The Hunter's Moon (The Secret Warrior Series) by Beth Trissel Page B

shrill, the monstrous dragon was in a dive—right at them.
    No time to think. Only act. Morgan grabbed the bow he’d laid down and sprang to her feet. Grasping the bow handle, she fit the arrow on the string. Arm outstretched, she drew back the string and took aim.
    Now! directed a voice in her head.
    She let the missal fly straight into the breast of the oncoming predator. Her arrow sank up to the feathered hilt.
    A furious shriek rent the air. The harsh cry reverberated in her ears. Wings whirling, talons grasping, the great bird spun in a downward spiral.
    “Watch out!” Jackson knocked Morgan onto the boards.
    Throwing himself over her, he used his body to shield her from the outstretched claws. She lay winded and gasping beneath him. Somewhere in between sighting the bird and her shooting it, he’d changed back to his human form.
    He tensed and a wince escaped him. A tremor shuddered through his body. The bird must’ve caught him as it plummeted. He might heal fast, but those talons were razor sharp. She cringed at the mental image of the damage they may have inflicted.
    A blur of feathers caught her eye from where she lay, still protected by Jackson. Then the winged menace bounced off the platform. Branches snapped as it crashed through the tree, before hitting the ground. Hard. It shook beneath them from the impact. Then everything was still, except for a groan from Jackson.
    “You all right?” He rolled off of her and sat up. Blood trickled down his side where his leather coat was torn. A slice had opened his flesh.
    “I’m fine. What about you? Shouldn’t that have stitches?” she whispered.
    He gingerly fingered his side. “Bandages will do, and one of Grandma Miriam’s salves.”
    “Is the creature dead?” She was afraid to look.
    “Appears that way.”
    Trembling from head to toe, she stared at the huge form sprawled on the forest floor, then returned her scrutiny to him. “That tear’s gonna take some mending, as are you.”
    “Don’t worry about me or the coat. Way to go, wolf girl. You saved us both.”
    “Is that your new name for me?”
    “Where else do you think you got the strength to fire off that shot?”
    “Oh.” A tingle accompanied her realization of the source she’d tapped into. “Dang—the Ice Queen.”
    Before she could say or do anything else, the lodge door swung open and whoops sounded. Jimmy and Hawthorne charged outside, leaping like loons, and followed by both men. Behind them, came the women.
    Jimmy flung up his arms, dancing in a circle. “You got him, Jackson!”
    “Nope! Morgan did.”
    “No way!” Jimmy argued.
    “Yes way!” she tossed back, still unable to grasp it herself, and not surprised at the shock circling the assembly.
    “Did I not say you possessed more power than you knew?”
    She glanced down at the figure that had materialized in the shadows beneath the tree. Okema.
    A thought occurred. “You knew what would happen when Jackson and I came up here, didn’t you?”
    “I did.”
    “It was quite a risk to take. What if I’d missed?”
    “Who told you to fire?” he asked, quietly.
    “That was you?”
    “And when you drove the car off the cliff?”
    She remembered the voice urging her over the side.
    “What color is your wolf, Morgan Daniel?”
    “White.” The impact of the meaning struck her. “Like yours. Like Jackson’s will be.”
    “Yes. No one else has this color. None ever have.”

Chapter Twelve
    Not Alone in These Woods
    Clear water rippled past Morgan, nature’s lullaby. She savored the thirst-quenching drink from the cold stream, the best water she’d ever tasted. The spiciness of mitten-shaped sassafras leaves mingled with the earthy scent of crumbling leaves and living plants. Cool breezes fanned her cheeks, still heated from the hike. She splashed her face and blotted her skin on the handkerchief Miriam had given her.
    With a contented sigh, she leaned back on the bank. Her bow rested beside her. While Hawthorne and