Tara K. Harper - Wolfwalker 5 - Silver Moons, Black Steel

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Silver Moons, Black Steel—Harper, Tara K - Wolf 05

SILVER MOONS, BLACK

STEEL

Tara K. Harper

Tales of the Wolves 05

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Silver Moons, Black Steel—Harper, Tara K - Wolf 05

A 3S digital back-up edition 1.0

click for scan notes and proofing history

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Silver Moons, Black Steel—Harper, Tara K - Wolf 05
Contents
|1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13|14|15|16|17|18|19|20| 
|21|22|23|24|25|26|27|28|29|30|31|32|33|34|35| 
|36|37|38|39|40|41|42|43|44| 
|Epilog| 
|Author’s Note 
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Silver Moons, Black Steel—Harper, Tara K - Wolf 05

Published by the Ballantine Publishing Group

Tales of the Wolves

WOLFWALKER

SHADOW LEADER

STORM RUNNER

WOLF’S BANE

GRAYHEART

LIGHTWING

CAT SCRATCH FEVER

CATARACT

Books published by The Ballantine Publishing Group are available

at quantity discounts on bulk purchases for premium, educational,

fund-raising, and special >ales use. For details, please call 1-800-

733-3000.

Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this

book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as

“unsold or destroyed” and neither the author nor the publisher may

have received payment for it.

A Del Rey®Book

Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group

Ballantine Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc.,

New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of

Canada Limited, Toronto.

Del Rey is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a

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Silver Moons, Black Steel—Harper, Tara K - Wolf 05

trademark of Random House, Inc.

www. delrey digital. com

ISBN 0-345-40635-4

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition: November 2001

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Silver Moons, Black Steel—Harper, Tara K - Wolf 05

With many thanks to

Richard Jarvis, Stephanie Castro, Alex Medler, Ernest V Curto, Ph. D., Bob

Jarvis, Lieutenant Joe Grisham, Detective Amber Lewis, and DK and

Sandra Keen

The dedication for this book is private.

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Silver Moons, Black Steel—Harper, Tara K - Wolf 05

O never say that I was false of heart

Though absence seemed my flame to qualify

As easy might I from myself depart

As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie

That is my home of love…

For nothing this wide universe I call,

Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all.

—the poet SHAKESPEARE, oldEarth, a.d., 1642

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Silver Moons, Black Steel—Harper, Tara K - Wolf 05

Ember Dione maMarin

Wolves call; men answer.

It is the way of the world.

—Randonnen saying

He struck like a viper, fast, biting. His fist whipped toward her head. Dion

was already ducking, parrying the blow aside. The heel of her lean, scarred

left hand hit his ribs like a small shovel, lifting him on his toes. She twisted

to stomp the back of his knees, but in the instant in which her hip aligned

with his, his arm snaked around her ribs and he jerked. Her leverage

disappeared. The wolf in her snarled. Her violet eyes glinted. As he started

the flip, she snapped a vicious kick to the back of his head that had

Batayon’s narrow jaw clicking shut and his ears ringing to wake the seventh

moon. She grabbed his thigh and arm and wrenched out. He recountered.

Both slammed down.

He missed her wrist; she missed his temple with her ridge-hand as he

scrambled away to face her. They came back together in a blur of hands and

knees, elbows and feet. He took an impossibly close side kick like a

hammer, grunted, dropped his elbow on her ankle, saw the bones of her

face tighten for an instant, grabbed the slender joint, and twisted. Dion

whipped like a top, midair. Her rotating kick caught him on the shoulder as

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Silver Moons, Black Steel—Harper, Tara K - Wolf 05

he ducked. She broke free, went to one knee, back-kicked instinctively to

force distance, and whirled to face him again. Batayon slowly grinned.

When they came together this time, it was his spinning ax kick that clubbed

down across her shoulder, even as she rode the blow. She ducked; he

twisted; they broke apart and danced in broken rhythm, setting and

discarding patterns of movement to tease each other into attack, A feint, a

side kick, a glancing blow… Neither one spoke; they simply fought with

silent intensity. Batayon was breathing hard, and there was something

increasingly feral in Dion’s expression. He saw an opening, shot a kick, and

it brushed her side, touching cloth, not ribs. She dropped under and swept,

but he felt it coming and threw himself forward. She could not avoid the

tackle. She had time to grasp one of his sweat-hot wrists and, with the speed

of a dozen wolves, partially redirect his momentum, but she was still

flipped in the tangle.

When they broke free again, she was down on one knee, right hand pressed

to her belly, her face twisted in pain.

Batayon saw it just before he threw his spinning crescent kick. He halted

abruptly midstrike. “Dion—”

She exploded up, caught him off-balance, threw him with her left arm under

his leg, the other at his neck, and followed him down. Her knee dropped

like a rock on the joint of his pelvis. Strike! It was the voice of a wolf in her

head. Her left hand was an eagle’s claw digging for his brachial artery, her

right fingers curled on his throat.

Batayon froze. Dion’s teeth were bared. Her breath was quick—too quick

for a woman who thought only in human terms. Batayon’s pulse pounded in

his temple. Sweat trickled down his neck. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t try to shift away. If he moved at all, Dion’s wolf-honed instincts

would close those half-curled fingers and tear his throat like fangs.

The prey is down. Make the kill. The blood lust of the gray mental voices

tightened Dion’s muscles like wire. The trickle of moisture that slid around

Batayon’s ear toward his pulsing carotid artery was a fascination for her

dilated gaze.

Batayon’s world narrowed to that pair of wolf-blinded eyes. There was a

hint of yellow around her violet pupils, as if the eyes were no longer

completely hers, but partly belonged to the wolves.

Tear. Slash. Taste the blood in your teeth.

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Silver Moons, Black Steel—Harper, Tara K - Wolf 05

He started to suck in a breath, but her hands became steel on his neck.

Slowly, carefully, like hauling in a ketch with a thread, he took air into

starved lungs. For months, Dion had been running with the wild wolves, not

with the partner wolf who knew humans. She was too close, too full of the

Gray Ones. They gnawed the inside of her skull as she poised, they licked

her lips with her tongue, tensed with her muscles, snarled in her throat. It

was not Dion who hung above him; it was the wolf pack in the distance.

Batayon knew all this— was slammed with the realization in that fractional

time before her hand tightened, before her nails dug fatally into his flesh,

before the wolf in her was loosed. With that flash of knowledge, he

recentered himself with the same lightning speed.

His brown eyes projected the calm he forced himself to feel. He let the

tension leech from his muscles so that the change from resistance to no

threat was fast, silent, soothing.

Dion felt the challenge in his body fade. Felt the intensity of the moment

shift. Felt the hammer of his pulse steady beneath her fingers where her left

hand had clawed for his artery. She sucked in a breath. The wolves in her

head—ten, twelve of the wild ones—blurred her vision between the man on

the training mat and the indigenous eerin that had been downed by the

wolves barely two kilometers away. The two kays of distance were not a

barrier to Dion. Even across that space, the gray mental voices frayed the

edge of her thoughts as one of the wolves latched onto a haunch of the

dying animal.

Speed. Tear. Yank back.

Dion’s hand tightened around Batayon’s throat.

Batayon did not move. He forced himself to watch her with that smooth,

calm expression.

She dragged in another breath. She could partly see him now, his brown-

gray hair damp and curled, his brown eyes steady as he waited for her to

regain control. Control. Woman. Not wolf. But she could feel the bodies,

the iron-hard muscles, as the wolves leaped and dodged the eerin’s

desperately tossing horn. Fur ruffed on broken branches, icy mud squidged

up between toes, musk and blood odors clogged her nose. Lupine hunger-

lust leaked through her mental shield like a sieve, and her chest knotted as a

Gray One slashed the distant eerin’s flank. Batayon did not move. Dion

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