Shadow on the Moon "Yeafanay cawfanay naylanay may. Yeafanay cawfanay naylanay may."     Twisted roots clung to the rocky, wind-tortured soil, feeding gnarled trunks and starved branches that struggled to sustain their sparse leaves. Equally malnourished bushes fought the trees for the little sustenance the ground provided, and the round, silver moon bathed everything in pale, ghostly light.      Morgan stood in the center of the barren clearing, watching his companion with a degree of professional detachment. She was swaying to and fro, solemnly chanting her gibberish, and scratching a large circle on the crusty earth around him with a tree branch.      Very Gothic, Morgan thought, grinning. Lily has outdone herself this time.      "A man wolf shall be born this day." Lily sang, completing the ring and discarding the stick with a flourish. With equal drama, she slipped off her simple woolen coat, revealing a gown so obviously staged for the occasion that Morgan's grin erupted into laughter.      "Don't treat this lightly, Doctor Morgan Wilder," she said, regarding him sternly with her dark eyes.      "Put your coat back on, Lily. You're risking hypothermia." A chuckle still rumbled in his throat.      Then, as if to prove his point, the frosty wind picked up. He drew his coat close to his chest. "It's freezing up here."      "I am not cold." Twirling slowly, she gave a toss of her long, white hair. Her black, gauzy robe lifted, spun around her shoeless feet. "Indeed, my blood runs hot. My wolf spirit is strong."      With another twirl, she lifted her arms, reaching for the moon. "As is the way of the wolf, my darling Morgan, tonight you become my lifetime mate, soar above mortal concerns. Strong, fleet of foot, invincible. The forest and the alleys will be ours. We'll share everything. Our bed, our rank, our offspring . . ." She stopped, held him firm in her dark gaze. "The blood we spill."      Morgan's chuckle died on the wind. Not that Lily hadn't always been unorthodox, but tonight she almost acted . . . possessed.      "Don't tell me we're going to do that old blood brother ceremony," Morgan said cynically. He was cold and hungry and getting angry. "I'm disappointed, Lily. I thought you were going to dispel my skepticism about these night creatures. Do you think dragging me to these ugly mountains and dancing around in your dressing gown will do that? I have to say, this is rather kooky, even for you."      "There are forces at work in this world you do not understand."      For the space of an insane heartbeat, he almost believed. Of course, the tortured, barren plateau practically personified evil. And the dark wind whipping malevolently around his ears seemed to whisper Lily's truths.      But grotesque settings don't a werewolf make.      Just as Morgan was congratulating himself on so skillfully handling his anxiety, a chorus of howls rose from the treetops of the black forest below, held as one long note, wobbled and died. Another chorus immediately followed.      And another.      "Did you hear that, Lily? Come on, we're getting out of here." He flew out of the circle, intent on returning to the little car they'd rented in Paris, which was now parked more than half a mile away.      "Morgan! No!" Lily rushed forward and shoved him toward the ring. Morgan grabbed her hands, stumbled backwards. When they hit the circle's perimeter, Lily jerked away as if she'd hit a force field.      With a long purposeful step, Morgan breached the circle again, then gripped Lily's arm. "Get your coat," he ordered. "Don't argue."      "It's too late . . . The forces . . ." Lily peered over her shoulder. Morgan followed her gaze.      "Dear God!" he bellowed.      Eyes, glowing darkly red. Enormous heads. Massive, dangerous jaws, parted to reveal gleaming fangs.      One by one, they filed into the clearing.      With a gasp, Lily pushed Morgan back in the ring.      "What are you—" Morgan sputtered. "Are you crazy? Run, Lily. Now! Those wolves will tear us apart."      But she was deaf to his voice. Throwing back her head, she lifted her arms to the moon. The air whipped her flimsy robe and snowy tresses, swirling them around her in a frenzy.      Morgan's blood froze as he saw the pack break into opposite directions around the ring. Soon, they surrounded the circle and sat down. Seven of them he noted through the haze of fear in his mind, and they blocked all hope of escape. Eyes glowing, fangs gleaming, staring at Lily, obviously waiting.      But for what?      "Yeafanay cawfanay naylanay may," crooned Lily.      Why hadn't the wolves attacked her? he wondered, then forgot the question as his knees grew weak and began throbbing.      "Yeafanay cawfanay naylanay may."      Lily paused. Each wolf raised its head and a great unified howl lifted up, echoing off the rocks, filling the sky. As the last echoed faded into the black night, Lily again began to chant. "Lady moon in her great fullness squares dark Pluto now. Yet fickle Lady waits for none and soon moves on. Oh, Phantoms of the Dark Beneath rise up and heed my cry."      Pain shimmied through Morgan's body, piercing unbearable pain. His legs buckled. Staggering backwards, he cried out and crumpled to his knees. Through all this, Lily continued her litany. "Bring fang and claw and strength beyond what mortals know. Bestow these gifts upon your servant now, that he may roam the earth as wolf and man, as man and wolf. Forever more."      With each word, Morgan's agony grew more intense. His legs and arms burned with the fires of hell and he clawed at them, wanting to pull them out as he would some grievous teeth. His jaw shifted and needles pierced every inch of his skin. A thousand knives jabbed at his head. "Rush, Great Phantom, rush, yeah rush. Race, Great Phantom, race, yeah race. The Lady rolls on, time grows short."      Lily's voice rose with the wailing wind that beat at Morgan's agonized body like a razor-sharp whip. "Heed us now. Heed us now. Time grows short. Heed us now."      Barely aware of the cruel rocks slicing his burning skin, Morgan writhed on the hard ground, battling the misery of his own flesh. His mind filled with jumbled, crazy questions. How had Lily's fingernails grown so long? Or her teeth so sharp and shiny?      "Lily," he cried from the depths of his pain, but only a grunt emerged. "Yeafanay cawfanay naylanay may. Yeafanay cawfanay naylanay may. A man wolf is born this day!"      Morgan heard nothing more. Lost in a whirlwind of agony, he thrashed inside the ring. Anguished sounds exploded in his throat. Torment was his whole world now. He was lost in it. Dying. There was no other explanation. He was dying. And because it hurt too much, he closed his eyes in futility and rolled into a ball, adrift in his own wretched whimpers.      Time passed. He sensed movement around him, but refused to open his eyes. Why were they tormenting him? Why didn't they kill him now? Eyes still closed, he lifted his head awkwardly. It felt heavy and stiff, but the thousand knives were gone, He brought a hand to his brow, felt fur. A peculiar yelp escaped his mouth.      His eyes snapped open and he stared in unspeakable horror.      Where hands once were, he saw hair and claws—large, powerful claws that could rip a throat apart. A crazed laugh bubbled in his throat, but when he opened his mouth only a groan emerged.      "Your alchemization is complete, Morgan," Lily said from above him. "You are one of us now."      She stood in the perimeter of his vision, a silhouette against the dark woods. Behind her, a bat darted for the trees and he could see each rib of its small wings, see its tiny feet drawn close to its body. All so clearly, he'd swear the sun was shining. Surely his eyes were playing tricks. He focused on Lily, who now bent to stroke his head. Red glinted off her ebony eyes.      The touch repulsed him. Instinctively, he turned his head, snapped at her hand. He caught a tuft of fur.      She laughed. "Ah, you are angry. But you will grow accustomed to this new life."      The pain must have driven him insane, thought Morgan. Reality, illusion, had blurred. Just like it had for poor Boris, who had spurred him into this loathsome wild-goose chase.      He scrambled clumsily to his feet and wobbled in the air, the weight of his body dragging him down on all fours. He wanted to speak of his bewilderment, to tell Lily that her murky robe now looked like a coat of silver-white hair, that her teeth had grown long and sharp. Yet, he could utter only a series of whines.      "Your skepticism is refuted." Lily's mouth widened into a beastly smile. "You are mine now, my darling Morgan. For many, many glorious lifetimes."      "No-o-o-o!"      And elsewhere, by those brave enough to live in the perilous mountains, was heard the echoes of a night beast's agonized howl. From Shadow on the Moon Copyright 2000 © by Constance K. Flynn. All Rights Reserved.