Lori Handeland - Blue Moon

My mouth fell open. My boss had to weigh 300 pounds.

"Jessie!" Clyde called. "Don’t you think I should hang on to the totem?"

I looked back and forth between the two of them. I honestly didn’t know.

Another volley of shots sounded from outside. This time they were followed by surprised yips and agonized howls.

"Let him go, Will," I ordered.

"No."

Mandenauer pounded on the front door and shouted my name. I didn’t have time for these games. I cocked the gun. Will’s gaze flicked to mine. He shrugged and let Clyde go.

"Play nice," I admonished, and let the old man inside.

He was wearing his Rambo outfit again—commando chic, with a whole lot of bullets. I couldn’t conjure up a snappy retort. I was too damn glad to see him—and his ammo, too.

Before I could grab a bandolier for myself, Manden-auer stalked past me and into the living room. The expression on his face made me hurry to keep up.

"Which one of you is wolf clan?" he demanded.

"Why?" I asked.

"A member of the wolf clan must take part in the ceremony."

I flicked a glance at Will. "Did you know this?"

"Sure."

I let my breath out on a long, slow sigh of disappointment.

"Before you get all bent out of shape, I’d like to point out something."

"What?"

"He’s wolf clan, too."

My head jerked up. Will was pointing at Clyde.

"You are?"

"So what? Nobody holds with that stuff anymore. Except for him." He jerked his head at Will. "Most people don’t even know what clan they are these days. Don’t you find it interesting that he does?"

Mandenauer drew his revolver and pointed it at Will.

"Hey!" I grabbed his arm just as he fired.

Training took over and I cracked his wrist over my knee. The gun fell to the floor. I kicked the rifle out of his other hand, then pulled his arms behind his back. He didn’t fight me. Instead he stared at Will.

Terrified, I followed the direction of his gaze. There was a neat hole in the fleshy part of Will’s arm. He was a mess, but he was alive, which also made him human. I could breathe again.

I tightened my grip on Mandenauer. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Proving that he is not one of them. And quite nicely, don’t you think?"

"No," Will snapped.

He pressed a hand to the hole, but blood seeped through his fingers. Black dots danced in front of my eyes. Since when had the sight of blood bothered me? Since it was his.

Mandenauer had just proved Will wasn’t a werewolf. The knowledge wasn’t as comforting as it should have been. We still didn’t know who was.

Mandenauer tugged on his hands, which I still held behind his back. "Give me back my guns."

"I don’t think so."

"Then shoot the other so we know."

I glanced at Clyde. He frowned and shook his head.

"Isn’t there a less bloody way to go about this?"

"I have never found one."

I was at a loss. I wanted to bandage Will’s arm, but I couldn’t leave Mandenauer alone. I couldn’t hold on to all the guns myself. I couldn’t bring myself to shoot Clyde and be done with it.

A chorus of howls rose in the yard. Others joined in, louder and louder, until I wanted to put my hands over my ears to blot out the sound. But I couldn’t do that, either.

At last the noise stopped. The resulting silence seemed to echo with their cries.

"How many are out there?" I whispered.

"There were more than seventy when I arrived," Mandenauer answered. "Probably well past a hundred by now."

"That can’t be right."

"What part of ‘werewolf army’ did you not understand, Jessie?"

I dumped Mandenauer’s guns on the couch, holstered my pistol, and took him with me to the front window. I unlatched the shutter. We stared at what appeared to be a sea of wolves in the yard.

"What are they here for?"

"This."

The voice wasn’t Mandenauer’s; it was Clyde’s. I glanced toward him just as he opened the front door.

"No!" I shouted, but the wolves didn’t charge. Instead, they sat like dogs, tongues lolling.

I released Mandenauer and ran, but I was too late. Clyde tossed the wolf totem high above the crowd. All heads tilted up, then followed the stone back down.

Before it met the ground a small ash-blond wolf leaped into the air and caught the rawhide between her teeth. She hit the ground running. The others followed.

I could do nothing but stare at Clyde. His face bathed by the silver light of the rising moon, he began to sweat, to shake.

To change.

I should have slammed the door, but I couldn’t. I was rooted to the floor in the hallway, unable to drag my eyes from the sight in front of me.

Clyde’s body contorted; his shoulders hunched; his legs bowed. He threw back his head and howled. The sound shot ice down my spine. The wolves in the forest paused in their flight and answered.

His clothes split open with a shriek of rending cloth and bursting seams. His shoes seemed to explode and paws popped out. He dropped to all fours and the hands that caught him had claws.

Black hair sprouted from every pore, thickening, lengthening, becoming fur. A tail erupted from his spine. The last thing to change was his head.

I sensed movement behind me, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away. I braced myself, expecting Mandenauer to shoot. But he didn’t. Odd, he’d never hesitated before.

The popping of bones, the stretching of skin, caused a horrible sound. I winced as Clyde finished the change.

His nose and his mouth stretched, melding into a snout. His teeth grew; his tongue must have, too, since it lolled out the side of his mouth. His brow bulged. When he swung his head in our direction his face was that of a skinned wolf with Clyde’s eyes.

Nasty. I wished for the fur to arrive. My wish was soon granted.

Black hair flowed over his face, obscuring the bones that marred his cinnamon skin. He shook himself as if he’d just come out of the water, then turned toward me.

I gasped. Clyde was the black wolf that had dogged my steps and haunted my dreams. He was most likely the wolf that had bitten Karen Larson and countless others.

The gunshot made me scream and fall to the floor, throwing my hands up in front of my face. My ears rang, but I still heard Clyde shriek. I didn’t want to look, but I had to.

Flames burst from a neat hole near his heart. The scent of scorched hair and cooking meat filled the air. The howl of a wolf, the cry of a man—he writhed in pain, twisting, turning, his claws scrabbling against the planks of the porch as he died.

I stayed on the ground. I couldn’t gain my feet. Man-denauer stepped around me and shoved at Clyde wkh his boot. The wolf’s head lolled sickeningly.

I leaned my back against the cabin wall. I was weak, limp. I couldn’t stop staring at what had once been my boss. I’d liked Clyde, trusted him as much as I trusted anyone—except maybe Zee. I couldn’t get my mind around the idea that he’d forever be a wolf. That Clyde would never again spit chew or quote Clint.

"Why did you let him finish the change before you shot him?"

"It is easier to explain a dead wolf than a dead sheriff." His gaze swept the forest. "We must go."

"Go? Where? We got him."

"The sheriff was nothing more than a minion of evil. The one who will become remains."

"How you figure?"

Mandenauer flicked me a contemptuous glance. "If he was the one, why did he give the totem to the others?"

I hadn’t thought of that. Damn.

"Listen," Mandenauer whispered.

In the distance the wolves called to one another. There were more of them now. The ones who had been here had joined those who waited there. With their leader.

I glanced at the sky. The blue moon had not yet reached the apex. Our night had only begun.