New Moon (2 page)

CHAPTER THREE

THE WOLF'S MUSCLES jerked as his skin flowed under Rinna's fingertips like heavy syrup flowing from a bottle.

She had made this transformation herself many times, but she had never felt the change take another living creature. It was a strange sensation, and she battled not to pull her hand away, because she must keep in close contact with him if she was going to act at the crucial instant.

In the fluid seconds when the cells of his body were neither wolf nor man, she jerked his leg out of the trap.

He screamed in pain, as the change rolled relentlessly on, transforming him from one form to another. They tumbled together into a pile of leaves, a tangle of arms and legs and other body parts. Flesh to flesh, his naked chest pressed to her breasts, his sex scrunched against her middle.

That intimate contact was too much for her. She gasped and thrust him away from her so violently that he fell backward onto the leaves, then lay sprawled on his back, gasping.

He had been a handsome wolf. He was a compelling man, with dark hair, nicely shaped lips, a blade of a nose and an appealing mat of hair on his chest.

In her mind, she pictured him reaching out one of his strong arms and pulling her to him, then reversing their positions and covering her body with his. But that was only an evil fantasy. He only lay where he was in the leaves, the breath sawing in and out of his lungs and his strong face contorted by pain, and she knew with a stab of remorse that she had hurt him by slamming him away with such force.

But she simply hadn't been able to deal with the sensation of his skin pressed to hers. Not when she felt his hard muscles and corded arms. He was naked, and her gaze was drawn to his groin. His penis was large. She imagined it growing hard and stabbing into her. Hurting her. Bending her to his will in the way that men had tamed women since the dawn of time.

She pulled herself away from the disturbing image. He wasn't going to overpower her. Not while he was fighting for his life.

When he turned his head toward her, the confusion in his eyes tore at her.

"I… I didn't mean to hurt you," she whispered.

"You saved me," he answered in a voice that told her that the pain in his leg still clawed at him.

The words and his effort to speak reminded her of where they were. In the forest, far from shelter and still in danger. Falcone would send men to bring her back, and she must be somewhere else when they arrived.

Again, she was tempted to leave this stranger and run. She had gotten him out of the savage trap. He could fend for himself.

Even as she told herself that story, she knew it was a lie. Focusing on his leg, she saw his mangled flesh. She had freed him from the metal jaws, but he was in no shape to defend himself—or even run away.

"We have to get out of here," she said.

He pushed himself up, but sat where he was, dragging in drafts of air. "I have to rest."

"Later."

The thought of touching him again made her throat close, but she did it anyway, crawling toward him and slinging an arm around his shoulder, urging him to get up.

"Come on. We must leave."

"Who are you?"

"Rinna."

"Logan," he answered, then looked back to where the snare had held him fast. "What was that thing?"

"A trap. For shape-shifters."

She watched him take that in, watched his brow wrinkle. "Why?"

"We can talk about it later. We have to get away from this place—now."

He pushed himself to a sitting position and winced. "I… don't think I can stand on this leg."

"You have to. The man who set the trap will kill you."

"Why?"

"He'll be angry when he figures out he didn't catch me."

She gave Logan a minute to rest, then moved her arm under his, pulling him up.

He wobbled to his feet, then stood leaning heavily against her. She led him farther into the forest, toward a rocky outcropping.

She tried to ignore his naked hip brushing against hers as they made their slow way across the leaves. She wanted to hurry, but she knew he could barely walk. She wished she had clothing she could pull on. But that was one of the great inconveniences of transforming from animal to woman.

If you couldn't get back to where you'd changed, you would have to stay naked until you found something to wear.

She had become a master of stealing clothing—a skill she wasn't proud of. Yet it was necessary.

A familiar sound stopped her in her tracks.

Great Mother, no!

Her fingers digging into Logan's ribs, she pulled him behind an outcropping of rock. When he tried to speak, she clamped her free hand over his mouth.

From her hiding place, she saw four men burst from the other side of the rock and dash into the forest.

They were dressed like Sun Acres warriors with tight-fitting leggings, molded body armor and spears. They must be Falcone's men. Who else would dare to send troops through a portal and into this patch of forest?

She knew she and Logan had almost no time left.

Quickly and coolly she considered her options. She could stay on this side of the portal, but she knew very little about this place, which made that decision dangerous.

The man needed to rest—and heal. And she didn't know where to keep him safe in this foreign territory, after he passed out, which would surely happen in the next hour or so.

As the warriors took off through the trees, she made a decision. They were going back to her world—if they could.

LOGAN gasped as the woman named Rinna pulled him forward. His leg could barely hold him, and he wanted to sink to the ground—then sink into oblivion.

But he forced himself to stay on his, feet because he had heard men rushing past in the night. He was pretty sure they were the enemy—closing in on the trap to find out what it had caught. Leaning around the rock, he stared at their backs. They looked like a cross between
Star Wars
storm troopers and Roman soldiers.

In his present condition, they could mow him down like grass.

As soon as the men swept past, Rinna moved.

"Hurry," she ordered.

Catching the urgency in her voice, he struggled to make his body move faster. But he was almost at the end of his strength.

He had given up being ashamed to lean on her. And given up wondering what they looked like—a naked man and woman staggering through the Maryland woods.

If someone saw them, they'd probably think they'd been enjoying some wild drug party and taken the notion to get some fresh air.

He tried to put more weight on the leg, but it threatened to collapse, so he let her do the heavy lifting as they staggered through the trees.

It was hard to keep going. He did it by concentrating on the woman who had clamped her aim around him. He closed his eyes and let her guide him, focusing on small pleasures, like the soft pressure of her breast against his side and the way her brown hair swayed against his cheek.

She had been a beautiful wolf. She was an equally beautiful woman, with that fall of long dark hair, light eyes that he thought were probably green, and delicate features that nevertheless conveyed strength. He wanted to ask her how a female werewolf had come to be. She couldn't be part of the Marshall clan. So where had she come from?

His questions would have to wait for later. If there was going to be a later.

He was dizzy with fatigue—and whatever poison that damn trap had injected into his body. But as they headed for a rock outcropping, he saw a slit in the face and thought she might be going to hide in a cave.

He spared the breath to say, "If they come back we'll be trapped."

"No."

She tugged him forward, and at the last moment, the rock wavered like a doorway in a science fiction movie. His next breath was a gasp as they walked through the rock—into another place he had never seen before. Or maybe he'd completely lost his marbles. Maybe his addled brain thought it was better to be somewhere else, anywhere else.

"Beam me up, Scotty," he muttered.

"What?"

"Forget it," he answered, as he looked around.

He understood the nuances of the Maryland woods. He knew the plants and animals in his environment because he spent so much time among them.

This landscape was completely unfamiliar. The hardwood forest was gone. In its place was a plain with charred tree stumps, bare dirt and what looked like buildings that had been badly damaged in a World War II bombing raid. A German city at the end of the war.

The buildings looked ghostly in the moonlight. And the air smelled rank and unhealthy. Not like the clean atmosphere of the forest they'd just left.

"Where are we?"

"My… country," she answered in her oddly-accented voice.

And what country was that? Denmark? Sweden? She sounded vaguely like she might come from the far north of Europe.

"How did we get here?"

"Through a portal."

"What happened to the buildings?"

"The wars. Stop asking questions. You need your strength for walking."

He pressed his lips together and continued to look around at the grim landscape.

Rinna steadied him, but he knew he couldn't go any farther.

"Let me rest," he gasped, striking out toward one of the buildings. At least it would afford him a little shelter.

"Yes. But only for a few minutes. I'll be right back."

They crossed hard, packed ground. When they had passed through a ruined doorway, she eased him down so that he was leaning against a half-destroyed wall. After giving him a critical look, she turned and trotted off. As she disappeared, he felt a jolt of panic.

From the other side of the building, he saw a flash of white. Blinking, he tried to figure out what it was, then finally realized it was a large white bird, taking flight. A hawk or an eagle. Nesting in one of the buildings?

Rinna must have frightened it.

He saw it rise high in the air, circling around the area where he was lying. Then it was gone, and he was alone again.

He fought to stay awake but couldn't muster the energy.

It seemed like an instant later when he felt someone grasping his shoulder, shaking him gently.

He woke to pain. And grim reality.

"We have to move. The area is clear now," Rinna told him. "But when the soldiers find the trap is empty, they will search for me. I don't know how long they will look in that area or when they will come back this way."

Questions bubbled inside him, but he didn't have the strength to voice them. And he certainly couldn't sustain any kind of discussion.

She helped him to his feet, and he leaned on her again as they staggered forward. But they were still in the open when the leg that had been mauled by the metal teeth began to shake. He tried to take another step, but the knee buckled under him, and he sank to the ground.

"Get up," she ordered, her voice sharp and commanding.

"I can't." He looked up at her. "Go on. Save yourself. You don't have any obligation to me."

When she stepped away from him, he thought she might be taking his advice.

Then she was back, lifting his hips and slipping something that felt like a thin sheet of plywood under them. The wood scraped his flesh, and he wondered if he'd have a butt full of splinters when they got where they were going.

Before he could protest, she started to pull, dragging him like a sack of coal on a makeshift sled, with his legs dangling ignominiously behind him.

If there were any way he could have climbed off the piece of plywood and staggered along under his own power, he would have done it. But he'd used up the last of his strength.

He looked over his shoulder to see where they were going and saw another wall of rock.

Once again, it looked like they couldn't possibly get through the solid barrier. But she pressed her hand against the rock face, and it wavered. Then she pulled him forward. He felt resistance, but Rinna dragged him through, then let him flop onto the ground.

"Stay put. I'll be right back."

Yeah, right
. He wasn't entering a dance contest anytime soon.

He saw her grab a broom made out of twigs that was propped beside the doorway. The opening hadn't closed behind her. As he watched, she hurried out and begin sweeping the dirt back and forth, disguising the marks of where she'd dragged him into this shelter.

Looking around, he could see it was a cave with rough rock walls and a ceiling about tea feet high. Some of it seemed to be a natural cavity in the hillside, but there were places where the walls loo teed like they had been chipped away to enlarge the opening.

Water gurgled in the background. An underground stream?

He was still focused on Rinna when a shuffling sound from the back of the shelter made him realize he wasn't alone.

Turning his head, he saw a man with wild gray hair, a wrinkled face and stubby legs sticking out from beneath a short tunic made of animal skins.

The clothing made him look like a prehistoric man. But the knife in his hand was steel—and pointed directly at Logan's throat.

CHAPTER FOUR

NAKED AND ALONE, Logan returned the old man's malicious stare.

Gathering every drop of his remaining strength, Logan waited until the attacker was almost, on top of him, then he rolled to the side, slashing out his arm as he moved.

He hit his assailant in the side of the head, and the man growled something that sounded like Carfolian Hell as he fell back a couple of steps. Logan tried to scramble back toward the door where Rinna had dragged him inside. But the man caught up with him, the knife raised to strike.

The best Logan could do was kick out with his good leg. But his feeble efforts only deflected the blade, which came down on his naked shoulder, slicing into his flesh like hot fire and drawing blood.

As the man swooped in for another thrust, Logan rolled across the stone floor with his attacker in full pursuit. He came slamming up against a wall, panting hard.

The knife was inches from his throat when a shout from the doorway stopped the action.

Rinna leaped into the room. "Haig, no!"

The old man stared at her. "How did he get in here? What in the name of the gods is he doing in this cave?"

"I brought him through the portal. Then in here. He was caught in a trap that Falcone set for me," she answered.

"You should have left him there!"

An expression of horror contorted her delicate features. "How can you say that? You're the one who taught me that the strong have to help the weak."

"He's not weak! He's well-fed and well-muscled. I'll wager he never went without a meal a day in his life."

"He's sick—from the trap." She gave Logan a good look and gasped. "You cut him!"

He made a grunting sound. "He fought me."

She advanced on the old man. "Put down the knife."

He glared at her, then dropped the weapon to the stone floor with a clatter.

She gave him one more warning look, then ran to the back of the cave. A minute later, she came pelting toward them, still barefoot. But she had pulled a tunic over her head. She also held a tray with a basin of water and a white cloth.

Kneeling beside Logan, she began to wash the shoulder wound. He winced.

"Sorry. I need to see how deep it is," she told him.

The old man was speaking again. "It could be a trick," he insisted. "Falcone could have sacrificed one of his men."

"He's a shape-shifter. That's why he's naked. I had to help him change to get him out of the trap."

"You
helped him
?" the old man breathed.

"Yes."

"That's an unacceptable risk."

"I'll be the judge of that." She spared him an angry glance.

"You shouldn't have left him in here. How was I to know he was okay?"

"Because I had to open the door to let him in. Now stop arguing, Haig." She turned back to Logan. "Come on."

When she dragged him up, the place: where the teeth of the trap had dug into his leg bloomed with white hot pain, and every muscle in his body quivered with the effort to walk.

To his relief, she led him only a few yards farther into the cave, where she eased him down onto a narrow pallet.

He lay there breathing hard, watching Rinna while she leaned over him, examining the wounds; then she began to work on him, gently washing his leg and examining where the jaws of the trap had gouged into his flesh. The touch of her hands could have been sensual, until she uncapped a bottle of what smelled like alcohol.

"I'm sorry. This is going to hurt," she murmured.

When she drenched another rag with the pungent spirits and wiped his shoulder, he gritted his teeth to keep from gasping.

"It's all right to cry out," she whispered.

He kept the scream clamped inside himself as she did the same for the leg.

She pressed her fingers to his forehead. "You don't have a fever. That's good. Sleep will help you mend."

The injuries continued to throb, and he thought that sleep would be impossible. Reaching out, he clasped her hand. "Wait, who are you? You were in my mind, when I made the change, weren't you?"

She gave a small nod.

"You have to explain about that trap. And Falcone…"

At the mention of the man's name, her face contorted, and she pulled her hand away. "Later."

He realized he had asked the wrong question.
Damn
!

"Sleep," she said again, brushing the hair back from his brow as she whispered low, soothing words to him. He struggled to keep his eyes open and focused on her, but his lids grew heavy. It felt like she was sending him a hypnotic suggestion with her words and her voice and her touch. Or maybe she was just helping along a natural process.

Almost instantly, he dropped into blessed darkness.

At first, he was lost in oblivion. Then a dream grabbed him by the throat. A twisted version of reality.

He was running naked through the forest, pursued by men with ancient-looking body armor and leggings like aliens out of an old
Star Trek
episode. Lucky for him they had spears instead of ray guns.

The last time he'd seen them, it had been night. Now it was broad daylight, making him feel even more exposed.

He had no weapons, and he knew that if they caught him, he was a dead man. They would slash him to pieces with spears and knives. Or maybe they would drag him back to Falcone. He didn't know which was worse.

Falcone.

He imagined a giant of a man sitting on a carved stone throne. The figure was vaguely human. But he had devil's horns, cloven hoofs, and massive hands that gripped the high armrests of his chair.

He had teeth like the grooves on a saw blade. And his hollow eye sockets glowed red. That frightening image as much as the men behind him kept Logan running.

His breath was coming in great gasps, and he knew he was reaching the end of his strength.

Then a voice called to him through the trees.

"Over here. Hurry."

He saw a flash of white skin and dark hair. To his relief, Rinna stepped out from behind a tree. She was wearing a white gown like a Greek goddess. But she was flesh and blood. Swiftly she grabbed his hand, pulling him into the forest. They ran for their lives—first through the trees, then through a gauzy curtain into a dark cave.

They were both breathing hard from the run, but he managed to say, "We need light."

"Yes."

As she spoke, golden lights flickered around them, and he saw fat candles burning on stone ledges around the walls. In the center of the circular room was a bed covered with rich fabric.

Outside he heard the sound of men shouting, their tone desperate.

"Where in the name of Carfolian Hell did they go?"

"Hurry, we have to find them. Falcone will kill us if we come back empty-handed."

Every muscle in Logan's body tensed, but Rinna only tipped her head to one side, listening.

When the sound receded, a deep sigh of relief flowed from her throat, and he knew she wasn't as composed as she looked.

"Thank the Great Mother that you got here in time," she whispered.

"The Great Mother?"

"I pray to her, sometimes."

He studied her grave expression and the white gown she wore. It was soft and translucent, and he saw hints of her beautiful body through the fabric where it draped over her breasts and hips.

He wanted to reach for her, but she had been shy with him before.
Shy
? He laughed.

"What?"

"You could have stepped out of a
Wonder Woman
movie, but you're… nervous around me."

She looked away from him, and he hated the way she broke eye contact.

Slowly, giving her time to pull away, he reached out his arm. When she stayed where she was, he stepped toward her, moving quietly until he could wrap his arms around her. As she rested her cheek against his shoulder, he knew he had won a victory.

At the same time, in some inexplicable way, he felt as though he had finally come home to a long-lost lover.

"Are you the woman I've been looking for?" he asked, breathing deeply, taking in her delicious scent.

"I don't know."

He wanted to find out. So he changed the terms of the dream.

They had been running for their lives. Now that they had the luxury of time alone together, he was swamped by a host of sensations. The feel of her soft hair against his shoulder. The pressure of her high, firm breasts. And that wonderful scent that clung to her like a field of herbs and flowers. She was so exquisite that he could barely breathe. Yet he felt her uncertainty. She was as tense as when the soldiers were searching for them nearby.

"Don't be afraid of me," he murmured. Then he lowered his lips to hers. He was so hungry for her that he wanted to ravage her mouth, but he kept the kiss light and gentle as he explored her sweetness, rubbing his lips back and forth, then settling clown for firmer contact.

She sighed out his name, and he struggled not to frighten her away because he understood that she was poised to flee if he made the wrong move.

It would be a mistake to hold her tightly. So he only draped his arms around her. The contact was light. Still, he grew so hard that he couldn't draw the line between pleasure and pain. In that moment, he knew that he must have her. But not yet. Not until she was as ready as he.

She seemed to know little about kissing. And he enjoyed teaching her, nibbling at her mouth, using the tip of his tongue to stroke the seam of her lips, gauging her response before increasing the pressure:.

Finally, he couldn't resist taking her lower lip between his teeth.

"Don't."

He stopped at once, and she lowered her head, resting her cheek against his shoulder again. He wanted to go farther, but he knew on some deep, instinctive level that she would turn and run from him. But he couldn't keep his hands off of her, so he stroked them lightly along her ribs, feeling her shiver.

He trembled, too. Sex had always been fun—and casual for him. He understood the charisma of the werewolf. The sexual attraction. Women sensed the edge of danger under the civilized exterior, and that turned them on. Not that he had pursued women with the wild enthusiasm of his brother Lance. But no woman he had ever gone after had turned him down. Still, it had all been a game, because he'd known instinctively that the relationship with the partners he bedded would never deepen.

This was different. More urgent. More real. More important.

"What do you want?" she asked in a barely audible voice.

"All of you."

"I… can't."

"I'll prove to you that I'm the right man—the man you can trust," he promised, because it seemed that was his only option. If she didn't trust him, that would be the end of it.

At the thought of endings, his heart lurched inside his chest. He wanted to take her by the shoulders, fix his gaze on hers and tell her that the two of them belonged together. He wanted to explain that he had been waiting for her all his life.

The words stayed locked in his throat. Words wouldn't work with her. Only deeds.

The right deeds.

He ached to kiss her again—and take the kiss from sweet to mind-blowing. But he was wise enough to hold back.

Later, he would put his stamp on her. She was his mate. Or she would be—when he finally made love to her.

For now, he contented himself with weaving his fingers through her silky hair, stroking his hands over her bare back, nuzzling his lips against the side of her cheek. Breathing in her sweetness. Marveling at the softness of her skin.

He found it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. The contact made him tremble inside with a powerful urgency that was more than sexual.

He wanted to explain that she was his. But he realized that the claim would send her running. So he kept the knowledge to himself.

His hand dipped to her waist, stroking the indentation, memorizing her shape so that he could find her with his eyes closed. He wanted to slip lower and cup her bottom so that he could pull her more tightly against his erection. He wanted her to feel the power she had over him. But he managed to stop himself.

It was still early in the mating game, however he couldn't stop himself from raising one hand and gently cupping her breast. When he felt the nipple bead, he stroked her gently. There was no rush. They had time to get to know each other better before they made love.

If the soldiers outside let them. He had conveniently forgotten about the damn soldiers. And when he made a low sound of anger, she stiffened in his arms.

Instantly he was sorry he'd alarmed her. Wanting to let her know that the angry sound had nothing to do with her, he moved back a few inches. Then he forgot what he was supposed to be doing when she moved her shoulder, pulling the thin gown against her breasts, drawing his attention to their sweetly rounded shape and the rosy nipples, which he could see through the gauzy fabric.

The temptation was more than he could stand.

Reaching out with his hand, he gently cupped her again.

"Oh!"

The warmth and weight of her felt wonderful. Just right for his palm. And when he began to play his fingers over the tight bud of her nipple, she cried out again.

"You like that."

She dropped her gaze and he knew that need and modesty were warring inside her.

That sweet reluctance made him want her all the more. His body tightened with need for her. They were in a bedroom. Because both of them wanted to make love. Even if she couldn't admit it yet.

But he would use his hands and mouth on her body—with all the skill he possessed. And she would open to him.

"Don't be afraid of me. All you have to do is let me give you pleasure."

She looked around the room, as though seeing it for the first time.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"To please you. Only that."

Before he could drag her closer and pull her down to the surface of the bed, the wall shimmered and another man stepped into the cave.

"Take your hands off her. She's mine," a gruff voice commanded.

Logan turned to face the intruder. "Who the hell are you?"