Thunder Moon (Nightcreature 8)

I mediated a dispute between two neighbors over dog poop—they both had dogs; how did they know that each other’s pe

t was pooping in the opposite yard, and what possible difference could it make?

I had a case of shoplifting (local kid), a case of bullying (a tourist), and four calls from former residents whose loved ones weren’t answering their phones after the storm.

I arrived home with an hour to spare before the appointed time with Walker—if he showed up. No messages on my machine telling me anything one way or another.

I was hot and sticky, compliments of a scalding day in Georgia and a lack of air-conditioning in my dad’s old pickup. I smelled bad courtesy of both, as well as the little girl from Michigan who’d gotten lost, eaten too much ice cream, cried bloody murder, then upchucked on the front of my uniform.

The shower was heaven. I washed twice with scented soap and worked conditioner into my hair all the way to the ends; then I stood under the lukewarm spray and let my blood settle.

I opted for a loose white cotton skirt that fell to my ankles and an equally lightweight fuchsia top. I didn’t bother with shoes—not after a day in cop boots. I had just enough time to walk to the water and stick in my feet. I saw no reason to drag along my gun; the sun was still up, although I did tuck a bit of silver into my pocket for later. I planned an impromptu shape-shifter test.

As soon as I left the yard and the trees closed in behind me, I took a deep breath full of the scent of grass, leaves, and sun. I loved Lake Bluff, but here in the shadow of the mountains was where I truly lived.

Tiny animals scuttled in the bushes. Birds rustled in the trees. A snake slithered through the fallen leaves, hurrying away from me as fast as it could.

I reached the creek, lifted my skirt, and stepped in. The chill of the water on my tired feet was bliss. I wished I could throw off all my clothes and sink in as I had last night.

At the creek I felt the closest to E-li-si. When I went to the water, I could almost hear her speak. Under the moon and the stars, I missed her the least.

The sun tipped toward the horizon. Soon shadows would spread from the mountains through the trees, dappling everything with the approaching coolness of night. Dusk was my favorite time of the day. If I didn’t spend it here at the water, I usually spent it on my porch just watching the evening come.

I glanced at my watch. Best be on the porch tonight. Best to get out of the woods before the sun died and the really dangerous things began to roam.

I turned.

Like that wolf.

Chapter 9

The animal tilted its head, growled, and I took a step backward; my foot slipped on a flat slick rock, and I nearly fell.

The wolf gave a sharp yip, but it didn’t attack, just continued to stare at me, half in and half out of the underbrush.

I couldn’t run, couldn’t hide. The only weapon I had was the silver bullet. Fat lot of good it would do me without a gun. I could toss the bit of metal at a person, and if they caught it and smoke began to pour from their hand, they were a shifter. However, the wolf was a little short on fingers for that test.

I hadn’t thought I needed a gun before sundown. Frowning, I glanced at the sky, then back at the wolf. What the—? The sun was still up, and while I knew there were monsters that walked in the daytime, werewolves weren’t one of them.

I peered at the wolf more closely. Black with silver threads in its fur. Long, spindly legs. Dark, dark eyes, with not a hint of white.

Just a wolf.

I sighed with relief, although there was still the issue of a wild animal choosing to come near me—not something a healthy wild animal would do—and the strangeness of this thing being here in the first place.

“Nice doggy.”

The wolf snorted. I could swear the animal understood me.

“I don’t suppose you want to turn tail and run away from the big bad sheriff.”

The wolf blinked once but didn’t move.

“That’s what I figured.”

I cast my gaze around for some kind of weapon. Plenty of big rocks, but I’d never been much of a softball player. To hit the thing, I’d have to get much closer than I wanted to.

I spied a long branch—thick enough to do some damage—and slowly lowered myself until I could pick it up. The beast’s upper lip curled.