Shadow on the Moon (25 page)

"Dana."

He got no answer and jumped to his
feet, running naked into the main room, looking wildly around. The daybed was
made up. A bowl and spoon lay draining near the sink. But Dana wasn't there.

Had she gone to feed the dogs? Get
more wood? Surely, after the night before, she hadn't—

The note was lying on the table, a
pen on top, holding it in place. Morgan slowly moved forward. His hand trembled
slightly as he picked up the piece of paper.

Dear Morgan—

I love you and always will, but
I haven't the courage to do what you ask.

Forgive me.

She'd signed it with a large
wavering scrawl, and he dimly noticed the ink had feathered and blurred. His
eyes grew hot, stung bitterly, and he blinked several times before closing his
fingers around the paper.

A white-hot ball of frustration
burst forth from inside him, followed by the tug of ligaments. Familiar streaks
of pain shot through his limbs. A howl rose in his throat, came out in a blast
of fury.

With another howl, he threw the
crumpled page across the room. It ricocheted off the fireplace screen, then
bounced inside. Flames licked at its edges.

With another howl, he rushed over
and tossed the screen aside, snatched out the burning sheet and began batting
it between his hands. The flames bit at his fingers, but he didn't care. When
only a few smoky spirals remained, he pulled the sheet protectively to his
chest. It seared his skin. He smelled scorched hair.

But those tiny burns were nothing
compared to his splitting heart. He knew he could go after her. With his
superior knowledge of the trail, even in human form he'd soon find her. And if
he alchemized, he'd catch her in mere minutes.

Then what? Risk her life for his
redemption? He had made a vow to Venus to let Dana go free. Even if he hadn't,
he loved her too much to expose her to the dangers of the ritual. No, she'd
sealed his doom; but at least Ebony Canyon still waited for him.

He smoothed the smoldering note to
his naked chest, feeling almost as if he were holding Dana. He couldn't destroy
it. Until he died, it was all he had left of her.

* *
*

At that moment, Dana was thrashing around
in a soggy snowbank. Snow was everywhere. Down the neck of her suit, where it
ran in frigid rivulets, inside the bindings of her gloves, clinging to her
hair. Every foot of the perilous trail had been a challenge. If she wasn't
skidding over ice, she was sinking knee-deep in melting snow. She felt foolish
and bereft.

And once she finally worked her way
out—and she would, of course—she had no idea how much longer she had to go
before reaching her four-by-four. She could then look forward to digging it
out. Night could fall before she finally freed it.

What if she got trapped down there
after the sun set? Fortunately, she had no time to give much thought to that
possibility. In a twisted sort of way, she welcomed the obstacles of the hike,
because they kept her mind off her aching heart, off the terror she'd endured
since leaving the cabin.

She'd awakened with a burst of joy,
feeling the smooth, taut muscles of Morgan's body against hers. Then memory had
quickly returned, inducing a panic that turned her to mush. She'd slipped from
Morgan's bed into the darkness and pawed around for her clothes, luckily spying
the fallen jumpsuit as she opened the door. Dashing back, she snatched it up,
then raced into the living room to dress.

Oddly, birds still sung beneath the
rising sun, the fire murmured in the hearth. No one would guess the passion and
the hunger she had felt the night before.

By daylight it all seemed so sick.
She'd invited a furred creature to mount her like a bitch in heat, had gloried
in their fiery joining, loved it with obscene wantonness. Had he seduced her
with his hypnotic werewolf powers? Was that why she'd so eagerly allowed his
 
lovemaking?

Yet that direly accurate book spoke
only of vicious, murderous impulses. Morgan hadn't been like that. He'd been
tender and gentle, so careful not to nip her with his werewolf teeth or tear
her skin with those dangerous claws. There wasn't a scratch on her body, and
despite what her mind said, she felt only the afterglow of love.

Then, when his wolf form had
dissolved above her, when the brush of fur changed to the slick, sweaty feel of
an impassioned man . . . oh, the power she'd felt. Not her own, no, not that,
but the unleashed power of love. Even now she remembered the pure bliss of his
entry. She'd finally felt complete.

Later, he held her lovingly in his
arms and explained the Shadow of Venus. The idea of redeeming him initially
made her heart soar. Then he'd graphically described the dangers, especially if
she'd given him the wrong birth time.

She’d shuddered against his
shoulder and he’d paused, stroked her hair, told her she didn't have to do it.
At that time, she felt she had no choice. Redeem Morgan or leave him. And with
his hard, smooth, loving body next to hers, she knew she couldn't leave.

But sunlight usually sharpened the
edges of hard reality, and this morning was no different. Even though she loved
him, she couldn't face three snarling monsters alone, protected by nothing but
a circle. Nor could she live with Morgan as he was—a supernatural creature with
animal instincts, who lived in a place so full of evil she could almost smell
it in the air.

Yes, he'd made love to her last
night. He could just as easily have killed her.

Shivering, she fed the fire,
quickly dressed in front of its warmth, then put on the jumpsuit and went to
get the rest of her things.

After she pulled the gear from
beneath the bed, she looked down at the crumpled-blankets, remembering the
night she'd first seen Morgan emerge from his room. A telltale thickening came
to her throat, and she felt an oddly desperate urge to make the bed.

When she'd done so, her stomach
growled. She looked at the covered pans on the unlit stove, deciding she needed
to eat before she left. Listlessly, she dished up some cold porridge, which slid
tastelessly down her throat.

When she emptied the bowl, she put
water on to heat, then gathered up her belongings and put on her boots. Soon
the kettle whistled. She poured hot water into the soapy basin.

As she dipped in the bowl and
spoon, it occurred to her that Morgan could awake at any minute and surely
wouldn't let her leave. Was she hoping he would? She looked toward his room,
heard him snoring quietly. With a sigh—whether from relief or disappointment,
she couldn't say—she went to pick up her bag.

Then she moved to open the door.
All she had to do was pull. The night had been calm; no pile of snow waited to
fall inside. A few steps and she'd be free.

Should she leave him a note?

He might wake up.

Should she?

With a small groan, she put her
burdens on the floor. A few seconds later, paper and pen in hand, she scribbled
a hasty good-bye. As she signed it, a tear dropped on the page. Then another.

With an angry sniffle, Dana had
wiped away the ones that followed, then walked sadly back to the door.

Now, as she wallowed in cold,
squishy snow, she sniffled again. Why had this happened? All she'd wanted was
to make sure some gun-crazy, highway patrol officers didn't wipe out the last
pack of wild wolves in Arizona.

Bracing herself for the cold shock
to come, she shoved her arms deep into the slush, trying to lever to her feet.
The metal snowshoes, a blessing earlier, only made the job harder. Each time
she put weight on them, they slipped on the ice.

She let out a woof as her bottom
hit hard ground.

"That's why my tennis rackets
are superior."

Dana ping-ponged her head in search
of the voice, finally spying Tony half-hidden in a stand of pine.

"How long have you been
standing there?" she asked crossly.

He laughed and stepped out of the
shadows, approached with his hand extended. His crude wood-and-leather shoes,
she noticed, had no trouble on the icy patches. The fur cloak he wore the day
they met was gathered around him, but the hood was on his shoulders, its eyes
and beak hidden in the folds.

She stuck up her own hand. He put a
foot over the end of her snowshoes, then swung her out of the drift.

"Thanks." She brushed
snow off her suit.

"Nothing to it. Where are you
headed?"

"Back to my car.”

He picked up her bag, held it out
for her to take. She thanked him and slung it over her shoulder.

"Mind if I keep you
company?" he asked.

Mind? Dana tried to hide her relief
as she accepted. He said very little at first. Now and then he pointed out a
darting animal. Occasionally he steadied her when the going got slick. Dana
kept looking over at him, wondering exactly what he was all about.

"Have you lived here all your
life?" she asked, expecting him to say he had.

"No, I came a while
back."

"You did? But the other
members—"

"Most have always lived here.
But a few of us came from the outside."

"That must have been a big
decision."

He smiled at her. "Actually,
it wasn't so hard."

"But, I mean, you went to
school, had friends, television . . ." She laughed. "Guess that
wasn't any sacrifice."

"Mostly I miss computers. That's
what I majored in."

"You went to college?"

"Southern Cal,
got my master's degree and a lucrative offer from Microsoft." He said this
matter-of-factly, without a hint of pride. "My dad damned near hit the
ceiling when I left the reservation and turned away from civilization. That was
the hardest thing. Giving up family."

"But, why?" What would
impel someone to make such a choice?

He waved a hand. "That's all
behind me now." His gaze suddenly became distant, as if he were listening
for a subtle sound. "Shh."

He stopped walking. Dana, who was
virtually skiing over a particularly icy patch, veed her shoes and looked over
her shoulder. She found herself staring blankly into the hawk's eyes.

"Though brave of heart, the
woman still quails at the sight of the beast. Then passion will stir. Thunder
and lightning shall clash in their souls. . ."

"What are you babbling
about?" Dana asked nervously, again feeling as though Tony's words came
from the beak.

"After their joining she will
flee—"

"Tony, you're scaring me."
How could he know what had gone on between her and Morgan? But somehow he did.

"—but soon come to see that
destiny will not be denied."

Cold chills raced up and down
Dana's spine. Not from fear, but from an intuitive knowledge that all Tony said
was true.

The trees created a green window
behind his cloaked silhouette, through which Dana saw the peak of the mountain.
She could almost imagine Morgan's cabin. For a second, Tony drifted out of
view.

When she looked back, he was gone.

She stood there for a long while
staring at the empty space, then let her eyes move back to the mountain. She
thought of the night she'd cut Morgan's hair, of the warmth of the blazing
logs, of dear Fenris milling about the cabin.

Until now, Dana had always believed
people created their own destiny. Yet what had guided her to that boggy,
off-highway road at just this time? Chance?

Maybe.

Tony's words had struck a chord.
Did she really have a destiny, and was it to be fulfilled with Morgan?

After a considerable struggle, both
with the snowshoes and her own mixed emotions, she turned her feet on the
trail's slick surface and began fighting her way back. Behind her, a bird took
flight.

A short time later, she turned a
bend and saw Morgan up ahead. She'd never believed a heart could rise and sink
all in the same moment, but hers did. She stopped a minute, waiting until he
saw her, too.

At first his beautiful eyes seemed
to hold a question, then his face exploded into that wondrous smile. Dana
spread her arms and, although thrown off-balance by the weight of her bag, did
her best to run to him.

When finally his arms were around
her, when finally she inhaled the smoke and pine scent of his clothes, she
breathed. "I've come back to you, Morgan. Will you have me?"

"Forever," he whispered in
return. "If I could."

Then he took her arms and moved
back. "But you must go to your own world now. I've come to make sure you
get there safely."

* *
*

"You don't understand, Dana.
Tonight is the apex of the moon. Even our love can't protect you. When the moon
rises, I'll have no control of myself."

Having finally banished the chill
from her bones, Dana was leaning into the crook of Morgan's arm as they rested
on the daybed. They had quarreled heatedly on the trail, and she was feeling a
little smug that she'd won. He was still doing his best to convince her to
leave, but the fresh warning had done nothing to change her feelings.

"You didn't hurt me last
night. Why should I be afraid of you now?" She reached up to brush back a
lock of falling hair.

"Haven't you been
listening?" He buried his hands in the hair at his temples, and the lock
fell forward again.

"Yes, and I still want to do
the ritual. We're meant to be together, Morgan. Don't you want that? Haven't
you been lonely?"

Morgan laughed bitterly. "Lonely?
Oh, yes. But you don't know the dangers."

"It can't be that bad."

"Can't it?" He got up
then, and Dana watched quizzically as he disappeared inside his bedroom.
Minutes later he came back with a small portfolio, which he dropped in her lap.

"Read," he instructed,
turning to the kitchen, where he ignited the burner under the stew. They would
need nourishment for the night ahead.