Dark Moon

by Lori Handeland

  “I need that research.”

  “Would you like me to send everything in a Federal Express packet?”

  “No!” Anyone could grab it then.

  “That is what I thought.” Edward sounded smug.

  “You have everything with you?”

  “Your formulas and serums could not be safer.”

  Unless whoever was chasing him this time actually caught him. Then I might as well eat a silver bullet, before I started eating my way through the citizens.

  “I will be back before the full moon.”

  “You swear?’

  “Have I ever broken a promise, Elise?”

  As far as I knew, he’d never made one.

  Before I could point this out, he hung up. I couldn’t recall the man ever uttering the word good-bye, or hello for that matter.

  Nic was no longer in the hall. I followed the sound of tapping into the kitchen and discovered him hunched over a laptop. He still wore only his underwear. Was he trying to kill me?

  “Where’d you get that?’ My voice was shriller than I would have liked.

  Nic didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t even look up. “I think it’s Jessie’s. I’ve started an Internet search on ghost wolves.”

  Why hadn’t I thought of that?

  My gaze dipped to the flat, brown circle of his nipples surrounded by soft, curling dark hair. Why did I continue to ask such stupid questions?

  “There’s an Ojibwe legend about ghost wolves. They’re called ‘witchie wolves.’ ”

  “Ojibwe,” I murmured. “Not much of a shock.”

  “Witchie wolves are said to protect an ancient burial ground on the eastern shore of Lake Huron. I wonder if they can exist anywhere else.” He typed in a few more commands, then squinted at the screen. “Huh.”

  “Let me guess. They can?”

  “According to this, witchie wolves can be raised to protect the resting place of any ancient warrior against those who desecrate it.”

  He lifted his gaze. Together we muttered, “Grave desecrations.”

  “Let’s see if there’s an ancient warrior buried in Fairhaven,” Nic said. “Although I kind of think that there is.”

  I leaned over him as he tried the computer again. I caught the scent of his hair, my arm bumped the bare skin of his back. He jumped, but he didn’t jerk away, so I stayed where I was, pretending to watch the computer screen when all I could see was him.

  “I’m not getting anything,” he said.

  “With Indian records that doesn’t mean much. A lot of their history is oral.”

  He shot me a quick glance, and I swallowed a sudden burning in my throat. That had sounded a bit suggestive. I straightened so I was no longer pressed against his back. “We need to talk to a townsperson, an elder. Probably Lydia.”

  “At two in the morning I don’t think we’ll have much luck.”

  “The doctor never got back to us about the second murder.” I didn’t like that at all.

  “Never heard from Basil, either,” I continued.

  “I’m starting to think he’s avoiding us.”

  “I guess we can ask about stray Ojibwe warrior graves in the morning. Not like they’re going to move or anything.”

  “True.”

  Silence settled over the room, broken only by the waiting hum of the laptop.

  “Anything else?” I flicked a finger at the computer.

  “Huh?”

  Nic’s gaze was on my chest. I’m sure my nipples were hard and thrusting against the thin material of my shirt. I really needed to buy a bra.

  “More info?” I waved in front of his face.

  “Oh.” Nic cracked his knuckles. “Let’s see.”

  Clatter-tap-tap.

  He sat back. “I cross-referenced witchie wolves and werewolves.”

  “You’re really good at this.”

  “Among other things.”

  He surprised a laugh out of me. I was even more surprised when he grinned in return. But his smile faded quickly as he peered at the computer. “You aren’t going to believe this. Witchie wolves are considered werewolves because they were human once.”

  “Looks like the sheriff called in the right people after all.”

  “Human in life, they’re cursed to run as wolves in death, a transformation of sorts.”

  “Why are they cursed?”

  “Doesn’t say, but—” I could see an idea flickering to life in the same way answers spilled from the Internet and onto the computer screen.

  “Wanna share?” I asked.

  His gaze lifted to mine. “We’ve got dead people and ghost wolves.”

  “Two dead people.”

  “And a lot of missing ones who’ve left blood behind. Considering the sheriff’s disappearing act... You do the math.”

  “You think our disappearing bodies are becoming witchie wolves?”

  “Yeah,” Nic said. “I do.”

  I did, too. But I wasn’t sure what we were going to do about it.

  “I’ll call Lydia in the morning,” Nic continued. “Ask if Cora had a book on witchie wolves.”

  “That would be a good place to start.”

  Silence fell between us. Nic and I glanced at each other, then away. Now what? A whole night stretched in front of us with nothing much to do.

  “I’ll see you then.” He practically ran out of the room.

  At loose ends, I sat in front of the computer. I accessed my credit card account, discovered Edward had already gotten me a replacement with a new number. Then I amused myself for an hour surfing the Net and ordering new clothes. Jessie had left most of hers, and they’d hold me over, but I’d lost everything in the compound explosion. Sooner or later I’d have to buy new. Why not now, if it kept me from going after Nic and begging him to touch me?

  When that was done, I wandered the cabin. No television. What kind of place was this?

  Vacation home. Still, what was more relaxing than TV?

  I could think of a few things.

  Eventually the boredom dragged on me and I yawned. If I could fall asleep, morning would come so much quicker. I stripped, then checked my wound, which was already nothing more than a tiny scab.

  I’d just reached for Jessie’s sleep T-shirt when my door opened. Nic stood on the threshold. I couldn’t fathom the expression in his eyes. Desire warred with fear, lust pushed at the boundaries of sadness. He wanted me, though he shouldn’t. He longed for the past, yet feared the future. And below everything I detected a smidgen of guilt, which was exactly what I hadn’t wanted him to feel. None of this was his fault.

  “If you could have known what would happen to you, you never would have spoken to me that first day.”

  I tilted my head. The library at Stanford. He’d dropped his book on my foot, then apologized so profusely, so sweetly, I’d let him carry mine home. We’d spent the night talking, the dawn kissing, and from that moment on we’d been together.

  “I would have talked to you even if I’d known. I couldn’t have stopped myself from loving you even if I’d tried.”

  I still couldn’t.

  “Having the memories of you kept me sane, Nic.”

  When I’d been in that cage and after, when I’d lived in a stone compound with no one for company but guards and the likes of Billy, I’d taken out the memories, and I’d found a little bit of peace.

  He stepped into the room, still wearing nothing more than his boxers. I clutched Jessie’s T-shirt to my breasts.

  He flicked off the light and darkness descended. Nevertheless, I could see him inching closer, and the scent of desire, of danger, wafted over me.

  “You make me insane, Elise. I should hate you, but I can’t. You should disgust me, but you don’t.”

  He stopped so close his erection brushed my belly. I dropped the T-shirt, and when it draped over his penis instead of falling to the floor, he tossed the garment aside with a growl.

  I took one step backward before he grabbed me, yanking me o
nto my toes. “I swore to myself I’d never touch you this way again, but all I do is think about it.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I’ve rationalized everything. The horse is out of the barn. No more virginity and you didn’t go all demon on me. Can’t get pregnant, no STDs. Perfect world. Or as perfect as it’s going to get now that I know all that lives in it.”

  “Nic—”

  “Shut up.”

  His hands tightened. I shut up.

  He was angry. What else was new? Though there were times I missed the boy from Stanford, I had to admit, this man excited me more.

  He inched back, and his eyes glittered in the small amount of light from the hallway. “Just sex, right? No strings. When we’re through in Fairhaven, we’re through.”

  Though a part of me died at his words, I knew it had to be that way.

  “All right.”

  His mouth met mine with both fury and passion. The clench of his fingers on my arms would have caused a bruise in a normal woman. One of these days I was really going to have to make him stop treating me like this.

  But not today.

  He captured my tongue with his teeth and tasted the end. Pleasure and pain at war, I clutched his shoulders and surrendered.

  My fingers drifted across his bare chest. His heart pounded first against my hand, then against my mouth. I trailed my lips down to his belly until I encountered the waistband of his boxers, let my tongue slide beneath the material and tease just a bit before I yanked them away with a violence to match his own as my knees met the floor.

  Edging forward, I pressed a kiss to the inside of one leg. His penis leaped against my cheek, and I turned, capturing the length of him in my mouth. The heat, the strength, the taste drove me wild. He wrapped my hair around his wrist and showed me the rhythm. A little rough, I didn’t mind. Knowing he couldn’t hurt me only excited me more.

  My teeth scored the tip; he hissed, then moaned, not pulling away, instead urging me closer. Pleasure, pain, so close, so different and yet the same. I laved the tiny hurt with my tongue and got back to business.

  I felt him growing, coming, and he pulled away, lifting me to my feet and melding his lips to mine. He was frantic. So was I. Our tongues tangled, our hands fluttered here and there, stroking, teasing, testing.

  The curling strands of his chest hair seemed to scrape my sensitive nipples, but I rubbed myself against him anyway. I had to have him inside of me or die of it.

  “Now.”

  He must have agreed that now was best, and the bed too far away, because he lifted me onto the dresser, stepped between my legs and drove home.

  The chill of the wood at the base of my spine was a welcome contrast to the heat wherever we touched. His palms at my hips, he pulled me closer. His thumbs stroked my thighs, urging my knees wider, so he could travel deeper with every thrust.

  The drawers rattled, the mirror thumped against the wall; I found the sounds almost as arousing as the slide of his body into mine.

  I was almost there. I only needed a little something extra to shove me over the edge into orgasm. He nuzzled my breasts, licked my nipple just once, then blew on the moist imprint left by his mouth.

  My shudder of reaction caused me to tighten around him, the gentle yet intense movement inciting his release and fueling my own. Grasping his shoulders, I held on as together we came apart.

  Both energized and relaxed, I lost track of how long we stayed there, all tangled together on top of the furniture. I felt glorious. How had I ever survived celibacy? Of course, I hadn’t known what I was missing.

  Glancing down at his dark head against my pale skin, I touched the shorter length of his hair. The shearing of the soft strands, combined with the specks of gray, reminded me that years had passed, wars had been fought—both in his world and my own—changing everything.

  This was just sex, not love. Could never be love, and I had to remember that. Nic was going to leave, if I didn’t leave first, and there was always the possibility one of us would die.

  How was that for a cheery after-orgasm thought to ruin the mood?

  Nic straightened. The loss of his heat, the moist memory of his mouth, caused a shiver.

  He moved away, his body leaving mine. I suddenly felt exposed, naked, a little slutty.

  The chill had returned to his eyes. How could he look at me like that after what we’d just shared?

  Except this hadn’t been sharing but sex. I’d thought I could handle that, but maybe I’d spoken too soon. I loved him, so our being together meant something to me, even though it meant nothing, I meant nothing, to him.

  I glanced at the bed, enjoyed a vision of cuddling close to Nic’s side, my head on his shoulder, the sheets and bedspread creating a warm cocoon all around us.

  But we had no dreams to share, no future to speak of. Getting in that bed would lead to one thing—several times.

  I didn’t think I could do it anymore.

  Well, I could, but I didn’t want to.

  Wait—I wanted to, but I shouldn’t.

  Every time we had sex, I remembered the love, the hope, the dreams, and I ached for what we’d lost. I might be a werewolf and a murderer, but I had feelings, too.

  Really.

  I turned to tell Nic we could never do this again, but he was gone. His door closed and silence settled over the house.

  I guess he’d already decided the same thing.

  Chapter 26

  I slept a bit, coming awake several hours later, with one thought. The talisman was still at the junkyard.

  Throwing on Jessie’s clothes, I cursed as I remembered I’d split my tennis shoes the last time I’d changed. At least the lack of them made it easier to sneak out. I could have woken Nic, taken him along, but why? He couldn’t help if I ran into ghost wolves, and in truth, I didn’t want to see him right now.

  Just sex? Sure. But what were we going to do about the embarrassment that came from sharing bodies and not hearts?

  He’d said when we were done in Fairhaven, we’d be done. Nic might not have a problem with that, but I would. He was my first, and even if I didn’t love him, such a thing would be hard for me to forget.

  I hurried through the chilly darkness in bare feet. No one was out this early, or was it late? Lucky for me, because when I reached the junkyard I found something strange. My stuff was gone—clothes, shoes, or what was left of them, and the talisman, too. I’d have thought the watchman cleaned up a bit, but—

  I glanced at the tangle of metal. Really, why?

  I continued to search in larger and larger circles until I reached the damp earth at the edge of the grass. There I found a footprint. Make that a paw print. Too big to be a dog—too big to be a coyote; too real to be that of a ghost wolf, unless they could become unghostly, too. And wouldn’t that be special?

  My neck prickled as a howl rose toward the sky. The first I’d heard in Fairhaven, the call tempted me.

  Wolves howl for many reasons: to assemble the pack, warn of danger, locate one another, communicate. Each animal has its own pitch, and a pack can harmonize, making it seem as if there are twenty wolves, when there are only three or four. What sounded like a lot from a distance could be a lot, or only a few.

  But this was one, and that in itself was strange, considering the pack nature of both wolves and werewolves. Which of the two was calling me now, I couldn’t say. I’d only be able to tell if I saw the beast up close.

  A breeze swirled in from the west, lifting my hair, fluttering the ends; my skin seemed to buzz.

  Embrace what you are.

  I was getting a little tired of the wind being so chatty, however, I had no problem doing what it said. Lifting my face, I barely thought of the moon before I changed.

  My clothes tore and fell away; the night came at me like a lover, surrounding me, caressing me, making me his. Strong, free, in command, the change now brought power with none of the pain.

  If Edward or Jessie were here, we’d have trouble. They
wouldn’t trust me. They’d want to kill me, or at least lock me up until they knew what was happening, and I hadn’t even told anyone about the voice yet.

  The breeze brought not only a message, but the trace of another like me. Maybe just a witchie wolf or two, I couldn’t tell, but I followed the scent into the forest.

  Squirrels skittered out of my way and up the trees. Small furry things ran into the bushes with a screech. Because I was a wolf first in this form, I became distracted by their movement, their smell, and I lost the trail.

  Retracing my path, I lifted my nose and sniffed. Nothing. Growling, I pawed the earth just as a crow swooped low, nearly clipping my ears with its wings.

  Wolves have been tracking crows for so long the behavior is ingrained in our DNA. One glance at the bird’s flight pattern, and I adjusted my direction. A few hundred yards away, I stumbled on a ravine encircled by brambles. From deep within came a moan. Was someone hurt? Bitten? Dying?

  Bracing myself against the inevitable scrape of the thorns, I put my belly to the ground and crawled closer. The earth tilted downward. I continued to inch along, stopping at the rim of a culvert. I heard voices along with the moans. The latter had taken on a distinct tinge of pleasure, not pain. I knew what I was going to see even before I stuck my muzzle over the edge.

  Bodies entwined on a soft bed of moss; the moon flowed through the branches speckling the man’s skin with silver. His buttocks tightened and released in an age-old rhythm as he pumped himself into the body of the woman beneath him.

  Her long, tanned legs wrapped around his back, tugging him closer. Fingernails digging into his shoulders, she urged him to greater speed. When she left red welts on his skin, he emitted a rumble that was half growl, half purr. The sound pulled at my belly, made my skin tingle and my fur stand on end. I’d never watched anyone have sex before—except in a movie. I shouldn’t be watching now.

  Carefully I inched away, but my claws freed a waterfall of stones and dirt down the side of the crevice. The man and the woman froze. I ducked my head against my paws, flattened my ears and tried to get small.

  Caw!

  Caw, caw!

  I didn’t dare lift my head, but the flutter of wings told me I’d been saved by the crows, even before the man murmured, “Just a bird, baby. Don’t get distracted.”