Chaos Bites (Phoenix Chronicles, #4)

“So? I loved him. I killed him. You think I wouldn’t dream of him?”


“What kind of dreams?” I looked away, but not before Sani saw the truth. “Sex dreams.”

I shrugged. “It’s Sawyer.”

“That’s how he’s doing it.” The coyote was on his feet, hair bristling.

“Doing what?”

“Skinwalkers possess an affinity for ghosts. Some say they have sex with the dead.”

I’d heard that before. I hadn’t liked it any better then.

“What do you say?” I asked.

“That at least one skinwalker has been having sex with the dead.”

My stomach rolled. He meant me.

“Sawyer’s power lies in sex,” he said. “To enhance his magic in the past, I’d guess you’ve helped him.”

Since that went without saying, I didn’t say.

“He’s enhanced that magic now by invading your dreams.”

“He’s dead. How can he enhance anything?”

“How many times has he come to you?”

“Three.” That I remembered.

“Has he become more real each time?”

I thought of the first visit, when I hadn’t seen him at all, only felt him, then last night when he’d been there enough to leave me a turquoise coyote.

“Yes.”

“Have you begun to see him even when you aren’t dreaming?”

To begin with, I’d only sensed him, then I could have sworn his fur brushed my legs. Later I’d touched him and then I’d caught a glimpse of him standing on my bed, caressed the warmth left behind by a body that could not be there.

“Yes,” I said.

Sani nodded. “He’s between worlds.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Only the most powerful of sorcerers could manage this much, and then only because the two of you have a connection that stretches the boundaries of earth and beyond. But he’s going to need more assistance to take that final step.”

“Assistance,” I repeated. “As in more dream sex?”

“Can’t hurt.”

Except it did. Every time I dreamed of touching Sawyer in the night, then woke up alone in the morning, it hurt. A lot.

“If I do that”—or him—“eventually I’ll bring Sawyer forth?”

“You’re going to need help.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“More than I can give.”

“But—”

“Sawyer’s stuck between worlds,” he repeated. “If he could come to you he would have.” Sani gestured at the fading circle in the dirt.

“Who can help?”

The coyote’s mouth lolled open. “First, payment must be made.”

I glanced at him sharply. “What kind?” In my world, payment was seldom in currency I wanted to give.

“Sawyer left you that fetish for a reason, child.”

“Oh! Right.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the turquoise coyote. “Uh. Here.” I let the icon rest in my palm and extended my hand, fighting not to flinch when Sani trotted closer.

But he merely snuffled the stone into his mouth, leaving a slash of snot behind. I was such a mess already it hardly mattered. A second later, the sky filled with silver light, and a man stood before me.

Perhaps eighteen or twenty, with inky, dark hair long enough to brush the curve of his naked backside. His skin was bronze all over, his muscles long and lean from centuries of running through the trees on four paws. His face was unlined, stark bones beneath wide cheeks, his eyes as black as his hair.

“Why do they call you Old One?” I asked.

“Because I am.” I lifted a brow. “Skinwalkers don’t age.”

“Sawyer was a child once.” Or so he’d said. I wasn’t quite sure I believed him.

“But he’s been a young man for centuries. Though we’re born like humans, we grow like magic. It is in our blood.”

I thought of Faith, and I knew he was right. “And then?”

“We stop aging when the magic becomes ours.”

So murder made us more than sorcerers. Murder made us forever young, too. I could see where some might consider this a pretty good trade. Some but not me. Unfortunately I hadn’t had any choice in the matter.

“Are you going to leave the mountain now?” I asked, concerned that I’d just unleashed a very bad guy into the world, although, again, I hadn’t had much choice.

Sani stared at the turquoise wolf between his fingers, then smiled and lifted his face to the sun. He yipped, just like a coyote, and moments later a gray female appeared in the shadow of the trees. Her doey brown gaze focused on Sani, but she didn’t appear afraid.

He crossed to a large flat rock, dug a hole, laid the turquoise within and then covered it up. Passing his hand over the obviously disturbed dirt, he muttered a few words in Navajo, and the earth smoothed out as grass sprouted like springtime. There was so much I didn’t know about what I was.

“No,” Sani said.

It took me a second to remember what I’d asked. “You’re staying?”

He glanced at the coyote in the trees, and his face softened. “For now.”

Left unspoken were the words, As long as she lives.