Changeling Moon (13 page)

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Authors: Dani Harper

BOOK: Changeling Moon
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Zoey was just starting to fiddle with the zipper of his obviously straining jeans when he stiffened and seized her hands. “What? What is it?” Her hands were still captive but he wasn't paying attention to her, wasn't even looking at her. Instead every fiber of him seemed to be alert. Watching. Listening. She glanced around him frantically. “Is someone coming?” Holy crap, that was all she needed—to be caught with her pants down
literally
in a very small town. Ha, and she'd been worried about werewolf rumors. The post office gossips would have a field day with—
Connor released her so abruptly that she lost her balance and had to grab the side of the house for support. “Hey!” She yanked her clothes together. “What the hell's the matter with you?”
She buttoned frantically as she watched him take a couple of steps forward, all his attention focused outward. Certainly not on her. Zoey listened hard yet heard nothing but the party carrying on in the yard beyond. Saw nothing either, since there were no lights on this side of the house. Her psychic gift also failed to make an appearance but she wasn't surprised by that. After, all, it hadn't warned her of the wolf attack either. When she didn't want the gift, it crowded in on her senses. When she could really use it, it couldn't be found. She wondered crossly what was the point of having a psychic talent if it was going to be so damn unreliable. Wondered with even more annoyance what was the point of trying to be close to Connor—then sudden agony seared through her injured leg like hot metal through butter.
In every novel she'd read, things went black at times like these. Instead the world had gone white. Brilliant, blinding white. She hovered in the heart of the sun for long moments, until the pain released her as abruptly as it had seized her.
Zoey didn't feel herself hit the ground. She was much too busy gasping in great lungfuls of air. She was vaguely aware of Connor kneeling beside her, holding her by the shoulders, his face near hers. A hard shake jarred her senses, made her eyes fly open and her temper flare. “Quit that! I'm okay, goddammit. Let go.”
“I thought you were passing out.”
“Sorry, I'm not the fainting type. Go find a princess.” She sat and rested her arms on her knees, content to just practice breathing for a while. A sudden burst of laughter from the party reached her ears and she looked up to find that Connor was gone. “Hey, I didn't mean now!”
She'd heard of men who ignored their partner's need for foreplay in favor of their own satisfaction, but she'd never heard of a man totally satisfying, then abandoning, his partner. It made no sense. It was too much like what had happened—or rather,
not happened
, in her apartment. At least she had had an orgasm this time, but even though it was definitely the best one she'd ever had, she was still pissed off. What was Connor Macleod's problem? He wasn't shy by any stretch of the imagination. Nor was he hesitant about touching her—and boy, oh boy, did he know
how
to touch her. Impotence wasn't a factor either. He'd had a hell of an impressive erection that made her core clench just thinking about it.
“So why the goddamn disappearing act?” she muttered crossly, rubbing her throbbing leg as she struggled to think. If Connor wasn't interested in her, then why seek her out to apologize in the first place? Or why be so angry at the bruise on her arm from that asshole reporter? For that matter, why would he be upset that she'd briefly imagined a wolf's face when she looked at him? If he really wasn't into her, that should have been the perfect excuse to back away.
Just leave the crazy lady alone. . . .
No, he'd had ample opportunity to walk away and he hadn't. Zoey didn't need any psychic gifts to tell her that Connor cared, that he had feelings for her. She was sure of it and sure of what she'd seen in his face when she'd suggested the dance, sure of what she'd felt in his touch. She didn't know what Connor's problem was, but she was
so
going to hunt him down and find out!
Her leg still hurt like hell—and just what was
that
all about?—but she managed to limp around the house to the backyard. She leaned on a planting bench and scanned the crowd for Connor under the glowing strings of patio lanterns that crisscrossed the yard. Instead she caught sight of an enormous canine shape as it made an impossible leap over the wall of lilacs. Terror jammed her heart into her throat and she couldn't have shouted a warning if there'd been time. Tumult erupted as the creature landed inside the yard and ran through the party. Someone screamed. People turned to look, some tripped trying to get out of the way and others were knocked down as the huge wolf raced around the yard with snarling, snapping jaws. Jessie's normally placid dog exploded with primal rage and lunged for the intruder, but the wolf was far too fast.
She knew,
knew
, it was coming for her but running had suddenly become impossible. The pain in her leg was now overriding everything, even adrenaline. Slowly she sank to the ground, fighting to stay conscious above the agony, fighting even to draw a breath, yet her fingers walked along the grass and closed over a fallen garden trowel just as the wolf reached the end of the far walkway. It wheeled and headed straight toward her.
Her vision faltered, grayed as she struggled to kneel on her good leg, holding the trowel in front of her with both hands. Then the sudden clarity of the doomed kicked in and she could see everything in vivid detail. The hellish green light in the creature's eyes, the grizzled and scarred muzzle, the gleam on its long pointed teeth—
Just as she expected the wolf to leap and sink those terrible teeth into her, something knocked her flat. For a moment she couldn't see, then realized something dark and massive was blocking her view. Her eyes gradually made out a pattern, a familiar pattern, black on silver . . . . She couldn't even scream as the realization hit her. The saddleback wolf from her dreams was standing over her.
With nerveless fingers she felt for the trowel, even though she knew she'd be dead before she could raise it, but the new wolf didn't even glance at her. All its attention was on its gray opponent, and its black lips peeled back from long white teeth. Zoey's own teeth began to chatter as a deep warning growl resonated from the creature and vibrated into her very bones. Without warning it sprang forward with a horrific roar. The gray wolf wheeled and ran.
The crowd dove out of the way of the pursued and the pursuer. Zoey saw the wolves clear the back gate and disappear into the darkness as strong hands slipped beneath her and lifted her from the grass.
Chapter Thirteen
T
he wolf had never taken over before, not once in his very long life. Connor had been aware that his lupine side was stirring from the moment he'd uncovered those gorgeous freckled breasts. . . . And when Zoey had screamed out her pleasure in his arms, all he'd wanted was to bury himself in the welcome oasis of her body. Instead, he'd ended up in a losing battle with his own wolf.
The same thing had happened at her apartment. Just when things got hot and heavy, his Changeling nature had emerged unbidden and unwanted. Only this time he couldn't stop it. He'd been forced to leave her, knowing she was in pain, knowing something was very wrong. Forced to slip away to the front of the house and Change behind the profusion of evergreens just off the porch.
But once in wolfen form, his awareness had shifted away from human in a heartbeat, expanded suddenly to include many things at once. He had scented a wolf; sensed a Changeling; identified Bernie. And discerned the old wolf's terrible intent. A raw and primal fury had erupted within Connor then, blinding him. He was beyond all thought, all reason, as he raced around the house to where dozens of humans mingled with Changelings in two-legged form. It didn't matter to him who saw him; it couldn't matter who saw him. All that mattered was that he protect Zoey.
And that he kill Bernie.
He could see the rogue wolf still far ahead, a fleeting pale shape that appeared to fly through the dark streets of Dunvegan. Since when had the old drunk developed such speed? The wolf was weaving a twisted path in and out of side streets and alleys. Connor was running flat out, fueled by anger and adrenaline, yet Bernie maintained his unprecedented lead.
Connor was so intent on his prey that he didn't see the juggernaut that hit him broadside, knocking him breathless in a tangle of limbs and teeth and claws. He rolled and scrambled to a crouch, sides heaving but fangs bared to attack—
Culley?
Glad you recognize me.
The black wolf replied, using the mental speech that most Changelings employed in wolfen form. The words were focused tightly so that only Connor would hear and not their quarry.
What the hell were you doing? You could have been . . .
Connor suddenly felt sick. Dear God, what if he'd leapt for Culley's throat without knowing it was him?
I figured an intervention was in order after you showed your wolf to the entire party. Jesus, Connor, what the hell were you thinking?
I don't know.
And he didn't. The need to protect Zoey had simply overridden everything. His inner wolf had only a single purpose—to kill Bernie.
Jessie wants Bernie brought to the stone circle at Elk Point, in one piece and still breathing. Are you up for it?
The Pack would gather there to pass judgment on the crazy old Changeling. And then Jessie would no doubt have some choice words for Connor. He took a long, deep breath, then another as his head cleared.
Let's go get him.
The trail was easy to pick up, as distinct as if it had been drawn in neon against the dark ground. Sure of their direction, the two wolves ran shoulder to shoulder.
How the hell did Bernie manage to Change in the first place?
Culley's voice was loud in Connor's head.
I thought you took care of that.
I did, dammit. I gave him the injection myself, and I gave him more than enough silver to do the job.
The brothers ran flat out, their pace beyond what real wolves could manage, and still Bernie's fleeing form remained far ahead of them.
Clouds obscured the half moon, cloaking everything below in deep shadow. Changeling eyesight could penetrate the gloom easily but human eyes were not designed for it. Judgment of distance, size, shape, speed—all were skewed by the darkness. If anyone happened to catch a fleeting glimpse of two wolves racing by, they were likely to be mistaken for large dogs. Still, Connor would feel much better if they got away from human habitation.
He's heading for the golf course.
There was relief in Culley's voice. The Dunvegan Golf Course was small and thick with trees, and bordered the northern edge of the village. On the other side of Fairway Six was deep forest. Together the brothers leapt the high fence that separated the sixth hole from the last row of houses. Then their bellies were again low to the ground as they raced to follow Bernie across manicured grass, around water hazards and sand traps, and finally through brush and trees. It was dark but their natural night vision served them well. Connor could see Bernie ahead of them and knew they were finally closing on the old rogue.
Suddenly a brilliant light flashed. More flashes followed, blinding them. The pair broke stride, confused, and Culley stumbled.
I can't see!
This way! Nose to my flank.
Culley pressed his muzzle to his brother's hip and followed blindly as Connor veered from the trails at once. Branches slapped at their faces as they crashed through thick underbrush, then followed an overgrown creek bed for more than a mile as Connor led his younger brother to safety. He didn't dare stop until they were under the Gamble Street Bridge.
You okay?
Still got purple and green spots in front of my eyes, but I'm okay. What the hell happened back there?
Cameras. I spotted a gleam off a trip wire just as Bernie hit it so I was looking down when the flashes started going off. Got a few spots in front of my eyes too.
The clear water splashed and churned over the stones, making a sound like laughter. Culley waded into the tiny creek and began drinking in earnest. Connor was about to follow suit when a familiar sensation settled over him and his fur stood on end.
Bernie led us right into a trap. The cameras were for us.
Culley lifted his head and studied his brother.
You sure about that?
I can see it.
Connor's eyesight wasn't a hundred percent yet but his
farsight
was fully engaged. Silvery images played across his mind like a disjointed movie. A short stocky man pulling equipment from a van. Walking the deer trails that crisscrossed the golf course. Wiring cameras into trees, flashes and floodlights into bushes. Connor saw state-of-the-art equipment, maybe military, in some of the tree stands. Cameras for still shots and video, cameras with night vision, motion sensors, infrared. How many silently recording sentinels had they run past, unaware, before they hit the older, light-dependent equipment?
Bernie's working with somebody else.
Somebody like, what, a human? Who?
I've never seen him before, but I'm betting it's that reporter.
The one who threatened Zoey? Shit. We'd better Change and go take those cameras out.
Can't.
Connor was certain of it.
We can't risk our human selves being recorded as well. Someone's keeping close tabs on that equipment, and they'll be able to make the connection between us and the wolves.
The black wolf snapped his great jaws on empty air and began loping along the bank. Connor followed. They had to get back and tell Jessie the terrible news.
Bernie had outed the Pack.
 
Lowen Miller finished wrapping Zoey's leg from ankle to knee with practiced hands. The roll of gauze ended neatly just below her knee and was deftly tucked in. She was just wondering how many hundreds or perhaps thousands of times he'd performed the task, when suddenly he was pointing a finger at her.
“What?”
“Didn't I say to stay off that leg for a few days until those wounds had a chance to close properly?” he asked gruffly, and didn't wait for an answer. “Those are damn deep puncture wounds and they need to heal from the inside out.”
Not much bedside manner, she thought. Her publisher had said that Lowen doubled as the local coroner. Maybe he was better at dealing with dead people than live ones. “I guess I can stay in the office, get someone else to cover things for a couple days.”
“Not good enough. You need to stay
home
with that leg elevated and iced.”
She bristled at his tone but her retort was averted by the hasty intervention of the doctor's wife. With long-practiced ease, Bev neatly inserted herself in front of Lowen. Zoey caught a glimpse of her hand reaching behind and patting his arm. He grunted and moved off like a grizzly in reluctant retreat.
The older woman smiled at her. “My husband's just worried about you. If you walk around on that leg, dear, those wounds are never going to close. You need to give them a chance.”
“I guess I can ask for a few days—”
Lowen's voice sounded from the doorway. “I'll tell Ted you're to have all the time you need. He's cheap but he's not an idiot. And make sure you take every last capsule of those antibiotics I gave you!”
“Thanks, honey!” Bev replied cheerfully but firmly. He waved a hand and left. She watched to make sure he was really gone, and then turned back to Zoey. “He's right about the antibiotics, and I'll have George over at Dunvegan Drugstore deliver a second course of them. I don't prescribe them much these days, but we can't take any chances on infection setting into that bite.”
“Thank you very much. Thank your husband for me too. I'm sure you came here for fun, not to patch me up.”
“I've patched up quite a few people tonight with scratches and bruises. One wrenched ankle. A skinned knee. People had quite a scare. But if you want to feel sorry for someone, pity Sergeant Fitzpatrick. He was just a guest until this happened. Now he has a few dozen complaints to file. I imagine the paperwork will be considerable.” She smiled again and left.
Zoey didn't feel too sorry for the sergeant. After all, hadn't she told the RCMP there was a wolf on the loose? It was their own fault for not believing her.
Dear God, what if the wolf had bitten someone else?
Thoughts of vindication began to pop like soap bubbles. Maybe she should have reported the wolf in the newspaper after all and damn the consequences. Had she changed the outcome by calling the animal a dog? What if she
herself
had endangered people?
She was deep in thought when a familiar form sat on the couch beside her. Without hesitation she grabbed his arm and laid her face against his shoulder with more relief than she wanted to feel. “I don't know whether to hit you or kiss you!”
“I'll take the kiss, if it's all the same to you.”
It wasn't Connor.
Zoey sat bolt upright and stared at the man beside her. “Omigosh, I'm sorry.”
“Hey, I'm used to it. It comes with being a Macleod. I'm Devlin by the way. Saw you with my older brother.”
“Zoey.” She fervently hoped he hadn't seen his big brother dance her off into the shadows. . . . Quickly she put that thought aside before her face turned red, and focused instead on the family resemblance. Devlin's eyes were green-gold, maybe hazel, but the lines of his face and the set of his shoulders said
Macleod
as plainly as if the name had been stamped on his forehead.
“You'd be the newspaper lady,” he said.
“Editor,” she corrected, and decided to act like it by asking questions. “Did you see the wolves?”
“Everyone saw something, although plenty of folks weren't sure what they were seeing since it happened so fast. Some people saw two animals, some only saw one. Several thought it was a big gray dog, or a coyote,” Devlin explained.
“A
coyote
!” she sniffed. “How could anyone mistake that huge beast for a coyote?”
“People generally see what they expect to see. And coyotes are expected. After all, they come into town pretty regularly. They like to check out the garbage or pet food left on back porches. One of Jake Griswold's malamutes is also spotted from time to time. They're holy terrors when they get loose.” He winced. “The whole string of them ran through Enid Malkinson's flower club picnic one day like a Viking horde. God, what a mess. Half the village was up in arms. You should look it up in your newspaper. I think Ted Biegel even wrote an editorial about it.”
“I'll be sure to check that out. But you haven't answered my question. Did
you
see two wolves tonight?”
Devlin sighed. “I did, but I'd rather not be quoted on that. You know about the rumors, and I'd rather not get involved.”
“The werewolf rumors?”
“That'd be them.”
“Off the record then. You saw two animals, and you knew they were wolves.”
“Persistent, aren't you? But off the record, yes and yes. Fletcher knew it too, of course. Upset the old dog quite a bit.”
Fletcher was still upset by the sounds of it. Bill had rushed through the house earlier, carrying the big dog bodily. Only a powerful wrestler could have managed it. The normally placid Fletcher had been thrashing and twisting in his arms, snapping and snarling like an animal possessed. Zoey could still hear frantic barking from the basement but it was greatly muffled. “Poor dog.”

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