Shadow on the Moon Page 5

  The hair on Charlie's body bristled. He froze in place, listening with fear-honed ears as the noise intensified like notes in a terrible symphony.

  "Oh, Grandfather Sky," Charlie whispered. "Send all our relations—"

  Suddenly the notes crescendoed with a cymballike crash. Brush and branches rattled, hapless rodents squealed, birds flew off with a clatter. The sound grew louder and closer, louder and closer, until it roared like an approaching freight train.

  "—the Stone People, the Standing People, the Four-leggeds and Winged Ones."

  The forest wall exploded and the night grew quiet again, save for the thuds of running feet. "Call them to aid me now in my time of

  Charlie dove for his gun, scrambled up and streaked for cover at the base of the footpath. "Help me, Grandfather Sky."

  He whirled, dropped to one knee, fired at the dark, amorphous shape—was it man or animal? Then, like the Four-leggeds he'd invoked, he crawled up the rocky path. At a sharp turn, he spun and fired again.

  A wail—half yelp, half howl—followed the crack of the pistol.

  Nearly mad with terror, Charlie lurched to his feet and ran, fighting the force of gravity, stumbling as loose rock slipped beneath his feet. The savage roar behind forced him on.

  Then his foot hit empty air. Brambles tore at his coat, nicked his face. Pebbles rained down. An owl screeched in warning; a wolf howled its rage.

  Charlie's scream mingled with their cries and echoed over the treetops in a baleful death song.

  Chapter Five

  Unlike its dark relative the vampyre, the wer-wolf is not immortal. Indeed, he is long-lived, several lifetimes by human standards, yet he can be slain. Does the hunter need silver bullets? This author laughs. Nay. A simple shotgun. An ax. A knife. Any of these tools may suffice.

  Dear God, Dana thought. With this kind of nonsense being written, no wonder people once feared wolves. Still, she found it hard to tear her eyes from the page.

  The stout-hearted hunter must assure that the beast expires while the wolf curse is upon it. To shoot or hack or stab the heathen as it alchemizes will not do. No! Once the purity of the human soul begins returning—

  "Humph," scoffed Dana.

  —once the purity of the human soul begins returning, the wounds heal as if by magic hand. Nay, stout hunter, nay. Slay the beast as wolf, not as man.

  Dana's eyes raced over the page. For a moment, she got caught up in the dramatic language, the passionate belief of the author.

  Then cut off its ears and paws, pry loose its devil fangs, bury the remains in hallowed ground.

  Enough!

  Dana slammed down the book and climbed off the bed. Her short nap had refreshed her, but she had no idea what time it was. Why didn't Morgan have any clocks? She glanced at the watch on her wrist, hoping it too had revived. But behind its shattered crystal, the hands were still stopped at the moment of the accident. For all she knew, it could be daytime behind the storm-dark sky.

  Storm? She listened for sounds and heard the low hum of the wind. Underneath was a repetitive sound that reminded her of drums beating.

  Thunder, she decided, rumbling far away. But the eaves no longer groaned and the fire was strong and straight inside the hearth. She dashed to the window and looked out to see a cloud of snow billowing in the moonlight.

  She glanced at Morgan's door. His music had stopped while she was asleep, and by now he'd undoubtedly nodded off.

  She hesitated. He'd asked little of her, just that she stay inside at night. Not an unreasonable request, considering that half a dozen people had been killed in this area in the past few months. But Morgan seemed to know nothing about that, so his dire warnings and reluctance to let her leave were puzzling. Of course, he also didn't understand how important her work was, and she couldn't blame him for not wanting to take her out in such violent weather.

  It was probably too much to ask that the storm had passed entirely. The distant thunder suggested it hadn't. But maybe by sunrise or even midday it would be gone. It couldn't hurt if she just stepped out for a minute and got the lay of the land. She looked over at the dwindling fuel supply. Less than half a dozen logs remained. At the rate the fire was eating them, they wouldn't last until morning. Well, she knew how to fetch logs with the best of them. She'd use that as her excuse. Maybe when Morgan saw what she'd done, he wouldn't be angry that she'd disregarded his request.

  The idea excited her. She hurried to get the waterproof leggings, then searched Morgan's pantry shelves for something to light her way. She found a Coleman lantern with plenty of fuel inside.

  By the time she'd pulled on her boots, she was skittish as a wolf cub. She lit the lantern and went to the front door. As she swung it inward, a pile of snow collapsed onto the cabin floor.

  "Damn!"

  Impatiently tossing chunks back onto the stoop, she cursed again when she saw rivulets forming on the floor, knowing she'd have to waste even more time mopping up water.

  As she went for the mop, a horrendous squeal came from somewhere in the wild forest outside. Not that such pitiful sounds weren't common in the wilderness, but bad weather tended to keep predators and prey alike in their lairs. Dana peered out the open doors but saw nothing, and now the only sound came from pine needles whispering in the wind. Even the thunder had stopped.

  Shrugging, she began mopping up the melted snow.

  Not long after, she stood on a long covered porch, the lantern hanging from one arm and a shovel in her hands. The air felt crisp and wonderful as it nipped her bare cheeks, and she realized she'd been feeling as cooped up as a hothouse flower.

  A huge yellow moon reflected brightly off the rolling snow and she could see for quite a distance. Off to her left were a couple of sheds, one of which looked like it held wood. Beyond were several structures that she couldn't quite make out, and even further out, the landscape seemed to stretch endlessly. To her right, and circling around until it met the never-ending meadow, was the thick forest.

  She wasn't certain which way led to the bottom. By the position of the moon, she judged the meadow to be somewhere to the west. But which way led to her four-by-four?

  With a shake of her head, she scooped snow off the top step leading from the porch. She wouldn't be getting any definite answers in the dark of night, so she might as well head for the sheds and bring in some wood. At least she was free for a while.

  * * *

  Morgan plowed through the churning snow, his four powerful legs barely touching down before he leaped again. To one side was the icy crest of Ebony Canyon. To the other, the golden rectangles of his cabin windows were becoming near.

  He halted and licked away the last remains of blood from his mouth, then similarly cleansed his paws. How he hated this humiliating task. Almost as much as the impulse that drove him to run at night, every night, seeking a victim to satisfy his lust.

  When he finished washing, he alchemized from wolf to werewolf shape. Soon he'd be behind the cabin, where he would pick up his clothes and shift to human form. Had he not brought the female to his den, he would have gone to stand in front of the warming fire before shedding his werewolf form.

  Why had he brought her here? His common sense told him she wasn't the one. To find her at the base of the mountain, so close to the time of the Shadow of Venus was simply too coincidental. And she'd be nothing but trouble. The others would come, try to take her from him.

  He felt a sudden stiffening of his guard hairs. Were they here now? Turning, he sniffed. Seconds later, something black streaked across the snow. A pale blur of white-on-white followed. Soon he heard a soft thud behind him, and he turned.

  An unusually large wolf, made all the more remarkable by its pure white coat, was regarding him with the open curiosity of a family pet. He recognized the feigned friendliness, knew it concealed a menace made even more deadly because it was hidden.

  "I told you to back off," he growled in warning, lifting his eyes to include a darker wolf slinking at the wh
ite one's flanks.

  The larger wolf shook its great head, then crouched. Its muzzle shrank, its body and legs elongated. Soon, a womanly form stood before him. But this was no ordinary woman. Her curving body was covered in silver-white hair and her long, nimble hands bore claws.

  "Give us the human female, Morgan." She spoke the Lupine language in a throaty rumble and bared her sharp fangs.

  "Stay away from her, Lily," Morgan replied, also speaking Lupinese.

  "Are you headed to romp with those cur you keep?" She reached out a long hand and drew her claws across his furred throat. Her dark eyes narrowed.

  Those claws could open his throat in seconds, but Morgan felt no fear. She was strong and deadly, but he knew she wouldn't hurt him. He grasped her wrist, allowing his own claws to dig into the tender pads of her palm. She gave no sign she felt any pain and repeated her demand.

  "Give her to us."

  At her words, the darker wolf darted forward and stood at her side.

  "The woman's mine." Morgan bared his teeth. He hadn't planned to say those words, but now he'd taken a stand. To back down would show weakness, something a lone wolf couldn't afford to do.

  "Jorje is hungry." Lily gazed sympathetically at her companion "He hasn't had a human kill in days."

  Emboldened, the creature looked up at Morgan and growled. A small lift of Morgan's lips sent it cowering back.

  "He doesn't yet have your courage." Lily bent and gave the wolfling a languorous stroke. Then she straightened and tore her wrist from Morgan's grip. "I promised him the female and he shall have her."

  "No!" Morgan bristled his coat and scraped the snow, sending a fresh spray of powder into the swirling snow.

  Lily smiled cynically.

  "Look at you. So determined to remain one of them." She jerked a disparaging hand toward the cabin where the female slept, then leaned forward until her nose nearly touched Morgan's.

  "You are a werewolf now, Morgan. A hunter, like us." She sidled around, rump outthrust in sexual invitation. "You can't escape. Why do you have such trouble grasping that fact?"

  With a rattlerlike motion, Morgan dipped his head and nipped her thigh. She scurried back with a ki-yi-yi. Jorje cringed and whimpered.

  Lily whirled, glaring first at Jorje, then at Morgan.

  "Give it up, Lily. It's not going to happen."

  Morgan directed a scathing glance at Jorje. "Mate with your lapdog instead."

  "How little you understand the ways of our species. What's so important about this female anyway? Humans are prey, that is all." In an abrupt about-face, she laughed, the musical tinkle at odds with her fierce expression. "Oh, Morgan, you are a fool. Do you think she's the one told of in The Book? Do not believe everything you read."

  Although surprised, Morgan wrinkled his nose to convey disagreement. He'd underestimated Lily's cunning, but how had she guessed so quickly? Moreover, he suspected she was right. The Book was written by a fearful man, living in a fearful place. And yet . . .

  What had drawn him to that ruined dead-end road at exactly that time? The Book told of—

  Before he could give it more thought, Lily sniffed and glanced over his shoulder. Morgan followed her gaze and saw a glow moving away from his cabin.

  He felt a surge of rage. Dana had disobeyed his command. This a female never did! Then remembering she was human, not wolf, he sighed. Keeping her at his cabin would be even harder than he'd thought.

  Lily inclined her head toward Jorje. The wolfling crept forward. Morgan crouched, inflating his hackles to their limits. With a snarl, he spread his arms and blocked their path.

  "This is my territory, Lily. Return to the dark, cheerless woods of Europe and leave me be. You're not wanted here."

  Lily put her hands at her waist, jutting out one hip in a provocative human gesture that Morgan had once found irresistible. She regarded him thoughtfully.

  "The puny door of your puny dwelling offers her no protection," she growled.

  "No, but I do. And so does Lupine Law."

  Showing fang, Lily bristled her coat like porcupine quills. Jorje weakly lifted the hair on his dark shoulders, but still held back. Morgan could see Lily was considering her options. True, the pair could rush him, but Jorje was immature, vulnerable to the dominance of an older male. Although they might initially overtake Morgan, he could take out the smaller wolf with one swipe of his powerful jaws. And unlike them, Morgan was not tightly bound by the Law.

  Lily obviously reached the same conclusion. "Very well. You may have her. For now." She patted the dark wolf on its head. "Come along, Jorje. We'll find you another."

  With that, she smiled. Her body shifted, wavered, and with a small glad whimper she returned to creature form as easily as taking a breath. She nudged Jorje, and the pair leapt toward the rim of the canyon. Morgan followed them with his eyes until they disappeared.

  Yeafanay cawfanay naylanay may. The Song of Hades filled his mind, bringing back the night he'd been consigned to hell in vivid detail, yet also bringing renewed hope. A ritual from The Book had made him what he was. Could everything else its pages foretold also be true?

  Years ago, when he first came to Ebony Canyon, he'd taken the section on the Shadow of Venus out of The Book and studied it carefully, almost committing it to memory. It was packed with chants and rituals all based on astrology. Before his transformation, he would have considered it all hogwash.

  But in the beginning he'd been willing to try anything to escape his curse. He'd taught himself how to erect and read astrological charts and had even pinpointed the planetary aspects the maiden must possess to successfully perform the ceremony.

  As time passed, his hope waned. Now he had little faith the ceremony would work. Of course, until now there hadn't been a maiden.

  She must love him, so said the text. With an abiding devotion that eclipsed fear and death. Since using his hypnotic powers was expressly forbidden, why would Dana, or any woman, love him? He'd become a hermit. Most days, even in human form, he looked and lived like the creature he'd become. A creature not unlike the ones Dana had fiercely sworn to protect.

  No, not at all unlike.

  And subtly, very subtly, Dana behaved like the animals she loved. As soon as she'd become alert, she'd scanned the small cabin, searching for danger like wolves in the wild. Later, she'd roamed the room, touching objects as if marking her territory. But most notably, she'd shrunk in size when he'd frightened her, looking away, baring her belly like the submissive female he knew she wasn't.

  This one was no stranger to the way of the wolf. And from her display of devotion, he knew she loved them. Could her love spill over to that abomination of nature, the werewolf?

  To him?

  He looked up sadly at the waxing moon. Slim wisps of clouds streaked its mottled surface. It appears so harmless, so insignificant in the ways of man. Morgan knew differently. Even now it sped on toward that fated night.

  In the meantime, he thought, as he lowered his gaze to the glowing lamplight inching toward the woodshed, he needed to discipline her, teach her exactly who was the dominant one of this pair.

  Her life depended on it. Or, at least, his did.

  The going was slow. As Dana shoveled her way to the shed, she sank nearly to her hips several times, and wished she'd had the foresight to don the snowshoes. But too late now. She needed to get that wood stacked inside before Morgan woke up.

  She felt a bit edgier than she'd expected. Darkness and night sounds didn't normally disturb her. But the lingering memory of the eerie howls she'd heard just before the crash still nagged at her. Besides, it was the absence of sound that bothered her most. Not unusual in the wake of a blizzard, but nevertheless, the cries of a few night birds would have gone a long way toward making her feel more secure.

  The loss of time wasn't helping, either. If she didn't get back before Morgan woke, he'd be angry that she'd ignored his warnings. She could better face that anger if she succeeded in her task.

&nbs
p; And she would be in a better position to ask Morgan to take her back to her Ranger. He had no excuse now. The sky was beginning to lighten and clear. By morning the storm would have passed.

  * * *

  Soon she reached the shed, which was actually more of a lean-to. Settling the lantern on the roof, she looked around and spied a sled leaning against a wall. She kicked it down on its runners, then started brushing snow off the wood and stacking it on the sled. The ceaseless wind kept blowing fresh snow across the patch she'd shoveled, but she took satisfaction in knowing it wasn't quite as deep anymore, which meant she wouldn't be sinking to her knees

  As she piled on yet another layer of wood, she heard a rumble.

  Low and throaty.

  She turned slowly.

  Had something darted behind the corner of the cabin?

  She lowered her head, looked up, moved her eyes left to right. All was quiet around her. Moonlight streamed on the expanse of empty billowing white.

  Letting out a quick laugh, she realized she was behaving just like Sheila, the first wolf she'd raised from a pup. Her dad was right. She had begun to act like them.

  When had she come to fear things that went bump in the night? It was only a tree branch scraping the roof, not a banshee. With another laugh, she straightened the wood on the sled, then turned for another load.

  The rumble came again.

  Dana paused, searching for its source. This definitely wasn't a scraping branch. Gingerly inching around, she picked up the shovel and angled it across her body, then scanned the snow as she turned.

  Her heart gave a wild leap when she saw the large white canine loping along the horizon. Was it a wolf?

  What else could it be, up here, so far back in the wilderness? She froze, not wanting to frighten it away, and fervently wished she had a camera. It was closing in on her now, but she knew the minute it caught her human scent it would turn tail and disappear to wherever it came from.

  Could it really be true? Had her instincts been correct?