Night Creatures Short Stories Read online

  I couldn’t bear to make love to him now and find out it had only been sex later. Even if all the love of the past year turned out to be nothing but lust, and maybe not even that much, I wasn’t going to compound the pain by adding more of the same.

  “Let’s just get this done,” I said, and yanked my makeup case from the closet.

  Shiny pink vinyl. I’d torn off the Barbie emblem only last week. I’m not sure why I’d kept the ghastly bag, except it was one of the few things my mother had given me besides an inferiority complex. I remembered very clearly how she’d come home from work one bright summer day when I was twelve and handed me the gift.

  “Try being a girl,” she’d ordered.

  I’d tried, but I’d never been very good at it. After one pathetic attempt to use the powders and potions inside, I’d picked up my pellet gun and gone squirrel hunting. Gotta stick with your strengths.

  “That’s awful small,” Will observed. “How could you have missed seeing a medicine bag in there?”

  “I never open the thing. I only brought it along because …”

  I shrugged, not wanting to admit I’d planned to dazzle him on our wedding day. A dress, jewelry, makeup, and a hairdo. He wouldn’t have known what hit him. He probably wouldn’t have known me.

  I yanked on the zipper and upended the bag on the bed. Two lipsticks, one blush, mascara, and a trial tube of base tumbled out along with a second medicine bag. Inside were figurines that matched the others, the same herbs, similar seeds, and a tiny swatch of stone-washed denim.

  Will fingered the cloth. “I wondered how I put a hole in those pants.”

  “Ready?” I asked.

  Grim determination came over his face, and he gave a sharp nod. I stuffed the figurines, cloth, and other items into the bag, then tossed it onto the floor and lifted my foot.

  “Wait.”

  Will dropped his talisman next to mine, then grabbed me around the waist. His lips were soft, his hands hard, and as always, when he touched me I could think of nothing but him.

  From the beginning we’d felt more for each other than two people should so quickly. I’d shoved aside the unease, convincing myself we’d been under stress, fighting for our lives. We’d almost died. Of course what we felt was intense beyond all reason.

  Once the danger was over, or as over as it got for Jager-Suckers, I’d continued to delude myself, rationalizing that we were lucky to have found each other, thereby avoiding the whisper in my head that insisted I was the lucky one. I shouldn’t question or probe because Will might come to his senses and see that he could do so much better than me.

  In a few minutes he would come to his senses, and while I couldn’t bring myself to get naked with him one last time, I also couldn’t deny myself one last kiss.

  He lifted his head, brushed his thumb across my cheek. He was so beautiful he made my eyes ache. What had he ever seen in me? Nothing that hadn’t been put there by magic.

  “We’ll destroy the talismans,” he murmured. “But I’ll still feel the same.”

  I smiled softly and took his hand, then touched my lips to his knuckles. “I doubt that, Will.”

  His eyes flickered. I so rarely used his first name. When I did, life was about to get serious.

  I moved toward the talismans. He held on tight. “Let’s throw them in the lake.”

  “What?”

  “I love you. You love me. Cora was right. Love is stronger than hate. We’re better together than apart. I don’t want to lose you, Jess.”

  “You don’t want to be with someone you don’t really love.” I took a deep breath. “I know I don’t.”

  “We’ll love each other even without the magic.”

  “Then it won’t hurt to destroy the talismans.”

  Silence fell between us as he considered my statement.

  “Okay,” he said at last. “If that’s what you want.”

  What I wanted was him and me together forever. I saw that clearly now; I couldn’t believe I’d doubted it before. Why do we always have to lose something to know how much it means to us?

  Oh yeah, human nature.

  I took another deep breath. “It’s what I want.”

  “All right,” he said. “On three. One, two…”

  We lifted our feet.

  “Three.”

  And brought them down on the medicine bags. The little wooden people crunched beneath the sole of my hiking boot. I winced at the sound, like tiny bones breaking.

  The earth rumbled, lightning flickered, and a chill wind swept through the room, ruffling my hair, making Will’s earring twirl.

  I glanced at the window. Not only was it shut, but the sun was shining. I waited for a sense that something had changed inside of me.

  Our gazes met, and I realized that something had. I loved him even more.

  I held my breath, terrified Cora had wreaked her last vengeance, leaving me to desperately love a man who couldn’t abide the sight of me.

  “Jess,” Will said, and in his voice I heard everything I’d ever dreamed of.

  Or at least I thought I did. Being me, I had to make sure.

  “How’s the heart, Slick? Any changes in it?”

  “Not a one.”

  Was that good or bad? My confusion must have shown on my face, because he tugged me into his arms and held on. His lips brushed my temple. I hate to admit it, but I clung.

  My eyes were drawn to the window again as a shaft of sunlight beat down on the spirit tree, turning the arching dark limbs a burnished gold.

  “Look,” I whispered.

  “I think that’s an omen,” Will murmured. “Don’t you?”

  I’d always known that the love of my life was Will, but I hadn’t truly believed the opposite was true. I did now.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  From his smile he understood I was saying yes to more than just that question.

  “How do you feel about kids?” he asked.

  I choked.

  Ah, hell. Kids were not an option. Not in a world where anyone could turn into a monster at any time and everyone we loved was considered wolf bait. Will could take care of himself, but a child…

  I couldn’t do it.

  “If you want kids, Slick, you’re gonna need a bigger charm.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “You don’t want children?”

  “Not in our world, Jess. I wanted to make sure you didn’t.”

  “Can you see me as a mother?”

  “Actually I can, or I wouldn’t have asked.”

  I shook my head, amazed. “You always think more of me than I could ever be.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Another reason I loved him.

  He tugged on my hair. “We can skip the wedding if you like.”

  “I thought you were set on making an honest woman of me.”

  “You’re the most honest woman I know.”

  A definite compliment from an Indian. They’d been lied to enough.

  “Besides,” he continued, “for the Ojibwe, living together for a year is as good as a marriage license.”

  My eyes narrowed in mock fury. “You couldn’t tell me this before I bought a thousand-dollar gown?”

  He shrugged sheepishly. “We don’t need the wedding. In my heart we’ve been married from the first day we met.”

  “You are so full of it.”

  “I know.” He took my hand again. “But I only want this if you do.”

  “A hundred werewolves couldn’t keep me away,” I whispered.

  I put on the dress, the shoes, even the makeup. I let a stranger do something froufrou with my hair; then I walked out of the lodge and into the sunlight.

  I let an ancient wolf hunter walk me down a gravel-strewn path to the spirit tree, and put my hand into the hand of an Ojibwe wolf clan member. Hard to believe, but then most things in my life were.

  “You will take care of her,” Edward said.

  “I can take care of myself,
” I snapped.

  “Then what are you marrying him for?”

  I stared into Will’s eyes. “I can’t help myself-”

  Edward snorted and joined the others, hunters all. My wedding looked like an armory had exploded, weapons, weapons everywhere, and silver bullets, too. The justice of the peace we’d hired from Duluth appeared nervous in the midst of all the guns and ammo, but he managed. “I now pronounce you man and wife.” Funny, that didn’t sound right. “We’re weedjiwagan,” I said. And Will answered, “Partners in the path of life.”

  *

  LORI Handeland it the author of the bestselling Nightcreature novels. The first in the series. Blue Moon, won the RITA Award from the Romance Writers of America for Best Paranormal of 2004. Lori lives in Wisconsin with her husband, two teenage sons, and a yellow lab named Elwood. She can be reached through her Web site: www.lorihandeland.com.

  Red Moon Rising

  from

  STROKE OF MIDNIGHT

  by

  Lori Handeland

  CHAPTER 1

  A red moon rising through a sultry evening sky is a rare and stunning sight. Such a moon will forever remind me of the first time I saw a skinwalker.

  Staring at the nearly full moon lifting past the trees surrounding my isolated cabin, I shivered. I told myself I was spooked because I was alone. Growing up in a house filled with brothers, the word “alone” had never been in my vocabulary. Maybe that was why I chose to be a writer. I needed some quiet time.

  However, living in Chicago, where every man in my family was a cop, I was lucky to get two minutes to myself. Another reason I’d escaped to Arizona.

  Night pressed against the windows. I watched the trees and I waited. Something was out there, had been there every night of the seven since I had arrived. I’d never seen a thing, but I felt… watched. I might have blown off my unease as deadline fever, except every morning, in the damp earth at the edge of the clearing, there were tracks.

  My cell phone shrilled, and I emitted a sound that was half gasp, half shriek. My heart thundered hard enough to make me dizzy as I punched the on button. Before I could say hello, my agent started talking.

  “Maya? Honestly, I’ve been waiting all day and half the night to call. I know how you hate to be interrupted when you’re working. So, how’s the book coming?”

  I winced. It wasn’t. I didn’t have a word written. Hell, I didn’t even have an idea. I also didn’t have the advance I’d already been paid. I’d used the money to do a little thing I liked to call eating and sleeping off the streets.

  I was in big trouble.

  “Terrific, Estelle. Best work I’ve ever done.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Estelle was no one’s fool. Not even mine. Which was the reason I’d hired her.

  “How many pages today?” she asked. “The book’s due in a month, you know?”

  I knew.

  I glanced out the window again. The trees swayed. The moon pulsed. I was completely alone as I’d always dreamed of being. I had nothing to do but write. So why wasn’t I?

  Because my greatest fear had materialized. I’d lost it. Whatever the “it” was I’d had in the first place that allowed me to write some twenty action-adventure novels under the name M. J. Alexander.

  I made a living. Kind of. I wasn’t rich, and probably never would be, but I had a job I loved. Or at least I had until last week.

  “I don’t know why you felt the need to fly all the way to Arkansas,” Estelle said.

  “Arizona.”

  “Whatever.”

  Estelle, a born-again New Yorker, originally from New Jersey, was vague on the details of any place west of Trenton.

  “You’re so isolated there.”

  “I’m at the edge of the Navajo nation. There are thousands of people a stone’s throw away.”

  A very long throw, to be honest. I hadn’t seen a single Navajo, or anyone else for that matter, but she didn’t need to know that.

  “Don’t they keep them behind a fence or something?”

  “A reservation isn’t a prison.” Even though Estelle couldn’t see me, I rolled my eyes. “The government granted the Navajos their homeland long ago.”

  Unlike many tribes that had been relocated to much crappier land than that which they’d been driven from, the Navajo resided on their traditional homeland. Damn near a miracle considering the U. S. of A.‘s record in Indian affairs.

  “I don’t understand you anymore, Maya. You’re not the adventurous type.”

  True. I’d always been safety girl, never take a chance, never rock the boat. I didn’t ski; wouldn’t own a skateboard. I drove the speed limit at all times. And skydiving? Yeah, right.

  I’d behaved out of character by selling everything I had and moving halfway across the country. This was probably the biggest adventure I’d ever have, and I was already sick of it.

  I liked my life to follow a plan; I didn’t care for any surprises. Which was probably why my sudden writing block was freaking me out.

  My family faced danger every day, so I preferred mine on a page, safely tucked away in a book. My mother had been killed going to the store for milk. She’d stepped off a curb and bam—out went her life. How’s that for adventure?

  Since I was six, whenever the phone rang, whenever someone knocked on the door, I caught my breath, expecting the worst. So what in God’s name was I doing here?

  I was desperate. I had to do something to jump-start the muse, and moving to the middle of nowhere was the most excitement a woman like me could withstand.

  “I’ll be fine, Estelle,” I murmured, even though she wasn’t really asking about me but the book, and I doubted the book would be fine. Still, I wasn’t ready to admit that. Not yet.

  I hit the end button, cutting off my agent mid-word. Then I powered down the phone and threw it onto the couch, before sitting down at the desk.

  Blah, blah, blah, I typed onto the empty blue screen of my laptop.

  “Well, at least I wrote something.”

  I’d taken to talking to myself a lot over the past week. If that kept up I just might be certifiable. At least then I’d have a reason to miss my deadline.

  I picked up the headphones I always wore when writing. Listening to instrumental music kept out the real world and helped me focus on the fantasy one. Or at least it used to. Lately, I’d found myself hearing the music and not the magic.

  Tossing the headphones onto the desk, I left the laptop behind, drawn again to the window. Tinged the shade of fresh blood, the moon made me uneasy. Was it an omen?

  I snorted and rubbed my arms against the spreading chill of the night. Despite what I’d believed about Arizona, evenings were cool in the northern part of the state, at times reminiscent of the biting wind that blew off Lake Michigan even in the summer. I was used to cold, but that didn’t mean I liked it.

  A flicker of white in the night made me lean closer to the window. For an instant I thought I saw my own reflection, until the apparition on the other side of the glass grinned, exposing long, crooked, yellowing teeth that weren’t my own.

  I blinked and the face was gone. I couldn’t breathe. Had that been my imagination or…

  I glanced at the door, trying to remember if I’d locked it. The knob rattled, but didn’t turn, answering both my questions. Not my imagination and I had locked the door. A better question might be: Why in hell hadn’t I brought a gun?

  Because I couldn’t carry one on the plane. And that was good. That was right. But I’d give unimaginable amounts of money for the weight of a Glock in my hand.

  Backing away, I worried the window might shatter, and then what would I do? I grabbed the fireplace poker and held up the iron rod like a bat.

  The knob rattled again. “Who is it?” I shouted. “What do you want?”

  A scratching came at the door, followed by pathetic, doglike whining. While what I’d seen through the glass hadn’t looked completely human, the face hadn’t been canine, either.


  I crept closer to the door, heard a whisper, as faint as the trees rustling in the breeze, a word I couldn’t quite make out. I was drawn closer and closer. I reached for the knob. The chill of the brass made me straighten and snatch back my hand.

  “Uh-uh,” I muttered. “I saw that movie.”

  As well as every other teen scream flick boasting an idiot heroine who opened the door and went outside, or down into the basement, maybe up the steps into the attic, where she met her horrific and bloody doom.

  “I’ll just stay in here with my cell phone and my fireplace poker, thank you.”

  As a kid, I wasn’t supposed to watch those movies. But whenever my dad had been at work, my brothers had ruled, and they’d loved them.

  An uneasy glance around the room and my eyes lit on my cell phone. I could call someone, but who? My family was thousands of miles away. Nine-one-one wasn’t an option in this neck of the woods. I could dial the nearest sheriff’s office, but what would I say?

  I’d seen a face, heard a whisper. By the time the authorities arrived, whatever had been on the other side of my log-cabin walls would be gone.

  I pulled a chair into the middle of the room and sat where I could see both the window and the door—for the rest of the night.

  Morning came, along with my sanity. I couldn’t have seen a face. Even if I had, it was probably some kid playing a joke. I refused to consider what a kid would be doing so far out in the wilderness. Right now, I didn’t know what I was doing here.

  Opening the door to bright sunshine, I kept the fireplace poker in hand. Just because idiot heroines got killed in the dark didn’t mean I wouldn’t get killed in the daytime. Still, I couldn’t sit in the cabin forever, as much as I might like to.

  I walked around to the window, knelt and discovered the clear impression of a man’s bare feet in the dirt.

  The prints led to the front door, then across the yard toward the woods. At the edge of the clearing they mixed with the wolf tracks that had become more abundant with every passing night.

  How did I know they were the tracks of a wolf? Because no dog I’d ever met had feet that big.

  I knelt again, touched my fingers to the dirt, which appeared damp, though it hadn’t rained. When I lifted my hand, my skin was tinged with mud the shade of the moon I’d seen last night.