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 won’t talk about it now.”
The voices felt silent. The door closed. Serenity opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling as her earlier relief and gratitude burned away in the bitter cauldron of her heart.
The woman knew. It must be written in Serenity’s very flesh, like the brand on a heifer.
Once Serenity would have been ashamed. Once, long ago, she had been. But shame, like love and faith and hope, had died along with her virtue, leaving space for only two emotions: fear…and hate.
A laugh like a raven’s croak burst from her throat. Apparently she could still feel shame, after all. It was the fear that shamed her now, fear that turned her into a quivering animal. It was the enemy that refused to let her go.
But she wouldn’t let it win. She would fight it as she’d never learned to fight them. Serenity closed her eyes again. Fear and hate. One to be defeated. The other to be cherished, for it would give her strength.
She would never, never, be helpless again.
CHAPTER ONE
Doña Ana County, New Mexico Territory, 1883
“I’M GOING TO enjoy this.”
Jacob squinted up into the blinding New Mexico sun. Leroy Blake was only a black shape against the glare, but his gun was inches from Jacob’s face, all too solid and seconds away from sending a bullet into Jacob’s brain.
It wasn’t easy to kill a werewolf, but a bullet to the brain would do it. Jacob knew his odds of survival were almost nonexistent.
“Too bad it’ll be over so quickly,” he said, wincing as a broken bone grated in his shoulder. “I would have been happy to watch you hang, but I’d have taken the most pleasure out of seeing you squirm as they built the gallows.”
Leroy’s gun slammed into Jacob’s temple, knocking him to the ground. The outlaw’s spittle flecked Jacob’s cheek.
“You think you can trick me?” Leroy snarled. “You want me to give you a chance to escape? I ain’t that stupid.”
Jacob lay still. It wasn’t just a matter of making Leroy think he was helpless, which he very nearly was. Broken ribs made it hard to breathe, and blood loss was rapidly draining what was left of his strength. He wasn’t even strong enough to Change.
“You’re…not stupid,” he croaked, “but you’re still a coward, Leroy. Still afraid…I can get away. I’m surprised you don’t run right now and leave one of your men to do your dirty work.”
The outlaw dug the toe of his boot into the ground and kicked dirt into Jacob’s face. “You ain’t nothin’,” he said. “Nothin’ but a dirty bounty hunter.” He leaned down, bathing Jacob in his foul breath. “You want to die slow? That can be arranged.” He stepped back. “Silas! Bring that rope over here!”
Silas, one of the four men left in Leroy’s gang, brought the rope, stepping gingerly around Jacob’s body. Unlike his boss, he had sense enough to recognize that there was more to Jacob than met the eye. He knew it wouldn’t take much to spook him.
“Git over here, Stroud,” Leroy snapped. “You, too, Ben, Hunsaker. We’re gonna give this son of a bitch his final wish.”
Jacob remained limp as the men heaved him up and dragged him away from the scant shelter of the rocky outcrop. It was full noon now, and though it was only early May, the desert heat was relentless. A man left without water or shelter would soon be dead. Even a werewolf, unable to Change, badly injured and already deprived of food and water, couldn’t expect to live out the week.
But it was a chance. Jacob let them carry him out into the desert, far from any shade, and drop him to the parched earth. Stroud and Hunsaker bound his hands and feet, while Ben hovered nearby and Silas kept a wary distance.
“Don’t think we’re leavin’ you out here alone, Constantine,” Leroy said, holstering his gun. “We’ll make sure you get nice and warm. See how you feel about things in the mornin’. Maybe you’ll beg me to kill you quick…if you last that long.”
Jacob didn’t answer. He closed his eyes, concentrating on slowing his heartbeat and the blood still trickling from his wounds. That, at least, he could manage. Leroy and his men retreated to find a comparatively comfortable place to watch.
The night was slow in coming. The buzzards, who’d come looking for an easy meal some hours ago, resumed their stately aerial dance. By the time the sun set, Jacob’s tongue was swollen, and the bare skin of his face and arms was seared like overcooked beef. His body was too weak to heal itself quickly enough.
The darkness that seemed so absolute to ordinary humans was bright to Jacob’s wolfish eyes. Leroy and his men were huddled over a tiny fire built of dead mesquite and rabbit brush branches, their faces etched in eerie light and shadow.
“I say kill him now and be done with it,” Silas said.
Leroy snickered loudly. “Why? You still scared of him?”
Silas shook his head. “He ain’t no ordinary bounty hunter. You seen how quick he killed Davey. If Stroud hadn’t shot his horse…”
“He’s good,” Stroud said, “but he ain’t nothin’ special. He’ll die like any other man.”
“Maybe not as quick as you think,” Silas muttered. “I ain’t never seen a man take as much as he has and stay alive.”
The men fell silent. Using what remained of his strength, Jacob worked at the ropes. They should have been easy to break, but his werewolf’s natural stamina had been depleted by lack of sustenance, and the mere effort of staying alive had sapped his endurance almost beyond recovery. After six hours he had barely managed to loosen the ropes around his wrists. But not enough.
When dawn came, Stroud and Hunsaker rode out in search of game, while Silas came to look Jacob over. Jacob kept his eyes closed and his body still, but Silas wasn’t convinced. He crouched beside Jacob’s head and poked him in the shoulder.
“I know you ain’t dead,” he whispered. “I know…‘cuz I know you ain’t normal.”
Jacob knew better
