by Jewel Dartt
She twisted on the ground in torment, and then she was in Drake's arms. He made soft crooning noises and stroked her back gently, and as if by magic, the pain lessened, changed into slow erotic ripples through out her body. What was happening to her? Then it was over, and she slowly pushed him away and to her feet, but this time it was different. She felt weak and sick, not like the other times. She shook her mane of hair to clear her head. Something was wrong this time.
Drake took her arm, studying her intently. "You little fool." He shook her gently. "You haven't eaten, have you?"
She shook off his hand. "No, and I don't intend too."
"Miranda?" The sheriff's voice trembled with shock and disbelief.
Reluctantly, she looked at him. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Sheriff. If I could have prevented it, I would have. But this damn curse controls me, instead of the other way around."
"Miranda, I don't know what the hell is going on here, and I'm not sure I want to know, but you ain't like him. Stay here, let the Doc help you with whatever this thing is. I'll stand behind you, girl…keep your secret."
Defeat and despair coiled in the pit of her stomach at his words and at the look of compassion in his eyes. It hurt like hell, but she knew what she had to do. Blinded by tears, she lifted her head to look at him. "I can't," she whispered. "There is nothing Hadden can do for me. I know that now. I have to go with Drake, because he's right. I do belong to him."
Chapter 14
* * *
"Go away," Hadden muttered and turned over. His arm went out automatically to encircle Miranda, only to encounter empty cold space. Immediately, he sat upright.
She was gone.
The hammering that had aroused him earlier resumed, an urgency in its beat that matched the pounding of his heart.
He rubbed his hands down his unshaven cheeks with a heavy sigh. "Christ," he muttered as he climbed out of bed and staggered to his feet. "Miranda," he called out as he jerked on his jeans. Where the hell could she be at this time of night?
He called her name again. No answer.
The pounding at the front door grew louder, and he uttered a soft curse before he made his way to the living room. He stuck his head into the bathroom and the kitchen, on his way to the door, looking for her.
Still no Miranda. Had she left him for good this time? The thought sent a jagged edge of pain through him.
He wrenched the front door open with an angry jerk.
His mouth gaped at the sight of the sheriff leaning against the door jamb, his uniform torn and bloody, his cap missing, and dried bloody smears streaking his face and shirt. Beyond the door, blue and white lights slashed the darkness. A sense of urgency and dread spread through him, and somehow Hadden knew this unexpected visit from Norman had to do with Miranda.
"What the hell…"
"That's what I'd like to know too," the sheriff answered with a painful smile. Then, Sheriff Banks fell forward into his arms.
Hadden caught him and half dragged him to the sofa. "What happened?" he asked as he helped the older man sit down.
The sheriff grabbed his arm; his fingers, surprisingly strong, dug into Hadden's flesh. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Hadden reached for his medical bag and started pulling out what he needed to see to the sheriff's injuries. "Tell you what, Norman? Here, hold still, this is going to sting some," he added as he applied the disinfectant on the sheriff's forehead.
Sheriff Banks winced and dug his fingers into Hadden's arm deeper. "We don't have time for this, he's got Miranda."
Hadden froze, his mouth pressed into a tight line. "Who's got Miranda? Talk to me, Norman. What happened out there tonight? What does Miranda have to do with any of it?"
Norman tried to calm down and speak normally, but it appeared to be too difficult for him. "Werewolf. Killed my men, then took her."
"Drake," Hadden whispered, feeling the color slide out of his face as ice water replaced the blood in his veins. He stared off into the distance, as fear for Miranda slithered down his backside. He remembered his dream of a couple of nights ago, and now he knew what it had meant. Dammit, he should have paid the dream more attention, instead of dismissing it as silly and without meaning.
He grabbed the sheriff's arms and sank down onto the coffee table. "Back up, Norman, and start over. Tell me everything that happened tonight and don't leave anything out."
Slowly, and with an occasional grunt of pain, the sheriff recounted his tale. After he'd finished, a tense silence fell upon the room.
"I should have been there," Hadden finally muttered, dragging his fingers though his sleep-rumpled hair. "I could have stopped him…"
"You couldn't have done a blasted thing to help her, Hadden. That damn bastard has the strength of twenty men. He took out my men in a matter of seconds." The sheriff paused, and Hadden caught a glimpse of pain in his bleary eyes. "I'd be dead too if he hadn't wanted to use me to get to Miranda."
Hadden fixed an unwavering stare on the older man. "And what about Miranda? How do you feel about her now that you know her secret?"
A troubled expression crossed the sheriff's craggy features. "I don't rightly know how I feel about her now, but I do know that when she looked at me, and I saw the depth of her pain, it near tore me in half." He shook his head. "Miranda Slate may be one of their kind on the outside, but on the inside she is still one of us."
Just then, his glasses slightly askew, his hair pointing wildly in all directions, Steven slammed into the room. He carried an old tattered book, hugging it close to his chest. "What's happened? I saw Norman's car out front, and there's a slew of cops combing the woods."
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the sheriff sitting on the sofa, his expression instantly becoming guarded. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize the sheriff was here. I'll come back later."
Hadden shot him a grim smile. "No need to apologize, seems the sheriff here knows about as much as we do. He witnessed Drake kidnapping Miranda tonight."
"Kidnapped?" Steven echoed, his voice faint and bewildered.
"Technically speaking," the sheriff put in. "But in reality she went willingly. It was the only way she could keep him from killing me the same way he killed my men."
Hadden sighed and gave Steven a quick run down of everything that had happened. "I think he's taking her to Damaina," he concluded.
"Damaina?" Steven asked. "Isn't that the place where Miranda said her mother came from?"
"Yeah, but the problem is Cassandra made no reference in her journal where this Damaina was located." Hadden strode to a desk in the corner. "Maybe a map could tell us more," he mused aloud, slinging open the top drawer. A few seconds later, Hadden had spread out the map on the coffee table, and all three men were studying the crinkled paper.
Hadden hit the map with a curse, crumbling it up into his fists. "Dammit, not one reference. This map covers three states and not one reference to Damaina. How the hell am I going to find her if I don't know where she is?"
He paced the room with short agitated steps, and then halted and pointed at Steven's book. "Why did you bring that? Did you find out something to help Miranda?"
Steven blinked in surprise and held the book out as if he'd forgotten he was still holding it. "I wanted to show it to Miranda. It's an account about a witch who lived in the seventeenth century. There's a mention of a herbal concoction noted for its medicinal purposes, especially in reversing the changes in werewolves." He frowned. "The problem is that part of the list of ingredients is missing. It seems that the witch who came up with the formula was burned at the stake three or four hundred years ago, and didn't get a chance to finish copying it down for her daughter. I thought you could take it to the lab to have it analyzed and try to find out what the missing herbs could be."
Hadden gave him a bleak look. "It doesn't matter anyway, if I can't find Miranda. And right now, I have no idea where to start looking."
Norman pushed away from the table. "Wait a minute before you blow a ga
sket, Doc, I have an atlas in my squad car. It's more detailed than your map." The sheriff started toward the front door, limping painfully.
"Hold on, Sheriff," Steven said. "You stay here and rest that leg of yours. I'll go get it."
Sheriff Banks looked hesitant. "Well, I was going to get on the radio and find out how my men were doing."
Hadden frowned. "You're not in any condition to head up a task force, Norman. The guys know where you are if they need you."
The sheriff sat down heavily, a sour look on his face. "Hadden, I have two officers down in the field. If I hadn't started some kind of investigation there would have been talk." He shook his head. "No. It's best if everyone thinks we are looking for a pack of wild dogs. That way Miranda doesn't get pulled into my investigation, and I don't have to look like some kind of dang fool by writing about a werewolf attack in my report." He let out a sharp burst of laughter. "Hell, if the citizens of Silver Valley caught a whiff of what really happened, they'd run me out of town on a flagpole for making up such a story."
Hadden gave him a wry glance. "Now, you know why I was reluctant to tell you about this werewolf business."
"Yeah, it is kind of hard to swallow unless you've seen it for yourself."
"I found it," Steven said, flying back into the room, his cheeks stained red from the chilled autumn night air. He slapped the map on the coffee table, and all three men huddled around it like it was the Holy Grail.
"There…that's it," Steven crowed a few minutes later, pointing to a microscopic dot on the map. "I'd say about a two hour drive west of here." A puzzled expression crossed his face. "Now that we know where he's taken her, just what are we going to do about it? I mean it's not like we can just charge in there and rescue her. We're not dealing with reasonable thinking human beings, we're dealing with werewolves." He shuddered slightly. "A entire town of them, as a matter of fact."
Hadden stood up slowly, his features twisted painfully. "I don't care if we're dealing with an entire state of them, I'm going after Miranda. And you have to remember that some of those same werewolves are against killing humans. That fact alone might give us the edge we need to pull off this rescue mission."
"And if it doesn't?" Steven asked with a frown.
Hadden fisted his hands, his face grim. "It won't matter, because I'm going in there and taking her out with or without help from anyone."
Sheriff Banks squinted up at Hadden. "Now, just calm down, son. You can't just walk into that place and expect them to give you Miranda without a murmur. You're going to find yourself in a hole somewhere, and ain't nobody gonna know what happened to you, save me and the Reverend here."
"Then what do you suggest we do? Hadden asked, his voice edged with anger and frustration. "Wait for them to invite us to Damaina?"
The sheriff shook his head. "Hell no, boy. Let me call in the state troopers."
"Have you lost your mind?" Hadden asked. "What do you plan on telling them, that we have a crisis situation with a town of werewolves? I'm sure that will go over real well with the highway patrol."
Sheriff Banks shot him a impatient glance. "Don't be stupid. Of course not, but I can tell them this Drake fellow is wanted on battery and assault charges. They will haul him in without questions and bring him back to Silver Valley to face the charges."
"Is that something they normally do?"
"What?"
"Not ask questions," Steven asked again.
Sheriff Banks grinned. "Let's just say their leader owes me a favor or two and leave it at that." The sheriff got up from the couch with difficulty. "Do you know what kind of vehicle he's driving?"
"I have no idea. I've never seen him drive anything. The bastard pops in and out like a Goddamn ghost for the most part."
"Okay, that will makes things more difficult, but not impossible. I'll give them Miranda's description and your description of this monster's human form, and all we can do after that is cross our fingers and hope for the best."
Hadden rubbed his jaw. "Okay, do it. But I'm still going to Damaina. I just can't sit here and do nothing, while Miranda is in danger."
"Then, I'm coming with you," Steven said in a quiet determined voice. "You're going to need all the help you can get."
The sheriff finished up his call and limped back toward the other two men. "I'll go too."
Hadden's eyes narrowed. "Hell if you will. Norman, you're not in any shape to go anywhere. Besides I have an equalizer that I'm taking with me."
Steven and Sheriff Banks exchanged puzzled glances as Hadden left the room and returned a few moments later carrying a snub nosed pistol.
"God in Heaven," Steven breathed. "Hadden, this is crazy. You can't go in there like some shoot'em up cowboy and threaten them with a gun that can't even hurt them in the first place."
Hadden smiled and briefly told them what Miranda had told him earlier.
Steven sighed and pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. "Doesn't sound to me like it gives you much of an edge. If they move that swiftly, you'll never get a shot off before he's on you, and then what?"
"I'll face that problem when I get to it," Hadden snapped. "But in the meantime, I'll do what is necessary to get Miranda safely away from him. That's my one and only priority right now."
A knock on the front door forestalled any other objections, and with a wary look at the other two men, Hadden went to open it.
"Uh…hey Doc. I need to talk to the sheriff if it's all right." The young gawky officer shifted his hat in his hands nervously. "We gotta another situation."
The sheriff stood awkwardly and made his way to the front door. "What is it, Dalton?"
Dalton looked away. "I think we better talk in private, Sheriff. Official business and all that, you know."
Sheriff Banks frowned, but said nothing as he followed his young deputy onto the front porch. He returned a few scant seconds later, his eyes grim, and his features paler than before.
"What is it, Sheriff?" Steven asked.
"It's Jensen. He's dead."
Hadden's gut tightened at the name of the old man who'd first called in a report about seeing a wolf. "How did he die?"
"Same way my men did," the sheriff, said, his voice cold and stiff. "Goddammit, he was just an old man, a little senile, but harmless. Never did nothing to nobody. Why in the hell would that bastard kill him?"
"That's simple, really, sheriff," Hadden replied, staring at the gun in his own hands with disgust. "Because unlike you and me, Drake enjoys killing."
Sheriff Banks winced and leaned against the doorjamb, breathing heavily. "No, Hadden, I can't let you go after this beast without some sort of back-up."
Hadden went very still. "Nothing has changed, Norman. Drake still has Miranda, and I'm still going after her."
The older man shook his head. "I can't let you do that, Doc. The body count keeps mounting, and I'll be damned if I'm going to add yours and the preacher's to the list." He leaned over and opened the door. "Get in here, Dalton."
Dalton shuffled in, a puzzled expression on his face.
"Yeah, Sheriff?"
Sheriff Banks waved his hand toward Hadden. "I want you to take the Doctor and book him."
"You can't do that, Sheriff," Hadden exploded. "You have no reason to arrest me."
Steven jumped up from the sofa. "What are you doing, Norman?"
Dalton bit his lip, his face reddening. "What you want me to book him for, sheriff?"
"Obstruction of justice, trespassing…hell, I don't give a damn what it is, Dalton, but lock him up until I tell you differently." He lifted one heavy brow and gave his deputy a hard stare. "Ya hear me?
"This is ridiculous," Hadden growled as Dalton pulled out his handcuffs. "You can't just throw me in jail."
Sheriff Banks grinned. "Watch me."
Dalton spun Hadden around and snapped on the cuffs.
"And just how long do you plan on keeping me there?" Hadden asked, his voice harsh with anger.
The she
riff rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Until I can get a handle on this thing and come up with something better than what you plan on doing."
"Sheriff, are handcuffs really necessary?" Steven asked quietly.
"Afraid so, son. I ain't taking no chances with a hot head like the doc." He glanced over at Dalton. "If he tries to make a run for it, shoot him in the leg if you have to, but don't let him get away."
* * *
The eighty-year-old woman jerked awake with a startled gasp. She placed her hand on her chest and waited for the galloping beat to slow down to an acceptable rate. Fear gripped her as she searched the shadows for some sign of the woman who'd come to her in her dreams.
"Of course, there's no woman here," she said aloud. "Just an old woman's imagination getting the best of her."
Her breathing grew less labored as she shook off the last remaining remnants of the nightmare. Bits and pieces floated in front of her. Something about that young woman who'd come to ask for her help—something she had to do to save her. But what?
And then she remembered the woman in her dream had the young woman's eyes. They were the exact same shade of blue and had the same haunting quality about them. Now, what had she said?
Something about the special mix of herbs. Fear and shock clutched at her throat. The special herbs she had hidden behind a brick in the fireplace. Nobody knew about those particular herbs, and what they could do—not even her own daughter.
Elaine Campbell's mother shook her head. No, she hadn't just had a dream. Somebody from beyond the grave was trying to contact her. Somebody who loved the young woman very much.
She climbed out of the bed, and with slow halting steps made her way into the living room. She headed straight to the fireplace and located the brick easily in the darkness. She scraped her knobby fingers against the crumbling mortar as she extracted the musty, smelly leather bag.
She gripped the bag tightly and settled down in her rocker. She knew what the ghost wanted her to do, but she didn't know if she had the strength or the courage to do it. If she'd been younger, she would not have thought twice about helping young Miranda Slate, but things were different now. She was old and tired, too tired to fight the forces of evil building up against this young woman.