Shadow on the Moon (9 page)

"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—"

"You already have told
me," he interjected quietly.

"Okay," she continued.
"Then let me tell you about hikes into wilderness so thick we had to hack
our way through. You know what's back there? Grizzlies and wild boar so vicious
they'd sooner slice you to ribbons than let you pass. Don't tell me about
danger, mister. I know all about it."

"This is Ebony Canyon,
Dana."

She stopped, regarding him intently
for a second. Surely he didn't . . . "Don't tell me you believe those
ridiculous tales?"

An odd expression crossed his face.
Was he hiding something or was he feeling chastened?

God, she missed her wolves. A
person could always tell what was going on with them.

"Is that it?" she
demanded. "You actually give credence to those legends?"

"Of course not." He shook
his head, sending his mane flying. At that instant, he seemed as feral as Blue,
the wild wolf given over to her care about a year before.

"What, then?"

She placed a hand over a throb at
her temple, which Morgan instantly noticed. He shot to his feet and lifted her
bandage.

"You've re-injured yourself.
Another good reason not to go out at night."

"I hate being cooped up,"
Dana said, by way of explanation. His hands were still cool and felt good
against the ache.

"No fresh blood." He
resettled the swathe of cloth. "Let me look at your eyes again."

"Oh, Lord, not the
flashlight."

He shook his head. "Just
checking for dilation."

Dana exaggerated the widening of
her eyes, disappointed when she got no response from Morgan.

"The pupils look fine. I think
we can remove the dressing, make do with a simple Band-Aid." His
expression grew vague and he lifted a strand of her hair. "Too bad,
though. You look like an Indian princess. All you need are a few beads."

A surge of self-consciousness swept
over Dana. She hadn't combed her hair since she'd left Phoenix, and the unruly
curls were as tangled as Aphrodite's coat.

She touched his hand. "Don't.
I'm a mess."

"It's beautiful," he said
softly. "Wild. Untamed. When were you born?"

Although taken a bit by surprise,
Dana answered without questioning why he asked. "December tenth."

"So you're a Sagittarius,"
he murmured. "Born midmorning, I'd guess about ten?"

"
Ten twenty-three
, actually. How did you know? Are you
into astrology? I thought psychiatrists scoffed at that kind of thing."

He blinked several times, as if
he'd been in a fugue, and let her hair drop.

"I dabble a bit." He
picked up a pair of scissors from the bedside table, shuffled through the
medical supplies until he came up with a wide adhesive strip, then gently
pushed Dana down on the bed.

"Look up," he directed.
When Dana complied, he began clipping off the bandage. A few seconds later it
fell in her lap.

 
"That's a lot of blood," she said,
grimacing. "I'm glad you noticed. Maybe you'll stop thinking you're
indestructible."

He grabbed the bottle of
disinfectant, swabbed some on the cut, then peeled the backings off the
adhesive strip. Dana rolled her eyes up, trying to watch Morgan as he worked.
His touch, so gentle and caring when he tended her wounds, was at such odds
with his frequent surliness, she sometimes felt there were two Morgan Wilders.

When he was done, he stepped back,
inspected his work, and scowled again.

"You could get hurt a lot
worse than this, Dana," he said gently. "Trust me when I tell you to
stay inside after dark."

"So the werewolves don't get
me?"

"What did you say?" He
jerked his head sharply and stared into her eyes.

"The werewolves." She
pointed to the book lying on the covers.

"Oh. You've been reading The
Book." A weak grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Actually, I'm
more concerned about vampires."

"Me, too," she responded,
with a return smile. "I've always hated bats." Wondering if this was
the time to bring up her departure, she decided it was as good as any.
"You don't need to worry, Morgan. The blizzard is over. When the sun comes
up, you can take me back to my truck. I'll be out of your hair for good."

And into the hair of all those
government officials, if she had her way.

"There's a fresh storm
coming."

She gave him an incredulous stare.
"You can't know that."

"Yes, I smell it. It's
coming." A rueful look crossed his face the minute the words were out.

Dana shook her head, wondering if
he was teasing. "Come on, Morgan. Only animals can smell the weather, and
there's even some question about that. You saw it out there. The sky is
clearing. A great day's coming."

"How about, my lumbago's
acting up?"

"Look." She pointed to
the window, where morning rays peeked through. "Let's get my things
together, hitch up the dogs, and go now. If you're right about the storm,
you'll be back before it starts."

Morgan got up, went into the
cooking area, and started pumping water into a tin coffeepot. "Did you
hear what I said, Morgan?"

His hand paused over the pump and
he turned to look at her sadly.

"Yes, I heard." He pulled
a can of coffee from one of the open shelves.

"Well, you seem to be ignoring
me."

He carefully measured the grounds
into the pot's basket.

"Morgan!"

With less care, he dumped in a
couple more scoops, then turned to look at her.

"There are skyscraper-high
drifts out there, Dana. The trails are blocked. Even dogs can't travel over
that kind of snow." He put the pot on the stove and lit a burner under it.
"Let's see what tomorrow brings."

Dana groaned. "But– No, that
won't work. By then the highway patrol will be out sharpshooting wolves. They
need me, Morgan."

"Don't you think those cops
can take care of themselves?"

"Not the cops! The
wolves!"

Morgan had been acting as if his
future hung on whether the coffee perked, but now he left the stove and walked
over to her.

"When are you going to get
it?" He scowled down at her. "There are no wolves."

"No, yes." God, she
wished he wouldn't hang above her that way. "You're probably right. It's a
wild-goose chase. But wouldn't it be incredible if there was a pack up
here?"

"Incredible?" He
shrugged. "Okay. If it stays clear today, we'll try tomorrow. But I warn
you, it may be the day after."

"That's too late!" Dana
stomped her foot, then felt instantly foolish when Morgan raised his thick
eyebrows.

"That's too late," she
repeated weakly.

"It's the best I can do."

Morgan headed back toward the
brewing coffee. The aroma filled the cabin, and he felt an urgent need to drink
some. Normally he slept during the morning hours, but he didn't dare leave Dana
alone. The minute he closed that bedroom door, she'd hightail it for her
vehicle.

She had huddled back under her
blankets, and he felt a pang of sympathy. Like him, she was driven. Yet her
motives came from concern for another creature. His, by contrast, came from
obedience to sordid forces, and fulfilled nothing but his own dark needs. He
stayed by the stove, keeping her in the edge of his vision, and noticed that
her hand unconsciously dropped to
The Lycanthropy Reader
. It hadn't
occurred to him that she might find it on his shelves among the mass of other
books there, and he wasn't sure how he felt about her reading it.

Maybe he should remove it sometime
when she wasn't paying attention. On the other hand, this woman was a
scientist. She probably viewed The Book as an entertaining fantasy. But when
the inevitable moment came when he revealed his true self, her unwitting
education might make it easier for her to accept the incredible and
unbelievable sights of her own eyes.