Born of the Night

She moved around the room, looking for anything she could use, either as a weapon or as a way to break the lock on the door.



She was about to give up hope when she saw the handle of a knife protruding from under the napkin on her dinner tray. A tray that should have been picked up hours ago. Using the tip of the blade, she pried at the lock on the door.



It gave with a soft click. Slipping the knife into the pocket of her gown, she tiptoed out of the room.



Chapter 4



He ran through the night, every sense aware of his surroundings. He knew there was a deer hiding in the trees behind him, that another wolf had made a kill. He smelled the blood in the air. The earth was damp beneath the sensitive pads of his feet as he ran tirelessly through the darkness.



Freedom. It sang through his veins. He was no longer the lord of a great castle, no longer responsible for hundreds of lives. The woes and wars of mankind meant nothing to the wolf.



There was only freedom and the urge to hunt.



A rabbit sprang out from behind a bush. He chased it down; grabbing it in his jaws, he devoured it in a few bites.



The kill satisfied the urge to hunt, stilled the restlessness in his soul. What would it be like to succumb fully to the wolf, to turn his back on mankind and live in the wild? Even as the thought tempted him, the image of a green-eyed woman rose in his mind, luring him back toward the keep.



He had to see her one more time.



He was halfway back to the castle when a dark gray shape materialized out of the shadows and padded silently toward him.



Reyes came to an abrupt halt when the other wolf growled, its hackles rising as it bared its teeth.



Reyes sniffed the air and immediately recognized the scent of the other wolf. They had met before. On other occasions, Reyes had backed down. But not tonight. Tonight, the image of a green-eyed woman tormented him, a woman who filled him with a yearning he dared not indulge. Tonight a fight was just what he needed to ease his frustration.



He bared his own teeth as the gray wolf walked stiff-legged toward him. Reyes was aware of other wolves nearby. He felt the weight of their eyes watching him.



The gray wolf attacked without warning, burying its fangs deep in Reyes's shoulder. Reyes howled, the pain slicing through him like the cut of a knife.



Shaking off the gray, Reyes whirled around and charged, his own teeth leaving bloody furrows along the other wolf's hindquarters.



Backing off, they faced each other and then the gray wolf lunged forward. Reyes dodged his attack, his teeth savaging the gray's neck.



They met again, and yet again. Reyes was confident of victory until he lost his footing on the damp leaves. The gray wolf was on him in an instant, his teeth slashing at Reyes's neck and shoulder.



Knowing it was only a matter of time before the rest of the pack came to finish him off, Reyes fought back as best he could. And then, abruptly, the gray wolf let him go and backed off. Moments later, the pack had disappeared into the darkness.



Reyes lay there, panting heavily, wondering why the other wolf had broken off the attack.



And then he heard the sound of footsteps moving in the underbrush. Had it been a deer, the wolves would have attacked, but in spite of tales to the contrary, wolves rarely attacked humans.



Shanara darted behind a tree, one hand covering her mouth to stifle a gasp. The foolhardiness of leaving the castle struck home as she watched half a dozen dark shapes disappear into the underbrush. What was she doing out here, armed with nothing but a knife?



She shook off her fears. Better to die trying to escape than wait like a lamb for the slaughter! She was about to continue when she realized that what she thought was a shadow on the ground was, in reality, another wolf. Was it dead? Wounded wolves were doubly dangerous.



Just when she was certain she had nothing to fear, it struggled to its feet, whining softly.



Pity welled in her heart as the beast stood there, head hanging, tongue lolling. Blood soaked its shoulder, dripped from its neck.



Her heart seemed to stop beating when it lifted its head and looked at her through eyes dark with pain. Midnight-blue eyes.



"Reyes." His name whispered past her lips. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she moved toward him, stopping only when he bared his teeth. "You need help." Even as she spoke the words, she wondered if he understood her. "You're bleeding."



He growled softly and she took a step backward. Would he kill her for trying to help him? She felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rise inside her. What difference did it make if he drove a sword through her heart or savaged her with his teeth? One way or another, he intended to kill her, making her wonder why she had ever thought to help him. He was her enemy, as she was his.



He took a step forward, fell heavily as his wounded leg refused to support him.



More fool she, she had always had a soft spot for wounded animals… but this was no animal. "Can you walk if I help you?"



He let out a soft bark which she took to mean "yes." Slipping her arm under him, she helped him stand.



"What shall we do now?" she wondered aloud. " 'Tis a long walk back to the castle."



The wolf shook his head and started walking, not toward the castle, but deeper into the woods. Stooped over, she walked beside him, supporting him as best she could. No easy task, as heavy as he was.



Finally, after what seemed like hours, she saw a small stone cottage through a clearing in the trees.



The wolf was panting heavily by the time they reached the cottage. Shanara opened the door, waited for him to enter, then stepped inside and closed the door behind her.



When she looked at the wolf again, she saw that he had collapsed on the floor.



She searched the darkened room until she found a candle and a flint on the mantel. Lighting the candle, she glanced around the one-room cottage. Did it belong to Reyes? She moved about the room, looking into the cupboards, which were stocked with a few foodstuffs—sugar, flour, salt, a box of dried venison, as well as pots and pans, pewter plates and goblets and cutlery. A square table and three chairs stood against one wall, a narrow bed against another. A small box held an assortment of bandages and liniment, as well as a sharp knife, a needle, and sturdy thread.



After laying out the supplies on the table, she went outside and filled a bucket with water from the well, then went back into the cottage, hoping the wolf hadn't bled to death in her absence.



Reyes lay on his side, his eyes closed, his nostrils filling with the scent of his own blood. He had been injured in the past, but never this badly. Blood leaked from the cut in his neck, the deep gash in his shoulder, leaching away his strength.



He opened his eyes when he heard the woman approach, watched warily as she knelt beside him. Dipping a bit of cloth in a bucket, she washed the blood from his neck and shoulder. She threaded a needle with a long piece of thread and then, biting down on a corner of her lower lip, she began to stitch his wounds.



He whined softly as the needle pierced his flesh. If he'd had the strength to regain his human form, he could have dulled the pain with a glass of ale. In his wolf form, all he could do was endure it.



She worked quickly. From time to time she spoke to him, soft words of reassurance. Steeped in pain, he clung to the sound of her voice.



"There." Laying the needle aside, she stroked his head. " 'Tis done."



He licked her hand, then closed his eyes and slept.



Shanara stared at her hand, startled, and then laughed softly. No doubt it was just the wolf's way of saying thank you.



Still bemused by her reasons for helping him, she put the needle in the box and replaced it in the cupboard. Finding an old rag, she wiped the blood from the floor, then pulled a blanket from the cot and spread it over the wolf.



Feeling suddenly weak from all that had transpired that night, she dropped into one of the chairs and wrapped her arms around her waist. She was hungry and tired, so tired. She glanced at the cot against the wall, thinking how good it would feel to lie down and sleep for a few hours. And then she looked at the door. This would be the perfect time to get away from him.



And that was just what she would do. Going to the cupboard, she pulled out several pieces of dried venison. She put all but one in her skirt pocket and moved toward the door.



She stood there with her hand on the latch, unable to make herself walk out the door. It was true that Reyes had killed her uncle and her cousins and kidnapped her, but it was also true that he had saved her from being ravished by one of his own men. She couldn't leave him, not now, when he was hurt.



Turning away from the door, she went to the cot and sat down, her gaze resting on the wolf while she ate the dried venison. Then, with a sigh, she slid beneath the blankets, asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.



Reyes opened his eyes, awakened by a shaft of golden sunlight filtering through the cottage's single window. He drew a deep breath and his nostrils filled with the scent of the woman. Was she still here?



Turning his head, he saw her curled up on the cot. She had tended his wounds last night. Even now, he found it hard to believe, not only because they were enemies, but because he had been in his wolf form. Why had she helped him? He had done nothing to incur either her friendship or her concern, yet she had stitched his cuts and covered him with a blanket. He grinned wryly, wondering which of them would be the most grateful for that this morning.



Sitting up, he ran a hand over his neck and shoulder, remembering how gently she had washed the blood from his wounds, the compassion in her voice as she sewed the gash in his neck and shoulder.



His stomach growled, reminding him that he had not eaten since the night before, and not much then, since his mind had been on the woman instead of the meal.



Rising, he wrapped the blanket around his waist, then rummaged through the cupboard until he found a few strips of dried venison. He ate three pieces, then, grabbing a cast-iron pot, he went outside to fill the container. Returning to the cottage, he lit a fire in the hearth, hung the pot from the tripod to heat.



His gaze returned to the woman. Her hair fell over her shoulders like a waterfall of auburn silk. He sucked in a deep breath as he remembered the feel of it against his cheek, the flowery fragrance that clung to each strand.



Why hadn't she left last night?