Shadow on the Moon (21 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Morgan propped open the door with a
large rock, trying to get a hold on his murderous thoughts about Lily, but his
loathing intensified, rising from deep within. The hair on his body bristled. A
moan formed low in his throat.

He sagged against the doorjamb as
aches mounted in his body, combining with his raw emotions until he felt nearly
overwhelmed. Gradually he willed his feelings away. His unwelcome alchemization
ceased.

Weakened by his efforts, Morgan
staggered toward his bed and reached to ignite the lamp, then remembered it was
no longer there. The broken pieces still lay where he'd swept them. One more
reason to hate Lily.

The solar power had finally failed,
so he didn't even have that feeble light. Since the cold air was easier to bear
than total darkness, he left the door propped open and flopped onto the bed to
gaze forlornly at the water-stained ceiling. These women were driving him mad.
Lily, with her ceaseless pursuit. Dana, with her continual defiance.

One more step, that's all. One
more, and he would have been plummeting toward the rocks of Ebony
Canyon. But he'd remembered the
unlocked door and knew Dana would eventually try it if he failed to return.

He had stared into the canyon for quite
a while after that, hearing it sing promises of release, knowing if he heeded
them he'd be delivering Dana into mortal danger. Finally he'd wrenched himself
away and called his dogs.

Now his sigh of longing filled the
shadows of his room. By returning, he’s fixed his fate—and Dana's. He couldn't
continue to live this way, doomed to wander the nighttime forests, slithering
on his belly through mud in search of some poor creature to destroy. Before
Dana, he had managed to eke out a balance between his humanity and his
beasthood, but since he'd kissed her . . .

To again feel the half-remembered
tenderness of a woman's touch had been too much. Now he couldn't abide another
minute of this existence, much less seven more years.

The Book foretold of a woman who
would love him, redeem him, give him hope, the most terrifying emotion of all.
But—as he'd asked himself so many times before—was Dana that one?

He rocked abruptly upright and
pulled two sheets of paper from his bedside stand.

It was all there, delineated by
arcane symbols inside page-sized circles divided into twelve sections. Her
birth moon conjoined his own moon in Libra—sat right on top of it, in fact.
Less than one degree away, her Venus conjoined both their moons. Unless she'd
given him the wrong birth time, there could be no mistake. Heaven had sent her.

May heaven also protect her.

He sadly returned the charts to the
drawer and fell back on the bed, idly wondering how it was that sorrow and
remorse never triggered alchemization.

Would he be feeling this way had he
not grown to love her? It was a possibility. If her chart was false, she
wouldn't last the night. The same physician's creed that prevented him from
ever making his first kill might have also made him reluctant to risk her life.

Loving made it worse. How easily he
could reveal his true nature if she hadn't touched his heart. Instead he feared
seeing revulsion in her eyes, having her turn away.

His restless thoughts had him
tossing on the lumpy bed, rolling right, rolling left. He tucked a pillow under
his head, trying to get comfortable. His gaze drifted to the floor, wandering
aimlessly, then coming to rest on a fallen article.

A jumpsuit.

He stared a moment, wondering how
it got there, then rose and went to the wardrobe. When he opened the doors, he
saw objects scattered across the entire bottom.

So Dana had already been in his
room. He'd probably surprised her before she'd been able to complete her task.
He should have guessed she wouldn't simply sit around and let someone else
decide her fate.

The corners of his mouth curved up.
If anyone could survive the Shadow of Venus, it was Dana. Even when she'd faced
Lily, she'd continued fighting until all was obviously lost.

Venus had sent the right woman.

Her intrusion now gave him a
perfect opportunity to reveal himself. When he left tonight, he'd leave the
door unlocked again. Dana would come in. He was sure of it.

For a brief instant, he let himself
imagine how it would be, kissing her again, putting his lips on that long,
slender neck, slowly disrobing her strong, slim body.

No, he couldn't. Not only might he
alchemize, but such intimate passion was meant for another time.

In the meantime, he'd treat her
like a queen. His romantic skills were rusty, but he supposed he still knew
how. If she felt anything for him at all, anything, she'd find no reason to
refuse him when this day was done.

Almost dreamily, Morgan's hands
came to rest on a large square box stored on the overhead shelf of the
wardrobe. He lifted it down, carried it to the bed, and opened it.

Yards of gauzy white billowed
inside. He pulled out the dress, smoothing the folds as they fell. He could
picture how Dana would look, her lithe body silhouetted by firelight inside the
almost transparent fabric. She'd seem like Venus herself; rising on a seashell
from the froth, reborn only to redeem him.

Protected by love, they would
endure the horrible and treacherous night. Morgan's bonds would be broken
forever and Dana would be his.

Unless . . .

Unless, her chart was incorrect.
Or, even worse, she turned from him in horror to run back and speak of his
hideous secret.

It was the one part of The Law he
couldn't defy.

No mortal could ever live to tell
about them.

* *
*

To Dana's surprise, Morgan came out
of his room a changed and cheerful man. She'd grown used to the way he filled a
doorway, so all she saw was the way the trim she'd given his hair and beard had
altered his appearance. Gone was the raggedness of the night before. Now his
dark waves fell softly to his collar, his beard was neat and tidy. She wondered
if this was how he'd looked when he lived in the city, and though the change
was pleasing, she also missed his wildness.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious,
sitting there while he smiled at her from the doorway, she became annoyed. How
could he act as if nothing had happened?

"The walk must have done you
good," she said dryly. "Too bad I had no way to do the same."

"It did." He wagged some
clothing, which she'd previously noticed but had given scant attention to.

"Your things." Pulling
the door shut behind him, he walked to the daybed and deposited the items on
the rail. "I owe you an apology." He gestured at the bed. "Do
you mind?"

"Go ahead." But her voice
held little warmth.

He sat beside her, leaving only
inches of wrinkled blankets between them. She felt an irritating urge to move
over, close the gap. Successfully ignoring it, she gave Morgan a blank gaze.
"You were saying?"

"You scared me last night.
What if you'd been hurt or"—he flinched almost imperceptibly—"killed?
I was angry and I didn't explain my reasons very clearly."

Dana raised an eyebrow, rather
enjoying his groveling. "You didn't explain them at all."

"Sure, I di— Look, Dana, the
first day after a storm stops is the most dangerous. The snow is unstable,
avalanches are common—"

"I know that! I was raised . .
." Dana grinned sheepishly. "I'm beginning to get repetitive, aren't
I?"

He returned the smile, sparking
gold-green flashes in his eyes. Dana's peevishness melted, along with all
desire to punish him.

"I'll take you tomorrow,
okay?" He reached over and stroked her cheek. "I only want to keep
you safe."

His eyes were so huge and
beautiful. And they held such sincerity. How could she have doubted him? Since
the moment he'd found her buried in the snowbank, he'd shown nothing but
kindness and asked little in return. Just that she remain inside at night.
Their few bad moments had been all her fault.

Why hadn't she honored his request?

"Okay." She leaned into
his hand. It felt warm against her cheek, slightly rough and scratchy, and she
savored even that. A long-denied need coiled low in her belly, wanting release.

"You have such a sweet
side." He touched one of her curls.

"Sweet!" She pulled back.
"No one's called me sweet since I was six years old!"

He let his eyes flicker briefly
down her body, then looked up with a grin: "In case you haven't noticed,
you've grown up. What's wrong with being sweet?"

"I, uh, I don't know."
She turned her face away. Too much of Morgan's dazzling smile was, well, too
much. "It's so . . . so insipid."

Morgan let out a bellow of a laugh
and Dana stared in astonishment. He'd never behaved
 
this way before. So hearty—and bold! Except
for that one tender kiss, he'd kept his sexuality well under wraps.

"Insipid?" He laughed
again. "Never fear, Dana, if there's anyone who doesn't fit that word,
it's you."

He took her hands and stood,
pulling her up with him. Dana's heart skipped a beat, her belly tightened in
anticipation.

 
"Come on," he said. "Let's
exercise the dogs." As he turned to hand over the jumpsuit, Dana tried to
tell herself she wasn't disappointed.

* *
*

Glad to be free of the wind and
blowing snow, the team romped on the frost-hardened snow, eagerly chasing the
bones that Morgan had gotten from the smokehouse. Occasionally, one of them hit
a soft patch, sank down, then scrambled back up, emerging, with a snow-covered
head that made it look like it was wearing a cap. Each occurrence brought
shared laughter, and Dana found she enjoyed Morgan's rare laugh more than she
enjoyed her own.

As she made yet another throw, Odin
bumped her, causing the bone to fly straight up in the air. Simultaneously,
Odin and Aphrodite leaped for it, and collided, falling right on top of her.
Aphrodite's weight hit Dana's shoulder full force and she staggered back.

"Whoa!" Morgan tried to
catch her as she fell, but they both tumbled to the ground, along with the
dogs. The four of them ended up rolling in the snow, which was wet and squishy
and cold. Some of it crept into the gap at Dana's wrist and some seeped down
her neck.

"Oh, that's cold," she
complained as the dogs climbed to their feet and vied for possession of the
bone. She scraped snow off the wristband of a glove, then looked up at Morgan,
who was angled across her legs, grinning like crazy.

"You think that's funny?"
With a giggle, Dana grabbed a wad of sow and shoved it in Morgan's face.

He raised his thick eyebrows and
slowly wiped the snow away. "You shouldn't have done that. Big mistake
Big."'

Dana lunged for his hands, but too
late. He'd already armed himself, and pitched a huge snowball directly at her
head. It bounced off, leaving crystal pebbles in her hair.

"Playing rough are you?"
She dug out a two-handed scoop, shot it back.

Somehow Morgan had found an
arsenal, and his fresh ball struck her just as her own weapon started to fly.
She tried to roll and scoop an armful, but Morgan grabbed her legs. Their
shrieks of laughter filled the air.

Morgan didn't know when he'd had a
better time. He felt mortal again, alive and happy with the woman he loved. A
momentary remembrance of what would come nibbled at his joy, but he
successfully pushed it away. He'd have this day, if nothing else. This one day.

Dana wiggled in his arms, trying to
escape, pelting him with snow. Still laughing, he moved his grip up. Now he had
her around the waist.

Ice hit his neck. Melting rivulets
immediately ran into the collar of his suit.

"No fair," he said in a
fake whine. "I'm getting wet."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was
just—"

He shoved a snowball into her
mouth. It crumbled, fell away from her lips.

"Oh," she squealed.
"You brute. You cheated!"

She scrambled for more snow and
Morgan slid further up her body, grabbing at her hands. Her bucking hips shoved
repeatedly at his belly. Suddenly he felt a tightening of his jeans. He knew he
should let her go before it was too late, but his joy was greater than his
fear.

He had her wrist now, had pinned
her down with his larger chest, could feel her soft breasts give beneath his
weight. The thick suits between them felt like armor and he ached to strip them
off.

He stopped laughing.

So did Dana.

He looked down, saw excited color
in her cheeks, a sudden darkening of her green eyes. God, they glittered like
emeralds, and her open lips were moist, inviting.

Still staring, he let go of her
wrist. She touched her gloved hand against his cheek. It was cold, yet warm and
thrilling, too. "Morgan?"

She arched her neck, brought her
mouth closer to his.

He'd sworn to himself he wouldn't
take this risk, but a plea was in her eyes and her body softened beneath him in
subtle invitation.

With a groan of despair, Morgan
claimed her lips. She opened her mouth for him eagerly, taking his tongue,
holding it. He rose to his knees, slid his arms beneath her body, and lifted
her from the ground.

And in the deep wood, a pair of dark
eyes burned with jealousy as they watched Morgan stumble toward the cabin,
never parting his lips from those of the woman in his arms.

Chapter Eighteen

"Move, move," the captain
shouted. "Hurry up! Hurry up! Hurry up!"

His officers dashed here, dashed
there, throwing weapons in the backs of vans, heaving tents and cookware,
heaters and lamps. All the while Schumacher bellowed orders, knowing every man
jack of them would mutiny if they had it in them.