Beneath a Midnight Moon

Hardane braced himself against the bulkhead as the ship cleaved through the waves toward the open sea. His satisfaction that his plan had worked warred with his regret at leaving Kylene in such haste. But it couldn't be helped. He could not put her life in jeopardy, not now.



He frowned as he looked at his body . . . her body, now. Always before, he had taken on the shape of a man, and with it, a man's physique and a man's strength.



He shook his head ruefully, remembering how he'd tried to struggle when they'd dragged him below decks. Kylene's slender, softly rounded arms lacked the strength he'd always taken for granted and he'd felt utterly weak and helpless as two of the Interrogator's men had wrestled him down the narrow ladder, their hands groping his flesh.



A wry grin twisted Hardane's lips as he glanced down. He had breasts now, a narrow waist, long, shapely legs. He had soft skin and a wealth of russet-colored hair, none of which could be used to defend himself.



He had known a soul-deep anger as one of the Interrogator's men had shoved him up against the bulkhead and caressed him. With his hands lashed behind his back, Hardane had been helpless to fight the man off. Until he'd resorted to an age-old feminine maneuver and kneed the man in the groin. He'd been unable to help wincing, himself, as he did so. Still, Hardane had felt a tremendous sense of satisfaction as the man instantly released him and doubled over, clutching his battered manhood.



That had been hours ago. How many hours, Hardane wondered as he gazed around his prison. It was an empty storeroom, four solid walls, no portholes, only one door.



With the ease of a man at home on the sea, he began to pace the floor, cursing the long skirts that hampered his every step even as he wondered how long he'd be able to maintain Kylene's shape.



He felt odd, as though he'd been stuffed into clothes that were too tight. And that was odder still, because he'd never felt that way when he had assumed male shapes, or the shape of the wolf.



For a moment, he toyed with the idea of becoming the wolf, of ripping out the throat of whoever first opened the door of his prison. But he dismissed the thought immediately. He couldn't kill the whole crew, and as long as he was imprisoned, he dared not change into another shape for fear of alerting the Interrogator to the fact that he hadn't captured Kylene at all.



Time. He needed to buy time. Time for his father to return to Argone.



A sound at the door brought Hardane to an abrupt halt and he backed against the bulkhead, waiting, wishing his hands weren't bound behind his back, wishing he had a weapon with which to defend himself.



And then the door swung open and the Interrogator entered the room, a smug expression in his ice blue eyes. Two men, well armed, stood watch in the companionway.



"What is the meaning of this?" Hardane demanded. The sound of Kylene's voice coming from his throat startled him for a moment.



"I am only reclaiming what was mine," the Interrogator replied coldly. "No one has ever escaped from the Fortress and lived to tell the tale. I could not have a woman be the exception."



The Interrogator closed the door and leaned against it. Drawing a dagger from his belt, he tapped the narrow blade against the palm of his hand.



"It was in my mind to dispose of you," he remarked, "but then I realized that you're the perfect bait to lure Hardane to Mouldour."



"Why do you want m . . . Hardane?"



"I want to learn the secret of shape shifting."



"It isn't a trick to be learned; it's a part of him, of who he is."



The Interrogator made a wordless sound of disagreement. "I don't believe that."



"It's true nonetheless."



"Perhaps. And perhaps a little torture, cleverly inflicted by one skilled in the art, will loosen his tongue. If not . . ."



The Interrogator smiled a cold cruel smile as he dragged a finger down Kylene's cheek.



"If his own pain will not pry the secret from him, perhaps the sight of his life-mate writhing in agony will do the trick. Either way, I shall enjoy the game."



With a cry of rage, Hardane lunged forward. In his haste, he tripped over the hem of his skirt. He fell forward, felt the edge of the dagger pierce his right shoulder as he stumbled into the Interrogator's blade.



Silently cursing his weakness and his clumsiness, Hardane reeled back, groaning softly as the Interrogator jerked the blade from his flesh.



"Stupid girl," the Interrogator snarled. "You'll be no good to me dead."



"Or alive," Hardane retorted.



He flinched as the Interrogator struck him hard across the mouth.



"Enough of your insolence, my lady. It matters not to me whether you spend this voyage in comfort or in chains. The choice is yours."



So saying, the Interrogator opened the door and left the room.



With a sigh, Hardane sank down on the floor. His shoulder throbbed monotonously. Blood continued to trickle down his arm, forming a small dark pool beside him.



He closed his eyes, fighting the pain as he concentrated on maintaining Kylene's shape. Only a few more days, he thought wearily; only a few more days and then it wouldn't matter.



Kylene sat in a soft leather chair before the hearth in her bedchamber, a heavy quilt drawn around her shoulders as she stared into the flames.



Sharilyn had sent a messenger to Chadray to advise Lord Kray of what had transpired. Other runners had been sent to the nearby farms, asking them to send men to help defend Castle Argone should it be necessary. The animals had been driven inside the castle walls and the gates shut and locked. Every precaution that could be taken had been put into effect, and now all they could do was wait-wait to see if the Interrogator returned, wait for Lord Kray and his sons to come home.



Kylene gazed out the window, wishing she could cry, but the emptiness she felt inside was too deep for tears. Hardane had assumed her shape so that she could get away, gambling with his life so that the Interrogator would be satisfied to leave once he'd captured the prize he came for. And it had worked, but at what cost. The Interrogator would no doubt execute Hardane once he realized he'd been duped. If that happened, it would no longer matter that she was safe, Kylene thought disconsolately. She'd have nothing left to live for . . .



She cut the thought off in midsentence, feeling as though she were betraying not only Hardane but a part of herself as well.



Closing her eyes, she concentrated on Hardane, and gradually, as if a fog were lifting from her mind, his image appeared before her. Only it wasn't his image at all. It was startling, like looking in a mirror. He was locked in a small room of some kind, his hands-her hands?-bound behind his back. Dried blood darkened his clothing.



Even as she watched, he stood up and took on his own shape, and then he began to pace the floor. So vivid was his image, she could feel the sharp pain in his shoulder, the chafing of the coarse rope that bound his arms behind his back. He seemed oblivious to the discomfort as he continued to pace the floor. She felt his anger, his quiet desperation. His satisfaction that he'd been able to deceive the Interrogator.



"Hardane . . ."



She spoke his name aloud, saw him pause, his head cocked to one side. Had he heard her, then? She called his name again, felt the bond between them vibrate.



"Come back to me, my lord wolf," she said, willing her love across the miles that separated them. "Please come back to me."



She heard footsteps approaching the room where he was held captive. In the blink of an eye, Hardane sank to the floor and assumed her shape as a knock came at the door.



The knocking came again and then again, and the images faded like shadows before the rain.



Disoriented, Kylene opened her eyes and looked around. Only then did she realize it had all been a dream, and that someone was knocking at her chamber door.



And then the tears came.