Thunder Moon (Nightcreature 8)

Would I be able to kill him as I’d promised? I didn’t want to make that choice.

Ian had been forced to kill the body of the woman he loved, even though he knew the spirit that inhabited it was no longer human. I was struck anew by his courage. Certainly he’d lived with the guilt, thrown himself into his job, probably taken chances that he shouldn’t have ever since, but he’d done what had to be done and it had not been easy.

The sun went behind a cloud, throwing shadows across the road, and I panicked, pressing down on the accelerator, trying to get wherever we were going faster. My bumper would have sent the wolf sprawling, if she’d had a butt to bump. As it was, the metal just passed through her tail and she shot me a snarl over her shoulder, so I eased off the gas.

I had to find Ian before Quatie did her worst. If she ate his heart, would she gain his power, too? Considering what she’d gained so far, I had to think so.

Perhaps she’d stolen him more for his magic than his knowledge. To possess the heart of an A ni wo di, a paint clan sorcerer, would make her infinitely more dangerous. If she accomplished it, I had no doubt we were all doomed.

I came around a corner and suddenly knew where we were going.

“Blood Mountain,” I whispered.

And the wolf disappeared.

Chapter 36

The peak of Blood Mountain loomed over me. Though the sun still shone, the shadow thrown by the massive summit made me shiver. I knew without a doubt that this was where Quatie had brought Ian, even before I saw the flash of red in the trees.

I slammed on the brakes and swung around, unsurprised to find my truck abandoned a few yards down a dirt track. I got out of Claire’s car, approaching my own cautiously, gun drawn, but no one was there.

I’d learned how to track at my father’s heels. He’d been the best and now I was. Though the past few days of heat and sun had dried the rain from the last storm, I could still find traces of a trail headed upward.

Blood Mountain might not be the highest peak, but it wasn’t low, either. Most estimates put the elevation at 4,458 feet. There was no water at the top; countless people had fallen prey to dehydration climbing this mountain.

I hadn’t brought a canteen, but it didn’t matter. The sun was falling; I wouldn’t reach the top before nightfall, which meant I’d be lucky to reach Ian before the witch killed him. Dehydration was going to be the least of my worries.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t run. I had to be alert for signs that Ian and the witch were still on the trail or that they might have left it.

About halfway up, I found just that. A tiny scuff of a shoe at the edge of the dirt, then broken twigs and leaves and indentations in the softer ground beneath the canopy of trees. They were headed parallel to the ridge instead of up.

What would I do when I found them? I had silver bullets in my gun, but I wasn’t sure they’d be of any use. I should shoot Quatie in Adsila form—witches could die, couldn’t they?—but I wasn’t certain I’d be able to. As Adsila, or Quatie, she was a person. As Quatie, she was a person I loved. But if I waited for her to become the Raven Mocker, then she would be damn hard to kill, damn hard to see, too.

The heat made my already-damp shirt damper. Bugs flew into my eyes, stuck to my sweaty face, and all the time I was conscious of the sun tumbling down. The shadows lengthened. In the distance, thunder rumbled. The scent of rain rode in on the breeze.

I caught sight of a roof ahead and approached cautiously, scooting from tree to tree, just in case Quatie was watching.

The tiny log cabin in the clearing had seen better days. The porch was mostly kindling. The roof had a hole so big I could see it from here, and the windows were nothing more than shards of glass.

I pulled my gun from its holster and hurried across the open space to the rear of the structure. I made it without an outcry or hail of bullets. Maybe they weren’t even here.

After peeking into the window, I jerked quickly back. Someone lay on the bed. Since the shadows of the unlit cabin had combined with the increasing darkness of the coming storm, I couldn’t determine if the lump was Ian, Quatie, or someone else entirely.

I slid along the wall, checked the corner, then did the same down the side and the front, until I was at the door. Taking a deep breath, I gave it a shove and went in low.

Nothing moved. No one spoke. Was the body on the bed another corpse?

I inched forward, gun at the ready, then I tugged the thin blanket with my free hand.

“Ian!”

Someone had beaten the crap out of him. The same someone, I was sure, who’d tied him up. My hand clenched on the edge of the cover until my knuckles went white; then I felt for a pulse and found one. He was unconscious. From the amount of blood on his face, he had a head injury. I only hoped it wasn’t a serious one.

“Ian,” I tried again, got no response. I looked around for water to throw in his face or at least wet his lips. I was out of luck there, too.

As much as I’d like to, I couldn’t carry him down the mountain. I checked Claire’s cell phone. No service. I hadn’t really expected any.

I patted his face, gently, because of the blood. I had no idea where it had come from—head, nose, cheeks, or chin. I didn’t want him to awaken in pain.