Soul Whisperer Read online

  The animal beside the moose was gray as the ash of a campfire, but its flesh had the pocked appearance of burned charcoal. There was no fur or feathers. It hopped like a human from one leg to the other and already stood three feet tall. This thing was only two hours old?

  She studied the knobby head and batlike ears. The creature’s eyes were huge, wide and yellow-green with black pinprick pupils.

  The dead moose shook and the other twin crawled from within the empty body cavity, dragging a section of glistening intestine between sharp white teeth.

  A cry of horror escaped her. One creature looked up, staring with the fixed biopic focus of all predators.

  She opened her wings as the thing leaped to the tree and climbed the forty feet that separated them with unnatural speed, reaching her just as she threw herself into the sky. Wings stretched wide, she flapped to put distance between them and then saw the second, identical thing on the ground. It snarled and snapped, then lifted into the air like smoke.

  Another glance showed that the first thing was also airborne. It did not fly like any natural creature. Instead, it darted after her as if something shot from a gun, rocketing and billowing.

  Fear sent a hot burst of blood and adrenaline to her muscles as she veered this way and that, darting through the trees in an effort to evade her pursuers. Not Nagi, her mind shouted, but what then?

  Something brushed her tail. She cried out, flying low to the ground, dipping, swerving. No more time to look back. She beat her wings with greater urgency as she fled the twins.

  She did not turn her head until she had gone two miles and found no sign of them. They could fly! And two of them, big as bear cubs and just as dangerous.

  Dangerous did not even begin to describe these creatures.

  It took some time for her breathing to return to normal as she flew straight for Cesar, coming instead into the middle of a police crime scene. Just like most humans, they were so preoccupied with their own concerns they did not notice a raven winging through the middle of the proceedings. But Cesar did. She landed on the boughs of a redwood, and watched the men crawl about the scene like ants. Cesar indicated to her that she should meet him at the parking area.

  While she waited for him, she dressed in a conservative black suit fashioned after a particular favorite from the fall collection of a top New York designer. She was excellent at mimicking such clothing, changing her feathers into whatever suited her, though she was just as likely to buy the real thing and wear her skin in the form of only her necklace. She brushed the crease of her trousers, admiring the fabric. She did love fashion.

  Cesar appeared from the wooded trail, so she stepped into view. As she crossed the lot a young officer moved before her.

  “Crime scene, ma’am. You can’t—”

  Cesar cut him off. “She’s with me. Consultant.”

  The officer dropped his hand and stepped aside, allowing her to pass.

  “Any luck?” he asked.

  “Yes, all bad. I found them. They’re about five miles northeast of here. Dangerous as hell. They killed a bull moose, just the two of them and had the innards eaten already.”

  Cesar folded his arms across his wide chest.

  She expected him to say something, but he didn’t.

  “Well?”

  “They’re entitled to eat.”

  She threw her arms up in exasperation. “Would you say that if they had killed a hiker?”

  He gave her a withering look. “Of course not.”

  “Well, they’re attacking animals. That means they’re my concern, even if they’re not yours.”

  “I didn’t say I’m not concerned. I’m just not going to hunt something that is only…” He clamped his mouth shut.

  “Only killing animals?”

  He didn’t deny that this was what he was about to say.

  “What about Skinwalkers? Because they also attacked me.”

  His hard expression dissolved and his eyes rounded. He reached out, clasping her hand. She felt his emotions blast her like a warm wind—anxiety, then fear. His gaze swept her as she regained custody of her hand. How did he do that?

  “Did they hurt you?”

  “No, just took a swipe at me.” She twisted her hip, and glanced back, her hand sweeping over her posterior. “Might interest you to know that they can fly.”

  The cloth of her trousers was sticky and wet.

  “They can…what?” he said.

  She lifted her hand to examine it, staring with disbelief at the crimson stain coating her palm. He captured her wrist and suddenly his horror was hers.

  “You’re bleeding!” Cesar turned toward the officer. “Get the EMTs over here, now!”

  “No.” She grasped his shoulder with her clean hand, feeling the warmth of his body even through the fabric of his blazer. She swayed and closed her eyes, sending a silent signal for help, knowing that any Skinwalker within a wide range would come immediately to her aid. When she opened her eyes it was to see a look of exasperation on his handsome face.

  “Why not?”

  “I prefer to work in my own HMO.”

  He shook his head, clearly not understanding. She sighed. For reasons she could not quite fathom, she didn’t want him thinking of her animal half. Spelling it out for him would only remind him.

  His brow furrowed and he glanced toward the officer behind them. “I’m getting help.”

  She grabbed his arm. “No. If they anesthetize me, I’ll turn.”

  He paused, looking back at her. “To a raven?”

  She nodded, meeting his wide-eyed stare. He understood now.

  “Well, you need treatment.”

  “Not an emergency. I’ve sent for help already.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as I realized I was injured. We have a kind of emergency call system. When one of us is ill, in danger or in great emotional distress, a signal goes out. Any Skinwalker within a few hundred miles will read it. They would also have perceived my danger in the forest and plus I just sent a call a moment ago that I am wounded.”

  Cesar glanced around, looking uncomfortable for the first time since she’d met him.

  “They’ll come?” he asked.

  “Most definitely. Until then, could you take me home?”

  He wrapped an arm about her shoulders and guided her toward his vehicle, a nondescript blue sedan. Unlike his attire, his vehicle seemed chosen to be invisible among them.

  His fingers grazed her neck as they walked side by side.

  Bess’s head swam as apprehension swept in, followed by guilt marching through her like an army of ants. It took a moment to recognize these were not her emotions.

  “Let go,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “You’re making me dizzy.”

  The finger that stroked her neck dropped away, but he immediately captured her shoulder as he drew out a remote and unlocked the car doors.

  “Do you need to tell your partner that you’re leaving?” she asked, and then felt his grip tighten.

  “I work alone.”

  She studied the grim line that now replaced the sensual curve of his mouth and the glittering rage that turned his eyes cold as gray marble. She lifted a hand to his face and read betrayal.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  He squinted, giving her a slight shrug of incomprehension. “What?”

  “With your old partner, the one you’re still so pissed at?”

  His eyes popped open and he removed her hand from his face, placing it on the door frame then stepping away, clamping his jaws shut as tight as an alligator grabbing a turtle.

  “Oh, like that, is it? All right, not my business.” She glanced at the car’s interior. “I’m going to bleed all over your upholstery. You have a blanket or something?”

  He released the trunk and returned with a yellow rain slicker, laying it out on the seat. “You sure I shouldn’t take you to a hospital?”

  She slipped in and groan
ed as her injured hip twinged. Blood smeared the yellow slicker. She glanced at the stain, wondering if she’d underestimated the seriousness of her injury.

  “Where do you live?” he asked, starting the car and pulling out of the park lot.

  “Summit of Russian Hill.”

  He made a sound in his throat that could have been recognition or a growl of irritation.

  “What?”

  “Appropriate for a raven. Bird’s-eye view of the city and all.” He glanced at the blood pooling rapidly beneath her. “But too damn far. We’re going to a hospital.”

  “No.”

  “I’m driving. Not up to you.”

  “I can still fly.” She met his steady gaze until he returned his attention to the road.

  “My place then. I’m in SoMa, practically under the bridge.”

  “Hmm. I remember when that was a swamp.” She was feeling woozy now and wondered if she had lost more blood than she had initially thought. She laid her head back on the seat rest. The adrenaline had abandoned her now, replaced with exhaustion and an unnerving trembling in her hands. She pressed her palms down onto her twitching thighs and let her tired eyelids fall shut.

  “Don’t pass out on me,” he growled.

  She opened one eye and noticed his white knuckles on the wheel and the fact that they were going entirely too fast.

  “And don’t wrap us around a tree.”

  She placed her hand over her wound and pressed, feeling the blood continue to ooze between her fingers. Her eyes jerked open when they drew to the shoulder of the road. He threw the transmission into Park and removed that silly, boring tie then threaded it beneath her thigh. Next he used a crisp white handkerchief to blanket her gash.

  She stared at the small square of fabric.

  “Who carries one of those anymore?” It was a small thing, but it pointed to his age. Had he watched a century or two turn?

  “Creature of habit.” He cinched the makeshift bandage and resumed their trip.

  She hadn’t expected to doze, but she did, wakening as they pulled into an underground parking facility beside an elevator. He held the door and she exited, stiffly but without his assistance. Her thigh burned with each step. A check of the bandage showed that she had bled through.

  They reached the elevator and waited for the car.

  “You’re right in the middle of a pretty touristy area.”

  He cast her a sidelong glance. “Lots of restaurants.”

  “Full of people who are transient, temporary and, perhaps, open to a little fling.”

  He looked suddenly imperious and, were it not for the ticking at his left eye, she would have thought she’d guessed wrong.

  “Your point?”

  “You live alone?”

  Now he was scowling. “Makes it easier since I don’t age like they do and my own family, well, let’s just say I’m not expecting an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner again this year.”

  She lifted her hands in surrender. “Sorry. I just, well, we have that in common, too. I lost my parents when I was young.”

  He didn’t ask her how they died. It was the usual thing to say one was sorry and then inquire as to the cause. But Cesar remained grim and silent. His behavior made her wonder if he had already guessed what had happened.

  He punched the elevator button six times in rapid succession and muttered, “Come on.”

  The door dinged open. Bess took a step forward and wobbled badly.

  “To hell with it,” he said, and scooped her effortlessly up in his arms. He stepped into the compartment. “Press nine.”

  How odd to be captured in the arms of a Spirit Child, trapped in this small space and not feel threatened. She was wounded, vulnerable and yet Cesar Garza showed only concern over her welfare. His reaction was beyond odd. The Niyanoka she had met to date recognized her by her aura and then avoided her as if she were carrying some fatal contagious disease. Why didn’t he?

  Chapter 3

  The elevator was always slow, but never as lethargic as now when he held Bess in his arms. The compartment was not the only thing rising. Here she was helpless in his arms and he was ready to take her right in this tiny chamber. He kept his hands securely on the fabric of her outfit. It wouldn’t do for her to feel the firestorm of lust roaring through his blood.

  Maka be blessed, the fragrance of her was driving him insane. She smelled of fresh summer air and pines. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair. Sage, he realized.

  “You want to step out or take another ride?” she asked, glancing up at him.

  The elevator doors stood parted and, beyond, a familiar gilded table held ornate artificial flowers before a large mirror. His floor, he realized. He jerked forward. The closing doors bumped his back and her leg, simultaneously, causing her to inhale through her teeth.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, and hurried down the hall, lowering her to his side as he fished for his keys. Blood dripped from her pant leg onto the carpet. “How long until your HMO shows up?”

  “Hard to say. A few hours—a few days.”

  “Days?”

  “If they sense no emergency they won’t be racing here.”

  “But you’re still bleeding.”

  “True. Hours then.”

  “Who’s coming?”

  “I’m not sure. A wolf or a buffalo, I imagine. The grizzly is much too far north and he has…” She didn’t finish.

  He stilled, key in hand, as he wondered if she was teasing and then decided she wasn’t. Cesar released the lock and punched in his security code, deactivating the alarm system. Then he lifted Bess again and carried her to the guest bathroom, setting her on the marble lip of the large whirlpool tub.

  “You must have been saving your pennies all these decades.”

  “You’d have to be a total nitwit not to have millions when you’ve been around as long as I have.”

  She smiled. “True. It’s a pain moving my assets around all the time, though. I’ve inherited my own money three times already.”

  He nodded and they shared a mutual smile of understanding. His faded when he saw the blood dripping down the porcelain of his tub and pooling on the marble tile floor.

  “We better get you out of those clothes.”

  “They’re not clothes.” She brushed a hand over her blouse and her stylish ensemble morphed into an inky cloak of glossy feathers that came to midthigh, exposing her wound and the bandage that now gaped around her leg. “It’s just a trick, turning our coats into clothing or jewelry. This is the form I take directly from the raven.”

  He stroked the shimmering feather cape and she allowed it. Astonishment rippled through him, causing a pleasant heat in his stomach. When was the last time he had been surprised by anything?

  Cesar fingered the edge of the cloak. “And you need this to change back.”

  Her eyes narrowed at him, glaring as if he’d just held a gun to her head.

  “I wouldn’t try it.”

  Bess didn’t like having him know her weaknesses. He understood that and nodded his comprehension. Then he withdrew his hand and stepped away. “Let’s see about that wound.”

  Cesar knelt beside her on the plush rug and peered beneath as she studied the gash that ran from high on her hip to midthigh. The wound tore through the skin but did not look to have gored the muscle.

  “It’s not very deep.”

  “Looks like a map of the Mississippi,” said Bess, pinching and poking at her skin.

  Seeing her torn flesh made his stomach flip, which was funny, since he’d seen so much worse than this over the years. How much blood had she lost?

  She met his gaze. “Disinfectant?”

  “I have rubbing alcohol.”

  “Are you crazy? Why not just pour whiskey over it?”

  “If you’d prefer, but rubbing alcohol is cheaper.”

  “Just turn on the water. I’ll wash it.”

  He twisted the taps and adjusted the temperature.

 
“Do you believe now that they’re dangerous? Or doesn’t this qualify in your code book?” She indicated her injury with a graceful sweep of her hand.

  “It’s a book of law and I’m not sure what to think. It’s possible they were defending their kill.”

  She pressed her lips tight and regarded him from beneath her lowered brow. With a pang of regret, he recognized that his answer had just squashed any chance of doing anything with her that he’d fantasized about in the elevator.

  “You’re an idiot,” she said.

  “I know. But I’m not hunting a creature before it has committed a crime.”

  “Attacking a Skinwalker doesn’t meet your criteria?”

  “I only track murderers.”

  She snorted. “Well, then, I’ll fly slower next time.”

  Her flippant response made his heart squeeze in some emotion he could not name. What was happening here?

  “That’s not funny, Bess.”

  She flushed and then gave a defiant toss of her head that sent her silky hair back over her shoulder.

  He said nothing as she turned her back to him and began washing first her hands and then the gash. Soon blood was streaming down her long leg again and sliding down his tub drain. She motioned toward a towel and he handed it to her.

  Cesar rummaged in the cabinet until he found a medical kit he’d received from a health fair in the park. Inside, thankfully, were four large butterfly bandages, gauze, Band-Aids and an ammonia capsule. He might need that himself if he had to spend much more time with Bess.

  She was his sexual ideal, but forbidden by his kind. Not that she’d have him—unless she was also feeling the tingling attraction that sparked whenever they touched. He could barely think around her. He turned and the sight of the blood brought him back from his sexual musings like a slap across the face.

  She’d dried her leg, making it easy to get the butterflies to stick.

  “This is going to leave a scar,” he said. It hurt him to see such perfection marred by violence.

  “It won’t. I’ve had worse, but my friends took care of it.”

  The bear, buffalo or wolf? he wanted to ask, but kept his mouth shut.