Shadow on the Moon (11 page)

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, Morgan."

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, carrying 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.