Charlotte Boyett-Compo- Wyndsheer by Unknown Page A

losing touch with reality, his behavior becoming odder by the moment. The unease they were all feeling, the increasing fear and depression was taking its toll.
    “He’s right, Jake,” Dalton said. “We shouldn’t let MacGivern just waltz out of here. If nothing else he needs to lead us back down to the village.”
    “Yeah,” Jacobson concurred and the other agents nodded agreement.
    Hobart chewed on his lip, his gaze going to Jamie. “Come sit back down, MacGivern. We can’t let you ....”
    One moment the Lycant was in the cave entrance and the next he had vanished, moving so speedily his passing had been nothing more than a blur. Even though several of the agents ran to the entrance right behind him, they could not make him out in the rain.
    “He’s gone,” one of the agents said. “We’ll never find him out there.”
    Wendt lowered his gun with a hiss of fury. “I should have put a slug between his eyes when I had the chance.”
    The agent standing at the door suddenly scrambled back with a loud cry, putting his hands up over his face. “No!” he screamed.
    “What the …?” Hobart started to say, but uncontrollable panic seized him and he lurched sideways, almost stepping into the fire before he flattened himself against the wall of the cave.
    A sharp, piercingly cold wind came blasting through the entrance and brought with it a malodorous stink. The force of the gust blew out the campfire, plunging the men into unrelieved darkness.
    “Where’s the flashlights? Where’s the flashlights?” Hobart yelled and his voice was filled with terror.
    It was the fierce growl--the vibration from which echoed and bounced off the walls so loudly the men had to cover their ears--that struck horror in the agents’ minds. It was the sound of thundering feet, of unearthly laughter, of brutal hissing that made the men crash into one another as they struggled to flee the confines of the small cave. Their shrieks of dismay and terror only added to the din as a savage roar brought small chunks of rock down from the ceiling.
    Rushing out into the storm-laden night, the agents ran in every direction in their attempt to escape whatever had intruded into the cave. Unabridged fear ran alongside them as maniacal laughter followed in their wake. The only one of the agents left in the cave was Robert Codyan Wendt who sat like a statue in a widening circle of urine with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his body shuddering so badly his teeth were clicking together, sucking in whimpering breaths like a keening wind.
    And he was not alone.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Six
     
    Jamie heard the screams and shouts of the agents as he made his way down the mountainside. He was smiling grimly, finding dark humor in knowing the Guardian would do no harm to the men--except perhaps for Wendt. He knew An Fear Liath Mor had taken the image of his rival from Jamie’s memory and would seek out the unfortunate bastard whose mind would never again be the same after an up close and personal visit with the Guardian. In a way, he almost felt sorry for Wendt.
    Shaking aside what he considered a weakness, he continued on down the trail, hoping none of the agents would blunder off the cliffs or break his neck in a fall. He rather liked Hobart and would hate to see anything happen to the levelheaded man. The others meant nothing to him but he had enough sins on his soul that he did not need any more heaped upon it.
    It took him a bit longer than he would have liked to make his way back to the cabin he now shared with his woman. He’d stopped back in the village to pick up the rucksack with the clothing Elspeth had put together for him. He had been careful not to leave a trail of his passing though he suspected the agents would have concerns on their minds other than tracking him back to his lair. The moment he opened the stone panel, he felt his heart begin to race, his palms to sweat and he rubbed his right hand down his pant leg--feeling