Of Shadow and Stone

by Michelle Muto

  The wolf stopped growling, took a few steps back, and then sat.

  “Much better,” Roland said before turning to Ian. “Now where was I?”

  “Sara!” Ian called out hoarsely. The wolf looked at Ian and blinked.

  “Sit like a good little doggie,” Roland taunted. “You’re welcome to stay and watch the show. And if you behave, I’ll throw you a bone.”

  The wolf began to howl.

  “Stop that!” Roland shrieked as he wheeled around, letting go of Ian. He leapt for the wolf, which anticipated the move and disappeared into the underbrush. Roland started to follow, then stopped and returned to Ian.

  Ian had managed to get to his knees in Roland’s brief absence, coughing and catching his breath. The wolf howled again somewhere nearby.

  “How many can you take on at once?” Ian asked as he rubbed his throat. His voice was like gravel, and speaking made his eyes water even more. Still coughing, he struggled to his feet, using a tree for balance.

  “You can’t run. But if you come to me willingly, I promise you’ll feel very little pain. Our bite has a numbing effect. Keeps the victim from fighting us while we feed. You might even enjoy it.”

  “Sorry, Roland. I’m just not that into you,” Ian said. He couldn’t do anything about Roland at the moment, but given a bottle of holy water or a wooden stake, he would have given it his best shot. If those things even worked.

  The bushes behind him rustled, and he hoped it was more of Sara’s pack. Roland’s attention switched from Ian to the underbrush. Sara lunged and sank her teeth into Roland’s shoulder, knocking him to his knees. She growled deeply, her ears pinned flat against her head.

  It was an ambush. The second wolf, an amber-brown female that Ian recognized as Eliza, bounded from her hiding place and lunged at Roland’s other arm.

  Both wolves hung onto Roland as he tried to fend them off. He slammed himself into the tree, knocking Eliza to the ground. She yelped and shook her head, dazed. She tried to scramble to her feet, and Roland kicked her in the ribs. Then he stomped on her foreleg, breaking it. She yelped sharply.

  Sara released her grip and lunged again, latching onto Roland’s leg. He cried out as blood streamed from his thigh. Sara shook her head savagely, shredding the vampire’s flesh. He shrieked and turned on her, grabbing her throat.

  Sara whined. Roland had the strength to kill her. Eliza struggled to stand, but her foreleg was bent at an impossible angle. Ian shoved himself away from the tree and grabbed a fallen branch. Too big to use as a stake, but large enough that it just might give Sara the edge. He slammed the branch into Roland’s back, shoving him forward. Roland let go of Sara. She fell to the ground, but only for a moment. She rolled, righted herself, and charged again.

  Roland tried to block her as Ian kicked at his knees with all his strength—a move that would have broken a normal man’s kneecap. The vampire stumbled a bit, but stayed on his feet. He turned on Ian, fangs bared.

  Damn! They were in serious trouble. Even together, he and Sara were no match for Roland. Behind him, Eliza whimpered and howled.

  Sara bit into Roland’s forearm, letting go long enough to reposition herself. When Roland swung at her with a closed fist, she ducked the blow. Ian grabbed another branch from the ground and slammed it against Roland’s head, splintering the wood. Blood trickled from the vampire’s skull.

  At first Ian thought he might topple over, but instead Roland shook his head and spun around to confront Ian, his eyes wild and fierce.

  Unable to match the vampire’s speed, Ian winced as Roland tackled him. The two fell to the ground with a hard thud, knocking the wind out of Ian. Roland opened his jaws wide, bearing down on Ian’s throat. His breath smelled sickeningly sweet.

  Sara attacked the vampire again, this time grabbing Roland from behind. Roland’s head banged into a tree root, Ian still pinned beneath him. Sara stood on top of Roland, who held Ian firmly to the ground, even with Sara shaking her head violently, teeth embedded in the base of Roland’s head.

  Blood coursed down Roland’s neck and onto Ian. Roland grabbed Sara, seizing the long fur on her shoulders, but she refused to let go. Sara steadied her feet and bit down harder. The vampire cried out once more.

  Ian tried to get his hands high enough to strike the vampire’s face. Roland snapped at him, but Ian shoved his chin upward, preventing a nasty bite. The last thing he needed was a flesh wound from a vampire. Were any of the tales true? If Roland bit him, would he turn into a vampire?

  Roland twisted, knocking Sara off balance. She let go and bit him right above his waist.

  A crash erupted from the underbrush, and several more angry wolves emerged. Each of them grabbed at Roland, and he flailed his arms, trying to ward them off.

  Ian pressed his thumbs into Roland’s eyes, and the vampire screamed.

  The wolves kept up their assault—Ian could feel them as they tore at Roland, jerking him in one direction and then the other. Their snarls and growls became more and more frenzied as they ripped at Roland’s flesh. Ian turned his head to the side when Sara lunged in and grabbed Roland’s cheek mere inches from his own. The vampire gave a muffled cry.

  Ian felt something warm and wet against his chest and realized Roland’s blood had soaked him. The vampire stopped screaming, and Ian felt his body go limp on top of him.

  The wolves continued to bite and tug at Roland, and Ian feared he was now in another predicament. Given the wolves’ heightened drive and the amount of blood, could they distinguish between Roland and himself? He pushed at the lifeless body on top of him, trying to wiggle out from underneath. As he shoved Roland’s shoulder out of his way, a sharp, stabbing pain seared his hand.

  He’d been bitten. He remembered what Sara had told him—that a single bite, one deep enough to draw blood, was enough to turn mortal into werewolf.

  For a moment, everything stopped.

  One of the wolves whimpered, and a nose nudged his shoulder. The rest of the pack stood quietly except for their hot, heavy panting.

  “She was trying to pull him off of you,” a voice said behind him. Ian shoved off Roland’s tattered corpse. The body rolled onto its side, exposing the neck, the flesh severed completely down to the bone. Half his cheek had been splayed open and hung in flaps. Roland appeared to be smiling hideously at them with large, bared teeth and fangs.

  Ian tore his gaze away and clutched his injured hand with the other. It felt like fire was running through his veins.

  A nude and bloodied Eliza knelt beside him, cradling a very broken arm. Ian pushed himself up against the tree, the pain still raging in his hand. “I’m sorry,” Eliza said. A small trickle of blood trailed down her face. “It was an accident. You happened to put your hand right in her way.”

  Sara moved away from the rest of the pack, her head and tail hung low, muzzle caked with blood and her fur matted. She began the transformation from wolf to human.

  When she finished changing, Sara rushed to Ian’s side, grabbing his arm at the wrist. Ian grimaced. Ignoring him, she studied the wound.

  Ian stared down at the bite. He swallowed the lump building in his throat. “Tell me this doesn’t mean what I think.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ian.” Sara had fared better than Eliza, but hadn’t come out unscathed, either. Ugly red marks traced along her shoulder, and there were deep scratches down her sides. The blood on her face was hard to look at, despite the beauty underneath. Roland’s blood had soaked her hair.

  Ian noticed the wound had stopped bleeding. He replayed the moment in his head. He’d been bitten. Bitten! “Answer me, Sara! Does this mean I’ll turn?”

  She brushed a hand along her head and came away with a small clump of hair. Oddly, Ian could see new hair growing back rapidly in its place. “Yes. It does.”

  Ian’s hand had stopped throbbing. Had he acquired their healing powers that quickly?

  “When?”

  Sara sadly shook her head. “There is one part of the werewolf legen
d that remains true. When mortals are bitten, their first change will take place before the end of the next full moon. For you, that means sometime tonight, but you can change at will any time before then.”

  “So I won’t be able to control it?” Visions of old werewolf movies came to mind.

  Ian closed his eyes, drew a great breath, and exhaled slowly. Maybe when he opened his eyes . . . But even with his eyes tightly shut, Sara kept talking.

  “You can, to some extent,” she said. “But you can’t stop the first change.”

  “I’d go with changing at will,” Eliza offered. “It doesn’t hurt that way. Only if you fight it.”

  Reluctantly, Ian opened his eyes. Eliza gently placed her broken arm in the fork of a tree, held it with her other hand, and shoved the bones back into alignment with a horrific crunch. She cried out once, then rubbed her arm. “There. That’s better.”

  Ian looked at his own hand, which barely hurt anymore. It was true—he was now one of them.

  “We need to get you to the castle,” Sara told him.

  “What about Roland?”

  The other wolves were still casually feeding on the vampire’s corpse. The prospect that he’d do the same one day turned his stomach. Yet Ian couldn’t help but stare.

  “We never leave evidence,” Eliza said. “Besides, why waste perfectly good meat?”

  “That’s debatable,” Ian replied, still unable to tear his eyes off Roland’s remains.

  “We really have to go now,” Sara insisted. His stomach rumbled, either from nausea or hunger—he wasn’t sure which and didn’t want to know. The wolves had devoured most of the vampire’s abdomen, exposing his ribs. One wolf had its entire muzzle inside the chest cavity. Roland’s head lay facing him, one bloody eye socket staring at Ian as though accusing him for his fate. Ian couldn’t exactly say he was sorry it had ended this way—for Roland.

  “What’s the rush?” he asked Sara. He turned away from the wolves and the grisly carcass.

  “Declan told us to find you. He said it’s important that we hurry. Kate is in trouble.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Ian

  “We’ll get back faster if you change,” Sara encouraged him. “We’ve already wasted enough time with Roland.” She started to lick off a streak of blood on her arm, caught Ian’s expression, and seemed to think better of it.

  “Change? I don’t know how! What do you mean, Kate’s in trouble?” Ian’s head was still reeling.

  “Change first. Ask later. It’s easy,” Eliza said. “Think about being a wolf and concentrate. Just see yourself as a wolf. You and Sara should go.” She held up her arm. “I’m not healed enough to run on all fours yet, so I’ll walk back.”

  Sara stared at him. “Well, come on! Get out of those clothes.”

  He was already very aware of both Eliza’s and Sara’s lack of clothing. He’d never thought of himself as shy, but stripping in front of them seemed a little strange. And now they wanted him to change into an animal? That was more than his brain could handle. Although he liked dogs, he didn’t want to become their wild cousin.

  Sara sighed wearily. “Now isn’t the time for modesty, Ian. Just do it. There’s nothing you have that we haven’t seen before.”

  “Excuse me?” Ian said.

  “Get over yourself. And get out of those clothes.”

  Ian winced. Since she put it that way.

  “And concentrate. Picture a wolf in your head,” Sara repeated.

  She was right—they could get back faster as wolves. Besides, if he had to change before dawn, he needed to know how while he still had teachers. He glanced at the wolves still contentedly chowing down on Roland. He might recognize a few of the faces if they were in mortal form. Not one of the wolves looked his way as he studied them, trying to collect his scattered thoughts. Maybe now would be best, while they were occupied . . .

  “Okay.” Ian took off his blood-soaked sweater and the shirt underneath. He ditched his shoes and socks next. Without looking at either of the women, he removed his pants and underwear, and bent down on the ground. Damn, he felt foolish. The cool air gave him goose bumps, and he tried not to think of the obvious result.

  I’m a wolf, he told himself. See a wolf. Be the wolf.

  This wasn’t going to work.

  “You’re not concentrating enough,” Sara said. “Don’t think about anything else.”

  “That’s easy for you to say!” He focused on what it’d be like to become a wolf—to walk on all fours, wag a tail, snarl ferociously at someone. Fetch a ball? Anything to keep himself from thinking about how he really looked—crouched on all fours, naked as a jaybird on a cold day, in front of two beautiful women, also butt naked.

  He thought of Kate. She needed him.

  Ian tried again. He pictured a wolf—a big, gray timber wolf with amber-gold eyes, long legs and tail, and a soft, downy coat. In his mind, the animal flexed its legs and then shook its head and tail. He concentrated so hard that his head pounded. The scuffle with Roland had taken more of a toll than he originally perceived; his muscles hurt, and his skin felt bruised. He channeled all his energy into one more attempt, ignoring the aches and pains. It started to work—he began to feel pretty good. He squeezed his eyelids shut. Bright colors flashed behind them.

  “Ian,” Eliza said. “Open your eyes.”

  He opened one eye, then the other. Eliza stood before him. He turned his head so that he wasn’t staring at her legs . . . or anything else. Everything was in sharp focus. Roland’s blood smelled strong and pungent, as did the earth below. The pack continued to chow down on Roland as though he were an all-you-can-eat vampire buffet.

  A wolf nudged his shoulder—Sara. She trotted past him, stopping a few feet beyond, and tilted her head. He wanted to tell her to wait; he wasn’t ready yet. Somehow he hadn’t been able to change. Maybe it was too soon.

  Sara let out a noise that he first interpreted as a wooing sound, but his brain registered it as, “Are you coming?”

  “Go!” Eliza said above him. He looked at her, focusing higher this time. How could he go anywhere when he had failed to turn?

  A wolf whined nearby. He whipped his head around, searching for it.

  “That was you, silly,” Eliza said. “Congratulations on your first change.”

  That’s it? I’m a wolf? He thought he’d said it, but all he managed to do was cock his head to one side.

  Eliza laughed. “Yes, you are. Now go before it’s too late.”

  Ian stared at his feet, which were now big, furry paws. A glance behind him showed a bushy tail. He’d done it—and it hadn’t hurt—much. He understood whatever Eliza said in plain English, and yet he understood Sara’s wolf posturing and sounds as though they were second nature.

  Well, I’ll be doggone!

  His pun made him grin.

  This was so cool.

  Sara wooed again, and Ian detected the impatience in it. He bounded toward her, and they took off in the direction of the castle at speeds Ian had never imagined possible. They cleared logs as though they were nothing, sailed through dense brush he never could have as a human.

  Before long, the woods gave way to the open field behind Shadow Wood. Once the castle came into view, Sara settled into a flat-out run. Ian increased his stride to keep pace. Dust and dry leaves kicked up behind them.

  Becoming a werewolf wasn’t something he’d ever have chosen for himself, but all this extra strength and ability might come in pretty darn handy. Of course, he wouldn’t have been in this situation had Roland not tried to make him his personal wine cellar, but he didn’t have time to think about that now. Besides, right now, Roland was Alpo.

  They reached the back of the castle and slid to a stop. Sara howled and lowered her head. Ian could smell that the human part of her had become stronger, and he sat to watch her change with interest. Not as a writer, but as a werewolf. He thought about doing the same until Declan opened the door. Being naked in front of Sara and the oth
ers had been one thing. But in front of the Lord of the Netherworld? No. Just no.

  Sara finished changing back to human, but Ian could only sit before the two of them and whine.

  “Roland is dead,” Sara told Declan quickly. “He tried to attack Ian. We had no choice.”

  Declan nodded and then peered down at Ian.

  Ian felt his tail wag in submission.

  “I accidentally bit Ian while trying to pull Roland off of him,” Sara said.

  Declan continued to stare at him. Ian wondered if dogs felt like this when they tracked in dirt on a clean floor. Declan didn’t seem surprised.

  Ian needed to know about Kate. He tried to ask, but all that came out was a series of short howl-barks.

  “Kate is fine. For now. But you need to change and get cleaned up. Ten minutes. Meet me in the study when you are ready,” Declan told him.

  “Concentrate, Ian. Just picture yourself as human,” Sara reminded him.

  He wagged his tail, signifying he understood. Ian padded past them, head low, down the hall, through the foyer and up the stairs, taking several at a time and pausing only to look behind him to ensure he hadn’t really tracked in dirt on the floor. When he reached his room, he’d forgotten one important thing—he hadn’t changed back. He stared at the doorknob.

  Ten minutes.

  I can do this! he thought. All he had to do was focus. See himself as human.

  He hung his head and concentrated. After a minute or two, he opened his eyes. Hands. Arms. He was human again.

  Huh! That was easy!

  He stood, glanced around the empty hallway, then let himself into his room and hurried to the shower to rid himself of Roland’s blood. He avoided the mirror. Sara had looked pretty gruesome, and he didn’t care to see his own reflection. No sense in showing up in front of Kate that way. After a quick scrubbing, he towel-dried his hair and headed to the closet where he found clothes to replace what he’d left in the woods. He dressed quickly and rushed downstairs to the study.

  Declan sat in his usual chair before the fireplace. On his shoulder rested a winged animal with a dragon’s tail. The tail had spikes like a dragon—triangular and gray—but they protruded from light, sable-colored fur. The feet were definitely catlike, but blue-green reptilian scales rippled along the animal’s sides. Its front legs sported long fur. The black wings were leathery and tucked neatly against the creature’s spine. Its face bore resemblance to both fox and feline. Tall tufts emanated from the upright ears. Its black-rimmed eyes were also reptilian—except Ian had never seen a lizard with electric-blue irises.