Witching Moon (9 page)

He told himself he was simply checking to make sure that Barnette's letter had given him the correct information about where Sara was staying. But he knew deep in his heart that the excuse was only that.

All his senses were on overdrive as he moved like a gray shadow through the park, aware of the incredibly lush environment around him. A wonderful playground for a wolf, he thought, as he skirted the deeper waters of the swamp and the open prairies.

His route led him close to the highway, then through a thick grove of trees to the cabin where Sara was supposed to be living.

He waited in the shadows, listening, sniffing the air with the appreciation of a hunter. Only last night he had been the hunted—and that had counseled caution.

Finally, he made his move, gliding toward the dark shape of the cabin. He couldn't see through the walls, of course. But now he had his full faculties, and he knew she was there. Inside. His nostrils flared as he caught the same incredibly rich scent that had filled his dream. A shiver traveled over his skin, ruffling the hair along his spine.

He had done this before, made the change from man to wolf and visited the homes of women who interested him. A therapist might have called it stalking. He had thought of it as a kind of delicious foreplay that had led to incredibly good sex because it drew out the anticipation.

He appreciated women. He was a good lover. But he always made it clear before he took them to bed that he wasn't looking for a permanent relationship. Maybe they didn't want to believe him, but they couldn't say that he hadn't warned them first.

For a time it didn't matter, because when he finally climbed into bed with his lover of the moment, he devoted himself to her service, turning her on, bringing her to the peak of pleasure again and again.

And then when he left her, he did it gently, regretfully, telling her that it wasn't her fault, that it was some deficiency in himself.

Of course that was true. Only his sexual partners simply didn't understand the magnitude of the problem.

He was a werewolf. And no matter how well he fitted himself into human society, it was just a sham.

Tonight he had made his way to Sara's cabin because a compulsion was on him.

The man would have fought the irresistible impulse. The wolf accepted it.

He moved closer to the house, drawn by her scent and by tantalizing mental images. In his dream he had been ready to make love.

He was ready for that now. He pictured himself changing back to his persona of Adam Marshall, then opening the door, stepping inside, and going to her. In the dream she had said she didn't know him well enough for intimacy. In his supercharged state, he was sure he could change her mind.

They would kiss and touch and cleave together, and it would be incredible. The images swam in his head, blocked out almost all other thought.

But his wolf's awareness finally penetrated the sensual fog. Something wasn't right.

Lifting his head, he sniffed again, and caught another scent. Not an animal who belonged in the still Georgia night, although there were plenty of them around.

He wasn't the only watcher here, he realized. Another man was in the shadows, his gaze tuned toward the house.

A SURGE OF
anger and possessiveness welled up from the depths of his soul.

The need to protect the woman in the cabin filled his mind, driving out everything else. With no thoughts of guns or bullets, he sprang forward in a rush of fur and fury, his teeth bared, his only goal to bring down the watcher who was out in the darkness where no one should be.

But with his focus entirely on the intruder, the wolf took a misstep in the darkness under the trees. Coming down onto a patch of soggy ground, he stumbled and struggled for several steps to right himself.

The mishap gave the stalker precious seconds. He heard a muffled cry of alarm, then running feet. Moments later a car door slammed, then an engine started.

The car's wheels spun, as the vehicle lurched from its hiding place and then down the road, picking up speed as it went.

The wolf leaped forward, unwilling to abandon the chase. Murderous rage seized him. It was the rage of the werewolf, an anger he couldn't control when it came upon him.

Four strong legs pumped as he tried to keep up with the rapidly departing vehicle. But muscle and bone were no match for the internal combustion engine.

After a quarter of a mile, he was left gasping in a cloud of exhaust fumes that choked his lungs. The man within him snarled a silent curse as he gave up the useless chase, stopping in the middle of the road.

His body was still weakened from the smoke and the mad desperate dash of the night before. And now it was all he could do to stay on his feet.

The boiling anger was still there as he looked down the narrow track where the car was rapidly disappearing. The driver hadn't turned on the exterior lights. Which meant the license plate hadn't been visible, even to a creature with excellent night vision.

The wolf wanted to slake his anger by finding some animal in the park and tearing it to pieces. But the man managed to stay focused on his mission.

He couldn't see who had been watching Sara. But that didn't leave him without resources. The night before, the drugged smoke had confused his senses, made it impossible for him to identify the naked people who had invaded his turf.

Tonight the air had been warm and clean, and he had picked up the intruder's distinctive scent. The man was no one he'd met, but he could search for him in town, follow his trail to his lair. And when they met, he would recognize him.

What had the bastard been doing here? Did he mean Sara harm? Had he simply come to watch her? Or was he here to protect her?

The last thought was as disturbing as the first. Protect her from what?

Turning, the wolf trotted back to the house. Sara must have heard something outside. She had turned on a light, and he could see her standing at the window, peering out into the darkness.

He stayed under the trees where she couldn't see him. He wanted to go to her and find out if she was all right. But he hung back, because he had only two options. He could approach her as a wolf. Or as a naked man.

As soon as he pictured that second tantalizing alternative, it filled his head, driving out all other thoughts. Yes, he could come to her, naked and aroused. And he would mate with her. Complete the promise of the dream.

The vivid picture of the two of them together burned inside his brain. He took a step forward and a twig snapped under his front paw.

Instantly he stopped, shocked at the intensity of his need.

He forced himself to back away. Then he was running, because if he didn't escape from her now, he never would.

He ran headlong into the swamp, the way he had run the night before. But not in fear for his life.

He wasn't sure what drove him. He only knew that he had to get away. Distance from the cabin helped. By the time he had returned home and changed back into human form, rational thought became possible again.

And the fear was under control. He had the perfect excuse for going over to Sara's place in the morning. He had seen a man hanging around her house. He needed to tell her.

But what would he say? If he warned her that someone had been watching her, she would want to know how he knew. What answer could he give her besides that he had been prowling around her cabin himself?

But he couldn't simply ignore the situation. He had scared the intruder off with his wild rush of lupine fur and fury. Maybe that was enough of a warning. Or maybe the wolf would have to come back tomorrow and the next night and the next to make sure that all was well in the little cabin.

 

THE UPS
truck had delivered more lab equipment around nine
A.M.
Sara had been up and ready to receive it because something had awakened her early in the morning. A car engine starting? Tires grinding on gravel? She wasn't sure if she had imagined that, or if it had been real because separating reality from fantasy was becoming more difficult every moment she remained in Wayland.

To keep herself occupied, she'd started unpacking glassware. She stopped and swiped an arm across her forehead, pretending that she was inspecting a retort when she was really looking out the window. It was the third time in a half hour that she'd checked the outside view. As she had before, she saw no one, but she couldn't shake the feeling that eyes were watching her.

Did they belong to the old man who had come poking around earlier? Or to Adam Marshall?

She could easily imagine Adam coming to her after the vivid dream of the night before. She'd been in his bed, wanting him. But she'd kept the two of them talking because that was the only way she could control the situation.

She made a snorting sound. She'd been desperate for control, yet it had only been a dream. Hadn't it?

Of course it was a dream, although it had seemed very real. She'd awakened hot and needy and feeling like she really had been lying next to Adam, his fingers knit with hers.

No! That was simply the work of her subconscious. Nothing real had happened. Yet it was like the other dreams she'd had since coming here. Too real. Too vivid.

Her lips pressed into a firm line, she reached for another box, then another. They contained more carefully wrapped lab equipment. Beakers. Measuring cylinders. Retorts. Petri dishes. Each had to be handled carefully. And each had to be washed.

There was no running water in her lab. The kitchen sink would have to do. Carefully she carried the glass items to the washboard, put some liquid detergent into a dishpan and added hot water.

Then, a few at a time, she began immersing the beakers and other items. The chore was soothing and familiar. She could do it without even thinking.

Again she stared out the window into the dark, forbidding landscape. Then, she felt her vision blur. The scene outside seemed to fade and re-form before her eyes. She should have felt a shock of alarm. Instead she felt peaceful. Her mind drifted in a kind of warm haze, and when she focused again, she realized she wasn't staring into the dimness under the spreading branches, but into a scene where more light filtered onto the grass in front of the little house. Because the trees were smaller, she realized.

With a sense of anticipation, she turned and left the sink, crossed the kitchen and the living room, and opened the front door. Smiling, she stepped out into the sunshine.

The scene was different yet so familiar that she felt her heart leap with a kind of unbounded joy.

The air was softer, cooler, and she drew in a deep breath and let it out before walking around the house to the herb garden that she loved so much. It was planted for beauty as well as practicality, with paths wandering among the patches of rosemary and dill, feverfew, tansy, and lavender. She'd lined some of the beds with lamb's ears, and she smiled as she bent down to stroke her fingers over the furry leaves.

Reaching farther into the foliage, she pulled some weeds. There weren't many because she worked in the garden every day. With a feeling of satisfaction, she took the invaders to the compost pile several yards away. Then she came back to gather herbs for a healing tea she had planned to make.

She knew the formula by heart, and she moved among her plants, selecting what she needed until she saw something on the ground nestled in the foliage. A piece of yellow cloth, tied into a bag.

She went absolutely still, her heart pounding. The bag didn't belong here. Not at all. When she bent to reach for the nasty thing, a voice shouted a warning.

“Don't!”

She didn't know whether she heard it with her ears or only in her mind. But she snatched her hand back, then turned to look out across the sunlit field. She expected to see a man watching her. Instead, a wolf was standing in the open area, his gaze fixed on her.

Had he spoken to her?

Impossible. A wolf couldn't speak.

A ripple of fear went through her as he took a step closer and then another. Yet she saw he moved slowly, step by step, perhaps so as not to alarm her.

He was large, about the size of a big German shepherd. The top half of his face was dark gray. The lower half was lighter, except for his black muzzle.

She should run, she knew. He could hurt her. But his beauty rooted her to the spot. Her eyes feasted on him, taking in details. Like his face, the upper part of his body was darker than the bottom. And his pointed ears were an enticing mixture of light and dark fur, framed by a line of black.

Her fingers itched to stroke his shaggy coat and find the softer spot just behind his ears. A strange impulse, she knew, since she had never been particularly attracted to wild animals.

Her gaze was drawn back to his eyes. They were yellow and infused with an unnerving intelligence.

“What do you want?” she asked.

He didn't speak. Could a wolf speak? But he raised his head and the answer echoed in her mind. “You.”

“For dinner? Like Red Riding Hood and the wolf?” she asked.

He shook his head, dug with one beautifully formed front paw against the ground.

“Please. Tell me what you want.”

His pink tongue flicked out, stroked along his lips, and she watched the movement, feeling it almost as though he had licked her hot skin and not his own flesh.

She raised her arm toward him like an invitation. And he took another step forward, just as the scene around her began to fade.

“No…wait,” she cried, because she had to know what happened next. But it was no good. There was no way to cling to the strange reality. She didn't possess that power.

The scene snapped to a halt, like a strip of broken movie film. One moment she had been outside in the sunshine. Now she was inside standing in front of the kitchen sink, her hands clamped around a wet measuring cylinder.

She dropped it back into the dishpan, the water cushioning its fall.

Her whole body began to tremble. Lord, what had just happened to her?

She'd been standing here washing lab glassware. In fact, as she looked toward the drainboard, she saw that she'd washed quite a bit of her equipment. Apparently, her hands had kept working. But her mind had drifted off somewhere else.

She'd been standing in the kitchen of this newly rented house. Then she'd gone outside. Craning her neck, she peered out the window. The view was different from what she had just seen in her…daydream.

She snatched at the word like a lifeline. That's what had happened! Her vivid imagination had taken over again. Somehow living in this place was bringing out all the fantasy elements of her personality that she'd worked all her life to suppress. It had happened last night, too. She'd put herself in Adam Marshall's bed where they'd had a long, heart-to-heart chat. And just now she'd been having another imaginary conversation. Only this time she'd talked to a wolf.

Her hands were unsteady as she wiped them on the hips of her jeans, then hurried through the kitchen and the living room to the front door. Outside, she charged around the house to the spot where the herb garden had been. She could still see it vividly in her mind. But there was only scrubby grass and weeds where the neatly tended beds had been.

Even when she walked over the area, she could find no sign that a garden had ever been there.

Then her eyes lifted to the shadows under the trees. She was looking for the wolf, but he wasn't there.

Of course he wasn't there!

She didn't want him to be there.

Suddenly wobbly on her feet, she reached out a hand and steadied herself against the side of the house.

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, feel her breath coming in little jerky puffs.

She wanted to tell herself that nothing like this had ever happened to her before. But she knew it would be a lie. Her mind had drifted off like this before—and into…what?

This time she made herself supply an answer—into another person's life. When she'd been little, she'd tried to talk to her parents about it. And they'd let her know it was a bad thing. So, she'd worked hard to make it go away.

She'd gotten good at driving those intrusions out of her mind, because they had frightened her. And because she'd wanted to be a good little girl. But this time she had totally lost control, and she hadn't even known it was happening.