by Nora Roberts
Her fingers were plucking at the edge of the throw. He took her hand in his, soothed it. “You said you went alone.”
“I wanted to be alone, more than anything.” How viciously ironic, she thought, that she’d gotten that wish. “To meet people, yes. To sit in cafes and have brilliant conversations with fascinating people. And I did, the way you do at that age—or think you do. I wanted to see Rome and Paris and London, and all the little villages in the countryside. I wanted to sit in a pub in Ireland and listen to music. I wanted a lot.”
He shook his head. “Not a lot. You wanted to be happy. To be yourself.”
“God, yes. I wanted to touch everything, see everything. Absorb everything. I’d dreamed of it for so long, and there I was, staring at the Duomo in Florence, drinking wine and flirting with the waiters in Rome, sitting on a hilltop in Tuscany. No structured tours for me. No structure at all. I was done with that. That’s why I was hiking in a remote area of the Piedmont in the fall, a few months after my eighteenth birthday. Alone, watching a glorious sunset, walking as twilight came, soft and so lovely. It was incredibly romantic, and peaceful and exciting all at once. I was going to hike over to France.”
“Oh, baby.” Instinctively he squeezed her hands. Someone had hurt her, she’d said. And she’d never known him. “Were you raped?”
“No.” Not quite true, she realized. What else to call the invasion of her body, the horror? “Not . . . not sexually.” She paused a moment. She was stalling when she needed to get through it all quickly. And yet, didn’t he have to know the whole of it? Didn’t she need to make him see it, believe it?
“I should’ve camped near one of the villages, or gone to a house or farm. Something. But I was eighteen and immortal, and I wanted to experience the night in the mountains, alone. The full moon. I heard something, and I thought, Oh Christ, is that a wolf? Are there wolves up here? But a wolf wouldn’t be interested in me. Then I heard it howl. I felt the fear strike across my neck like an axe, even when I told myself wolves didn’t bother people. People weren’t their prey.”
She tossed the throw aside, pushed to her feet, moved to the fire to poke at the logs, even though she knew the flame wouldn’t warm her. “It was all very quick. I walked faster. I could hear my boots ring on the rock. I had my Swiss Army knife in my pocket. I remember digging for it. I saw it—the shape of it—and I ran. It came at me from behind. My backpack saved me. It knocked me flat, and I could feel it tearing at the pack, and its breath on the back of my neck.”
She rubbed her arms, rubbed them hard, and kept her eyes focused on the leaping flames. “The sounds it made—hungry, wild. Inhuman. I screamed. I think I screamed. I lost my knife. It wouldn’t have helped me anyway.”
She turned back, knew she had to face him with the rest. His eyes were riveted on her. “I must’ve fought, but I remember it clawing me, and the pain was beyond belief. Beyond that when it got its teeth into my shoulder. It might’ve killed me then, and it would’ve been over. But I had this.”
She drew the cross out from under her shirt, let it dangle from the chain. “I stabbed at it with this cross, out of panic and pain and desperation. I only saw it for an instant, and then not clearly, but I hacked the point of this cross into it, and it screamed. I lay there alone, looking up at the moon. I don’t remember after that, I must’ve passed out. They told me hikers found me in the morning, and carried me out of the mountains. They told me I was lucky I hadn’t bled to death. Luckier, they said, than the man they found dead. But the strange thing about him was he was smeared with blood, but only had two small wounds. A puncture wound in his cheek, another in the jugular.”
“Self-defense, Simone. You had to—”
“No, wait. I have to get it all out. He was a hermit, they said. This man they found dead and smeared with blood. A strange, strange man who lived alone in the hills. It must’ve been he who attacked me, but wasn’t it odd that my wounds looked to have been inflicted by some sort of beast? The claw marks, the bite in my shoulder. But look how quickly they were healing. Yes, I was a very lucky girl.”
“Simone.” He got up slowly to go to her, took her shoulders in gentle hands. “Was he HIV-positive? Did he have AIDS?”
“No. But you’re on the track. It’s about blood. I stayed in Europe, I went on to France. In a couple of weeks I felt better, better than I ever had in my life. A month after the attack, I was camping again. Alone. Thank God, alone. As the sun went down, I started to feel restless, hot and feverish. Too much energy. Nerves sparking under my skin. There was a tearing pain, like something was ripping me from the inside out. I felt it come, felt it claw through me, out of me. Become me. And I hunted, I smelled the flesh, the blood. Only a deer. I fed on it, and the kill was as thrilling as the feast.”
“You were hallucinating.”
She pulled her hands free, couldn’t allow him to touch her now. “In the morning, I woke naked, covered in blood, over a mile from my camp. Curled up beside what was left of the deer. The next night was the same, and the night after, I tied myself to a tree. I went to a local doctor, told him something was wrong with me. He found nothing in the exam. I was healthy, but he’d do a blood test. Before he sent my blood off to the lab, he looked at a smear under the microscope. He was puzzled. Somehow the sample must have gotten contaminated. He couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t explain how there came to be canine blood cells along with human. It wasn’t possible, some sort of mistake.
“I took the blood sample and left. Got back to the States. Took the sample to an American doctor. What the hell did some guy in France know? But the American doctor was just as puzzled, wanted to know where I’d gotten the sample. Who or what was it from? I got out, I ran. I read everything I could find about blood conditions, diseases, infections. And I thought about what had happened to me in the mountains, about the silver cross. I knew. I knew from the night when I changed, but how could I accept that? That Hollywood horror movie? I’d prove it was something else.”
“Simone, let’s sit down. You need to sit down.”
“No.” She batted his hand away when he reached for her. “Listen. A week before the next full moon, I rented a cabin. I bought chains, and a video camera, a tripod. When it was time, I set up the camera, shackled myself, and sat on the floor to wait. When it happened, I tried to fight it, but it was too strong. In the morning, I had the tape. I watched myself, watched it happen to me. I stayed there all three nights, afraid to go anywhere, see anyone. After the cycle, I went to the library, and found the name for what I was. Lycanthrope.”
“Simone.” He took a long, quiet breath, and though she tried to turn away, his hands rubbed up and down her arms. “You were attacked, traumatized. You’ve turned the man into a beast, a monster—because that’s what he was. A predator, but human. Lycanthropy is a psychological disorder.”
“It is if you think you turn into a wolf. If you do, it’s a physiological disorder. You don’t believe me.” She touched a hand to his cheek, knowing it might be the last time he would allow it. “I don’t expect you to. I’d be worried about you if you accepted all this on just my word.”
“I believe you were attacked, and hurt, and forced to defend yourself. And the shock, the trauma of what happened to you, especially at such a vulnerable time of your life, caused severe emotional distress. I can help you. I want to help you.”
“You think I’m crazy,” she stated. “But you’re not leaving.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy, I think you’re troubled. Why would I leave when being with you is what I want most?”
“You need to see. You needed to hear what I’ve told no one else, and you need to see what I’ve allowed no one else to see. And once you do, if you’re done with me, I won’t blame you. But I need you to come with me now, give me just a little more time.”
“I want to help you. I think I can help you if—”
“God, I hope you’re right. Just come. I need to go downstairs. It’ll be sunset soon.”
He went with her, with the dog patiently trotting behind them. She unlocked the basement door, relocked it when they were on the other side.
She heard him catch his breath when he saw her lab, the cell, the cameras and equipment below.
“You’re shocked,” she began. “And you’re confused.”
“That’s the mild take. For God’s sake, Simone, I’m not going to believe you’re some sort of mad scientist, or the female version of Oz.”
“Oz?” She stopped, goggled at him. “Oz, from Buffy? You watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”
“I caught it a couple of times. Okay, yeah, so? It makes a lot more sense for me to watch a well-written television show than for you to think you’re a werewolf.”
“Actually, I prefer the term lycan. Werewolf brings up images from old horror movies. Lon Chaney or whoever tromping around in the fog in a pair of tight pants, on two legs. Buffy got it closer to reality.”
“Oh yeah, reality.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, and she watched his struggle for patience. “You can’t keep living like this. If you trust me enough to tell me all this, then trust me enough to let me find the right doctors, the right treatments for you.”
“A picture’s worth a couple of million words. There are tapes.” She moved to the camera and tripod. “I record every change, study the tapes to see if there’s any improvement, any alteration. You can study them for yourself if you like. Or use the equipment here, study the blood samples.”
“You’re medicating yourself.” He gestured toward the vials, the herbs, the bottles of pills. And his patience snapped. “Goddamn it, Simone, this has to stop. It’s going to stop.”
“My fondest wish.” Odd, she thought, the more angry he became, the calmer she was. “If nothing happens after sundown, I’ll do whatever you want me to do. See any doctor, have any test, check myself into the nearest padded room. I swear it.”
“Damn right you will.”
Yes, she thought, the calmer she became—and glanced over with what was nearly a smile. “You’re pushy when you’re mad. Interesting.”
“I can get a lot pushier.”
“I can’t remember the last time anyone was actively angry with me, or upset for me. I’m going to have to decide if I like it. All I ask is that you give me the next twenty minutes, and that you promise—swear to me—no matter what happens, you won’t try to get within five feet of the cage.”
“You’re not locking yourself in there.”
“Twenty minutes. It’s not that much to ask when I’ve given you my word that I’ll do whatever you think best if you’re right, and I’m wrong.”
He tossed up his hands, a kind of silent and frustrated acquiescence.
“Amico won’t let you approach the cage, but I don’t want him to have to hurt you. Promise me.”
“Fine. You’ve got my word. I won’t go near the cage. And in twenty minutes, you and I are going to sit down and figure out the best way I can help you.”
“All right.” She stepped to the camera, turned it on. “The keys to the basement door are there, on the table. If you want to go, I understand. Just lock up behind you. Take this.” She drew off her cross. “Leave it if you go. I can’t get out,” she continued, walking to the cage and working the combination on the first of three muscular locks. “I can’t work the combinations in my lycan form.”
He cursed under his breath, but she heard him. With the door open, she turned, kept her eyes on his as she unbuttoned her shirt. “You’ll think you can help me when it begins, but you can’t. If you try to rush the cage, Amico will stop you.”
She stripped off her shirt, unhooked her bra.
His eyes narrowed. “Simone, if this is some sort of kinky and unique seduction, it’s—”
“Keep your word,” she interrupted, and stripped off her jeans. “I don’t see any point in ruining good clothes three times a month.”
“Practical. And really beautiful.”
She closed the cage door, set the first lock. “You won’t think so in a few minutes.”
She wanted to pace, to move. That restless fever was creeping over her skin. But she stood still after the locks were set. “There’s a slide under the microscope. I left it for you to see. Not the electron microscope—we’ll deal with that later.”
“You have an electron microscope?”
She nearly smiled as she heard the surprise in his voice, saw the glitter of interest over his face as he took a closer look at her equipment.
“Later. Go ahead, have a look at the regular slide. Tell me what you think.”
“There’s a naked woman standing there behind bars, and you want me to play with your chemistry set? Not that it isn’t a kick-ass chem set, but the naked woman’s got it beat. Hands down.”
She heard her own laugh, rested her brow against the bars. “I keep falling for you. Just have a look.”
Obliging, he walked over, bent to the microscope, adjusted the focus. “Blood sample,” he murmured. “Weird cells. Some sort of infection. Not rabies—not exactly. I’ve never seen anything like this.” Intrigued, he shifted his stance. “At first glance, it’s . . . it’s not canine, but it is. It’s human, but it’s not. Where did you get this?”
He straightened, turned toward the cage. And his heart leaped into his throat.
She was covered in sweat, shaking, with her fingers clamped around the bars. And those fingers were . . . wrong. Too long, too . . . tensile. With the nails sharp and black. Her eyes were on his, and full of sorrow, full of pain, and starting to shimmer. Not with tears, he saw—or not only with tears. There was something fierce and raging burning through the wet.
Some sort of illusion, he told himself. Some sort of elaborate trick. “Simone—”
“You swore.” She hissed out the words as he instinctively moved toward her and as Amico growled low and barred his path. “Stay back. Don’t come near me. God. Oh, God!”
He saw her bite her lip, bite through it as if to hold back a scream. The blood trickled down her chin, and the chin itself began to stretch, to lengthen and narrow. Even as his rational mind refused what his eyes saw in front of him, he heard something hideous, like bones grinding.
Then she did scream, collapsing onto the concrete floor, falling onto all fours as her spine arched and cracked, as fur—gold and thick, spread over her skin.
No illusion. No trick. And still impossible. “Mary, Mother of God.” He stumbled back, rapping his hip against the table so that bottles and vials clanked.
And what was in the cage threw back its head, its long sleek throat working as it howled with a terrible joy.
Chapter 7
SHE woke as she always did after the change. Disoriented and achy. As if she’d barely recovered from a long, debilitating illness.
And she woke hungry. Ravenous, which at first puzzled her. Until she remembered she hadn’t put any meat in the cage with her. A foolish point of vanity, she supposed. She hadn’t wanted Gabe to see her feed.
Gabe. She curled a little tighter into herself, a full body compress over the misery. He’d seen now. He knew now. He’d never be able to look at her the same way again, not with desire or affection. Certainly not with love.
But if she hadn’t misjudged him completely, once he was over the shock and the horror, he might be able to help.
She made herself get up. She could smell the wolf still. The scent of it clung to her skin long after her body was hers again, and the stink of it, even after so many years, turned her stomach.
She would take a long, hot shower, scrub it away. Then eat and work. And wait. If he came back, she thought as she unlocked the cage, what she’d done would be worth the cost. He wouldn’t love her, not the way she would always love him, but he would help her. The kindness in him would demand it.
If she was wrong, if he didn’t come back, she’d relocate again. Maybe go to Canada this time. He might tell someone, of course, but no one would believe him. Still, it would be better all
around if she moved away, settled somewhere else.
She tugged on her jeans, then stopped with her fingers on the button of the fly as she stared at Amico’s dog bed.
Amico sat on the wide cushion, watching her, waiting for her command. Beside the dog, Gabe was sprawled. Sleeping.
She wasn’t disoriented now, she was simply dazed. Without thinking, she finished dressing, shut down the camera. She released Amico from his guard stance with a whispered command. Even as the dog stood, Gabe stirred.
His eyes fluttered open. She wanted to stroke his cheek, his hair. His eyelashes. But she kept her hands at her sides as she crouched down.
“You stayed.”
“Huh?” His eyes were bleary for a moment, but she watched them sharpen even as he rubbed his hands over his face, back through his tousled hair. “Yeah. Must’ve conked for a while. Who’d’ve thought it? I could use coffee.”
“I’ll go up and make some.”
“What time is it?”
“Early. Just after dawn.”
He glanced at her wrist. She wore no watch. “How do you know?”
“I always know.” She straightened, reminded herself to maintain some distance, for both their sakes. “I’ll put coffee on, then I need to shower. You’ll have questions. I’ll try to answer them.”
“All right.”
She went up the stairs with the dog beside her. But she didn’t look back as she unlocked the door, or when she closed it behind her.
Silly for her hands to shake now, she thought. After all she’d been through, all she’d endured, she would shake and tremble now? She spilled grounds on the counter as she measured them out and left them there. She’d clean them up later. All she had to do was make coffee—a simple, everyday task—then she could shower. She needed the heat, the soap, the cleansing.
