Shadow on the Moon (30 page)

They set a pace that left
Rutherford a bit winded. He was a hiker, not a runner. They moved quietly, with
very little talking. Suddenly, the sergeant stopped.

"Did you hear that?" he
croaked.

Rutherford only nodded, too
terrorized to speak. The night was again alive with snarls and howls and yelps,
sending the wilderness creatures into flight. He fervently wished he had the
luxury of obeying those same instincts.

Behind him rasped the labored
breathing of the others; an occasional murmur traveled down the line.

"Tell your people to ready
their weapons," Rutherford finally said. Although he really didn't want to
talk at all, they couldn't go unarmed into whatever carnage those wretched
cries foretold.

The sergeant's order echoed down
the line. It was all Rutherford could do not to jump out of his skin as he
heard cartridges clicking into place.

Almost too soon, they were again
creeping through the light fog wafting from the predawn ground. From their
previous explorations, he knew they'd arrive at the scene of those horrible
cries in less than ten minutes.

Except for the screams, everything
was deathly still.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The robe settled like a balm onto
Morgan's pain-racked form. Soon he stopped jerking and twitching. He lifted his
aching neck, keeping his eyes from the offending firelight, and struggled onto
his paws.

Something wasn't right, he sensed
it keenly, but gruesome images still blurred his vision. Then he saw Dana
stepping from the ring.

"Don't!" The word came
out in Lupinese.

Yet she wouldn't have heard it. She
walked toward Lily in a dream state, going to her death without a hint of fear.
Passing through the circle of dogs, Lily reached out greedily. Morgan saw
triumph shining in her eyes.

He flew between them. Sprang with a
menacing roar and sank his teeth into Lily's outstretched hand. She screamed in
rage, and tried to tear away. Morgan's fangs went deeper; blood poured from the
wound.

At that moment, the dogs went wild.

Fenris nipped at Lily's ankles,
barking furiously. Aphrodite flew at her shoulder. She tried to shake them off,
but screamed in pain as her hand remained in Morgan's clamped teeth.

Dana still stood in a daze outside
the circle. Morgan swung his flanks to nudge her back inside. An instant later,
she called his name in a voice filled with alarm.

In his concern for Dana, he'd eased
his hold on Lily. Now she tore free, swinging both arms wildly. Aphrodite
soared through the air. One swift kick sent Fenris ki-yi-yi-ing to his leader's
side.

"Back away!" Lily towered
angrily over Morgan's lupine body. "I will not suffer that she-bitch to
live one more night."

"You must kill me first,"
he challenged in reply.

Her eyes flickered between Morgan
and Dana, who had now lifted her arms and resumed chanting. Warily Lily moved
closer to the circle, reached out her fingers as if testing for heat, then
immediately recoiled. Behind her, Morgan saw his dogs gathering.

Odin flew up. Lily staggered into
the circle's edge, shrieked and fell to her knees, clearly stunned. Zeus rushed
in and tore at her arm. The rest of the pack followed. Persephone grabbed one
of Lily's long toes and pulled, while Shakti nipped at her hindquarters.
Aphrodite and Fenris returned, jumping repeatedly at Lily's shoulders. She
batted at them like at a swarm of bees. Each time her flailing hand sent one
soaring, it regrouped and attacked anew.

With hackles fully raised, Zeus
leapt at Lily's jugular.

A loud, deep howl rose from her
throat, and Jorje tore into the fray. Gripping Zeus by the scruff, he threw him
aside like a used food wrapper. But Zeus landed upright. He whirled and charged
again. Jorje lifted a massive foot, prepared to stomp it on the dog's back.

Enraged, Morgan lowered his head
and rammed him in the stomach. With an outburst of air, Jorje crashed to the
ground. Morgan climbed on top of him. the dogs came forward, surrounded then,
snarling, then darting forth to nip.

Lily cried at them to stop. Dana
continued chanting.

Jorje's teeth dug into Morgan's
leg, tearing hair, splitting skin. Clawed hands scraped at his twisting,
struggling body, taking patches of hide. He felt a painful tear just above his
eye.

Beneath him, Jorje wasn't faring
any better. One of Morgan's bites had taken half his ear. The wound poured
blood, and Morgan's powerful legs were digging into his soft underbelly,
ripping skin. The relentless dogs took their own toll.

The wolfling started changing into
the more agile wolf form, his body wavering in front of Morgan's eyes. With a
last effort-filled cry, Jorje succeeded in his transformation. He twisted under
Morgan, broke free, and whirled to a four-pawed landing. Morgan tottered,
struggled to stay on his paws. He was losing blood at an alarming rate, growing
weaker.

"Yealanay, cawfanay, nayfanay,
may . . . ” came Dana's voice, bringing new strength to Morgan's heart. Fire
returned to his eyes.

With lowered heads and bristling
guard hairs, the two wolves faced off. Morgan crouched and crept forward. Jorje
did the same.

Then he heard a pitiful cry. His
head swung around involuntarily.

Lily had scattered the dogs, and
now she bit into Fenris's ear, shaking him viciously. Then, screeching with
rage, she grabbed one of the runt's legs and spun him around and around. When
she let go, he sailed through the air and struck an obelisk. With one final
whimper, he collapsed on the ground in a motionless heap.

That diversion was all Jorje
needed. The next thing Morgan knew, the wolfling had flipped him on his back
and had his forelegs firmly entrenched in Morgan's belly. His gaping jaw was
poised hungrily above him.

Like all feral creatures, Morgan
stopped struggling and awaited his final moment.

"Stop!" Lily's voice so
thoroughly split the air that even the dogs cowered. Jorje jerked his head up.

"Lily ." he whimpered
pleadingly. "It is an honest kill."

"One of our own?" she
asked in horrified outrage. "You would kill one of our own? Have I taught
you nothing?"

"Oh, yes; yes, you have."
Jorje twisted his face into a mean snarl. "You've taught me you'll do
anything to bring this unworthy one to your side, while I, your faithful
companion, get only the leavings of your affection."

Still glaring defiantly at Lily, he
let out a protesting howl. "No more!" he cried into its echoes.
"I claim this outcast as my rightful rival."

With that, his teeth closed in on
Morgan's throat.

A second later, Morgan was free. He
flopped weakly to his side, saw Jorje hanging from Lily's hands. The wolfling
gave out one faint yelp before those hands closed and broke his neck with a
single twist. Shuddering slightly, she tossed his limp body into the forest.

She came to stand above Morgan.

"See how much you mean to
me," she said sadly, then looked up at the brightening sky. "The moon
retreats, taking Venus with her. Your ceremony has failed."

Morgan's gaze turned to Dana, who
was still chanting. He saw her frightened eyes widen. The sounds of crunching
underbrush and tromping boots vaguely reached his ears, but Lily seemed unaware
of them.

"Soon the woman will be mine,
dear Morgan."

His body felt leaden. He couldn't
move a paw or lift his head. He tried to protest, but only a sigh escaped. And
when her toe touched his battered form, he couldn't move away. "Then you,
too, will be mine," she said. "Your flight from me has ended."

He was losing consciousness. Spots
swirled before his eyes, mercifully blocking Lily from his sight. From far
away, he heard dogs whining with grief. A bird called out mournfully. A huge
machine whirred somewhere above his head.

An unnatural light filled the sky.
He was sinking into a dark chasm, never to return.

"Morgan!" Dana's voice
shocked him back. Somehow he managed to lift his head, saw a blur of pure
white.

"Come to me," she called.
"Come into the ring."

Although a warning pealed inside
his head—he mustn't endanger his sweet Dana—he felt powerless to resist. He
rolled onto his battered, aching stomach, began slowly crawling, oh, so slowly,
to her.

Then Dana's gentle hands were on
his forelegs, urging him, pulling him on. Her voice sang sweet words, almost
wiping out the foul curses pouring from Lily's mouth. Soon he lay across her
lap, his head limply hanging from one of her knees. When he smelled her blood,
heard her racing pulse, his hunger rose powerfully inside him.

Like the rabid dog that will not
bite its master, he began ripping at his own battered flesh. He heard Dana
begging him to stop, felt her tears falling hot and sweet upon his coat. And
soon she started to sing again.

"Oh, spirits of transcendent
love arise and heed my cry."

Her voice hitched, fresh tears fell
on his nose, and all the while she stroked his blood-soaked coat. "We need
your light to vanquish those dark foes who curse this man. Let she who loves
him plead for grace this night."

Morgan's terrible hunger faded. His
pain ebbed. Soon his muscles softened and shifted, melting, transmuting.

"Show mercy, please, oh,
Venus," Dana passionately begged. "Restore my love’s humanity. Erase
his fangs, his claws, his wolfish strength."

Alchemizing.

"Oh, make him pure again.'

Humanizing.

"Fast, fast, fast, sweet
powers of love. Speed, speed, speed, oh, bliss of love. The Lady rolls on, time
grows short. Join us in haste. Join us in haste. Time grows short, join us in
haste."'

Someone wailed and wept in the
distance, but Morgan barely heard it. He only knew it wasn't Dana, because her
voice filled his ears, strong and sweet and joyous.

"Yealanay, cawfanay, nayfanay,
may. Yealanay, cawfanay, nayfanay, may."

The sun rose in a burst of light
that seemed, to Morgan, to come from an angel. He heard the gentle flap of
wings. A soft cloak fell about his body. .Except for muted faraway sobs, the
clearing grew reverently silent.

"The power of love triumphs
this day," cried Dana.

Daylight bathed his healthy human
form. Nestled in the folds of Dana's pure white gown, Morgan fell into a deep
and healing sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Six

"Not a mark on him." the
uniformed woman stooped over a nude male body whose brown skin contrasted
sharply with the snow. Except for the awkward position of his head, the man
appeared to be sleeping.

The clearing was alive with people
dressed in tan. White Hawk observed them from an intersection of the canyon
walls and the forest. Many clutched assault rifles nervously to their bellies
and swung them back and forth, seeming ready to shoot at anything that moved.
Deciding it would be unwise to be discovered, White Hawk moved deeper into the
shadows.

From there, he saw a man who had a
sergeant's patch on his jacket kneel and put his fingers on the fallen man's
neck, as if checking for a pulse.

"Dead."

The woman nodded sagely.

"Stone cold dead, and not a
mark on him." The woman nodded again. "That's what I see."

"His neck appears to be
broken," offered a man dressed differently from the others. He wore
glasses, which he continually pushed back up the bridge of his nose. "Not
long, though. Rigor mortis hasn't set in."

"Hmm." The sergeant
slipped his hand under the corpse's neck. The head rolled loosely in the other
direction, and all three observers gave a start. "Yeah. Broken, all
right."

"Seen many murder
victims?" the man asked, again shoving back his slipping glasses.

"Never. Not till we hit this
ridge." The sergeant got up, wiped his hands on his uniform with a
shudder.

For a time, they all just stood
talking among themselves. One of them asked if someone called Schumacher had
shown up. Another said he hadn't. After a short pause, the sergeant chuckled,
then said, "Probably pissed his pants."

They all laughed, and White Hawk
wondered why. He also wondered when they'd hear the woman. She'd been
whimpering in the brush for quite some time. He shook his head impatiently.

Obviously, these officials needed
help. The woman must survive and face her sins.

He took no care to be silent.
Civilized man made so much noise. Between the roaring helicopters, the
shouting, and the stomping around, it was a miracle they heard each other. But
the woman heard him, and she lifted her head at his approach. Her eyes darted
wildly back and forth, then she scooted deeper into the shelter of a bush. All
her slick sophistication was gone. Her silver hair was matted, filled, with
damp leaves. Mud caked her naked body, and the unmistakable blue of impending
frostbite streaked her toes and fingertips.

Madness filled her eyes.

She lifted her lips in an
ineffectual snarl. A guttural stream of sounds rushed from her mouth.

White Hawk kept moving. When his
hand touched her chilled shoulder, she snapped at him. He pulled back, watched
as she scrambled onto hands and knees and tried to crawl further into the
brush. Calmly, he leaned and grabbed her ankle. She fell onto her belly, rolled
to face him, all the while screaming unintelligibly.

Exclamations immediately arose from
the clearing. Boots stomped on the forest floor, crushing branches, snapping
twigs.

Continuing to scream and babble,
the woman clawed at his hand, but her ragged fingernails failed to scratch his
skin. White Hawk reached in, caught her arm, pulled her roughly to her feet.
She tried to spit at him, but he twirled her in the opposite direction, sent
her stumbling toward the approaching people.