Stroke of Midnight (Nightcreature #1.5)(81)

I picked up the headphones I always wore when writing. Listening to instrumental music kept out the real world and helped me focus on the fantasy one. Or at least it used to. Lately, I'd found myself hearing the music and not the magic.

Tossing the headphones onto the desk, I left the laptop behind, drawn again to the window. Tinged the shade of fresh blood, the moon made me uneasy. Was it an omen?

I snorted and rubbed my arms against the spreading chill of the night. Despite what I'd believed about Arizona, evenings were cool in the northern part of the state, at times reminiscent of the biting wind that blew off Lake Michigan even in the summer. I was used to cold, but that didn't mean I liked it.

A flicker of white in the night made me lean closer to the window. For an instant I thought I saw my own reflection, until the apparition on the other side of the glass grinned, exposing long, crooked, yellowing teeth that weren't my own.

I blinked and the face was gone. I couldn't breathe. Had that been my imagination or…

I glanced at the door, trying to remember if I'd locked it. The knob rattled, but didn't turn, answering both my questions. Not my imagination and I had locked the door. A better question might be: Why in hell hadn't I brought a gun?

Because I couldn't carry one on the plane. And that was good. That was right. But I'd give unimaginable amounts of money for the weight of a Glock in my hand.

Backing away, I worried the window might shatter, and then what would I do? I grabbed the fireplace poker and held up the iron rod like a bat.

The knob rattled again. "Who is it?" I shouted. "What do you want?"

A scratching came at the door, followed by pathetic, doglike whining. While what I'd seen through the glass hadn't looked completely human, the face hadn't been canine, either.

I crept closer to the door, heard a whisper, as faint as the trees rustling in the breeze, a word I couldn't quite make out. I was drawn closer and closer. I reached for the knob. The chill of the brass made me straighten and snatch back my hand.

"Uh-uh," I muttered. "I saw that movie."

As well as every other teen scream flick boasting an idiot heroine who opened the door and went outside, or down into the basement, maybe up the steps into the attic, where she met her horrific and bloody doom.

"I'll just stay in here with my cell phone and my fireplace poker, thank you."

As a kid, I wasn't supposed to watch those movies. But whenever my dad had been at work, my brothers had ruled, and they'd loved them.

An uneasy glance around the room and my eyes lit on my cell phone. I could call someone, but who? My family was thousands of miles away. Nine-one-one wasn't an option in this neck of the woods. I could dial the nearest sheriff's office, but what would I say?

I'd seen a face, heard a whisper. By the time the authorities arrived, whatever had been on the other side of my log-cabin walls would be gone.

I pulled a chair into the middle of the room and sat where I could see both the window and the door—for the rest of the night.

Morning came, along with my sanity. I couldn't have seen a face. Even if I had, it was probably some kid playing a joke. I refused to consider what a kid would be doing so far out in the wilderness. Right now, I didn't know what I was doing here.

Opening the door to bright sunshine, I kept the fireplace poker in hand. Just because idiot heroines got killed in the dark didn't mean I wouldn't get killed in the daytime. Still, I couldn't sit in the cabin forever, as much as I might like to.

I walked around to the window, knelt and discovered the clear impression of a man's bare feet in the dirt.

The prints led to the front door, then across the yard toward the woods. At the edge of the clearing they mixed with the wolf tracks that had become more abundant with every passing night.

How did I know they were the tracks of a wolf? Because no dog I'd ever met had feet that big.

I knelt again, touched my fingers to the dirt, which appeared damp, though it hadn't rained. When I lifted my hand, my skin was tinged with mud the shade of the moon I'd seen last night.

I stared at it for several beats of my heart before I understood that the earth beneath my sneakers was awash in blood.





CHAPTER 2


? ^ ?

A hair-raising growl made me slowly lift my head. I came nose to snout with a black wolf. His lips were pulled back, exposing sharp, discolored teeth. There was something odd about the eyes, but I couldn't figure out what.

I had a hard time thinking straight, even before his breath washed over me, bringing the scent of meat. I fought the gagging reflex. Right now I really shouldn't move.

I tried to remember every tidbit of information I'd read about wild animals. What to do? What to do?

Was I supposed to play dead? No, that was for a bear.

Run? That was for animals unable to catch me, of which there were very few.

Wolves? The old memory banks were as empty as the pages of my next book.

Suddenly the beast snarled and I shrank back. I was going to die. I should close my eyes, but they seemed glued wide open.

Instead of tearing off my nose, the wolf swung his head to the side, his eyes narrowed at a spot behind me.

"Down!" a voice shouted.

My inertia fled and my face hit the dirt. A gunshot exploded above me. My ear pressed to the earth, I heard paws scrambling, feet pounding. I could see nothing, because at last I'd closed my eyes, and now I couldn't get them open.