Code of the Wolf. Susan Krinard

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      For Lavon

       PROLOGUE

       Crockett County, Texas, 1877

      “HELP ME.”

      The wind was cold and cutting, snatching the plea from Serenity’s lips and carrying it away in a swirl of choking dust. Her eyes were caked with that same relentless dust, but she could see the shapes of the buildings, as gray as the late-winter landscape, huddled along the rutted road that passed for the town’s main street.

      She didn’t know the town’s name. She didn’t know where she was, except that it was far away from the cave. She knew that her strength was failing her; the scratches and blisters on her feet had bled and scabbed over more times than she could count and she had almost forgotten the taste of water. If she had not been so weak, she would never have asked for help.

      But now she had no choice. She took another step toward the nearest building, stumbled and fell to one knee. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself up. A few more steps. Surely God would not be so cruel as to deny her succor now. Surely she had suffered enough.

      She blinked, desperately trying to summon up just enough tears to clear her eyes. The building swam into focus. There was a crude, hand-lettered sign hanging askew over the door.

      The tears came at last. The store was tiny, but it was better than the saloon a few doors up the main street, or one of the decrepit houses that seemed too isolated to be safe.

      Serenity crept like a mouse left barely alive by a vicious cat, clutching what remained of her clothing close to her body. Somewhere a voice rose in argument. A man’s voice. She didn’t want anything to do with men. Not ever again. She crouched, shivering, and waited until the voice fell silent.

      The store seemed very far away, but she went on, even when her legs gave out and she was reduced to crawling. She was nearly at the threshold when she heard a heavy tread behind her.

      She thought she would collapse, pulling her body into a protective ball as she waited for the grabbing hands and rough laughter. But she turned instead, fingers curled into claws, pulling her lips back into a snarl like a cornered animal.

      The big man stared down at her, his colorless eyes mere slits in a nest of sun-carved wrinkles.

      “My God,” he said. He reached down, his hands as rough as his bearded face.

      Serenity cried out and tried to beat them away.

      The man withdrew a step, palms outward.

      “I ain’t gonna hurt you, miss,” he said. “You’re hurt. I’m only gonna…”

      She scuttled away on hands and knees. Better to die in the desert than let him touch her. There was no hope. Not here. Not anywhere.

      “Wait!”

      Sharp pebbles bit into her knees and lacerated her hands as she tried to escape. She had gone no more than a few yards when she heard footsteps again. Two sets this time, one lighter than the first. Nowhere to hide. They would take her again. They would—

      “Here, now.” The voice was soft and gentle and unmistakably feminine. “No need to be afraid. We only want to help.”

      The hands that touched her were small and strong, stroking her shoulders, her matted hair. Serenity felt the last of her strength give way. She fell facedown in the dirt. Those small hands lifted her, and all but carried her out of the battering wind. The sudden stillness as they passed through a door and inside was far more than a blessing. It was a miracle.

      “Let’s get her to bed,” the woman said.

      The hulking shadow beside her reached for her again.

      “Don’t!” Serenity said, though hardly any sound passed the constriction in her throat. “Don’t let him…touch me.”

      Warm arms closed around her. “I won’t,” the woman said. “Don’t be afraid.”

      Trust was a feeling Serenity had almost forgotten, but she found that it had not yet deserted her completely. She concentrated on forcing her legs to carry her through another door and into a neat little room with a bed just wide enough for two, covered with a simple, hand-sewn quilt.

      Once Serenity had helped the other women at home make quilts just like it. In the old, happy days. Before…

      “Lie down now,” the woman said, flipping back the covers. “You’re safe.”

      Serenity obeyed, letting her body sink into the mattress. The woman lifted her shoulders and tucked pillows under her head. A glass was pressed to her lips. The water tasted like dust. It could have tasted like cow dung and Serenity would have been grateful.

      “Slowly,” the woman said, and took the glass away. Serenity closed her eyes. Part of her—the lost, innocent part—was sorry that she was dirtying the kind woman’s bed with all her dust and grime and sweat. The rest of her was too exhausted to care. The sheets and blankets settled over her, and cool wetness bathed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.

      After a while the ministrations stopped, and Serenity heard the woman draw away from the bed.

      “Is she asleep?” the man asked.

      “I think so.” The woman clucked softly. “She’s in a bad way.”

      “Why is she out here alone? What could have happened to her?”

      “I have an idea, but we