scornful expression crossed his
face and he gazed off in the direction of the pen.
"Don't ignore me. You don't
know what I could have done."
To her surprise, he answered with a
sorrowful groan. Dana turned to follow his gaze and her heart sank to her toes.
The dogs were gone.
Chapter Ten
The seeming invincibility of the
wer-wolf comes from the alchemization process. When this craven beast is
wounded in either human or wolfish form, the act of transformation brings
instant healing. Thus, all traces of former action is lost. What this means,
brave hunter, is one never knows who is the beast among us. The deadly and
cowardly creature that slinks into the woods with your bullet in its flank at
night may yet walk with you hale and hearty come the morn.
Dana lifted her eyes from the page,
beginning to think she'd be spending the rest of her life huddled under the
blankets of the narrow bed she now called home. Wind again battered the eaves,
snow beat against the windows, and she missed New Mexico like crazy.
Although she saw it pained him to
do so, Morgan had insisted on pulling on his boots without her help, and when
she offered to help find the dogs, he gruffly ordered her to carry wood inside
so they wouldn't freeze during the storm. Although still angry, she had seen
the wisdom of his suggestion. Besides, Morgan wouldn't have failed to secure
the latch if she hadn't been chasing the helicopter.
Alternating between bitterness and
remorse, and heartbroken at failing to catch the attention of the helicopter,
she'd done as he asked. After she'd stacked the wood and fed the fire, she'd
wandered around the cabin at loose ends until she finally picked up the book.
Likewise, a beast injured while in human
form heals instantly after passing through the fires of alchemization. The neighbor
limping at noontide from a stubbed toe will move freely and easily ere the
night passes. Watch for these clues, so as not to be taken unawares. Many a
dismayed hunter upon finally slaying the beast has soon gazed upon the face of
a loved one. A husband, a wife, a lover, a friend. Yeah, even a parent or
child.
The door burst open, bringing
Morgan and a flurry of snow. Dana's hand flew to her heart. He dropped his
snowshoes beneath the pegged rack and seemed not to notice that he'd frightened
her.
"Did you find them?" Dana
asked, after recovering from her start.
He headed for the mat without
answering, his boots thudding ominously with each step. Snowflakes still clung
to his beard and he knocked them away fiercely, his entire demeanor bristling
with outrage.
"All but Fenris." He
lowered onto the stool.
"Do you think he'll survive
the storm?" Dana blinked back tears. If that sweet dog died, she could
blame no one but herself. Nor could Morgan.
"Hard to say." But the
crease between his eyes had deepened to a chasm. He glanced at the blaze in the
fireplace. "At least you stoked the fire."
At least.
Never in her life had Dana felt
incompetent. She'd always scorn women who couldn't change a tire, carry wood,
or even shovel snow from a walkway. Now she felt an unwelcome sisterhood.
"I'm so sorry." A tear
fell over her lower lashes. Twice in one day. Dear Lord, she was even beginning
to be as weepy as they were.
"Don't cry," Morgan barked.
"It won't change anything."
She nodded and sank deeper into her
blankets. Her head ached and her stomach rumbled. The storm raging at the cabin
walls seemed even harsher than the one before. All was dark out side, and Dana
had no idea what time it was. Her stomach growled again, more loudly this time.
"I'll get you some stew soon
as I'm done," Morgan said.
"You don't have to wait on
me."
He bent to remove his boots, and
Dana remembered his frostbitten feet. She threw off the blankets and climbed
from the bed.
"I'll heat some water for your
feet. I should have done it while you were—"
"That isn't necessary."
"Yes, yes it is. You're a
doctor, you should know that." She
face and he gazed off in the direction of the pen.
"Don't ignore me. You don't
know what I could have done."
To her surprise, he answered with a
sorrowful groan. Dana turned to follow his gaze and her heart sank to her toes.
The dogs were gone.
Chapter Ten
The seeming invincibility of the
wer-wolf comes from the alchemization process. When this craven beast is
wounded in either human or wolfish form, the act of transformation brings
instant healing. Thus, all traces of former action is lost. What this means,
brave hunter, is one never knows who is the beast among us. The deadly and
cowardly creature that slinks into the woods with your bullet in its flank at
night may yet walk with you hale and hearty come the morn.
Dana lifted her eyes from the page,
beginning to think she'd be spending the rest of her life huddled under the
blankets of the narrow bed she now called home. Wind again battered the eaves,
snow beat against the windows, and she missed New Mexico like crazy.
Although she saw it pained him to
do so, Morgan had insisted on pulling on his boots without her help, and when
she offered to help find the dogs, he gruffly ordered her to carry wood inside
so they wouldn't freeze during the storm. Although still angry, she had seen
the wisdom of his suggestion. Besides, Morgan wouldn't have failed to secure
the latch if she hadn't been chasing the helicopter.
Alternating between bitterness and
remorse, and heartbroken at failing to catch the attention of the helicopter,
she'd done as he asked. After she'd stacked the wood and fed the fire, she'd
wandered around the cabin at loose ends until she finally picked up the book.
Likewise, a beast injured while in human
form heals instantly after passing through the fires of alchemization. The neighbor
limping at noontide from a stubbed toe will move freely and easily ere the
night passes. Watch for these clues, so as not to be taken unawares. Many a
dismayed hunter upon finally slaying the beast has soon gazed upon the face of
a loved one. A husband, a wife, a lover, a friend. Yeah, even a parent or
child.
The door burst open, bringing
Morgan and a flurry of snow. Dana's hand flew to her heart. He dropped his
snowshoes beneath the pegged rack and seemed not to notice that he'd frightened
her.
"Did you find them?" Dana
asked, after recovering from her start.
He headed for the mat without
answering, his boots thudding ominously with each step. Snowflakes still clung
to his beard and he knocked them away fiercely, his entire demeanor bristling
with outrage.
"All but Fenris." He
lowered onto the stool.
"Do you think he'll survive
the storm?" Dana blinked back tears. If that sweet dog died, she could
blame no one but herself. Nor could Morgan.
"Hard to say." But the
crease between his eyes had deepened to a chasm. He glanced at the blaze in the
fireplace. "At least you stoked the fire."
At least.
Never in her life had Dana felt
incompetent. She'd always scorn women who couldn't change a tire, carry wood,
or even shovel snow from a walkway. Now she felt an unwelcome sisterhood.
"I'm so sorry." A tear
fell over her lower lashes. Twice in one day. Dear Lord, she was even beginning
to be as weepy as they were.
"Don't cry," Morgan barked.
"It won't change anything."
She nodded and sank deeper into her
blankets. Her head ached and her stomach rumbled. The storm raging at the cabin
walls seemed even harsher than the one before. All was dark out side, and Dana
had no idea what time it was. Her stomach growled again, more loudly this time.
"I'll get you some stew soon
as I'm done," Morgan said.
"You don't have to wait on
me."
He bent to remove his boots, and
Dana remembered his frostbitten feet. She threw off the blankets and climbed
from the bed.
"I'll heat some water for your
feet. I should have done it while you were—"
"That isn't necessary."
"Yes, yes it is. You're a
doctor, you should know that." She
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