by Connie Flynn
She let her hand rest there for a long while, saying nothing, sobbing occasionally. Then, with obvious caution, she moved her fingers slowly down his leg.
"Soft," she said, wonder evident in her tearful voice. "Soft and silky."
She backtracked, let her fingers dwell on the curve of his thigh, stroking with loving tenderness. Then her hand reached the vee of his thighs. A finger touched his testicles, brushed against his stirring erection.
"You're just like a man," she said in a startled voice.
"In that way, yes."
Her hand lingered momentarily, then moved on. His heartbeat quickened, a deep breath left his lungs. As much as he feared the answer, he must ask the question.
"Now that you know my true self, can you love me, Dana?"
He sensed her hesitation as she lifted her hand from his leg.
"I don't . . . know."
Morgan let out an involuntary groan.
She sat up abruptly, groping in the dark. He saw the tiny half-moons of her nails, the dusting of fine hair on her arm. Then her fingers reached his cheek, stopped, rested.
"You're crying. . . . Oh, Morgan, I'm so sorry."
She dropped her hand, brought it to her mouth, and licked his tears from her fingers. "Salty, just like mine," she said.
"I am so much like you, sweet Dana. You cannot know." He put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her slowly back to the bed. She didn't resist. "It's more than I could hope for that you'd love a monster like me. But if you can't, please, for this night, let me love you."
She shivered so violently he jerked his hands back.
He had failed.
But please, sweet Venus, he pleaded, if only once, let her hold me, feel her body under mine, her touch on the beast I am. By that alone I will be redeemed.
And in his prayer, he promised to return her to safety the next day, then walk to the edge of Ebony Canyon and assure he'd never harm a single mortal.
"Undress me, Morgan."
Her surprising request startled Morgan and filled him with mixed emotions. He'd schemed for this all along. The ritual could not succeed until they bonded as man and woman. But now, thinking of the danger, his heart quailed.
When he finally touched her, he realized her trembling came from need even greater than his. In awe, he lifted her shirt over her head, drew down her loose fleece pants, her pleasingly silky undergarment. When his claws scraped gently across her skin, she moaned as if in pleasure.
He rolled her to lie on her belly, and she moved pliantly beneath his hands. Little sounds came from her mouth, but these were not from tears or terror.
Dear Venus, protect us both.
When he climbed to straddle her, holding his weight so as not to crush her fragile body, she twisted, snaked an arm around his neck, and pulled his mouth to hers. Hungry noises purred in her throat, she drew her tongue along the edges of his sharp, deadly, fangs, almost daring him to draw blood.
For that instant, Morgan gave in to her passion. He suckled her tongue violently, only barely mindful he might harm her. Tasting a faint drop of blood, he started to draw away, but she only whimpered and drove her tongue more deeply into his mouth. He placed his hands on the sides of her legs, bared his claws and began lightly pulling them up her body.
She writhed deliciously beneath him. Then, with a greedy cry that excited Morgan beyond reason, she broke the kiss. Shifting frantically, she pulled her knees beneath her, shoved her perfect little bottom against him, and put a cool hand around his large erection. Only the same strong will he used to restrain unwanted alchemization kept him from exploding at her exquisite touch.
"Oh!" Her tone held surprise and alarm.
"You cannot take me," he said, breathing into the delightful curves of her ear, knowing what provoked her exclamation. He was much larger and fuller than a human male.
She shuddered, whether from desire or fear, Morgan could not tell. Then she spread her knees wider, moving him against the edges of her dilated opening. Moist and smooth it was, and hot, so hot. The contrast between heated womanhood and cool fingers sent electric sensation through Morgan's body.
He reached down to where they touched, felt warm juices flowing between her parted legs, ached so badly to have her, he thought he might die.
With a quick move of her hand and another clever thrust of her hips, she pushed his fingers away, tried to sheath him. But Morgan grabbed her wrists, pinned them to the bed, then pressed himself against her back and rained kisses on her neck.
Now she bucked beneath him, heedless of his power to hurt her, seeking the length of him, striving to engulf him. He straightened, held her hips, refusing to let her have what she sought.
The muscles of her back flexed and fell with her every thrust. Moans of desire came from her mouth.
Exquisite, painfully exquisite, to be between her legs, yet deny what they both so badly wanted. And despite his fear of hurting her, Morgan could barely resist the temptation to give it to her.
Then his earlier question reentered his mind, cooling his passion. He'd sworn-an oath to Venus. He must not ask again. If she answered differently this time, fate would be set in motion.
He told himself this—but without success. "Can you not love me, Dana?"
She stopped moving. He stroked the gentle swell of her bottom, letting his claws graze lightly, oh, so lightly. With another moan, she jutted up and tried to take him again. Once more he stilled her movements.
Then he started moving. Slowly, very slowly. Up and down, sliding himself against her swollen mound. She screamed with pleasure so intense Morgan felt it in his soul.
Convulsions racked her body. He held her hips, bent to kiss the smooth skin of her trembling back, wanting to hear her answer, wanting not to hear it, struggling not to release his own need.
Time passed. Sparks of her climax still convulsed her body. Finally came moments of stillness. Occasionally she circled her hips. Her breathing slowed.
Giving one last satisfied sigh, she spoke. "Yes, Morgan, I love you."
He felt as if a beam of pure golden light had passed through him, providing him with an inner sense of calm. Suddenly, his teeth lost their jagged edges. Hair melted from his limbs. Fingernails replaced his claws.
Passion, so intense he knew it might never be fulfilled, accompanied his restored humanity. With joyful fury, he drove himself inside her, deep, deep as he could. She was still hot and wet and wanting him, and his violent thrusts renewed her passion. He felt her tighten, and blood engorged him to such fullness as he had never known.
"Dana," he whispered hoarsely. The cry escaping his throat was met by hers. Long and high and joyful, mingling in the night, filling the room with love. Morgan fell onto her trembling body, thinking he'd never heard a sweeter sound.
And also bittersweet.
Because nothing could stop fate now.
Chapter Twenty
Morgan smiled lazily and rolled to take Dana in his arms. He hit an empty space. Instantly, he came awake and listened for footsteps in the front room. But all was silent. Daylight streamed through the open bedroom door, and Morgan scanned the room for Dana's clothes. They were gone. So was the jumpsuit.
"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."
"Th
at 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.