Shadow on the Moon (2 page)

His eyes snapped open and he stared
in unspeakable horror.

Where hands once were, he saw hair
and claws—large, powerful claws that could rip a throat apart. A crazed laugh
bubbled in his throat, but when he opened his mouth only a groan emerged.

"Your alchemization’s
complete, Morgan," Lily said from above him. "You are one of us
now."

She stood in the perimeter of his
vision, a silhouette against the dark woods. Behind her, a bat darted for the
trees and he could see each rib of its small wings, see its tiny feet drawn
close to its body. It was all so clear, he'd swear the sun was shining. Surely
his eyes were playing tricks. He focused on Lily, who now bent to stroke his
head. Red glinted off her ebony eyes.

Her touch repulsed him.
Instinctively, he turned his head, snapped at her hand. He caught a tuft of
fur.

She laughed. "Ah, you are
angry. But you will grow accustomed to this new life."

The pain must have driven him
insane, thought Morgan. Reality, illusion, had blurred. Just like it had for
poor Boris, who had spurred him into this loathsome wild-goose chase.

He scrambled clumsily to his feet
and wobbled in the air, the weight of his body dragging him down on all fours.
He wanted to speak of his bewilderment, to tell Lily that her murky robe now
looked like a coat of silver-white hair, that her teeth had grown long and
sharp. But he could utter only a series of whines.

"Your skepticism is
refuted." Lily's mouth widened into a beastly smile. "You are mine
now, my darling Morgan. For many, many glorious lifetimes."

"No-o-o-o!"

And elsewhere, by those brave
enough to live in the perilous mountains, were heard the echoes of a night
beast's agonized howl.

Chapter One

Dana Gibbs clicked on the cab light
of her four-by-four vehicle to check out the crude map a buddy in the Arizona
Fish and Game department had sneaked to her. It seemed she was lost. Although
she'd found the referenced mile marker no trouble at all, the map unfortunately
didn’t show the Forest Service route number, nor was there any indication that
two roads forked with the main highway.

She scowled up at the dark Arizona
sky, taking it rather personally that the weather report hadn't mentioned snow,
then checked her watch. It wasn't even five o'clock, but the sun had long ago
disappeared into layers of blustering clouds. She felt pretty blustery herself.

From the onset of this grueling
drive through the narrow, twisting roads of the primitive Blue Range, her mood
had been glum. She'd driven all night from Albuquerque to offer her help on
this expedition, only to meet a reception as chilly as this unexpected March
storm.

Captain Will Schumacher of the
Arizona Highway Patrol had given her a fishy look, as if she were somehow
personally responsible for the recent slaughters.

"Thank you, Dr. Gibbs,"
he'd said dryly. "But every jurisdiction in the state is wanting to horn
in on Mission Lobo. We have enough radicals on the team. We don't need another
one."

She'd swallowed the insult without
retort, although at no little cost to herself, and tried to tell the chubby and
pompous man that the carnage couldn't be the work of wolves. Not even bothering
to mention that the Mexican wolf had been extinct in the wild for decades, she
brought up the obvious. Contrary to fairy tales, wolves didn't mutilate their
prey by ripping off limbs and tearing out entrails. They killed it, then ate
it.

Also, there was the question of the
infant boy. A forest ranger had found the baby wailing from cold and hunger
amid the torn remains of its parents. If, by remote possibility, wolves had
been responsible for the carnage, why would they have spared the weakest
victim?

None of it made sense.

She went on to explain that she
wouldn't even have come if it wasn't for the sightings. But three separate
groups of backpackers had reported seeing a large canine deep in Ebony Canyon.
Since few people were skilled enough to hike so far back into rugged country,
Dana gave some credence to their reports. Those men and women understood the
wilderness, knew animal tracks and spoor, and were not given to panic attacks.

Still, even the best of her limited
persuasion skills got her nowhere, so Dana decided to strike out on her own,
despite the captain's chilly reception. The idea of finding a truly feral pack
that had experienced little or no contact with man thrilled her. Though she
knew it was a long shot, she had to check it out for herself. Something she
couldn't do sitting in her Ranger, trying to figure but which way to go.

She shut off the dome light, pulled
up her parka hood, and stepped from the Ranger.

Snowfall was still light, but a
capricious wind periodically whipped the flakes into whirlwinds. The highway
was deserted. She hadn't passed or been passed by anyone for over an hour. Of
course, sensible people were home in front of warm fires, not standing at the
fork of a remote road shivering in the wind.

The waning sun cast soft, hazy
light from somewhere behind the thunderheads, which combined with the falling
snow to create a fog that made Dana think of the mists of Avalon. She stuck her
tongue out playfully, caught a soft crystal and let it melt in her mouth.

She loved the wilderness. Loved the
pine smell, the murmuring sounds that soothed her soul, loved feasting her eyes
on the unspoiled beauty. Warm fire or no, she'd rather be here any day of the
week.

She sniffed the crisp air, a habit
she'd developed from long years of working with wolves. They did it to check
the terrain for prey or predators. Since she lacked their keen olfactory
nerves, it served no such purpose for her, as her father often told her. He
usually finished by saying she spent so much time with her animals she was
beginning to act like them.

A gust of wind blew under the edge
of her parka. She tightened the drawstring, then started walking toward the
intersecting roads. They were a four-wheeler's nightmare—unpaved, splotched
with ice, and barely wide enough to allow two cars to pass without scraping sides.
Judging by the deep ruts, a snowplow had been through recently, leaving cliffs
of snow on the sides of each road.

Dana approached the fork where the
roads met the highway and squinted through the gathering low fog. Maybe the
north road. After all, she was headed in that direction. Faulty logic, she had
to admit, but if the choice turned out badly, she could always backtrack.

So what if she ended up camping
here all night? Her Ranger was well equipped. Her main concern was that Mission
Lobo would start their search without her.

Of course, the unit would have to
contend with the storm, too. Besides, despite the excited skip of her heart
every time she thought of it, she would undoubtedly learn that there weren't
any wolves. Her best guess was that some fly-by-night zoo owner had released a
captive animal into the wild after learning how expensive they were to feed.
Maybe a bear, or even some large jungle cat.

Perhaps a delay wouldn't hurt. She
could sure use a solid night's sleep. Between meeting with bureaucrats and
nursing an Arctic white wolf who was struggling through an Albuquerque hot
spell, she'd had few opportunities to close her eyes over the last several
days.

She was beginning to feel the
effects. Not that she minded spending time with Sharky. He was a sweet animal,
devoted to his mate, and he'd be gone soon enough. New Mexico was too hot. When
winter ended, a facility in Alaska would take him in.

Dana felt a familiar pang of loss.
She hated giving up even one of her animals. With a shake of her head, she went
back to choosing a road. Even the lure of a long, solid block of sleep and the
knowledge that she'd probably come up empty-handed on this excursion couldn't
mitigate her excitement. She had to be there on the front line. If wolves did
exist in Ebony Canyon, they needed someone to protect them from the
trigger-happy officers under Schumacher's command.

North it was.

She headed back to the Ranger.

While she'd been woolgathering, the
sky had blackened and the wind was now a steady blow, pelting her with frozen
snowflakes. It rattled the branches of the bare ash and cypress and sent
macabre whistles through the needles of the evergreens. The sound reminded Dana
of the thin scream of -a dying rabbit and sent prickles through her body.

Abruptly, she stopped walking.
Something was out there, behind the bending pines and whipping branches.

Watching her. . .

She studied the dense forest,
searching for movement. All was still, but she'd learned to respect those
sudden prickles of her skin. Once, when she'd felt much this way, she'd turned
a corner of a trail to find a bear raging against a swarm of bees. The prickles
had saved her life.

She lowered her head against the
wind and quickened her pace toward the Ranger. Just as she reached for the door
handle, a howl resounded over the highest treetops. Achingly mournful, it
carried a message of pain, loss, death.

Dana felt the sorrow to her bones.
Grotesque images of flying limbs and spurting blood flashed through her mind.
Her shivers turned into flesh-racking shudders. Her knees buckled. She grabbed
for the handle, jumped inside the ranger, and shakily activated the locks.

Just a coyote, she told herself as
she turned on the engine with trembling fingers, unnerved by her intense
reaction. She'd grown up in some of the country's most rugged areas and felt
safer backpacking alone through deserted canyons than she did on most city
streets. True, she'd felt fear before, but not limb-numbing terror such as
this.

Her hands were still shaking when
she engaged the four-wheel drive and jammed the Ranger into gear. The
four-by-four creaked and swayed as she entered the road, jarring her in her
seat. She clenched her teeth, focused on avoiding the worst ruts, and soon
forgot the fearsome howl.

Several bumpy miles later, Dana
rounded a sharp S-turn and pulled to a full stop. The road had already
deteriorated into a narrow cow path, and now an enormous wall of snow had
swallowed it.

Tapping her fingers against the
steering wheel, she sighed loudly, and backed up, hoping for enough room to
turn around in. She then angled the Ranger to the right, gingerly rolling back
until she felt the tire hit the ridge of a drainage ditch bordering the road.
Next, she pulled forward as far as possible until she reached the opposite
side. She repeated the procedure several times, carefully avoiding the boggy
ditch, which she knew would suck her four-by-four right in.

With considerable effort, she
finally had the Ranger at a suitable angle to the line of the road. From here,
she turned the steering wheel as far as it would go, then stomped on the gas,
counting on weight and momentum to carry her out. But she'd misjudged the
slickness of the road. The tires tried to grab, but failed. The vehicle
fishtailed and skidded toward the ditch.

Whomp. Thump. Thump. The right
front wheel scaled the edge of the ditch, jolting the Ranger to a stop.

"Dammit!" Dana pressed
her lips together, slammed the gears in reverse, and floorboarded the gas
pedal. The wheels spun impotently and she released the gas.

Throwing open the door, she stomped
through the mud, dug out a lantern from the rear, and went to inspect the
damage. Her back tires sat on a sheet of ice. The front passenger wheel was
mired in the ditch. Cursing herself for having decided she didn't need chains
because the western storm season had passed, she swung the lantern around,
seeking something to wedge under the stuck wheel. The light fell on a branch,
thick with pine needles, several yards inside the forest.

Dana hopped across the ditch.

The lantern splashed light on the
underbrush. Birds flapped their wings and flew from dark shadows. Various
creatures scurried and squeaked on...the ground. Finding the normality of the
sounds reassuring, Dana hurried toward the branch, confident she'd soon be out
of her predicament.

A howl shattered her serenity. The
night creatures instantly hushed and only an undulating echo broke the silence.

Dana froze midstep. Her nerve
endings vibrated, and for a moment her foot remained suspended in air. Angry at
her loss of control, she stamped the foot down and exhaled heavily.

Her breath misted in the lantern's
wake, creating a heavy fog. The light quivered in her trembling hand.

Battling an urge to dash for the
Ranger, Dana made herself creep toward the branch. As soon as it came within
reach, she snatched it up and sprinted toward the road, nearly tumbling when
her foot caught the top of a dark stone.

Finally, she reached the Ranger and
hastily bent to wedge the bough beneath the mired wheel. When it was securely
in place, she climbed inside. By now, her body was stiff from cold and tension.
She struggled to remain clearheaded as she looked over her shoulder and applied
gentle pressure to the gas pedal.

The Ranger didn't budge. Dana upped
the pressure. Nothing happened. As she steadied herself for one more try, the
terrible wail came again. So loud, so close, it seemed just outside her door.
She spun toward the windshield. She'd forgotten the lantern! And in the
perimeter of its spilled light, a blurred shape moved with superhuman speed.

Dana slammed down on the gas pedal.

The Ranger lurched — once, twice,
then again. She let up, stomped down again. The vehicle shuddered, broke loose,
and careened back at drag racing speed.

Dana instinctively hit the brakes,
all the while knowing it was the wrong thing to do. Brakes squealed, tires
screeched. The Ranger zigzagged, then spun. She battled the steering wheel,
trying to force it in the direction of the skid, but it defied her control.
Behind her, the wall of snow loomed larger and larger until it filled her
rearview mirror.