Beneath a Midnight Moon

Feeling as though he had received a mortal wound, Hardane left the keep.



For a moment, he stood in the moonlight, his head thrown back, his hands clenched as he fought the searing agony that Kylene's words had inflicted on his soul.



And then, because it was in his blood, because it had always been his way when he was troubled, he transformed into the wolf and began to run through the night.



There was solace in racing across the countryside. His senses were more keen, more alert, and he ran effortlessly, tirelessly. He caught the scent of rabbits, of squirrels, of deer and wild boar. The scent of feral wolves hunting in the dark of the night.



He had, on occasion, met his wild cousins in the forest. They were wary of him, sensing that, though he shared their shape, he was not one of them. And yet he could communicate with them, and they with him.



But it was not wolves on his mind tonight. It was the look of disbelief in Kylene's eyes, the horror he'd read in her mind when she accepted the fact that he was as much wolf as man, that it wasn't merely a random shape he assumed at will, but a part of him.



For the first time, he had been ashamed of who and what he was.



And yet he could not blame her. He knew, deep inside, that he should have told her the truth long ago. There had been times when he'd been tempted, times when he'd been on the verge of telling her everything, but he'd lacked the courage to confess the truth.



To risk the possibility of losing her love, of watching the affection in her eyes turn to revulsion.



He ran on, his sides heaving, his breathing hard, and fast.



Had he lost her forever?



After a time, he stopped running. Dropping to his haunches, he lifted his head and howled with misery.



And from the distance, like the echo of the pain in his heart, he heard the answering cries of his feral cousins as they lifted their voices to mingle with his.