Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,71

and then he sank down on the floor, resting his head on his bent knees, his lacerated cheek throbbing from the Interrogator’s blow.

The next morning, at the cry of “Land ho!” he transformed into the wolf.

He heard the sound of whistling as the crewman who brought him breakfast each morning approached the storeroom.

Hardane’s hackles rose as the key turned in the lock. Had he been in human form, he might have laughed at the startled look on the man’s face when he saw a wolf inside the room. But he wasn’t a man now, and he was in no mood for laughter.

With a growl, he hurled himself at the hapless crewman, his mouth filling with the warm, sweet taste of blood as his teeth ripped into the man’s shoulder. And then he was out the door, clawing his way up the narrow ladder, racing across the deck toward the gangplank.

He heard a shout behind him, felt a deep burning pain as an arrow pierced his right leg. And then, from the rigging, someone dropped a net over him and he knew he was well and truly caught.

Panting hard, he lifted his head to find the Interrogator staring down at him, a look of amazement in his cold blue eyes.

“Hardane,” the Interrogator murmured. “Can it be you?” He turned to the seaman who had brought the wolf down with a single well-placed arrow. “Quetzel, go below and check on our prisoner.”

Hardane remained where he was, bloody saliva dripping from his jaws, his gaze fixed on the Interrogator’s face.

Drawn by the commotion, the other crewmen gathered around, their faces reflecting astonishment at finding a wolf on board.

Moments later, Quetzel returned. “The lady’s gone, my lord.”

“And Ren?”

“Bad hurt.”

The Interrogator nodded, his expression one of grim satisfaction. He had lost the lady, he mused. Indeed, it now appeared he’d never had the lady at all, but perhaps he had something far better.

“How’d a wolf get on board?” Quetzel asked, still eyeing the beast.

“It’s not a wolf.”

“Not a wolf!” Quetzel’s hand tightened on the crossbow clutched in his hand. “My lord, you can see with your own eyes that—”

The Interrogator cut him off with a wave of his hand. “This, my friend, is none other than Hardane, Lord of Argone.”

Quetzel stared at the wolf, at the thick black fur, at the bloody saliva, at the arrow jutting from the bloody wound, and then a slow smile spread across his broad face. Everyone knew the Interrogator had been seeking the Wolf of Argone for months. Surely there would be a large reward for the man who had brought him down.

The Interrogator nudged the wolf in the side.

“Will you go to the Fortress as wolf or man, Hardane?” he asked harshly. “The choice is yours.”

Hardane stared at the Lord High Interrogator through unblinking gray eyes. Other than Kylene and his immediate family, no one had ever seen him transform from one shape to another.

With a shrug, the Interrogator turned away. “Niles, secure the net so the beast can’t escape. Quetzel, there’s a large sea chest in the hold. Bring it up and lock the wolf inside, net and all. Perhaps, by the time we reach the Fortress, he’ll be more agreeable.”

It was a three-hour journey from the coast of Mouldour to the Fortress.

For Hardane, trapped in the net and locked inside a chest only large enough to hold him, it seemed much longer. No one had bothered to remove the arrow from his leg, and he howled with pain as the wagon jolted over the rough road. The air inside the box grew warm, stifling.

Helpless, steeped in fury, he imagined sinking his fangs into the Interrogator’s throat, drinking his blood to quench the awful thirst that plagued him.

He was only barely conscious when he realized that the motion of the cart had stopped. A short time later, the chest was unlocked, the lid was opened, and he was lifted out, net and all, and dumped into an iron-barred cell.

At the Interrogator’s command, a half-dozen armed men surrounded him. Then, with a vicious smile lighting his face, the Interrogator took hold of the arrow and jerked it from the wolf’s flesh.

Hardane roared with pain, his jaws snapping wildly as he struggled against the net in an effort to sink his teeth into his tormentor’s throat.

But the Interrogator only laughed and then, still chuckling with malicious glee, he motioned for his men to leave the cell.

Following them out, he closed and locked the heavy iron-barred door and pocketed the