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Then again, the moon was full, the woods were remote. If he were a werewolf, he'd consider this countryside perfect for running free. Freedom was a thing every creature desired, be it mortal or otherwise evolved.

"Good evening," he said, mostly because it was something he'd heard a vampire say in an American movie.

He hoped the largest werewolf's answering snarl was a form of laughter.

"I mean no harm to you," he went on.

He spoke calmly, without making any effort to reach the minds of the werewolves telepathically -- mostly out of politeness, but also because every time he tried psychic communication lately, the other Prime somehow fo-cused in on his use of mental energy.

The werewolves circled him, silver moonlight outlining their dark shapes. In morphed form they must be huge men, he thought.

It occurred to him that they meant him harm, which was not generally the way it went between werewolves and vampires.

"Why?" he asked as the trio drew closer.

They began to circle, growing one step nearer with each turn around the clearing. Clearly this was a dance, a ritual. Was there meant to be a sacrifice at the end?

While his ancestors might have participated in such Old Religion nonsense, Jason was a Prime of the twentieth century.

"There's a war on, you know," he reminded the circling beasts. "We should be fighting the Germans instead of each other."

They continued to come toward him.

He'd done his best to be civilized.

He smiled, happily anticipating the fight. "Very well, then."

As if his words were a signal, the pack let out an eerie howl and they all rushed him at once.

Jason laughed, tossing them around as though they were stuffed toys rather than creatures of hard muscle, sharp claws, and wicked fangs. They got in a few scratches, and a nip or two, but vampire skin was tough and healed quickly.

All in all, Jason enjoyed the game. He'd been running and hiding too much of late; this was a chance to take out his frustrations in a perfectly Primal way.

When it was finished, Jason hadn't broken a sweat and the werewolves lay in panting, exhausted heaps in the clearing. Jason was tempted to raise his head and howl at the moon himself.

What stopped him was the sudden awareness that he and the werewolves were not alone. There was a mortal standing behind him, and as Jason turned to face him the mortal began to clap.

"I'm glad you found us entertaining," Jason said to the white---bearded old man.

The mortal was shabbily dressed, but he had the bearing of an ancient prince. He lowered his gnarled hands to his side and gave Jason a regal nod. The werewolves dragged themselves from the ground and came to crouch at the old man's feet.

"Welcome, Prime." The mortal touched a werewolf's head and it leaned against his thigh. "You have done well tonight."

And it occurred to Jason that he had just been through some sort of test. But what was it, and why?