The Hunter's Moon (The Secret Warrior Series) (12 page)

Humor faded and he grew earnest. “We can overcome anything, if we want to badly enough.”

“I do. But—what of the prophecy?”

He was pensive. “I do not know all that is said of us. Okema has not yet told me.”

“Nor me. But we’re to be enemies,” she reminded him, as if he could forget that part of the curse.

“Yet, here we are. And Okema gave you his blessing. Unheard of.”

Realization dawned. “That’s what his laying his hand on my head meant?”

Jackson looked at her as if she’d missed the obvious, but didn’t say, ‘duh,’ as Hawthorne or Jimmy might. “Yes. In turn, you have sworn to fight for our people. Your people, now.”

“Perhaps, the prophecy says I will change?” Doubt nagged at her. “The ice queen hates you. How can Okema alter that?”

“He called you to these ridges. Our meeting before your first transformation has bonded us and given you an advantage.”

“I pray so. But she’s strong.”

“Then you must be stronger still. What do you fear?”

“That she will kill you.”

“No.” He circled one hand at her cheek, her skin tingling beneath his touch. “Your wolf has much power, but not greater than mine. Do you not understand, I am to be all that Okema is? You cannot top that.”

She opened her mouth, hesitated, and made another attempt. “I’m trying to wrap my mind around it. You’re still you, right?”

“Of course. But I’m more than you know.”

“All right, then. Will you come and go as he does?”

“Perhaps.” A smile flitted across Jackson’s face. “I am swift now.”

“Not invisible.”

“Yet,” he amended.

“Or immortal,” she added.

“True. I can be felled, though not by your bite. I’m immune to the venom.”

“You can still get ripped up by my teeth and claws.”

“I rapidly heal from injury, as will you after you change. It’s in our blood.”

“Oh. I forgot.” Even armed with this knowledge, doubts still assailed her.

“Morgan, it’s true you possess more power than any other Morcant woman, but I’m the sum of Okema and the Star People.”

“That’s freaking awesome,” she conceded. “Okay, you can withstand me, but what of the others? Somehow, I must beat the ice queen
back.”

“You cannot beat her back. The wolf is part of you. Draw strength from her, but never allow her to prevail. Learn to dwell together. This is your challenge, and your gift.”

“You speak with such conviction. I have not yet been tested.”

“It’s said, the finest steel must first go through the fire. I’m not telling you the change will be easy. But I believe in you, Morgan. Let go of your fear.”

Frustration flashed in her. “How? I don’t even like wolves.”

The ghost of a smile curved his lips. “You are seated by one now.”

“So are you.”

“I am not the one who’s terrified. And you are, aren’t you? To your core.”

“I guess that’s pretty obvious, or should I wear a terror alert sticker?”

“Not necessary. I understand why you feel as you do. But fear will rule you. Dominate all. And come between us, if you allow it to.”

The truth of his warning sank in, and she floundered for footing. The strange world she’d entered was as unstable as shifting sand.

“I’m drowning in all this uncertainty.”

He smoothed her cheek. “I see that. You need something greater than fear to hold onto when the heat takes you.”

“Like what? A magic rock, or a mantra to chant? Likely Miriam could provide both.” Morgan envisioned herself taking part in some mystical ritual of the wise woman’s making.

“No. She will give you herbs.”

“How about a pinch of fairy dust?”

“If you like. Grandma Miriam has a bottle of it stored in the pantry.”

Morgan half-way believed him.

Humor touched his eyes. “This is from me, to keep in your thoughts.”

Bending his head, he softly covered her lips with his in the longed for kiss. In that moment, it was only her and Jackson at the top of the tree in the gathering dusk, the lightest breeze stirring the leaves. Warmth enveloped her in a wondrous wave, and all the emotions that had no words found their voice as she returned the heated pressure on her mouth.

She circled her arms around his neck, and he caught her to him, deepening his kiss. His scent heightened her attraction. A charge sizzled between them, a little like the current she’d felt when Okema laid his hand on her head, but from a far different and more potent source. The bond Jackson spoke of strengthened, giving her something to hold onto, like an invisible cord, a lifeline tossed to one about to go under.

If they’d met after her first turn, it would be too late. Now, hope surged and music thrummed in her soul. Perhaps there was a way. His tenderness pulsed with the promise of more to come if she overcame what she must and didn’t rage against him. Oh, how she wanted to be a part of the wonderful
if
! Somehow, she vowed to rise above the curse.

After the rapturous taste of the wealth they might share together, he drew back. “Now, see the wolf. And do not fear.”

Would he turn right in front of her? This was so against the Wapicoli rules. Heart racing, she braced herself.

His gaze grew golden and his features blurred. She couldn’t clearly distinguish them even if the light were stronger. The partial change she’d expected from man to beast didn’t transpire before her. No skin mixed with fur. No veins bulged. His spine didn’t arch in a grotesque curve, or his body contort in hideous distortions. Agonizing screams didn’t tear from his gaping mouth. She glimpsed no fangs, or claws.

In moments, where Jackson had been, the large brown and gray wolf she’d seen in the woods on her first day sat beside her. It was as if Jackson had stepped aside and the creature had taken his place. The unusual hue of his eyes remained, his steady regard gazing back at her from their glowing depths. He didn’t snarl, or in any way threaten attack. Jackson remained in control. He and his wolf were in harmony.

Her admiration for him bounded to greater heights. Could she ever hope for this kind of mastery over the ice queen? A daunting thought, but maybe—

A sharp cry overhead disrupted her absorption in Jackson. She jerked her focus from him to the red eyes flashing in the twilight. Enormous wings flapped like sails whipping in the wind.

“Holy crap! The demon bird!” They’d been caught off-guard, and it was all her fault.

As fast as Jackson could change, he couldn’t possibly regain his human form fast enough to take the raptor down. Lethal talons outstretched, wicked beak parted in a piercing shrill, the monstrous dragon was in a dive—right at them.

No time to think. Only act. Morgan grabbed the bow he’d laid down and sprang to her feet. Grasping the bow handle, she fit the arrow on the string. Arm outstretched, she drew back the string and took aim.

Now!
directed a voice in her head.

She let the missal fly straight into the breast of the oncoming predator. Her arrow sank up to the feathered hilt.

A furious shriek rent the air. The harsh cry reverberated in her ears. Wings whirling, talons grasping, the great bird spun in a downward spiral.

“Watch out!” Jackson knocked Morgan onto the boards.

Throwing himself over her, he used his body to shield her from the outstretched claws. She lay winded and gasping beneath him. Somewhere in between sighting the bird and her shooting it, he’d changed back to his human form.

He tensed and a wince escaped him. A tremor shuddered through his body. The bird must’ve caught him as it plummeted. He might heal fast, but those talons were razor sharp. She cringed at the mental image of the damage they may have inflicted.

A blur of feathers caught her eye from where she lay, still protected by Jackson. Then the winged menace bounced off the platform. Branches snapped as it crashed through the tree, before hitting the ground. Hard. It shook beneath them from the impact. Then everything was still, except for a groan from Jackson.

“You all right?” He rolled off of her and sat up. Blood trickled down his side where his leather coat was torn. A slice had opened his flesh.

“I’m fine. What about you? Shouldn’t that have stitches?” she whispered.

He gingerly fingered his side. “Bandages will do, and one of Grandma Miriam’s salves.”

“Is the creature dead?” She was afraid to look.

“Appears that way.”

Trembling from head to toe, she stared at the huge form sprawled on the forest floor, then returned her scrutiny to him. “That tear’s gonna take some mending, as are you.”

“Don’t worry about me or the coat. Way to go, wolf girl. You saved us both.”

“Is that your new name for me?”

“Where else do you think you got the strength to fire off that shot?”

“Oh.” A tingle accompanied her realization of the source she’d tapped into. “Dang—the Ice Queen.”

Before she could say or do anything else, the lodge door swung open and whoops sounded. Jimmy and Hawthorne charged outside, leaping like loons, and followed by both men. Behind them, came the women.

Jimmy flung up his arms, dancing in a circle. “You got him, Jackson!”

“Nope! Morgan did.”

“No way!” Jimmy argued.

“Yes way!” she tossed back, still unable to grasp it herself, and not surprised at the shock circling the assembly.

“Did I not say you possessed more power than you knew?”

She glanced down at the figure that had materialized in the shadows beneath the tree.
Okema.

A thought occurred. “You knew what would happen when Jackson and I came up here, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“It was quite a risk to take. What if I’d missed?”

“Who told you to fire?” he asked, quietly.

“That was you?”

“And when you drove the car off the cliff?”

She remembered the voice urging her over the side.

“What color is your wolf, Morgan Daniel?”

“White.” The impact of the meaning struck her. “Like yours. Like Jackson’s will be.”

“Yes. No one else has this color. None ever have.”

Chapter Twelve

Not Alone in These Woods

Clear water rippled past Morgan, nature’s lullaby. She savored the thirst-quenching drink from the cold stream, the best water she’d ever tasted. The spiciness of mitten-shaped sassafras leaves mingled with the earthy scent of crumbling leaves and living plants. Cool breezes fanned her cheeks, still heated from the hike. She splashed her face and blotted her skin on the handkerchief Miriam had given her.

With a contented sigh, she leaned back on the bank. Her bow rested beside her. While Hawthorne and Jimmy
tickled trout
, as they called it, reaching beneath stones where the rainbow-colored fish hid, she and Jackson sat on the cushioning moss.

She waved a hand at their serene surroundings. “Such a peaceful spot.”

Giving a nod, he ran his vigilant gaze over the shadowed trees and underbrush, then met her eyes. Yellow foliage, brilliant in the late day sun, fluttered behind him. “It’s pretty all right, but appearances can be deceptive.” A point he’d drilled into her and Jimmy—once too often for Morgan.

Flipping her blond ponytail, she tossed back. “Are you referring to me, Tonto?”

He smiled. “You fishing for a compliment?”

“Which part, being pretty or deceptive?”

He eyed her steadily. “Remember, I can see through you. There’s no fooling me.”

“True.” She sighed again, this time in anticipation of what lay ahead.

He squeezed her hand. “Both the inner and outer you are beautiful, wolf girl.”

“Thanks, I suppose.”

“Hey, you’ve made amazing progress in the past few days.”

“There is that.” And it gave her some solace.

After a far more successful archery lesson—she’d scored a bullseye—the four of them had hiked into the woods to familiarize the newbies with more of the terrain and teach them to glide soundlessly through the trees. Jimmy crept along without crunching leaves, cracking twigs, or tripping over roots better than she did. To her credit, she was learning.

“I wish we could stay here forever. You could build a cabin.” She’d gone off the idea of a summer home in the tree house.

He shrugged. “Suppose we could live off fish. Although, not at the rate those two are catching them. Nil, so far.”

“Right. We might get hungry.” They’d finished the last of Miriam’s lunchtime sandwiches.

“Oh, I can fish and hunt,” he assured her. “You wouldn’t starve. No matter where we are, though, the results will be the same.” He looked long into her eyes. “There’s no getting away from that.”

“What will tomorrow bring?”

“That remains to be seen. But this month’s full moon is special.”

“The harvest moon, right?” She envisioned the big orange moon associated with October.

“Shawnee call it the wilted moon, I suppose because of the killing frost that comes in mid-autumn. Some tribes say the falling leaf moon
,
or, my personal favorite,
the hunter’s moon.”