Prologue
September 30,
1981
Tendrils of smoke rose ghostly white against the
night sky like escaping spirits. Two days had passed and the house
had collapsed to one side in a heap of charred beams and ash. No
human could have survived such devastation.
James Macleod was not
human.
Far beneath the blackened beams, he lay
burned, bleeding, and broken. Close to death but as yet unable to
embrace it. Now and then, he broke the surface of unconsciousness,
only to be dragged under again by relentless agony and
despair.
The waning moon hid its face as James
opened his eyes at last. For a fleeting moment he thought he was
blind, then realized night had fallen, although which night it was
he had no idea and didn’t care. He was still alive—barely—and
didn’t care about that either. His broken ribs screamed at him as
he began to cough up more blood and soot, but this time oblivion
stubbornly refused to take him back.
Evelyn. He
couldn’t see her beneath the debris, but he could just reach her
delicate fingertips. They were cold and unyielding. He felt again
the slash of agony in his heart that was far greater than the pain
in his body. She had been human. Vulnerable, both she and the child
within her, his child. He had failed them
both, failed to protect them, failed even to discern any danger to
them. He had been moving the cattle to summer pasture in the deep
coulees along the river when a calf blundered into the fast-moving
water. Saving the young animal and regrouping the herd had set him
back an hour, then two. Just two scant hours in which all that was
dear to him was left defenseless.
He’d known at once. James had barely
turned his truck for home when cold terror suddenly clawed his
heart and his wife’s voice echoed briefly in his mind. Gunning the
old pickup, he’d kept it on the rough dirt road by sheer force of
will. Faster, faster, heedless of the rugged
terrain. He had to get home, had to reach
her. When an axle broke, James left the crippled truck and raced
flat out, first on two legs, then on four.
The house had been strangely dark when
he reached the yard. Evelyn always left a light on for him. Always.
And then he had spotted the smoke churning from an upstairs window.
He caught no stranger’s scent as he ran into the burning house, as
he shifted his shape and shouted for his wife. He had smelled
blood, however, mixed with the thickening smoke. He followed the
metallic tang of it straight to the dining room, knowing and not
wanting to know that it was her blood. And that there was far too
much of it. Dear God. James had squeezed his
eyes shut against the ugly gunshot wounds that had stolen her life
even as he cradled her small body against him. She was gone. Their
child within her, already loved, was gone as well.
It was his fault, all his fault,
although James had no idea who had done this. Few people could even
find his ranch. It was remote, all but hidden, with the nearest
neighbor miles away. He knew no enemies in this country, yet in his
shattered heart he also knew it was no random act that had taken
his loved ones from him. He should have known better. He should have known. His family’s entire sept of Clan
Macleod had been forced to leave Scotland more than two centuries
earlier, when fear of Changelings caused all wolves to be
slaughtered to extinction there. Why had he thought it would be
better here, safer now? Why had he assumed humans were any more
civilized now, any less driven by fear and hatred of those who were
different? But then there had been Evelyn, and she was wholly,
completely human. Evelyn, who embodied all that was good about
humanity, who knew what he was and accepted him, who loved him with
a heart that was bigger than she was. Evelyn who had just paid for
that love with her all-too-human life.
Already half-mad with pain and grief,
his own human side wanted nothing more than to follow his loved
ones. Changelings were long-lived and tough, gifted and powerful.
But they were not immortal. And not immune to bullets even if they
weren’t silver. Evelyn’s killer had still been in the house,
waiting for James, and James hadn’t known. Perhaps he hadn’t cared
then either. The last thing he saw was his whole world in his
arms—then nothing.
Left for dead.
Now, his Changeling nature was automatically trying to heal the
horrendous wounds, weakly attempting to regenerate burned skin and
tendon, repair and replace broken bone. But with so much damage and
so little energy left, the process was winding down before it had
really begun. Soon it would stop altogether and he would get his
wish.
For one clear moment that wish
coalesced in his mind—a soul-deep desire for death. James embraced
it without reservation, forgetting that his inner wolf was driven
by a powerful and primitive instinct to survive. Without warning,
fresh agony slammed into him from every direction. His heart was
being squeezed through his ribs, his very bones felt as if they
were exploding. The animal within had gone completely wild.
Unbidden, it frantically clawed its way to the
surface.
Dark clouds diffused the moon, hid the
massive wolf that crawled out from under the charred wreckage,
veiled the singed white fur in shadow. Sides heaving, the creature
limped on three legs to the edge of the clearing and collapsed.
James lay there for a long time and regarded the wreckage. Fists of
sorrow beat inside him, but his lupine eyes could not weep.
Instead, a cry of anguish was ripped from his throat, gaining in
strength as it sliced through the silence. It rose and became an
ululating lament echoing over the ruins of his home, his heart, his
life.
As he howled out his grief, the sky
cleared. The moon was far from full but still it blanketed him with
pale silvery light, lent him its peculiar strength that only
Changelings knew. James stood. So his wolf nature wanted to
survive? Then it could damn well do it without him. He would set it
free and never walk upright again.
The wind picked up. Although only three
legs would obey him, the white wolf began to run. Run, to outpace
the agony that could rip and tear a human heart. Run, to
outdistance the human grief that could not be borne. Run, to be as
the moon, a swift white shape gleaming in the night. Run, to be a
wolf and only a wolf.
As he raced away into the welcoming
arms of the night, James was only fleetingly aware that he had just
buried his human self alongside Evelyn. And then he was aware of
nothing.