Excerpt: Howling at the Moon

Chapter One
Upstate New York, 1890

The early spring sun was warm, almost unnaturally so. Verity Sheffield removed her straw hat and looked up at the sky. The air was cloudless and completely still. She closed her eyes and marveled at the gentle heat caressing her skin; a welcome change from the harsh winter that had just so recently passed.

It was good to be home again. It had been so long.

Verity had spent her childhood at her grandfather’s vast estate, climbing trees, exploring nature. She had been devastated when, at the age of twelve, her father had decided to leave the security of the family bosom and move to New York to start his own medical practice. He had done well. But no matter how much they prospered, no matter how bright and brilliant the city lights, Verity always secretly longed for the country. And now, she was home again. If only for a little while.

Verity inhaled a deep, cleansing breath, gladly welcoming the untainted air into her lungs. She listened to the quiet of the afternoon as if it were music. Unnaturally silent, eerie music.

Verity’s eyes flashed open and she warily looked about the landscape surrounding her. There were no birds in the trees, no small animals darting in and out of the low foliage. The normal sounds of the woodland were completely absent, as if silenced by some unseen force. Even the brook that ran along the outskirts of the forest was silent and motionless.

Hastily flattening her hat back on her head, Verity turned back toward the house, determined to seek refuge in the safety of the old, familiar dwelling. There was something threatening in the woods. Whether it was just a predatory animal, hunting too close to human civilization, or something much more sinister, she truly didn’t care to find out. If all the animals of the forest were silent, something wicked must be haunting the land.

Suddenly, a low moan - pained and mournful - broke the silence behind her, and Verity swirled around to catch a glimpse of its source. But she saw nothing. No wounded animal. No predator lying in wait.

As she began to turn away again, the sound rent the air for a second time, sending an uncomfortable chill up her spine. Now she knew; whatever was hiding in the shadows of the forest was badly injured, perhaps even fatally. Although the sound had definitely been animal in nature, Verity had sat by too many bedsides with her father to mistake the sound of a desperate, dying creature for anything other than what it was. Human or animal, the death cry was always the same.

Slowly, Verity’s feet pulled her in the direction of the sound. She knew she was taking a risk. She knew there was danger in entering the woods alone, but if she didn’t - if she took the time to return to the house and seek help - the poor creature ailing in the forest might be dead by the time she returned.

With cautious steps, Verity crossed from the open grassland surrounding the brook, into the cool shade of the waiting forest. She took in a steadying breath, willing herself to remain calm. Animals could sense fear. And a wounded animal, desperate and on the brink of death, might be driven into a frenzy if it sensed any trepidation on her part.

The broken twigs and fallen leaves from the previous autumn crackled softly beneath her slippered feet, as she tread further into the forest. A few yards in, Verity stopped and closed her eyes, listening for any sound. She didn’t know where the creature was and hoped to pick up on its breathing. If it truly was in distress, its breath would be ragged and labored.

A shallow panting noise softly floated on the air and Verity turned toward the sound. She opened her eyes and cautiously stepped further into the dimly lit wilderness.

Another moan rang out, this one more raw and urgent than the last.

Verity stopped, her breath catching in her throat. Every sane, sensible impulse in her body was screaming at her to turn back. Animals died in the forest every day. It was nature’s way. One animal died so others could live. It was the way of the world. She didn’t need to rescue some sad, mournful creature that was probably beyond saving anyway. She could turn back. She should turn back. No one would fault her.

But she would never forgive herself.

Tugging the brim of her hat tighter down around her head, Verity squared her shoulders and stepped forward with determination. She would rescue the animal, nurse it back to health, and everything would be all right.

A fluttering of movement on the forest floor caught Verity’s eye and her feet skidded to a halt. Behind the trunk of a large oak, a low bed of leaves was rustling, as if a restless animal lay upon it.

Forcing herself not to be afraid, Verity moved closer. As she neared the tree, the sounds of the wounded animal became louder, more urgent. And Verity simply became more determined.

Finally reaching the tree, she peered around it cautiously, as not to frighten the poor creature, and was stunned by what she saw.

A startled gasped escaped her throat and her hand instantly came up to cover her mouth as she stared down at the creature before her. It was no animal. No poor, defenseless woodland creature gasping for its last breath. It was a man. A naked man. Obviously unconscious. Battered, bruised, burned and completely covered in blood.

Instinctively, Verity fell to her knees and tried to examine him. But everywhere she thought to touch him looked so raw and sensitive that she simply couldn’t bring herself to do it. If she accidentally touched one of his burns or one of his cuts, she was certain he would react violently, driven, on instinct, by the pain.

He moaned again, and Verity wanted nothing more than to reach forward and comfort him. She had sat by many bedsides, wiping brows, administering medicine, offering a comforting word. The man before her deserved no less, no matter who he was or how he had come to be there.

Unable to touch him, Verity allowed her eyes to scan his face and body, in a desperate attempt to assess the severity of his condition. He was a large man, surely over six feet tall, with a broad chest and a strong, muscular physique. Beneath the blood, the lines of his face were smooth, and he looked to be no older than his late twenties. All of this, Verity knew, boded well for his possible recovery. He was obviously very strong, and if she could only get him to a competent doctor, he might have a chance of making it. That was if, of course, he didn’t die right then and there.

The man moaned again, and this time, he thrashed his arms outwardly, nearly hitting Verity. She lost her balance and fell back on the ground as she attempted to avoid the onslaught.

Slightly winded by the fall, Verity stared back at the man, desperately trying to make a decision. She knew that if she left him, he might not be alive by the time she returned with help. But she also knew that, even though she had seen many patients nursed back to health by her father, she was no doctor and she certainly didn’t possess any of the skills necessary to save the man before her.

Finally sure of what she must do, Verity got back onto her knees and leaned forward. The man had calmed a little, and she was able to lean over him as he lay silently whimpering on the ground. “Can you hear me?” she asked in a strong voice, hoping to break through his unconscious state.

The man’s body jolted at the sound of her words, as if startled, but he made no other response.

“Can you hear me?” she called again. This time he did not react at all. “It’ll be all right,” Verity whispered, in a reassuring voice she had practiced at many a sickbed. “I’m going to get help. I’ll be back as soon as I can. We’ll find a way to heal you, to cure you. I promise.” Verity pulled away, intending to stand, when a horse whisper stopped her.

“No.” The voice was low, raw, almost animalistic.

Verity moved closer to the man, being careful not to touch him. “Can you hear me?”

“No. Don’t Julian. I don’t want to be cured.” The words were raspy, but distinct and somehow full of determination.

Verity swallowed the lump sticking in her throat. “We have to try and save you. It will be all right. There’s nothing to fear.”

“No!” He swung out his arms again, and this time Verity was able to dodge the blow by jumping to her feet.

The man lying on the ground began to toss and turn violently, all the while muttering incoherently under his breath. He was still unconscious; Verity had no doubt about that. His eyes were closed and his ramblings were desperate and disjointed as if he was battling a fevered dream. She had seen such behavior many times before and knew what it meant. She would have to get him help soon, before fever and infection overtook him and he was truly beyond saving.

Instead of trying to still him with comforting words, Verity slowly moved away from the man, toward the edge of the forest. Her words had offered him little relief; in fact, they had only intensified his agitation. The best thing she could do for him was to leave him alone, let him calm down on his own, and run for help.

With a quick glance over her shoulder at the unconscious man, Verity stepped out into the clearing by the brook and took off at a run. Her long skirts threatened to become entangled around her legs, and she had to hike them up around her knees in order to keep her frantic pace. She didn’t think she had ever run so fast in all her life. There was a desperate, dying man lying in the forest, and she was his only hope. She would not let anything in the world stop her from reaching the house and saving his life.