Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,69

from him, perhaps the sight of his life-mate writhing in agony will do the trick. Either way, I shall enjoy the game.”

With a cry of rage, Hardane lunged forward. In his haste, he tripped over the hem of his skirt. He fell forward, felt the edge of the dagger pierce his right shoulder as he stumbled into the Interrogator’s blade.

Silently cursing his weakness and his clumsiness, Hardane reeled back, groaning softly as the Interrogator jerked the blade from his flesh.

“Stupid girl,” the Interrogator snarled. “You’ll be no good to me dead.”

“Or alive,” Hardane retorted.

He flinched as the Interrogator struck him hard across the mouth.

“Enough of your insolence, my lady. It matters not to me whether you spend this voyage in comfort or in chains. The choice is yours.”

So saying, the Interrogator opened the door and left the room.

With a sigh, Hardane sank down on the floor. His shoulder throbbed monotonously. Blood continued to trickle down his arm, forming a small dark pool beside him.

He closed his eyes, fighting the pain as he concentrated on maintaining Kylene’s shape. Only a few more days, he thought wearily; only a few more days and then it wouldn’t matter.

Kylene sat in a soft leather chair before the hearth in her bedchamber, a heavy quilt drawn around her shoulders as she stared into the flames.

Sharilyn had sent a messenger to Chadray to advise Lord Kray of what had transpired. Other runners had been sent to the nearby farms, asking them to send men to help defend Castle Argone should it be necessary. The animals had been driven inside the castle walls and the gates shut and locked. Every precaution that could be taken had been put into effect, and now all they could do was wait—wait to see if the Interrogator returned, wait for Lord Kray and his sons to come home.

Kylene gazed out the window, wishing she could cry, but the emptiness she felt inside was too deep for tears. Hardane had assumed her shape so that she could get away, gambling with his life so that the Interrogator would be satisfied to leave once he’d captured the prize he came for. And it had worked, but at what cost. The Interrogator would no doubt execute Hardane once he realized he’d been duped. If that happened, it would no longer matter that she was safe, Kylene thought disconsolately. She’d have nothing left to live for . . .

She cut the thought off in midsentence, feeling as though she were betraying not only Hardane but a part of herself as well.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on Hardane, and gradually, as if a fog were lifting from her mind, his image appeared before her. Only it wasn’t his image at all. It was startling, like looking in a mirror. He was locked in a small room of some kind, his hands—her hands?—bound behind his back. Dried blood darkened his clothing.

Even as she watched, he stood up and took on his own shape, and then he began to pace the floor. So vivid was his image, she could feel the sharp pain in his shoulder, the chafing of the coarse rope that bound his arms behind his back. He seemed oblivious to the discomfort as he continued to pace the floor. She felt his anger, his quiet desperation. His satisfaction that he’d been able to deceive the Interrogator.

“Hardane . . .”

She spoke his name aloud, saw him pause, his head cocked to one side. Had he heard her, then? She called his name again, felt the bond between them vibrate.

“Come back to me, my lord wolf,” she said, willing her love across the miles that separated them. “Please come back to me.”

She heard footsteps approaching the room where he was held captive. In the blink of an eye, Hardane sank to the floor and assumed her shape as a knock came at the door.

The knocking came again and then again, and the images faded like shadows before the rain.

Disoriented, Kylene opened her eyes and looked around. Only then did she realize it had all been a dream, and that someone was knocking at her chamber door.

And then the tears came.

Chapter 32

For Hardane, the hours seemed to crawl by, with each day the same as the last. He was given food and water and the opportunity to relieve himself twice each day.

It was an odd feeling, lifting layers of heavy cloth, then squatting over a wooden bucket to urinate when he was accustomed to standing. He tolerated the