hard floor in front of the hearth, but it was all he could muster now. Resigned to his only prospective option for a comfortable—if not stinky—night, he unbuttoned his coat and promptly froze when the furs shifted.

Had it been a trick of the moonlight? He frowned. Two minutes ticked by in complete silence as he waited for the furs to move again. Nothing. Shrugging, he removed his coat and laid it over the rough-hewn bench at the foot of the bed. When he turned back, the furs shifted again, only this time a rumbling growl accompanied it.

Ulric's eyes widened. The scent was unmistakable and belonged to a bear. How had he not noticed or smelled it until now? He grumbled a curse even as his heart hammered in his chest with excitement.

Instinctively, he reached for his tin of baneberries. Fighting a bear without berserkering could be done, but it was infinitely more dangerous and, save for a few instances, rarely ended well for the Berserker. He flipped the tin open with his thumb, holding his breath when the scrape of metal against metal sounded as loud as a train in the small room.

He stood transfixed, unable to tear his eyes away from the bed, and cautiously withdrew a berry. But before Ulric could pop it in his mouth, the furs erupted from the bed and launched at him, knocking the entire tin of berries onto the floor.

Ulric grunted a curse and threw a fist into the bear's face before desperately diving for a berry. As he picked one up, the animal lashed out with sharp claws and tried to shred Ulric's back. But, when only his shirt gave way, the bear let loose a very human curse and attempted to stab his claws into Ulric's exposed flesh.

Wait a minute, Ulric thought in mounting confusion. Since when were bear claws made of metal? Growling low in his throat, he spun around, swept the bear's feet out from under him, and then landed a hard uppercut before the bear fell dazed to the floor.

"What the hell?" The bear groaned as it pushed hair out of its face.

At this moment, what was going on finally began to sink into Ulric's weary brain. And it became abundantly clear when the bear said, "What are you doing in my cabin?"

Ulric blinked. This was no bear he'd just fought, but a man in bear fur. "Your cabin?"

"Yes," The bear-man grunted as he rolled to his side and staggered to his feet. "My cabin." He stared at Ulric with suspicion and clenched his hands into fists at his side. "Who sent you to kill me?"

"No one," Ulric frowned.

The bear-man scoffed and bent to pick up his ruined blade from the floor. "Then why, pray tell, did you attack me?"

Ulric shrugged. His reason should have been evident to the angry stranger. "I believed you to be a wild beast."

The bear-man pulled back as though he'd been struck, then leaned forward and growled, "Are you mocking me?"

"Look, mister, there's no need to get upset," Ulric shook his head and scoffed. The whole situation had gone well past ridiculous. "What else was I supposed to think with you dressing like an animal?"

The bear-man narrowed his gaze and straightened his bear furs with a rough tug. "It is winter, you dimwit, and I was sleeping."

Ulric planted his hand on his hips and braced his feet apart. "I'm just saying it was an honest mistake. I apologize."

"I don't like you or your tone."

"Well, I don't care for your tone either," Ulric snapped. Honestly, how was someone supposed to remain polite when confronted with open hostility? "Perhaps you wouldn't find yourself in this position if you didn't dress like a damn bear."

The bear-man stepped close, leaving a meager inch between their noses as he threatened, "Mock my choice in apparel one more time, and you will not live to see another morning."

Ulric laughed—he couldn't help it; the situation was that ridiculous—and shook his head. "In case you failed to notice, you ruined your knife in your attempt to kill me two seconds ago...your paltry threat doesn't frighten me." He eyed the man up and down, taking a good long look at him, realizing he'd never met the man before, which wasn't all surprising considering the remote location of the cabin. "What's your name anyway?"

"Magnus Jorgenson."

"Hell's bells," Ulric cursed, "you're the shaman?" He studied him; the man was clearly not appeased by the feeble apology. How would he smooth things over sufficiently to gain the aid he required? Clearing his throat, he said in what he hoped was a nonchalant and yet somewhat cheerful tone, "I was hoping I would run into you."

"You've succeeded. Now leave."

Ulric pasted on a fake smile and planted his feet. He wasn't leaving until he got what he needed from the ornery man. "So, you're saying right now would be a bad time to ask you for help?"

"I believe you already know the answer to that idiotic question."

Ulric bit back a growl and said as politely, which was quite a stretch of the word for him, as he could, "Do you have any idea who you're talking to?"

Magnus folded his arms across his chest. "No, and frankly, I don't want to learn."

"Deputy U.S. Marshal Ulric Isaacson," Ulric said, just to be contrary.

"Well, that explains it. You're a filthy Berserker."

"Excuse me?" Ulric snarled, curling his hands into tight fists at his side, itching to knock the man flat with one punch. "Who the hell do you think y-"

Magnus thrust his arm out with a whoosh of energy and slammed Ulric against the wall. "You have three seconds to leave my home before you regret ever stepping inside it."

"Make it six, and we have a deal," Ulric grunted as he righted himself.

"Get. Out," Magnus snapped, throwing Ulric's coat in his face, "Of. My. House." He marched to the front door, glancing at his kitchen area on his way, and came to an abrupt stop. His shoulders stiffened as he slowly turned, leveling a heated glare at his unwanted guest. "You ate my canned peaches."

"I did," Ulric smirked, quite pleased he'd managed to irritate the man without even planning to. Unable to help himself, he added, "They were delicious."

Magnus yelled a curse, at least that's what Ulric assumed it was, and then shouted, "I WAS SAVING THEM." Magnus clenched his jaw and flung the front door open, his patience exhausted. "Leave this instant. You have overstayed your welcome."

Ulric muttered a curse under his breath; perhaps he'd gotten a little carried away in provoking the man, but it had been so easy. How was he supposed to have resisted?

And yet, it was abundantly apparent that this situation had not gone according to plan, and he had no one to blame—curse it all, where was Gunnar or Esmund when he needed them—than himself. "Look," He said, putting his coat on and taking his time doing up the buttons, "It's freezing outside; you said so yourself."

Magnus crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at him. "I believe you have selective hearing."

"At the very least, you must allow me to spend the night in your barn."

"For a moment there, it sounded as though you were telling me what to do."

Ulric clenched his jaw tight. Pasting on what he hoped was a polite smile, and knowing it probably resembled a feral baring of teeth instead, he gritted out, "I would never presume to do such a thing, Your Majesty."

Four minutes passed in stony silence. Magnus stared at Ulric with eyes full of loathing and a clear intent to do bodily harm the second another opportunity presented itself. But it didn't, and at long last, he gave a slight nod. "No doubt I will come to regret this, but yes, you may rest in the barn; however, I demand you leave at the first light of dawn."

"How about the second? First light is awful early."

"Every time you open your mouth, it makes me want to strike you," Magnus growled as he all but pushed Ulric out the door.

"I tend to have that effect on most people," Ulric murmured, barely holding back a grin of victory.

"Then perhaps you ought to speak less."

Ulric scoffed, "Mister, if I spoke any less, I'd be dead."

Magnus laughed and shook his head. "One can always hope." He remained on the front step until Ulric was only a foot away from the barn.

"Berserker?" The shaman called out.

Ulric's nostrils flared with anger. He loathed how some people used that word, speaking it as though being born a Berserker made him something less than the average human being. Taking a deep breath, he bit back his irritation and reminded himself that he needed the man's help in the morning. After silently counting to ten, he turned and gave a slight bow. "Yes, shaman?"

Magnus was quiet for a moment before saying in a tone that hinted at barely restrained violence, "Should you dare trespass on my property once more...I will kill you."

Ulric barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes, schooling his features into a mask of civility. "And I was just beginning to think I was growing on you."

"Not likely."

"Does that mean you won't help me?"

Magnus stared at Ulric with a look of annoyance on his face, stating, "If it gets you off my property any sooner, I'll offer you what little aid I can provide. But afterward, I never want to see your face again."

Ulric's lips bent in a smug grin. "Well, then...I'll see you in the morning, sunshine."

Had five years done anything to temper their distaste for one another, and had absence made the heart grow fonder? Ulric wanted to laugh. It wasn't likely because of the snippets of gossip the Marshals in Sparrow's Hallow shared concerning the reclusive shaman and his continued preference for dressing like a bear.

Upon passing the outskirts of town, he kept Toots at a crisp trot and allowed the hoofbeats, slightly muffled by the packed snow, to fill the companionable silence. A slight breeze carried pleasant scents of early morning breakfast and the promise of snow, evidenced by the thickening clouds on the horizon.

Ingrid rested against Ulric's chest, smiling at him over her shoulder as she pointed out the various creatures they passed along the way. When they turned down the lane carved through gigantic granite boulders nestled among pine trees leading to Magnus's cabin, they'd seen two foxes, six rabbits, and a moose with its calf.

However, a half-mile later, it became clear that the sounds he'd been hearing and trying to ignore meant they were being followed. With any luck, it was only a curious animal that would soon lose interest and pose no threat to them.

Knowing in his gut it was a vain hope, Ulric directed Toots around a grouping of boulders and bit back a curse when the hairs stood up on the back of his neck in warning. He listened, frowning when the minutes ticked by and the sense of imminent danger escalated.

Toots tossed his head and pricked his ears back just as Ulric picked up the snapping of twigs underfoot a little over twenty yards away. The stumbling manner in which three sets of feet moved through the woods in a failed attempt to be stealthy made it easy to determine it wasn't an animal.

But why, and perhaps more importantly, who would have any reason to pursue them? Unless...no, it couldn't possibly be anyone part of 'The Angry Wolf.' Could it?

The longer he dwelt on the possibility, the more his stomach began turning somersaults while adrenaline raced through his veins and his Berserker roared to be released. It was a sensation he usually embraced and relished. However, after Ingrid's revelation last night and having her with him this morning, he was extremely cautious.

Closing his eyes, Ulric held his breath and strained to pick up the sounds that would tell him the threat's exact location. Ingrid went completely still against him, gripping his forearm. Her voice was the faintest whisper when she asked, "What's wrong?"