New Moon (3 page)

The man laughed. "I own this woman. Get away from her."

"Falcone!" Rinna breathed, taking a step back, and then another, until her shoulders were pressed against the wall of the cave.

He was nothing like the monster Logan had imagined. He was young and handsome, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He raised his hand, and suddenly he was holding a sword. Logan backed away, knowing he would die if he couldn't find a way to defend himself.

"Reach for a weapon," Rinna shouted.

He didn't know what she meant. But he understood that his only chance was to follow her directions.

So he reached out his hand and felt his fingers close around something cold and hard.

The hilt of a sword.

Falcone made an angry sound and charged.

Logan jumped back, holding the blade in front of him. He'd never used one. His only experience with sword fighting was from the old movies he'd seen on television. He raised the weapon, parrying the thrust of the man who was now on the attack.

Miraculously, he seemed to know what to do. He beat the man back, pressed him against the stone wall opposite where Rinna stood. But Falcone lashed out again, striking Logan on the shoulder. As the sword slashed his flesh, hot pain shot through.

And suddenly he was on the floor, the intruder leaning over him, about the plunge the sword into his heart.

"No," Rinna shouted, and the man dropped his weapon, pressing his hands over his ears as though he could block out some horrible sound Logan couldn't hear.

Falcone turned toward Rinna, his eyes blazing. "Stop it," he ordered through gritted teeth. "Stop it. You're not allowed to use your power."

She screamed, her face contorting as she sagged against the wall. Then she straightened and focused her gaze on Falcone, and he fell back once again.

This was Logan's chance to get the guy. But when he tried to lunge forward, he found he couldn't move. And he couldn't call out. All he could do was lie paralyzed on the ground, waiting to see what would happen next.

Sickness rose in his throat as Falcone advanced on Rinna. He felt her fear and her revulsion. And he knew that the worst thing that could ever happen to her was to have this man touch her.

Falcone reached for her, and her scream rang in his ears.

Before it happened, Logan's eyes blinked open.

He was in a cave with Rinna all right. But not the place of his dream. He was lying on a pallet of rough blankets and she was leaning over him. Nearby, a hurricane lamp flickered.

Instead of a silky gown, she wore a much more practical shirt and britches. It was obvious that she had come to tend his wounds, because she had uncovered the leg that had gotten caught in the trap and was rubbing some kind of balm onto his flesh. But in his sleep, he had transformed the encounter into a scene where they were touching and kissing. And he had thought she was his life mate. Was she?

He was still caught in the reality of the dream.

When she lifted her head to look at him, he dragged in a shaky breath.

"How are you?"

"Better. Thanks to you."

"You have a strong constitution."

"How do you know?"

"Some people die from the bite of that trap."

"Oh, great."

He would rather think about life than death. He had gotten close to her in his imagination. And he wanted the same thing in reality. Clasping his hand around her shoulder, he pulled her toward him. Perhaps he caught her off balance, because she made a small sound as she came down hard on top of him.

He cradled her body against his, feeling her breasts press into him and the curve of her hip. "Nice," he murmured, nuzzling his lips against her cheek.

But she wasn't the woman of the dream. She struggled in his hold, and when she pushed against his shoulder, he gasped.

Her palm had come down on the cut, sending pain shooting through his shoulder.

"Sorry," they both said at the same time.

She sat up again, finding her balance.

He studied the haunted look on her face. Then her expression turned practical. "Do you have to go to the bathroom?" she asked, and he knew she was deliberately putting distance between them.

"Yeah," he admitted.

He didn't love the idea of a woman helping him to the bathroom, but he wasn't going to ask the old guy for any assistance. So he let her get him to his feet, then lead him to an enclosure where they'd built a makeshift toilet just before the point where the fast-running underground stream exited the cave.

He managed not to fall into the water while he used the facilities, then staggered out again. It took all the strength he had left to make it back to bed. Once he was horizontal again, he felt her hands on his forehead, and he let her think he was slipping into sleep.

As he relaxed, so did she. When she pulled her hand away, he lay very still, his eyes half-closed. His thoughts were confused, dream and reality twisting together in a pattern he couldn't quite grasp.

But he could tell she was skittish around him. And she certainly hadn't enjoyed being naked in the woods once she had changed back to human form.

The casual thought hit him like bolt of lightning. This was no ordinary woman. She was a werewolf. How the hell was that possible? He'd never even heard of a female werewolf before—he hadn't believed they existed.

In the dream, he had thought she was his mate—the woman he had been longing to meet. And that longing seemed to have carried over into real life. Yet he knew almost nothing about her.

He ached to find out more, but instead of bombarding her with questions, he lay back against the pallet, letting his eyelids flutter, as though staying awake was too much effort.

As he pretended to drift into sleep, she sighed, and he thought he caught the edge of relief in that sigh.

When he'd first awakened, her hands had been light as they examined his wounds. Now that he was supposedly unconscious again, he felt her touch grow a bit stronger as she rubbed salve into the cut.

He struggled not to let her know he was reacting to the touch of her small hands on his flesh.

She made a low humming sound as she worked over him. Then she stood, and he heard her move a few feet away.

Apparently the old man had been watching the scene from somewhere nearby. Haig came forward, speaking in a low voice.

But Logan caught the words.

"I see he's housebroken."

"Of course!"

"Why are you getting so intimate with him?"

"I'm not! I'm tending his wounds."

The old man snorted. "I still think we should kill him."

CHAPTER FIVE

WHEN RINNA ANSWERED, her voice held as much sorrow as concern. "Haig, what's happened to you?"

He replied with an angry snarl. "I'm tired of watching my back all the time—and yours. I'm being practical. Like I said, he could be a spy."

"Let's assume he's an innocent bystander," she said gently.

"He could be a spy for another city. Maybe the Preserve at Eden Brook. Or White Flint."

"They why hasn't he asked for Information about Sun Acres?"

"He's waiting until he's sure we're not working for Falcone. Then he could ask us to join him."

She snorted. "We wouldn't be any better off in one of the other cities than at Sun Acres."

"You could set conditions for going there."

"I can't change my loyalty the way I'd change my dress. There are people at Sun Acres I care about, like my mother."

"We have enough problems without taking care of someone else. You never should have brought the man here."

"I couldn't leave him."

Haig made a harsh noise. "Too bad they taught you all that conscience stuff in school." They moved off, and Logan couldn't hear the rest of the conversation.

He opened one eye, trying to judge the distance to the door. Could he get out before the other two people in the cave caught him?

But how? The door seemed to have disappeared.

FALCONE had worked hard to make himself a powerful force in the political life of Sun Acres. His parents had left him a considerable sum, and he had increased his wealth by buying and selling slaves and also by setting up a private army that provided security services to other wealthy households.

He'd confiscated his mansion from a former council member named Blaine, who had been caught in secret negotiations with the Preserve at Eden Brook. The spacious residence had come completely furnished, so that all he had to do was move in.

He'd brought along his own slaves, who kept the place in smooth running order, and he'd sold off most of the staff he'd inherited from Blaine. But he'd tried out the women first and kept the ones who made good bedmates.

His staff was wise in the ways of the city. Even when staples like coffee were not available in the marketplace, his household knew where to get it. And with his own connections, he had picked up choice antiques to replace lesser modern furnishings.

Today he sat in a comfortable leather chair in the reception room off the front hall, waiting for news.

The house had been built before the Change. The walls were solid, and the ground floor windows were covered by grillwork that was decorative as well as designed to repel thieves and assassins—an occupational hazard given his position on the council.

A whip lay on the glass-topped table in front of him. He wanted to pick it up and slap it against the arm of the chair. But he kept his hands lying easily in his lap because he didn't want Avery to know that his nerves were jumping.

A loud knock sounded at the door, and Martin opened it. In the hallway, he heard a brusque exchange of words between the head of his personal guards and a newcomer.

Finally! News from the other side of the portal.

But when Calag, the captain of the search team, stepped into the room, Falcone knew that he wasn't going to like what he heard. The man's features were rigid, and his gaze lodged somewhere over Falcone's shoulder, because the fellow didn't have the guts to look him square in the eye.

"What happened?" Falcone asked in a voice that was calm yet edged with steel.

Calag swallowed, then replied. "The trap was empty."

Falcone's head whipped toward Avery. "You said the woman was caught in the snare."

"She was," the adept insisted. He looked toward the man who had come in with the bad news. "Were the teeth of the trap open or closed?"

"Closed."

"Then how did she get away?" Falcone demanded.

"She must be stronger than we thought. Only the most powerful mage could have gotten out of that snare."

"Yes," Falcone hissed.

"When you find her, you must kill her."

He gave the older a man a sharp look. "I don't take orders from you."

Avery's voice immediately turned conciliatory. "It wasn't an order—it was advice."

"I don't want to kill her. I want to use her."

The adept's face had solidified into grim lines. "But she is stronger than you. Stronger than any of us."

"And I have a way to make sure she retains only the powers I want her to have," Falcone clipped out. What he planned to do was illegal, but that had never stopped him before. He had been yanked away from his parents at the age of eight and thrown into a brutal environment. A school where all the children had special talents. And he had been expected to be one of the best—because of his highborn status.

At the end of term competitions, Rinna bested him more than once. She'd humiliated him in front of the whole school. He'd managed not to let his feelings about it show. He had figured out how to get along with the guardians—and how to make himself the leader of the children his age. The lessons he had learned in that childhood environment had served him well in adult life. Except with Rinna. He silently acknowledged that his anger with her had simmered below the surface all these years. He'd handled things wrong with her. And she'd run away. Now he was expending a lot of energy chasing after her.

He turned his thoughts back to Sun Acres. It was a city of great contrasts. You could live a miserable existence and sleep at night on a straw pallet with a rough blanket, or you could enjoy power and prestige and sleep on a soft mattress with crisp sheets. He had seen the depths, and he had worked hard to stay at the heights.

From his platform on the ruling council, he'd figured out how to rise to a whole new level.

Only he needed Rinna for the plan to work, and she had slipped through his hands.

He kept his face bland. And his mind bland, too, on the off chance that Avery was skillful enough to poke into his head and read his thoughts. He had learned from grim experience, starting when he was a child, that the only person you could trust was yourself. That was the key to survival in Sun Acres—and the rest of this miserable world. Nobody else must know what he was thinking and planning.

The captain of the crack military team he had sent out was still standing at attention, probably wondering if he was going to be beaten—or worse. Falcone considered various options, but in the end he decided that punishment would only salve his own pride and waste valuable time.

He had sent five men to bring her back. He would need more to find her now.

"You and five others go back through the portal, but make sure you come back before sunrise. I want ten more men searching on this side of the portal. She's resourceful, but she can't get far. Not with the poison from the trap in her leg."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Avery shift in his seat.

"What?" he bellowed, then instantly regretted the tone. "What?" he asked again, in a more moderate tone.

"If she got out of the trap, then perhaps she has drawn the poison out of her flesh."

"And perhaps not," he answered, punching out the words.

LOGAN'S eyes blinked open again. He hoped against hope that this whole episode had been a dream, starting with the trap and ending with the old man.

Rinna was another matter. He wanted to hang onto her. As he looked around the cave, he saw that he didn't have a choice about keeping the good parts and discarding the rest. He wasn't in Maryland anymore. He was in a primitive environment like something out of the History Channel.

Oil lamps flickered in holders fixed to the stone walls, giving out enough light for him to see that he was in the same damn cave where he'd fallen asleep. Half a dozen yards away, the old man was fiddling with some sort of equipment. Like a toaster oven or something. It didn't seem to go well with the oil lamps.

Under the covers, Logan moved his shoulder. It felt tight and a little sore but not hot, which he took to mean that the knife wound was healing and not infected. He eased his leg toward his middle and stretched down his hand, probing at the place where the teeth of the trap had bitten into this flesh. That injury seemed to be healing, too.

When he hauled himself to a sitting position, the old man's head whipped around.

"I'm just going to use the facilities again."

He got to his feet slowly, partly because he wasn't sure of the leg and partly because he didn't want to look like he was on the attack.

"How long have I been out of it?"

"Two days."

He grimaced. It seemed more like a few hours, but he accepted the assertion that a lot of time had passed.

"I don't suppose there's anything I can wear besides this blanket?" he asked.

"She left clothes in the bathroom. She said she thought they'd fit."

"You're Haig, right?"

"Yes."

Haig got up, and Logan tensed as the man approached him. But he only lifted a hurricane lamp out of a wall holder and offered it to Logan.

Light in hand, he headed for the enclosure at the side of the cave, still moving slowly. But he was delighted to find that the leg supported his weight with no problem.

After closing the door behind him, he used the toilet. A basin of water sat on a table. On the wall above it was a broken piece of a mirror. Clothing lay folded on a wooden stool.

He stripped off the blanket and hung it over the freestanding rack along the wall.

Once he was naked, he looked down into the small river that ran along one side of the room. It might be a way out—if he wanted to leave. Quickly he washed with soap and cold water, wishing he had something warmer.

When he looked at his face in the mirror, he grimaced. His left cheek was abraded. Deep circles shadowed his eyes, and beard stubble darkened his cheeks. Looking around for a razor, he found one—an old-fashioned straight blade like you only saw in cowboy movies. Could he shave with it and not cut his throat? And in cold water to boot.

THE white wolf stopped silently behind a tree. In the clearing ahead, she could see a rabbit munching on greenery. The animal would make a good dinner for Haig, Logan and herself. They needed food, and she focused on the small animal that didn't know it was being stalked.

As she hunted, her mind was still working on what had happened between herself and Logan. The intimacy in the cave made her nervous. But the worst part was the dream.

She had imagined herself in his arms, and she had the feeling that it had been no ordinary dream. It had felt so real, and she had awakened hot and needy.

That was more frightening than the simple physical part of the encounter. He had aroused her.

She didn't want to desire him—or anyone else. If she hadn't brought him through the portal, she could have walked away from him. But he was in her cave. And she had made him her responsibility.

So now she was plowing herself into catching dinner and trying to wipe away the tingling sensations that assaulted her body.

She sprang from behind the tree, leaped across the clearing and grabbed the rabbit by the back. She broke its neck, putting it quickly out of its fear and misery, because she understood what it was like to be caught and helpless.

As soon as she had made the kill, she picked up the animal in her teeth and started back to the cave. Falcone would have men out looking for her, and she'd better pay attention to her surroundings.

Because her wolf senses were sharper than her human senses, she stayed in animal form, scanning her surroundings carefully.

When she got close to the cave, she changed back into a woman, then washed her mouth in a stream and put on the clothing she'd discarded behind a rock.

She dragged in a deep breath and let it out before marching toward the entrance. Maybe Logan was still asleep, and she could avoid him for a few more hours.

WHILE he washed, Logan tried to figure out where he was. Not just in a cave. In a world that wasn't much like home.

What had happened to create the destruction he'd seen as they'd crossed the plain?

Rinna had said something about a war. What war? When? How?

Could there have been a disaster in some isolated part of the United States that created primitive conditions?

That might be pretty difficult to hide
m
today's media age where reporters jumped with both feet on every chink in the government's armor.

But maybe the government could pull it off. How? With a force field? He'd never heard of anything like that in real life, but it could be some kind of scientific test.

Maybe they were running an experiment to see what happened to people in here. Yeah, right!

He hated to think that was the case. But if it was true, how had Rinna gotten out? And not just her. Let's not forget about the guys who were chasing her. She'd talked about some kind of portal. From where to where?

He started letting his imagination run wild to the science fiction and fantasy novels he'd read when he was in his teens. The fantasies had included mythical creatures, like werewolves. And it had reassured him to know that writers had imagined men like him, even if the werewolves weren't necessarily the good guys.

So was this like a fantasy? Or was it more like science fiction? Had he gone back in time? Forward in time to some era where people were living after a disaster had wiped out most of the population? That might account for the ruined buildings he'd seen, and maybe Rinna and Haig had taken refuge in this cave.

He didn't like that explanation. And what were his chances of getting back from the past—or the future?

He took comfort in the knowledge that Rinna had moved through some kind of portal to his patch of Maryland woods. Then she'd brought him back here.

As he thought about her vaguely Scandinavian accent, another idea struck him, and he stopped in mid-stroke of his soapy hand across his chest.

What if this were a parallel universe? A few months ago he would have dismissed that notion out of hand. Then his brother Lance had asked him to help drive the monster Boralas back where he came from. After that, he'd done some reading about string theory—the new physics that postulated universes parallel to ours.