Thunder Moon (Nightcreature 8)

Cal nodded. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, maybe an inch more than my own five-ten, but he was imposing, still ripped, despite two years out of the Corps. I doubted I could even get my hands around his neck, if I was so inclined. Cal wore his light brown hair in the style of the USMC, and his face was lined from tours spent in countries that had a lot more sun and wind and sand than we ever could.

“Ward Beecher called it in,” Cal continued. “Said all the trees were ablaze. He smelled the smoke.”

Ward Beecher wasn’t a nut. He was the pastor of the Lake Bluff Baptist Church. I doubted he was much of a liar, either, and he lived not more than half a mile from this spot.

“There’s nothing now.” I walked around the clearing. The trees, the grass, the ground were all dripping wet; I couldn’t find a single charred pine needle.

“ ‘Cept this.” Cal indicated an area in front of his car.

I joined him at the edge of a fairly large hole, which reminded me of photos I’d seen of meteor sites. Except there wasn’t a rock of any noticeable size to be had.

“Could have been here forever,” I said.

“Mebe.”

He didn’t sound convinced, but what other explanation was there? The hole was empty. Unless—

I went down on one knee, ignoring the mud that soaked through my uniform—I was already drenched— and studied the ground.

“You think someone was here before us?” Cal asked. “Took whatever it was that fell?”

I didn’t answer, just continued to look. I was the best tracker in the county. My father had made certain of that. But sometimes, like now, being the best wasn’t any damn good at all.

“The rain’s washed away the top layer of dirt,” I said. “An elephant could have come through here and I wouldn’t find a trace of it.”

I straightened, my gaze drawn to the tree line just as a low, bulky shadow took the shape of a wolf. I didn’t

like that one bit. We’d had a little problem with wolves last summer.

Werewolves, to be exact.

I hadn’t believed it, either—until some really strange things had started happening. Turned out there were werewolves all over the place. There was even a secret government society charged with killing them.

I’d thought they’d all been eliminated or cured—no one had died a horrific, bloody death in months. But maybe I was wrong.

Chapter 2

By the time I drew my Glock, the animal had melted into the trees on the north side of the clearing and disappeared. I ran after it anyway, even though I didn’t have any silver bullets.

In this gun.

“What’s the matter?” Cal followed; he had his weapon out, too.

“You didn’t see the—?” I stopped. Had I really seen a wolf?

Yes.

Did I want to tell Cal?

No.

“Never mind.” I put away the Glock. “A shadow. Maybe a bear.”

Not a wolf in these mountains, but bears we had.

Cal narrowed his blue-gray eyes on the trees. “They don’t usually come this close to people.”

“Which might be why it took off so fast.”