Shadow on the Moon (26 page)

He flinched at his own thought.

There would be no night ahead.
Hadn't he already decided? He glanced nervously out the window. The sun was
only now reaching its zenith, leaving plenty of time to take her back.

Why had he let her talk him out of
escorting her down? Or had he only been kidding himself? Had his true purpose
always been to bring her back to the canyon? He'd certainly let her sway him
quickly enough.

"Morgan?" Dana sounded
puzzled. "What is the Song of Hades?"

"Not that," he growled,
annoyed that he'd forgotten to remove the section.

She looked stricken.

"The ceremony that made me,
and makes all werewolves." He tried to make his voice sound kinder.
"You have no need to read it. Move on."

But Dana wasn't one to discourage
easily, and he saw her rapidly skimming the pages.

"Move on," he insisted.
"That garbage isn't fit for your eyes."

This time she did as he asked, and as
he continued preparing their supper, he glanced over at her from time to time.
Apparently the contents absorbed her, because her eyes moved continuously, the
pages turned frequently.

Finally she looked up. "This
is why you kept me here all along, isn't it?"

"Yes." What else was
there to say?

"The conjunction with Venus is
tonight?"

"Yes."

She nodded as if she understood
completely. He knew she didn't. The pages only hinted at the mortal danger.

"One thing." She tilted
her head in question. "The first ceremony doesn't take long, yet the
redemption ceremony takes all night. Why is that?"

Her startled reaction to Morgan's
roar of mirthless laughter was almost comical. Unfortunately, he felt too grim
for comedy. "It's kind of like marriage," he said. "Easy to get
into, hard to leave."

With another nod, she returned to
the pages. A little while later, she gave the portfolio a definitive closing
snap and got up.

"No," she said. "It
won't do."

"What?" It was his turn
to be confused.

She rushed up and took his arms,
staring at him earnestly.

"Don't you see, Morgan? We
don't have to risk a ceremony where we both could die."

So she had understood. But fully?
He doubted it

"What makes you say
that?" He asked the question cautiously, but was totally unprepared for
what she said next.

"You can make me a werewolf,
too.

Chapter Twenty-One

Stunned, Morgan backed away.

"You don't know what you're
asking."

"But I do!"

She took his arms again, tried to
shake his large body.

"I left this morning because I
thought we'd always be different. I didn't know a ceremony could make me like
you. But now . . . Oh, Morgan. We'd spend centuries together. Mate for life as
wolves always do. And be free! Completely free! The sounds, the smells, the
sights—" She appeared momentarily let down. "Oh, I forgot. You see in
black and white. . ."

Morgan shook his head. Should he
tell her all he really saw? Shadowy netherworld shapes roaming at midnight.
Souls lifting from bodies as they gave a last cry.

"You see color? What about
your tail? Do you really use it for balance? I've wanted to know these things
all my life—"

"Dana!"

She stared at him imploringly,
green eyes glittering.

"Morgan. I'd be with you
forever."

Her excitement enticed him for a
split second, ringing in his ears like a siren song. Forever. He and Dana.
Forever.

Forever.

No, the hundreds of years would
only seem like forever. Gripping Dana's elbow, he led her to a chair and made
her sit.

"I'm going to tell you what
hell forever can be."

He started with poor Boris, then
spoke about his trip to Europe, about Lily's horrifying
ritual and her pursuit of him. How long he'd searched for a place to hide
before he found Ebony Canyon, of the animals he stalked, the sheep left by the
Indians to appease him, how Lily finally tracked him down.

"She'll never stop pursuing
me. Even transforming Jorje didn't end her loneliness."

"We'd never be lonely, Morgan.
We'd have each other. And we wouldn't have to kill humans. You don't."

"Listen."

She grew silent again.

"You don't know the cost of
resisting bloodlust. Every night my disgusting cravings compel me to run
through the forest until finally I've wrenched apart some poor creature. During
that time, I stay away from the tribe, although many of them are my friends.
They perform their night ceremonies, call on spirits, and leave me poor
half-dead sheep in hopes that they themselves will live. But I hear their
breaths, the beating of their hearts, and yearn to still that breath, tear out
those hearts. And when the moon is full—" He stared into her eyes,
urgently hoping she'd understand. "Why do you think I have chains in my
room?"

"Wolves only hunt to
eat!" She leaned forward and spoke with frightening passion. "There's
plenty of food here. We don't have to live that way."

"Werewolves are not
wolves!" Morgan slammed his fist on the table, but even that didn't dull
Dana's excitement. "The melding brings out the worst aspects of our kind,
and we're a noxious speck in the eye of God. Can't you understand?"

"Together, we could draw on
each other's strength. Be different."

That comment popped Morgan's
indecision like a child's balloon. He stood up quietly, went into his bedroom,
and locked the door. Seldom did he alchemize during daylight hours. The searing
light, the ceaseless noise, the melding scents of man and beast smothered his
senses until he barely functioned. But for Dana, he would.

Removing his clothes, he willed
himself to alchemize, trying to do so silently, but unable to stifle his cries.
Soon Dana pounded on his door, calling his name again and again.

Eventually, his pain disappeared,
his vision cleared. Dana's frightened cries merged unpleasantly with her knocks
like the instruments in an off-key marching band. The chains on his walls
glared repulsively in the thin light.

When he opened the door, Dana's
pounding arm came down on his furred chest.

"Are you afraid now?" He
enclosed her fist in his hand.

If she was, he couldn't see it in
her eyes.

"It never was music . . . all
this time. Does it hurt that much?" She reached to stroke his face. He let
go of her and moved swiftly away.

"Don't turn from me,
Morgan," she pleaded. "I love you just as you are."

"So much you want to be like
me?" He picked up her boots and tossed them to her like they were nothing.
"Put those on."

She hesitated, about to argue. He
caught her gaze and held it frozen in his.

"Do it. You cannot
refuse."

She did as he said, and when her
boots were on, he tossed over her parka.

"That too."

She pulled up the zipper, now
completely under his control. Walking closer to him, she smiled up saucily,
touched the curve of his jaw. God, she was irresistible, standing fearlessly
before his monstrous self. An arrow of pure love pierced him so deeply he
almost changed his mind. Could he make her like him? He'd missed the
invulnerability and heightened senses, he knew that, had known it all along.
With Dana beside him, maybe this life wouldn't be so bad.

No! Better to risk the Shadow of
Venus than to take into hell with him! But he would do neither. Steeling
himself against temptation, he swept Dana up like a matchstick and slung her
over his shoulder. and stooped to pass through the door.

* *
*

By the time the woods passed
blurrily before her eyes, Dana wondered why she'd forgotten about Morgan's
hypnotic powers, and was now mad as hell.

"Put me down, Morgan!"
She balled her hands and pounded on his back. Although she might as well have
beat on a mighty oak, that didn't stop her. She squirmed, wiggled, beat, and
shouted, but still Morgan raced down the trail.

"I'm not leaving," she
bellowed.

"Stop it!" He tightened
his hold around her waist. "You're wasting your energy.

"I won't leave. I won't."

"You have no choice."

Then he started running to fast
that the white ground whizzed beneath her eyes like an out-of-control moving
sidewalk. She was getting cold. Wind buzzed in her ears. Every fall of his feet
forced air from her lungs.

"Please," she whimpered,
feeling a bit dizzy. "Don't-d-don’t s-send me a-away."

"It's for your own good,"
he growled, so sadly and unequivocally Dana knew he wouldn't change his mind.

He was sending her off just like
her father had sent her to school. Only this time there'd be no weekend and
holiday reunions. She fell into a well of sorrow. Without Morgan, nothing had
meaning anymore.

She shouldn't have asked him to
make her a werewolf. Her request had clearly stunned and terrified him. She'd
seen it in his eyes. Yet he loved her; she knew he did. And she loved him. They
were meant to be together.

Which left only one option.

"M-M-Morgan," she
stuttered, "I'll d-do it." He said nothing.

"M-Morgan?"

"Do what?"

He slowed to a light, rhythmic lope
and she could breathe again.

"The Shadow of Venus."

Again, he didn't answer, but
neither did he quicken his pace. When several miles had passed, Dana decided to
take matters into her own hands.

"I think I'm g-going to be
sick," she whined, deliberately forcing the stutter back into her voice.

"Sick?" He sounded
puzzled.

"I'm getting b-bounced around
up here. My—my stomach's queasy."

He stopped. She skidded face down
toward the snow, but he caught her bottom, steadied her, then set her on her
feet.

"If you're going to
puke," he said hard-heartedly, pointing to a cleft among the trees.
"Do it over there."

He'd just given her a perfect
opportunity. She nodded docilely, hoping she was only imagining the suspicious
glint in his red-flecked eyes, and walked to the spot he'd indicated. He was
stronger than she, faster than she—stronger and faster than any human alive—and
subterfuge was her only weapon. She moved behind a tree.

"Stay where I can see
you," he ordered harshly.

"I'd like some privacy, if you
don't mind." She hoped she sounded the epitome of wounded dignity.

"All right," he said
grudgingly. "Be quick."

As soon as she was hidden, Dana
headed through the trees; lifting her feet high, putting them down flat, just
as she'd seen wolves do when stalking prey. Snow was light here, and though
slick and muddy, the ground was mostly bare. She moved faster than she'd hoped
she could, zigzagging between tall pines and bare birches. Occasionally a twig
snagged her parka, but otherwise she moved freely.

This was probably a fool's errand.
When Morgan realized she'd gone, he'd be upon her in a heartbeat. But if she
succeeded . . .

She'd beat him to the cabin. There,
she'd get the white gown, the portfolio with the rules for the ceremony, and
harness the dogs. Morgan would know where she'd gone; he'd come for her. He had
to. Because if he didn't, Lily surely would.

Dana shuddered and kept on
traveling.

Chapter Twenty-Two

If the captain had known they’d
bivouacked so close to the goddamned clearing he would have chosen another
place. But he didn't find out until a couple hours after sunrise, when one of
his teams discovered the path to the wretched site and came back to report.

They'd also come across one of
Kowalski's shoes, which they handed over to him. Schumacher hoped there wasn't
a foot inside. One look at the messengers and he knew the cowards hoped the
same thing. Mercifully, the shoe was empty, probably thrown off by the first
blow that hit that poor sap, Kowalski.

He gruffly dismissed the officers,
telling them they goddam better come up with some wolves pretty soon. That was
their job and they better not forget it.

It became increasingly clear that
duty required him in the field, and he, unlike his men, never shirked his duty.
As the day progressed, several teams found more oversized paw prints, and
wanted to cast them in plaster. One team reported fresh snowshoe marks on the
ridge above the canyon.

"Didn't we put out a hiker's
advisory?" he asked his communicator, receiving an affirmative.

"Guess some damn fool ignored
it. As if that crazy wolf woman wasn't enough."

Every time Schumacher turned around
yet another damn fool needed him for yet another damn fool errand, but finally
he made it out to the site. Now he stood in the clearing among those freaking
stone sentinels with several of his officers, who were -pointing out their
progress. At least the find had eased up, although he still couldn't seem to
get warm enough.

He looked at his watch, saw it was
after three o'clock. Off to the west, the descending sun glared cheerlessly.
Soon it would disappear behind the mountain, leaving the clearing in shadow.
He'd better not leave these pantywaists who called themselves his officers out
here after dark—or so he told himself—so he decided to keep up the search for
about half an hour, then call it a day.

He was dog-tired and couldn't shake
the cold out of his bones. Had hypothermia set in?

Maybe they should go back sooner.
If only he could get his men to do their jobs, he might find a second to rest.

"Captain."

He turned to see Rutherford
hurrying forward.

"I found this near the path,
Captain."

A broken paper capsule fell into
Schumacher's hand. He clumsily picked it up with his gloved fingers, saw something
printed on it in faint letters. Tiny faint letters, put there to challenge bifocal
wearers.