Kay, it seemed, fell somewhere in between the two. She had no control over the change but she apparently lived an otherwise normal life save for those nights when the moon was full.
And it would be full tomorrow night.
Kay woke with a start. Sitting up, she stretched her arms over her head. A glance to her right showed Gideon was asleep. So, the sun was still up. Although she had no idea how long it was before the moon’s rising, she could feel the anxiety growing within her as her body anticipated the change. Had she been home, she would have called her boss and told him she was taking a sick day—something he allowed his employees to do from time to time—then she would have packed a bag and driven up into the Black Hills.
Closing her eyes, she visualized the Hills—an isolated mountain range that ran from South Dakota to Wyoming, a place of towering pines and craggy bluffs and clear, crystal streams and lakes. The Hills were a werewolf’s paradise, inhabited as they were by a wide variety of prey—buffalo, mountain goats, bighorn sheep, elk, and white-tailed deer. An added plus were the miles of wide-open spaces where she could run to her heart’s content.
Filled with nervous tension, she began to pace the floor. Pausing briefly, she picked up the bottle of water that had been left for her sometime during the day. After rinsing away the bad taste in her mouth, she drained the bottle, then resumed pacing, back and forth across the narrow space.
Gideon hovered on the brink of awareness. Though only half awake, he felt the vibration of Kay’s footsteps as she restlessly paced the floor, smelled her growing apprehension as the sun slipped over the horizon. Only hours left until the moon took command of the sky.
Between one thought and the next, he was wide-awake and alert. Jackknifing into a sitting position, he tilted his head back and sniffed the air.
“Dammit!” He rose fluidly to his feet. “She’s coming.” He had known that was a possibility, but since the witch had recently taken his blood, he had hoped they could make their escape without her being the wiser.
Without conscious thought, Kay moved to stand behind Gideon.
Verah appeared moments later. Clad in a leopard-skin jumpsuit, her long pale blond hair pulled back in a tail, she looked like a wild animal on the prowl.
She smiled a predatory smile as she waved her silver-bladed knife in one hand and the golden goblet in the other. “Guess what time it is?” she purred.
“So soon?” Gideon’s jaw clenched tight. How often had she sliced into his flesh with that accursed knife? Each cut seared his skin like hellfire.
“Word is spreading.” Greed glittered in the witch’s eyes. “I am now getting a thousand dollars for a single vial of your blood.”
He glared at her. There was undoubtedly some spell she could cast that would make her wealthy. Unfortunately for him, wealth was not her motive for keeping him imprisoned. She enjoyed the sense of power it gave her to hold a vampire captive. She enjoyed inflicting pain. But it was vanity that played the most important role. Without his blood, she would quickly revert to her true appearance—an aged hag with stringy gray hair, sunken rheumy eyes, and skin as dry and wrinkled as old parchment.
The witch tapped the blade against her cheek. “Hold out your arm,” she said impatiently.
“Go to hell!”
“Do not make me come in there,” Verah said, her eyes narrowing ominously.
Gideon snorted. “What are you gonna do, witch? Drain me dry? Well, do your worst. I’m tired of being your fountain of youth.”
The moon was rising. Even if he hadn’t been able to feel it on his own, he would have known it from the shudder that rippled through Kay, the sudden confusion in her thoughts.
Verah unlocked the cell door with a wave of her hand.
A low growl rose in Kay’s throat.
Verah paused at the feral sound, her attention focusing for the first time on the woman partially hidden behind the vampire.
There was a ripple of preternatural power, the sound of tearing cloth followed by a sharp cry somewhere between a groan and a howl.
Verah’s eyes grew wide as the woman’s form shimmered and then, between one heartbeat and the next, the woman was gone and a long-legged wolf with coal-black hair and bright brown eyes stood in her place.
With a hiss of disbelief, Verah jumped backward and slammed the cell door. She stared at the wolf for several disbelieving moments, then vanished from the basement.
Gideon swore softly. There would be hell to pay now, but even as the thought crossed his mind, the wolf took one of the chains that bound him between its teeth and with a mighty tug, pulled the bolt out of the wall. She did the same with the other shackle, then launched herself at the cell door, striking it full force with her shoulder, once, twice, and the door flew off its hinges. There was an unearthly screech as the metal skidded across the concrete.
The wolf looked up at him, tail wagging, then turned and trotted out of the cell toward the basement door.
Gideon followed her up the stairs, the chains still fastened to his ankles rattling with every step.
To his surprise, they didn’t encounter anyone when they emerged from the basement. The wolf made a sharp left when she crossed the threshold and then, without a moment’s hesitation, she jumped through the first open window she came to.
With a shake of his head, Gideon followed her. Gunshots chased him over the sill. He winced as a bullet grazed his shoulder, cursed under his breath when the next shot hit the wolf. With a high-pitched whine, she tumbled end over end and lay still.
Without slowing, Gideon scooped the wolf into his arms and ran on. If it hadn’t been for the silver that drained his power, he would have transported them to one of his lairs. As it was, all he could do was keep running.
When he came to an abandoned building some miles later, he kicked in the door and ducked inside. Pausing, he scanned the dusky interior. From the looks of the place, it had once been a warehouse. Pulling an oil-stained drop cloth from a counter, he spread it on the floor, then lowered the wolf onto it. A quick search turned up a hacksaw; moments later, he was free of the shackles he had worn for the last three years.
A door at the far end of the building opened into an office where he found a couple of shop towels. He wet the cloths in the adjoining bathroom, then returned to the wolf ’s side. Kneeling, he wiped the blood from her fur, his fingers probing the wound until he found the slug lodged in her back leg. Grateful that she was unconscious, he slid two fingers into the nasty hole and extracted the slug. He hissed when the misshapen chunk of silver burned his fingers. Had it found a vital organ, it would have killed her.
Lifting Kiya the wolf into his arms, he willed the two of them to his lair on the outskirts of Phoenix. It was his least favorite place to stay, but his powers were weak, and it was the closest.
Chapter 9
Verah slapped the young man standing before her. The sound echoed through the living room. “You missed?” She slapped him again, harder. “I do not pay you to miss!”
“I’m sorry, Mistress.”
“I do not want apologies!” Muttering an incantation, she placed her hand over the man’s mouth. “Be gone.”
The man opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. Suddenly mute, he stared at her in horror.
“Be gone!” she snarled, “lest I turn you into a toad.”
Face pale, eyes wide with fright, he hurried from her presence.
“Stupid fool!” Verah stormed from one end of the room to the other. Angry with her own stupidity for not realizing the woman had been two-natured, she had lashed out at the boy.
Picking up a large crystal vase, she hurled it against the wall, then took a deep breath. The werewolf was of no consequence. But Gideon … she needed him and she intended to get him back, no matter the cost. Vampires were hard to find and harder still to manipulate.
The fact that his blood added to her wealth was merely an additional bonus.
That his blood kept her young and vibrant made him indispensable. She had several vials stored in a cool place, but the shelf life was remarkably short, a fact she found odd, given that vampires themselves were nearly immortal.
She had to find him, and soon, before his blood grew rancid.
Before her beauty began to fade.
And if she couldn’t find him, what then?
In a rage, she stormed down the stairs to her workroom, where she gathered up several books and placed them on her worktable. Settling on a high stool, she carefully opened the first grimoire. The parchment was old and yellow, disintegrating in some places.
Rama jumped up on the table, his keen yellow eyes watching intently as Verah perused the pages.
“There must be a spell or an incantation in one of these books that will work as well as his blood,” she muttered. “There has to be!”
An hour later, she closed the ancient text, and reached for another. It had taken her mother a lifetime to collect these moldy old tomes. Surely one of them possessed the spell she needed.
When none of the grimoires yielded the information she sought, she contacted Yanaba. But the Navajo shaman who had helped Verah refine her magic and gifted her with the wisdom of his years had no answers for her.
Verah blew out a breath of exasperation. If Yanaba didn’t have the answer, maybe the spell she was looking for didn’t exist.
Chapter 10
Victor Rinaldi listened attentively to the conversation taking place between his father and Russell Alissano. It concerned Kiya’s disappearance, of course. Damn the girl. Even when she wasn’t here, she was nothing but trouble. He was under no illusions about her feelings for him. No doubt she had run off in an attempt to avoid their upcoming engagement.
Well, she could run far and wide, but she wouldn’t be able to hide for long. Her old man was bound to sniff her out sooner or later. For his part, Victor hoped it would be sooner so he could get this marriage over with and move on.
He was tired of pretending to be smitten with Alissano’s daughter, but he was determined to play the game of lovesick suitor to the end. The reward would make it all worthwhile.
His people had lived in the shadows for too long. It was time for the werewolves to shed their veneer of humanity and take their proper place in the world—right at the top of the food chain.