The Hunter's Moon (The Secret Warrior Series) (13 page)

“Suits you.” The descriptive names didn’t detract from the reality of what awaited her. The fated hour drew near.

“Whatever you call it, Morgan, this is the most powerful full moon of the year. I sense it already. Don’t you feel its pull, even the smallest bit?”

“Not yet.”

“You will.”

“Great. And it’s coinciding with my first wolfing out.”

“I don’t think that’s a coincidence.” He glanced at the trees. “The shadows are growing long. We should be getting back. Don’t want to be out here after dark.”

“You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?” she teased.

“Nope. Neither are Panteras. They seek it out. I’d prefer the pack around us when we encounter them.”

That wiped the smile off her face.

He stood, slid his bow back over his shoulder, and beckoned to the fishermen. “Give it up, guys. Let’s go.”

“Almost had one,” Jimmy insisted, but wiped his hands on his jeans and fell in behind Morgan. She followed Jackson.

“I let mine go.” Hawthorne brought up the rear.

Jimmy snorted. “Sure you did.”

“You’re cocky for a non-wolf pup.”

Morgan shot a look over her shoulder at the squabbling pair. “Because batboy excels at every freakin’ thing. Even a wolf can’t out fish him.”

“Besides, I might decide to join up. Get Morgan, or someone, to bite me,” Jimmy added.

Horror rolled through her. “No—you can’t. Promise you won’t let him, Jackson.”

“Okema already gave his word, but I add mine. Embrace who you are, Jimbo. Pipe down, everyone.”

After Jackson hushed them, they continued in relative peace with minor squabbling between the two in back. She kept his leather coat in sight. Miriam had cleverly mended the rip so that it barely showed, and he’d largely healed from the tear the thunderbird inflicted on his side; only a faint red mark remained.

Would she recover as fast?

“Did not.” Jimmy’s forceful whisper to Hawthorne continued the argument and disrupted her reverie.

“For cripes sake. Stop.” Sometimes batboy acted his age, which reminded her he was only ten. You’d think he and Hawthorne were siblings the way they egged each other on. They definitely regarded Jackson as their big brother.

“Don’t make me come back there.” His warning was partly in jest, but seriousness edged his threat.

With peace restored, she returned her focus to the woods. Trees stretched on every side; a meld of evergreens contrasted with the autumnal reds, golds, and browns. Drifts of yellow fern nipped by frost spread over the forest floor. Lichens the size of plates covered one toppled giant. A tiny chipmunk scurried over its trunk. A few birds called from high above them. Through the undergrowth, she spotted a red fox. All appeared normal, but Jackson seemed extra wary, pausing to sniff the air. She took care not to collide with him.

He halted. His sharp gaze scoured the trees. Hawthorne did the same.

Still, Morgan saw nothing. His stance unnerved her. “What is it? What are you looking for?”

“Not skitters,” Hawthorne hissed, referring to the space aliens in the TV series
Falling Skies
.

“Cool if it was,” Jimmy whispered. “I’d blow their heads off.”

“Not with arrows. Why don’t we have guns, again?” Morgan asked softly.

“Too loud.” Jackson gestured at them to be still. His tall figure taut, he breathed in, weighing each inhalation.

Something was wrong. Had to be. She’d never seen him like this, and it was freaking her out.

She wasn’t the only one. An aura of alarm seized the small band. No one spoke. She smelled nothing unusual but hadn’t yet developed his abilities. She supposed she would after her wolf became more evident—as in, exploded to life.

Hawthorne’s wary demeanor was similar to Jackson’s. Their leader pivoted slowly. They circled with him. Jackson’s eyes never left the trees. No one’s did.

Were Panteras in the vicinity, or the werewolves said to be on the prowl for new territory? Jackson and Hawthorne kept a sharp lookout. Morgan was alert to every sound. Even Jimmy was on his guard.

Maybe they shouldn’t have ventured this far from the lodge on their own. Likely the guys were thinking the same thing. Should they make a run for it? Jackson could leave them in the dirt if he chose, but wouldn’t. He remained as he was, tense, still, listening.

She jerked at a rustle in the branches that didn’t belong. “What’s that?” Her query a hiss.

Jackson had an arrow on the string. “Draw in closer.”

The four of them stood back-to-back. Each positioned an arrow, ready to fire. If they were Roman centurions or Viking warriors, they’d have shields raised for defense. Morgan remembered the knife sheathed at her waist, one of the silent weapons allowed. The others each had a handcrafted Wapicoli blade. Jackson and Hawthorne also wore tomahawks slung at their sides. She sported the weaponized scarf around her neck. But shouldn’t there be something more?

“Two Panteras on our right. One to the left,” Jackson whispered.

Hawthorne answered with a significant nod, as if he knew what to do. Morgan didn’t have a clue. No doubt, the wheels in Jimmy’s astute brain were spinning.

“Now.” At Jackson’s barely detectable directive, he and Hawthorne peeled off and fired an arrow through the trees.

A resounding shriek indicated at least one of the Panteras was hit. The other might not be able to cry out. That left at least one.

“Duck,” Jackson barked.

She and Jimmy hit the trail and lay with their hands over their heads. Gunfire spewed pieces of bark above them. That could have been their brains.

Morgan peered from beneath her arms. His eyes glowing gold, Jackson sprang at a trunk. He got in a few upward strides, as though running up the tree, then flipped over backwards. He landed upright on the ground behind it. The bow remained in his hands, a fresh arrow on the string. He moved so fast, he was nearly a blur.

This
was the something else she’d sensed they needed.

She stared at him. And not only Jackson. Hawthorne had changed from the teasing youth she’d known mere moments ago to an adroit acrobat. His eyes glowed green.

“Like kryptonite. Cool.” Trust Jimmy to make
Superman
comparisons.

She was more than a little impressed herself.

Then Jackson growled, showing fangs. Claws were evident at his hands. He’d kept these werewolf features from her when he changed last evening. Aggression must bring them out—characteristics she had to look forward to, assuming she survived the next five minutes.

Hawthorne was similarly affected, although neither changed entirely. They maintained an otherwise human form with wolf characteristics. Apparently, it was their choice—and ultimately hers—how much they changed. Using trunks as springboards and doing back flips to avoid gunfire, they closed in on the remaining Pantera. Unless there were two.

Crap—there were. Mateo parted the branches on the opposite side of the trail from the direction Jackson and Hawthorne had vanished.

A shudder crawled down her spine. It was up to her to protect herself and Jimmy. She sat up, shakily.

Mateo gloried in fear. He grinned upon seeing hers, showing white teeth outlined in gold. Like a mouth filled with trophies.

His brown eyes targeted the two of them with the promise of vindication. Rings on his fingers glinted in what little was left of the light, and he held a revolver. The chestnut colored leather jacket hid the panther tattoos on his arms, but they were there, as was his black heart. She’d witnessed both. He’d kill them in cold blood without a blink.

“Get back,” Morgan whispered to Jimmy, crouching between him and the intruder bent on their deaths.

No point in reaching for her bow. Mateo would shoot it out of her hands. Same thing for the knife. The scarf wouldn’t make it off her neck. She had an instant to decide what to do.

Maybe she could buy some time. Mateo loved to gloat. She fought to steady her voice. “What are you doing here?”

His gaze was scornful beneath his spiky black hair. “Tracking you and your little brother,
Jimmy
,
Morgan Daniel
,” he emphasized, in case she wondered if he knew their real names. “I see the Wapicoli found you. Woof, woof.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “As they will you.”

“With their bows?” he sneered.

Memory returned of the youth Mateo had killed and the recreation center employee he’d shot. So much blood. How many innocent lives had he taken?

Not Jimmy’s
! Anger flashed through her. Her heart was afire. Molten rage bubbled inside—a volcano about to erupt. Her ears roared, the inferno so loud, she could scarcely hear.

Mateo’s oily musk assaulted her senses. How had she not noticed the noxious scent before? Well, she smelled him now, and she despised the stench. Growls tore from her throat.

Surprise flickered in his gaze. “What the—”

“Go!” With a hoarse cry to Jimmy, she sprang backwards in a maneuver she’d never even attempted before and kicked out.

Perfect
. Her boots caught Mateo in the gut and knocked him off balance.

The shot he fired whizzed past her ear. Jimmy had rolled into the underbrush and was belly crawling to deeper cover.

As if she were a supremely trained gymnast, she leapt to her feet. Mateo was winded from the blow but that didn’t stop him from raising the gun. She dodged sideways. Whirling around, she kicked it from his hand—another instinctive move she hadn’t practiced.

Fueled with indescribable energy, she rounded on him. “I’m the seventh Morcant woman, Mateo! Do you know what that means?” Ducking his fist, she kickboxed him again.

In a blur of fur and fangs, she found herself face to face with an infuriated black panther. He snarled, showing sharp teeth. She growled back at him. He’d slash her to ribbons, but she stared into his tawny eyes without flinching. Heat crackled in her. If she grasped his head in her hands, she’d incinerate him. She could feel it.

“Better run, wolf girl.”

She jerked back as he swiped at her. The wind from his paw and those razor claws fanned an inch from her face. He possessed demonic power. She felt it, but she wasn’t running.

Seething with white-hot fury, she growled, “After you.”

Jackson tore through the trees, his bow drawn. He never missed a shot. Before he got off an arrow, the wild cat turned and bolted back the way he’d come.

Hawthorne arrived a split second later. Jimmy burst on the scene, panting. The three guys stared from the pistol on the ground back to her, still quivering from the onslaught of rage.

Her head spun from the suddenness of it all, and the part she’d played. The heat had overtaken her like a fever of unimaginable intensity.

Jimmy pointed trembling fingers. “Morgan—your eyes! They’re blue.”

“They’re always blue.”

“Not like this. They’re glow-in-the-dark blue.”

Jackson lowered his bow. “As I said, the pull of the moon is strongest this month.”

So, it had begun. Her wolf was coming to life. What a hellion.

Hawthorne gave a low whistle. “Dude, when you said she was like us, I didn’t know you meant—this. You’re on our side, remember, Morgan?”

Meeting the uncertainty in Hawthorne’s face, she nodded. “But stay out of my way when I fully change. Only Jackson, Okema, and perhaps Miriam can run interference with me then.”

“And me. Right, Morgan?” Jimmy gazed pleadingly at her.

“And you, Batboy.” She’d die for him. Of that, she was certain.

Jackson held out his hand. “Let’s get back to the lodge before they send out runners searching for us.”

She slid the bow over her shoulder and took his fingers. “Wait—how many Panteras did you get?”

“One. The second turned cat and escaped. That was too close with Mateo, Morgan.”

“For who? Him or me?”

Jackson frowned. “Don’t get carried away. One swipe of those claws and he could’ve opened an artery in your neck.” His eyes softened. “That said, you were mighty, wolf girl.”

A flame of satisfaction warmed her at his praise.

“But next time will be harder,” he warned.

“Why?”

“Mateo will be ready for you.”

“And I’ll be on my game.”

Jackson regarded her as he might a novice, heady with puffed-up victory. “Be careful. He’s killed some of our best warriors.”

“I will. Maybe I’m delirious for challenging him, but I swear if I can seize his head in my hands I’ll fry him.”

“That’s a mighty big
if
. A lot of teeth, claws, slamming muscle, and pure cunning lie between you and his head. If Mateo were easy to kill, Okema would’ve finished him already.”

A sobering reminder.

“You’re part of the pack now, Morgan. We work together. A lone wolf is a dead wolf.”

She knew this in her head. Her heart told her, someday, she was taking Mateo down. If Jackson wanted to be a part of that action, she’d welcome his help. He was right. Likely, it would take them both.

Where Okema would be in all of this, she couldn’t say. Not there, possibly.