Buffy The Vampire Slayer - Oz Into The Wild.pdf - Inne - marcia993

OZ INTO THE WILD

Christopher Golden

Prologue

Every time he closed his eyes he could feel her flesh tearing in his jaws and smell the copper scent of

her hot blood as it soaked the fur of his snout. He could taste it. All of which was impossible, of course,

for though Daniel Osbourne was a werewolf, on those mornings when he awoke after a night beneath the

full moon he could remember almost nothing.

Except in his dreams.

Often in his dreams, Oz touched the beast within, saw through the eyes of the wolf. To his great

relief, like most dreams, these images usually faded not long after waking.

Usually.

But not always.

When they did not... well, he kept them to himself.

Lycanthropy was his disease, and a unique one at that. It was not debilitating, really, nor was it

painful save for during the change itself. Three times each month—on the night of the full moon and the

nights immediately before and after—the coming of dusk wrought a terrible change upon his body,

forging from the man a monster. It would not kill him, this disease, this beast that lay dormant like some

benign tumor the rest of the month. But if he should be allowed to run free when the beast rose to the

surface, it might kill others.

His flesh was a cage. Three nights a month, the wolf broke out.

Last night, it had killed.

It was just after nine o'clock on a cool November morning in Sunnydale, California. Oz sat on a

freshly painted bench in Hammersmith Park, unshaven, unshowered, his mind more than a little numb.

The sun felt good on his skin more for the simple fact that it was day than because of its warmth. Beside

him sat his aunt Maureen. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the stylish cut of her red-blond hair as

it fell across her face, and the pixieish little point to her nose. But she wasn't looking at him.

Worry lines creased Aunt Maureen's forehead as she stared out across the green lawns and winding

paths of the park. Mothers and nannies shepherded small children in play groups. Joggers and bladers

moved swiftly along the paved trails, weaving among the trees.

But she wasn't looking at any of that. Aunt Maureen was watching Uncle Ken and their son, Jordy,

playing with a bright orange and yellow Nerf football. Jordy was just a little guy, struggling with the

playground politics of elementary school. . . and with lycanthropy. In truth, it had been a simple bite on

the finger from his little cousin that had turned Oz into a werewolf.

Hard to imagine right now, watching the kid laughing as he tried to tackle his dad, and Uncle Ken

going down hard like Jordy was the meanest defensive end in the game. Jordy snatched up the Nerf and

ran for some trees, where he spiked the ball and did a stumbling little rhythmless dance of victory.

Oz smiled watching them, just for a moment, before images of torn flesh crashed through his mind

again. He ran his tongue along his teeth, trying to tell himself that the taste of blood was gone. With a

deep breath he focused on Uncle Ken and Jordy, hoping that watching them could make him forget

again, just for a few more seconds, but knowing that it wasn't going to happen.

"So, Daniel...," Aunt Maureen began.

He glanced at her, then away.

"This Veruca. She was like you?"

A shudder went through him at her use of that phrase— like you —and at the tiny catch in her voice

as she said it. Most people would have missed it entirely, but Oz had spent a great deal of time with his

aunt and uncle, and their son. Aunt Maureen had always been a formidable woman, but she had been

forced to become even stronger since her discovery that Jordy was a werewolf. All it had taken for him

to infect Oz was that little nip of the teeth while roughhousing, but as far as they knew, Jordy had not

bitten anyone else. For an elementary school kid, that was nothing short of a miracle, and Oz chalked it

up to Aunt Maureen and Uncle Ken's steely resolve to protect their son even as they were forced to

protect others from him.

But she had said like you instead of like you and Jordy. No matter how much fortitude she evinced

in her day-to-day dealings with her son's condition, that was sheer practicality. It still broke her heart

every day.

"Yeah," Oz confirmed. "Veruca was a werewolf."

"The things she said ... you don't believe that?"

He ran a hand over the red-gold stubble on his chin, his eyes still on Jordy and Uncle Ken. The Nerf

ball forgotten, the kid had tackled his father, and now the two were wrestling on the grass, Jordy lunging

at his father, leaping on his back, only to have Uncle Ken drop him to the ground or let him tumble away.

There was not a moment's hesitation in Uncle Ken, though the risk of accidental infection was high.

Nobody knew that better than Oz.

"Daniel?" his aunt pressed.

He turned to look at her. Aunt Maureen's eyes searched his, and he knew that she needed answers

to these questions as much for herself and for her family as she did because she cared about him.

But there were no easy answers.

Veruca had told him he was living a lie. Oz treated lycanthropy like the condition it was. Three nights

a month the wolf escaped his flesh and bone cage, so he had his girlfriend, Willow Rosenberg, and their

friends put him in one made of concrete and steel. When it was over, he was just Oz again.

But, according to Veruca, he hadn't been "just Oz" since the day Jordy bit him. She insisted that

being a werewolf was a more fundamental change than that. He wasn't a human being sometimes and a

wolf other times—hell, if he were to believe her, he wasn't even human at all anymore. No, Veruca had

believed that their kind were little more than animals with two faces, that a werewolf was a beast

twenty-four/seven, but just a little wilder on those three nights of the full moon. And that werewolves

were far superior to humans. She had wanted Oz to be her mate. They belonged together, or so she'd

said.

Oz hadn't bought any of it, not the full-time beast part or the mate part. He had a girlfriend already,

thanks.

Veruca had gotten pretty insistent. When the full moon came around, she started killing. Then, just

last night, she had tried to kill Willow. Oz didn't remember much. He, of course, had also been a wolf.

But he had dreamt this morning of the night before, of gnashing jaws and the ripple of muscles under his

fur, of the terror in Willow's eyes.

Oz had killed Veruca. He had saved the girl he loved from that beast.

But the one thing that he could not shake from his dream, the one thing that stayed with him and

probably always would, was the terror in Willow's eyes. It was there when Veruca tried to kill her, of

course, but it was also there when she had looked at him. Worse than that, he understood her fear.

Much as it hurt him to confess, even to himself, Oz was now convinced that Willow had a reason to be

afraid. She would never admit it, of course. Things would go back to normal if he simply kept quiet and

allowed that to happen. The problem was, he just could not do that.

Veruca was wrong. He was not a monster. Not a beast. The beast was something inside of him. But

there was no denying that he was a danger not only to Willow but to all those around him. He was going

to have to find a way to tame the beast within him, to control it, to master the dark, primal urges that

churned in his hidden heart. For the sake of all those he cared about, and for his own sake as well, it was

time to take drastic measures.

Oz watched Jordy chasing his father, and then he turned to Aunt Maureen. "Nah. She just wanted

an excuse to let the beast out. But there has to be a way to get control of it, really rein it in."

There was a sudden gleam of pride and affection in her eyes, but lines of concern creased her

forehead. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

"I'm going to try to get some answers, yeah. For me, and for Jordy, too."

Aunt Maureen smiled and reached over to twine her fingers in his. Oz took a long breath, his

decision made. Then he heard Jordy calling his name and looked up to see his little cousin running full tilt

toward him across the park. He nearly lost his footing when he reached the paved path, but somehow he

managed to keep from falling.

"Daniel," the boy said breathlessly, a broad grin on his face, his smile jagged and uneven where baby

teeth sat side by side with larger, adult teeth. "Come on! Wrestle with me! Dad's been destroyed and he

needs reinforcements."

Oz saw that Jordy was right. Uncle Ken lay stretched out on the grass in a silly mockery of

exhaustion.

"All right," he said. "But just for a little while. I have to go soon."

Jordy's face lit up as he grabbed Oz's hand and pulled him off the bench as though the boy were

towing him.

"You're leaving today?" Aunt Maureen asked. "You're not going to say good-bye to Willow?"

Though the sun was warm and bright above, Oz felt a chill run through him. He turned to face his

aunt, still moving but forcing Jordy to work that much harder to drag him off. "I saw her before I came

over here. My stuff's already in the van."

His aunt was a beautiful woman, and when she bit her lip as she did now, sadness in her eyes, it hurt

him to see it.

"It's all happening so fast, Daniel."

Oz stopped. Jordy tugged on him, crying out in protest, demanding that he come along and wrestle.

"The clock's ticking, Aunt Maureen," Oz said. "The full moon's never very far away."

With that, he turned and ran across the park with Jordy. When the boy tackled him, Oz went down

hard on the grass, exaggerating the fall. Jordy loved his father, of course, but there was a freedom to the

boy's laughter when he played with Oz. He was so very small, but he knew that when he was

roughhousing with his cousin Daniel, he did not have to worry about being careful, about biting.

They were two of a kind.

Aside from Willow, Oz knew he was going to miss Jordy the most.

Chapter One

Twenty-seven Nights Until the Full Moon

Oz sat on a stool at the bar in Cueball's and watched the daylight dim behind the frosted-glass

windows as dusk came to Santa Monica, California. He was not yet twenty-one, but he had been

drinking water since coming into the joint more than an hour earlier, so no one bothered to ask him for

I.D. Not that Cueball's was the sort of place he expected to get much of a hard time if he decided he did

want a beer. It was a combination billiards hall and bar, but with a kind of hip, edgy atmosphere that

somehow made it attractive to a clientele more accustomed to dance clubs. Women in spaghetti-strap

tops and guys with goatees shot pool with hip-hop thumping out of ceiling-high speaker stacks.

Only in California.

The guy behind the bar was a former Marine, if the tattoo on his left bicep was to be believed, and

his bald pate gleamed under the multicolored lights of the bar. Oz figured he had to be Cueball.

A pair of girls in belly tees and jeans that looked crisp and new sat at a table near the front of the

place and from time to time when he glanced at the door he caught them watching him. The blonde

looked away every time, but this time the other, a brunette with exotic Mediterranean features, only

smiled. Oz raised an eyebrow as she rose from her chair and walked toward him with a strut that made

him guess she was a model instead of the actress he had presumed her to be.

She had to have at least four inches on him in height, even without the low heels on her stylish shoes.

"Hi," she said brightly, openly appraising him, one hand resting upon her hip.

Oz nodded. "Hey."

Her mouth was beautiful: thick lips painted pouty red, but not in that collagen-about-to-explode

way. It was even prettier when she smiled.

"I don't know what it is, but there's something about you."

"I'm gonna say thanks, even though I'm not sure if that's a good thing," he told her.

"Neither am I," she replied, thrusting out a hand. "I'm Brandy. Do you want to buy me a drink or

play a round of pool or something?"

Oz glanced across the floor at the blonde who had been sitting with Brandy. She was surrounded by

a trio of guys who had swept in on her the moment she was alone; the vultures had descended. He

looked back up at Brandy. "Pool's not my game."

Her smile was sly now. "Well, then, what is?"

"Hell, kid, at least buy her a drink." Oz turned to see Cueball standing behind the bar, bulging arms

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