Shadow on the Moon (20 page)

Dana groaned.

"I'll mop it up," Morgan
offered dourly. "Just get those wet things off and go to bed."

Another order. Again Dana obeyed.
She didn't know how much longer her legs would hold up anyway. Her wounds
throbbed. Wearily, she leaned the snowshoes against the wall, then went to the
stool and removed her boots. By the time she was down to her thermal shirt and
sweat pants, Morgan had finished mopping and had added logs to the fire.

As she started to hang the jumpsuit
on its peg, he edged in front of her. Startled, she glanced up. His forehead
was creased with annoyance. The hair and beard she'd so carefully trimmed
somehow still managed to look ragged and wild.

"I'll relieve you of
that." He reached over her and removed the rest of the outdoor gear from
the rack, draping the garments over his arm.

"You can't do that," she
protested. "That parka is mine."

"I just did." He turned
away, his eyes grazing her shoulder. Gently, he reached out and touched her.

"You're injured."

She lowered her gaze to his hand
and saw a large patch of drying blood on her thermal shirt.

"Oh, great!" she
grumbled. "Now I'll have to sleep with this mess."

"Let me bandage it." He
lifted the thin fabric, started to peer underneath.

"I can take care of it!"
Dana snapped, pushing his hand away. "Just tell me where the supplies
are."

"Suit yourself." He
walked to the cupboards, took out a small kit and tossed it on the bed, where
it landed with a thud. Then he returned to circling the room, picking up Dana's
boots, gloves, and hat, piling them on top of the other items.

"What are you doing?"

"Buying insurance."

Dana watched warily as he snuffed
the lamps one by one, noticing that the scratch on his cheek had nearly
vanished. Even though the fire blazed hot, she shivered apprehensively.

"You're taking them in
there?" she asked through the flickering darkness.

"Yes."

 
The fire popped; a log cracked and fell.
Ferris snored softly. Dana felt a surge of sheer terror. "Am I your
prisoner, then?"

"If you choose to see it that
way." He put his hand on the doorknob. "In the meantime, I need some
sleep. This appears to be the only way I can get it. Don't forget to disinfect
that wound."

Then he entered his bedroom and
slammed the door.

Trapped. High above the sinister
canyon with an unfathomable man. Her one opportunity to escape now locked in
Morgan's forbidden room. She tried to devise an alternate plan, but the looming
shadows cast by the flames made her jump each time they flickered in the
corners of her eyes. Fenris's deep breaths brought back memories of the beast's
snarls.

She timidly made her way to the
rocker to gain the only light left in the room and began to tend her wounds. As
the disinfectant stung the deep gashes that only a claw could have caused, she
found it hard to remain sensible or to deny she'd seen a monster.

Chapter Sixteen

Morgan had risen unusually early
that morning, and Dana groggily heard him milling around the kitchen just as
sun started streaking through the window. Soon she smelled the aromas of
perking coffee and bubbling oatmeal, but her night had been a bad one, full of
uneasy dreams that she only vaguely remembered. She was finally enjoying a block
of peaceful slumber and didn't much care about food or sunlight.

Suddenly, she sprang to a sitting
position. Good God, a sunny morning. Nothing could keep her here any longer.
She could leave this cursed place.

"Where are my clothes?"

Morgan, who'd been pouring coffee,
turned at the sound of her voice. Without answering, he walked over and handed
Dana a cup. Although it was a kindly gesture, his hard face didn't look kind at
all.

Dana didn't much care. She flounced
out of bed, nearly spilling her drink in her haste, grabbed her duffel bag, and
went into the bathroom. She came out fully dressed and again asked Morgan for
her outerwear.

"After we eat," he said
in a tone that left no room for argument. At least not from someone who felt as
battered as she did.

"I demand you take me back to
my car," Dana stated firmly, over her bowl of oatmeal. "The storm is
over. There's no reason to wait."

"Mmm." Morgan shoveled
another spoonful into his mouth.

Dana waited impatiently until he
swallowed. "Well?" •

"Tomorrow." He dished up
another load of cereal.

"No! Today!"

"The passes will still be
blocked. They need another day to melt."

She got up irately and took the
bowl to the sink, where she swished it in a sudsy basin, rinsed it in another,
then picked up a towel and dried the dish

"Can't the dogs pull us over
the snow?" She put the bowl in the cupboard and walked back to the table.

 
Morgan washed down a last bite with a gulp of
coffee, then slowly lowered the cup back to the table. "The sled isn't for
passengers, it's for supplies."

"But couldn't it carry
passengers?"

Morgan looked at her sternly.
"I'm not going to risk injuring the dogs just because you're in a hurry to
save some nonexistent wolves."

"Then give me back my damned
clothes and I'll hike down myself!"

Morgan slammed his fist on the
table and rose so abruptly he sent his chair clattering backwards. Dana
flinched, more from surprise than fear.

"You'll leave when I'm ready
to take you, Dana! Accept that!"

He whirled and stormed into his
forbidden bedroom. Fenris darted after him. The door slammed shut. A few
seconds later Dana heard a second slam.

Every memory of the previous night
returned. Small things, like the colorful hieroglyphics on the sheep. Large
things, like the vicious fangs of her attacker. And with the memories came confusion.
How could she deny what she'd seen with her own eyes? Those creatures
quarreling over her shivering bones weren't men. Things evil and monstrous
lived in that canyon, and she wanted to get as far away from them as possible.

Morgan must be aware of what went
on down there. Surely he'd heard the Indians' music at night. Or was his so
loud it drowned out all the other sound?

Even as these thoughts raced
through her head, other ones popped up as well. By now Morgan must know this place
scared her out of her wits, yet he'd walked out on her anyway.

She sank onto the daybed, furious
about the tears streaming down her face. What did she expect? People left when
you made them angry. She'd learned that lesson early in life. Hadn't her mother
left after Dana broke her favorite bowl? If her own mother would leave over
something so small, why would Morgan stick around?

Even Dad had sent her to boarding
school. For her own good, so she'd become socialized—or so he’d said, adding
that he thought she spent far too much time with wolves. But she always
suspected he'd offered her as a sacrifice to get Mother to return.

Then there was Ron. He'd asked her
to marry him during her second year at Berkeley, had wooed and seduced her into
intimacy, then run off in the night with Cynthia Shaffer.

She continued with this line of
thinking for quite a while, until her sobs eventually subsided. As they did,
she began rationalizing. Of course Mother hadn't left over a broken bowl. She
just couldn't stand the isolation of the wilderness anymore. Her father had
only wanted to give her a better education than he could provide with home
schooling. She'd had nothing in common with Ron anyway. And Morgan?

Well, he'd merely gone for a walk
to cool off. He'd soon be back.

Her sorrow vanished in a sudden
flash of realization. She hadn't heard the lock engage after Morgan had stalked
into his bedroom. Had he forgotten about it?

Fear returned. Dark, formless fear.
Whatever she felt about Morgan, she couldn't remain on this mountain. Escape
might be in her grasp. All she had to do was check to see if the door was
locked.

She walked cautiously to the door,
pressed her ear against it, and listened for a sound, any sound at all. Hearing
nothing, she tentatively turned the knob.

* *
*

Morgan stood at the edge of the
canyon, watching his dogs leap on one another and roll in the snow. After a
while, he turned his gaze toward the west and took in the rocky path that led
straight to the scene of last night's horror.

From this high place, the fire pit
looked vaguely like a stale doughnut carelessly tossed on the rocky ground, and
the bright morning sun made the black stones seem like tasteful statuary.

Above it all, the setting moon hung
like a decorative plate, barely visible against the bleached sky. It looked
palely beautiful and harmless, but Morgan knew its power.

Fenris nudged his hand, begging for
attention. After staying inside only two nights, he was becoming a regular
house pet. Still, it wasn't so bad, and Morgan gave him an absent-minded pat
before gazing back at the fading moon.

Venus, misty planet of love, would
join it in the fifth house, which also governed love, on the following night.
He smiled wryly. The Morgan Wilder of yesteryear would have labeled this
momentous event as utter gibberish. Movements of faraway planets had nothing to
do with anything.

But now, in the underworld where he
dwelled, he knew astrology played a major role in a person's life. Lily
couldn't have cursed him without the blessings of malevolent Pluto. Since then,
he'd educated himself, had studied planetary influences, pored over his birth
chart, learned that his own planets' positions had aided Lily.

Now they would aid him. But only if
he won Dana's love.

Was he meant to love her, too? The
Book didn't say, and somehow he doubted it. How could a man put the woman he
loved at such mortal risk?

Morgan lowered his head, wanting to
pray, but knew there was no mercy for an abomination such as him. God had
deserted him long ago, high in that Balkan mountain.

Fenris nosed at his hand again,
pulling Morgan's eyes from the moon. As his gaze drifted down, he caught sight
of the ragged rocks on the canyon floor. Ignoring the dog's entreaties, he
stepped closer.

Sharp down there. Cruel, hard,
unforgiving. A man's body would be speared on those rocks, torn to shreds so
rapidly no supernatural power could stop it. A few small steps would end his
misery forever.

And leave Dana defenseless against
Lily and her mewling lapdog.

That gave him a moment's
hesitation. Then he remembered the helicopter. True, it hadn't seen her, but
surely people were searching. She had friends, family, had already been missing
over three days. And he had locked away her winter gear. Without it, even she
wouldn't attempt the hike down nor venture out in the cold night.

Soon someone would come. In fact,
he was the only one who truly threatened her safety.

With a deep fortifying breath,
Morgan took another step toward the lip of Ebony Canyon.

* *
*

Dana squinted into the gloom, then
hastily back-stepped as the heavy door began swinging closed. Just the idea of
being trapped in that black cave sent her raw nerves into spasms.

Why had Morgan built his bedroom
without windows? What's more, how could he abandon the warm, comfortable main
room to spend time in that barren cell? While she pondered these questions, she
got a the kitchen and dragged it over to prop pen the door. It took a few
minutes. to find a position in which the heavy door couldn’t push it away, and
still she couldn't fathom Morgan's choices.

By the time she'd finally wedged
the chair between the door and its frame, her hands had grown sweaty and she
was thinking about how soon he might return.

Wiping her damp palms on her pant
legs, she went in. Her eyes needed time to adjust to the dimness, so she hugged
the wall and began inching along. She'd taken but a few steps when she felt a
crunch beneath her feet. Something glowed in the diffused light and, as her
night vision grew keener, she saw shards of glass, the skeleton of a lantern.

Now she knew what she'd heard crash
against the wall when Lily was in the room with Morgan. She wondered why he
hadn't replaced it, how he saw in here without it, but she had no time for
dwelling on that.

She gazed around, able to see more
clearly now, and took in a crude bed with a lumpy-looking mattress. An equally
crude table sat beside it. She'd half hoped Morgan had simply dumped her
clothes over his footboard, but the bed didn't even have one.

So where were they? She scanned the
room, finally coming across a freestanding wardrobe. Her nerves getting more
ragged by the minute, she glanced over shoulder to check for Morgan. Reassured,
she pulled the wardrobe's handles.

The doors opened with a creak.

After a skittish jump, she peered
inside. Flannel shirts and denim pants hung from the rod, but she saw no
jumpsuits or parkas. She looked down. On the floor of the wardrobe, shoved
against one corner, was a pile of garments. She picked one up, pleased to find
a jumpsuit, knowing her parka and boots had to be underneath. Kneeling, she
pawed through the pile. Her hand touched the toe of a boot.

Just then, a shuffling sound came
from outside the cabin. She twisted toward the noise.

The other door! She'd been so busy
keeping an eye on the front one, she'd completely forgotten about it. The
jumpsuit slipped from her hand. Springing up, she closed the wardrobe as
quietly as her clumsy fingers allowed, then raced out of the bedroom, nearly
stumbling as she shoved the chair away and pulled the door behind her.

Just as it shut, she heard a lock
turn.