Shadow on the Moon Read online

  Dana was so relieved she hadn't been found out that she gave a giddy laugh.

  "Strong willed. Bright. Laughs at my jokes. What a woman."

  "Do you have a checklist?" she teased.

  "I used to, back when . . ." He gave his attention to inspecting the other set of metal snowshoes, cluing Dana that the subject was closed. She stood up to get her parka and gloves.

  "Don't walk on the floor with those," he said a bit sharply. Then his tone softened. "It scratches the wood."

  "Yeah." She leaned over, unlatched them, and stepped out. "My dad used to say the same thing. I was always forgetting."

  "In Minnesota?"

  "Montana."

  "Right. Montana."

  The refrigerator generator began to hum.

  Water drip-drip-dripped as it fell into a pan from the slightly open pump. Dana looked at Morgan. He looked at her.

  They both looked away.

  "You ready?" She made a big deal over pulling on her gloves.

  "Soon as I get the pail." He pulled a huge galvanized bucket from a spot between the stove and the sink.

  "What do you feed them?" She was having difficulty meeting his eye. "Must be hard getting dog food this far up."

  "Venison. I have a smokehouse outside." His gaze wandered around the room, studiously avoiding her.

  "Yeah? Hey, that's great."

  "It works."

  Morgan tucked both sets of snowshoes under his arm, grabbed the bucket, then opened the door. Dana followed him down the steps, and as they secured their latches, she thought of the odd moment before, glad it had passed so quickly. She'd never met a more mercurial man. Not that she'd spent much time in close quarters with any man but her father, who'd been as steady as a rock, but even with her limited experience, she knew Morgan was unusually moody.

  She remained silent as they moved over the virgin snow, breaking the quiet day with the shuffle of their snowshoes, which were nearly lost beneath the windswept powder. Everything looked different in the daylight, and Dana now saw that Morgan's cabin was tucked into a semicircular nook of dense junipers, pines, and bare-leafed birch.

  The rising sun behind them kissed the tips of the trees and danced in a swirling expanse of snow that went off to the west. The white ground undulated like a restless sea and at first seemed to go on forever, but as Dana lifted her gaze, her eyes came to rest on a sudden drop-off. Pointing in that direction, she looked at Morgan.

  "What's over there?"

  They had just reached a small building with smoke coming from a small metal flume, and Morgan reached for the latch before answering. "Ebony Canyon."

  "We're on the rim of the canyon?"

  He nodded, pulling at the smokehouse door.

  "Good Lord, Morgan. That's over fifteen miles from where I crashed. How on earth did you get me up here?"

  He nodded his head toward the dog pens. "By sled. I was out with the dogs."

  "In the midst of a storm?"

  Steam billowed around Morgan, carrying the tang of smoldering mesquite. He ducked his head inside, saying something Dana couldn't quite make out.

  "What?"

  "It wasn't storming when I left." A disembodied hand holding a slab of meat emerged from the steam. "Here. Make yourself useful."

  Dana dropped the meat into the bucket, then accepted another one. As he handed out one chunk after another, she mulled over what he'd just told her. Somehow he had brought her from the edge of the highway to an elevation of over ten thousand feet. With the help of his dogs, of course, or so he said. But . . .

  Had he packed her onto the sled like so much baggage or taken a more caveman approach and slung her over his massive shoulders? And why would a man who claimed he could smell a storm decide to take his dogs out shortly before one started? The inconsistency bothered her. Was Morgan hiding something with all his avowed concern for her safety?

  Still holding out her hand, still passing meat into the bucket, she unconsciously shook her head in denial. True, Morgan could be gruff sometimes, but most of the time he'd been courteous and respectful. If he had an ulterior motive, it wasn't readily apparent.

  Just then, Morgan's head reappeared. He shut the door on the steamy smokehouse, then sniffed the air like one of Dana's wolves. She felt an instant pang of homesickness.

  "I hope the weather holds until we're done." He swung the heavy bucket onto his shoulder as easily as if it contained Styrofoam.

  Dana scowled up at the sky, which remained bright and blue, and remembered why she'd left Montana. A mass of dark clouds to the northwest seemed light years away, yet she knew they'd be above them in no time at all. Lord, she hated snowstorms.

  "Guess you were right," she said, somewhat grudgingly.

  "Come on." He turned for the kennel. "We still have some time."

  As they approached, Dana saw shelters of varying sizes inside the chain-link pen. Several dogs loped up and down a long, narrow run affixed to one end of the kennel. Just then, one of them stopped and howled, sending the entire pack racing for the gate.

  Dana's homesickness came back in an overwhelming wave. How were the Alaskan wolf and his mate faring? Was Blue eating properly? He never really trusted anyone but her.

  "Please, Morgan. Take me down the mountain. If we leave now, we'll beat the storm."

  He turned slowly toward her, leaving his hand poised over the latch. The first thing Dana saw was his eyes, which had suddenly become aching gold-green pools. Somehow she had hurt him. Although she knew she wasn't the first to wound him, she still regretted doing it. Again, she wondered what had scarred this man so badly.

  She reached up and stroked his wild beard.

  Dana's gloved touch shot through Morgan's body like a glass of warm brandy and he dropped his hand from the latch and stepped closer. Her emerald eyes regarded him with so much compassion, he couldn't tear his gaze away.

  He'd been alone so long, had grown used to prowling the night in kinship with the beasts of the forest, grown accustomed to the lack of human companionship. Now . . .

  Could he forget about the Shadow of Venus, and just keep her here as his companion? Then, eventually, reveal his true self? Perhaps she would come to love all sides of him and bring light and joy to his miserable existence.

  "How long have you been here?" Her voice held unusual gentleness, as if she sensed his desolation.

  "Almost five years." So very long. With a shock, he realized he'd been kidding himself. Here was a rare opportunity to reclaim his humanity, one that wouldn't reappear for another seven years. If reclaiming his humanity meant putting her at risk, then so be it. Fate had brought her. Fate would protect her. And if it didn't?

  What choices did he have? He just had to make her understand.

  He tilted his head, resting it against the curve of her palm. How sweet was her simple touch, how soothing, yet it filled him with such agony.

  Had to make her–

  "Were you always alone?"

  "I go down for supplies every now and then."

  –Understand.

  "How wonderful!" She dropped her hand, tried to whirl, nearly tripped over her snowshoes. Shocked, Morgan just stared.

  Reclaiming her balance, she spread her arms wide and cried, "All of this is yours. No crowds. No utility lines or noisy cars. I envy you, Morgan. Oh, I envy you." She looked at him earnestly, eyes alive with excitement. "But I can't stay. I need to find those wolves."

  "There aren't . . ." He turned away, began unlatching the gate.

  "I know. Probably not. But don't you see, Morgan? I can't take that risk. I have to leave. Now!" The tone of her voice softened. "Please."

  He kept his back to her, not wanting to see her spoken plea reflected in her eyes. The steps leading to the ritual — the revealing, the bonding — were treacherous, far too treacherous. If he cared for her at all, and he knew he already did, he should immediately remove her from danger. Take her far away from Lily and Jorje. Far away from him.

  "Please, M
organ."

  She touched his shoulder. Another sweet shudder coursed through his body. Re gazed over the north stand of trees, measuring his next words, unsure what they would be. His answer came from the distant sky.

  "It's too late. The storm's already coming."

  Then he opened the gate. Dana had yet to learn it, but her role in his redemption had been cast.

  Chapter Nine

  "Tomorrow, then," Dana said dully, glaring up at the thickening clouds. The wind was whistling a baleful warning and whipping snow across the ground. She rubbed her ears briskly, then transferred her glare to Morgan.

  "I hate you for being right." But her resigned smile told him she didn't mean it.

  Morgan smiled back, relieved the weather had ended their debate and absorbed her anger. Winning her affections would be much easier if she didn't view him as her jailer.

  "Come meet the rest of my dogs. That should cheer you up."

  "Some," she grumbled. "But I refuse to cheer up much."

  The dogs were now crashing at the fence in their eagerness to eat. Morgan told Dana to follow and stepped into the pen, holding a piece of meat. As his large black lead dog moved forward, he saw Dana assume an uncharacteristically meek posture.

  "This is Zeus," he told her. "Aphrodite's mate."

  Zeus gobbled down the first hunk of venison and Morgan reached in for another.

  "Over there"—Morgan pointed to the right, where the rest of the pack waited—"are Odin and his mate, Freya. These are Shakti and Persephone, and the little gray runt is Fenris."

  "Do you always hand-feed them?" Dana asked. •

  "What else do I have to do with my time?"

  Zeus finished eating, gave Morgan a couple of affectionate licks, then backed away. Aphrodite came forward, and Morgan lifted out another hunk of food and let her lap it from his flattened palm. Dana noticed the white female giving her a sideways glance, which she took as an invitation.

  "Mind if I take a turn?" she asked.

  "Watch your hand. She's a greedy thing."

  "She reminds me of my Alaskan wolf, although she's a lot bigger." The dog turned toward her and she gave her a pat on the head, which was quite easy since the large dog came nearly to her waist. Dana squatted beside Morgan, made a few caninelike noises, and scratched the soft fur under Aphrodite's chin. Now that she'd received the seal of approval from their lead female, the other dogs crept closer.

  "She likes you," Morgan said. "I'm surprised. As you may have guessed, the dogs aren't accustomed to strangers."

  "She recognizes a kindred spirit." Dana took her glove off and stowed it in a pocket, then reached for some meat, coming out with a tattered piece of liver which Aphrodite immediately gobbled. The next piece Dana pulled out appeared to be part of a flank and was equally ragged. "This meat looks torn apart," she remarked. "What kind of knife do you use?"

  "I'm not much of a butcher. I faint at the sight of blood, remember?"

  "Then how do you bring yourself to hunt?" And with what? She hadn't noticed guns in the cabin.

  "I don't. I buy meat from the Indians."

  "Indians Up here? I thought that was—"

  At that moment Aphrodite whirled to snarl at Persephone, who'd been sidling up to Zeus. The weaker dog cringed, then slunk forward with a whined apology. Aphrodite gave her a quick glance, then haughtily looked away. A canine rebuke, given, received. Incident now over.

  "Amazing!" Dana lost interest in hearing about Indians. "They behave just like my captive pairs. How much wolf is in these dogs?"

  "About sixty percent."

  "They're so big." A hearty diet accounted for some of the size, but even the runt would be considered big for a wolf.

  "There's Great Dane in them. I was looking for both size and docility. Fenris is a bit of a throwback, but he has so much heart l kept him."

  Aphrodite took one more piece of meat. It contained a bone which she carried to a corner of the pen, then lay down and began gnawing. Odin came up and gave Dana's hand a nudge. She pulled out another scrap of meat and put it on her palm. The precaution wasn't necessary. Unlike his white leader, Odin nibbled delicately.

  "Looks like the whole pack's honored you with their acceptance, Dana."

  Dana smiled, warmed by the team's approval, then rocked back to ease her thigh muscles. Thunder clapped in the distance. She looked up to see scudding anvil-shaped clouds. Morgan followed her gaze.

  "Won't be long now," he said. "It's probably already snowing in the west."

  Dana simply scratched Odin's ruff, determined to enjoy the rest of her brief freedom without fretting over the weather. A few minutes passed, and she noticed the thunder was still rumbling.

  "What's that?"

  Morgan shrugged. "Echoes, maybe?"

  Not sure she agreed, Dana continued listening. The rumbles grew closer and louder. Then she saw a dark swirl against the darker sky. The shape rose above the canyon wall like a giant dragonfly, its rotor spinning and spewing sound.

  "No. No, it isn't!" she passed the meat to Morgan, shot to her feet, and pointed at the finlike tail clearing the rim. "It's a helicopter! Can't you see it, Morgan?"

  No, oh, no, no, no! Morgan screamed inside.

  His attempt to reach his feet was seriously hampered by Odin's eagerness to reach the food. In the few seconds it took to settle the dog down, the helicopter grew to more than a swirl. Its nose pointed westward, away from them, and Morgan prayed the occupants didn't look back, because Dana had already backed out of the pen. Now she was trying her best to run in the snowshoes, frantically waving her arms at the ascending chopper.

  Morgan saw her lips move, but her shouts were lost in the roar of engine and whirling blades. His heart leapt to his throat. Any second, the copter might dip, turn east. And if it did, there was no way they could miss seeing Dana.

  He felt the familiar prickle; bones shifted, oh, so subtly. His initial dread changed to terror. He must stop her. To have her so close, then for her to be taken away . . . But first he must control his fear.. .

  Pushing Odin aside, he dumped out the remaining meat and raced from the pen, slamming the gate behind him. Already his boots and snowshoes were biting at his widening feet. His joints creaked and groaned. He tore off his footwear, then raced after Dana, who was virtually skating through the blowing snow, waving wildly, moving ever nearer to the iced-over edge of the canyon.

  "Dana!" Morgan cried. "Don't!"

  She couldn't hear him, and her eyes remained fixed on the retreating aircraft. Suddenly, the helicopter dipped and turned a circle. She turned back to him, talking, but he heard no sound.

  The alchemization accelerated, his pain became almost unbearable. He could barely see her features now. Soon his vision would haze over completely. He'd fall to the ground. Hair would cover his face, his splaying hands and feet. With agonizing effort, he forced the process back and staggered on toward Dana.

  Then, with a skier's grace, she thrust out her hips. The metal shoes skimmed forward, carrying her to within feet of the unstable snowbank edging the canyon.

  At that moment, the helicopter swept upward.

  "Come back!" she screamed, her desperate wail reaching Morgan's now agonizingly sensitive ears.

  She jumped clumsily into the air, waving her arms like windmill blades, and wavered there for a second. Then losing her balance, she tumbled to the earth.

  The helicopter rapidly diminished in size, disappearing behind a mass of dark clouds.

  Foggily, Morgan saw Dana bury her face in her hands, heard her sobs. His heart gave a jump of hope. If she stayed where she was, he could reach her before—

  She dropped her hands, gave an angry toss of her head, and pounded the snowbank.

  "Don't move, Dana! The ledge!"

  The crusty snow gave with a loud crack. The edge crumbled slowly toward the abyss, pulling Dana with it.

  "Daaa-naa!"

  She clawed at the snow behind her. Futilely. The avalanche continued moving, carryin
g her close, close, closer to the drop-off.

  With a roar, Morgan leapt forward, ignoring the screams of his alchemizing joints. Just as the ledge gave way, he swept Dana up like a child's toy.

  An instant later they were yards from the danger, though snow and rock still fell, clattering and echoing against the canyon wall. Powder blew relentlessly around their legs. Wind whipped at their clothes and skin. But all Morgan cared about was Dana, who dung helplessly to his neck.

  "Dana, Dana," he murmured into her hair, breathing in the live scent of her, listening hard for the beat of her blood. "I thought—oh, God—I thought I'd lost you."

  She nodded furiously against his chest. "I .. . I wasn't paying at-t-tention. The . . . the helicopter. Oh, Morgan, they didn't . . . . didn't even see me."

  Now that the threat had passed, Morgan's body began to relax, taking his pain and fear with it. He disentangled her hands from his neck and stared into her heartbroken eyes.

  "I don't understand you, Dana. You almost fell into that canyon, but you're more concerned about the helicopter."

  "Didn't you see those marking?" Tears streaked down her face, but her sobs abruptly ceased, leaving behind obvious frustration and anger. "That was a highway patrol chopper. They're hunting for the wolves without me." She tried to whirl away, but her snowshoes caught, scattering powder almost to their shoulders and revealing Morgan's bare feet.

  She stared down at them with a horrified expression. "Oh, Morgan! You're getting frostbitten."

  She squatted, grabbing an ankle with her gloved hand. The warm touch shot straight to Morgan's bone and he flinched.

  "Oh, God, I've been so silly. I'm sorry, Morgan. I'm sorry. I know better. I do. I should never have gone to that ledge. We both could have been killed."

  "You almost were," he said harshly. "Get up. I'll be fine by morning."

  "Not unless we treat this." She scrunched the hand from which she'd earlier removed the glove into her sleeve and grabbed Morgan's other ankle.

  It hurt like hell.

  "I said I'll be fine!" He jerked free, ignoring the surprised and wounded expression that flickered across her face. "As soon as I put my boots back on."