MOONLIGHT LEGACY Page 17

  Did she even have the right to bring the poor child back into the light? And what if the cure was worse than the affliction? It was entirely possible the girl would die from the herbs; it had happened before. It could happen again. The herbal concoction had ingredients long extinct. The same formula had passed from generation to generation, the reason why, lost in the misty annals of time. It didn't matter anyway.

  Would the mixture work after all these years? Could it do what her mother had sworn it could do? The questions swirled in her head until she felt dizzy and more confused than ever. What to do? That was the most important question, she thought, staring down at the tiny bag in her hand. Her withered mouth firmed into a hard line.

  Judas Priest, she was old, but she damn well wasn't dead. She still knew a trick or two, and if that young woman needed her help that badly, well, then, so be it. She also knew, from experience, that when a haunt got into the mix, she'd have no rest until she'd at least tried to attempt what it wanted her to do. Ghosts didn't accept feeble excuses. Especially when it came to the well being of someone they loved. She would offer her help to the girl, and then it would be Miranda's choice. Somehow the young woman would have to find an extraordinary inner strength to face the devils that tormented her and survive.

  Mind made up, she called out to her daughter.

  A few seconds later, Elaine lurched out of her bedroom, an alarmed look on her face. "Mother, are you sick? Do you need a doctor?"

  Her mother grabbed her cane in one hand, and waved an impatient hand at her daughter with the other. "I ain't kicked the old bucket yet, if that's what you mean. No, I'm fine, but you and I are going to take a trip."

  Bewildered, Elaine rubbed at her eyes. "A trip? My Lord, Mother, it's the middle of the night. You can't possibly mean to go anywhere at this hour; most folks are asleep, safe and sound in their beds. Where you and I should be right now, I might add. Whatever it is, it can wait until morning."

  Elaine's mother gave her a hard stare. "This can't wait. We have to go to Damaina now…tonight, before it's too late."

  "But why, Mother?" Elaine asked. Then her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "This has something to do with that young doctor and his girl friend, doesn't it? Mother, please, just leave it alone."

  "I can't do that," Mary Ellen said. She sighed, "Elaine, its best you know as little as possible about what is happening with that young woman. Just get me to Damaina in one piece and leave the rest to me."

  Chapter 15

  * * *

  "I can't believe I'm doing this," Steven muttered as he stepped inside the short, squat building that housed the jail.

  Pete was skipping through the pages of a girlie magazine, his feet propped on the paper-littered desk. He looked up at Steven's entrance, and then jumped up with a guilty start when he saw who it was.

  "Interesting reading?" Steven asked, trying hard not to laugh at how the boy reacted to his innocent question.

  "No…yes. I mean…" Pete stammered, his face reddening as he shoved the magazine into a drawer. "Uh…what can I do for you, Reverend? The sheriff's not here right now."

  Steven smiled. "I need to make a withdrawal."

  The young man gave him a puzzled glance. "A withdrawal? Reverend, have you been drinking? This ain't the bank. Anyway, you'll have to wait until morning to make a withdrawal from the bank, unless you got one of them bank cards."

  Steven sighed and sent up a silent prayer for forgiveness before he pulled Hadden's gun out of his coat pocket. He held it gingerly as he leveled it at Pete.

  "No, son, you don't understand, I'm withdrawing Doctor McNeal from your jail."

  The deputy's eyes went round with shock and disbelief. "Oh Lord," he breathed. "You can't do that, Reverend."

  "Why not?"

  "Because it ain't a proper thing for a preacher man to do, that's why." Pete leaned over the desk. "What will people say when they find out their preacher broke a man out of jail?"

  Steven grinned. "Don't know, guess we will find out tomorrow." He gestured toward the back rooms with the gun. "Now, if you please, Pete, the keys. I'm sure my friend grows more impatient with each passing minute."

  The keys jangled as Pete scooped them off the desk. "Oh Lordy, the sheriff is gonna skin me alive for this," he groaned, as he led the gun-toting man of God into the back.

  Hadden leapt to his feet, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of Steven and the gun he held on the deputy. "What the hell took you so long?"

  Steven lifted one brow in surprise. "It's not like I participate in a jail break everyday, Hadden. Anyway, how did you know I would come for you?"

  Hadden shrugged as the deputy swung open the cell door. "I would have done the same for you." He shoved the deputy inside the cell and shut the door, the metal door rattling as he locked it. "You'll be okay, Petey, until the sheriff gets back to let you out. Come on, Steven, we don't have much time left."

  * * *

  Miranda reached over and turned off the radio with a weary sigh. The last couple of hours seemed to blur into unreality, until now she wasn't sure what was real and what was imagined. The frantic journey through the shadowy landscape of trees, and the tormenting hunger that gnawed at her insides, was something she remembered clearly, but it was after they reached Drake's car that events seemed to take on a fuzzy quality and fade into each other.

  One word. That was all it had taken to revert her back to human form. Incredible. All the suffering and pain she'd endured over these damn transformations, and Drake had simply uttered one nonsensical word, and she'd reverted back to human form almost instantly. How? Silently, she mouthed the word, tasting the miracle of its power. Would it work for her too? She didn't know, but she intended to find out.

  "Tell me about Damaina," she said quietly. She settled back into the plush velour seat of Drake's black sports car and pushed back the wave of dizziness that overcame her.

  Drake glanced at her, one dark brow cocked. "Are you sure you want to know?"

  She pushed back a strand of hair. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."

  Drake's gaze returned to the dark strip of asphalt as he maneuvered the car around yet another steep curve as they climbed higher into the Smoky Mountains. "Where do I start? Perhaps from the beginning?" He gave her a mocking smile. "In the beginning there was God, and God created man…and then he created us for reasons of his own. And now, there is only God and man."

  "I don't understand," she said. "We still exist so why do you say there is only God and man?"

  He gave her an indulgent look. "Because, my dear, once there were many loup-garous, but today we are few in number. No one knows why or how it happened, but somewhere along the way our ability to conceive became almost non-existent. Children are born to us but rarely. When they are born, well, we have a very high mortality rate." He shrugged. "Mix that with an inquisition in Europe, which went on far too long by the way, and you can see why our adult population has followed the same route as our unborn children."

  "And Damaina?"

  "Ah yes…sweet Damaina." Drake smiled. "It is our refuge against a world overpopulated with mortals. A place where we can know peace and live out our lives without fear of persecution." He frowned. "Or it was until now, when we stand divided over this insane issue of killing humans for our needs."

  "Are you at war with each other?"

  "Not in the way you mean. Werewolves don't kill other werewolves. No. It's more of a cold war, but I'm beginning to wonder if it will remain that way. Tempers run high, and I feel it will be only a matter of time before someone breaks the sacred oath, and then all will be lost for us."

  She nodded and when she spoke, her voice was lined with tiny fractures. "What does that have to do with me? Why are you convinced that I can help your kind…our kind?"

  His gaze returned to the highway. "You can do what your mother refused to do—help me to reunite our pack by honoring her marriage contract. The dissenters will have no choice but to drop their ludicrous campaign and
return to our ways once they see that you have fulfilled your mother's obligations."

  She shook her head. "But that's crazy. Why would they honor an agreement that was made years ago?"

  His face became grim. "Because they gave their word, and the word of a loup-garou to another loup-garou is sacred."

  Miranda tilted her head to one side. "And if they decide not to honor it?"

  His jaw hardened. "They will honor it. They have no other recourse but to do what is expected of them. Your presence will bring peace to our people once more, and the threat of combat will be averted for all time. Peace and harmony is what it's all about, my love."

  "That's the damn craziest thing I've ever heard," she burst out. "How can one woman solve your problems after all this time? I just don't understand any of this."

  His expression hardened as he steered the car around a steep curve before he spoke. "The reasons do not concern you at the moment. It isn't necessary that you understand. Later, it will all be explained to you, and you will understand."

  "I want to understand now," she persisted. "This is my life we're talking about. I want to know the reasons why I'm being forced to marry a man I don't love and never will."

  He reached over and grabbed her hair, bringing her cheek close to his mouth. "You will love me in time, I swear to you. And you will help me end the animosity between my people."

  His eyes took on a deep pulsing brilliance, a magnetic pull meant to smother a weaker mind. Like hers, she thought wildly, as she struggled against the iron grip that held her prisoner. Miranda shook her head to scatter the dreamy coercion he was trying to force on her, and then with an inner strength that surprised her, she was able to erect a barrier against his magic. This time it worked. It was fragile, but a barrier nevertheless.

  She blinked back tears of pain as his hold on her long hair tightened; it was almost as if he sensed her newfound defense to hold him at bay. Her stomach churned in painful knots as she turned her head slightly and stared into his eyes. "Don't bet on it, Drake," she said, her voice hoarse with pain. "You'd just lose big time."

  He uttered a curse and let her go as the sound of a siren wailed behind them. He guided the car to the shoulder of the road, amid a clatter of pebbles, and gave her a dark glare. "We will discuss this in more detail at a later time."

  A few seconds later there was a tapping on the window. Drake fixed a pleasant expression on his features and rolled down the glass. "Can I help you, Officer?"

  A tall man with a perpetual squint pushed back his highway patrol cap and slouched into the window. "Clocked you at seventy miles an hour, back there a ways, sir. Need to see your registration and license."

  Drake whipped out the requested paperwork with a broad smile. "I apologize, Officer. I didn't realize I was speeding. It's been a while since I've been home, and I suppose I was anxious to get there."

  The officer gave him a bored look. "If you'll just step out of the car, sir, we can take care of this in a matter of minutes. Then you can be on your way again. This time a bit slower," he added with a pointed look at Drake.

  Drake shook his head. "I don't have time for this nonsense," he muttered. "I have matters far more important to attend."

  The patrolman looked up from the paperwork and gave him an odd look. "What did you say, sir?"

  Drake took a deep breath. "I said that you don't really want to give me a ticket. You made a mistake."

  Miranda gave him a horror-stricken stare, her fingers curling over her mouth as she waited for trouble to erupt.

  Please, God, no more killing…she thought, her heart pounding with dread and despair.

  But to her stunned amazement, the patrolman's lean features became slack, his eyes dull and unresponsive.

  What was Drake doing?

  "Yeah…right," the patrolman said, his voice a monotone. His hand moved woodenly as he handed Drake back his papers. "All a mistake. I'm sorry, sir. Please…have a nice evening."

  Drake nodded, a pleased smile on his lips. "Thank you, Officer, you have a pleasant evening too."

  Miranda waited until the patrolman had returned to his car and driven away before she rounded on Drake, her fury scalding her insides. "You could have done the same thing to the cops back in the woods. You didn't have to kill them, did you? Did you?" she shouted. "I don't understand you. Why did you murder them?"

  The coldness of his gaze made her flinch. "Of course I didn't have to dispense with them."

  "Then why?" she whispered.

  "Because I chose to kill them." He laughed, the evil sound scraping against her ears like the feral clawing of beasts against windswept bones.

  A sob escaped her as his laughter filled the car and she turned away, anger and fear pulsing through her veins. The bitter taste of bile stung her throat. "Stop the car," she moaned, clamping her hand over her mouth as her stomach pitched and heaved with sickness and turmoil.

  Instantly, he yanked the wheel and slid to the shoulder of the road. Without a word, Miranda leapt out and stumbled to a patch of dried grass. Gagging, she sank to her knees and proceeded to be thoroughly sick.

  Panic…real panic. Raw, liquid, and cold, it thrummed through her. She'd been a fool to come with him, she realized with a sickening clarity. She hadn't saved Hadden by her actions; instead she'd condemned him to die. Because she knew he would come after her and nothing short of death would keep him from her side. Dear God, what had she done?

  The memory of Drake slaughtering the sheriff's men floated before her eyes. There had been no remorse—no compassion in the man. How could she convince him to let Hadden go unharmed?

  Hope rose inside her. Perhaps Hadden would not come after her. Maybe for once he'd not be so damn stubborn and just let her go. Tears burned her eyes.

  "Here," Drake said, handing her a handkerchief. "Thought you might need this."

  Miranda took it without a word and then got to her feet on shaky legs.

  He leaned against the sleek black car, his arms crossed in front of him, and studied her for a long moment. "You think me a monster." It wasn't a question.

  She turned away from him, and stared at the dark expanse of trees down below in the valley, the scent of leaf decay, ripe, and too sweet floated up to her, reminding her of the scent of death.

  "Yes, I do," she whispered.

  His fingers bit into her upper arms as he whirled her around to face him. She took a quick startled breath at the anger and primal violence of nature blazing in his eyes. "You have no right to judge me as monster. No right at all. You know nothing about me. My life. My past."

  Miranda struggled to keep her voice calm and steady. "Then tell me, Drake. Help me to understand why you do such horrible things against mortals."

  Drake let her go abruptly and stepped back, the anger and violence she'd glimpsed in his gaze gone for now. "Believe it or not, there was a time I too felt differently about humans. A dozen lifetimes ago, when I was more naive and innocent and still believed that we could coexist with humans peacefully." He laughed harshly and fixed a hard stare on her face. "Surprised?"

  "Yes," Miranda whispered.

  His expression became distant. "Well, it's true. Drake Guignard once felt that fleeting emotion you call compassion. At the time I didn't care about having a full range of paranormal powers or living for an eternity. I only cared about Angelique. Nothing else mattered to me."

  Miranda gave him a stunned look. "Angelique?"

  His eyes went dark with irony. "The woman I once loved. A human who knew nothing of the secret I kept hidden from her."

  "What happened?"

  He shrugged. "One night she followed me into the forest. Two days later, I was arrested and charged as being a witch."

  "The Inquisition," Miranda muttered, unthinking.

  He shot her a mocking smile. "Yes, the infamous Inquisition. Man's greatest triumph over the forces of evil in the world, or so the poor fools believed in France."

  She studied him for a moment. "Obviously, you es
caped, but what happened to Angelique?"

  "Oh, escape was easy enough, but I didn't leave without taking my revenge against the people who made me suffer. I took great pleasure in ending that little worm's life, who'd had the audacity to sentence me to be tortured, and then burned at the stake." He shook his head. "All at the word of one person."

  "Angelique betrayed you."

  "Yes, and she died for her sins." He threw back his head and laughed, sending a chill through Miranda's body. "She told me how much she loved me in one breath, and in the next she betrayed me. You see, my love, I've learned a valuable lesson through the centuries; mankind are the real monsters in society. Not us. We could never hope to duplicate the feats of cruelty they have practiced against us, or their own kind for that matter."

  "You can't let one bad incident color the rest of your life, Drake."

  "One incident?" He gave her an incredulous look. "I can tell you hundred of such stories that are each in themselves more horrific than the last. One incident. No, my sweet…hundreds of incidents played a part in making me who I am today. Humans are nothing, as I told you before. They know how only to lie and cheat to get what they want. They will kill their own kind for greed, jealousy, love…etc. An abomination against their own God. I can only hope your human father hasn't tainted your bloodline."

  "My father wasn't like that, and Hadden's not like that either," she protested. "He's different, he would never hurt anyone." She tossed her hair back. "My God, he's a healer, not a killer."

  "Is he?" Drake mocked. One corner of his mouth turned up in a sneer that sent a shiver down her spine. "We shall see, won't we, when he comes for you."

  "What…what do you mean?" Miranda stammered.

  He stepped forward and raked a cold finger down her cheek. "Surely, you've realized by now that he will come for you. He won't let you go without a fight, and you bloody well know it."