Daring The Moon. Sherrill Quinn
eight-year-old boy who’d been trapped for two days in the cold, damp darkness. It didn’t matter that, three and a half decades later, he knew his phobia was irrational.
He could not make himself go into that cave.
Unlike when he’d been a boy and compelled by curiosity and the hope of finding long-forgotten pirate treasure, he was a man now and able to control his tendency to snoop. He didn’t need to put himself in danger to satisfy his natural inquisitiveness.
His writing was his outlet.
Ryder swallowed, staring into the darkness of the mouth of the cave. His pulse hammered in his throat. “This is completely asinine,” he muttered. It was just a fucking cave. After taking a deep breath and holding it a moment, he exhaled and strode forward to meet his fear.
About four meters inside the cave he faltered. Irrational fear chilled his skin, but he kept going. After two more meters, with the darkness closing in on him, he stopped. Sweat made his shirt stick to his chest and back, and dripped down the side of his face.
Memories slammed into him, of rocks and dirt crashing down on him, of Miles crying out that it wasn’t his fault. Ryder remembered the total, absolute pitch blackness. Legs pinned by rocks, knowing he was bleeding, terrified he would die. Wondering if Miles had gone for help or had simply run off.
The recollections still much too intense, within seconds Ryder was outside once more, bent over, bracing his palms on his knees as he fought to control his erratic breathing. He muttered a curse at his own cowardice. Straightening, he stared toward the pile of hewn rock and vowed, “One day I’ll conquer you, you bastard.”
That whole ordeal as a youngster was what had started his misgivings about cousin Miles. But he’d dismissed it as his imagination. Even now he had a hard time believing that a five-year-old boy could be so wicked as to try to murder his playmate, his own cousin.
Unless he was twisted enough to have wanted Ryder’s parents all to himself…
No. Ryder refused to believe it. Miles had had adjustments to make, to be sure, but he’d been such an effervescent boy—there was no way he could have hidden such a dark soul.
Ryder went on, stopping for a few moments in his favorite cove. Hands in his pockets, he sat on a fallen tree and listened to the waves crash against the rocks. He inhaled, slow and deep, dragging the refreshing salty air into his lungs. It was at times like these, when he was alone—just him and nature—that he could almost block out the troubles that were associated with his family.
Almost.
His gaze went upward, where the sun stood sentinel. A few more hours and it would be dark. In another few days there’d be a full moon suspended in the night sky. He didn’t want to think about that and made his mind go blank.
After several minutes, an idea on how to reveal the killer’s true identity in his latest book hit him. Wanting to get it on paper while it was still fresh in his mind, he jumped up and started back to the house, breaking into a jog about halfway there. When he made it to the kitchen door, he knocked dirt off his shoes on the rough-woven rug, then went inside.
As he went down the hallway and through the foyer, he saw Cobb sitting in the old-fashioned parlor, one of Ryder’s earlier books in his hands. Ryder made a detour and went into the small room. Already his breathing had evened out. One positive aspect to his enhanced metabolism.
Cobb looked up. “This one still gives me the shivers.” He put his finger between the pages to mark his place. And started to stand.
“Stay put,” Ryder said. “I only wanted to let you know I’m going to try to get some more work done.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s only two thirty—if that walk and the sea air did their job, I should be able to get quite a bit done yet before nightfall.”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with working after dark. You do some of your best work at night.”
“Ha.” Ryder turned and walked to the study. From across the foyer he instructed, “Unless the house is on fire, I don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Are Mr. O’Connell and his friend still coming?”
“As far as I know they’ll be here day after tomorrow or the next day, although I told him not to come.” Ryder frowned. “Now is not the best time.”
“Yes, I know.” Cobb raised his eyebrows. “I could always refuse them entrance, sir. Especially since you expressly told him not to come.”
Ryder shook his head. “I haven’t seen Declan in a few years, Cobb. As much as I don’t want visitors now, I can’t turn him away without seeing him. I’ll tell him I’m on a tight deadline and convince him they have to leave after one night. We’ll just need to keep them out of the basement.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ryder sighed. “Let’s make sure we’ve a nice dinner for them, Cobb. Put Declan in my old room upstairs. His friend can stay in the adjoining room. Once they arrive, when I get a chance to talk to Declan alone, I’ll let him know he’s got to turn around and leave straight away the next morning.”
“Yes, sir.” Cobb’s face clearly expressed his misgivings.
“You have a problem with that?” Ryder asked, raising an eyebrow.
Cobb shook his head. “Not with the idea, sir. I am, however, not convinced Mr. O’Connell will merely turn around and go all the way back to America after having just arrived. Feeling unwelcome won’t guarantee he’ll leave. You know how stubborn he can be. He’s much like you in that respect.”
Ryder grimaced. “Just…have the rooms ready, all right?”
Cobb nodded and put his nose back in his book.
Ryder closed the door to his study and settled in at his desk. The cooling air from the veranda blew across his nape. He twisted and closed the doors that led outside until only an inch-wide opening remained, then drew the curtains. He was so close to completing this—he wanted no distractions. Once the laptop booted up, he went to the area in the manuscript where he’d left off and began typing.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he became aware of a scent unfamiliar to him. It smelled like…He inhaled. It smelled like honeysuckle and vanilla, but with an underlying hint of musk. All in all, it was an aroma both sweet and spicy at the same time and utterly feminine.
He shook his head and tried to immerse himself in his work once more. A heightened sense of smell was another trait he’d gotten from his father, and it could be damned inconvenient at times.
It was apparent he’d gone without sex for too long. If he was starting to smell something feminine without the woman to go along with it, it was time to get back over to the mainland and renew some of his female acquaintances.
But not now, not with Declan and his friend arriving in the next few days. Ryder heaved a sigh and pushed his chair away from his desk. Standing, he put one hand in his pocket and with the other pushed the curtain aside.
Cobb was right. Declan would demand to know why they couldn’t stay. Especially if the situation was as serious as Declan had made it sound.
Dammit. Declan had been fairly cryptic over the phone, merely telling him he was bringing a friend named Taite who was having werewolf trouble. He thought Ryder could shed some light based on years of research for his books.
Of course, coming here to this isolated island wasn’t much safer. But they had no way of knowing that, and, if Ryder was successful in keeping his own lycanthropy hidden, they would never find out just how much danger they were in.
He turned back to his laptop and within moments was immersed once more in the story he created. It wasn’t until shadows had crept further into the room that he realized his buttocks were numb from sitting in one position for so long.
Glancing at the clock on his desk, he saw another two hours had passed. He stood and stretched,