By Moonlight: Vamp Rising Part 1

VAMP RISING.

By Moonlight.

EVIE RYAN.

Chapter One.

Gwen Keller let the tangled tent poles drop from her quivering arms. They clattered into a bent heap on the ground and looked like every spider she'd ever killed, a sloppy mess of legs she found curious, but didn't necessarily want to deal with. She wriggled her shoulders free from the overstuffed hiker's backpack that had started to cause her neck and arms to ache, leaned forward so the sack wouldn't plummet, and carefully slid it down her back by inching the nylon straps through her sore fingers until her belongings met the earth with a gentle plop. She had an impulse to take her boots off, the next heaviest item tethered to her pet.i.te frame, but decided to sweep the baseball cap off her head instead and let her scalp breathe.

She had made it. The campsite was delightfully empty just like she'd hoped. She figured the summer months had this area teeming with families, kids screaming and chasing each other, radios blaring, and beer induced conversations shouted across the clearing: Where are the batteries? In the glove box! I don't see them! Not the trunk, the GLOVE BOX! Gwen was relieved it was mid autumn, grateful to be avoiding that kind of chaos. She was here to think, and now that she'd finally arrived, climbed up the western trail on foot like a real hiker, and had picked the perfect spot to set up her tent, she felt like she'd be able to do just that: think, reflect, accept. But there were her tent poles, as curious and daunting as being here in the first place. Maybe she'd get herself set up first, hold off from reconciling her fate until she was thoroughly settled and completely confident that the long weekend ahead would bring peace and not the anxiety she'd promised to leave back home in Seattle.

The crisp mountain air wafted lazily through her short blond hair, cooling her head and reminding her to breathe deeply. There was plenty of daylight left to erect the tent, blow up her air mattress, and gather kindling. Before parting from the comfort of her Mercedes, she had memorized the how-to's of camping by studying several web pages that she'd book marked on her iPad. She antic.i.p.ated there would be no cell towers up here, no signals to check the internet so she'd left all her devices in her vehicle. She could do this. Just Gwen and nature. Just Gwen and the diagnosis that hovered over her like a dark cloud. Don't think about it, she told herself. Not yet. Let's get organized first.

She stared down at the tent poles, gave them a little kick with her boot, and in true Gwen Keller fas.h.i.+on decided that having a look around while collecting wood sc.r.a.ps for the fire she would surely build after dark would be a good enough place to start, ease her into the more difficult tasks, acclimate her to the idea that for the next three days she would be a camper, a burly woods-woman, and not the dainty marketing a.s.sociate, who'd never spend an hour, much less a weekend, in the great outdoors, that she truly was. Yes, she was procrastinating. Old habits die hard. City Gwen, who had been reduced to a nervous voice in the back of her mind, was hoping a nice, attractive, competent man would come along and pitch her tent. After all, that's what usually happened. Flat tire? I'll give 'Triple A' a call. Sure. Seattle men wouldn't do the heavy lifting themselves, but they didn't need to. Their wallets could. But new Gwen, self-sufficient Gwen, Gwen of the Cascade Mountains was up for the task. Sort of. Baby Steps. Let's get that kindling.

She started across the campsite, keeping her eyes peeled for anything that might do. Pinecones crunched under her boots, twigs snapped, and her jean shorts brushed softly between her thighs. The wilderness was silent except for the occasional breeze that rustled the leafy treetops, the faint chorus of crickets, and the punctuating woot of some kind of bird. Gwen realized how noisy she was by comparison and wondered what the forest creatures might be thinking of her. The thought made her oddly self-conscious. She was a big, klutzy oaf. Even her heartbeat thumps and the sound of her breathing seemed to draw attention to how wildly out of place she was.

She told herself not to feel self-conscious since it was a silly reaction to have, given that she was clearly and completely alone, when suddenly she realized she wasn't. It was red plaid that stole her attention. At the far end of the campsite where the forest thickened there was a man walking in her general direction. He appeared to have come out of the forest and didn't seem like your run-of-the-mill camper. He also didn't seem to notice Gwen, who by now had paused in order to observe him.

Old Gwen piped up about good omens and the tent, but New Gwen shut Old Gwen up and slinked behind a tree trunk. New Gwen knew that just because her doctors had given her a death sentence didn't mean she couldn't also get murdered in the mountains. Gwen was learning life wasn't fair, bad things did happen to good people and bad things could also get worse.

As she examined the man, noting his height first (he was tall, well over six feet, and Gwen stood at a measly 5'4") and then his attire (a weathered plaid flannel that was unb.u.t.toned to his navel, sleeves rolled up, worn out jeans that hugged his thighs, and st.u.r.dy work boots), she wondered what brought him out here. He looked as if he belonged. Or maybe there was another campsite through the trees she hadn't been aware of.

The man circled something that lay on the forest floor then kneeled with his back to Gwen, before it. Soon a few dogs rushed to him from out of the forest. They appeared to be harnessed and Gwen realized the dogs were towing some kind of sled. The man lifted whatever had been on the ground, understanding it was ma.s.sive now that he had it in his arms. It was an animal, but she couldn't tell what kind. Her mind kept offering lion, but that made no sense. There were no lions in Was.h.i.+ngton not to mention there would be no way for one man to lift a limp lion. They had to be well over three hundred pounds and the man had scooped it in his arms with ease. He then set the animal on the sled bed, secured it with a number of straps, and whistled. As if commanded, the dogs began hauling the sled back into the forest and the man disappeared after them.

Gwen listened intently for any sign he was returning to the campsite, but when she heard only the breeze and that crazed bird wooting she allowed herself to breathe and started back towards her tent. Forget the kindling. She would pitch her d.a.m.n tent and go for the hike she'd been dreaming about for all the hours it'd taken her to get to the Cascades. Not to mention her hunting knife was in her backpack where it would do her no good. She needed to be smart, keep her wits about her, and have that knife on her at all times. It occurred to her it might be tough getting it out of its plastic packaging, but she'd find a way. She should have let the store clerk slice it open when she bought it on impulse at the last gas station before entering the park. He'd offered, but the gesture seemed to be in the spirit of finding out about her. He'd already asked her too many questions. Gwen had an aversion to friendliness from strangers. It was probably the city girl in her. Her guard was always up. And the more he'd inquired about her plans for camping and what had inspired her to come this way, the harder it became to fight back the sting of tears that were threatening to well in the corners of her eyes.

Fast and furious, Gwen unzipped the front compartment of her backpack, grabbed the plastic encased hunting knife, and brought it up to her teeth. She wasn't going to feel threatened by anyone, no matter how rational or irrational Old Gwen was making it. If that man came within twenty feet of her she'd knife him like a maniac, no hesitation. She was going to get everything out of this weekend she had planned and that didn't include turning into an episode of Dateline NBC.

Once she freed the knife, she clipped it to her belt, rolled up the sleeves on her gray sweats.h.i.+rt, which fit her graceful curves to perfection, and lifted one of the eight tent poles from the pile. It took a great deal of concentration, reminding her of the painstaking hours she had wasted as a child, struggling to master her father's Rubik's Cube on a dare. Gwen eventually succeeded and the tent stood proudly, like the mushroom that had sprouted between the curled linoleum and wooden trim in her aunt's bathroom, the summer twelve year old Gwen had visited.

Working quickly, she blew up her air mattress, dressed it in bedding, unpacked her backpack to give the tent a dash of hominess, then started off through the campsite in search of kindling for the second time. After selecting a few choice pieces, careful to consider the wood not be too damp, Gwen essentially gave up her scrutiny and grabbed whatever looked burnable, regardless of pine needles still attached. She dumped the wood sc.r.a.ps into the burnt black fire pit in front of her tent, sprayed her legs, arms, and neck with bug repellent, and took off for the eastern trail.

If her research had served her, the eastern trail would ascend steeply through the woods until it reached a ridge that would overlook the Cascade region. That's where she wanted to be. According to her wrist.w.a.tch it was 5:13 pm, just enough time to get up to the ridge, take a deep breath and hopefully have an epiphany, then return to camp before the sun would set.

As she hiked up along the trail, she took in the all the beautiful sights and smells: the pattern of light across the forest floor caused by the sun s.h.i.+ning through the thick canopy of leaves overhead, the texture of bark on every tree she pa.s.sed, and the vibrancy of the foliage., The thick moss scent and rich fresh air filled her lungs and helped her mind to clear. Soon the meditative nature of her journey caused her thoughts to drift back to the issue of her health, as much as she wanted to avoid it until after she had reached the peak.

Cold and clammy. That had been what first entered her mind when she'd heard the news. She hadn't been able to remember her doctor's name, but was taken aback by how cold and clammy his hand felt the second he'd placed it on her arm. I'm being told I'm going to die by a man whose hand repulses me, she'd thought. Not comforted by a boyfriend, she didn't have one. Not a.s.sured by her parents, she hadn't clued them in on her months of fatigue, the terrible aches that had plagued each work day, and the horrible mornings she had woke up with nausea, barely making it to the toilet in time. They hadn't been there with her to receive the diagnosis. We've narrowed it down to the possibility that it's one of the three most common blood disorders, but will need to run more tests, the doctor had told her, as she sat by herself on the couch. She hadn't wanted to worry her family, but hearing that kind of news without any support had been traumatic. She had expected to be told she had the flu. She'd never imagined that cancer would be the most likely culprit. She didn't stick around for the confirmation, giving the excuse that she felt fine (an obvious lie) and was too busy (a less obvious lie). Could she schedule the follow up tests for next week?

When the doctor told her it would be best to run more tests now, she insisted she needed to go, and that's when he leveled with her. We have every reason to believe it's blood cancer, Gwen. We need to start treatment. Her only question had been how long? How many more years did she have? His expression had fallen somber then he corrected her a.s.sumption: Not years, Gwen. Months.

Months?

As in just shy of a year?

No, as in just shy of winter.

If she did nothing Gwen would be dead by Thanksgiving. It was already October 12th. The time line had been so shocking that Gwen began to laugh. He went on to explain that with treatment she could prolong the inevitable until her birthday in the Spring. The image of her frail and bald, seated at her parent's dining room table, gazing down at a slice of cake that she would be too ill to eat, caused Gwen to instantly burst into tears., Not because she felt sorry for herself, but because she perceived the magnitude of pain her parents would surely feel as they watched their youngest child dying before their very eyes. It was that image that had her abruptly spring to her feet and leave the hospital against her doctor's advis.e.m.e.nt. By the time Gwen had reached the parking lot, her mind had gone blank and she'd slipped into some form of denial. She was numb, empty, and oddly distracted by how much laundry she had to do, so much that she was sure she'd lost her mind.

Gwen was jarred from the recall when she noticed she'd reached a clearing. The trees had fallen away, and the compact soil beneath her boots had turned suddenly loose and gravely. She realized the trail was now traversing the long and winding ridge along the eastern peak of the Cascade Mountain.

The view was absolutely breathtaking. Stepping carefully, Gwen came to the cliff's edge and looked out at the tremendous expanse of wilderness before her, replete with Fir trees that splashed rich green colors across the landscape, gorgeously contrasting the piercing blue sky. Her gaze traced the other winding hiking trails across the ravine until her sights landed on Mount Rainier far in the distance. Its snowy peak seemed to kiss the sky and its jagged rock face smoothed and melted into the hills that surrounded it. There was even a lake to the south, though from her vantage point Gwen could only see a corner of its gla.s.sy teal surface. The colors were unreal and the entire view reminded her of an artist's painting.

Why had she never learned to paint? Why had she not made time to meet a man? Why had she lived her adult years buried in work and determined to get ahead? She'd always thought she would slow down and enjoy life when she became established in her career. It had never occurred to her, that day might never come. After all, it was only a matter of time, or at least that's what she'd told herself for the past ten years. But now look at her, she was 29 years old and there was no time left.

Gwen was furious. The feeling came on hard and sudden. Her heart leapt from her chest and her fingernails pinched into her palms under the strain of her balling fists. She had never felt less in control of anything in her life. That's where the fury came from, the fact that there was nothing anyone one could do for her. There was nothing she could do for herself. She was going to leave this world before she wanted to, before her time, and it just wasn't G.o.dd.a.m.n fair. As much as she wanted to make peace with her fate, as much as she wanted to come down off the mountain Sunday evening, stoic with a sense that her life, short as it was, had mattered. It didn't. And nothing could make this right.

She suddenly regretted coming here. She should be in a bar in Seattle. She should be dressed to the nine's and flirting her a.s.s off. She should try c.o.ke and heroine and make pa.s.sionate soul-quivering love to the hottest man she could find. That's who she was deep down, wild at heart and willing to take risks. But she had taken all the wrong ones. All her life she spent risking her future by working too hard in the present. It was time to get reckless, time to seize the day, and with that stark revelation Gwen decided she would get the h.e.l.l out of the Cascades and make some G.o.dd.a.m.n memories so that she could die knowing that she had lived, and lived fully if only for a few months.

Because G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Gwen Keller wanted to live.

Before she knew what was happening her feet came into view in front of the mountain backdrop then her elbows smacked against gravel. It took a second to process that she was sliding down the cliff, but when she realized she began clawing backwards and trying desperately to fight the landslide that had taken her with it. She was plummeting with shocking speed, as grit and gravel sc.r.a.ped her bare legs, her elbows and forearms, kicking up dust to the extent that she could no longer see. The cliff face had to be at least two hundred feet and she prayed that she would reach the bottom unscathed, but all of a sudden her boot clipped a sharp rock, sending her careening head over heels. Reflexively, Gwen's hands braced out to protect her head, but the momentum was too extreme. Her head struck the hard earth with a crack, causing her body to go limp, and she tumbled violently down in somersaults, hitting her head, back, b.u.t.t, and legs over and over again until she had no idea which way was up. Gwen was a blur of breaking bones and searing pain with every revolution, as her body flailed for what seemed like an excruciatingly long time, when without warning, she suddenly found herself free falling. At first she was relieved to not be tumbling, but her relief was quickly replaced with stark panic as she realized she was plummeting towards the ravine floor. She only had time to gasp. Her eyes pinched shut reflexively and her hands whipped up in front of her face, but neither could save her.

She struck the ground hard and lost all consciousness.

The sun had begun to set, lowering slowly behind Mount Rainier and casting the most beautiful shades of orange across the sky by the time Brandon Scott was finally leaving The Cascade Sanctuary & Wildlife Preserve after a long day's work.

It had been a long day. He'd gotten up with the sun as always, made it in to the Sanctuary slightly late, which was expected (he'd set a precedent with the Administration long ago that his version of being on time would amount to rolling in just shy of twenty minutes late), and checked the board for his territories. He'd been a.s.signed Cascade Creek, the perimeter around Hollis Lake, and Evergrove, the campsite on the eastern side of the mountain.

That's where he'd seen the woman. Ordinarily, Brandon would've been annoyed to have been a.s.signed Evergrove. The campers bothered him in general. They were so human, so dependent on their modern conveniences like radios, television, and electricity. It blew Brandon's mind the way they'd haul themselves deep into the wilderness then complain they couldn't hear the game because their radio signal was all static. Joseph had a.s.sured him the campsite would be vacant so combing it for injured and sick wildlife would be painless, but Brandon had been skeptical. He'd obliged, however, grumbling his way out the door and into the warm morning sun.

As soon as he'd seen the woman, he was glad to have been a.s.signed the territory. She amused him. The way she'd struggled through pitching that tent had been a virtual comedy of errors. She'd maneuvered the poles with childlike clumsiness. She'd clearly been out of her element. If one pole stood straight the other three she'd planted fell. By the time she was nailing one of the stakes into the ground the other five popped up from the impact. At one point the tent's fabric seemed to have swallowed her and she'd jerked about like a cat trying to get a sock off its head.

Initially, Brandon had enjoyed watching her struggle, because he figured it served her right for having the audacity to venture her city slicker a.s.s into his neck of the woods, but eventually he found her endearing. She had gumption. Determination had rolled off her like steam from an engine. She kicked and muttered and huffed and puffed, but didn't let her frustration stop her. And as he watched from the brush she succeeded. She got the tent to stand. And when she did, she jutted her hip out, planted her fist on it, blew her long blond bangs out of her eyes and seemed to marvel at the accomplishment.

It had been d.a.m.n cute.

Not to mention her sporty figure had been of some interest to him. She was pet.i.te, on the short side, but toned. The definition in her legs made them seem longer than they probably were. He had been able to tell her arms were strong, equally toned beneath the gray s.h.i.+rt she'd been wearing. And he had to admit he liked her curves, which had been present, but not enough to hold her back from squatting and thrusting the tent into shape. The woman could get her hands dirty.

Brandon had spent the majority of his day wondering about her. He considered the reasons a city girl would be up here this time of year, and alone for that matter. She was probably trying to prove someone wrong. Maybe that someone was herself. She certainly didn't belong here. She had Seattle written all over her, all the way down to that hunting knife she'd clearly bought on a whim, a last minute attempt to convince herself the wilderness wouldn't eat her alive.

Technically, it could, which had been the reason Brandon kept circling back to her, as he progressed through his a.s.signed territories. For as much moxie as she had, the terrain was dangerous and if she encountered certain wildlife it could be downright fatal. Deep down he'd started to feel responsible, as though he was her guardian, as though it was his duty to see to it that she'd make it out of here and return to her home city alive and well. Or maybe she wouldn't return. Maybe she'd stay... The thought had swirled in the back of his mind until he decided, at the very least, nothing was going to happen to her on his watch.

But he'd lost sight of her when she'd ascended the midway point along Tucker's Ravine. At the time he had needed to get to the lake and do a sweep across the perimeter or he wouldn't have made it back in time for call at the Sanctuary. He'd told himself he'd swing by her campsite on his way home, make sure she'd returned safely, put his mind at ease. So leaving the facility, Brandon started off in that direction, as he tried to make sense of her.

What the h.e.l.l had she been thinking going up Tucker's? It was a trail meant for experienced hikers, not powder puffs hoping to gain a sense of personal empowerment, See Dad, I can do anything, I climbed the ravine, now loan me money so I can start my online jewelry business. Not that she was a powder puff. Nothing about her indicated she had a pipe dream about selling homemade tchotchkes over the internet, but she certainly wasn't an avid trailblazer.

When he reached the campsite it was nearly dark. He cut across the clearing, hoping to detect some movement within her tent, any indication she'd returned, but it was still and soundless. He went so far as to place his hand on the nylon siding of the tent and walk clear around it, which was unnecessary. He already knew she wasn't there.

"Beers at Riley's?" His friend, Mark Houston called out from the tree line.

"Nah," shouted Brandon. "Gotta check on something."

"Someone's camping out here this late in the year?" He asked, as he strode over out of curiosity.

"Just some lady," Brandon offered, hoping he wouldn't sound as interested as he was. "She ought to be back by now with the sun down and everything."

"Ah, she'll be fine," said Mark before studying Brandon's hesitation and getting a read on his friend's unease. "You're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?"

"What do you think I'm thinking?" He challenged.

Mark considered the best way to put it, then quickly gave up and stated plainly, "Don't get interested in some outsider. It won't be worth it."

"She was hiking Tucker's earlier."

"You followed her?"

"No, she kept coming in and out of my territories," said Brandon, who realized as soon as the excuse flew out of his mouth that Mark would know he was lying. The trail through Tucker's Ravine was barely on the outskirts of one of his a.s.signed territories.

Mark must have been feeling kind, because he didn't call Brandon out on it, only asked, "How hot is she? Is she like an eight? Or is she like a full blown ten?"

Brandon smirked. Mark was such an idiot, he couldn't help it.

"Do your thing man," Mark added, punctuating the blessing with a thwack to Brandon's chest. "Then come to Riley's. Thursday's beer night. Don't you go blowing off tradition."

"Alright, man," he said, as he watched Mark turn on his heel and start back across the campsite.

Knowing how bad it would look if the woman came back at this very moment, but not caring, Brandon unzipped her tent and entered. He knelt by her bed and lifted the comforter to his nose, taking a quick whiff. Lavender potpourri and baby powder was all he got from it. So he pulled a few articles of clothing out of an army-sized backpack that was sitting at the far side of the tent and sniffed those as well. Again, the same c.r.a.p scents, manmade attempts to mask a woman's natural odor. He tried again, this time smelling her pillow, Christ she'd brought enough comforts with her. Why bother camping at all? She had her whole bedroom here. But just then Brandon got the information he had been looking for: musk traces of her unique scent, as precise as a fingerprint.

He almost wished she'd barge in right now. She'd be terrified then furious. Maybe she'd smack him. For some reason the thought got him excited. He hadn't had a woman in ages. He liked the feisty ones who would fearlessly put him in his place. But he was getting sidetracked. He placed her belongings back as best he could having virtually no recollection of how he'd found them, and left her tent, anxious to get to the trail where he'd last seen her.

It was dark and his eyesight was barely serving him. The moon overhead was full and though it s.h.i.+ned brightly the canopy of trees overhead obscured what little light it provided. As he ran up the eastern trail along Tucker's Ravine he knew his eyesight would be sharp, his sense of smell acute if he s.h.i.+fted, so in a flash he did, collapsing onto all fours into his wolf form and instantly sprinting at five times the speed his human legs had been carrying him.

When he reached the ridge, trees no longer blocked the moonlight and he could see clear across the peak. He smelled the woman and padded over to the cliff's edge where her scent was strongest. Immediately he saw that the ground had been eroded. He was filled with a deep sense of dread in that moment, as he stared at the curvature where the earth was missing. She'd fallen.

Brandon crept along the cliff's edge, scanning the wall of the cliff until he located a stripped line that led straight down: the path she'd tumbled. Then he saw her far below on the ravine floor and his heart sank. She was motionless, a tangle of limbs. If he'd been human he would've thought she was nothing more than a rock, a dark lump wedged between two tree trunks.

Because he knew Tucker's like the back of his hand and had hiked every inch of its trails, and had bushwhacked through the forest, Brandon sprinted back the way he'd come to circ.u.mnavigate the cliff and go around through the northern trail that connected the eastern one with its twin. To say he was frantic would be an understatement. He'd last seen the woman just before 6:00 pm and it was fast approaching 6:45. Humans were fragile and their tenacity to hang onto life often faded quickly in the face of hopelessness. The woman had been alone and probably had no hope of being found. She'd been out here all by herself for too long. If she was clinging to life at the bottom of the ravine, it was unlikely she'd hang on much longer. And he needed her to hang on.

As Brandon traversed the ravine floor, he prayed she'd taken her spill not long ago, but when he reached her and sniffed around her neck, she was cold. She had no heartbeat. She had no pulse.

He howled and the call resonated through the ravine, carrying his distress cry all the way back to the Cascade Sanctuary & Wildlife Preserve.

For a moment he was paralyzed with fear, but realizing his wolf form was no longer practical he s.h.i.+fted back into his human body, hooked his muscular arm under the back of her neck, while scooping under her knees, and lifted her to him so that she was securely cradled.

The Elders at the Sanctuary weren't going to like this, but Brandon didn't care. There was a reason he'd been drawn to her. There was a reason he had been watching. And he should never have let her out of his sight.

Brandon burst through the front doors of the infirmary where Joseph had been standing ready in wait. Joseph took one look at the limp woman in Brandon's arms and immediately threw his hands up, barring their entry.

"That's not a wild animal," said Joseph, objecting.

"She fell down Tucker's Ravine."

Joseph cradled the woman's head, carefully tipping it back to expose her neck where he felt for her pulse. "She's dead."

"I know that," he barked in frustration. "We can bring her back."

His boss was hesitant, settled the woman's head back into the crux of Brandon's shoulder, and shook his head. "We'd have to have a meeting with the Administration, involve the Board, get clearance-"

"No we don't. We don't need to go through all that bureaucracy to save her. We can do this right now." When Joseph turned rigid at the proposal, Brandon added, "If she was a mountain lion, we wouldn't think twice about this."

"And if she was an injured hiker, we wouldn't either," countered Joseph. "But she isn't injured within an inch of her life. She's dead. She isn't capable of making the decision. And we can't take her on if we don't have permission."

Brandon barreled past Joseph, ignoring the objections, and started down the corridor to the surgical wing. His boss jogged after him. Brandon had a tendency to be pigheaded when he wanted something, but he'd never wanted anything this big. This would go against every protocol they had and would risk both of their standings with the Sanctuary, but he didn't care. He needed this.

The double doors to Surgery One swung open when Brandon kicked them. He set the woman down on the long steel table at the center of the room and for the first time really took stock of her condition. The hair on the one side of her head was matted with blood, her face was torn open down the left cheek and the other had countless sc.r.a.pes. Her left femur was broken. The bone had pierced through the muscle and protruded from her skin, and both forearms were fractured, Brandon guessed judging by the swelling.

Brandon tore his panicked gaze from the woman and looked at Joseph pleadingly. The man didn't even approach the table, didn't a.s.sess the damage to her pet.i.te body.

"When have I asked for anything?" Brandon demanded.

"Why is this important to you?"

"It just is," he said, unwilling to explain further or perhaps uncertain of what that explanation would include. He didn't know. It was just a feeling he had, an intuitive knowing that this woman was meant for more than an accidental death. She was meant for him, but he couldn't put that into words, not without sounding irrational or downright insane.

Joseph grasped the telephone off the wall and pressed the red b.u.t.ton.

"What are you doing? They'll never permit this! You're wasting time!"

"I can't save her, Brandon. Not by myself."

"We have a hiker," Joseph said into the mouthpiece then hung up.

"You didn't explain anything!"

"Because if I said she was already dead they'd tell me to take her out to the graves. Let me see what I can do. You have to calm down."

But Brandon couldn't calm down. He was pacing the room, accidentally knocking supplies from the counters with his swinging fists. He tried stilling himself by running his fingers through his dark hair, but it amounted to holding his head in grief.

"When Elektra and Ismay get here, let me do the talking," instructed Joseph.

"I'll give her the wolf bite," offered Brandon. "Tell them that."

Joseph gritted his teeth. "Wait outside," he ordered.

"But-"

"Outside!"

Brandon approached the woman and took her face in his hands. He drank in her features, memorizing the details, and hoped it wouldn't be the last time he was able to do this. Then he backed away and though he was reluctant, pa.s.sed through the double doors.