Shadow on the Moon Page 6

  She waited in excited apprehension as the animal rapidly narrowed the distance between them.

  Chapter Six

  Morgan quickly climbed into his clothes, shivering and feeling a pang of regret. He rued his wolf curse, true, but to his everlasting shame he also savored its invincibility, and always hated the nip of the cold after he'd returned to human form.

  With an irate jerk, he tightened the fastenings on his parka and turned from the chilling breeze to the cause of his annoyance. He regretted the impulsive growls he let escape when he'd seen her out in the open, easy prey for the white bitch and her groveling servant. What kind of woman was Dana Gibbs? The ones he'd known during his New York life wouldn't have dreamed of going out in the wilderness on a dark, blustery night. Hell, many of them didn't go out in the city at night, nor risk their precious fingernails digging snow and loading wood. But this one was oblivious to the danger around her.

  Immediately, his psychiatric training rose to defend her. Dana wasn't a New York businesswoman. She was a scientist who was used to wild country. From her point of view, what did she have to fear? Werewolves? They would hardly be in her frame of reference.

  His rationalizations only served to fuel his annoyance. He didn't think in those terms these days. What good was psychological insight to a hermit? He could view her behavior any way he wanted, but one fact remained. He'd made a mistake bringing her up here.

  So why didn't he take her back? If she could shovel snow and load wood, she could make the hike just fine.

  With a final tug on the drawstring of his parka, Morgan shook off that question and rounded the cabin to deal with his errant houseguest.

  His heart stopped the instant he cleared the corner.

  "Dear God, no!"

  Dana was rolling on the ground with a large white creature, who was emitting guttural noises that chilled Morgan's blood. His joints immediately started to ache and swell. His eyes blurred, and he knew there was little time before he became temporarily immobilized. Using all his willpower, he forced the changes back and broke into a run.

  In the next instant, he realized there was a complete lack of fear in Dana's squeals. Then he saw why.

  "Aphrodite!" he cried angrily, feeling the frailer human emotions now. The creaks of his joints subsided. The dog jerked away from Dana, who sat up and tried to drag her back, laughing all the while.

  Morgan stopped and stared.

  How long was it since he'd heard a woman's laughter? And what a rich, full-bodied laugh she had. It came from deep within and held a joy he'd forgotten existed. He almost doubled up from the sudden pain of his loneliness

  "Aphrodite! Come!" he commanded harshly.

  The dog cringed and slunk toward him.

  "We were just roughhousing," Dana said indignantly. "Why are you treating her like that?"

  By that time, Aphrodite was at his side, looking full of remorse. Morgan's anger ebbed, but he still had a headache, and the light from the lantern irritated his eyes so much he could barely see Dana. He squinted through the glow, trying to find some excuse that didn't include admitting he had thought Lily was attacking her.

  "She escaped from her pen and she knows better." His words came out gruffer than he'd intended, but the explanation apparently mollified her.

  "I know what you mean. I have a couple of wolves that do that. Smart little devils."

  She rocked lithely to her feet and brushed the snow from her clothes.

  "Go inside," said Morgan, in a more gentle tone. "You didn't dress for this cold. I'll put Aphrodite away."

  "Why don't we take her with us?"

  "To the cabin?"

  Dana returned Morgan's hard stare without hesitation. What was with him, anyway? So the dog got out. It wasn't like she'd be annoying the neighbors. A big dog needed plenty of exercise. And that matted coat could use a good brushing. A warm fire wouldn't hurt, either.

  She told Morgan so.

  "Aphrodite lives in the pen with the rest of the team, Dana," Morgan replied coldly, leaning down to take the dog's collar. "She's a working dog, not a house pet."

  "Doing what?" Dana waved her hands at the empty space around them. "Herding all the sheep out here?"

  "They carry supplies I bring up by sled. How do you think I get the fuel and food?"

  "Oh? Well, uh, I did wonder."

  Morgan nodded and started forward, leading Aphrodite with him.

  "What is she? A wolf hybrid? She sure—"

  "Dana, look at your legs. You've got to be chilled."

  She glanced down. Snow was caked on her jeans. Now that Morgan mentioned it, yes, she had to admit she was cold, although she hadn't noticed until he brought it up. He had a way of making her notice unpleasantness. Now, Aphrodite, there was a creature who appreciated simple pleasures.

  "You took a big risk coming out here with that concussion," he continued in a scolding tone. "And that roll in the snow didn't help any, either. Go inside and put on some dry clothes."

  "Let me go with you to see the other dogs." She trudged over and gave Aphrodite a pat that was rewarded by a lick on the cheek. She glanced up, laughing. "A hybrid. Right?"

  "Dana!"

  "All right, all right." She bent down for the rope attached to the front of the sled. "Just let me get the wood."

  "Go. I'll bring it."

  "Morgan, I'm not an invalid."

  "Please, Dana." He brushed his gloved hand through his bushy hair and looked so distraught that Dana felt a pang of sympathy. She'd pushed him pretty far and she knew he thought he was looking out for her welfare.

  "Okay." She dropped the rope and headed back for the cabin, leaving the lantern for Morgan. The moon gave plenty of light for a simple walk on a shoveled path. Every now and then she let out a laugh of pure joy.

  She dawdled so much, Morgan wanted to scowl, but all he could do was drink in her laughter. She was so vital, so glad to be alive.

  He wanted to keep her that way. No easy job when she ignored his simplest request. What was so hard about staying inside at night?

  When she finally entered the cabin, he let go of Aphrodite's collar and waded through the snow toward the fences that protected the kennel. Snow was piled high against them. He'd have to clear them before going in, which was just as well. He needed time to cool down before speaking with Dana again.

  The dog loped easily beside him, sinking then rising in the blowing flakes, sniffing now and again, veering off course. Each time she did, Morgan called her back and thought of how badly he now needed her.

  She'd been part of the first pair, brought up for companionship, or so he'd told himself. But when he began breeding them, he knew that hadn't been his true purpose.

  Seven dogs, said The Book. Not six, nor eight. Seven. All unusually large, all named after ancient deities. It had taken three years to breed them, with failures taken into the little village of Alpine and handed over to eager kids who had no idea what kind of monster gave them away. For the past year, he'd worked with them until they could sit still in a circle for hours.

  Lily had never attempted to harm them. According to The Book she couldn't. The protective power of the numeral seven kept them safe. But should even one dog die . . .

  The rest wouldn't live another night.

  * * *

  Captain Will Schumacher of the Arizona Highway Patrol was glaring at his communication officer. "Try them again," he barked, as if the unresponsiveness was the fault of the officer.

  "Unit thirteen-twelve, this is Mission Lobo. Come in." The man waited a few seconds, then looked up. "They still don't answer sir."

  "I know! Don't you think I have ears?" Schumacher whipped his head around to scowl at a group of officers gathered behind him. "Damn fools wandering off like that. Just like those wildlife people. And if that wasn't bad enough, there's this." He waved a piece of paper impatiently. "I told that wolf professor not to come. Now I learn she's lost out here somewhere. As if we didn't have enough on our plate. Well, they're n
ot getting in our way. Hear? I want teams out looking for wolves, not idiots who don't have enough sense to come out of a storm."

  "Captain Schumacher?" A man wearing aviator-style glasses stepped from the crowd. Schumacher's gaze lingered malevolently on the Fish and Game Department emblem decorating the pocket of the man's vest, which covered a non-regulation hunting jacket. Everything about the wildlife people grated on Schumacher's nerves, but the ones who ignored code annoyed him most of all.

  "What do you want, Fishman?" Schumacher snapped, glad to find a target for his ire.

  The man appeared oblivious to Schumacher's insult. Instead he planted his feet under his disgustingly fit hiker's body and said, "Maybe we should rethink our priorities. I doubt Charlie and Deek would wander off without notifying us, and that concerns me. As for Dr. Gibbs, she's one of the foremost wolf biologists in the country. She was instrumental in the reintroduction of the red wolf and—"

  "I know who the hell she is!" Schumacher looked up at the dome of the tent. "Why doesn't anyone ever tell me something I don't already know?"

  "What's more," Fishman continued, as though Schumacher hadn't even spoken, "she's used to the wilderness and has probably pulled off to wait out the storm. As far as the wolves go, it's the opinion of my department that they don't exist."

  "Don't exist? Then what do you suppose killed those people?"

  "There are any number of explanations that don't involve wolves. Regardless, I think our priority should be to search for the missing men."

  "Did anyone ask what you thought?"

  "Yes, Captain. The governor did."

  That stopped Schumacher in his tracks. He couldn't remember Fishman's real name, but he did remember that the man's opinions were backed up by a strong reputation in his field. Much as the captain hated wasting what little time the break in the storm gave them, he couldn't ignore someone so well connected.

  At that moment, another officer rushed into the tent. "The copter's coming, sir."

  "Good. At least something's working around here." Without another word, Schumacher followed the messenger out the tent door.

  Less than half an hour later, yielding to the wildlife officer's advice, he had assembled a squad to search for the missing Fish and Game van.

  "Move, move," he ordered. "Hurry up."

  The men loaded a small arsenal of handguns and semiautomatic weapons into the back of the helicopter, then scrambled for their seats. As Schumacher began boarding, his communicator ran out of the tent.

  "Did you contact thirteen-twelve?" Schumacher asked, wanting any reason to abort the manhunt.

  "No, sir," answered the young officer. "But someone sighted Dr. Gibbs."

  "Humph. The least of my worries. So what's the word?"

  "Her Ranger was spotted heading south on the Coronado Trail." He gave the captain the number of the closest mile marker.

  "Send out a unit." It didn't set well with him to dispatch badly needed officers. But what could he do?

  The lieutenant nodded and Schumacher climbed into the helicopter. With a buzz of blades, they were airborne.

  By chopper, the distance to the van's last known location was short. Soon the captain was ordering the pilot to duck down between the trees, merely scowling whenever the man said a move was too dangerous. Schumacher didn't much care for chopper pilots. They were a rebellious breed. Yet in matters of safety he had to defer to them. In one apparently "safe" dip, they spotted the Fish and Game van.

  "Take us down," Schumacher shouted into his communication headphone.

  "As soon as I find a clearing."

  Schumacher bobbed his head and mimicked the pilot's words, but the man had shut off his headphones and the captain's voice was lost in the whir of engines and blades.

  "There," the pilot said, having deigned to reestablish communication. He pointed to a field of black rock towers. "It's a hike back up to the road, but there's plenty of room to land."

  After second-guessing the pilot for a while, Schumacher gave the order to land. Although the man was only doing his job, Schumacher was ready to discipline the bastard by the time they touched down. He wasn't used to helicopters, and the rapidly approaching earth filled with all those eerie black outcroppings had scared a year of life out of him. Someone ought to pay.

  Before he could voice displeasure, his men were out of their seat belts, and he was forced to disembark so they could toss down the weapons.

  "All this for a few canis lupus," mumbled Fishman, who'd somehow copped a seat on the flight. Schumacher shot him a quelling look, receiving a shrug in return.

  The captain tightened the fastenings on his jacket and pulled the muffs of his cap over his ears. The day was darkening again. A chill wind swept along the ground, lifting loose leaves and branches toward the sky, biting at his legs.

  "We have to make it quick," the pilot advised, "else we'll run into some weather."

  Schumacher picked up a rifle from the pile, ordered his men to go through the maze of rocks, then followed at a safe distance. The windswept clearing was bare of snow except for drifts hanging around the bases of the black towers and the edges of the forest. To him, the ugly growths looked like dark fingers preparing to curl around him and squeeze out his life. When they approached a particularly close pair, he hesitated a moment.

  Then he heard a low groan.

  Chapter Seven

  The romp with Aphrodite had thoroughly lifted Dana's spirits. True, she'd been disappointed when she realized she hadn't encountered a wolf, but rolling in the snow with the frisky dog had more than made up for it. She was still elated when she stripped off her soggy clothes, slipped on a thermal shirt and sweat pants, and settled beneath warm blankets.

  Waiting for Morgan's inevitable return soon became unbearable. She felt unaccountably guilty for having ignored his demand that she remain indoors, the last thing she should be feeling. Or was it? After all, he had pulled her out of a wrecked vehicle and probably saved her life. Perhaps he did have a right to be angry, since his request did stem from the best of motives.

  But she was determined not to cower.

  She fiddled with the binding on her blanket, rearranged the fit of her pants, wiggled to get more comfortable. When she finally spied the werewolf book on the bedside table, she picked it up. As silly and far-fetched as the book was, it always held her attention.

  The wer-wolf’s strength is prodigious. With a single sweep of its deadly claws it can vanquish foe and prey alike. Thus, dear hunter, you are forewarned. Keep your distance until prepared to strike. Be wary. You will get but one chance.

  The text went on to describe a werewolf's uncanny speed, the density and keenness of claws that could cut glass, teeth like razors, hair like wire, skin thick as an elephant's and immune to all but the sharpest weapons.

  Its Achilles' heel, my friend, lies in its underbelly. Soft and tender as a newborn lamb's, a single arrow or flick of the hunter's blade will send the beast to its doom.

  The hair on Dana's arms bristled. This was fiction, pure fiction, yet she felt sympathetic toward this poor mythical creature so hated by mankind that someone felt compelled to write an entire volume on how to destroy it. For a moment, she let her imagination soar.

  If such a mutant existed, what would happen if she encountered one? Clearly it could speak. Did it hate its human counterparts as deeply as they hated it? Would it immediately attempt to destroy her, or could she ask the questions she always wanted to ask wolves?

  Was their lifelong mating motivated by unswerving love or simply a social device that aided survival? Did their thick coats keep them warm on frigid winter nights or did they feel the cold as deeply as man? Was each wolf happy with its position in their rigid social structure or did the omega wolves secretly resent their betters? Her mind swelled with possibilities so consuming that she jumped when the front door banged open and let in a weak stream of sunlight.

  Without giving Dana so much as a glance, Morgan shouldered his way into the cabin
and stalked over to a rough mat. He shook the snow off his clothes, hung his wool jacket on a peg, then somehow managed to condense his frame enough to occupy the low stool Dana had used earlier. After stripping off the rest of his snow-damp outer garb, he stood up and shoved his bare feet into a pair of thick fleece slippers.

  Dana chuckled.

  "Is something funny?" he asked sternly.

  "Those look like a couple of unshorn ewes." Although she knew it pushed her luck, she couldn't hold back a second chuckle. He looked down, and she waited for the biting retort she knew would come. To her surprise, Morgan's face broke into that luminous smile.

  All the grudges she bore against him vanished in its light.

  "They keep me warm." Then an unexpected sound came out of his mouth. Laughter.

  He saw her stunned expression, and laughed even harder.

  "That's something I never expected to hear," she said bluntly.

  "Nor I."

  Pain flashed suddenly in his eyes, stabbing at Dana's heart. What tragedy had caused this man such unending heartache? She wanted to ask, but he turned abruptly toward the fireplace.

  "The wood's on the porch," he said. "I'll bring it in later."

  "I planned to have it all stacked before you woke up," Dana replied in a rueful tone.

  "That wasn't necessary." He threw the remaining logs on the fire. It flared. The resin snapped, the room grew lighter, warmer. But Morgan had turned cold again. Grimly he approached her bed, folded himself on the chair beside it.

  "I instructed you to stay inside at night, Dana."

  She would be firm, she'd told herself, but instead she cringed like Aphrodite, contrite about offending him. Damned if she'd apologize, though. She was her own woman. Free to come and go as she pleased.

  "I'm free to do as—"

  "There are dangers out there you've never dreamed of." He placed his wrist across her arm. Oddly, the gesture reminded Dana of her wolves. From them, of course, it would be a friendly act. From Morgan, it felt like a rebuke.

  "Look," she said weakly, sliding away from him. "You know nothing about me." She sprang up and looked down. Feeling less intimidated on her feet, her voice grew stronger. "I grew up in the backwoods of Montana. You want cold? I'll tell you—"