Ursini's vipers were known to have an irritable nature, to be very territorial and struck quickly when approached.

Their venom was hemotoxic, designed to break down the blood of their prey. Few human deaths were attributed to Ursini's vipers in the area, but Annja felt certain a lone climber miles from help in the mountains would be a probable candidate.

The ledge Annja clung to extended six feet to her left.

Okay, she mentally projected at the snake, not wanting to speak because the vibrations of her voice might spook the nervous viper, there's enough room for both of us.

Moving slowly, she shuffled her left hand over a few inches. The snake tightened its coil. She stopped, clinging by her fingertips. If she'd been wearing gloves she might have felt more comfortable taking the risk of movement. But at present only a thin layer of climbing chalk covered her hands.

She stared at the snake, feeling angry as it kept her at bay. She didn't like being afraid of anything. She was, of course, but she didn't like it. That something so small could impede her was irritating. If she'd worn a harness and had belayed herself to a cam, getting around the snake would have been a piece of cake.

But she hadn't.

"Bonjour,"a voice suddenly called from above.

Gazing upward briefly, Annja spotted an old man hunkered down in a squatting position thirty feet up and to the right of her position.

He was in his sixties or seventies, leathery with age. Sweat-stained khaki hiking shorts and a gray T-shirt hung from his skinny frame. His white hair hung past his thin shoulders and his beard was too long to be neat and too short to be intended. He looked as if he hadn't taken care of himself lately. He held a long walking staff in his right hand.

"Bonjour,"Annja responded quietly.

"Not a good spot to be in," the old man observed.

"For me or the snake?" Annja asked.

The man's face creased as he laughed. "Clinging by your fingernails and you've still got wit." He shook his head. "You seldom find that in a woman."

"You aren't exactly enlightened, are you?" Annja shifted her grip slightly, trying to find a degree of comfort. There wasn't one.

"No," the old man agreed. He paused. "You could, of course, climb back down."

"I hate retreating."

"So does the snake."

"I suppose asking for help is out of the question?"

The old man spread his hands. "How? If I try to traverse the distance, should I be that skilled, I would doubtless send debris down. It might be enough to trigger a strike."

Annja knew that was true.

"It is poisonous, you know. It's not just the sting of a bite you'll have to contend with."

"I know." Back and shoulders aching, Annja watched the snake. "I have a satellite phone. If I fall or get bitten, maybe you could call for help."

"I'd be happy to."

Annja held up a hand, letting go of her fear and focusing on the snake. Its wedge-shaped head followed her hand. Then, getting the reptile's rhythm, she flicked her hand.

The viper launched itself like an arrow from a bow.

Without thinking, Annja let go the ledge with her left elbow and swung from her right, crunching her fingers up tightly to grip and hoping that it was enough to keep her from falling.

The snake missed her but its effort had caused it to hang over the ledge. Before the viper could recover, Annja swung back toward it.

Trying not to think of what would happen if she missed or her right hand slipped from the ledge, she gripped the snake just behind its head. The cool, slickly alien feel of the scales slid against her palm.

Move! she told herself as she felt the snake writhing in her grip. Skidding across the rough cliff surface, feeling her fingers give just a fraction of an inch, she whip-cracked the snake away from the mountain.

Airborne, the snake twisted and knotted itself as it plummeted toward the verdant growth of the forest far below.

Flailing with her left hand, Annja managed to secure a fresh grip just as her right hand pulled free of the ledge. She recovered quickly and let her body go limp against the cliff side. Her flesh pressed against the uneven surface and helped distribute her weight.

"Well done," the old man called. He applauded. "That took real nerve. I'm impressed."

"That's me," Annja agreed. She blew out a tense breath. "Impressive."

She hoisted herself up with her arms, hoping the viper had been alone and hadn't been among friends. Even with the ledge, she tucked herself into a roll and luxuriated on her back.

The old man peered down at her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Just resting. I'll be up in a minute."

Taking out a pipe, the old man lit up. The breeze pulled the smoke away. "Take your time," he invited. "Take your time."

Annja lay back and waited for her breathing to calm and the lactic acid buildup in her limbs to ease. You should go home, she told herself. Just pack up and go. Things are getting way too weird.

For some reason, though, she knew she couldn't turn and go back any more than she could have retreated from the snake. As she'd begun her ascent on the mountain, she'd felt a compulsion to continue her quest.

That was dumb, she'd thought. There was no way she was going to uncover the secret of La Bête after three hundred years when no one else had been able to.

But something was drawing her up the mountain.

Chapter 3

ADULL ROARING sounded in the distance.

Recognizing the noise, Annja sat up on the cliff's edge and peered out into the forest that broke across the foothills of the mountains like an ocean of leaves.

Six Enduro motorcycles bobbed and slid through the forest. The riders wore brightly colored leathers and gleaming helmets.

"Are you expecting company?" the old man asked from the ledge above.

"No."

"Perhaps they just came out here for the view," the old man suggested. "Or maybe they brought their own entertainment."

Meaning booze or drugs? Annja thought that was possible. But she didn't mean to get caught standing on a ledge if that wasn't the truth.

"Are you coming on up, then?" he asked politely.

"Yes."

"Good." The old man took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. "It's rather warmer up here than I'd thought it would be."

Annja stood, balancing precariously on the narrow ledge. She reached into her pack and took out a bottle of water. After drinking as much as she could, she replaced the bottle in her pack and started climbing again.

"There's a rock to your left." The old man pointed to the outcropping with his staff.

She curled her hand around the rock and heaved.

"There you go," he congratulated.

Listening to his speech, Annja wondered at his accent. He spoke English, but she believed that was because he knew she was American. But his French accent wasn't something she was familiar with.

Moments later, Annja gained the top of the ridgeline. The motorcycle engines had died and the silence seemed heavy.

"Thanks," Annja said.

The old man shrugged. "It was nothing. You climb well," he said.

"Thank you."

"But you shouldn't climb alone."

Looking around innocently, Annja asked, "Where's your partner?"

He shrugged. "I'm an old man. No one will miss me if I fall off the mountainside." He started up the ridgeline.

Having no other destination in mind at the moment, Annja followed. The compulsion that she only halfway believed in seemed to be pulling her in that direction anyway.