Shadow on the Moon Read online

  North it was.

  She headed back to the Ranger.

  While she'd been woolgathering, the sky had blackened and the wind was now a steady blow, pelting her with frozen snowflakes. It rattled the branches of the bare ash and cypress and sent macabre whistles through the needles of the evergreens. The sound reminded Dana of the thin scream of -a dying rabbit and sent prickles through her body.

  Abruptly, she stopped walking. Something was out there, behind the bending pines and whipping branches.

  Watching her. . .

  She studied the dense forest, searching for movement. All was still, but she'd learned to respect those sudden prickles of her skin. Once, when she'd felt much this way, she'd turned a corner of a trail to find a bear raging against a swarm of bees. The prickles had saved her life.

  She lowered her head against the wind and quickened her pace toward the Ranger. Just as she reached for the door handle, a howl resounded over the highest treetops. Achingly mournful, it carried a message of pain, loss, death.

  Dana felt the sorrow to her bones. Grotesque images of flying limbs and spurting blood flashed through her mind. Her shivers turned into flesh-racking shudders. Her knees buckled. She grabbed for the handle, jumped inside the ranger, and shakily activated the locks.

  Just a coyote, she told herself as she turned on the engine with trembling fingers, unnerved by her intense reaction. She'd grown up in some of the country's most rugged areas and felt safer backpacking alone through deserted canyons than she did on most city streets. True, she'd felt fear before, but not limb-numbing terror such as this.

  Her hands were still shaking when she engaged the four-wheel drive and jammed the Ranger into gear. The four-by-four creaked and swayed as she entered the road, jarring her in her seat. She clenched her teeth, focused on avoiding the worst ruts, and soon forgot the fearsome howl.

  Several bumpy miles later, Dana rounded a sharp S-turn and pulled to a full stop. The road had already deteriorated into a narrow cow path, and now an enormous wall of snow had swallowed it.

  Tapping her fingers against the steering wheel, she sighed loudly, and backed up, hoping for enough room to turn around in. She then angled the Ranger to the right, gingerly rolling back until she felt the tire hit the ridge of a drainage ditch bordering the road. Next, she pulled forward as far as possible until she reached the opposite side. She repeated the procedure several times, carefully avoiding the boggy ditch, which she knew would suck her four-by-four right in.

  With considerable effort, she finally had the Ranger at a suitable angle to the line of the road. From here, she turned the steering wheel as far as it would go, then stomped on the gas, counting on weight and momentum to carry her out. But she'd misjudged the slickness of the road. The tires tried to grab, but failed. The vehicle fishtailed and skidded toward the ditch.

  Whomp. Thump. Thump. The right front wheel scaled the edge of the ditch, jolting the Ranger to a stop.

  "Dammit!" Dana pressed her lips together, slammed the gears in reverse, and floorboarded the gas pedal. The wheels spun impotently and she released the gas.

  Throwing open the door, she stomped through the mud, dug out a lantern from the rear, and went to inspect the damage. Her back tires sat on a sheet of ice. The front passenger wheel was mired in the ditch. Cursing herself for having decided she didn't need chains because the western storm season had passed, she swung the lantern around, seeking something to wedge under the stuck wheel. The light fell on a branch, thick with pine needles, several yards inside the forest.

  Dana hopped across the ditch.

  The lantern splashed light on the underbrush. Birds flapped their wings and flew from dark shadows. Various creatures scurried and squeaked on...the ground. Finding the normality of the sounds reassuring, Dana hurried toward the branch, confident she'd soon be out of her predicament.

  A howl shattered her serenity. The night creatures instantly hushed and only an undulating echo broke the silence.

  Dana froze midstep. Her nerve endings vibrated, and for a moment her foot remained suspended in air. Angry at her loss of control, she stamped the foot down and exhaled heavily.

  Her breath misted in the lantern's wake, creating a heavy fog. The light quivered in her trembling hand.

  Battling an urge to dash for the Ranger, Dana made herself creep toward the branch. As soon as it came within reach, she snatched it up and sprinted toward the road, nearly tumbling when her foot caught the top of a dark stone.

  Finally, she reached the Ranger and hastily bent to wedge the bough beneath the mired wheel. When it was securely in place, she climbed inside. By now, her body was stiff from cold and tension. She struggled to remain clearheaded as she looked over her shoulder and applied gentle pressure to the gas pedal.

  The Ranger didn't budge. Dana upped the pressure. Nothing happened. As she steadied herself for one more try, the terrible wail came again. So loud, so close, it seemed just outside her door. She spun toward the windshield. She'd forgotten the lantern! And in the perimeter of its spilled light, a blurred shape moved with superhuman speed.

  Dana slammed down on the gas pedal.

  The Ranger lurched — once, twice, then again. She let up, stomped down again. The vehicle shuddered, broke loose, and careened back at drag racing speed.

  Dana instinctively hit the brakes, all the while knowing it was the wrong thing to do. Brakes squealed, tires screeched. The Ranger zigzagged, then spun. She battled the steering wheel, trying to force it in the direction of the skid, but it defied her control. Behind her, the wall of snow loomed larger and larger until it filled her rearview mirror.

  Like a great white shark, the wall opened up and sucked in the four-by-four like a minnow until it jerked to a halt against the skeleton of solid earth. The jolt threw Dana against the steering wheel, propelled her up and into the windshield, then rebounded her back into the seat, where she slumped like a rag doll.

  Her head roared with pain. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. Her vision grew fuzzy. Within the beams of the headlights, evergreen branches swayed and dark, unnameable shadows danced. Blinking, she tried to bring the sights into focus. She felt light-headed and giddy.

  As a strangled moan escaped her lips, her world quaked. She watched numbly as snow slid down the windshield. At first the avalanche only covered the hood, then, gaining momentum, it dumped huge chunks of snow on the roof, where they clattered, bounced off the glass, and slid down the fenders. Dana screamed.

  Then the windows were filled with white. All was deadly quiet. The only light inside the car came from the dimly glowing instrument panel.

  Who will protect my wolves? Dana wondered as she passed into unconsciousness.

  And from the shadows of the forest, a pair of gold-green eyes witnessed her misfortune.

  Chapter Two

  Beneath a towering pine stirred a man as huge and solid as the tree trunk that sheltered him. A long wool overcoat hung to his knees over heavy leggings that were tucked into bulky, serviceable boots, and his face was hidden in the abyss of a deep hood. Each item was of a nondescript dark color, not quite black or navy blue or gray, allowing him to melt into the shadows.

  What had possessed him to come this close to a major road so early in the evening? He knew better. But he'd heard the screams so often of late, could barely abide them, and a night such as this was made for death. They would be out, seeking lost travelers, and he felt somehow compelled to stop them.

  He'd been observing the female for some time, had seen her purposeful and confident

  movements. Had seen her become first alarmed, then panicked, causing her to react so unwisely. Was she even now trying to claw her way out like a snared rabbit? Surely, she was every bit as defenseless, every bit as doomed. Without help, she wouldn't last till dawn.

  Her vehicle had been so fully engulfed by the snowbank that only the hood and grille remained exposed. The beam of its headlights, still vibrating from aftershock, quivered on the road's froz
en surface and made the falling snow look like a shimmering curtain. The front passenger wheel spun on its axle, several inches off the ground. Otherwise, he detected no movement.

  Nearby, an owl hooted a warning. A rodent squealed, then scrambled through the forest carpet. The night fell into deep stillness, save for the purr of the engine and the whap-whap-whap of the airborne tire. He strained to hear, anticipating what was to come. Soon a rustle arose from the underbrush. A soulful wail followed.

  Why did those creatures howl so incessantly?

  Knowing it was a question without an answer, he calmly turned toward a tangle of brush and thickets. Within the dusky shadows, two sets of watchful eyes glinted red in the light from the woman's abandoned lantern. He returned their gazes with a hard stare, but they held their ground. Slowly, his lip curled in threat.

  "Back off," he snarled.

  The eyes retreated, leaving another squealing rodent in their wake.

  He nonchalantly turned his back and sprinted easily over the wood and stone obstacles littering his path to the road. With one athletic leap, he scaled the ditch and landed nearly fifteen feet away beside the vehicle's spinning wheel.

  His hood fell back, the wind tugged at his shaggy hair, and snowflakes struck his brow and nose. The cold troubled him little; he was well fortified against it, but he didn't want to frighten the poor woman to death.

  Smiling with black humor, he reached into his overcoat, pulled out a ski mask, and slipped it over his head. Next, he examined the damage to her vehicle. Over a foot of snow covered the cab. The snow would act as insulation and undoubtedly would keep her warm, but the running engine would soon eat up her oxygen. She was still alive though, very alive. He could smell her in there, the spicy scent of warm flesh, the tang of hot, rushing blood. Could hear the strong pulse in her veins.

  He dug into the snow bare-handed, heedless of the scratches he put in the paint, effortlessly deflecting the myriad new chunks dislodged by his movements. When he'd cleared all the snow from the driver's window, he leaned over and made out the woman's motionless silhouette through the condensation on the glass.

  Unconscious.

  This came as no surprise. He'd seen her strike the windshield, seen her forehead turn crimson, knew she probably had a concussion.

  Doomed. Without his help, the others would finish her off before dawn. A guttural protest escaped his lips.

  He must walk away. The risk was too great. Yet it had been written. On such a night, a maiden would come.

  With a resigned sigh, he stepped back from the window and hurled away the remaining snow. When he was done, he pulled the door open and reached to shut off the engine and lights. They offended his sensitive ears and eyes.

  He looked down at the slumped form. Blood was clotting in her dark, curly hair and the beginnings of a bruise already stained her forehead, yet he still saw how striking she was. High, well-defined cheekbones. Smooth, golden skin. A slender, well-developed body. A dislodged comb hung in her hair, letting her curls fall forward, which gave her a tumbled, morning-after look.

  His heartbeat quickened and he realized then how long it had been since he'd touched a mortal woman. Fingers trembling, he moved a hand toward her fragile throat.

  The wound still bled, the fresh blood trickling slowly down her face in tiny streams. He inhaled the tart odor and instantly salivated.

  He jerked his hand back.

  Do no harm. The ingrained dictum sprang to his mind and lodged there. He tried to dismiss it. Surely it didn't mean he also had to prevent harm. This wasn't his doing. How could he be blamed, when the female had foolishly driven down an unmarked dead-end road and bogged her truck?

  A trill of laughter traveled through the night. He glanced up, sniffed the air. Was he even now being mocked by his indecision? Watched, to see if he'd leave the unconscious female so they could fulfill their dark needs? Or worse, far worse, use her to fulfill his own?

  He looked up the storm-darkened path, seeing things that would escape a mortal's eye. A doe stepped out of a stand of trees, nibbled on some half-frozen grass, withdrew. A squirrel poked up its head beside a tree. A hawk swept down and the squirrel retreated.

  Maybe if he covered her with warm blankets, rangers would dig her out in the morning. In a few days she'd be sharing her adventure with all her friends.

  Right, he thought dryly. Why would the Forest Service check a dead-end road during what appeared to be the worst snowstorm in decades? He looked up. Nor could a helicopter see her—not through the dense pine overhang.

  He was her only refuge. Shuddering from the effort of quelling his instincts, he reached over her slumped figure and picked up a duffel bag from the storage area behind her seat. She was a mortal woman, after all, and he had not yet forgotten that they needed fresh clothes and other necessities.

  He hesitated for another heartbeat, again tempted to leave the female to her fate. His gaze drifted aimlessly, taking in the provision-packed interior, moving to the space he'd cleared on the windshield and onto the patches of lantern light reflecting off the red hood.

  Red. The color brought memories of flickering firelight. Long talks with White Hawk, old tales from ancient tribes, that all aligned with the promises in The Book.

  Was she the one?

  Absurd. The Book contained nothing but legend—old wives' tales to pacify wretched creatures like himself. With an impatient jerk, he turned, bent, and lifted the female from the seat as easily as if she was a doll. A moan passed her lips. He froze. But she merely wriggled deeper into his arms and collapsed against him like a dozing kitten.

  Holding her firmly against his massive chest, he broke into a rhythmic lope and started the long trek up the stormy mountain. And all the while a subtle question of which he was barely aware repeated itself.

  Was she the one?

  * * *

  Dana's head hurt. Bad. So bad, she hardly noticed the lesser aches in the rest of her body. Thoughts wandered through her fuzzy mind; she stirred and turned. Dreams . . . bizarre, disturbing dreams. A white tomb enclosing her. Dancing lights full of ominous shapes. Something black and hideous bending over her. Claws touching her neck. Then . . .

  Someone carrying her, holding her gently against their warmth, a reassuring voice.

  She heard the snap of resin, smelled mesquite. Her eyelids fluttered open. Above her, an oddly familiar ceiling of golden logs glowed in the light. A man bent over a weathered stone fireplace.

  "Dad?" she mumbled. "Dad? Did Mother come back?"

  The man got up, crossed the room, a blur in Dana's foggy vision.

  "Dad?" she cried again, lifting her head. Large, gentle hands touched her shoulder. "It's okay, Dana. Lie back down."

  Her eyelids fell closed and she drifted off to dream again.

  The next time she stirred, her images were crisper. The wrong road. The stuck tire. The crash.

  The howls.

  She awoke with a start. Gingerly, she levered onto her elbows and looked around. She was alone in a spacious log cabin that gave her the sensation of stepping back in time, into the cabin in which she'd grown up. Wind whistled in the eaves. Across the room a fire leaped in the hearth of a stone fireplace. To one side she saw a rough-hewed padded rocker and ottoman. Wood flanked the other side. In the center of the room was a crude wooden table with a couple of chairs tucked underneath.

  Where was she? How far from Mission Lobo base camp?

  Who had brought her here?

  A door opened and she cautiously turned her head. A man in a flannel shirt and loose denim jeans stepped into the room. His body filled the door, top to bottom, side to side. A wild bush of black wavy hair fell over his shoulders, and his thick eyebrows were separated only by a scar like crease. Two deep grooves bracketed his nose, and the rest of his face was hidden beneath a ragged beard. His overall appearance made Dana think of the legendary logger, Paul Bunyan.

  "How are you feeling, Dana?" he asked, chasing away that image. This was no lumber
jack's voice. It was smooth and cultured, hinting at a privileged Eastern education.

  "Okay, I guess." Dana tentatively touched her aching head. Someone had neatly bandaged it. "Did you do this?"

  "As well as I could."

  She saw now that he held a metal basin and some medicinal supplies. He crossed the room in two long strides and put them on a table beside the bed. His shoulders cast her in complete shadow and his hands were as large as the iron frying pan her mother once used. A brotherly pat on the back could send her flying across the room—not an easy task, since she was no featherweight herself. She supposed she should be apprehensive, but all she could think was—

  "My wolves," she said, abruptly swinging her feet to the floor.

  A mistake. She grabbed her head and leaned forward.

  "Don't move so suddenly," he directed, shifting to her side.

  "But. . . "but, my wolves. I have to. . "

  "Wolves?" He smiled, his face transforming as if a light had come on behind it. The crease between his eyebrows disappeared, the brackets softened. For the first time, Dana noticed his eyes. Gold, flecked with dancing lights of green. Soft, gentle, immensely sad. But he'd asked a question, and she must answer it and immediately get his help. The pain in her head was a nuisance, of course, but nothing she couldn't ignore.

  "I'm here for Mission Lobo, just in case there really are wolves. I have serious doubts, because the killings aren't consist— "

  "You've lost me. What are you talking about?" His smile vanished, leaving Dana to wonder if she'd imagined the transformation.

  "Are you a hermit or—" She stopped abruptly. He was obviously a friendly man who'd come to her aid. Not that she'd needed it. She would have woken up eventually, dug out the Ranger. Nevertheless, she had to quit biting the hand that fed her, or in this case, pulled her from danger.

  "I'm sorry. I get so involved I forget the whole world doesn't revolve around my profession. The bang on my head didn't help, either.