Part 1 (1/2)
New Moon.
By Rebecca York.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE FOREST AT night was his playground, his domain. And werewolf Logan Marshall ran for the sheer joy of taking in his kingdom. A lithe gray shape, he was one with the night, the wind ruffling his fur and the sounds and scents of the night tantalizing his senses.
Tomorrow he would go back to work, focusing on the project that had brought him to this patch of Maryland woods. Tonight he ran free. Or as free as a man could be who must try to fit into two very different worlds.
His campsite was a mile back, in a patch of woods scheduled to be demolished by developers in the next few months. It made him sick to think that next year this magnificent hardwood stand would disappear-driving the forest creatures who lived here from their homes.
But tonight he could enjoy the ripple of the wind in the trees and the moonlight dappling the leaves.
He was two miles from camp when a new sensation crept into the edge of his consciousness.
No ordinary human would have noticed the subtle difference in the night air. But a werewolf was blessed with senses that no man, except his brothers and his cousins, possessed.
He stopped short, lifting his head and dragging in a deep draft of the humid air. Unfamiliar scents tickled his nose. It was as though a door had opened, letting in dank air that had come from some other time and place.
In this one patch of woods, he sensed a rip in the very fabric of the universe.
A rip in the fabric of the universe? Yeah, right.
Yet he knew it wasn't impossible. The Marshall clan had fought a monster from another world. A creature that had lurked in the underground reaches of a private club in Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., where the rich and powerful came to indulge their s.e.xual appet.i.tes-egged on by the monster who fed on their emotions.
They had killed the creature, although the werewolves had only been the a.s.sistants. It was the strong Marshall women who had joined their mental energy in battle.
He had left while they were still celebrating their victory, because watching the other men and their life-mates had made his chest tighten.
In the distant past-some twenty or thirty years ago-the werewolves had ruled their families like despots. Things had changed with the new generation of Marshall women. They were the equal of their men. And Logan could easily imagine living out his life with a mate like that.
But he'd met no women who could be ”the one.” So he kept to his bachelor existence, carving out a name for himself as a landscape architect who specialized in native plants. Which was why he was camping out this weekend, harvesting ahead of the bulldozers.
Only tonight some outside force had disturbed this patch of Maryland woodland.
A man might have backed away from the danger. The werewolf knew he had to investigate. Or was the compulsion to rush toward danger coming from outside his own mind?
A command below the level of his wolf's hearing seemed to pull him toward the unknown. And he obeyed, taking one step forward and then another, when deep inside he knew that he should turn and run for his life-for his sanity.
Disaster struck like a sharp-toothed animal lurking in the underbrush. But no animal could have possessed the steel jaws that suddenly snapped around his ankle.
The pain was instantaneous-and excruciating, He went down, howling as he rolled to his side, leaves and debris clinging to his stiff fur. For long moments, he was unable to move, the agonizing bite of the claws in his flesh mirrored by savage claws in his brain.
He had to... He had to...
It was impossible to complete the sentence. He was caught in a snare, and the saw-toothed steel that dug into his flesh did more than hold him fast. It made coherent thought almost impossible.
As waves of pain radiated through him, he knew on some deep level that he must free himself or die. He lay panting, gathering his strength, struggling to focus on wrenching himself away. But when he tugged against the thing that held him fast, a burst of agony seared his nerve endings-then shot upward through his body.
All he could do was lie there in the leaves with his eyes closed and his breath shallow, feeling his consciousness slipping away. He would die here in this patch of woods. Or perhaps fate had something worse than death in store for him.