The Hunter's Moon (The Secret Warrior Series) (17 page)

No
—
wait. Her toes, she couldn’t feel her toes
! She grasped wildly at him.

He tensed, and the pads on his paw covered her hand.

How could she tell him paralysis was spreading up her legs? Better than the raging fire, but with the diminishing heat, came weakness. Lethargy seeped through her like water.

Whatever battle she was waging, she was losing. Cold took heats place, its icy chill as severe as the bitterest winter. Tremors shook her uncontrollably. Soon, even these would stop. With no reprieve at hand, her end could not be long in coming. She knew.

He gently draped himself over her. She savored the luxuriant warmth of his fur. But it wasn’t enough to save her.

A mighty howl tore from the wolf,
her wolf
, as she thought of him. Then he was silent, waiting. For her.

She gasped a strangled breath, fighting to speak. No words came. Fluttering her eyes, she stared into the golden gaze staring back at her. Those eyes mirrored her pain and mutely beseeched her to live. Neither of them could speak in words, but speech wasn’t necessary to communicate the depth of their emotion.

Summoning all her strength, she lifted her hand to stroke his head. Whoever he was, he mattered to her, and she to him. More than anyone. If only she could remember his name.

No need. She knew him in her soul, and that she was leaving him. Nothing in her wanted to go, to be parted from him, but she was powerless to stay.

She moved her lips.
Goodbye
.

He shook his head. Both paws lightly cupped her face.

A tear slid down her cheek.
Sorry
.
Love
, she mouthed.

If a wolf shed tears, his would flow. His anguished howl rent the fabric of the night. She’d stop his pain, if she could. But she was unable to alter her state one iota.

His pleading gaze faded and a woman’s blue eyes took their place. Not a woman she’d seen before, but her face was familiar. She wore a long flowered gown, and her hair was colored like sunlight. Gold curls fell around her shoulders from beneath a lacy white cap. The lady, for that’s what she was, could have walked out of an eighteenth century parlor. She possessed a timeless beauty. Sweet perfume wafted around her. Roses. The scent of summer.

“Morgan
,
”
she summoned
.

That name sounded familiar.
Oh, yes
, now she remembered. It was hers.

“I’m Sarah, your grandmother six times back. You are number seven
.
”

Morgan had heard that number before.
The seventh Morcant
?

The lovely face nodded. “A great challenge lies before you.”

It’s too hard for me, Grandma Sarah. I’m fading.

A light hand smoothed her brow.
“I have come to give you strength. Hold on.”

I want to, but cannot withstand the venom.

“Look at me, Morgan. Look well
.
”

She gazed into those azure depths. At first, nothing but blue met her inspection, then beyond the hue, she beheld a pale blond wolf. A Morcant female.

“You see. I am like you. I, too, have walked this path
.
”

How did you survive?

“With sacred herbs. My strength of will. And God.”

Herbs and willpower are not enough to save me
.
And God has abandoned me
.

“Never. You are more affected than I was. Take this.”

In her other hand, Grandma Sarah held a blue stone, the size of a tiny quail’s egg, shot through with the light of the heavens. The exquisite jewel was encased in fine-worked silver and hung from a chain of the same glinting metal.

Morgan had never beheld such a gem.

“This is a moonstone. Meant for you, and as rare as a dragon’s egg.”
Grandma Sarah slid it into her palm and closed her fingers around the gift. “Feel its magic?”

Yes.
The stone nestled in Morgan’s hand as if it belonged there. Energy flowed from the gem and ebbed into her, giving her strength. Not enough to pull her back from the brink, but enough to keep her afloat a little longer.

Thank you
, she murmured.

Cool lips pressed her forehead. “Help will come to you, child. Rest now.”

Chapter Sixteen

The Seventh Morcant

How long Morgan drifted in this place of no dreams, she wasn’t sure, but gradually she grew aware of voices around her. She sensed her wolf friend was also near, the one dear to her heart, whose name escaped her.

“I thought you said she would live?” a woman demanded.

Morgan battled through the mist enfolding her to think who had spoken. The feminine tone was familiar, but she couldn’t remember.

“I gave her my blessing. I warned you this change would be hard.” The low reply was uttered in the voice of one with authority. A male.

“This is beyond hard! She lies at the point of death.”

Whoever this female might be, she was incensed.

“The girl is the seventh. The most powerful transformation is the greatest to endure.” The man again.

“Too great, combined with the weight of the hunter’s moon. Will you intervene for her, as you promised?” the woman pressured him.

“I said I would not allow her to die.”

“And?”

“I did not say I would guarantee her life.”

“Do not play at riddles,” the woman erupted. “They are beneath you.”

“Who are you to scold me?” Anger flashed in his retort. Dangerous ground.

“The girl is caught in the change, like a riptide,” she reasoned, her demeanor softened. “She cannot go forward, nor can she go back. Why do you hesitate to intercede?”

“Sometimes, one must nearly die, to live.” His quiet reply was not devoid of feeling.

“Then assure she does. Is she not in the prophecy?”

“She is.”

The edge to his admission caught Morgan’s attention. He was the key. She was certain. It all began and ended with him.

“Meaning?” her champion pressed.

“It’s two-fold. She is prophesized to bring about our destruction or our salvation. The Star People have said.”

“And left her fate with you. What have your eyes seen within the girl?”

“The potential for both ends.” Foreboding weighted his reply.

“Did she not promise to fight for the Wapicoli?”

“She did,” he conceded.

“If that is not enough for you to keep your word, look at your grandson. If she perishes, he will also fall, and then our ruin is assured.”

The woman’s response was grimmer still.

A heart-rending howl jerked Morgan back to full consciousness. With its return came awareness of her constricted breathing and the icy cold that clung to her like the grave. And yet, she still lived. The stone in her palm lent some desperately needed strength.

With the faintest movement, she stirred against the wolf still pressed to her side, a protective paw over her middle. He turned his head, and fixed his golden gaze on her again.

Show them your gift
, a voice directed in her head. It was Grandma Sarah’s.

As if levitating an object, Morgan summoned the will needed to open her hand and reveal the jewel concealed in her palm.

Miriam, for she now knew that’s who the woman was, sucked in her breath. “When did you receive this?”

“Now.” It took everything Morgan possessed to utter the faint reply.

“You mean it came to you?” Miriam reached trembling fingers to touch the rare gem.

“Yes.”

“From across the divide?”

“Sarah.” Morgan squeezed the name from her cold lips.

“The first Morcant?” Miriam patted her shoulder. “Bless you, girl. We thought the moonstone lost. What a precious gift. And on your birthday.”

She’d forgotten the day.

“Surely, you see the sign, Okema?” Miriam prompted. “She’s recovered the stone.”

“Yes.” The solemn warrior gazed down at Morgan, his eyes the color of the silver chain. “You are the one, Morgan Daniel. The prophecy speaks of this stone. She who possesses it will work great deeds for good or ill. I pray for good. This sign tells me our fate is meant to be in your hands.”

Okema laid his palm on Morgan’s head. Not hard, so as to squeeze it, but lightly. Even tenderly. The current she’d felt before at this touch charged through her. Healing lay in the ancient chief, as well as the poisonous curse. He could give life, or take it away. Now, he gave.

The vital force from this man streamed into her like a tide. The to-the-bone chill that had held her in its unrelenting grasp vanished, taking the numbness with it. Her circulation returned and sensation was restored to her ice-cold limbs. Warmth pulsed in her veins.

The inner wolf stirred inside her. Sister Moon drew her gaze as she never had before. What a wondrous sight. Entrancing. Morgan could scarcely tear her eyes away. By the moon’s pearly luminescence, she felt herself freed to shift into a new creature.

“Trust me to care for the stone this night, Morgan.”

She nodded, and Miriam gently took the necklace from her. As she did, Morgan’s hand assumed the form of a white paw. The doglike shadow was silhouetted against the moon. Unmistakable and undeniable. This was truly happening—the change.

All her former dread fell away. No longer frightened, she surrendered to the transformation. Where skin had rubbed against clothes, there was now sleek, snowy fur. Her elongated ears pricked forward, and her keen nose sniffed the night air.

A hundred scents beckoned to her. The rich soil, fed with every good thing from the forest, rose on the autumn breeze. She inhaled the dampness of moss that grew on the north side of trees and spread down over their roots, breathed in the essence of the pristine water tumbling over age-old stones, and detected the unique signature of the night creatures.

Red fox, white-tailed deer, brown rabbits, black bear, great horned owls…so many intoxicating odors to savor. Each carried primal memory. She could be sniffing elk and bison. They once roamed here. And farther back, saber-toothed tigers were king.

The tigers hadn’t survived. But the wolves had.

Rushing power filled her in a surge of strength. She shook herself and leapt to her padded feet. She wagged her sweeping tail, its thick hair ruffling in the wind. The wolf beside her sprang up with a howl of unbridled joy. And she knew his name.
Jackson
.

Throughout her ordeal, he’d never left her. He would have been faithful to the end. But this was not the end. Rather, a mighty beginning!

No words were needed between them. They touched warm noses and turned to his father and uncle. The two black wolves greeted them with low woofs, then bounded away on silent paws.

Together, she and Jackson raced into the dark trees behind the others, over the leafy earth. Hawthorne bayed at them to wait. It was wolf speak, but Morgan understood every syllable.
He’d have to catch them up. She and Jackson weren’t waiting for anyone.

Thin howls carried around them as they raced up the wooded path. Shadows darted by, and eyes glowed in the darkness. Other Wapicoli males were joining in the race. Perhaps Roan was among them. How exhilarating to run like this and not tire.

When she and Jackson reached the top of the ridge, she’d stand with him on the highest rocks and proclaim their place in these misty mountains. Their mountains. She’d howl to the heavens.

She’d passed her first trial, survived the change, and experienced a miracle in the process. Come what may, no one could take that away from her. Yes, Panteras were still out there. Mateo must be defeated. And other foes loomed. But this was their night. Hers and Jackson’s.

Whether she possessed enough power to prevail against Mateo, or any other threat, remained to be seen. Nor could she be certain Okema would approve of her. But she wasn’t alone. Jackson sped by her side, and she was part of the pack. Most importantly, she knew who she was and where she belonged. Here, high above Hidden Valley. A guardian of the forest.

Her name was Morgan Daniel, and she was the seventh Morcant.

A word from the author…

Married to my high school sweetheart, I live on a farm in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia with my human family and furbabies.

An avid gardener, my love of herbs and heirloom plants figures into my work. The rich history of Virginia, the Native Americans, and the people who journeyed here from far beyond her borders are at the heart of my inspiration. I’m especially drawn to colonial America and the American Revolution. In addition to historical romance, I also write time travel, paranormal, YA fantasy romance, and nonfiction.

https://bethtrissel.wordpress.com

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