The Man from Forever (9 page)

That and the wolf call.

Belief as solid and clean as what she now felt toward him seeped into his features, solidified and became something beautiful. He had no doubt about Wolf's existence, not a lean, gray predator that had somehow eluded man's rifles, but a spirit-creature unhampered by the rules that dictated her existence.

Wolf was like Loka, an essence in and of itself.

He hadn't moved a muscle since helping her stand, and she understood his desire to absorb and comprehend what
was happening. But she needed more from him. She wanted to take his knife and tell him that there was no need for him to carry a weapon on this peaceful morning, but she didn't. Couldn't. If someone, anyone, learned the truth about him, he might be in danger.

That thought, more than her body's need, propelled her into action. Lacing her fingers through his, she brought his hand up to cover her breast. The instant she did, a lightninglike shock surged through her. She swayed, unable to hide her reaction. Instantly he stopped listening for Wolf and focused on her. Questions, and a desire that rivaled hers, imprinted themselves on his features, tested her self-control as it had never been tested. “Do you feel my heart beating?” she asked when she could force herself to speak.

He nodded, the gesture languid as if aware that his power over her had no limit. “Fast and strong. Like that of a doe who senses a buck.”

A doe who senses a buck.
She loved the image his words conjured up in her mind. She indeed felt like a deer being approached by a magnificent stag. But if she allowed the image to continue, she would have no more control over her fate than a small bird caught in a fierce wind. Struggling to remember what she'd had in mind when she'd thought to touch him, she sucked in a deep breath and placed her hand over his hard chest. For a moment she felt nothing, then the beat-beat of his heart pulsed through her fingertips and seeped into her nerves, her brain, her entire being.

“I can feel your heart beating, Loka.” It was so damnable hard to speak, to remember why she'd felt she needed to say anything. If he reached for her, she would lay herself open to him. Surrender everything to him. “Your—your heart. That tells me you're alive. Real.”

“You did not believe I was?”

He struck her as being a mix of innocence and power, the most incredible man she'd ever met, and the most dangerous. But sometimes a person had to look danger in the eye if she was ever going to fully experience life. “I never—Loka?”
She had made her point. There was no longer a need to touch him. Still, she couldn't possibly bring herself to break the contact. “When you first woke up, you must have thought this couldn't possibly be happening.”

“Yes,” he said softly, and she wondered at the hell he must have gone through before accepting that he'd been thrust into a time not of his making.

“That's the way I've been feeling. Ever since that first day…” His heart pulse was so powerful. It seemed capable of beating forever, of transcending laws of the flesh that mortals had to obey. Capable of capturing her and keeping her with him forever. “That first day when you showed yourself to me—I didn't want to believe in you.”

“Why not?”

“Because your existence goes against everything I've ever believed, against all logic. I told myself—never mind what I tried to convince myself of. It doesn't matter anymore because—because I believe in you.”

She waited, hoping he would say something, but he only looked down at her with eyes that were a mix of pantherlike strength and ageless wisdom. He lifted his hand from her chest, but before she could think how she might survive the loss, he slipped his knife back in its sheath, caught both her wrists and pulled her within an inch of his body. He held her there, challenging her. She couldn't think beyond his nearly naked body, her need to explore and possess and be possessed by that perfect body.

He hadn't touched a woman for well over a hundred years. Yes, he'd been neither alive nor dead during that time, but somewhere deep within him must have been awareness. And he'd been awake for over six months. Awake and alone. A primitive man who knew nothing of today's moral codes.

Who needed.

Frightened by the realization that he might think nothing of taking her, frightened even more by the fact that her body didn't give a damn
how
they came together, she remained where she was, waiting.

He pulled her closer, his strength both relentless and gentle. The fear that had been flickering inside her gave way to a much more powerful emotion. She thought, briefly, of what the wolf's howl must mean. After that, there was nothing except him. She felt as if she were standing above a simmering volcano. At any time, the mass of power and heat would burst free and she'd be consumed by it.

As long as he controlled the volcano, was the volcano, she didn't care.

“I do not want you here,” he whispered hoarsely as her breasts pressed against him and his arm around her back held her firmly in place. “You should have left me in peace.”

“I know. But, Loka, it's too late.”

“Too late.” He bent his body over hers. She tried to concentrate on something, anything else, but there was only him. “What does this mean?” he whispered. “You and me together. What does it mean?”

“I don't know.”

It didn't matter that he said nothing in return. He was so close that his features had blurred, leaving her to think only of his heat and strength, his control over her. Her primitive need for him. She knew she shouldn't risk losing what little self-control remained, and she drew her wrists out of his grasp. But instead of stepping away from the danger, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled his head down toward her, covered his mouth with hers. He jerked back but only slightly, only briefly. He seemed to hang there, allowing her to do with him what she pleased.
Insane,
she thought as she parted her mouth and touched the tip of her tongue to his lips.
Insane.

“Loka…”

“What?”

“I need to understand.”

She waited for him to ask what she meant by that, but he didn't. Instead, he pushed her away, leaving her lonely and
yet grateful for this small step back into sanity. When he tensed and cocked his head, she thought he'd heard someone approaching. Fear for him surged through her.

Then she heard the wolf howl again.

I
t had always been said that dreaming of the dead meant more death would come, but Loka often dreamed of his son, and in the morning felt comforted because that meant his child continued to live within him. It had also always been taboo to speak the name of the dead, but whispering “Kina'n” over and over again had given him as much comfort as dreaming of the boy.

Maybe, Loka thought, not everything the shaman taught his people had been the truth.

Tory walked behind him, her breathing quick and soft, her shoes making almost no sound. She might never learn how to move as silently as he did, but at least she wasn't like most of her kind, unthinking in the way they traveled over his ancestors' land.

Wolf understood her, maybe trusted her. If he hadn't, he would have remained silent instead of revealing his existence to her. That was why he'd decided to bring her to Spirit Mountain. If she betrayed him, if Owl and Coyote warned him not to trust her, he would heed their wisdom, ask Eagle
for the truth behind Wolf's howl. And, if they so decreed, he would end her. Somehow.

“Loka?”

“What?”

“I don't know how you do it. You never get tired, do you?”

He looked back over his shoulder at her. Her cheeks were flushed; sweat glistened on her temples and her lips looked dry. He should have known she couldn't keep up his pace, but when he told her there was something she had to see, she'd agreed and he'd led the way across The Land Of Burned Out Fires.

Maybe the truth was that he should have walked away from her.

But she hadn't fought his embrace, and when she touched her mouth to his, a fierce need for her had taken hold of him and he hadn't been able to think beyond that. He wouldn't take her as a buck takes a doe. He had watched and listened and learned and knew that that was not the way of her people. Even if this was the only day they would spend together, he wanted to step into her world.

Her world? He was taking her into his.

“You do not want this?” he asked when she stopped, planted her hands on her hips and took several long, deep breaths.

“This? Loka, you haven't told me anything. We just keep walking. I thought—I don't know what I thought. But I have to know.”

“Wolf lives on Spirit Mountain. We go to find him.”

“That's what you said.” She shook her head, eyes tired and determined and confused. “But I don't know what you mean. Spirit Mountain.” She pointed in the direction they'd been going. “That's Schonchin Butte. At least I think that's what they call it.”

“Schonchin Butte.” The unwanted words lay heavy on his tongue.

For a long time she said nothing. Then she touched his
forearm. “Nothing's the same, is it? That's what you're thinking.”

He didn't answer because she'd spoken the truth. Although he knew she needed to rest, he spun back around and began walking again. As he always did, he kept his eyes on the land around him, watching for a sign of the enemy. He saw cars moving along the road far to their right. There were several hikers ahead of them, but they were so far away that they would never spot him. She could call out to them, with a few words put an end to him.

“Loka? I'm sorry. But I need some water. I can't—I'm not as used to this climate as you are.”

She would never be.
Instead of telling her that, he pointed off to the left, then headed in that direction. She didn't fully trust him. If she had, she would have started walking as soon as he did. Still, he didn't blame her, because he didn't truly trust her and maybe never would.

It wasn't the same for his body, he admitted a few minutes later, as he lowered himself into a cave opening that led to an underground stream, one of several that had once sustained the Maklaks when they couldn't reach the mother lake. His body cared nothing about tomorrow. It knew only that it wanted and needed her.

“What is this?” she asked once she joined him underground. She glanced around her, then her gaze settled on him. Too much white showed in her eyes; he wondered if she was afraid of being beneath the surface. Maybe the cave increased her sense of isolation, her dependence on him when she didn't want that. “I hear water running.”

“Earthriver,” he explained. “When the great fires cooled, the river was driven underground. In winter it freezes.”

“I've heard about that. My God, this land—it's absolutely incredible.”

He'd begun walking again, bent over in the confining space, but stopped when he realized she wasn't keeping pace with him. As before, her eyes spoke for her. He knew this place of cool, damp air and the sound of rushing water, but
to her it was nothing except darkness. Retracing his footsteps, he reached out and took her hand. She drew back, turned her body toward what she could still see of the opening.

“You are safe,” he said.

“Am I? All right,” she said with a sigh. “I'll—follow you.”

It wasn't far from the cave entrance to where the stream cut its way through rock, but the path down to the water was steep and narrow. Clinging to him, she kept up with him until he brought her to the water's edge. No light ever reached this place, something he gave thanks to because it kept the enemy from invading his privacy. Her breathing had quickened, telling him better than words that she felt trapped and helpless.

He could keep her here. She would have water and he knew of a level spot where she could sleep. He'd bring her food, and she would never leave him. Never betray him. Answer his body's needs.

But if he did, she would hate him just as he hated those who had taken claim of his people's land.

“Loka?”

“What?”

“You were so quiet. I have to admit this, I don't like it down here. I keep thinking how dependent I am on you. I can trust you, can't I?”

“Trust? That is for you to answer.”

 

What did he mean by that, Tory asked herself for the umpteenth time. Thank goodness they hadn't stayed in the underground cavern for longer than it had taken to satisfy their thirst. He seemed to be at home in that claustrophobic place with the unseen stream rumbling and roaring past. Maybe—she stared ahead of her to reassure herself that they were indeed getting closer to the top of Schonchin Butte—maybe her moment of raw fear hadn't been directed at him at all. Given where they'd been, it was a distinct possibility that the place itself had everything to do with her mood.

And maybe he was more responsible than she wanted to admit.

When they emerged from the cave, he'd gestured at her to remain sitting while he scrambled onto a boulder and looked around. She'd caught the echo of far-off voices and guessed that distant hikers had been responsible for his caution. She could have called out to them; they both knew that. But she hadn't—maybe because being with him was more important than life itself.

And maybe because she no longer controlled her own will.

The hikers had gone off in another direction, leaving them to continue toward whatever it was he wanted to show her. She'd had to stop and rest several more times and would have told him she couldn't go on if he hadn't reassured her there was water at the top.

They'd made it. At the moment, that was all that mattered.

“It's all right, Loka,” she whispered when he looked around for the third time. “There's no one here. There's so little vegetation, there's nowhere anyone could hide.”

Leaving his rocky lookout, he returned to her side. Although the sheen of sweat on his body distracted her from her surroundings and the endless view of what seemed to be a vast chunk of the world, she was glad to see that he, too, felt the effect of their climb. “I must be careful,” he said. “Always.”

“I know.” Were they insane? There was no earthly reason for them to hide. No earthly reason except that he was a man out of his time, a man no one but she understood. “Loka, do you come here much? I mean, there are several trails leading up here. And that structure I spotted. What is it, a fire lookout? People must be around all the time.”

“I know when the enemy walks on sacred land. I wait until they are gone.”

“Oh.” Her reply sounded so inadequate, but what else could she give him? The wind seemed to whistle up here. Maybe it loved the sense of freedom and space and agelessness and that was how it expressed itself. Mesmerized both
by the sound and the realization that she and Loka were utterly, completely alone with the world spreading out all around and below them, she slipped closer to him and wrapped her arm around his waist.

At the touch, all her weariness faded, leaving her aware of a man in a way she'd never been before. Instinctively fighting his impact, she struggled to take note of her surroundings. After all, he'd brought her here because this place was special to him.

But he mattered more to her than any place ever could. Claimed her awareness in ways she'd never imagined.

He slid his hand over her shoulder and pressed her against his side. She could hear him breathing, the cadence quick when he should be rested from their climb. So he was no more immune to her than she was to him.

So.

“It's beautiful,” she whispered, hoping that was what he wanted to hear. “Stark and yet—I can see forever.”

He turned her slowly, their bodies meshing and moving in perfect unison. She'd thought she'd seen everything there was to see while climbing up here, but the butte had always been between her and distant Mount Shasta. Now she could see, fully see, the massive peak. Even though it was so far away that it seemed more illusion than substance, it still dominated the landscape. Yes, the world below stretched out until it seemed to slide off the ends of the earth, but she would put her mind to concentrating on that later.

For now there was only the mountain and Loka, who had brought her here to see it.

“Yainax. Home of the gods,” he said softly.

“Y-ainax. Your gods. Of course. It's perfect. Loka, did you ever think what it must have been like for the first Indian who saw this? How overwhelmed he must have felt. How—maybe it frightened him.”

Loka's attention had been riveted on the mountain. Now he stared at her, blinked as if still trying to make sense of what she'd just said. “I do not know.”

“Think about it. I mean, I'm trying to imagine a small group of people traveling for weeks, maybe months for whatever reasons, finding this place. Their reaction to it. Loka, how did they know that this land had been created by volcanic activity? You call it The Land Of Burned Out Fires, which means your ancestors understood its origin. Those first Indians—were they here during the eruptions or did they come afterward? Why? What brought them and where did they come from?”

She pressed the palm of her hand against her forehead. So much of her professional life had been spent trying to answer questions exactly like what she was now asking Loka. Before, everything had been part of hypothetical observations, a matter of taking bits and pieces of the past and molding them together into a logical, practical whole. It felt different today—not just because she was talking about Loka's people, but because, maybe, he was the link.

“What do you know?” She kept her voice soft and low but couldn't still the excitement she felt. “Your people's legends… What do they say about the first to come here?”

“You want to know this?”

“Of course I do. Please tell me.”

“Tell? The Maklaks were created by Kumookumts. That is our beginning.”

She reeled from what felt like a door being slammed in her face. She was asking for fact and he was giving her, what, superstition and legend?

Maybe.

“Tell me.” She barely did more than mouth the words. “Please. Everything.”

“It is not for you to know. You are
sano'tts.
The enemy.”

Sano'tts.
“If you really believed that, you wouldn't have brought me up here.”

He stiffened, started to step away from her, then stopped. Eyes on the horizon, he squared his shoulders and threw back his head as if seeking something in the air, the land, maybe
the sky itself. “Without Kumookumts there would be nothing. He was everything.”

“Was.”

“He is no more,” Loka said with no touch of sadness in his voice. “He was The Old Man, the father and creator. When he finished here, he became one with the mist.”

“How did you come to believe this? Your parents—did they tell you?”

He glanced at her, and in the brief silence she sensed that he was again asking himself whether he should tell her anything. Then, his eyes probing so deep into her that she felt as if her soul itself had been stripped naked, he continued. “The shamen hold all wisdom. They are the keepers of our past, and we believe what they say.”

He was speaking in the present tense. If only it was in her power to make that time real for him again! “Cho-ocks, the shaman who kept you alive. Was he the only one you had during the war?”

He nodded, the gesture slow and even and sensual in a way she could barely handle. Maybe if he wasn't still touching her, she wouldn't be feeling this way, but she couldn't tell him to stop.

“Loka,” she said when she realized he hadn't spoken, when desire for him threatened to become a flood. “I—I've been trying to learn more about the Modocs. I, ah, I've read books—every book I could get my hands on—but they contradict one another. I don't know if there's truth in any of it. You believed in Cho-ocks's power? Completely believed in him?”

“Yes.”

Yes.
“Why?”

“Cho-ocks told me when to climb Spirit Mountain for my vision quest. I did as he said and Eagle came to me.”

He made it sound so simple, but maybe it was. From where they stood, she could just make out the thin, dark ribbon that was the two-lane road cutting through the lava beds. Except for that and the diminishing wisp of a jet trail, the small
collection of buildings that made up the park headquarters, nothing of the twentieth century existed.