Page 68 of Fire on the Moon

Angelo’s face reddened, and he let loose with a string of curses. “You stupid son of a bitch. All this plotting and planning for nothing. One of my best guys is dead. Another’s in the hospital, and two are chewed up by a dog. I was gonna make you pay for screwing me out of my money—and have your daughter watch. Now you’ll all pay.”

Zane fought not to look toward the door. Christ, where were Jonah and Knox? This would be a good time for them to arrive.

He knew he was listening to the ranting of a psychopath. And once again he was thinking he had no other choice about how to keep the guy from killing everyone in the room. Moving slowly, he inched away from Francesca. Under his breath, he had begun to say the chant of transformation.

“Taranis, Epona, Cerridwen,” he murmured, then repeated the same phrase and went on to another set of ancient words.

Francesca heard and gave him a startled glance, but she must have understood what he was doing because he’d told her she wouldn’t hear that chant again unless she was going to see a wolf.

“Ga. Feart. Cleas. Duais. Aithriocht. Go gcumhdai is dtreorai na deithe thu.”

He felt his jaw elongate, his teeth sharpen, his body contort as muscles and limbs transformed themselves into a different shape. He hadn’t been able to get rid of his clothes, but his pants slipped off and his shirt flapped around him as he leaped forward.

Angelo was paralyzed in front of him, as he watched something that had to be impossible taking place before his eyes.

Then he screamed, found he could move, and raised the gun.

But the man who had been standing beside the bed was gone, and the bullet smashed into the wall across the room at the same time the door burst open. Angelo whirled and fired again, but another wolf came in low, taking him down, clamping fangs onto his neck and dragging him into the hall.

There were running feet in the corridor now and people screaming. The two wolves dashed for the back of the building where Zane had come in. They pushed the doors open with their momentum as they disappeared from view.

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Francesca knew she had to act quickly. Stooping down, she scooped up Zane’s pants and shoved them into one of the drawers where her father’s clothing was stored.

She was just in time. Again there was a scream in the hall, and a nurse rushed into the room.

“Are you all right?” the woman gasped out.

“Yes. What happened?”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

The nurse was partially blocking Francesca’s view. Peering around her, she saw Angelo sprawled on the tile floor of the hall, a pool of blood around his head and neck.

“Stay in your room,” the nurse said. “We’re on lockdown until that animal is caught.”

Caught? She prayed the wolves had gotten away.

As the woman closed the door, Francesca hurried back to her father. He was lying in the bed shaking, mumbling to himself.

“Dad, are you all right?”

“I don’t know. I must have had another one of those damned hallucinations.”

“Yes, right,” she soothed.

He gave her a dazed look. “Was Angelo here? Did I make him up?”

Deciding honesty was best, she answered, “He was here.”

Turner shook his head. “My own brother. He came to kill me. I knew he had turned rotten. I can’t believe he would go that far.”

“It’s over now,” Francesca soothed, but her father kept talking.

“He said I took his money. But it wasn’t his money. He stole it.”

“Yes. I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard. “This is my fault.”

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