MOONLIGHT LEGACY Read online

  She wanted to listen to the beating of her heart, to feel the kiss of cool air against her flushed skin, to become one with the forest and all of its inhabitants and to run freely…

  The sounds of dried leaves being crumpled underfoot brought her to a screeching stop. She snapped her head around searching the darkness, inhaling deeply to identify the new threat.

  Men.

  She smelled the scent of humans.

  There were several men coming toward her, making enough noise in the underbrush to wake every living creature for miles around, she thought wryly. It amazed her that she'd never noticed before how clumsy human movements could be. They could never hope to move with the accomplished ease and speed she now had.

  "What the hell…"

  She didn't wait around to hear more. She took off, catching a mere glimpse of pale blurs in the darkness as two other men spilled out of the underbrush.

  "That ain't no Goddamn wolf."

  "What the hell kind of beast is it?"

  "That thing ain't black, it's pure white. Look at its eyes. It's a goddamn demon is what it is. It ain't natural, I tell you."

  "Somebody shoot it."

  "Hurry, Sheriff, it's getting away!"

  The voices rose in a cacophony of noise that assailed her sensitive hearing, and then a shot rang out. She felt the impact of something hitting her in the back. For a moment she faltered, hardly able to comprehend that she'd been shot.

  But then she recovered and kept going. She felt as if somebody had lit a match beneath the skin of her upper back, but she tried to ignore the pain as she dodged and flitted past dark, giant oak trees that had stood guard over the woods for centuries.

  Immortality. The word resounded in her ears as she worked hard to keep ahead of the alarmed voices, and thumping sounds of the men's feet against the forest floor.

  She could smell their fear, but they kept coming after her.

  Stupid men. Didn't they realize they could never catch her?

  She was at least a half a mile away from them, yet she could still hear them. It absolutely astounded her despite the seriousness of her situation. Every time she changed it seemed to somehow sharpen and shape her senses even more than the night before.

  Miranda relaxed and slowed down to a steady lope, heading toward the spot where she'd left her clothes. She was confident they would never catch her, not in a hundred years. They were just too damn slow…too slow and inept to keep up with someone like her.

  Dear God no, she thought as she curled her hand against her mouth at the turn her thoughts had taken. What was she thinking?

  She was human too.

  Fear and disgust washed over her in cold, dark waves. She was beginning to think the same way as Drake. Her chin jutted out determinedly. No, she wouldn't allow him to influence her thinking.

  As she neared the place where she had left her clothes, she felt the transformation begin to reverse. The first sign was the increased burning sensation in her back. Suddenly, it felt as if someone had jabbed a red-hot poker beneath her skin.

  Miranda gasped in agony as she stumbled toward the rotted log. It was all she could do to get her jeans on and struggle into her shirt. She didn't bother with her undergarments; instead she stuffed them into her pocket, because now the pain had become almost unbearable.

  She had to get to Hadden…he'd take the bullet out…he'd help her. He wouldn't let the hunters take her.

  She staggered back alone the path to her house, barely aware of the pink stain of dawn making its way over the mountaintops. With each step she took, it became more difficult for her to breathe. Her vision became hazy, and she'd stopped hearing anything but the frantic beat of her own heart long ago.

  She bumped into something warm and solid and looked up in bewilderment. Relief rushed over her. "Hadden…" she whispered, and then she slipped over the edge into warm darkness.

  Chapter 7

  * * *

  Hadden's features twisted painfully, and his heart skipped a beat as he looked down at the unconscious form of the woman he loved, and saw the brilliant red color blossoming across the back of her blouse.

  "Dear Lord," Steven breathed, his eyes wide with concern. "Somebody shot her."

  Hadden glanced around frantically to make sure nobody was following her up the path. "Come on. Let's get her inside before somebody sees her." He scooped her up and hugged her tight against his chest as he hurried into the house.

  His chest hurt, and he felt like somebody had punched him in the throat. This was all his fault. If he'd just tried a little harder to keep her contained, the thing he'd feared most wouldn't have happened, he thought as he laid her face down on her bed. The sheriff had done exactly as he had said he would. He could only hope that the damage was minimal, but it didn't look good. He took her pulse; it was faint and erratic.

  Hadden grabbed his bag from the nightstand and took a scalpel in hand. With one smooth motion, he sliced the blouse down the middle, and both sides fell neatly to the sides leaving the smooth soft white expanse of her skin open to his gaze.

  He sucked in his breath at the sight of an angry looking hole centered between her shoulder blades. He knew without a doubt that the bullet still had to be inside of her, because he saw no sign of an exit wound. His thoughts raced as he tried to think about what kind of damage it could have done.

  Goddammit. He needed a hospital, nurses and an x-ray machine. But if he took her to the county hospital, they'd have to file a police report, and right now that would bring too much attention to Miranda. He could take her to the clinic, but he couldn't think of a way he could get her into town without somebody seeing them and coming to investigate.

  No, there was only way one to handle this. Hadden had known it since she'd fallen into his arms. He had no other choice if he wanted her to have a chance to live.

  "Get me some towels and hot water, Steven," he ordered, throwing off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

  Steven grabbed his arm. "Are you insane? You don't mean to try and dig that bullet out of her back out here, do you?"

  "I have no other choice. I can't risk taking her to the hospital or clinic; there would be too many questions we can't answer."

  "My God, what if she dies?"

  Hadden gave him a hard stare. "She's not going to die. Now go get me what I need, and stay back so I can work." He sounded more confident than he really felt, but too much was at stake for him to let Steven rattle him.

  He looked down at Miranda, his throat closing painfully at the thought of losing her. It was hard to believe that a few days ago they were happily looking forward to being married, anticipating a long life together. Now, here she lay in front of him with a bullet in her back, fighting for her life.

  Hadden would have given anything in that very moment to turn back time, to make things the way they used to be. But there was no going back. It was too late for that now.

  * * *

  It took only a matter of minutes to prepare the room and get Miranda ready for surgery, minutes that seemed like hours to him, but he had to take every precaution in making sure everything was as sterile as possible.

  Hadden felt a bit like those doctors from a hundred years ago, who had thought nothing of performing surgery in the back room of the patient's home, with little more than a dirty knife and a bottle of booze.

  The only difference being this particular doctor happens to be in love with the patient, he thought, sweeping her moonlight colored hair out of the way so he could begin.

  Luckily, he had some morphine with him. It had been for one of his terminally ill patients, bedridden in his home. The man refused to be moved to a hospital, despite his family urging him to do so. Hadden respected his decision, although he disagreed with it.

  But he also believed a man had the right to choose where he wanted to die. Hadden made periodic visits to check on James, and leave him medicine to fight the pain.

  There were times he wished he could do more. Hadden looked down a
t Miranda, and wished it was in his power to give Miranda such a choice over her life…not in a matter of where to die, no…but what she wanted to be…human or werewolf. But then again was it what he really wanted for her? Wasn't he really more afraid she might choose her legacy of blood and death instead of him?

  He could already see how torn she was between the two different worlds, and his deepest fear was that he would lose her to the dark side of her nature.

  He inhaled deeply, exchanged a glance with Steven and took up a scalpel. "Okay, here we go. Start praying, Steven, 'cause we're going to need all the prayers we can get right about now."

  Steven's features had a grayish cast to them, but he said nothing, only nodding in response.

  Hadden went to make the first cut into her flesh when it happened. At first, he didn't understand what was going on. The very flesh of her back seemed to be moving, undulating slowly in tiny ripples and then growing stronger. Hadden felt a tightening in his spine, a growing apprehension rapidly turning into fear for Miranda.

  "What's happening?" Steven asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

  "I don't have any idea," Hadden muttered. He could feel the sweat breaking out on his upper lip. He'd never seen anything like it in his entire medical career. Miranda's body was actually rejecting the bullet.

  It was the only explanation he could come up with that made any sense. He watched the contortions of her flesh until at last, he caught a glimpse of black in the wound site, and then he reached down and picked out the spent shell. He tried not to think about the impossibility of what he'd just witnessed for fear it would lead to madness.

  He hurriedly cleaned the wound, bandaged it, and then with Steven's help got her into a fresh nightgown. By the time they were finished she seemed to be sleeping comfortably.

  Neither of the men said a word, until Hadden walked with Steven to the front door.

  Steven, his hand on the doorknob, looked at his best friend with a troubled expression. "Hadden, what just happened in there?"

  "Spontaneous remission," Hadden replied without thinking.

  "I had no idea…" Steven began.

  "Me either, and I don't want to know," Hadden said, cutting him off abruptly. He had no intention of rehashing what had occurred last night, or for that matter, any other night. It went beyond logic and science, and straight into the unknown. A place he dared not venture, at least for now. "Don't get me wrong, Steven," he continued at the hurt expression on his friend's face. "I'm only too glad it did happen, because to be honest, I'm not sure I could have removed the bullet successfully. Hell, you were right when you said she could have died. I could easily have killed her without the proper medical equipment." He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead wearily. "There's so much I still need to know about this werewolf business to be able to help Miranda."

  Steven studied him thoughtfully for a moment. "I think you would do almost anything to save Miranda's life, Hadden. If she had died in there, it wouldn't have been because you didn't try to do everything in your power to save her." He paused for a moment. "I'm going back to town, and I'll see if I can dig up something more about werewolves. Soon as I find something I'll let you know." He slapped his friend on the back. "Get some sleep, Hadden. You looked like something my cat dragged in, and then decided he didn't want after all."

  Hadden tried to smile, but he couldn't. It had been over twenty-four hours since he'd last slept. He was too damned tired to do anything; even thinking was beyond him at the moment.

  After Steven left, he wandered back into the bedroom, took off his shoes, and slipped in beside Miranda. She let out a tiny moan and snuggled up against him. He brushed his lips across her forehead, cradling her in the crook of his body, as if to protect her from the horrors of the coming night.

  * * *

  Steven stuck the key into the lock on his front door, but to his surprise, the door swung open before he turned it. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he realized somebody had broken into his house.

  Cautiously, he edged inside and listened to the heavy silence. Maybe the thief had come and gone, and he was just being ridiculous. But something inside him said differently, and warned him of danger. The sound of a crash in his study jolted him, and he considered racing back outside and going for the sheriff. But then he decided against it. This was his house and he could handle this particular situation. Wasn't he trained to counsel troubled minds?

  His stomach cramped in fear as he crept forward and pushed open the study door. His gut contracted violently at the sight of a man sitting in his chair, his feet on the desk. He wore a black turtleneck and black trousers, which added to the aura of menace that surrounded him.

  The study was in shambles. Books were ripped off the shelves, with pages torn out of most of them, and they lay scattered on the carpet.

  The man stood up, his green eyes glittered with amusement. "Reverend Steven Gant, I presume?"

  Steven stepped back uneasily. "You presume right. Now, if you don't mind I'd like to know who you are, and why you broke into my house and destroyed my study?"

  "I think you can guess who I am, Reverend, if you will but try to use that puny brain of yours."

  Steven gasped, shock pouring through him. "You're the other werewolf. Oh sweet Jesus, why are you here? What in Heaven's name do you want from me?"

  "Good for you," the werewolf said. "You're smarter than I gave you credit for, so I will tell you my name." He bowed slightly, and smiled an evil smile. "Drake Guignard, at your service."

  Steven gathered his courage around him and sent up a silent prayer for protection. "That's all very well and good, but you still haven't told me why you've broke into my house and destroyed my property?"

  Rage flickered in Drake's eyes. "Your books offend me just as your profession offends me." He swept his arm out. "These books are filled with nonsense and lies. Fairy tales and myths your kind have told about us for centuries."

  "That is your opinion," Steven stated quietly. "But that still doesn't tell me why you broke into my home. Why are you here?"

  Drake, his face hard and cold, slammed his fists down on the desk, cracking its shiny veneer. "Yes, my opinion. The only one that matters, Reverend. Your kind never changes…do they, Reverend? The church is still as corrupt as it was five hundred years ago. The very epitome of evil."

  Steven kept his features impassive, determined not to show his fear and uncertainty to the supernatural creature he faced. "So you came here just to destroy my library?"

  "Of course not, you bloody fool," he sneered. "I came here to leave you with a warning."

  "A warning? What kind of warning?"

  "Stay away from Miranda."

  Steven gave him a puzzled glance. "Why should you care if I see Miranda? Are you afraid that I can help her somehow through the information I find in these books? Miranda is my friend."

  A dark frown gathered on Drake's brow, and his eyes blazed with green fire. "Silence! I fear nothing, especially not a member of the church. But you will do well to take my warning to heart, friend or not. Do not interfere with my plans for Miranda, not if you value your existence."

  And then he was gone, and Steven was alone. He sucked in a shuddering breath. If Drake had been trying to scare him, he had to admit the werewolf had succeeded. But afraid or not, he wouldn't desert his friends when they needed him so desperately. His gaze took in the wrecked room. Somewhere in this mess lay the answers to Miranda's predicament, and he wouldn't stop until he found it…threat or no threat.

  * * *

  Miranda came awake with a start. She sat bolt upright and gasped. The room was layered with varying shades of darkness because of the boarded up windows, but she knew it had to be late afternoon.

  She glanced over at Hadden. She could see the shadow of a beard forming on his jaw and the gray circles beneath his closed eyelids. A sense of guilt flooded through her at how much he was willing to go through for her.

  She lovingly traced a fi
nger down the side of his face, and thought about her birth father. Had he loved her birth mother so much that it hadn't mattered to him about who or what she was? The way Hadden professed to love her? Would Hadden still claim to love her, even if he could not find some miracle cure to save her? Perhaps it was just as well that she didn't know.

  She got up without waking Hadden and went to take a shower. While still in the shower, a dripping wet bandage fell from her back and covered the drain. She picked it up hesitantly, remembering the events of last night with a startling clarity.

  She had been shot.

  She hurried out of the shower and examined her back in the wide vanity mirror. She let out a gasp as she realized not even a scar remained to show where the bullet had pierced her skin. So Drake was right about the immortality. She probably should have been delighted by her discovery, but she couldn't help thinking that it was only one more thing standing between Hadden and her.

  Anger welled up inside her as she jerked on her robe. Dammit, she didn't want to live forever. She wanted a normal life as Hadden's wife with a couple of kids to complete the picture. She wanted to live the normal human span of time, and when the time to die came, to be buried beside the man she'd lived with and loved most of her life.

  But it didn't matter what she wanted. She had to deal with the cards fate had dealt her, sorry hand though it was. What a waste.

  To escape from her gloomy thoughts, Miranda wandered into the kitchen. She was starving, but the thought of her normal breakfast of toast and coffee made her feel nauseated. She thought about what Drake had said last night about Damaina, and went into the living room to get her mother's journal.

  She sat down in the easy chair, curling her legs under her and began to read. Instantly, she was caught up in another time and place.

  January 10, 1920

  I hate more than anything to leave Damaina. It's been the only home I've ever known, but I must if I want to be with the man I love. No one in Damaina will accept a human here except for a few who are afraid to speak out against the ones who regard humans as nothing but meat.