Shadow on the Moon (15 page)

He, of course, was not like them.
They fed a hunger of the body, an instinct to sustain themselves. His was a
sick and twisted need. Yet he knew his smoldering rage could only be cooled by
spilled blood, by the death cry of some living, breathing creature.

Creeping forward, he sniffed the
ground and scanned the white-on-white terrain for some subtle hint of shadow
that would betray a quarry's presence. His sensitive nose caught the pungent
musk of fear and he followed it. The scent grew nearer, stronger, leading him
on.

Suddenly, snow flew everywhere. A
pale rabbit darted from beneath an exposed tree root, heading for the deeper
forest. In one enormous leap Morgan was upon it. His mouth opened above the
quivering body, but even before his teeth clamped down, he felt the shudder of
escaping life.

He gave the limp form a threatening
and useless shake, then dropped it in shame and defeat. The rabbit lay before
him, nearly invisible on the white snow.

It had died of fright.

Morgan thought he knew and
understood sorrow, but now a piercing despair, unlike any he'd ever
experienced, engulfed him. Sinking to his haunches, he lifted his powerful head
to the angry sky and let out a long and mournful howl.

Dana! Daa-na, Daa-naa,
Daa-naaaaaa
!

Chapter Twelve

Something wet and cold poked at
Dana's face. She brushed it away, but it came back more insistently, and she
opened her heavy lids just in time to see a pink tongue dart toward her nose.
She dodged too late, then abruptly sat up and wiped off the aftermath of
Ferris's affection. Her head ached from the quick movements and she felt a bit
stiff, but the debilitating despair with which she'd fallen asleep was gone.

Giving the runt an absent pat on
the head, she wondered what time it was. A glance at the window showed a dull
light. Apparently it was morning. She threw off the blankets, shivering as she
walked over to look outside.

Gray scudding clouds dimmed the
sun, the land was covered with boiling windswept white, and she was damned near
freezing. She wanted to wail and gnash her teeth and whatever else people did
when they were frustrated. Obviously, leaving this place wasn't in the cards this
morning, since a new storm was clearly on its way.

The fire sputtered inside the
glowing skeletons of logs remaining from the night, and Dana moved to add more
firewood. As she stoked the flames to life, she noticed the wood supply was low
again.

Warming her backside before the
fire while she dressed, she thought about how different everything looked
during the day. She couldn't quite fathom why she'd been so badly frightened,
and she felt a bit ashamed. After all, she was a wildlife biologist specializing
in wolves. She'd explored some of the world's most rugged terrain, often alone;
with nothing but her backpack and knowledge to sustain her. She'd faced down
bears and cougars, climbed inside wolf dens.

Yet two people-emerging
mysteriously from a storm and an imaginative book about mythical creatures had
turned her into a shuddering mass of phobias. For a brief moment, she toyed
with the idea that werewolves did exist. After all, new species were still
being discovered. But where would such creatures come from? And how could
something that large escape the attention of curious scientists seeking new
life forms? This fell in the same category as Bigfoot and the Abominable
Snowman. Nothing in her background supported such a wild idea.

But she did know that Ebony Canyon
set her nerves on edge. Mission Lobo aside, she wanted to get away from the
place as soon as the storm broke again. With or without Morgan's help.

Feeling more herself, she began
rummaging through the pantry, discovering some beef jerky behind the canned
goods and a cache of pecans and walnuts. Next, she gathered all her stray
belongings and shoved them into the duffle bag. With luck, the blizzard would
move on during the day, and when it did, she'd head straight back to
civilization.

But what about Morgan? The thought
evoked a sudden ache in her heart and she placed a hand on her chest to ease
it. Would she leave without so much as a thanks? After all, he'd saved her
life. Unfortunately, he was rapidly beginning to seem more like a jailer than a
savior.

Maybe she'd leave a note, send him
some flowers. She tried to smile at the idea of an HD delivery person
attempting to find his remote cabin, but her heartache persisted and she looked
for another way to keep busy.

The nearly empty wood rack provided
just the task.

* *
*

A short time later she was standing
on the snowy porch, snowshoes in hand, gazing out on the swirling landscape.
Although she reminded herself she hated snow, she still felt glad to be out in
untouched wilderness.

Feeling more cheerful because of
it, she picked up the shovel leaning against the wall and began digging. Her
stiff muscles warmed and relaxed. She found herself enjoying the pull of the
laden shovel on her back.

Occasionally a bark came from the
kennel, and now and then a bird cried, but otherwise she was completely alone.
As she threw a final for-good-measure shovelful over the porch railing, she
heard wings flapping behind her. She turned to see a large white bird land on
the rail. Tilting its head in curiosity, it inspected her with dark eyes.

Birds weren't Dana's specialty, but
she was sure this was a hawk. An unusual specimen, to be sure. Totally white,
and considerably larger than any she'd seen before.

"My, you're a beauty,"
she said, leaning the shovel against the wall and moving in for a closer look.
The hawk displayed no open fear, but gave a shrill call and hopped back several
feet. Dana took another step forward. Again the bird hopped back. They repeated
the process several times. Finally Dana gave up. She picked up her snowshoes
and started for the steps, giving the bird one final glance over her shoulder.
It was gone. When she returned her head back, she gave out a tiny squeal.

A man wearing a fur cloak stood at
the base of the stairs. His face was shadowed by a hood shaped like a hawk's
head. The beak rested just above his eyes.

"I didn't mean to frighten
you." His voice was smooth and rich, and though the words clearly came
from his mouth, the beak moved in unison with them, creating an odd illusion.

He tilted his head back and the
hood fell to his shoulder. Muted light shone on his heavy dark hair, which was
tied at his neck with a thong.

"Where did you come
from?" she asked sharply, angling the snowshoes in front of her like a
shield, although she wasn't truly afraid. His tanned, angular face clearly
showed Native American heritage, and though obviously no more than thirty-five,
he reminded Dana of an ancient warrior. She almost felt as if he'd been sent to
protect her. "Do you live up here?"

"I came to help you shovel
snow. I see I'm too late."

"Who are you?"

"The People call me White
Hawk." He smiled, showing bright, even teeth. "Others just call me
Tony."

"Well, Tony," Dana
replied, trying to regain her composure. Would mysterious visitors never stop
appearing? "You still haven't told me how you got here." She waved
her hand toward the clearing. "In case you hadn't noticed, it's been
snowing like crazy."

"I noticed. As I said, I
thought you could use help. With the wood, perhaps?"

"How did you know I was— Never
mind. You probably won't answer that, either."

"Wise woman, but them much was
foretold."

"Do you always speak in
riddles?"

"I try to." Again he
smiled.

"I thought so."

"How about that wood?" He
gestured to the snowshoes. "You'll need to put those on, of course."

The sky was thickening with the
approaching storm. Two could haul twice as much as one. She nodded and dropped
the snowshoes off the porch, then descended the stairs. When she reached the
bottom, she saw he too wore snowshoes, only his were of wood and leather,
looked handmade, and rather resembled tennis rackets.

"Those work?" she asked.

"You'll see."

While she slipped her feet into the
snowshoes, he disappeared around the corner of the cabin, returning shortly
with a long sled. "This will make our task easier."

He smiled at her astounded
expression.

"You're making me
nervous." But she didn't really feel nervous, because she instinctively
knew he meant no harm. "I didn't know Morgan had put the sled there. How
come you did? For that matter, how did you know I was here?"

"Mysterious powers." He
tapped his temple, then laughed. "I ran into Morgan a short while ago. He
told me you were visiting."

Dana laughed too. "Don’t you
people up here know enough to come in from a storm?"

"When you're used to them,
they aren't so fearsome. As you'll soon find out." With that, he turned
away, pulling the sled behind him. Dana quickly caught up and fell into step
with him.

They skimmed through the undulating
snow in silence, and loaded the sled with effortless cooperation. Tremendous
claps of thunder accompanied their last trip—which was what made it their last
trip, since Dana was on a roll and would have preferred stacking the porch with
a week's worth of wood.

"One must work in harmony with
nature," said Tony, when Dana started to venture out again. "To know
when enough is enough."

"Umm, sure," Dana said,
remembering that her father often gave her similar advice. "But it would
be nice to know we won't run out."

"All is cared for by
Grandfather Sky," he said. "Your upcoming lesson will teach you that
quite thoroughly."

She looked over to see if he was
kidding, but found his face entirely serious. "You speak of the future
like you know what will happen, but nobody knows that."

"Not all of it. But we can
foretell more than you think."

He pulled his hood up, arranging it
until the beak was again in the middle of his forehead. His earlier playfulness
disappeared. In the distance Dana thought she heard drums beating, but decided
it was thunder. Still, she grew uneasy.

"A giant woman shall emerge
from the storm on a red steed and tame the wild beast." Tony spread his
arms. "So it was told, so it shall be."

This time Dana would have sworn his
words did come from the beak. To relieve her edginess, she feigned offense.
"I know I'm tall for a woman, but giant? That's a stretch."

Tony's expression softened for an
instant. "Some meanings are unclear. Giant in spirit, perhaps.
Nonetheless, Dana, you are here for a purpose. Destiny cannot be denied."
He reached somewhere inside his cloak, coming out with his hand curled around
something. "I brought gifts to ensure your success."

He lifted Dana's hand and dropped
several paper capsules onto her open palm.

"Smelling salts?" She
giggled stupidly. Still, although she had no idea why, she stuck the capsules
in a pocket. "I'm supposed to tame a beast with smelling salts?"

Tony's hood fell back; his
seriousness fell away with it. "An old-fashioned term. I think they're now
called ammonia inhalants. But you know what Shakespeare said about the rose."

"Tony, I do believe you're
nuts."

"You may very well be
right." He chucked her beneath the chin. "Hang on to those, anyway.
They might come in handy when you least expect it."

Then he turned and glided across
the snow with immense grace, especially considering his crude shoes. Dana
watched him until his cloaked form began melding with the snowscape, then she
gathered up a pile of wood and carried it inside.

When she came back for a second
load, she saw a white bird soaring against the thunderheads.

* *
*

Will Schumacher, esteemed captain
of the Arizona Highway Patrol, was beginning to think he'd lost control of his
men. Several of them had jumped visibly at the last clap of thunder, and the
young officer examining the half-buried Ranger had even let out a yelp.

Unlike his skittish officers,
Schumacher wasn't afraid. Although he couldn't deny that finding the mutilated
body had given him the willies—hell, that much carnage would have rattled even
Rambo—he was only shivering because of the cold.

"Just get on with it!" he
yelled impatiently to the man by the vehicle, who was now muttering curses and
rubbernecking at the sky.

"I need you to look at
something first."

"This better be goddam
good." Schumacher stomped over, ready to read him the not act if he'd been
summoned for a trivial reason.

"The snowbank completely
covered this car when it collapsed," said the officer, pointing at the
driver's door of the four-by-four. "And it's unlikely the occupant could
have forced the door open though that much snow." He turned and sketched a
ninety-degree radius around the vehicle with his finger. "See those
clumps?"

"Yeah, yeah. What about
them?"

"I'll bet my badge they came
from here."

"You must be going nuts. Some
of those clumps are over fifty yards away."

"I know. But there's no other
explanation. Someone dug the occupant out from this side and the snow had to go
somewhere. I didn't want to open the door until you saw the situation for
yourself." A befuddled look crossed the officer's face. "Must've been
some bull of a man to throw snow that far."

Schumacher bent and examined the
vehicle. Small chunks of snow still clung to the window ledge and mirror, and
several deep scratches marred the red paint. A cliff of sheared-off snow hung
precariously in front of the driver's-side mirror, resuming at the midpoint of
the rear door. Beneath the body of the vehicle ran a horizontal ridge that had
clearly been lopped off by an opening door.