chapter 7
Alon tilted his head. Samantha gazed up at him, her eyes half-closed as if she were caught on the edge of a dream. Her lips parted and she lifted her chin, as the appeal of his third form drew her to him, making her eager now for what he would give her.
He couldn’t. Taking a woman would cause the cycle to begin again. If his kind reproduced, the Living World would never be rid of them. Alon’s convictions collided hard with his desires.
She brought a hand to his cheek, and his craving for this woman drowned all his high-minded philosophy and notions of selfless sacrifice. His desire pounded and poured like floodwaters, sweeping away all objections.
She was his woman. He needed her and she was willing. That was enough.
Samantha made no objections. Was the attraction so all-consuming that she could not think at all?
She was on her toes now, and her arms encircled his neck as if she were capturing him.
Their mouths met, firm, eager, greedy.
Alon deepened the kiss, holding the little Skinwalker tight to his body. Did she know she played with fire?
Strong emotions brought the change. With the thinning of his control the demon inside took over. He feared that side and still he let her kiss him deep and hard, their tongues stroking and sparing.
He relished each small quavering sound of need that now emanated from her throat. She tightened her arms about his neck, trying to hold him. If she knew what was inside him she’d be fighting for escape.
Alon threaded his fingers in her thick dark hair, cradling her head, controlling her in a way that both thrilled and terrified. Her lips were velvet and her mouth hot and wet. He thought of that sweet mouth, that strong tongue working on another part of him, and his body hardened with need. Here was a woman who wanted him and whom he wanted. And one strong enough to take all he would give her. A Skinwalker. A great grizzly bear.
He growled as his skin tingled, signaling the beginning of his change. She’d made a mistake letting him touch her, because now he was never going to let her go.
She made another sound that might have been alarm, and he feared she would draw back. No, he wouldn’t let her. But she didn’t. Instead, she delved her fingers into his hair, tucking herself beneath his arm, lifting a warm thigh to his hip and using her heel to pull herself even closer to him.
He could take her beneath this very tree. He felt his nails extend and harden into the claws that were as vicious as knife blades. His mouth widened, stretching to accommodate the teeth poised to jut from his gums.
Alon tore away.
Samantha rocked forward, catching herself on the trunk of a tree on one extended arm, her expression momentarily dazed, her sweet pink mouth parted and her cheeks flushed with desire. He’d never forget that dreamy expression. He paused to drink her in, mouth open, panting and her lips swollen from his kisses. Before she could focus her eyes upon him, he shifted, soaring upward into the trees like the exhaust from a rocket. Just one more second and she would have seen him as he was born.
He’d been right to fear his control. A single kiss and he’d nearly let her see.
Alon dived and darted through the forest, surging away from Samantha as fast as he could.
Until today he’d shifted into his fighting form only when angry. But he’d been right to fear Samantha. His excitement for her was new, strong and dangerous.
He’d almost turned into his fighting form right in front of her. His monster form, that was more accurate. The form he could not bear to look at even himself. But it was a shape that was strong and deadly and thus far unmatched.
What would Samantha have done, he wondered, had she seen the rows of teeth snarling and snapping? Run? Scream? Turn away in disgust?
A fresh wave of shame broke inside him. He was born of the dead. He knew it was true. She’d been right to call his kind Toe Taggers, for it highlighted all he was in just two little words. Was he part of this Living World as his parents insisted, or was it as he feared—that he belonged to the world of ghosts?
He rocketed forward, fleeing, flying from the pretty little temptation. If she had any sense she would run in the opposite direction.
His willingness to compromise everything in which he believed in the heat of lust only proved that he had been right. Since he was old enough to understand what he was and where he had come from, he had known that he was a threat to the Balance, to everything good and pure in this living world. He knew it, felt it in his beating heart. And he had nearly hurt the only good thing that had ever come his way. He did not belong in this living world. He belonged with the dead and the evil and the dark.
Would she forgive him?
If he had any pity, any shred of humanity, he would leave her behind and never return. As he flew from her, he pictured her in his mind, the pretty dark brown hair caught in a long ropelike braid, healthy skin the color of a walnut shell. He found her full lips enticing. Her eyes were cinnamon brown with golden flecks near the iris, and the corners of her lids sloped upward, slightly giving her a smoldering look that kicked him in the stomach whenever she stared at him. He liked that and he liked her curvy shape and full breasts. What would she look like naked?
He recalled their kiss. Why had his flesh tingled when she touched him? He had never experienced anything like that before.
Alon’s distraction prevented him from immediately perceiving several of his kind moving in the forest.
Yearlings hunting in a pack. The Deltas moving fast along the forest floor. He’d found them.
Alon stopped. Fear, cold as the blade of a knife, stabbed deep into him. How could he have left her?
The Delta Pack was too young to understand that Samantha was not an animal, not prey.
Alon turned back. He had to reach her before they did.
* * *
Samantha scrambled after Alon as he evaporated before her. She stifled a scream as his body became clear as water and then turned to smoke. An instant later he billowed upward like a storm cloud, leaving her earthbound and craning her neck to watch him disappear into the new green leaves above her. His clothing fluttered down to earth as if blown from a laundry line high in the treetops.
So this was his second form. Of course he had outdistanced her yesterday. He could fly like a storm cloud, a fierce dark storm cloud.
He was Naginoka, Ghost Child, a real living, breathing Toe Tagger. She realized she knew nothing about him except what he had allowed her to see.
If he was born of Nagi, how could Alon be so attractive? And then she realized what had to be the truth. Alon had told her that he had three forms. She knew what they were—smoke, handsome and hideous.
She’d seen the first two. If she was right, his natural form was as much a part of him as her bear form was a part of her. Had he run to keep her from seeing him as he was born?
She should know better than to kiss her enemy, yet just the memory excited her. Was it his immense power, the danger that hung about him like a mantle, or the loneliness she could taste on his tongue? Samantha had never met anything that was stronger than she, except her dad, of course. And there were precious few creatures that could outrun a grizzly. Alon had done it without breaking a sweat.
She pressed a hand to her heart as it pounded painfully against her ribs. Fast, as if she had been running instead of standing in his arms.
Her initial spark of excitement had ignited like dry tinder, burning her up inside. She had kissed Alon, the son of her most bitter enemy.
Samantha’s neck ached from staring past the mighty pines and through the limbs to the blue skies beyond. Where had he gone?
She glanced to the ground at his clothing, a gray sweater that smelled of pine and damp black jeans, scattered about.
He couldn’t carry them with him. That meant that yesterday he had run her down and still had time to change into something else before intercepting her. She found that disconcerting and irritating. Did he have little stashes of garments tucked in the trees, hidden in caches like a squirrel hides seeds? She gathered his belongings, folded them and then hugged them to her chest. She inhaled his scent of autumn leaves and freshly turned soil. Alon smelled of the earth.
She tried to understand what was happening. She would have guessed something had frightened him, but she knew that was impossible. He could remove the soul from a living body and he could fly. What did he have to fear?
And then his words came back to her.
These woods are not like the ones you have known. It is not safe for you.
Samantha sat down hard, clutching his folded pile of clothing as if it were a pillow.
Her fingers tingled and it took a moment to realize that something was coming, something fast. She faced this new threat. It came from upwind as if it had no reason to shield its approach. She inhaled the strange sweet scent that reminded her of Alon, but was not exactly his.
They came at her in a pack, using the ground cover to circle her like wolves, giving her only flashes of vision. The silver of fur, the gleam of a deadly ridge of quills. Samantha roared. Still in human form, the sound was more a shout.
Pale flesh flashed through the undergrowth, so fast it was only a blur. One came at her from behind and she whirled, seeing the little ghostly gray Halfling, scrambling on all fours like a chimpanzee, teeth snapping, trying for her Achilles tendon. She swung a foot but the thing was too fast, reversing direction and scampering away as one landed on her back. Sharp teeth scored her shoulder before she could throw her new attacker aside.
She needed to change but knew she would be powerless for just a moment during her transformation. That instant might be all they needed to end her life. These Toe Taggers were pale as corpses and fast as ferrets, she thought, throwing another from her arm.
Samantha’s shoulder burned. A glance told her that she bled from several gashes. She pressed a hand to her shoulder and concentrated, sending healing energy to the wound. It would do to stanch some of the blood until she had time for a proper healing ceremony.
Something swooped from above her. She leaped back to see the petroleum-black smoke materializing, taking shape. Alon now stood naked with his back to her, facing the little Halflings who emerged from the underbrush to circle them, standing erect, long hairy arms relaxed so the vicious claws grazed the ground. Samantha gasped. There were so many. Six, and even though they stood only three feet high, their numbers made her throat close as if someone squeezed her windpipe. Too many to defeat, she knew.
She inched closer to Alon, hating herself for having to depend on him to protect her. But she saw no gap in the attacking circle, no spot where she might break free, and she already knew how fast they could move. Would Alon fight with her or just hand her over?
“This one is mine,” he said to the horde, who all stared up at them with the biopic focus of all predators.
His? No. She was not. Not now or ever. She would never give herself to the enemy of her people.
She recalled their kiss and her ears went hot.
“Mine,” he said again.
Samantha turned to stare at Alon, joining the rest as stunned silence filled the clearing where she thought to meet her end.
“She is under my protection.”
The tallest pointed at Samantha and made a guttural, tortured sound.
“No,” roared Alon. He took a threatening step forward, the muscles of his back bunching. The challenger retreated to join the others. “She is not enemy! She is my woman.”
The largest snarled and made a gurgling sound, then nodded. The others nodded, as well. The leader made a series of sounds, its long tongue lolling and then twisting, darting from behind the rows of sharp teeth in a tortured gesture. What was it doing? To Samantha, the movement looked both obscene and mocking.
Samantha glanced to Alon for understanding.
“Yes, like mother. Skinwalker. But not enemy. She is our guest.”
Speech. Was the thing trying to speak? Samantha listened harder and this time she thought she heard the word guest amid the snapping and snarling.
“A guest is a welcome visitor, an honored visitor. Not food.”
They bobbed their heads.
“Mother wants you all to come with me. This territory is no longer safe for you.”
The pack shook their heads and disappeared into the underbrush. She listened to their retreat. Her shoulder began to throb like a persistent toothache. Blood ran from the wound. She pressed a hand over the injury, sending healing energy to slow the bleeding. She needed a circle to properly heal the gashes.
Alon still had his attention on the retreating Delta Pack. “Damn it.” At last he turned to her. “I can’t get them to come, and I can’t leave them to bring you to her.”
She didn’t like either of those options.
“Are they... Are they...?” she asked, feeling sure she knew since they were like the ones who attacked her dad, only smaller.
“My kin,” he confirmed. “The youngest. That’s the Delta Pack, each set of twins born of other human mothers and Nagi. We are always born in twins.”
Where was his twin?
He broke eye contact, staring away in the direction they had gone as if he could not meet her gaze. His translucent skin flushed. He glanced at the clothing, some folded beside the tree.
He slipped into his jeans then dragged on his gray sweater. It took him several minutes to locate his loafers. Once he had removed all that rippling male flesh from her sight, she found her thoughts were easier to gather.
“Those are the creatures that attacked my family. Only they were bigger.” She pointed in the direction the Deltas had gone.
“Nagi’s recruits. That’s why my family has been so busy. It’s a race to find more of my kind before Nagi does. They won’t come to Skinwalkers or Spirit Children. That’s why my parents brought most of the Alpha Pack with them. If they locate any newborns, the Alphas will be there.”
“I didn’t understand. It’s important.”
She said so only because she knew her family would have to face any Ghostling that they didn’t find first. He shouldn’t care what she thought, but her understanding mattered to him.
“That’s why Aldara and I need to bring the Beta, Gamma and Delta packs north. If we leave them they will be recruited or killed.”
Samantha rolled her shoulder and grimaced, then pressed a hand to it. An icy tingle slithered down his spine.
“What are you doing?” He had not meant for his words to sound so harsh.
She startled and stared with those lovely cinnamon brown eyes of hers.
“Let me see,” he ordered.
“It’s nothing.”
He extended his hand and she lifted hers. Samantha’s palm was crimson with fresh blood. Alon’s stomach pitched. He’d seen blood on prey, of course, but this was different, so different. The sight made him ill, when he’d never been ill a day in his life.
He leaped at her and she startled, but allowed him to turn her so he could see her injuries.
Claw marks, four deep lacerations, as if cut by four scalpels. He recognized them instantly and from the size knew it was one of the yearlings. One of them had harmed her. Which one? His anger boiled inside him like lava. Which one had dared to touch her?
“It’s nothing. I’ll finish healing it later.” She lifted her injured arm and winced but still stroked his cheek. “Don’t look so fierce, Alon. I’m fine.”
He captured her hand, trapped it against his cheek and felt the soothing calm fill him. He met her gaze, and the tightness across his chest eased. She was a healer. He’d seen her repair that rabbit’s spine. He released her hand, and the worry crept back into his heart.
He glanced at her hand. Blood now dripped from her fingertips in a steady beat.
“I’m not leaving you injured and alone.” He recalled the ceremony for the rabbit. “You need the stones.”
She nodded. “I can work more quickly if you could find me a feather.”
He drew her to a seat beneath one of the towering pines and glanced up at the canopy, where two crows peered down at them.
“Any particular kind?”
“Bigger is better, but any sort will work.” She was glancing about on the forest floor when he streaked into the air. The crows were no match for his flying ability, and he quickly plucked a feather from the slower one’s tail then returned the way he had come.
He held out the feather, stained red at the tip from the extraction.
She frowned as she took it. “I generally use found feathers, not ones still in use.”
He lifted his brows. “Will it still work?”
She nodded. “Will the crow still work?”
Was she teasing him? No one ever did that.
“Yes.”
She smiled. He felt his mouth twitch at the corners in return.
“Then all I need is a stone circle. Sage and tobacco help sanctify, but I can do without them for such a small injury.”
Blood dripped between her fingers, spurring him to action. He dressed again and then gathered stones, dug stones, unearthed stones. He set them in a circle as she had done and helped her sit within. Then he paced as she began to chant. Finally, he stood with his arms folded across his chest as he rocked, restless as the March wind.
He circled and watched in fascination as the blood ceased and her flesh knit. Even her blouse mended. But she was a Skinwalker, he reminded himself. This was not really clothing. It was a part of her, her magical animal hide that appeared at puberty and which she could reform to suit her needs.
“There,” she said, favoring him with a lovely smile. “All done.”
He offered his hand, certain she would not take it. She hesitated a moment but then allowed him to assist her to her feet. The electric tingle at the pressing of palms sent a thrill through him. He’d never experienced anything like it, and he craved more.
“Can you heal anything?” he asked.
“Yes, my dad taught me the prayers.”
Samantha stepped from the circle and withdrew her hand from his. He allowed it then felt a tinge of melancholy as she moved away.
“Thank you, Alon, for rescuing me. I’ve been needing a lot of that lately.”
She didn’t move away. He thought about kissing her again then remembered the change that had occurred the last time. His desire died in a rush of shame. She cocked her head to look at him and then leaned in to brush her lips across his cheek. He closed his eyes to savor the tenderness of her gentle kiss and then felt the jolt of desire make him hard. Her sweetness was no match for his lust.
His skin tingled. He stepped away. “We best go.”
Samantha carried the feather along. Better to keep it with her. If she used part of her coat to tie it in her hair, if she wasn’t too rough in her bear form, the feather might stay with her.
Something caught his attention, and he turned to glance behind them. She followed the direction of his gaze at some undergrowth, finding no sign of the others.
“More Halflings?” she whispered.
“Just one, I think,” he said and then raised his voice to be heard. “Aldara?”
A moment later a woman darted from behind a tree dressed in only a simple formfitting sky-blue T-shirt and tight denim shorts. They had a keen resemblance. Aldara’s waist-length straight blond hair was similar. Her skin tone was even paler than Alon’s as if she were Scandinavian, rather than Native, with only the barest blush of pink on her cheeks. Nearly albino, except for those eyes, Samantha thought. His sister was shorter than Alon by more than a foot, athletic, slim, but still curvy.
“Samantha Proud, let me introduce my younger sister, Aldara.”
Aldara narrowed her blue-gray eyes on Samantha and glared. She seemed like a wild little animal, and Samantha didn’t know if she should extend her hand or run.