Supernatural Thriller Chosen:
Book III of the Full Wolf Moon Trilogy
Available in ebook at these booksellers and many others
eBOOK here and at many other online booksellers:
Kindle – Apple iPad – Apple iTunes –
Nook – Kobo – Smashwords
PAPERBACK here and at many other online booksellers:
Fans of Brian McGreevy’s Hemlock Grove or Guillermo Del Toro and Chuck Hogan’s The Strain Trilogy will want to sink their teeth into Book III of this thought-provoking thriller in werewolf’s clothing.
On the Back Cover:
With raw action and superb story telling, Book III of the Full Wolf Moon Trilogy ends this award winning supernatural saga with a rousing crescendo. Following the aftermath of the hunters’ battle with the Great Beast, re-bitten David Alma Curar wakens from an assault to find he is at the mercy of Niyol, a self-styled Navajo sorcerer known as a skinwalker. Yearning to bend a wave of fresh horror to his purpose, Niyol holds David captive and nurtures the Great Beast toward its Emergence.
As David struggles with the skinwalker and a Great Beast rising to dominance, Max, Doris and what remains of their band of hunters frantically search for their friend and mentor, racing against time and First Night. But, believing that David fled from them of his own accord, will they miss vital clues that could lead them in the right direction before a renewed cycle of slaughter begins?
A Look Inside:
Book III of the Full Wolf Moon Trilogy
Copyright © 2014 Kathy Linn. Nappier
All rights reserved under United States, International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Somewhere in the Colorado Plateau Province
Dawn. Waning Crescent Moon.
David’s head swam. Drugs, he thought, then wondered if it was a head injury instead. His instincts warned him not to call out. He propped on one elbow and probed his scalp, back to front, but found no wound. He swallowed against a metallic taste at the back of his mouth. Just drugs, then.
He was lying on something soft yet lumpy, like a thin mattress. He reached tentatively to either side and felt a gritty surface. So, he was on a mattress on a floor. But where? And why? In his wooziness, his next thought was of Stanislov. But, no, that couldn’t be. That kidnapping happened over twenty years ago, and Stanislov was long dead.
As he struggled with disorientation, his left arm and shoulder began to ache where he had been bitten. He massaged the scars, jagged and pitted, healing preternaturally fast to a tender pink. This brought thoughts of Max. Yes, Max must have drugged me. And if their situation had been reversed, David would have done the same. Did that mean the hunters were waiting for First Night? Or had it already passed? If it had already passed, David must have killed. His stomach knotted and disorientation threatened to ramp into fear.
Calm down. Think.
The pain of his wounds was a gift, helping him orient to time, at least, if not place. It had only been…ten days since he’d been bitten, and the moon was less than half-way through its phases. So he couldn’t have killed. Too early for that. Wasn’t it?
The drug-induced vertigo muddied his sense of time again. He tried to dredge up a memory, any memory of the past few days, but that was stymied as well. Learn something, then. Puzzling out his surroundings would lessen the daze and anxiety, perhaps jog loose a recollection. He sat up.
The air was stuffy. Musty smell. The floor was dry, and his fingers found chipped places in it: linoleum over a wood sub-floor. When he extended his arms to either side he found walls, so now he knew that he was in a corner of the room. Ahead, perhaps fifteen feet away, a dim slit glowed low to the ground: the seam of a door’s threshold. To his right, seven or eight feet away, more dim slits, four vertical, as if up on a wall: a boarded window, closer to him than was the door. It wasn’t much information but it helped clear his head, if only a little.
He went for the waistband of his Levis, slipped off his belt and climbed to one knee. Sweeping in an arc, buckle end out, he scraped the belt across the floor. Nothing connected. He was still too woozy to stand, so he stayed on one knee as he edged toward the boarded window, sweeping his belt before him. Once there, he followed the wall up to the window and fingered the boards, judging their width and thickness. They were warped, dry and brittle to his touch. Old boards. The stubbornness with which they resisted his tugs surprised him, as if they were newly nailed. He peered through the lowest slits and felt cool air leaking through, could make out shards of a once-intact pane, but the seams were too narrow to reveal anything other than dawn was breaking. Still, each sliver of information helped lessen his confusion. David’s legs felt stronger and he stood.
Cautiously he followed the windowed wall to the connecting one with the door. He tried the knob, turning it as quietly as possible, and found it locked. No surprise. None of the hunters would trust his judgment. He knew he couldn’t trust his judgment, either. Just look at what he was doing, skulking around with more caution than the gloom called for, as if he expected booby traps.
He felt disgusted with himself. This is ridiculous, he thought, just call out. Let them know you’re awake. Instead, he knelt on all fours and peered under the door. The linoleum’s black and white checkerboard extended into another room, but he could see nothing else. He rose and looked around, able now to see dim shapes in the dark, black against blacker.
One thing was obvious. This was not the cabin the hunters had been holed up in since the compound’s fire. Had they moved him into more manageable quarters? But why wouldn’t he remember if they had? Once more, his sense of time tangled and he wondered if First Night was imminent, or was newly passed. But if either was the case, the room should have a crazy quilt of silver layering it top to bottom, making it impossible for him to budge from where he had just laid. He became as annoyed with the hunters as he was with himself. They could have at least put him on a better bed. They could have given him a little light. Where the hell were they keeping him?
He wondered, again, if he had killed.
He called out, “Max…?”
He heard a man’s voice on the other side say, “He’s awake.” It wasn’t Max. It wasn’t anyone David recognized. A chair scraped over the linoleum and the unmistakable knock of boot heels crossed the floor, stopping at the door. Another man’s voice, calm but firm, said, “Before I open, you need to step back.”
“Who are you?” David asked.
“You need to step away.”
“You need to tell me who you are.”
“I will. But, first, you have to step away.”
A key rattled in the lock. The door opened just enough for David to glimpse a sliver of Navajo features and then he was blinded, his eyes and face aflame in agony. The scald spread to his hands when he pressed his palms against the pain. He stumbled back, screaming.
Silver dust. Someone had blown silver dust in his face.
Several hands caught him, pulled him backward and laid him on his side against the mattress. Cold water washed over his head and hands. Fingers pried his eyes open and water was flushed into them. Someone called for more. David could do nothing but lay, fetal and shivering, pinned against the mattress until the dousing stopped.
Things settled. A scratchy towel was nudged into his hands, but he couldn’t hold it. The after-pain was nearly as unbearable as the initial burst. A few moments more and David forced himself to sit and open his eyes. Through a yellow haze of anguish he made out a man squatting beside the mattress, his face long and gaunt, cheekbones high; hair shiny and black, pulled tight into a ponytail, Navajo style. Late thirties, early forties, maybe. Plaid shirt, Levis and cowboy boots.
The man said, speaking Navajo now, “I’m sorry I had to do that, Teacher.”
Teacher. Realization dawned and all the blood rushed from his scalded face. If David still didn’t know where he was or who was beside him, at least he understood why he was kidnapped.
He tried a bluff, saying in English, “Who are you? What did you just do to me?”
Still speaking Navajo, the man replied, “I’m called Niyol, Teacher.”
David went for the bluff again, testing his captor. Maybe what had been blown into his face hadn’t been silver. Only silver, lethally applied, could kill him, but it wasn’t the only thing that could cause him pain. Any number of chemical mixes could have taken him down, just like a normal person. And if this man fancied himself to be what David was certain he did, he was probably a skilled chemist.
“Look,” David said, trying to sound worried, which wasn’t hard. “I’m sorry, brother. My Navajo is too rusty. I haven’t used it since I was a kid. Who are you? What the hell am I doing here?”
The man smiled and kept speaking Navajo. “I apologize for keeping you like this. No disrespect is intended. It’s just that we had to move quickly. I’ll have you in better quarters soon. Would you like some water? Or coffee?” Without taking his eyes off David, he called toward the open door, “Mosi, make some fresh coffee.”
A woman’s voice, very young, replied quickly and obediently in Navajo, “Yes, Niyol.”
“Can you eat, Teacher, or are you too nauseous?”
David went for the shaken, useless old man effect, putting a quaver in his voice. “Please. I don’t know why you’re doing this. Is it for ransom? I’ll pay. Give me a piece of paper and a pencil. I’ll write a note to my cousin—”
“Teacher.” Niyol leveled a look at David that said enough is enough. “That was silver dust I blew in your face.”
David went silent, gazing into the calm, confident face of his captor. Then David, too, spoke in Navajo. “’Ánt’įįhnii…” witch “…you don’t know what you’ve done.”
eBOOK here and at many other online booksellers
Kindle – Apple iPad – Apple iTunes –
Nook – Kobo – Smashwords
PAPERBACK here and many other online booksellers:
PAPERBACK COMING SOON!