The Hunter's Moon (The Secret Warrior Series) (7 page)

Giving her ponytail a flip, she angled her head away. An unexpected brightness caught her attention from the corner of her eye, like the shimmer of sunlight on lake water. She turned back and studied the glass.

A white halo outlined her. Was it a trick of the light?

Impossible
. Neither the fire in the hearth, nor the misty morning, were strong enough to cause this burnished effect.

What the
—

She stared at the form taking shape in the surrounding glow. Whatever it was seemed to be a part of her, as if the being were transposed over her face and figure.

Computer graphics were out of the question, as were any other special effects. This wasn’t a movie. What else could account for such a phenomena?

An angel, maybe? Perhaps the mirror had the ability to reveal her guardian angel. She surely needed one.

Would wings appear in the heavenly whiteness?

She waited to see.

No
! Fear ripped through her with such force she latched onto the nearby chair to steady herself.

Holy freaking cow
. Was that a wolf?

Yes
. A white wolf with ice blue eyes. The way the creature melded with her, it must be
Her wolf
.

Someone, perhaps Miriam, had given her a glimpse of the beast within, soon to emerge. While Morgan was slender and only average in height, her wolf self wasn’t small.

She stood transfixed before the image. Was she a good or bad wolf, or something in between? Were blue eyes unique or commonplace for a Morcant? These were as cold as a wintry sky, like the snow queen’s in the fairy tale she’d read long ago.

Did the image reflect her heart? She’d always considered herself a kind person, the sort of girl who’d help someone in need. Definitely the sympathetic type.

Could she will warmth into that frosty gaze?

The wolf stared back, a proud beauty, then parted its lips in a noiseless growl. Those chill eyes narrowed, and Morgan’s heart sank.

She knew why Jimmy wasn’t safe. No one was. Her wolf was a killer.

Chapter Seven

Her Inner Wolf

No!
Morgan truly was cursed. The brightness seeped away, and the forbidding image in the glass faded until only her horrified gaze remained.

Wild thoughts flew through her mind like scattering geese. Her head spun. She staggered, collapsing onto the chair. She hadn’t fully recovered from yesterday’s injury, but this was hard cold shock. A fist in the gut that left her gasping. She’d beheld the beast lurking inside her, and there was no going back. Jackson’s warning about the curse wasn’t the same as staring it in the freaking face.

What in God’s name could she do about this unearthly devilry?

Aunt Maggie should know. After all, the curse ran in the Morcant clan. The initial account and subsequent coping info must’ve been passed down through the generations. Although, Morgan hadn’t heard of Morcant before last evening.

For whatever reason, Aunt M. hadn’t spilled the family secret. And what on earth had happened to Uncle Don? Did he flee before Morgan went off like a time bomb? Why hadn’t he taken Jimmy with him?

Poor kid
. Rotten luck having Morgan for a sister.

Wise Miriam might be of help to them both. And Jackson. He seemed to like Morgan in the way she gravitated toward him, and he’d look after Jimmy. But could she risk her brother’s safety?

If she remained at the lodge, she placed Jimmy in mortal danger. He trusted her to protect him, and, in his way, took care of her. Sometimes, he was even out in front. Definitely, the ideas guy, but he wouldn’t know what to do about this.

They’d looked after each other for years since their parents died. Aunt Maggie had stepped in, or tried, with Uncle Don’s support. The only person Morgan could count on for sure was Jimmy, and he on her. No longer.

Maybe she should just run. He would be safer at Wapicoli Lodge than anywhere else. It was bizarre to contemplate leaving him with a werewolf pack, but they were the more reliable sort.

He wouldn’t understand why she’d abandoned him, though, and her heart ached to leave. She also hated to break with the coolest, most good-looking guy she’d ever met. To think, twenty-four hours ago her life had been normal. Well, sort of. Nothing like this.

Morgan got shakily to her feet. If she were going, she’d best go. No time to pack and no goodbyes. They might stop her from leaving. She pulled on the brown cap with trembling fingers, shoved the gloves and emergency money she carried into her jacket pockets.

Quiet
, she cautioned herself, acutely aware of how noiseless the Wapicoli were. They probably had superior hearing too. Wolves did.

Alert to any sight or sound, she tip-toed from her bedroom and along the upstairs hall flanked by doors. No one emerged at her passing. Either these rooms contained silent shadows or the family was assembled at breakfast awaiting her arrival and introduction.

Dear God, No.
She had to get away and descended the stairs with as much stealth as possible in boots.

Her jumbled plan: flee out the front door, follow the path they’d traveled yesterday—if she could find the way—and scramble up the ridge to the road. From there, she’d hitchhike to Aunt M.’s cabin. Once fortified, she’d commandeer the old, but still working, pickup truck kept on the place and head north.

Maybe the Alaskan wilderness would be remote enough for her to roam without harming innocent souls, assuming the Panteras didn’t get her first. If she encountered them
after
she turned seventeen, she’d tear their throats out. The thought of ripping into Mateo gave her some small satisfaction; it would be gratifying not to feel powerless against him anymore.

Every cloud has a silver lining
, Aunt M. maintained. Well, this was one black cloud.

She paused at the bottom of the stairs in the entryway. So far, so good. She shot a glance down the hall that led to the main room. Distant voices reached her from the gathering in the kitchen.
The family, and Jimmy
.

Winking at tears, she turned and halted. A wooden bolt the size of a small plank secured the stout door that could hold off Vikings. She could maybe shift it, if she exerted all her strength, but the Medieval looking iron lock required a weighty key, which she didn’t have. Nor did she know the key’s whereabouts.

The Wapicoli were dead serious about barring intruders. She hadn’t noted these added precautions in her giddy arrival last evening. She wasn’t exiting by this route, or possibly any other. Come to think of it, she’d seen no windows on the first level of this fortress. Springing out the second story wasn’t an option. She’d break her leg.

What now?

The tantalizing scent of bacon wafted from the kitchen.
Dang
. She was hungry. Her empty stomach growled.

Would she be off in the woods running deer, and Lord only knew what else, next week? She envisioned her wolf self gliding through the hazy trees, sniffing out prey—no one and nothing safe from those snapping jaws.

Her mind in turmoil, she sank to the floor before the impenetrable door. She sat huddled with her face buried in arms folded on her tucked up knees. A sniff escaped her, and moisture slid down her cheeks.

Warmth brushed against her, and a hand gently clasped her shoulder. “Going somewhere?”

She lifted her head and blinked blurry eyes. Jackson had settled beside her, his black hair once again pulled back in a ponytail. “Apparently not.”

He assessed her at a glance. “You’ve seen, haven’t you?”

“Yes. In the mirror.” It was more of a pant than a reply.

“Grandma Miriam’s doing,” he concluded. “You cannot run from this, Morgan. It goes wherever you go.”

“Clearly. But how can I stay?”

“You must. If you flee, the curse has already won.”

Anger surged in her at the injustice of it all. “It’s not fair. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No. Nor did I.”

She paused in mid-protest. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not always enchanted with the werewolf thing either. But I’m born to this life. I had no choice in the matter.”

“Oh. I figured you liked being what you are.”

He shook his head. “Not always. At times I’d like to be
normal
.”

She eyed him through the liquid film. “The way I used to be, or thought I was?”

Wistfulness tinged his gaze. “Yeah. I’ve never known that.”

“
Normal’s
kind of lame,” she admitted, with a sniff. “But this werewolf stuff is mind-blowing. At least, you were raised with the knowledge. Taught how to cope. You’re used to it.”

“Sure. I have great advantage over you. Still, control is a constant challenge.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “It does grow easier, though.” He cupped one hand at her cheek, smoothing away tears and sending tremors through her. “Shall we fight this battle together?”

Of all the things to do with a hot guy, battling her inner wolf wasn’t in her top ten.

“Don’t be deceived by my girlish appearance, Jackson. My she-devil is your enemy. What if I rip you apart?”

He smiled slightly. “I do not rip so easily.”

“You’re super jacked dude, I’ll give you that. But you haven’t seen what lies within me.”

“I glimpse it now.”

“Seriously?” She tilted her head at him.

“From the first moment I saw you.”

“Wait—when you were a wolf?” she asked.

“Yes. You were hiding behind the rocks.”

A thought occurred to her. “Then your wolf self doesn’t hate me?”

Gold glinted in his eyes. “Not remotely.”

Another ripple ran through her. “That’s great. Flattering even, in a weird way. But mine will despise you.” She had no doubt.

His broad chest rose and fell in a sigh beneath the leather vest. “It’s my hope we can overcome that.”

“I have no idea what to hope for, except a way out of this nightmare.”

“Running isn’t the answer, Morgan. Besides, you have a unique scent. I would find you, no matter where you went.”

“That’s both strangely reassuring and annoying. What of the other Wapicoli? Do they—will they—see what I am?”

“The men will. Most of the women and children won’t. Except Grandma Miriam, of course. She’s powerful.”

“Why is that?”

“She’s Wapicoli and a descendent of the Star People.”

“No way. Are you freaking kidding me?”

He gave Morgan a sidelong look.

“Okay. You’re not. How does that even work?”

“Some take human form. It’s a lot to explain.”

“I’ll bet. This means you’re a descendent too.”

“True,” he conceded.

She eyed him in wonder. “You’re the seventh Wapicoli warrior, destined for greatness, and part space alien? Forget normal, ever, Jackson. That ship has sailed.”

“So has yours. Come eat breakfast and meet the others.”

Tension churned her stomach. “All of them?”

“No. We’re rarely all together at once. Better to meet a few at a time.”

“Even the usual crew is daunting. What do I say? And what do I tell Jimmy?”

“Nothing. Yet.”

“I have to before long—” Her voice caught. “You must protect him from me. Even if you have to shoot an arrow through my heart. Or he does. Oh crap. Maybe that’s why Uncle Don was teaching him those survival skills.” She swiped at her eyes. “To prepare him for his big bad sister. I thought I was more like
Little Red Riding Hood
out here in the woods. I’m the freaking wolf, Jackson.”

He circled an arm around her and she pressed her face against his shoulder. “Calm down. We will do what’s necessary to contain, not kill, you.”

She jerked up her head. “What’ll that mean? A dungeon, with me snarling in chains, and you tossing me raw hamburger? Heck. I’d probably scarf the whole cow.”

“Control doesn’t come easily to any of us. It’s a test all Wapicoli males must pass. Failure is not acceptable. One of my uncles was banished to the valley and runs a hardware store there now.”

Her chest pounded like a hammer driving nails. “I’ll probably be right beside him selling ratchet sets, unless my punishment is worse.”

“Do not concede defeat so easily, Morgan. Morcant women are strong. And you are the most powerful.”

“That could turn out badly,” she reminded him.

His dark gaze implored her. “Promise me you will fight this. Don’t give up. Ever.”

Steeling herself to the uncertainty looming ahead like a gathering storm, she gave a short nod. “If you and your wonder woman grandmother help me, I’ll fight.”

“Together.” He took her hand in his strong grasp.

She clung to his fingers, knowing her wolf self would go for this throat. “Lead on.”

He rose and pulled her to her feet. “There are herbs that can help you with control.”

“Like what?”

“A tincture of cedar, chamomile, lemon balm, pennyroyal, valerian, and a few drops of hemlock, all calming.”