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sidewalk ended and they were standing in a grove of wind-stunted trees at the edge of a dimly lighted parking lot. The Pacific Oceanvast, angry, roiling and churning with invisible lifewas waiting just on the other side of a wide river of sand. |
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Cyrus asked, "Walk down to the beach?" |
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Kyna zipped her jacket all the way up, then nodded. |
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The moment they stepped out from under the canopy of trees, Cyrus stopped dead in his tracks and stared up at the sky. The moon had broken through the mist and its pale light felt like chilled silk caressing his skin. His hearing was suddenly so acute that the sound of the waves crashing on the beach was like the thunderous discharge of a hundred cannons. |
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"What is it, Russ?" Kyna yelled to make herself heard over the surf. |
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He couldn't respond. His head was full of the sounds of wind and water, swaying grass and shifting sand. His nose feasted on the tangy odors of dead fish, cold-charred firewood and rotting seaweed, and the spice of salt and smoke, leaves and decomposing flesh lay bitter on his tongue. This deluge of sensory input had blotted out the rest of the world. |
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The urge to break free from the prison of his clothingto run, to howlwas an inferno raging in his blood. It took all of his willpower and every ounce of his concentration to fight that fire. He won . . . barely. For he was afraid to give in to that cravingto change, to run. If he did, he might just keep right on running until he reached the deep green woods of Montana. No more problems. No more Dark Man. No more Cyrus. |
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Kyna saved him. He used the memory of her taste and smell to overcome the call of the night. By taking her hand and bringing it to his lips, he made her his anchor. The hand was cold, but her blood was hot and oh so close below a thin layer of skin. |
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This time he was able to cage the animal, to push it back |
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