She woke each morning determined to give up talking to the ceiling. It would likely be more productive to demand answers when Troy appeared.
Twice daily, he’d open the door, bring her food, and take her to the bathroom. He never mentioned her rants. And in return, she said nothing. Asked nothing.
Because when push came to shove, she was afraid of the answers. Upsetting. Humiliating. Revealing. It sickened her that she wasn’t as tough as she’d thought, but she seemed powerless to push it.
On the fourteenth night, she had the dream.
It started like any other, with vague impressions and foggy images.Once she noticed the moon, nothing else mattered.
Huge, luminescent, it hung alone in the night sky.
She walked through a forest. Shadows dappled the ground, dancing in the slight breeze.
A howl echoed through the trees. Wolflike, and yet, not. Hoarser, as though from larger lungs. Deeper. The longing in it sent shivers up her spine, and something within her responded.
A shape awaited her in the darkness. Gold eyes in a broad face—not a wolf. Much bigger. It stared at her, and she stared back. Not it. He. Rippling with muscle, every movement betrayed the power in the huge frame. He had long, sharp teeth. And claws.
She should be terrified. But somehow, she knew this creature. The connection ran deep within her. It hooked into her very soul.
And she was not afraid.
Her body twisted, the muscles and bones writhing. It should have been painful, but it wasn’t. She endured the process with heightening anticipation, as if she’d done it all a million times before.
When she was finished, she was standing on four legs. Dark, curly hair covered her.
She looked into his vivid, glowing golden eyes and panted. He was part of her. She knew it to be true.
And then they ran. Side by side, on fleet paws. Beneath the moon.
* * *
Another morning dawned with Zach bleary eyed and debating the wisdom of his choices.
Why was he doing this to himself? It had been over two weeks. The police were making noises that the women had met with foul play, which was cop code for presumed dead. Yet he still got up before dawn to feed the animals.
He loved his farm. His parents’ place had sold for a tidy enough sum that Zach had bought this homestead outright with a bit of a nest egg left over. Life in this prairie province was affordable, one of the reasons he’d chosen Manitoba to put down roots. So long as he managed his money carefully, he’d be fine.
Retraining damaged horses was his passion. He didn’t profit on the rescues, and he didn’t expect to. The privately owned horses he accepted for training paid better, but there weren’t sufficient numbers, yet, to make ends meet.
Without more education, his employment options were limited. He was a good worker, dependable, and unafraid of hard physical labor. There were always jobs available for people like him, but they tended to be lower on the pay scale.
His financial future rested on the wheels of the elderly three-ton cube van he’d tweaked back into running condition. She wasn’t much to look at, but he’d whipped her mechanics into shape. Growing up on a farm had given him a basic understanding of the way machines operated. Zach could rebuild engines with one hand tied behind his back—a skill that enabled him to buy the vehicle for a song.
With a bit of effort to get the proper certifications, he could have worked as a mechanic. Instead, he set his goals on starting Fasttrack, his own delivery business. The courier job helped bring in some start-up cash while he learned the ropes. His vehicle’s large storage capacity coupled with his own physical strength put him in instant demand for moving larger items.
He finished his morning chores and climbed into his van. He still had hours until he had to report to work. More time to look for Jessie.
Should he concede defeat? The police were likely right. There was nothing more Zach could do. Perhaps it had become an obsession. Or just plain cussed stubbornness, as his mother used to say.
His fingers tapped patterns on the steering wheel as he drove toward Winnipeg. His thoughts circled around the missing women. He was no detective. Other than blindly searching the streets, he had no idea how to help.
Horses, he understood. Kidnapped women were way out of his depth. But no one else could do what he did. Not that he knew of, anyway. If they could, they certainly didn’t advertise it.
A sentiment to which he related.
As Zach entered Winnipeg’s city limits, the place settled over him like a shroud. The emotions of thousands of people were like a continual murmur running through his brain. This morning unfolded just like those of the last two weeks. He drove the streets, opening his mind to the emotive lives playing out behind closed doors.
He absorbed plenty of human angst. But there was no sign of Jessie or the other two women. He reported for work with a heavy heart and pounding head.
