Ghost Stalker (5 page)

“Thanks so much. I can take it from here.” Jessie put a hand on Larry’s shoulder, trying to usher him from the room. He took the hint and headed out through the kitchen, but paused on the front step.

“Sure I can’t…”

“Thanks again. Appreciate your help.”

He didn’t move.

“Give my love to May and your girls.”

That was the push he needed. He ambled back to his pickup and gave a wave from the open window before pulling onto the road and out of sight.

Jessie watched the rooster tail of dust in his wake and breathed a sigh of relief. It was a good five seconds before the disquiet returned, prickling up her spine like a rolling cactus. She had a wolf in her house.

If her mother found out, she’d kill him, her—or both.

She made her way back to her patient, studying his limp form. There was a small bandage covering the spot where the vet had shaved his coat to insert a tube that reinflated his lung. All in all he looked much worse than when she had taken charge of him. It would have been easy to let the vet put him down. Her mother would have approved.

Was a promise still a promise when given to the enemy?

Jessie sat beside him on the bed. She didn’t know
when she began to stroke his long, muscular side, but at some point she noticed her hand half buried in fur as it made a rhythmic sweep. His steady breathing and the slow rhythmic beat of his heart reassured her.

“You’re so soft.”

It was past time to feed the horses, but she stayed where she was, as guardian or keeper, she was not sure which.

He gave a growl and his legs startled as if in the midst of a falling dream. She jumped back and succeeded in scrambling off the bed before Nick’s uncovered eye snapped open.

The black pupil contracted as he cut his husky-blue eye in her direction.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were a wolf?” she asked, her fury boiling into her words.

Nick could not answer in animal form. But he narrowed his unpatched eye.

She leveled a gaze upon him. “Did you fight, Nick?”

He met her gaze and held it, lifting his muzzle in a defiant posture, and then shook his head.

“Your clan, then.”

He didn’t deny it. He was kin to all wolf shifters, including the most notorious.

Nick glared at her, his body aching all over. For some reason she had not killed him. But she had chosen not to cover him and that meant he would transform wearing nothing but his wolf pelt as a cloak. Then he need only touch his cloak to change it into any garment he desired. But he was not sure he could lift his arm. He tried his
legs and discovered that they did not respond to his preliminary command, either. Had they paralyzed him?

Nick closed his eyes and concentrated, feeling the rush of electrical energy that always came when he changed. For an instant it overwhelmed the pain. The bandage over his eye tore away as his face changed shape. He bit down to keep from screaming as the pain flooded into the energy vacuum.

How he missed his friend Sebastian. The grizzly could fix him up in a matter of minutes. But he did not know if the ghosts had succeeded in following him and he would not take the risk of endangering his friend. That meant he was left with traditional Western medicine and that meant drugs.

Jessie was on her feet now, staring wide-eyed at him. You’d think she’d never seen a wolf transform into a man. He tried to smile and failed, managing only to bare his teeth.

She dragged a maroon-colored knit blanket from the back of her chair and tossed it over him as if casting a fishnet for minnows. Her efforts succeeded in covering his privates.

“Did you know him?” she asked and held her breath waiting for the answer.

“Who?”

“Fleetfoot.”

“Very well.”

She wrapped her arms about herself. “How?”

Cold blue eyes stared at her. “Fleetfoot was my sire.”

She was on her feet in an instant and fleeing the room. She didn’t stop until she was in the living room, standing before the loaded gun in the gun safe.

Fleetfoot’s son. She started to shake.

“Jessie!”

She flinched at the power of his voice.

“Jessie, come back.”

She did, but when she came, she carried with her a 32-caliber automatic rifle.

W
hat had possessed Nick to tell her the truth?

He must have landed on his head. He’d spent his entire adult life denying his paternity, roaming from place to place trying to forget what he was.

So why tell his secret to
her
when he had shared it with no one else? Her people had been the victims of his father’s bloodletting. Skinwalkers were nothing if not effective killers. All his education and attempts at refinement were stripped away by this woman’s hatred. She saw beneath the mask of civility to the beast within.

How would he feel if their roles were reversed?

He heard her coming. Nick managed to get one finger on the edge of his cloak, transforming his hide into a pair of jeans and the wolf-claw necklace he always wore
when in human form. But the effort cost him, bringing a sheen of sweat to his skin.

He crawled off the bed and limped toward the door when the crazy Niyanoka returned with a rifle leveled at his gut. She’d moved up from the pillow. Now at least, she had a chance of taking him out, slim though it was.

While it was true that Skinwalkers were immune to most diseases and had a life expectancy some four times that of humans, they could not outrun a bullet. Injury, not illness, took out most Inanoka. His father had died of gunshot wounds and now he seemed about to follow in his sire’s infamous tracks.

“You promised to take care of me.”

“And I’m about to.” She lifted the rifle.

The effort of getting off the bed and onto his feet had taken much of his strength. Still, even in his injured state, he had more than enough power to disarm her, before she ever pulled that trigger. But he did not, could not, harm her, even as she aimed the gun at his heart. What was wrong with him?

“I’m not my father,” he said.

“You’re his line. Fleetfoot killed my grandparents, my uncles, everyone but my mom.” She pressed her face against the stock and braced, her feet wide apart, in preparation for the kill shot. And still he waited, motionless.

Had the Thunderbirds brought him here to meet his death? He stood silent and still before this woman who knew his shame.

If she had the nerve, he would take the bullet standing
like a man. There was no helping that he would change back to an animal at his passing.

“I could say you attacked me,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “They all said I was crazy not to put you down.”

He said nothing in his own defense.

And then it came to him, the understanding he sought. If he died, Sebastian would be safe. The ghosts could not use him once he passed from their reach. Was this what the Thunderbirds intended when he begged them to protect his friend?

She held her position until beads of sweat formed on her forehead. Her indecision was palpable.

She gripped the barrel and released the stock. The gun swung upright. “God damn it!”

She wrapped both hands around the steel, as if trying to choke it to death.

Twice now she had failed to kill him.

“Get back in bed,” she ordered.

She stayed where she was, watching him return to the sanctuary of his bed…
her
bed.

“You going to stare me to death?” he asked.

“If only.” She turned to go and then spun to face him again. “Not only am I harboring an enemy. I’m harboring a descendant of the creature who tried to exterminate my people. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you.”

“Because you don’t seem capable of it.”

She flushed. “You’re a killer.”

“My father was the killer. Would you judge a man whose father was in Hitler’s SS?”

“Interesting comparison, since your father decided to kill men and Niyanoka alike.”

“To protect the sacred buffalo when mankind was exterminating them for sport. He acted only when your people failed to take action to restore the balance.”

She cocked the rifle but did not take aim. “You’re one of them!”

“I was too young to choose a side.”

“But it’s in your blood. At heart, you are an animal.”

“As are all men.”

She scowled. “You are a smooth talker, just like a trickster. But how can I believe anything you say?”

He did not like to have his integrity questioned, but if anyone had the right, it was this woman.

She held the rifle before her as she spoke. “That story about the Niyanoka marrying a Skinwalker. Admit it, you made the whole thing up to play on my sympathy. The ghosts, Nagi, all of it.”

He didn’t succeed in curbing his anger at this. “That damn cloud of vapor nearly killed Michaela, attacking her using the dead body of her stepfather.”

“Ha!” she said and pointed, as if catching him. “Ghosts can’t possess the dead.”

Nick lowered his chin and glared. “Nagi is not a ghost.”

She lowered her arm, looking momentarily chastened, and uncocked the trigger of the rifle. “How did she escape him?”

“My friend Sebastian attacked him. He is a grizzly shifter, very strong and a great healer. He found Michaela after Nagi’s first attack. She had a Spirit Wound.”

Jessie paled and sank into her usual chair, laying the rifle across her knees. Clearly she was familiar with the kind of harm a true spirit could do to the soul, while leaving the body seemingly intact. Madness, coma, an unexplained wasting away could all be the result of such injury.

“My friend saved her life.” He left the implication unsaid. A Skinwalker had saved a Spirit Child. It was her turn to return the favor.

“But how could he heal a Spirit Wound?” She leaned forward now, forgetting her skepticism.

“He couldn’t, though he tried. All his efforts only succeeded in keeping her alive. So he brought her to Kanka.”

Jessie’s hands came up to cover her face. “He
met
the Witch?”

“He indebted himself to her.”

“Great Mystery,” she muttered.

“Exactly. Nagi was tracking Michaela using the Spirit Wound. Kanka gave Michaela the knowledge she needed to heal the wound. Nagi still wants her, but he can no longer track her. My friend has taken her into hiding until after her pregnancy.”

Jessie could not contain her shock. “She’s…”

He nodded. “With twins.”

“But what, what will…”

He gave a sad smile. “Whatever they are, my friend will defend them with his life. He’s not fast, but he’s powerful as any creature I’ve ever faced. And I have no doubt that Michaela will be as fierce a mother as any Skinwalker and will love them unconditionally.
She
does not judge by appearances.”

Jessie considered that in silence a moment.

“But how could she marry him?”

“She was raised by humans. Never knew who and what she was until after Nagi attacked her.”

“Well, what difference does that make?”

He shook his head and then leveled his gaze on her once more. “She had no knowledge of your laws, your beliefs or your prejudices.”

Jessie’s indignation brought her to her feet. “More likely she does not know how treacherous Skinwalkers can be. She does not know how your people attacked mine or why we no longer dare live in clans. It is not so easy for you to find us now. Is it?”

“If what you say is true, then why did Sebastian not kill Michaela the instant he found her?”

“How do I know he did not? How do I know these two lovers even exist?”

He had no answer. A moment later he closed his eyes and then opened them to pin her with a look. She had not seen this expression before and it terrified her. He stared with the cold dispassion of a hunter.

“Then why have I not killed you?” he asked, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

She stood, gripping the rifle. “Because I’ve given you no opportunity.”

He laughed. An instant later he was across the room, seizing the rifle with one hand as he tore it from her and tossed it to the bed. He towered over her. She backed up, hit the chair and fell into the cushions. He gripped the armrests as he leaned over her and whispered in her ear.

“I have not killed you for two reasons. We have an agreement and I do not kill your kind.”

He stood, stepping back far enough for her to rise. She found her knees trembling as she gained her feet. All this time she had thought him helpless and he was anything but.

“How could you move like that? Your injuries, your lungs.”

“I am far stronger than a man.”

He had made his point. He could have killed her anytime but didn’t.

She stared up at him, trying to understand. It was then that she noticed the pallor of his skin. He had just had surgery and should be resting. Guilt stabbed her.

“How much pain?” she asked.

He gave her a weak smile. “I’ve had worse.”

“I’ll get your medicine.”

She retrieved her rifle. Once out of his room, she unloaded the gun and replaced it in the case.

Only then did the trembling consume her. He could have killed her but didn’t. Was he her enemy? Did he tell the truth? She’d never been more confused in her life.

She needed to know what was true. Was there a Seer of Souls? Was it possible that a Spirit Child would wed a Skinwalker and carry his children?

She glanced toward her patient’s room. There was one way to find her answers. But she had never even met a Skinwalker before and so she did not even know if they dreamed.

But if he dreamed, she would have her chance to learn the truth.

She returned carrying the narrow white paper bag, and began removing orange canisters of medication.

“Decided to put off killing me?”

She smiled. “For now.”

“Because I’m stronger than you or because of your promise?”

“Both.”

He glanced at the bottle she gave him. “What is this?”

She inched closer. “Would you like me to read it to you?”

He furrowed his brow as a suspicion clouded his mind. “I can read.”