by Connie Flynn
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.
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 cea
seless 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.
"Halant?" he asked, trying to puzzle it out.
"Ammonia inhalant," explained Rutherford.
The captain frowned.
"Smelling salts."
"I know what they are! I'm just wondering how this got here."
"Beats me." Rutherford plucked the vial from the captain’s fingers. "But it hasn't been here long."
"How can you tell?"
Schumacher got a look that suggested he was an idiot. "It's as white as the snow. After any length of time, it would be smeared with dirt."
"So what do you want me to do about it?"
"Obviously someone's been here recently. We ought to send someone to search for that backpacker."
"In the dark?" Schumacher caught himself, repeated his question more calmly. "In the dark? I won't risk my men for some idiot who doesn't have enough sense to heed advisories."
"Whatever you say."
With that, Rutherford walked away and fell in with the others. Schumacher heard him ask an officer if she'd seen smoke coming up from the canyon's rim.
The woman said she had.
“When are we going to check it out?"
"We aren't. The captain said it wasn't important."
Rutherford turned and stared darkly at Schumacher, who glared back. The wildlife man had no right to question the judgment of a superior officer from another agency.
He'd show the guy who was in charge.
"Listen up, folks," he bellowed. "We search this spot for one more hour, then regroup for the morning. Tomorrow, we'll scour every last acre of these hills, hear? And we're going to find those wolves, wipe that menace out of these mountains! What do you say to that?"
Schumacher supposed he hadn't expected a responding cheer, but all those blank-eyed, nodding heads? With teams like this, no wonder he hadn't fulfilled his mission yet.
Tiring of looking into the face of apathy, he circled toward the dark forest.
He could feel it. Something was out there. Something inhuman.
* * *
Morgan squinted into the woods, searching for Dana. Dappled sunlight reflected painfully off the trees, offending his eyes. The warmth of the sun released a host of odors that mingled into a confusing mishmash. He sniffed, trying to pick up Dana's scent, caught a whiff of soap that quickly got lost in a rush of pine, mice droppings, and rotting wood. The sounds of moving insects and animals deafened him.