MIDNIGHT SERENADE

Ronda Thompson

Chapter One

The hunters were close. The wolf caught the scent of their sweat, smelled the liquor on their breath, knew which man had been with a woman the night before, and who had eaten meat for dinner. The crunch of boots against the pebbled ground and the sound of labored breathing made him pause. His strange abilities confused him. How could he identify what should be beyond his animal comprehension? He glanced skyward and understood. A full moon hung suspended over the valley, flanked by rugged mountain peaks. He was trapped. Caught in a time of in-between. Soon, darkness would give way to light. He would stumble from one world into another. His fur would become skin. His paws would become hands and feet. He would rise from the mist as a man, the night fading away into a jumble of blurred images?visions of bloodlust and killing.

God have mercy, he prayed, while the man struggled to emerge from the beast.Ease my suffering. End the nightmare. End it tonight .

A bullet kicked up dust at his hind legs. The man inside of him tried to slow his pace, wanting the hunters to end his suffering, but the animal's instinct for survival remained strong. He hated this time the most. When both worlds fought to claim him. When he could think like a man one second, and react like a beast the next.

Another sound exploded. Pain ripped through his back leg. The wolf tumbled, rolled, then tried to get up. His body would not cooperate. The scent of his blood mingled with the smell of humans, closer now. Very close.

"Hey, I think we got him!"

A short, plump man stumbled through the brush. To the wolf, he was merely the enemy. But his human half identified the hunter. The man inside knew all of them, had talked to them in the bright light of day, helped them, been their friend, deceived them.

"Holy moly, look at the size of him!"

Another hunter, taller and more solidly built, held his rifle aimed and ready. "Biggest damn wolf I've ever seen, Gus."

The wolf growled, part of him warning them to stay back, the other part goading them to finish what they had started.

"Look at those fangs," the shorter one whispered.

"Yeah, make a nice necklace and a set of earrings for Rita?"

"Hell, Gus, Larry, one of you shoot him," a third man ordered, stepping from the brush. A shiny object the man wore on his shirt caught the moonlight and glittered in the dark. "Go ahead and put him out of his misery."

"Darn, Hugh, we want him to suffer," the short man argued. "He's part of the pack that's been killing our sheep, stealing our livelihood."

The man wearing the shiny object frowned. "He's just an animal. He doesn't know any better. We've been chasing him half the night, and my feet hurt. Kill him and get it over with."

"Can I have the pelt, Hugh?" the short man asked.

"We're not taking souvenirs. We can't leave any evidence behind, either. We'll have to bury it."

"Crap," the taller man muttered. "I wanted those teeth."

"What you don't want is the trouble hunting these wolves will cost us," the shiny man said. "I'll take care of it." He lifted his rifle.

The wolf bared his fangs, his thoughts focused on survival, until another scent distracted him. A softer scent than that of a man. The crunch of boots he heard was also different. Lighter.

"Hold it right there!" A figure holding a weapon stepped up behind the men.

"Who the hell are you?" the short man asked.

"I'm Stephanie Shane. It's illegal to hunt wolves in the wild. They're still an endangered species, and under the protection of the United States Fish and Wildlife Service."

"Hell, we know that," the tall man grumbled. "What are you doing here?"

"I work for a privately funded wildlife research and rescue organization," she answered. "We received a report that wolves have migrated to this area. I'm here to verify the rumors, possibly pave the way for a documentary. I just finished setting up my campsite when I heard the shooting."

"Documentary?" The man scratched his head. "We don't know anything about a movie?"

"A documentary is not the same thing as a movie," the woman interrupted. "And if you don't lower your weapons and leave right now, I'll call in the authorities."

Chuckling, the tall man said, "Report away. Hugh here is the sheriff."

The woman's eyes widened. She turned toward the man wearing the shiny object on his shirt. "You're Hugh Fielding? Didn't you get my fax a couple of months ago? I told you I'd be coming to the area for research?"

"I got it," the man interrupted. "And if you'll recall, I didn't send you one back giving you permission to intrude on our area."

She straightened. "I don't need your permission, Sheriff. The fax was merely a courtesy."

The wolf tried to rise. Fresh pain stabbed through his back leg. He knew that the change drew nearer?felt a sense of urgency to escape. The animal feared death, but the man inside of him feared a greater danger: exposure.

"Lower your weapons and leave," the woman instructed. "Otherwise, you leave me no choice but to report your actions."

The shiny man sighed. "The wolves are killing livestock. They've become a menace to the community."

"And as a law enforcement officer, you should know the proper procedure to follow when wolves are killing livestock," the woman countered.

"Hell, by the time Hugh wades through all that red tape, half our sheep herds could be wiped out," the short man complained.

"So you've taken the matter into your own hands?"

"That's about the short and long of it, ma'am."

"Well, the short and long of it right now, Sheriff, is that you're not killing this wolf, or any other wolf while I'm here. Back off or I'll have this place crawling with wildlife defendants in a matter of hours."

The wolf watched the exchange curiously. The female was smaller than the men, weaker, yet he sensed hesitation from the men to confront her.

"All right," the shiny man said. "We won't shoot the wolf. But I can't leave you alone out here with an injured animal. That wolf would just as soon tear your throat out as look at you."

Lifting her weapon, the woman said, "I have this. I know how to use it, and how to conduct myself in the company of wolves. Leave so I can take a look at him. See what kind of damage you and your friends have done."

"She's freakin' nuts," the tall man muttered.

The man with the shiny star swore, but said, "Okay, it's your neck, lady. It'll be daylight soon. If you turn up dead, anyone I should contact? Friends? Family?"

For a moment, the wolf sensed a shift in the woman's tough demeanor. A sadness oozed from her and licked at his own festering wounds.

"No," she whispered. "There's no one." She straightened again. "Even if there were, you'd have no reason to contact them. I'm a big girl, Sheriff. Good night."

After casting the woman a skeptical glance, the shiny man and the others stomped off into the brush. The wolf knew his odds had just improved. He could take the woman down, easily rip her throat out, but the man in him fought the battle. Which would win out, he had no way of knowing. Nor would he remember what unforgivable deeds he had committed beneath the cover of darkness when the sun rose. If morning dawned for him.

Stephanie Shane lowered the gun. She breathed a small sigh of relief when the men disappeared. Turning back to the wolf, she realized she'd never seen one as large, or as beautiful. Wounded and frightened, he would be dangerous. In order to examine him, she'd have to tranquilize the animal. First, she'd try to soothe him with the sound of her voice, convince him she was not a threat.

"Easy, big boy. I'm not going to hurt you."

The wolf growled, his fangs flashing white in the fading darkness. She steadied her aim. The weapon she held didn't shoot bullets, but tranquilizer darts.

"This is going to sting, but it won't harm you."

For a moment, the wolf stared at the gun, then raised his glowing eyes to her face, as if he understood the contradiction between her words and the weapon in her hand.

"I'm going to put you to sleep so I can determine the seriousness of your injury." She stepped closer. "That's it. Sit still so I can get a good shot."

Stephanie fired, then cussed because she had the gun on safety. In the time it took her to glance down, pull the safety back and glance up, the wolf attacked. The force knocked her to the ground. She tried to raise the gun, but the animal's teeth clamped around her wrist.

Pain registered before she yanked her hand away and fired. The dart hit him in the shoulder. The animal stared down into her eyes. His hot breath fanned her face. Saliva dripped from his sharp fangs. Stephanie had been filming wolves for three years, but she'd never gotten this close and personal with one. She was terrified, but she was fascinated at the same time.

The only thing she could do was remain motionless, hope the animal wouldn't rip her throat out, and pray the drugs took effect quickly. The beast snorted, then sniffed at her neck. She closed her eyes, waiting for the pain of his teeth to follow. A wet tongue touched her throat. The animal licked her neck. She opened her eyes.

The night was quickly fading, but she saw him more clearly. More clearly than she wanted to see him at this close range. He was as black as midnight. But his eyes?she swore they were blue. She blinked, and in an instant he was gone.

Lying perfectly still, she tried to control the racing of her heart, the ragged sound of her breathing. For all she knew, the animal hadn't gone. He could be watching. Waiting to pounce. It seemed as if an eternity passed, although Stephanie imagined it hadn't been long.

Slowly she rolled to her side and sat up. She glanced around the area. Nothing. How had the animal managed to run away, injured as he was? He wouldn't get far, that much she knew. The drugs would take him down. When she tried to rise, pain shot through her wrist. She stood and tried to look at her injury. The light wasn't strong enough. Her campsite wasn't far. Stephanie planned to return, disinfect and bandage the wound, then gather the supplies needed to nurse the wolf.

She followed a trail she'd created with a package of tissues back to camp. It was dark inside her tent. Without wasting time to light the lantern, she fumbled through her supplies, disinfected her wrist, then wrapped a bandage around the wound. It stung like hell. After gathering the supplies she needed, Stephanie hurried out. She retrieved a flashlight from her Jeep, annoyed she hadn't thought of snatching it after she'd heard the gunshots, and before she'd run unthinking into the night. Poaching was a serious problem all over the world. Her response earlier had been automatic. She'd assumed that whatever was being hunted, it was probably illegal. She'd been right.

The trail of tissues she'd marked had been easy to follow. Locating a trail of bloodstains from the wounded wolf was not as simple. Once she did, Stephanie expected to find the sedated animal quickly. The sun had completely risen by the time the trail led her to a small clearing, and to a house?a cabinlike structure with animal pens in the back and the front door standing wide open.

A sign outside the cabin read "Rick Donavon, DVM." She followed the bloodstains up the creaky steps. Pulling her gun from her jacket pocket, she stepped inside the cabin.

Nothing looked out of the ordinary. There were no immediate signs of human life, or of the animal. On the floor she saw bloodstains leading to a hallway, where she heard the sound of running water.

She found two rooms off the hallway, an unoccupied bedroom and a bathroom. The bathroom door stood cracked an inch. She pushed it open, stepping inside. Hot steam curled around her. Through the haze, she spotted another bloodstain, on the floor in front of the shower door.

The shower door suddenly burst open. A man stepped out, reached inside and shut off the water. He turned. His gaze locked with hers. His eyes widened a fraction, then lowered to the weapon trained on him. Stephanie stood stunned, unable to form complete sentences in her head, much less speak them.

It wasn't as if she'd expected the big bad wolf to climb out of the shower. But she hadn't seen a man as finely put together as this one in a long time. He stood at least six foot three, and his hair was darker than pitch. His eyes were blue in contrast to his thick dark lashes. Her gaze lowered of its own accord. She swallowed loudly. He was magnificent. All muscle and smooth, tawny flesh.

"Can I help you?"

Her gaze shot up to his face. "Oh yeah," she breathed, then realized she'd been staring at parts of him she had no business seeing. "I?I mean, I'm looking for a wolf."

His brows rose. "Four-legged or two?"

Real cute, she thought. The sarcastic remark and the man. Stephanie tugged at her jacket collar. The bathroom felt hotter than before, which didn't make sense since the open doorway had allowed most of the steam to escape.

"Four," she answered dryly. "I've been tracking an injured wolf all morning. A trail of bloodstains led me inside your cabin."

"You don't plan to shoot me, do you?"

Realizing she still held the gun trained on him, she lowered the weapon. "Sorry. Your front door was open. The wolf must have come inside. There's a bloodstain on the floor in front of the shower."

The man looked down. Stephanie used his distraction to run her gaze over him again.

"Excuse me?"

She glanced up. "I?I thought the blood might be yours. That you might have hurt yourself."

"Do I look injured?"

He'd as good as invited her to examine him to her heart's content. The man obviously had no issues with modesty. "Shouldn't you get a towel or something?" she asked, tugging at her jacket collar again.

He smiled. "Shouldn't you wait in the other room while I do?"

"Oh, right." Stephanie turned and left the bathroom. Even flustered by the sight of a sinfully gorgeous naked man, she maintained the clarity of thought to move slowly into the living area. The kitchen was part of the room, separated by a long bar. Dart gun trained, she moved around the bar. She didn't see a wolf, but she spotted a coffeepot. Digging inside the cabinets, she found a can of coffee and some filters. The coffee had just started to brew when she heard the front door close.

Stephanie moved around the bar. The man from the shower now stood at the door. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a flannel shirt, unbuttoned, which called attention to his broad, masculine chest. He leaned against the closed door, staring at her.

The hairs at the back of her neck bristled. She supposed he had every right to close his own door, but the sight of him leaning casually against it made her feel nervous. Trapped.

"I?I made some coffee," she said. "I hope you don't mind."

"You don't have trouble barging into a man's lair and making yourself at home, do you?" His voice was low, deep, and sensual despite the slight irritation she read in his tone.

To the contrary of what he'd said, Stephanie usually felt ill at ease in someone else's home. She had a problem with walls, which was what had led her into wildlife research. Lots of wide-open spaces. Had he said lair?

"I'm sorry. I didn't get any sleep last night. Coffee seemed like a good idea."

He sighed and pushed away from the door. "I'm sorry, too. I don't get much company. A farmer with a sick animal once in a while. I've forgotten how to be hospitable."

She recalled the sign out front. "You must be Dr. Donavon."

The man stopped before her. "Any woman who has seen me naked should call me by my first name. I'm Rick."

Her face flushed. "I apologize for that, too."

He moved past her into the kitchen. "The part where you barged in on my shower? Or the part where you held a tranquilizer gun aimed at me?"

"Both." She followed him into the kitchen, then drew up short. "How did you know the gun wasn't a real one?"

Reaching into the cabinet to remove two coffee cups, he answered. "I'm a vet, remember? I've seen dart guns before."

That made sense. "Well, anyway, I'm sorry for doing both. Like I told you, I was tracking an injured wolf."

When he handed her a cup, his hand shook. His skin had an unhealthy sheen, as well. Maybe he hadn't dried off, she thought. His hair was still wet and slicked back from his face. And it was a very handsome face.

"It's fortunate your wife isn't home," she found herself saying. "She might have barged in on a scene that didn't look very innocent."

A smile that really wasn't one hovered around his mouth. Stephanie wanted to snatch the ridiculous words back. She wasn't the type to worm out information concerning a man's marital status. Regardless of how good he looked naked.

"I don't have a wife," he said, brushing against her sleeve while reaching for the coffeepot. His glance toward her left ring finger didn't go unnoticed. She held out the cup. He tried to pour, but his hands shook badly.

"Maybe you'd better get your own. I'm not feeling well this morning."

She stared into his eyes. A sense of d?j? vu washed over her, as if she'd looked into those eyes before, another time besides this morning. "You don'tlook well, either." She lifted a hand to his forehead.

He flinched. "Are you a doctor?"

She was beginning to wonder if she hadn't managed to tranquilize herself. "No. I just thought you might have a fever. You look hot."

Deliberately, his gaze moved over her. "Likewise."

His statement and the warmth of his eyes couldn't be mistaken, but she wasn't in the mood to play games with him. "It does feel warm in here," she said, purposely misinterpreting his compliment. "I should be going." She set her cup down and walked toward the door. Rick Donavon moved quicker than any animal she had seen. He blocked her exit.

"You didn't tell me what you're doing here."

The fight-or-flee instinct gripped her again. "I did tell you. I was?"

"I didn't mean what you're doing in my cabin. What are you doing in a sleepy little Montana mountain community?"

She kept willing him to move from the door. He didn't. "I'm researching a lead. The organization I work for heard rumors that a pack of Yellowstone wolves had migrated to this area. I'm supposed to uncover the truth, which I have obviously done. Now I'm going to take some pictures and do some filming so we can identify the group. I need to find out how many are in the pack. How or if they're adjusting to the terrain. Things like that."

"There are twelve in the pack. And what they're doing is killing livestock."

"I don't see how you can be sure of that," she said. "There are also grizzlies and mountain lions in this area."

"It's the wolves. I'm very sure."

Escape momentarily forgotten, she placed her hands on her hips. "Are you aware that the wolves are being illegally hunted?"

He swayed. "We had a bad winter. Not much game in the area. The wolves have been forced to feed on livestock. The farmers are tired of losing sheep to them. No one will blame the men for protecting their herds."

Her opinion greatly differed. "There's a large group of wildlife defendants who would love to argue that matter. Where do you stand on the issue? I'd think being a veterinarian, you wouldn't condone?"

"I don't condone the senseless slaughter of animals," he interrupted. "But this is different. It's survival of the fittest. The way of the wild. You should pack up and leave. You don't want to get caught between the wolves and the sheep farmers."

"I'm already caught in the middle," she said. "If I hadn't intruded on a hunt last night, the wolf I'm tracking would be dead!"

His gaze narrowed. "He might not be all that appreciative that you spared his life."

As if an animal could think in such a way, she thought. "I need to find him before the drugs wear off. He's wounded. I want to see how seriously."

Thinking to force him from his position in front of the door, she reached for the knob. He grabbed her shoulders.

"Leave the wolf alone. If he's injured and drugged, he'll also be dangerous. I'm warning you now. Get away from this place. Leave before?"

"Before what?" she demanded.

His eyes were still glazed, and a little wild looking. He seemed to notice that he'd taken hold of her shoulders, and relaxed his grip. "Before it's too late."

Stephanie waited for him to explain, but he stumbled forward, nearly knocking her over in the process. She caught him, slinging his arm around her neck. "You are ill," she said. "I'm taking you to bed."

He made an odd noise. A deep sound that sounded very much like a growl.

"Don't argue with me," she warned. "I won't take no for an answer." She helped him to the bedroom, allowing him to fall on the bed. The bedsprings creaked in protest. "Can you take aspirin? Should I get you to a doctor?"

"No drugs," he mumbled, then closed his eyes. "And no doctor. Just go. I'll be all right."

She had serious doubts that he'd be all right when his teeth started clicking against one another. His body shivered uncontrollably. Chills and fever? That sounded like a dangerous combination to her. She wondered if he'd refused drugs because he couldn't take them, or simply because he'd wanted to get rid of her. His medicine chest should tell her what he could or could not tolerate.

The medicine cabinet was empty. A toothbrush, obviously recently used, and a bottle of mouthwash sat on the counter. She opened a drawer. Toothpaste, floss, but no drugs. Not even Band-Aids. Another cabinet held towels and washcloths. She snatched a washcloth and ran it under cold water.

Rushing back into the bedroom, she sat next to him. He moaned. Her worry increased. Should she contact someone? She hadn't noticed a phone, and she'd left her cell phone in her Jeep. If worse came to worst, she could run back to camp and get her vehicle. The small town she'd driven through last night wasn't far. Surely they had a doctor or a clinic of some kind. She placed the cool cloth against his forehead. He grabbed her wrist.

"Easy," she said, wondering why she used her animal-soothing tone with him. "I'm only trying to help you."

His eyes opened, his brilliant blue gaze locking with hers. In a voice that sounded perfectly lucid, he said, "Then kill me."