chapter 2
Nagi reached the Skinwalker as his Ghost Children carried the grizzly backward to the ground.
He felt certain his offspring could best the Spirit Children born of Niyan, and they grew ten times more quickly. The Skinwalkers, born of Tob Tob, would be more challenging. Here was their first test.
The old male had stayed behind to defend, and Nagi’s own children were too stupid and too vicious to resist the temptation to fight. So instead of pursuing the Seer, as ordered, they were distracted by the only one of the four he did not want to kill, which was likely the old bear’s intention.
Nagi had no ability to track the Seer unless she revealed herself. His Ghostlings were squandering this golden opportunity.
“The Seer!” he hissed, motioning to the sky.
His children continued their useless attack.
Why had the Seer, who had not sent one evil ghost to his Circle in all these years, suddenly done something so reckless?
Then an unexpected answer struck him. Could it have been one of her children?
Was it possible that she had offspring old enough to use their powers?
That meant they would be old enough to reproduce. Three Seers was bad, but he did not relish the prospect of contending with another generation. Not when he had so methodically exterminated the Ghost Clan. Well, all but one, and that one had been female, curse the luck.
He glanced at his snarling, snapping children and repressed a shudder. If not for the Seer, he would have no need of a living army.
For now he would settle with the grizzly. Past time to take his immortal soul.
Nagi hovered over the great bear, who writhed and strained against the deadly grip of Nagi’s children. It took all six of them to hold him. He was strong, this one, but not immortal. Nagi could feel his soul, firmly attached to this body and to this world. Well, not for long.
“Where have you sent them?” he hissed.
The bear bellowed and the clouds above them turned black. The wind rose and Nagi watched in horror as his children were swept aside with the blowing rain. The Thunderbirds reached their talons down and snatched the bear from their midst as easily as Nagi might pluck a soul from a living body.
“No!” he shrieked, rising to follow the retreating storm, only to be tossed back to the ground by the thumping hooves of the Thunderhorses. He had never suffered such an indignity. The audacity of a Supernatural touching a true Spirit enraged him. But still he lay impotent in the mud as above him the bear disappeared into the same vortex that had taken the Seer and her offspring.
“Follow him!” he shrieked, but his words were lost to the roaring wind, and his children rolled past him like tumbleweeds.
Two of his children managed to change into their essence, billowing upward into the storm like a volcano erupting below the sea. But they were blasted apart and fell in pieces all about him, dead or dying.
“Useless, brainless fools!” he roared at his fallen children.
The last mighty Thunderhorse galloped after his brothers, the great eagles who carried the old bear. Nagi watched them go, unwilling to chance pursuit.
The massive storm above him broke apart, sweeping away in the four directions. Nagi turned in a slow circle.
Which storms carried the Seers?
* * *
Samantha spun in space. She had long ago stopped fighting the winds that tore at her, tossed her, tumbled her like clothing in a dryer. Instead, she gave herself over to the whirlwind and found she could breathe and that the needles of ice did not chill her or cut her skin. She was as dizzy as a child barrel-rolling down a hill. And when she spilled onto the ground, she fell hard, tearing the clothing from her knees and scraping the skin from the palms of her hands. The pain came a moment later. Samantha glanced at her stinging hands in time to see the blood welling from multiple tiny abrasions.
She groaned and rolled to her back, closing her eyes against the spinning sensation that continued even though she was now still. Gradually the wooziness receded and she opened her eyes. Above her, tall trees towered, elephantine trunks with deeply grooved reddish-brown bark. She recognized them instantly even though she had never seen them in person. These were the mighty sequoias. She breathed deeply, scenting pine, moss, the sweet fragrance of rich soil and the ground squirrel that had recently passed this way.
In what seemed moments, she had flown from above the Arctic Circle to California. She braced, waiting for Nagi to appear, but the minutes ticked by, birds flitted through the forest and she sensed no threat.
She glanced at her palms, now sticky with blood. A sweep of her hand brought an electric zip of energy as her clothing transformed. Her boots, snow pants, parka and gloves reconstituted to create a fairly respectable copy of the uniforms she had seen the foresters wearing, with serviceable work boots, olive-green slacks and a tan jacket with the familiar white patch on the left sleeve.
The soreness of her muscles and the annoyance of the blood on her palms brought her to her feet to search for sixteen stones. She placed them in a healing circle and managed to repair the minor damage to her body even without the tobacco and sage needed to sanctify the circle or the feather she used to focus her energy. Her stomach knotted as the gravity of what she had done settled on her like mist.
Were they safe?
Had the Supernaturals done as her father requested and taken her to the raven, or carried her elsewhere? Her father said the Thunderbirds knew the fates of us all. Where had the Supernatural beings taken her?
The crack of a branch brought her about. Nagi?
Someone or something was here. She inhaled, finding the new scent of another creature, but she could not identify it. It was sweet, like the rich soil and the autumn leaves. This was not the scent of any animal she knew. But it certainly was alive. She could hear it breathing.
Samantha weighed her options—attack or run.
She crouched, preparing to change and charge. There were few creatures who would face a charging grizzly, especially one who was frightened and without her family for the first time since birth.
What was hiding behind that massive trunk? A Toe Tagger? Her father’s warning bounced up in her mind. If you see a Toe Tagger, run.
Something stepped into tall ferns. She hesitated as she realized it was a man, a hauntingly beautiful man with fine silvery blond hair that swept the shoulders of his charcoal-gray wool sports jacket. His slacks and fitted cashmere sweater were also gray, but more the color of a mourning dove. An odd choice of attire for a hike in the woods. He dressed like a walking shadow.
Samantha sagged with relief at finding a man, rather than one of her dreaded enemies. Was he human? The light played tricks because his aura seemed only a gray shadow, which wasn’t right. No living thing had a gray aura. It was too bright to clearly see in any case. The late-afternoon sun sent golden light down to the forest floor in bright, wide beams.
She needed to find Bess before she ran into one of Nagi’s hated spawn.
The man stepped closer. His features were similar enough to her own to make her believe he was of the First Nation. But his pale skin tone and that hair, it did not fit. The texture, the color was all wrong. She stepped closer, drawn by his ethereal beauty and her own curiosity. He glanced back, as if considering retreat.
“Hello,” she called.
He frowned, his dark brow lowering over his blue eyes. She’d never seen eyes that color. They reminded her of glacial ice, and when he fixed them on her she felt a little charge of excitement buzz inside her. He moved with a grace and power that brought a trickle of fear to her belly. Her instinct told her he wasn’t human. His scent told her he wasn’t a Skinwalker. Niyanoka? She tried again to see his aura, looking for the distinctive golden cap that marked her mother’s people, and failed once more.
She stepped back and he closed the space between them, the flat heels of his boots sinking into the soft earth. She inhaled his scent, searching for what he really was, and the sweetness of him made her want to move closer. She held herself back.
“Where did you come from?” he asked, his voice a rich, velvety bass that rumbled through her belly, making her insides quiver.
He stood with a relaxed confidence she found unnerving. His eyes swept her body, making her skin tingle and her muscles tense. Was he friend or foe? She could not tell. She only knew he was not Nagi.
“I’m doing some work in the forest.” She tapped the patch on her left sleeve.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Rangers in California have yellow patches and they carry sidearms. So, I’ll ask you again, where do you come from, little Skinwalker?”
Her arms dropped to her sides and a shiver of panic went through her. He had her at a disadvantage, for he knew what she was.
What was he that he could so easily spot her? Niyanoka, she decided. Must be. Those born of the race of Children of Spirit could see auras and easily recognized Skinwalkers from their brown aura visible in all but the brightest of light.
Her parents said she must find Bess Suncatcher. Did her father really have friends so old and so true that they would welcome such trouble on their doorstep? Samantha did not think so.
“What are you doing in my woods, little one?” he asked, stepping closer.
She shook now. The fear, the journey and the unknown were all swirling inside her to form a perfect storm.
He moved forward. She stepped back, uncertain what to do. Changing shape before a human broke one of the two rules by which the Skinwalkers lived. First, protect the Balance, the finely spun web of the natural world, from all threats. Second, do not let the humans know what you are except to save your life.
He wasn’t exactly threatening her. But somehow he was. His stare unnerved her. Why did her breathing accelerate at his approach until she grew dizzy again?
“That’s a Canadian uniform. Why would you think you were in Canada?” His questions were casual, as if he did not expect an answer but preferred to puzzle out his own. His eyes narrowed and dark lashes descended over pale eyes. “Unless.” He glanced at the skies, putting it together. “The storm.” His gaze shot back to her. “So it’s true, then. The Thunderbirds do carry you. But why here?” He stared up at the sky. “They couldn’t have meant for me to find you. There’s been a mistake.”
She retreated another step, thinking that she had to agree with him, but instead she repeated what her father had said.
“The Thunderbirds don’t make mistakes.” They know the fates of us all. If it is not safe, then they will bring her somewhere else.
She stared up at this stranger. They had brought her to him.
He flicked his gaze back to her, and she felt her throat go dry.
“Ah, it speaks. Well, then. Now we are getting somewhere.”
Was it his presence or his looks that made her so anxious? He wasn’t human or he wouldn’t know of the Thunderbirds, unless he was a shaman. He didn’t look like a holy man. More like a hunter.
“I’m Alon,” he said, pressing an open hand over his heart and inclining his head. His feathery hair brushed his cheeks.
She stared at his long pale fingers, cushioned now in the gray fabric of his sweater and thick muscles of his chest. Her ears tingled at the rush of blood pouring through her.
“Samantha,” she managed.
His smile revealed dazzling white teeth but failed to have the desired effect. The baring of his teeth only made him look more dangerous. White teeth and that strong, square jaw. She briefly considered the possibility that he might be a Toe Tagger, but she had seen Nagi’s children as they attacked her father. They were terrible to behold. While Alon looked more like a statue carved by a master’s hand, almost too perfect to be real.
His eyes twinkled now, the menace vanishing as he seemed to transform again into someone she could trust. He moved closer and she held her ground. Something about the way he looked at her now seemed so reassuring, but she held on to her distrust.
He reached, offering his open hand. She stared, wanting to take it. She had to struggle not to. What power was this? She tucked her hands behind her, pressing them to the rough bark, preparing to push off and run if need be.
“Go on,” he urged, tempting her with the rich timbre of his deep voice.
She did. Her hand slid over his, palms pressing one to the other. His skin was cool. An instant later a flash of energy surged from the point of contact, lifted the tiny hairs on her forearm and caused her skin to tingle. His eyes locked on hers, and she saw the first glimmer of uncertainty there. Was he as surprised as she?
Her mouth dropped open in a little O as a buzzing started in her ears as the unfamiliar energy lifted the hairs on her neck before it cascaded down her spine. She shivered.
He frowned and tightened the grip on her hand. “Cold?”
She shook her head. Afraid, delighted, anxious as a polar bear stranded on an ice drift.
He tugged, exerting a slow, insistent pressure that she was strong enough to resist, but somehow did not wish to. He lifted his opposite hand and crooked one finger, using his knuckle to stroke her cheek. Her body hummed in response, her skin flushing in a way she had not experienced but instantly recognized as sexual.
His index finger then settled beneath her jaw, lifting her chin until she gazed up into those mesmerizing eyes. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears.
“So if the Great Birds did not send you to me, then who?”
His sweet breath fanned her face, and she drew in the fragrance of him.
He moved no closer. The beating of sexual desire was so strong that it almost drowned out the buzz of danger. But not quite. She heard it, felt it and shook off the dreamy lethargy.
Samantha pressed both hands against his chest to hold him back. He paused and gave her a quizzical look.
“How do you know what I am?” she asked.
His half smile showed a lazy quality. Her mouth dropped open to stare as her heart continued to slam into her ribs like a handball batted against a cement wall.
“Do you know how animals can sense earthquakes?”
She had that same ability herself. She nodded.
“And how sharks can sense the vibrations of an injured fish from miles away?”
She nodded again.
“And how a spider knows the instant a fly lands in his web?”
She did not like the way this conversation was going at all, and fear now gripped her middle in a fist so tight she could scarcely breathe.
“I can sense you, little shifter, feel you with every pore and every tiny hair on my skin. I can feel the emotions pouring through you like floodwater and I can feel the worth of your soul, because that is what I do.”
What the hell was he?
Samantha struggled for clarity against the honeyed breath and entrancing gaze. The stranger’s hold was light at first, but then turned possessive. When he tried to draw her body to his, the desire fled and survival instinct engaged. What was she doing?
He pulled and she pushed with all her might. It was a thrust that would have sent a human airborne. Yet he only stumbled a few steps before recovering his balance. He stared, his head cocked to the side, assessing her. Instead of anger or menace, she saw only confusion followed immediately by the quirking of an eyebrow as if she intrigued him.
“Strong, very strong for one so small.”
There was that word again. Small.
“Why are you here, pretty one?”
Ironic for him to call her pretty, for his appearance was so striking as to make even the most attractive man she had ever laid eyes on pale in comparison.
“I’m looking for Bess Suncatcher.”
Both brows shot up. “How do you know my mother?”
His mother?
A child of the raven would be an ally, wouldn’t he? She wasn’t sure.
“Mother?”
He nodded.
She inhaled again, but his scent held no trace of any animal shifter she had ever encountered. She sensed so much danger here it hindered her thinking. The Skinwalker inside her urged her to run, taking charge as her thinking brain struggled to maintain control.
Was he a Skinwalker raven then? But he wasn’t. She could tell from his scent, and he lacked the brown aura. So how then could he be born of a Skinwalker?
She won’t be safe there. If you see a Toe Tagger, kill it before it kills you.
She glanced about for any sign of the horrible monsters that her father said lived in this place.
“She did not mention you.”
And then it came to her. Bess was married to a Niyanoka. Was this Cesar’s son? A chill rippled through her. Soul Whisperers spoke to the dead. They were dangerous and avoided even by their own kind. Samantha took another step back.
“My father sent me.”
“His name?”
She hesitated, not wanting to give a potential enemy any information that could help him. But if he was whom he said, he would learn this soon enough. Should she trust him? She didn’t trust easily and rarely outside the family. She had trusted Nôdi, the chief of the Dogrib fishing camp, and look what had happened as a result.
Her upbringing had made her paranoid, but it had not given her the skills necessary to tell truth from lies. She wished she were a Truth Seeker. Those Niyanoka could always tell if someone was lying. Her entire life had been about lies and running and hiding. She was sick of it.
Alon waited for her answer with a stillness that unnerved her. Samantha drew a deep breath, as if preparing to bungee jump from a bridge.
“Sebastian. That’s his name.” Now she waited. First Alon’s eyebrows lifted to still greater heights and then his mouth tipped down as he nodded.
“I can bring you to our home. But unfortunately my parents are not here.” He motioned to his right.
“What? Wait. My father asked them to bring me to Bess.”
“And she is not here. Only I am here.”
“But...why...” Her words fell off.
“As you said, the Thunderbirds don’t make mistakes. So it must be that you are meant to be here with me. Ill-conceived choice, I fear.”
“Can you contact her?”
“Not at present.”
She didn’t know what to do now. She couldn’t go back.
“I can offer you the hospitality of our home, but we best get there before dark.”
That snapped her from her musing. Why before dark?
Alon started off, and Samantha had to stretch her legs to keep pace while trying to keep from staring at him as he moved with such perfection. “So you are the firstborn of the first two Halfling races, a Seer of Souls and a great bear. Is that correct?”
It was a detail Samantha never spoke of, a secret that could bring death to her family. Just the mention of the word Seer caused her to stumble. He caught her before she fell, swinging her ahead of him as he captured both her upper arms.
Again that awareness tingled from the point of contact.
This man knew her most dangerous secret, yet she knew nothing of him but his name.
“I am the second born. My brother is first by several minutes,” she whispered. “They told you?”
“My parents trust me. Where is your twin?”
Again she equivocated. “He was sent to a friend of my father’s.”
“Nicholas Chien or Tuff Jackson?”
Samantha blinked in astonishment. She did not know what to say. Alon knew the name of her father’s three closest friends. Was the son of a friend also a friend?