Hunter's Moon

By: Joe Lawson

The wolves are out tonight
Under the hunter's moon.

(Tuesday's Child, by: All About Eve.
In: Scarlet And Other Stories, 1989.)

EPILOGUE

His arm hurt.

His head hurt.

His shoulder was a pulsing, throbbing, screaming bastion of agony.

In short, Buck Wilmington was not a happy man. Nathan had set his dislocated shoulder and cleaned, then stitched together the knife wounds. He'd then whisked them all back to town, because he wanted to check Buck over in the clinic.

Truth be told, the Two-Blood had almost been grateful to be ordered to rest there - Nathan's bed was a lot bigger than Chris' cot, and Buck preferred to sprawl all over the place when he slept. And slept he had, much to his chagrin. He'd been out like a light the moment his battered body hit the mattress, and had snoozed the entire day away like a worn out cub. It was embarrassing. He vaguely remembered somebody coaxing him awake some time, to make him drink what had felt like a bucket of Nathan's most disgusting tea, but other than that, he'd been dead to the world.

A horse squealing in the livery woke him at sundown and he sleepily focused on the noise to make sure there wasn't any trouble, but it was only Peso in a bad mood finding the perfect victim in Nathan's gentle bay. The black must've played 'escape from the box' again. That meant poor Vin was in for another one of Chris' when-are-you-going-to-trade-that-rattler-in-disguise-for-a-real-horse speeches. Of course, Vin didn't seem to mind the gunslinger's lectures. Buck grinned when he imagined how the tracker would stand in front of their leader, pretending to listen and grumble while actually checking out the way those tight pants hugged Larabee's ass as he paced up and down holding his monologue. The last time, the scent of his arousal had almost knocked Buck on his ass it had been so strong. Nope, Vin didn't mind the lectures at all.

Might be one of the reasons why Peso escaped so often.

Satisfied that there was no danger -- other than that Vin might finally lose that famous self-control of his and jump Chris' bones, that was -- Buck opened his eyes and looked around. He was alone, though Nathan's scent was still strong and warm all around him. The gunslinger smiled sheepishly when he breathed in deeply and recognized the familiar blend of scents surrounding his bed, realizing the others had spent a considerable amount of time watching over him while he'd been sleeping. A faint whiff of soap and ink made him sneeze and told him Mary Travis had paid a visit, too, but hadn't stayed long. Chris, bless his attention to detail, must've remembered what Buck had told him about the sharp stench of the ink and showed her out of the room.

Part of Buck wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep some more, but a familiar restlessness had gotten hold of him. He needed to get out and get some fresh air. He also needed to pee somewhat badly.

So he made it into a sitting position, swearing and sweating and hurting a lot. Nathan had bandaged Buck's shoulder and then put his arm into a sling, binding the whole mess to Buck's chest with two long strips of fabric to keep the arm completely still. The Two-Blood didn't doubt it was what was best for the injured joint, but it also meant he had to use his abdominal muscles to sit up, and those were bruised from their brief, but violent introduction to John Doe's elbow. It made the simple task of getting up an adventure.

Getting dressed wasn't any easier. By the time he'd managed to button his pants, he'd decided to forego boots and socks and was seriously contemplating leaving his shirt, too. In the end, it wasn't shyness that convinced him to take the shirt, but the knowledge that Nathan would have his hide if he went out half-naked while weakened by his injuries. The healer didn't like seeing good work undone by thoughtlessness, and his tirades about the threat of pneumonia had deeply ingrained themselves in the regulators' subconscious.

It was a very shaky, subdued Buck who finally crept down the stairs and disappeared behind the livery to relieve himself, not wanting to soil his friend's chamber pot. Feeling a bit better afterwards, he unsteadily made his way across the street. Since it was getting dark and most people were either retiring or heading for the saloon, nobody noticed the tall, quiet figure heading for the sanctuary of Josiah's church.

The wounded gunslinger pushed open the door with his foot, then slipped into the building soundlessly. He stood still for a moment, breathing in the scent of rosewood and candles, wrinkling his nose a bit upon detecting the faint traces of glue underlying the stronger, more pleasing fragrances. He crossed through the room on bare feet, smiling when he remembered the last time he'd done that, naked then and heading for the grizzled preacher who'd become such an important part of his life.

He could still smell the sex in the air, the mingled odors of his and Josiah's seed and their sweat. It made him smile a little broader. Buck hadn't lied to Chris when he'd told him it was a good scent, if both parties enjoyed it. Fact was, the only smell he liked even better was the combined tang of his pack when they were happy and relaxed.

Remembering his purpose, he stepped through the door leading to the staircase and slowly climbed the stairs to the attic. His eyes adapted easily to the darkness, allowing him to move through the gloom surely and without hitting his shoulder against the roof beams. His night vision wasn't as good as a cat's, but it was decidedly better than the average human's. Just another thing that gave him an edge and helped keep his friends alive. Especially Chris. The man attracted trouble like a carcass flies. Buck had needed every advantage he could get in the dark times after Sarah's and Adam's death. It had made him be grateful for being a Two-Blood, because no human could've kept Larabee alive and made it out in one piece.

How nicely ironic that it had been his loyalty to his alpha that had eventually made it possible for his father to catch up with him. All John had to do was follow the path of destruction right to the place where Larabee had decided to stop running. Of course, by the time the Two-Bloods arrived, Buck and Chris had found themselves a pack of their own.

Josiah was right. God had a sense of humor.

It was just a bit warped.

Writing a mental reminder to tell the preacher about his discovery, Buck opened the window and squeezed through, cursing his broad shoulders all the time. He was almost through when he misjudged the distance to the roof and stumbled. //Note to self: window frames and dislocated shoulders should be kept apart under any circumstances// he thought, after he'd managed to get the blinding pain under control.

Nevertheless he heaved a sigh of relief once he'd made it to the top of the roof and sat down. The wooden tiles were still warm from the sun and smelled of cedar and moss. The patched sections even carried remnants of Josiah and Nathan's scents. Must be all the blood they'd let, hitting their fingers instead of the nails.

"What the hell is it with you people and dizzying heights?" an annoyed voice asked from behind him, accompanied by a cloud of stale cigar smoke. "First Vin, then J.D., and now they have you playin' goat. What's wrong with meetin' at the saloon, damn it?"

"I believe Mr. Wilmington must have suffered a minor concussion and is now suffering under the misconception that he can fly." Ezra poked his head through the window behind Chris to glare at Buck, then followed the man in black outside, bitterly complaining about the indignities he had to endure for no good reason whatsoever.

"Oh, shut up, Ez," J.D. snapped, scrambling after the gambler with surprising agility. "You were the one who told Chris to get his reluctant behind up here in the first place!"

"I heard that, J.D.," Larabee growled.

Vin dove forward and managed to grab the kid before he could take a nose dive off the roof as J.D. jumped guiltily and lost his footing. The sharpshooter held on to the youth until J.D. had found his balance and Chris and Ezra had managed to calm a panicked Buck enough to get him to sit down. He made sure J.D. wasn't in any danger of repeating his performance, then gave him a good, sound slap on the back of his head. "Don't do that!" he snapped. "D'you want us t' have t' hop off that roof after ya? Nathan ain't got so much room at his clinic!"

"You tell him, Vin!" Nathan called from the darkness of the attic.

"Give 'im another slap," Buck ordered, his heart only gradually slowing down after the adrenaline spike. "I can't move proper with my arm in this damn sling."

The tracker promptly cuffed J.D. again, before letting him go and clambering onto the roof to join the others. The young sheriff shot him a dirty look, but didn't push the issue, mostly because Buck was looking much too pale for his liking.

A moment later Nathan nudged a hovering Chris to the side so he could examine the Two-Blood. Buck sighed in resignation and leaned against Ezra, burying his face in the soft fabric of the con-man's shirt while the healer made sure he hadn't thrown out his shoulder again. The Southerner held on to his poker-face for all of ten seconds, then the mask slipped, revealing the wonder and tenderness beneath.

Josiah, standing on the ridge of the roof with Chris, saw Ezra's expression soften and nodded to himself. With unerring intuition, Buck was giving his support to the one of them who needed it most. The gambler didn't have much experience with trust and affection, but he did have finely honed instincts, and they responded beautifully to the Two-Blood. If anybody could make the cynical Southerner realize that somebody actually cared, it was Buck.

"Well, at least you didn't hurt yo'self worse," Nathan pronounced after a few minutes, his fingers retying the last knot, then threading gently through his friend's silken hair. "You're still mighty sore, though. You should be resting in bed."

"So what in blazes made you climb up here anyway?" Larabee inquired roughly, reaching for a cheroot and glaring at Josiah when the preacher plucked the cigar from his fingers and threw it over his shoulder. Josiah inclined his head slightly in Buck's direction and sniffed. The gunslinger rolled his eyes in disgust, but didn't try to light another smoke.

The scoundrel shared a grin with Vin, but otherwise pretended not to notice the by-play. "That's why," he said, pointing at the night-sky.

"Star-gazing? You?" Chris quipped, incredulous.

"Since when do you have an interest in astronomy?" Ezra added, thoroughly confused.

It was J.D. who solved the mystery before Buck had to launch into a long-winded explanation once again. "The moon!" he called, eyes shining with excitement. "Tonight's a hunter's moon!"

Ezra blinked. "Beg your pardon?"

"It's a Two-Blood thing," Vin interjected, remembering the importance of the hunter's moon from his time with the Dry Pond Pack. "First night of a full moon has the packs gatherin' and howlin' at th' moon."

"Howlin'," Buck scoffed, slightly insulted. "That's not howling! It's *singing*. It's our way of confirming the bond between us, of celebratin' we're alive and healthy and ready t' hunt. It also tells other packs t' stay th' hell away from our territory."

"You're neither healthy nor ready to hunt," Nathan pointed out, sensing disaster and aiming to prevent it. "So don't get no ideas, y'hear me?"

"What d'you think I'll do? Jump off th' roof and run down Main Street with my front paw in a sling?" Buck grumbled.

"I wouldn't put it past you," the healer shot back.

"How does it sound?" J.D. interrupted, not in the mood for a lengthy discussion of Buck's weird notion of modesty.

"How does what sound?" the scoundrel asked, thrown off-balance by the seeming non-sequitur.

"The howling," the youth explained.

"Singing," Buck corrected, grinning when he saw the skepticism written clearly on J.D.'s face. "Believe me, you'd know the difference if you heard it."

"Is that so? Then why don't you show us, Mr. Wilmington?" Ezra raised an eyebrow, throwing down the gauntlet with a challenging smile. "I bet we will not be able to discern between 'howling' and 'singing', as you so charmingly put it."

"Ezra . . . " Chris warned.

"*No actual betting while Buck's hurt and bored out of his mind*," the gambler recited with a sigh. "I know. It was a figure of speech. I was only trying to suggest that Mr. Wilmington could demonstrate both disciplines for our better understanding, since we're already sitting on a roof and it's too dark to play poker."

"No howling at the moon in town," Larabee declared. "No singin' either."

"It's supposed t' warn other packs off, Cowboy," Vin reminded him. "And anyway, don't tell me yer not curious, too."

"I'm *not*- " Meeting the blatantly disbelieving looks of his companions, the gunslinger hung his head in defeat. "Oh, for cryin' out loud. Howl."

The ear-splitting, hair-raising, keening wail bursting from Buck's mouth a second later almost had them all tumbling off the roof as their bodies' innate reflexes had them shying away from the source of the blood-curling sound in terror. Down on Main Street, horses screamed and bolted, even as their riders dove for cover.

"*Jesus H. Christ! BUCK! Goddamn it!!*" Larabee yelled, sliding his gun back into its holster with a shaking hand. "What in Heaven's name was *that*?!"

"That," the Two-Blood drawled unrepentantly, "was a howl."

"Don't ever do that again!" the gunslinger snarled, his heart still racing like a scared rabbit. "I could've shot you!"

"Yeah, don't ever do that again," Nathan seconded, wondering how many of his hairs had turned white at Buck's 'demonstration'.

J.D.'s eyes were wide, as were Josiah's, but while the preacher was definitely not amused, the young man's initial shock quickly changed into fascination. "That was- It was- " He stared at Buck in admiration. "Can you teach me how to do that?"

"NO!!" the other regulators bellowed as one, blanching at the thought of J.D. learning that particular skill.

"But I'm sure we could find some other application for this heinous clamor," Ezra added quickly, his agile mind already brimming with possibilities. "This definitely has potential."

"Don't even think about it, Ezra," Chris warned.

"Think about what?" the gambler asked, eyes big and innocent, posture screaming 'wounded dignity'. "Pray tell, Mr. Larabee, what would I- "

"I don't know, and I don't wanna know," the gunslinger said firmly, then stared hard at his oldest friend, whose whole body was shaking helplessly with restrained mirth. "Are you done laughing?"

"Almost," Buck gasped, hand going to his shoulder in an attempt to protect the injured joint. "Ow."

"Serves you right," Nathan muttered, even as he pulled his friend closer, supporting him gently until the tremors of pain and the helpless chuckles had passed.

"That was an awful thing t' do, Bucklin," Vin scolded, trying to keep the laughter out of his own voice and failing. Not that he hadn't jumped a mile in panic, too, but the scoundrel's prank had appealed to the tracker's sense of humor. "Gonna get yourself shot one day."

"Not by you," the Two-Blood replied with staggering certainty. "You're too good to shoot me by accident." He lifted his head and grinned. "And anyway, why're you complainin'? Ya wanted to know what a howl sounds like. Now ya know. Want to hear the singing next?"

"I don't know," Josiah grumbled. "Will we survive that?"

The answer was a soft, melodious sound that seemed to rise from the very depths of Buck's soul, drifting through the air like woodsmoke. It brushed against the gunslingers soft as a summer-breeze, questing, caressing, then cut right through all the walls and shields they'd erected around their deepest core and touched their souls.

They sat frozen as Buck closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and took them apart piece by piece, only to fuse them together again stronger and better than before. His voice twisted and curled around them in an ever changing, rising and falling song that needed no words or explanations. He made them see what it meant to be a Two-Blood, what it meant to be a pack, using only the strength of his emotions and the blazing spirit that formed the essence of his being. And as his voice soared high towards the hunter's moon smiling down at them, he carried them with him into his world and showed them how it felt to run free.

Vin was the first to join in, reaching out to the powerful force of Buck's voice with his own raspy, desert-dry version of the wordless song. J.D. was next, bringing in an amazingly full, clear tone that twined playfully around Buck's and Vin's rougher, deeper voices. Then Josiah added another layer, his sonorous, resonant bass providing a rich, steady counterpoint to J.D.'s jubilant enthusiasm.

Chris had turned away, the sudden urge to open his mouth and follow them feeling like betrayal to his family's memory. However, before he could slam up his defenses again, the unexpected sound of Ezra's sugar and molasses voice ringing out made his head whip around in astonishment. His jaw dropped at the sight of the reserved gambler baring his throat as he raised his face and sent a low, tremulous cry heavenwards. Instantly, Nathan dropped his own reticence, his warm, soothing voice cradling the Southerner's, sheltering it until the hesitant call gained power and momentum and resounded true and strong in the vivid kaleidoscope of the pack's song.

There was so much hope in their combined voices, so much strength and joy, that Larabee found himself unable to resist the pull. They dragged him out of the dark, bitter place he'd inhabited for so long, into the silvery light of the hunter's moon, and invited the reckless wildness in him -- that half-crazy savage he usually tried to keep under tight rein -- out to play. And when his hoarse howl finally broke free, they matched him sound for sound, not intimidated by his dark side at all.

And that's how it began, with seven men sitting on the roof of an old church and scaring the civilized townsfolk with a wild and primal song that sounded far beyond Four Corners. It traveled through the clear night, over hills and deserts, picked up and carried on by the wandering packs of New Mexico. A new pack had been formed, different from every other pack, as unique as its individual members.

A pack to be reckoned with.

A pack to be remembered until the end of time.

THE END

END NOTES: This story wasn't originally planned as the beginning of a series. It's a standalone. However, I might add one or two shorter stories in a while, just because the Two-Blood Universe is such a fun playground. If any of you wants to join in, you're invited to do so.

Bonus points to anyone who spotted the itty bitty homage to 'Evil Dead 2' and Laurell K. Hamilton's 'Anita Blake' books. :)

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