Jimmy took a swing. Sawyer ducked it easily. I threw up my hands and got out of the way. I’d lived among men like this all my life.
Well, maybe not men exactly like this, since I’d lived among actual men, but the principle was similar. Street kids. System boys. Cops. Tough guys were all the same. Once they decided to beat the shit out of one another, you might as well grab a cup of coffee and watch because you weren’t going to stop them.
The battle was like none I’d ever seen—probably because it was a battle and not just a fight. Sawyer and Jimmy had powers beyond the realm of mere mortals. As Jimmy had said, superior speed and strength were his. Sawyer’s speed and strength—though lesser than Jimmy’s—weren’t too shabby either.
When one man landed a blow, the other flew several feet. They flitted around the yard, here, there, onto the roof of the house and then tumbling off, landing hard, getting up and slamming at each other again.
“This isn’t getting anywhere,” I shouted.
Jimmy glanced my way. Blood trickled from a cut in his lip, though not as freely as it would have on a human.
Sawyer took advantage of his distraction and his fist shot out, headed for Jimmy’s chin, but Jimmy saw it coming and dropped to the ground, rolling quickly out of Sawyer’s reach.
“I’m not the kid I once was,” Jimmy said. “You can’t take me anymore, old man. Those days are done.”
Old man?
Sawyer appeared to be thirty, but then he always had. Good genes? Or perhaps no genes? I had no idea what constituted a skinwalker. Was he Nephilim, breed, or something else entirely? Ruthie’s whisper had been vague.
Sawyer’s face shimmered. I saw wolf-man-wolf, as if a battle were being raged beneath the skin, behind those freakishly light eyes. Then he was man again, and he stayed that way. For now.
He turned away, dismissing Jimmy like a servant. Jimmy rolled onto his feet and sprang. Right before he would have plowed into Sawyer’s back, the other man ducked and Jimmy sailed over gracefully, landing in front of me as if he’d just completed a violent game of leapfrog.
“That’s enough,” I said softly, firmly.
Jimmy glanced over his shoulder. I didn’t think he was going to listen, but he slowly lowered his head, breathing in a measured pace—in through the nose, out through the mouth, calming himself.
Sawyer walked toward me, and I had to force myself not to back up as he came near.
“That was you on the road,” I said. “The wolf.”
He lifted his brows but didn’t answer.
I turned to Jimmy. “Right?”
He straightened; dust sprinkled off his clothes, swirling through the garish beams of the Hummer’s headlights. “Why do you think I tried to hit him?”
I contemplated Sawyer, who’d stopped several feet away from us and stood watching with an eerie stillness that had always given me the willies.
“You brought me here to be trained,” I continued, “so why would you try and kill him before that happened?”
“He wouldn’t have died. He’s a damn skinwalker.”
“You two obviously know each other a lot better than I thought.”
“He trains some of us.” Jimmy’s lip curled. “For a price.”
“You think I should do it for free?” Sawyer asked.
“You’re a breed, just like me.”
“No.” Sawyer walked toward his house. “I’m not anything like you.”
He disappeared inside.
Jimmy joined me and together we contemplated the open doorway.
“What is he?” I asked.
“You know.”
“Skinwalker doesn’t mean jack to me. You say he’s a breed. He says he isn’t.”
“He is.” Jimmy tilted his head. “Maybe.”
I smacked myself in the forehead. “Maybe?”
“He’s not Nephilim.”
“Because?”
“They’re evil.”
“He’s not exactly what I’d call a good guy.”
“No.” Jimmy sighed. “He’s different. He’s right about that. But he is like me. Kind of.”
“Dammit, Jimmy, you’re giving me a headache.” I rubbed my forehead where I’d just smacked it. Maybe I was giving myself one. “Why don’t you start by telling me just what in hell skinwalker means?”
Instead of answering, Jimmy went to the Hummer. I glanced at the open door, then at Jimmy. It wasn’t much of a choice; I followed. If he thought he was jumping in the car and taking off without me, he’d find out differently when I landed on the hood.
But all he did was reach in and switch off the engine, withdraw the keys and shove them into the pocket of his borrowed jeans.
Seconds later the headlights went off with a tinny thunk and shadows descended over us both. Sawyer’s house remained dark and silent. Was he even inside?
“A skinwalker is a Navajo—” He stopped abruptly and I moved closer, trying to see the expression on his face. The moon had just sprung over the horizon, spreading a milky glow across the earth. I wasn’t certain, but I thought he looked confused.
“A Navajo what?” I prompted.
“Witch.”