Kieran dropped to the ground, to four black paws, his transformation complete. Alexandra and Peter were suddenly gone, but he knew how to find them.
A different lust held him now. Blood-lust drove him, and he never questioned it. This was life, the only reality, the one truth—this need for revenge.
This need to kill.
The woman he trailed was oblivious. She had dismissed him from her heart, but she walked alone now. Easy prey. He found her standing before her cabin, blurred to his eyes but vivid in her scent.
He.knew when she saw him. She stiffened and held her hands before her face, as if warding off a demon. But Kieran did not glory in her fear. He swung his head to left and right, scenting for the other. And found him.
Peter smiled as he saw Kieran, flashed his perfect white teeth in a grin of contempt, “No success, eh, my friend? Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her for you.”
But his mockery went no further. Kieran was already stalking toward him, head low, ears cocked to catch every nuance of Peter’s movements, his quickened breathing. Only at the end did Peter recognize his danger. He turned to flee, prepared to leave Alexandra behind undefended. Too late.
Kieran’s muscles bunched to spring.
* * *
At almost exactly 10 a.m., the morning after a long and sleepless night, someone knocked on the cabin door.
Alex pushed her chair back from the kitchen table, abandoning the bowl of cold oatmeal she’d been trying to eat. She forced herself to move slowly as the rapping started again; cool logic replaced the first wild surmise that had sent her heart into somersaults.
It wouldn’t be Kieran. He wouldn’t bother to knock. She walked to the door with measured steps. Very few people ever came to her cabin. The most likely possibility was Julie, who hadn’t come to town yesterday. Alex almost hoped it was. She desperately needed to talk to someone with clear sight and a calm heart.
She braced herself and opened the door. A stranger stood there, grimly impersonal in a neatly pressed uniform. Alex froze with her hand on the knob.
He wasn’t really a stranger. Merritt was a small town, and you ran into everyone sooner or later. But she’d never had any reason to speak to a member of Merritt’s tiny police force.
Her heart lodged firmly in her throat. “Alexandra Warrington? I’m Officer Claybourne. May I have a word with you?”
Alex stepped back and gestured him into the cabin, feeling her way to the sofa. The officer followed, shutting the door behind him.
“I understand you knew a man named Peter Schaeffer, Ms. Warrington.”
She could feel every thread in the rough weave of the sofa’s upholstery under her palm. “Yes. I… know him.”
He moved up beside her and took her elbow. “Here. Why don’t you sit down, Ms. Warrington.”
She sat because her legs gave her no other choice. “What’s happened, Officer?”
“Ms. Warrington, Peter Schaeffer was found dead early this morning in the woods just behind the motor lodge.”
She felt nothing at first, not even shock. She looked at Claybourne, around the cabin, down at the sofa to a threadbare patch next to her hand. Then the disbelief came, and the horror, and the sickness.
She doubled over. No. God, no.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Truly sorry.”
The air wouldn’t seem to move in and out of her lungs. She concentrated on that simple, necessary act. “How?” she croaked.
The floor squeaked as the officer moved away. “I wish I didn’t have to bother you, Ms. Warrington, but we may need your help. You’ve had a guest staying here with you—a Kieran Holt.”
It was a nightmare. It had to be. She looked up at the officer blankly. All she could manage were words of one syllable. “Why?”
He sighed, shifting his hat on his head. “When did you last see him, ma’am?”
She couldn’t think. The possibilities flooded her mind with wave after wave of horror. She doubled over again.
“He was… here,” she gasped. “With me.”
“Until when, ma’am?” He moved away again, his footsteps receding toward the bedroom, pausing and returning. “I don’t see him here now. Do you know where he is?”