Return of the Wolf Man Read Online Free PDF Page A

state. The werewolf felt a sad kinship with the statues.
    When he was within arm’s reach of the griffin on the left, the Wolf Man stopped climbing. He listened, sniffed. The man was still inside. It sounded as though he was moving things around.
    Saliva pooled around the werewolf’s thick tongue. He reached up. The claws of his shaggy hands closed around the base of the statue, its once-proud wings and face pocked and eroded from the salty air. The Wolf Man pulled himself up and perched low on the sill. He looked inside. The man was noisily pushing aside a piece of equipment. Though the full moon threw the Wolf Man’s elongated shadow across the floor, the man was oblivious to it.
    The werewolf watched the man for a moment. It was rare that the hunter was able to watch a mortal man hunt. Grunting and breathing hard, this man was clearly searching for something. Finally, he picked up something that had been lying beneath the equipment—a thin book. With obvious excitement the man held the book in both hands. He stared at the cover and said something to himself.
    Words were difficult for the Wolf Man to understand so he ignored them. He was glad the man was happy. Happy people were distracted. When the attack came it would be more of a shock, his fear more palpable.
    Rising on the clawed tips of his toes, the werewolf judged the man’s distance. A single leap would be sufficient to cover the distance between them. Fixing his eyes on the victim’s exposed throat, the Wolf Man opened his mouth wide in a soundless expression of anticipation. Then, sitting back on his coiled legs, the werewolf jumped.

IV
    Just standing outside the castle made Joan Raymond feel vulnerable, though she didn’t know exactly why. She also didn’t know to what. But she needed to move and decided to go for a little walk. She turned to her right, toward the side of the castle and the sea. Beyond the water were the winking lights of LaMirada—the playground of the rich which had become a hideaway for the damned. Part of her had always believed that ghosts and devils could exist—the same part that wanted to believe in God and His angels. But her rational side had always beaten down the spiritual side. Even now, though the woman had felt the cold touch and hot eyes of the undead, her logical mind sought some other explanation. Perhaps they were hallucinations caused by the gloomy castle, compounded by the masquerade ball on the island. Or maybe they were a hypnotic trick. Yet reason could not overcome desire. As frightened as she’d been, she wanted to believe.
    Her Gypsy jewelry jangling, Joan enjoyed the invigorating wash of the bay wind. It helped her shake off the long, choking shadow of Count Dracula. Helped sweep away the wispy remnants of dense fog that had clouded her mind. Helped deaden the memory of the blazing red bat’s eyes that had burned through her will and transfixed her. She used to think she was strong, tough. But the vampire had effortlessly cut through her defenses. It had been a humbling experience.
    She took a long breath of salty air. She smiled at the moon, then followed its light to the turret of the castle tower, down its lumpy walls to the dark windows, one of which was shattered. Then she looked down at the deeply shadowed grounds—
    Joan stopped. There was something lying just ahead on a field of broken glass.
    No, she thought after staring at it for a moment. Not something. Some one.
    Joan ran over, caution forgotten for the moment. Her high heels stuck in the soil and she tried running on the toes of her shoes. She nearly tripped and fell and finally pulled the shoes off. The cold earth felt good on her bare feet.
    The body was lying on its left side, its back to her. Kneeling beside it, Joan turned it toward her; it was Dr. Mornay. Her lab coat was covered with slivers of glass. Though her mask had come off, the scientist was still wearing the white surgical cap and rubber gloves she’d had on in the