Midnight Prey

by Caroline Burnes

  Deep in the woods there was the hoot of an owl. The sound came again, and with it a shiver of apprehension crossed her skin. The warm summer breeze shifted, coming from the north and bringing the cold of the snow-capped mountains to her. She looked back to the cabin and saw that it was much farther away than she’d thought. A long, long way and the ground looked frozen and cold

  Suddenly there was the sound of something in the woods, the brittle snap of a stick, and once again, the mournful hoot of the owl. Shadoe froze. The old ones believed that the owl came through the woods in search of a spirit to claim. The owl was the harbinger of death.

  There was the flutter of large wings, and through the darkness the owl’s voice echoed, “Shad-doe! Shad-dadoe!”

  She stepped backward, away from the woods where the owl called to her. She’d fancied herself free and safe, and she was neither of those things. She was merely foolish. She had to get back to the cabin, to safety.

  As she turned to run, she heard the sound of fast movement in the woods. Something big was running, running in the trees. She turned to look but saw nothing in the silvery glow of the moon.

  In the distance there was the cry of a young horse. For a horrible moment, Shadoe was torn between her desire to run to the cabin or to go to the horses. She started forward, knowing instinctively that she had to save the young animal. mal. The dread in the foal’s cry sent a surge of fear into her heart.

  Unarmed completely vulnerable, she stepped into the darkness of the woods. Beneath the trees, the air was freezing, and the cold moved from the ground up to her knees, up her bare legs to her torso, to her head. She was swallowed by the darkness of the woods. Not even the moon could penetrate the shadows cast by the huge trees.

  Through the darkness came the sound of something following her. A shaft of moonlight fell in a circle. Not twenty feet away, the wolf stood, watching. Gold eyes stared into her dark ones and held. To Shadoe, it seemed the coat of the wolf had drunk the light. He glowed with silver power, moon touched.

  She ran. Her feet tripped on brambles and sticks that were suddenly in the path. With each step she took, the wolf advanced one pace. He did not surge forward, but he kept even with her, step by step. He was unhurried, waiting.

  She remembered then. Look, listen, think, then act. She could hear her father’s voice guiding her. A thin line of trees marked the end of the woods, and she moved toward the biggest of them. Her hand brushed against the big trunk, the bark sharp and abrasive. She hugged close to it, trying to elude the wolf. Sidestepping, she prepared to make a run across the clearing. The wolf appeared, still twenty feet away, watching as if it were eager for the chase. With a cry of desperation, Shadoe started across the frozen, empty ground.

  She ran, her feet barely feeling the sharp and jagged rocks. Moving with the grace of a deer, she bounded toward the cabin. She was determined to live, and that made her strong. The ground churned beneath her feet, and suddenly she was on the hard boards of the porch. She flung open the door and hurdled through it, closing it behind her and throwing the lock. She had made it! She had made it inside!

  To her horror, she heard the sound of scratching at the door. Insistent scratching. She went to the window and slowly pushed the curtain aside. Her heart squeezed with fear as she looked into the wolf’s golden gaze. He stood with his paws on the windowsill, staring at her through the glass. Saliva dripped from his pink tongue and he seemed to know her. Golden eyes stared into hers, speaking in a language she did not understand. But it was clear the animal knew her, and had come to her for a reason.

  The wolfs mouth opened, white fangs exposed and she screamed.

  AT THE SOUND of Shadoe’s anguished screams, Hank broke eye contact with the wolf. They had stood each other off for a full five minutes. Looking away from the wolf, Hank started toward the house. He’d covered only twenty feet when the body of the animal sprang past him and leaped up on the porch. Turning to face Hank, the wolf growled low and deep, then jumped from the porch and ran for the woods.

  For just an instant, he watched the wolf disappear, then he hit the door with the weight of his body, slammed it open and rushed inside.

  The fire was a bed of glowing embers with only the occasional flicker of flames. Framed against the fire, Shadoe sat in the chair. The quilt had fallen about her waist, and her eyes were closed. In her sleep she struggled, fighting some presence that threatened her.

  “Shadoe!” Hank went to her and without thinking, he scooped her into his arms. Moving gently, he carried her to the bed and put her down.

  She was still struggling, still in the throes of her nightmare. Her arms came up and she fought, pounding against his chest, crying and thrashing.

  “Shadoe.” He spoke softly, touching her cheek with his fingers. When that didn’t awaken her, he shook her shoul der. “Wake up, Shadoe. It’s a dream. Wake up.” He shook her harder, watching as her eyes slowly opened and she looked up into his gaze.

  “Hank!” She was breathless as she reached up and grabbed him, burrowing her face against his chest. “Oh, God, Hank, it was the wolf.”

  At her words he felt a chill brush down his neck like the touch of an icy finger. “The wolf?”

  She was still caught by the last tentacles of the dream. Outside the cabin was the wolf and danger. Inside was Hank. He was so good, so solid and so real after the terror of the animal. She ran her hands inside his jacket, feeling the softness of his shirt and the beating of his heart against her palm. Nothing in her life had ever been so wonderful.

  “What wolf?” Hank asked. “Did you see a wolf?”

  “The one in my dream. He keeps coming after me. In the snow, in the woods. He’s a big silver wolf, and this time he came up on the porch, and.” She felt him stiffen. “What?”

  Hank eased her back onto the bed so that he could look deep into her eyes. “You’ve dreamed about this wolf before?”

  “All spring.” She tried to find a smile, but the dream was still too much with her. “He’s beautiful,” she admitted reluctantly, “but he’s stalking me. He waits in the woods for me.” The expression in Hank’s eyes frightened her. “What is it?”

  He gently brushed her silky hair from her cheek. The feel of her skin was so delicious. He saw her lips part as she took a deep breath, and suddenly there was no holding back any longer. He bent toward her, moving slowly so that she had plenty of time to halt him with a touch or word

  His lips touched hers, at first a feathery touch that chilled him while it promised delicious warmth. Her lips were softer than anything he could remember. At the gentle probing of his tongue, she opened her mouth and gave him access.

  For Hank, that willingness was like oxygen to fire. His desire flamed, growing with each touch, each delicate feel of her beneath him. She coiled one hand in his hair while the other slipped around his back, pressing him down to her.

  Hank heard a moan, and wasn’t certain whether it was his or hers. It was burned away in his need for her. They kissed with a fierceness that took them both by surprise. Shadoe opened her lips for his exploration, she lifted her chin, exposing the sensitive areas of her neck. One hand, beneath his jacket, slid over his chest, fingers exploring with need and a white-hot desire that made her burn with longing for him.

  Hank shrugged out of his jacket and his arms went around her, pulling her against him as he settled on the bed beside her. Her hair spilled over his arm as she clung to him, and he ran his fingers through it and thought of silk and water. His fingers tightened, bringing her head back so that he could look into her eyes. For what, he couldn’t have said. But he saw it there, at last, a need for him as great as that he felt for her.

  Shadoe stared into his eyes and felt a twist of desire that was almost painful. Never in her life had she wanted anything more than to feel Hank’s hands on her, to know him completely and totally as a man. The terror of the dream, the hurt and anguish of the past, she pushed all of it aside. His fingers were at the buttons of her blouse while she wo
rked his own shirt free. They tugged at each other’s clothes with a need that was more than desperate. For twenty years they had denied themselves this moment, and neither could wait any longer.

  As Shadoe peeled his shirt down his arms, Hank managed to stand and kick off his boots. He returned to the bed and pressed her back with his weight. He felt every inch of her beneath him, all softer, rounder than he remembered, but so achingly familiar., “Shadoe,” he whispered in her ear, his voice thick with emotion. He lifted himself so that he could look down at her.

  Shadoe felt the burn of hot tears behind her eyes, but she smiled up into Hank’s face. She could not say that what they were doing was right. She could not say that one or both of them would not regret it. But neither could stop it. They were long past the moment when common sense or logic could save them from each other-or from themselves.

  She reached up and brushed the backs of her fingers against his blond stubble. Her thumb touched his lips, and she felt the kiss he placed upon it, but her eyes were held by his gaze. So dark, so intense. She traced the line of his jaw with her hand, feeling as if she were blind. Each touch, each new sensation made her want to cry out with pleasure.

  He supported his weight with one elbow, while his other hand moved along the contour of her hip, touching, caressing, exploring her leg, moving down the outside to her knee and starting on the slow, tantalizing journey up the inside of her thigh.

  Her breath caught in her throat at the intimacy of his touch, but his hand moved across her abdomen to her belt. His eyes asked her to stop him if she could as his fingers unbuckled her belt, then the snap of her jeans. When she made no protest, he shifted to his knees and grabbed her jeans by the cuffs, pulling them off with one smooth motion.

  Shadoe had to smile at him. Though they had never slept together, they had come close more than once. She had always teased him that he could remove her pants faster than she could herself. “You still have the touch,” she said.

  He stood beside the bed, unbuckled his own jeans and dropped them to the floor. Stepping out of them he stood beside her.

  The fire had burned lower, but the glowing embers cast enough light in the room for Shadoe to see him. Muscles had replaced the lean body of the boy, but when she gazed into his eyes, she saw again the Hank she remembered. She lifted her arms to him, and he sank down on the bed beside her.

  He kissed her slowly, rolling on top of her, tantalizing her with tiny touches, a kiss that started at her neck and moved slowly to her chest. He worked the clasp of her bra, sliding it from her shoulders with hands that hugged and caressed each inch of her.

  With one finger he drew a line from the hollow of her throat to her navel.

  “Do you know how many nights I’ve dreamed of this?” he asked.

  She shook her head, unable to trust her voice to answer.

  He kissed her again, this time with more restraint, but Shadoe could wait no longer. She found her fingers pressing into his back, demanding the feel of him on top of her. Her need for him spanned twenty years, and for the moment, she was willing to sacrifice whatever was required for that precious moment of complete unity.

  For Hank, the consequences of the night were like soft whispers at a closed door. He heard them, but he did not listen. He had been in love with Shadoe Deerman from the first day he saw her, walking along the sidewalk and into the grammar school in Athens. She had worn long braids and kneesocks, and she had looked up at him with a solemnness that the other girls had mocked. From that moment, he had lost his heart. The years of separation had only intensified the pleasure of this evening.

  Whatever happened in the dawn, he could not stop himself. He didn’t want to.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Shadoe pulled the quilt more snugly under her chin, lifting it also over Hank’s back. She was curled into his chest, his long, solid arms and legs wrapped around her for warmth. Even as she sighed into the pink light of dawn, she could see her breath frost in front of her. It was cold in the cabin. It was going to be a long, cold walk down to the Double S. Even worse would be getting out of bed, leaving behind the haven of pleasure, and peace, they had found at last.

  She cast her thoughts forward and discovered a mental picture of herself cresting the last swell of land, topping it bathed in golden sunlight to see the ranch below her. Hank stood at her side. The image was neither past nor future, but a fantasy. Still, Shadoe couldn’t suppress a smile as she pressed her forehead against Hank’s chest and listened to the soft rhythm of his heart. Maybe. She pushed the thought away before it could fully form. Fantasies were for young girls.

  They were both tired. They had gone to sleep only an hour or so before dawn. Twenty years of longing and desire had been packed into one night. They had remained awake, touching, until exhaustion had finally demanded that they sleep. Now, the day, with all of the unknowns, stretched before them. But the night that was past had proven beyond a doubt that they were equally matched with passion and desire. Shadoe felt the blush creep up her cheeks as she remembered. It was not often that two living creatures were so perfectly attuned to touch and response. She had never doubted that with Hank, making love would be wonderful. She had not expected it to give her such a feeling of peace and total satisfaction.

  He stirred beside her, and she lifted her face so that she looked into his eyes as he opened them.

  “I was afraid last night was a dream,” he said. He touched her cheek, letting his hand slide down her neck, then along her shoulder and arm, moving finally to her waist and hip. “Nope, you’re flesh and blood.”

  Shadoe had thought she would be shy with him, but there was no awkwardness. Nothing had ever felt more right. “Dawn is breaking.”

  “If I could have a single wish, I’d get us another day, two if I were greedy. Shadoe, we have to work things out between us.”

  She nodded. Could they? Would it actually be possible to find some compromise? “I’d like that, Hank.” She eased slightly away from the warmth of him. They had reached a plateau with their personal feelings. Before they could progress any further, they had to deal with the issues that had brought them back together. “You have to find that wolf before he kills.”

  “Or before someone kills him,” Hank countered. Shadoe’s words reminded him about the wolf and her strange dream. It was a subject he didn’t want to broach, but it had been too powerful to ignore. She had a right to know. “Last night, when you were asleep in the chair. What were you dreaming about?”

  She didn’t have to try to remember. The dream was vivid. All of the wolf dreams were so intense they were unforgettable to her.

  “I was outside dancing and saw movement in the woods. An owl hooted, but instead of a hoot, it called my name. Then one of the young horses began to scream in panic. I knew the wolf was hunting one of the foals, so I went into the woods to find my horse. That was when the wolf appeared. He was there, waiting for me. Stalking me.” Her voice trembled. “And I ran back to the cabin, and he jumped up on the porch.”

  Hank’s hands grasped her shoulders and pulled her close. She could hear his heart, pounding now instead of the gentle rhythm of sleep. “What is it?” she asked, almost afraid to hear his answer.

  “Last night, when I was outside, there was something in the woods.”

  Shadoe knew the truth, almost as if it were inevitable. “He was here, wasn’t he?” This wasn’t possible. They were talking like people who had lost their minds, seeing wolves, reading dreams. Hank started to speak again, and she forced herself to listen.

  “He ran right past me up to the porch. He never made an attempt to harm me at all.” Hank’s voice was hesitant. “Up on the porch, he growled when I tried to approach. Then he left. He’s been watching me, Shadoe. I know that sounds foolish, but it’s true. Almost from the moment I captured him. He’s been keenly aware of me. Not like an ordinary wolf.” He laughed, but it was halfhearted. “Maybe all along he was following me to get to you.”

  Shadoe felt as if a r
ock had lodged in her throat. Hank’s words angered her because they frightened her. “Why would a wolf seek me out?” She looked into his eyes, caught by the sincerity she hadn’t expected to see there. The look tempered her anger considerably. “You know what’s wrong with us? We’re both victims of Jimmy Deerman.” A rueful smile touched her lips. “We grew up on his camp fire stories of animals and magic, warriors and the wilderness. We’re both too susceptible to the idea of that wolf.”

  Hank kissed the top of her head. “That wolf wasn’t an idea. It was flesh and bone, and it behaved in a most peculiar fashion, for a wolf. I have no idea what’s going on, Shadoe, but if we work together on this, maybe we can find out.”

  She nodded. “And we’d better get started. It’s going to be a long, hot walk.”

  The pure light of dawn brought action, but it did not bring the sense of safety and return to normalcy that she had anticipated. They ate the cold casserole and hot coffee for breakfast, taking care to tidy and secure the cabin before they left. Shadoe had no pack, so she went to look for the rifle that was always kept in the cabin. To her surprise it was gone, as were all the shells.

  “I looked when I first came in.” Hank shrugged. “No telling who’s been by here.” He tried to hide his uneasiness. A rifle had been left in the cabin since he was old enough to remember. None of the ranchers who used the place would have taken it, without leaving another to replace it. The gun was left for emergencies, and sometimes, in the mountains, circumstances required a weapon for survival.

  “Let’s head home.” Shadoe closed the door and they stepped off the porch together, stopping to examine the print of a large wolf beside the path.

  “It wasn’t a dream,” Shadoe said softly.

  “No.” Hank took her arm. It hadn’t been a dream at all, and that was what worried him.

  They walked steadily, pausing for water from the canteen or some of the dried fruit Shadoe had raided from the pantry. Then they walked on. They spoke of the past, of small incidents that were neither too joyful nor too painful. The secret pleasure of the night was between them, filling the soft silences that occasionally fell as they struggled up a steep incline or sat, exhausted, to rest.