The Guardian (13 page)

 

Fala poured another pitcher of water on the hot rocks. Steam spewed up, churning the smell of animal hide and damp raw earth and moisture within the sacred cave. The cave sat in the middle of the reservation, its entrance hidden by brush piles. Sacred bear hides covered the
entrance and floor and held back the frigid night wind. Hallowed ancient symbols depicting the stars in the heavens and the Bear Maiden with her dipper of magic covered the ceiling and walls. The stillness within the cave seemed to capture space and felt weighted down with the clarity of ageless wisdom.

This was where the Patomani came to fast, pray, meditate, gain enlightenment and heal. Meikoda had been known to stay for weeks at a time in the cave. It purified the soul so that one could commune with the spirit guides and receive gifts from heaven, like reviving the Guardian's powers and receiving visions of the future.

Since Fala left the reservation, she had avoided the cave. She looked beyond the fire at the darkness suspended there. It seemed to stretch into oblivion, and a hot chill made her shiver. The darkness frightened her most of all, the possibility of what it held. The prospect of knowing her future terrified her. More than that, she didn't want the spirit guides judging her for what lay in her heart, for they had to know her reluctance in accepting her responsibility.

Fala wiped the perspiration from her brow and felt the heat making her dizzy. She straightened one of the many smooth river rocks that created the image of the Maiden Bear. Over the stones, a long altar of wood and straw hovered three feet off the ground.

A whoosh of cold air hit Fala as Takala came through the flap, bearing Stephen in her arms. The blanket draped over him fluttered, and he shivered in Takala's grasp. The scowl on her sister's face could crack rock.

Fala wasn't upset with Takala for her attitude. Fala
knew firsthand what it felt like to care for someone she'd never have.

As Takala was about to lay Stephen down on the altar, Nina said, “Be careful.”

“I always am,” Takala snapped, and she gently lowered him down on to the straw.

Meikoda entered next. Eleven women filed in behind her, the beads on their ceremonial gowns clacking in unison. The leaders of her tribe were Fala's relatives, aunts, cousins, sisters-in-laws. They came in all shapes and sizes, all fearlessly bold women, but their expressions were one and the same, one of insight and compassion, and as they filed past Fala their gazes all said,
We'll try to make it right.

Running Feather, her aunt, touched her arm and whispered, “I'm glad you've come home.”

“Thank you.” Fala wished Meikoda had told her that.

“We need more heat.” Meikoda motioned to the hot stones steaming in the cave's corners.

Fala and Nina hurried to douse the stones again with water. Boiling steam rose and danced and filled the cave.

Meikoda motioned, and the women took their places and formed a circle around the altar, hands clasped.

Fala, Nina and Takala moved back and watched as Meikoda began the magic chant first. Then the others joined in. The voices shifted, realigned and became one. They grew louder, echoing through the cave, the energy behind the voices strengthening. They raised their hands. A blot of energy shot down through the ceiling and into Meikoda. The power fanned out, spreading through
the twelve women, using them as conductors. Their hair stood on end as they levitated, hovering above the ground, the ring of power glowing.

In unison they bent and touched Stephen. The flaps of the blanket rose along with Stephen's body. It floated as the women laid their beaming hands on him.

Energy shot into his body, convulsed, then beamed back out. The bolt shot up to the ceiling and disappeared. Stephen's body dropped back to the altar with a loud thump. It was over.

The twelve women dropped their hands and shot Fala sympathetic glances.

Meikoda looked at Fala and shook her head. “There is nothing we can do for him. The spell binding him is too strong.”

Takala cast a suspicious glance at Stephen. “Can you tell if it's underworld magic?”

“The sorcery is strong and hides its origin. Bindings of this magnitude come only from powerful magic blood pacts and can only be broken by those who have entered into them.”

Nina asked, “Can't we do anything? He saved Fala's life.”

“I know of no spells powerful enough to break the magic, and my powers dwindle. Perhaps if he's still living when Fala takes over as Guardian, she can heal him.”

“But if he dies…” Fala chewed on her lower lip.

“Then so be it.” Meikoda turned, expression unrelenting, then she headed for the entrance.

The elders followed her, their eyes full of sorrow.

“Look, Fala.” Nina motioned her over to where she
stood next to Stephen, blanket lifted. She was staring down at his wounds. “The bandage burned away.”

Fala saw the flesh. Red marks from the magic hitting his body rayed out from the wounds. Where they touched, they had welded the flesh. But the red puffy wounds were still there, rivers of red crisscrossing his side. “It does look a little better,” she said, trying to convince herself. “The magic
did
do something.”

“Maybe so.” Fala wanted to believe it had, but as she looked down on Stephen's face, pale as death, she was certain it hadn't done enough.

F
ala listened to the steady creek of the rocker she'd borrowed from the living room. It dwarfed her old room. She heard the mermaid clock on the wall swish her tail twelve times. Midnight. The bewitching hour. When Death woke, and restless spirits tormented the living, and time dragged into eons.

Stephen thrashed in the bed and moaned, “Brice… Leland. Noooo!”

Fala stopped rocking and put her hand on his chest. “It's okay.”

As if her touch registered, he stilled, his brows darkening into a pained scowl.

Fala anxiously glanced at him, as she'd done for the millionth time since they'd left the cave. For two hours, he'd been restless, as if his body were still charged from the magic, and he kept calling out the names and her
name. Who were these guys? Men from his past? Friends from his coven?

She pulled the hot cloth from Stephen's head, wrung it out in a cold basin of water then gingerly placed it over his burning forehead. Another shiver shook him beneath the quilts. He looked sheet-white, dry lips parted, cheekbones sharpened by hollowed skin, brow ridged with worry lines. Even in sleep, his face held a severity and unapproachable ruggedness that drew her.

She couldn't not touch him, and she glided her hand over the dark prickly stubble on his cheek, stroking the scar's raised veins there. How had he gotten the scar? His uncle? She wanted to kiss the scar and take away the memories he wore like chain mail. And she could have done that for him if he hadn't entered into a blood pact. Had he done it so he could escape his childhood pain in some way, or was this powerful magic block there because he worked for BOSP and it was some type of protection pact for all the agents?

It had to be white magic, didn't it? Otherwise, he would never have put his body between her and the andralia. He had said it was his job to protect her. But that went beyond his call of duty. His heart had to be noble and brave and have the capacity to care.

But did she love him, as Meikoda had said? No, no, no. She just wanted him to heal so she could get on with her life and marry Akando. Right? But what if she
did
love him? Then Fate was a cruel mistress.

Fala's finely tuned hearing picked up on the beat of another heart outside the house, even before the angry pounding started. She rolled her eyes. What did he want at this time of night?

Fala hurried down the hall before he woke up everyone in the house. She turned on the porch light and flung open the door. Akando stood before her, all hulking male beauty filling the doorway. Tight jeans covered his gangly legs and a thick wool flannel shirt checkered his broad chest. His dark hair hung down past his shoulders, and if he wasn't sporting such an ugly scowl she might have been pleased to see him.

The smell of whiskey from his breath assailed her as she said, “What do you want?”

He teetered and had to hold the storm door to steady himself. “To see you?”

“It's midnight.”

“I don't care what time it is. We're going to be mated for life. I can see you when I want.”

“Shhhh! You're too loud. You want to wake the whole house?”

Some of the alcohol left his sails and he managed to whisper, “Why didn't you call me back?”

“I was busy.” He had called her voice mail three times. She had finally been forced to turn off her cell phone. She hadn't really wanted to face him like she was doing now. Such fun.

“Oh, I heard what was keeping you busy.” His bottom lip stuck out in a drunken pout.

Fala felt the bite of the frosty air and said, “Come in. I'm letting all the heat out.”

He stepped past her, leaving a whiff of alcohol that could thaw icicles.

She closed the door and whispered, “How did you know I was here, anyway?”

“I have my sources.”

“It was Takala, wasn't it?”

“Why are you mad at her?” He jammed his hands on his hips and missed, and they hung limp at his sides. “She thought I should know you were here.”

“What else did she tell you?”

“I know everything. I know you're nursing him and you love him.”

Fala wanted to strangle Takala. “You don't know anything.” Fala opened the door again. “Go back home and sober up. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Fala, say you want to marry me.” He grabbed her and pressed her against his rock-solid chest. “I need to hear it.”

She forced the words out, “I want to marry you.
There.
Okay? Now go home.” She'd tell him anything to get him to leave.

“Why are you rejecting me? Your power depends on our marriage.” He kissed her, his mouth soft against hers, urging her to give in to him.

Fala recalled Stephen holding her, kissing her, the stirring of desire for him, and for a moment she was kissing Stephen. Until Akando reached for her breast.

In a cringing moment, she realized it wasn't Stephen's arms holding her. She caught Akando's hand and shoved him back. “Go home, you're drunk,” she ordered.

“Not so drunk I know you don't want me. I've always wanted you. The spirit guides were right to match us. Why do you fight it so much?”

Why did she? Oh, God, she didn't know.
You know. Admit it. The warlock in the other room. The one that makes your heart pound and dance and desire impossible things. He's the one you want and can't have. Admit it!

He turned the hand holding his and placed a kiss in her palm. “We can have a good life, if you let us.”

Fala jerked her hand back. “I don't want to discuss this now.”

Anger and determination scrunched up his handsome mouth. His eyes gleamed like those of a kicked dog ready to bite back. He shook a finger at her. “Just remember, you're mine and we'll marry in three days.”

Fala shoved him out the door. “How can I forget, Akando? Please, just go home.”

He shot her a soulful look, then stumbled down the stairs. The night air blew his long hair out behind his proud stiff shoulders, his shadow sharpening on the frozen grass.

Fala hated hurting him. She just couldn't envision a life with him. She couldn't envision doing anything with him, especially touching him in a sexual way. She shut the door and fell back against it. Three days. His words tolled like a death knell in her mind.

Thinking of death brought her thoughts back to Tumseneha. When would he regroup and attack again? If she were being honest, she'd rather face Tumseneha than face her impending marriage.

“Fala…” Stephen's weak entreaty drifted down the hall toward her.

Was he awake or just calling out her name? Fala ran toward her room, hoping it was the former.

 

Stephen rode the ocean waves, the tiny skiff swishing and swelling. A black thundercloud filled the sky above him. Shark fins circled the tiny dinghy. Land? Where was
it? All he could see was angry sea. He had no drinking water; his mouth was so dry he couldn't swallow.

A thunderstorm crackled and shook above him, pushing huge waves in belly-crashing swells. The salt spray stung his face. The storm must have driven him out to sea. He squinted at the fins still circling between the waves.

The fins abruptly turned into heads. Brice and Leland were swimming in the water, sharks all around.

“Give me your hand,” Stephen yelled.

They reached for him but the waves broke and took them farther from him. Miles, it seemed.

He watched as another shark shifted into Fala's human form. She trod water and called to him, “I need you. Help me!”

He stretched out his arms. He had to save her. “Fala, swim toward me so I can grab you.”

“I'm trying.” She paddled against the waves, but one crashed over her, sending her back twenty feet. “Keep trying.”

“I'm tired….” Her head went under, then buoyed. “Help me!”

Stephen braced to dive over the side, but Brice's and Leland's screams for help stopped him. “Stephen, over here! We're drowning.”

He turned toward the sound of their voices, carried by the violent sea. Whitecaps, everywhere. Where were they?

“Help me!” Fala cried again.

He followed Fala's scream and saw her drifting away from him.

He had to pick one. He couldn't save all three.
Choose.
Your brothers, or the Guardian.
The cruel familiar voice pounded his mind. He looked for his brothers. Their heads were fading, bobbing watery dots.

At Fala. The wind chose that moment to gust and the sea took her under right before his eyes.

He yelled in frustration….

“Shhhh! It's all right.”

The soothing sound of Fala's voice replaced the roar of the sea, and he felt a gentle hand on his chest. He tried to swallow, but someone had poured sand down his throat and all he could do was gag. He cracked open an eye, feeling his heart pounding from the nightmare. Rainbow-colored hands swam in a sea of yellow. Was he in a preschool classroom?

“Fala,” he said in a grainy whisper. He blinked again and Fala's face came into view.

She was leaning over him with a cup at his lips. “Here, drink.”

The sight of her brought back the nightmare. Who would he have sacrificed? Her words,
I need you,
drifted back to him, and he remembered her saying it before he'd passed out. Had he imagined it? No, he recalled the exact inflection, the open yearning, the way it had reached down into his gut and wouldn't let go. He hadn't allowed any woman to touch that emotional part of him that he reserved only for his brothers. He cared for only two people in the whole world. He hadn't allowed himself to go beyond that. Yes, he had dated women, but he'd never felt anything other than lust for them. He had never allowed a woman's words to twist him out of control. He refused to let it happen with Fala.

He noticed the pallor in her face. Dark circles hollowed
her eyes. Strands of black hair had fallen loose from her braid and fanned straggles around her face. One dark wisp followed the curve of her chin. The lids covering the endless blue eyes were half-closed, sleepy eyes, wariness pulling at them. She looked gorgeous to him. Dangerously gorgeous and sexy enough to distract him from the choices he had to make.

He remembered the bite of the lion creature and now felt the throb in his side. Someone had removed all his clothes, save his briefs. A mountain of quilts cocooned him into the bed.

He gagged and coughed as she forced more of the vinegary liquid down his throat. “Are you trying to kill me with that stuff?” he choked out. His voice sounded far away and weak to his own ears.

“It's my grandmother's healing herb potion.”

“You sure she didn't get it out of the sewer?”

“The tisanes must be working. They've turned you into a smart-ass.” She smiled and the tired look in her eyes shifted to a tender, compassionate gleam.

That smile tore into him. He felt it gnaw all the way to his conscience. “And you've shifted back into a woman, though it was a turn-on to see you change into bear form.” He forced himself to look deep into her eyes. “It was almost as awesome as when we made love.”

Her cheeks colored up and she looked down at the cup in her hands. “I don't like other people witnessing my power.”

“Don't know why not. You're beautiful either way, albeit a little more frightening in bear form. I'll never forget how soft your fur was, though.” He could still remember the feel of it against his cheek. Nor could he
forget the inner glow that he'd witnessed and felt when she had climaxed. Or the way she looked at him now, so open and innocent. God, he felt guilty using her, but what options did he have? Blackmail didn't give you freakin' options.

The blush seeped down her neck. She wouldn't meet his eyes and studied the cup in her hands. “Let's just forget it. I need to ask you something, and you need to tell me the truth.”

“What is it?”

“What kind of magical blood pact have you entered into?”

“Noticed that, did you?”

She formed an imaginary inch between her fingers. “A little, like when I first met you and couldn't see your aura—”

“Wait a minute! You can see auras?”

“What, your file didn't tell you that?” Her eyes glistened playfully. “You guys need some competent information gatherers?”

“I guess we do.” Stephen made a mental note to have the files updated.

“Get a few shamans on board. You won't have that problem.” She taunted him with a superior tilt of her chin, then her expression turned serious. “Back to my question. I can't sense your aura and when I tried to heal your side I couldn't break through the magic surrounding your spirit. Even my grandmother and the elders couldn't break the blood pact. Why did you enter into a blood pact in the first place?”

“All BOSP agents are required to enter into a collective
blood pact. It's protection for us; it binds us together and to the agency. It also allows us to tap into each other's powers. The crystals in my office only amplify our powers.” Stephen held her gaze, feeling those blue eyes digging deep into his face. He hoped she didn't detect the lie.

“So that's why it's so strong?” Her brows snapped together as she mulled over the information.

“Yes.” He couldn't tell if she believed him or not.

Silence stretched between them, and he blinked at the sun beaming in through the yellow gingham frills at the window. Fala had distracted him for a second, but his mission and time constraints rushed back to him. He looked anxiously over at her. “What time is it?”

“About ten in the morning.”

“How long have I been out?”

“About seventeen hours.”

He relaxed. He still had three days left to get that damn amulet off her neck. “And you've taken care of me this whole time?”

“I drew the short end of the stick.” A coy warm smile softened her expression, belying the lifeless monotone of her words.