As casually as she could, she walked toward the water wagon and took a drink.
No one paid her any heed. Nor did anyone seem to notice when she took a knife from a sheath someone had carelessly left lying on the ground. Tucking the weapon into the pocket of her skirt, she turned away from the wagon and headed for the darkness beyond the camp, hoping that anyone who saw her would think she was one of the camp followers seeking a momentary bit of privacy.
Had anyone noticed her departure? She didn’t dare look around, only kept walking, moving deeper into the shadowy darkness beneath the trees.
A capricious wind stirred the leaves.
Far off in the distance, she heard the melancholy howl of a wolf.
Glancing upward, she reckoned her direction by the position of the moon. All she had to do was keep heading west. With any luck at all, she would make it to her brother’s estate. Thomas was her oldest brother, and her favorite. He would take her in and give her shelter until her father came for her.
She ducked under a low branch, wondering how long it would take her to reach her brother’s estate. She was hungry and weary and not at all certain how much further she had to go.
With a sigh, she increased her stride. She could rest later. For now, she needed to put as much distance as possible between herself and the camp she had left behind. She had gone only a short way when she paused, a shiver of unease prickling her spine. Someone was watching her.
“Who’s there?” she called softly. “Show yourself.” Delving into her skirt pocket, she withdrew the knife and held it close to her side, hidden in the folds of her skirt.
A rustle to the left drew her attention. Heart pounding with fear, she turned to see a giant of a man striding toward her.
“So, missy,” he said in a voice like rumbling thunder, “what are you doing out here all by yourself?”
She shook her head, her hand tightening on the hilt of the knife even as she wondered if the weapon would do her any good against a man of his size.
“Are you lost, girl?”
She shook her head again.
“Are you deaf, then?” he asked, moving closer. “Mute, perhaps?”
She took a step backward, her eyes widening as he began to unfasten his belt.
“Lucky I am that I followed you out here,” he said with a leer. “I was getting tired of waiting my turn.”
Shanara’s heart plummeted to her toes. She had hoped anyone seeing her leave the camp would think she was one of the camp girls. Now she saw the error in her thinking.
She turned to run but he was too fast for her. One beefy hand closed on her shoulder, his fingers digging into her flesh. With a cry, she twisted in his grasp, the blade glinting in the moonlight as she raised her arm to strike.
Muttering an oath, he grabbed her wrist, his hand squeezing until her fingers went numb and the knife tumbled from her grasp. In the next instant, she was flat on her back, held in placeby his knee while he unfastened his trousers, then tossed her skirt over her head.
She screamed in terror and revulsion as he parted her thighs and she felt his skin against hers. Desperate to stop him, she pounded her fists against his head and shoulders but he only laughed, one meaty hand capturing both of hers and holding them above her head.
It was difficult to breathe with her heavy skirt covering her face. Her heart was pounding so rapidly she was certain she was going to faint. She prayed that she would faint before he defiled her.
Abruptly, his weight was gone.
She heard a horrible shriek followed by an even more horrible gurgling sound, and then silence.
Afraid to look, afraid not to, she pulled her skirt away from her face and peered into the darkness.
A huge black wolf stood over the man’s body. As if sensing her watching him, the wolf lifted its head. It stared at her through midnight blue eyes. Blood dripped from its fangs and its tongue. The man’s blood.
The wolf lifted its head. A howl rent the stillness of the night and then, amid a shimmer of moonlight, the wolf’s form began to change, its thick pelt undulating, its body changing, until the wolf was gone and a tall man stood naked before her, his long black hair awash in the light of the moon, the scar on his cheek like a ribbon of silver.
It was the last thing she remembered before slipping into unconsciousness.
When she woke again, it was morning and she was lying on his blankets back at camp with no recollection of how she had gotten there.
The wagons were gone. Some of the men were eating breakfast, others were saddling their horses. There was no sign of Reyes.
