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Prologue and Chapter One of Ghost Moon
ISBN: 978-0425222454
Berkley Sensation
Rebecca York
To Be Published May 2008
JUNE 1933
The two werewolves were out for blood and too inexperienced to think of death–their own or the other’s.
They had fought over a flirtatious little brunette, and neither one of them was willing to say she was just a temporary whim. So they met in a patch of Maryland woods, far from the haunts of men–each prepared to rip the hide off the other.
They had driven in separate cars to the dueling grounds, neither one of them bringing a second because this was a very private affair.
Back into the mists of time, the adults of the Marshall clan had trusted no one besides their lifemates. Certainly not their fathers or brothers or cousins. They were all alpha males, all leaders of their own pack. And the only individuals admitted to that pack were their wives and children.
But neither had yet reached the age of bonding. And neither of them knew how to control the rage that flared in the animal portion of their spirit.
So they pulled their cars into the woods, then went to separate thickets to strip off their clothing and say the ancient chant that changed them from man to wolf.
Neither of them understood the words. They only knew the ritual had been passed down from father to son through the ages.
Then they trotted into the clearing that they had selected and faced each other, eyes blazing and muscles tensed. One of them howled, then the other, before they began to circle--looking for an opening.
At the beginning, someone might have backed down. Yet pride and the violent instincts of their kind outweighed good sense. One sprang, knocking the other to the ground, and the fight was on.
They rolled across the forest floor, each trying to score a bite that would punish the other enough to make him back off.
Then one lost all sense of proportion and went for his opponent’s throat, his teeth sinking through thick fur into vulnerable flesh. And when he felt the other combatant go limp, he raised his head in alarm, then took a quick step away from the shaggy form lying on the ground.
His cousin lay still, blood gushing from his neck, his expression as astonished as the wolf who had taken the fateful bite.
The attacker stepped back, saying the ancient chant in his mind, feeling his muscles and tendons contort as he changed from wolf to naked man. Ignoring the wounds on his shoulders and ribs, he knelt beside the injured animal.
“Caleb, Jesus. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean. . .”
His cousin raised dull eyes. His jaws moved, and his face contorted, and then he, too, made the transformation from wolf to man.
He lay breathing shallowly, then tried to push himself up, before falling back against the blood-soaked leaves, his fingers clawing the ground.
"Jesus,” Aden repeated, fear leaping inside his chest. “We’ve got to get you to a doctor. We can say . . . an animal attacked you.”
But it was already too late. The life in his cousin’s eyes flickered, then went out.
Aden looked around wildly, wondering what the hell he was going to do.
His heart pounding, he went back to where he’d left his clothes and swiftly pulled on his khaki pants and long-sleeved shirt.
It struck him, then, that he had killed a man. Well, a werewolf. His cousin. He had heard whispered tales in the family of werewolves who had disappeared over the years. Caleb lived alone, the way they all did before they bonded with a lifemate. And his job took him away from home for long periods of time. It might be days, weeks before anyone realized he was missing. And there was nothing to tie his disappearance to his cousin.
Still, it seemed wrong to leave his naked body in the woods. So he retrieved Caleb’s discarded clothing, dressing him in his jeans and shirt before pulling on his shoes and socks.
As he worked, his mind churned, making feverish plans. He’d have to drive the abandoned Ford somewhere else. Maybe he should push it off a cliff into the river. That might be the best option. Or maybe not.
Well, he didn’t have to figure out that part yet. But he’d better not drive too far, because he’d have to race back here in wolf form and . . . .
Bury the body. He couldn’t leave the evidence. Or could he? What evidence was that, exactly? That a man had been killed by an animal in the woods.
He shuddered, and a surge of family loyalty made his throat tighten. He might have killed another one of the Marshall men in a stupid fight, but he wouldn’t abandon him out here in the open–to be torn apart by forest animals.
He gritted his teeth. He had come out here roaring mad over a woman who wasn’t important. And now he was reaping the consequences.
Quinn had come through the portal between the worlds six times now, into this strange place–the Maryland woods.
She took a deep breath of the air. It smelled different. In her universe, she would have caught the tang of wood smoke. Here, underlying the scent of pine trees, she detected exhaust from automobiles and smoke from factories–even this far from the city called Baltimore, so unlike anything in her world.
She had been there a few times, riding in a car with Rinna and Logan Marshall. Although they were both werewolves, they were very different from each other. Rinna was from Quinn’s world. Logan was from this universe–where few people had the psychic talents that were so important to the lives of Quinn’s people.
Rinna and Logan had both taught her so much. Enough to get around here. She had a driver’s license, Social Security number, and credit cards. They were of no use back in Sun Acres, the city where she had lived for the past nine months. But here, they were a necessity. Logan had even given her driving lessons, although she wasn’t very good at it yet.
She rubbed her arm, where an adept had removed the slave mark from her flesh. She was a free woman now. Yet she carried heavy obligations. And she must hurry.
After taking a moment to orient herself, she went to the green plastic storage bin that she had hidden in a tangle of raspberry brambles. Inside was modern American clothing. After removing a tee shirt and jeans, she stood for a moment, sending her mind outward, searching the woods for danger. In this place, it always felt like someone was watching her, yet when she looked around, she saw nothing.
Putting the feeling down to her own uneasiness, she pulled off her leather tunic, the cool evening breeze tightening her nipples. With a shiver, she snatched up the bra that Rinna had told her was part of a modern woman’s clothing here and wrestled it into place. Again she looked around, seeing no one but still feeling like someone was spying on her.
Determined to shrug off the unsettling feeling, she reached for the tee shirt.
It was tempting to keep on her own leather pants, but she knew they would look primitive in twenty-first century America. So she shucked them down her legs as rapidly as she could before donning silky panties.
When she followed them with the worn blue jeans Rinna had given her, she breathed out a little sigh.
Next she exchanged her sandals for socks and running shoes.
After bundling up the clothing and hunting knife from her own universe, she took out a fanny pack and hooked it around her waist. Inside were her ID cards–and a Sig Sauer. Logan had taught her gun safety and marksmanship, but she still hated the power of the weapon.
When she’d returned the plastic box to the tangle of brambles, she started toward the Marshalls’ stone and wood house, using a rough trail through the thick underbrush. It was a familiar route, but this time, she came to a place where loose dirt and boulders had tumbled down a cliff, blocking her path.
She stopped, running a hand through her mop of short, dark curls as she considered climbing over the mess. But if the rubble shifted, she could get hurt. And out here, there was no one to help her. So she reversed directions, taking an alternate route.
She reached a small clearing in the woods and started forward, then stopped short, her nerves tingling.
Sometimes she could sense other people’s emotions. And this evening the ability was working strongly.
Her eyes strained to penetrate the shadows. Although she saw nothing, she knew there was some presence hovering here. Waiting for her.
Waves of deep pain beat at her, pain and a gnawing hunger. Not for food.
Shuddering, she took a quick step back, ready to turn and flee. But before she could escape, the air around her rippled, as though a portal had opened in front of her.
A portal to her world?
Impossible.
Portals didn’t just spring up at random times and places. And as far as she knew, nobody here could open one. A group of trained adepts from her world had to cut a slice in the membrane that separated one world from the other. At least that was the way she had pictured it. Cutting with a sharpened psychic talent instead of a knife. And it took the energy of more than one person to do it.
When the air stopped shimmering, she breathed out a little sigh. The sigh turned into a scream when a man’s strong arms grabbed her from behind. But the scream was cut off by a large hand clamping over her mouth.
GHOST MOON
by Ruth Glick, writing as Rebecca York,
Publication Date: May 2008
Copyright © 2008 by Ruth Glick.
This edition published by arrangement with Berkley Books |
