Dream Stalker Page 4

  “I’m pretty sure bears don’t give away their claws voluntarily.”

  “You’re Bear Clan?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” She lifted the turquoise fetish as if flashing an identification card. “But I should be Raven Clan, because they’re the ones I always dream about.”

  The smile fell from his lips and the lines around his mouth tightened. What had she said now?

  “You dream of ravens?”

  She knew the legends. Ravens were symbolic to her people as a messenger from the dead.

  “Only in your dreams?” His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her, as if waiting for her to confirm some suspicion.

  She thought of the raven on the windowsill of her hospital room. It was the first thing she had seen upon waking.

  “Not only then.”

  His expression radiated astonishment.

  “I see.”

  She suspected that he saw a great deal more than she did.

  Chapter 5

  M ichaela knew the ceremony he performed was Native American from the tobacco he sprinkled to sanctify the ground and the fragrant smoke from a bundle of burning sage.

  Most frightening was the eagle feather, which he used like a spoon to scoop out the yellow-green goop collecting in her festering wound. Each touch felt like a thread being pulled from a seam.

  He collected the noxious discharge in a clay vessel and then burned it over a fire of cedar bark. Even the sweet, fragrant smoke could not cover the stench of death filling the air.

  She wondered again who he was, a healer, obviously. Up until about an hour ago she believed that native cures were for the gullible and superstitious. But now she grappled with a mountain of things that she did not understand. In a few hours she had gone from certainty on many subjects to complete, jaw-dropping confusion as to what was happening to her.

  When he finished the burning, he lifted his open hands to the dappled sunlight filtering through the ancient pines and chanted in a clear bass. The language was familiar, but not the words. Why hadn’t she gone to classes as her mother had insisted?

  Because she had been a teenager, angry at her father for leaving her and at her mother for dragging her back to nature. Now she considered the possibility that her mother believed these lessons were so vital because she knew something that Michaela did not.

  Why had her mother moved them from place to place, from reservation to reservation? What had she been running from?

  Sebastian’s chant ended abruptly, leaving a deafening silence. Then the rustle of the pine boughs in the afternoon breeze came to her and the raucous cry of a jay as it winged through the branches.

  She found him staring at her with those knowing eyes. The gaze lifted the hairs on her neck and made her stomach contract as tension coiled within her.

  “How do you feel, little one?” he asked. The low rumble of his voice vibrated through her like the percussion instruments at a symphony.

  Michaela gave her shoulder a tentative shrug and found the pain was gone. She sat up, a smile braking across her face, but his wary look robbed her of the momentary joy.

  “It doesn’t even hurt. I think I can travel now. We could go to that clinic or…” She could not quite get her mind around his suggestion of visiting the Sorceress of the North.

  “Not yet.”

  “But why?” She pushed up, coming to a sitting position and swaying only a little.

  He lifted a hand to catch her, but when she righted herself, he settled back on his haunches. “Nagi attacked your Spirit. Do you know why he pursues you?”

  She shook her head, startled again that the movement brought her no pain.

  “You’ve fixed my arm.”

  “No, little one. I have only drawn away the poisons, like emptying a well. They will be back.”

  “How do you know how to do this?”

  “My father is the greatest of healers. I have inherited his power and learned how to use them from…my teachers.” He rubbed his palm against the back of his neck.

  “I’ll take you to bed,” said Sebastian.

  That brought her up short.

  “What?”

  “So you can rest.”

  She glanced back toward the house. Sleep had been her enemy for so long, she instinctively fought against it.

  “Let me stay out here for a little longer.”

  “Where would you go?”

  “Perhaps down by the river.”

  He glanced at the line of willows. “How do you know there is a stream?”

  How did she? She had seen it, hadn’t she? “Willows always grow near water.”

  His frown showed her answer did not completely satisfy. “I will carry you.”

  “I can walk.” She started to rise and felt a swooping dizziness rushing up to meet her.

  He had her in his arms in an instant, cradling her to his broad chest with one strong arm, and he stroked her hot cheek. “The healing disturbs the balance. Lie still a moment and it will pass.”

  What had he done to her with that sage smoke? It was only sage and cedar—wasn’t it? Hallucinogens? It would explain a lot.

  “What are hallucinogens?” he asked.

  “You know very well. You drugged me.”

  He was walking now, down a narrow path. Roots crisscrossed the exposed ground like arms stretched across the earth. They continued down a hill until the low, thick willows engulfed them. He paused, cocking his head. She turned in the same direction, seeing nothing through the entwining branches, and then she heard it, too, the crack of breaking underbrush.

  She dropped the hand she had used as a visor and looked up to him for assurance.

  “Bear?” she whispered, as her heartbeat accelerated to a painful hammering.

  Sebastian lifted his chin and sniffed the air. “Moose. A cow and two calves.”

  He made a low huffing noise that brought her to complete stillness. Where had she heard that before?

  Silence permeated the grove, followed an instant later by crashing sounds as the moose and her babies exploded out of the willows in the opposite direction.

  Sebastian’s expression turned wistful, and she stared up at him in confusion.

  “Did you just scare off a moose?”

  His voice sounded bereft. “Yes.”

  They traveled on to the shore in silence until they broke from the cover. The path widened, revealing a fast-moving stream that cascaded around large rocks and narrowed as it rushed over a four-foot waterfall. She stared in wonder at the beauty of this place. Her head swiveled as she looked for some sign of company. At this time of year there should be fishermen lined up on both sides of the water to catch salmon, yet there was no one in either direction.

  Sebastian set her on the grassy bank and crouched beside her.

  “It’s lovely here,” she whispered, not wanting to break the silence.

  He stared at the scenery as if seeing it for the first time, and then inclined his head in agreement.

  “But a little lonely.” She watched him for his reaction.

  There was the slightest narrowing of his eyes, but he chose not to speak to her observation, instead changing the subject.

  “Do you like salmon?”

  “Why yes, I do.”

  He seemed relieved.

  Sebastian sat back on his heels in a position that would have thrown Michaela’s legs into muscle spasm, but he seemed relaxed. He stared out over the rushing water and began to hum. The tuneless song reminded her of a chant, and she wondered why he would pray now. Gradually her arms and legs grew heavy. The rush of the stream and the drone of his chant lulled her. She stretched out on the bank and watched the clouds rolling past like cotton ships. She blinked and then again more slowly. On the third try she could not seem to lift her eyelids.

  Sebastian smiled at the sleeping woman. He could not allow her to see him transform. He had learned from hard experience what happened when people witnessed things they did not understand. He thought of his mother and
grimaced. Why had she slept with his father, if she was so repulsed by Inanoka? He knew she must have once loved his father. His presence attested to that. But then why did she hate his son?

  Caught between his mother’s rejection and his father’s absence, Sebastian had no one.

  The thought caused a familiar ache, one that had no cure. It was yet another reason why he hated this form. As a man, he suffered with sorrow and loneliness that had no place in his bear-self. As a bear he was content to wander alone. But as a man, he longed for companionship and acceptance. Weaknesses. And he was strong. Too strong to fall prey to such idiocy again. The shame of his last attempt to secure a mate made him wary. Humans hated what they did not understand. He had made a mistake that time, revealing his true nature. He would not do so again.

  He glared back at the sleeping woman, with her soft skin and wide, trusting eyes. Why had he brought her here?

  Sebastian felt the disturbance before he heard it and glanced to the stream.

  A large gray timber wolf with luminous pale blue eyes stood at the waterline of the opposite bank. Their eyes met, but the lone male stood his ground with his nose to the air.

  “Hello, Nicholas.”

  The wolf forded the water, transforming midstream into a tall man with short black hair and the same strange watercolor eyes, wearing only a wolf-skin cloak. When he reached the opposite bank, he wore green snakeskin cowboy boots, black jeans and a tight black T-shirt.

  His friend ignored the conventions of human conversation, skipping over his greeting entirely. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “What?” Sebastian tried for ignorance, but his tone came off as defensive.

  Nicholas lifted his chin toward Michaela. “She’s human.”

  His friend took a step in her direction and Sebastian moved to block him. The two faced off with Nicholas backing down first.

  “You’re sending out distress calls so loud I heard them two hundred miles away.”

  Sebastian frowned. He hadn’t realized his turmoil was broadcasting to other Inanoka.

  Nicholas’s exasperation changed with mercurial speed into suspicion.

  “Oh, no. You said you’d never…You stood right there and told me to hamstring you if you ever changed your mind.”

  “I haven’t.”

  Nicholas slapped his own forehead. “You brought her here. Smells like you need some help to me.”

  “I haven’t slept with her.”

  Nicholas rolled his eyes like a teenager instead of a man more than a century old. “Yet.”

  Sebastian sighed and then told his friend the circumstances preceding his houseguest’s arrival.

  “And you’re planning to keep her?”

  “To release her would be to reveal the existence of the Spirit World.”

  “If that’s all, just let her die. No one would find her.”

  Sebastian rubbed his nose and glanced at Michaela, sleeping peacefully on the bank. Her peace depended on his protection. He could just walk away. Nicholas was right. No one would ever find her out here.

  He rejected the idea so forcefully his stomach muscles contracted. He would keep her. Sebastian glared at his friend.

  Nicholas pointed an accusing finger. “I knew it.”

  “I’m keeping her.”

  “Temporarily,” Nicholas qualified, and waited for the concurrence that never came. He gave a sigh of resignation. “What do you know of her people?”

  His friend could track anyone anywhere in the world, if he had their scent. It was his gift.

  “There was an old man at the cabin where I found her.”

  Sebastian told him where Michaela lived. Perhaps he could find a scent trail there.

  “If she has living kin, I’ll find him.” Nicholas rubbed a finger under his nose. “What if they’re looking for her?”

  Sebastian stared coldly back toward the sleeping woman, then met his friend’s troubled gaze. “Then she’ll be just one more missing person. The wilderness is a dangerous place, far more dangerous than humans can possibly imagine.”

  “Let’s try to keep it that way,” said Nicholas.

  The wolf turned to go and then changed his mind, facing Sebastian once more.

  “Nagi can come at you as anything, anytime. Possession is nothing to him.”

  “I know.”

  “You sure you want to do this?”

  Sebastian stared, unable to explain the irrational choice.

  “If you’re doing this thing, you need Bess. She understands females and the Spirit World.”

  “That jabbering feather duster? No, thanks.”

  Nicholas turned serious. “You are in over your head, friend. If Nagi wants her, he’ll get her.”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Goodbye, Nicholas.”

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  Chapter 6

  S ebastian rose, casting off his human form. The misshapen clothing transformed into his perfectly fitting hide as he sank to all fours to amble up the bank to his favorite fishing place. The thick red bodies rushed and jumped before him. With his claw, he lunged, slapping one large king salmon after another far up on the bank. His reflexes and much practice made his movements supple and quick.

  He lifted his head and bellowed, transforming to his human form. He tied a river reed around the salmon tail and hoisted them over his back. Only when the wet scales touched his back did he recall he was again naked except for his bearskin cloak.

  He touched the cloak, shifting it to his customary necklace and the clothing he wore before fishing. He chanted as he walked, asking for the woman to wake from her healing sleep. As he drew near, she stretched. The action sent her into an arched position that made her breasts strain against the lacy fabric.

  He stopped short as his body reacted to the sight. The fish slid from his hands as his groin pulsed to life, his erection straining against the denim fabric of his jeans. What in the name of Maka was this? He turned to the water, feeling as if the thermally heated water rushed through his veins. He breathed deep, struggling against the raw need she raised with just the arching of her back. It was several moments before he turned back and retrieved his salmon.

  He found her sitting up and smiling at him. Then a look of utter astonishment crossed her face.

  “Was I asleep?”

  “For a little while.”

  “But that’s not possible. I didn’t have a nightmare. I always…but?”

  He smiled. She looked so astounded. Wonderment glowed from her upturned face. And then he noted the circles beneath her eyes and felt a jolt of anger so strong it caused him to drop his catch again. How long had Nagi been haunting this woman?

  “My presence insures your dreams are sweet.”

  Her lovely smile was his reward.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For protecting me.”

  The determination of his resolve to defend her worried Sebastian almost as much as the thought of her enemies. What had begun as a need to protect the world of the supernatural from men had changed. It was foolish. He knew she only accepted him now because she did not know what he was. Her smile, her gratitude, rested on the continuity of this illusion. To keep her, he must best her enemies and he must hide his other self.

  She glanced at the ground beside him.

  “You went fishing!”

  He glanced at the salmon now lying on the bank.

  “Oh, lovely. I’m starved.”

  He wanted only to pull that delicate top from her body and kiss her soft skin. The veracity of the impulse made him wary. He reminded himself that he was not the only one with secrets. It was best to move with caution when on unfamiliar ground.

  “How was your rest?”

  She gave a tentative flex of her injured arm and then cast him a sleepy smile. He needed to touch her again, needed to know if she shared these desires.

  He sank to his knees before her and lifted a hand, reaching.

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sp; She scuttled back like a crab. “You smell like fish.”

  He dropped his hand and recaptured the salmon. “Come.”

  She rose beside him with no sign of weakness. The sleep had restored her balance for the time being. But he knew that the Spirit Wound continued to grow within her, choking her like a grapevine.

  She fell in behind him as they retraced their steps. This was good, as he did not have to watch her hips sway and beckon as she walked. But still he could smell her rich, enticing scent. He wanted to bury his face in her neck and inhale the fragrance of her hair. Never had anything smelled as good as Michaela.

  “Where is your fishing gear?” she asked.

  He smiled. “I left it by the river.”

  Back at the lakeshore, he filleted the fish, leaving the skin and innards for scavengers. His lodge had a propane stove, the fuel brought in on the ice trail in the winter. Solar panels supplied the power for hot water and electricity. He even had satellite television and a GPS phone. His one additional concession was a refrigerator, though he still had a spring house. Most of all he preferred fresh food.

  He held open the door and waited for her, anxious to show off his ability in the kitchen. He found himself looking forward to her companionship. For so long he had eaten all his meals alone. It was a choice. He preferred his own company and could think of no one with whom he wished to share his time, until now.

  Before long he had wine open and had poured two generous glasses three-quarters full. He spiced his corn bread mix with a can of chopped jalapenos to give the biscuits some zip. He set the lumpy batter to sizzling in the deep cast-iron skillet, then spiced the salmon, pulling out the marinade to add just before serving. He left her to tend to the bread as he stepped onto the deck to start the fish.

  At his return, Michaela abandoned her post in favor of a stool at the granite countertop, where she watched him set out plates, silverware and linen napkins. She was sipping her wine and studying him. Her attention distracted him, but the bread was rescued before it was overly brown.

  He arranged an enormous portion of fish beside a hunk of corn bread and then set it before her. Then he topped off their wine before loading his plate and joining her.