Page 52 of Fire on the Moon

Chapter Sixteen

Other than the bristling hairs, Zane stood frozen in place, staring at the wide-eyed woman with the gun. His life mate. Or was she going to put a swift end to the relationship?

It flashed through his mind that his own decisions had catapulted him into this mess. Like, maybe he should have come clean with her about the rescue on the beach. Now she didn’t know Zane Marshall was the dangerous-looking wolf standing on the deck facing her. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t tell her it would be a bad mistake to shoot him. And the idea of transforming in front of her made his stomach tie itself into knots.

He looked into her eyes, trying to read what she might be thinking. Did he detect a glimmer of understanding? On some unconscious level, did she recognize him? And was that good or bad?

What if he dropped to the deck and rolled over like a big old dog? Would that demonstrate that the wolf was no threat?

That image made him cringe.

With the river behind him and Francesca with a gun in front of him, he did the only realistic thing he could think of at the moment. He leaped over the side, hitting the water with a tremendous splash.

He went down like a rock, sinking down, down below the surface into the murky depths where he struggled to hold his breath. Finally to his relief, he began to come up again.

Was Francesca looking over the side, trying to spot him? He struggled not to break the surface until he had swum to the prow. The wolf couldn’t grab onto anything. All he could do was lean against the wooden hull, dragging in air and silently saying the chant that would change him back into a man.

When he was human again, he dragged in a breath and called out. “Don’t shoot. I’m coming around to the deck.”

He swam back and reached to grab hold of the gunwale. With an effort he hauled himself aboard and sat dripping like a wet fish on one the cushions.

Francesca still held the gun. He hoped it was to scare away the panther if it came back.

She stood unmoving, staring at him. “Are you going to tell me you were already in the water when that wolf went over the side?”

He kept his gaze steady. “I might have tried that. You’ve just made it clear that wouldn’t do me any good.”

“All that crap you told me about your family. An ancient curse, was it?”

“An ancient bargain with the Druid gods.”

“Oh right.”

“Could I put on some clothes before we have this discussion? You know, before I catch my death of cold.”

She winced, probably remembering that he’d been shot yesterday. “You can get dressed,” she said in a low voice. She looked at his arm which was now oozing blood again. “Wash the river water off your wound and slather some antiseptic on it.”

He crossed the deck, leaving wet footprints on the varnished boards. In the head, he stepped under the shower and quickly washed himself. After drying off, he applied antiseptic, and pulled on a tee shirt and jeans. When he was dressed, he realized he should have cut a couple lengths of bandage before he showered.

Using his other hand and his teeth, he wrapped some gauze around his arm and managed to tie it off. Luckily it was at the end of the roll, and he didn’t have to try and cut it.

He’d delayed as long as he could, but he knew he had to face Francesca. Stiff-legged, he returned to the main cabin where she was sitting at the table. At least she didn’t move when he sat down opposite her. And she had put the gun on the table between them.

The tone of her voice and her next question were less reassuring. “You said you wouldn’t lie to me. What did you tell me that was true?”

He wanted to flinch away, but he kept his own gaze steady. “About us, or about your uncle’s murder?”

“You can start with my uncle.”

The tension buzzing between them made him feel like an animal caught in a net, but there was nothing he could do about it besides give her honesty.

“Everything I said about the case is true—as far as I know. I’ve been trying to protect you and trying to figure out what’s going on. There’s stuff that doesn’t add up. I mean, if you want the truth, I feel like somebody’s playing games with me—with us.”

“What makes you think so?”

“The way Tuckerman confronted me. He was protecting some secret, but I don’t know what. Unfortunately, the other guy came in before I could get any answers. And now we’re prime murder suspects.”

She ignored that last part and asked, “And us?”

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