Ghost Stalker (10 page)

“No? Why the hell not? We were perfect together, too damned perfect.”

Perfect, he said. Yes, that was how it had felt to her as well—the draw, the need, the connection. It had beaten between them like a living thing. If not for the bandages, the cuts, the fractures, she might be inching toward him even now.

Oh, no, she couldn’t. He was Inanoka, for the love of all the Spirits. Forbidden forever.

Yet she had bitten the apple and wanted—no, needed—another bite. How could she ever go back to the way things were before? The magnitude of her mistake sent her fleeing for the sanctuary of her bedroom. Behind her she thought she heard laughter, followed by a pitiful groan.

N
ick started after her and then stopped. His confusion made him hesitate, preventing him from pursuit. He’d made love to many women, but this experience was unique. The magnitude of his response gave him pause. He had never cared about anything this much. That meant he needed to be cautious. For despite his hard words, something about Jessie was different than all the others and that made her dangerous.

She had shown him a completely different side.

In his dream she was sensual and arousing. She took what she wanted and spoke her mind. He liked that and found himself drawn to her with a fearsome force.

What would it take to bring that woman into this world?

Don’t be stupid. She despises you.

But her reaction to him in his dream said otherwise.
A hypocrite, then, saying one thing while doing another. Which was the truth?

Most women were attracted to his human face and form. Perhaps in this Jessie was no different, drawn in when she had seen him uninjured and whole. But he could not account for his racing thoughts. She actually made him consider possibilities that were not open to one as solitary as a wolf. Things like a future and a home.

He thought he’d forsaken that fantasy long ago and was surprised to find it clinging to him still—tenacious as a badger. Only a fool would pursue that illusion. And Nick was no fool. He was a realist who understood exactly the kind of havoc love wrought.

His mother had shown him the folly of loving humans. They were weak, fickle and short-lived. So Nick had never seen them as other than a momentary hiatus from his chosen path. Although he sometimes ran with wolves, they knew him for what he was and that kept him from truly entering a pack. That left the Inanoka, many of whom saw him as the reason their greatest leader had fallen, and the Niyanoka, who hated all of his kind. Besides, it was love that brought his father to his death. Not the love for a woman, but the love for his child, the need to protect—even at the cost of his life. He knew his friend Sebastian faced this same curse even now, trying to protect his offspring from a true Spirit. He pitied him, but did not ever plan to place himself in such a vulnerable position—not for a woman.

He’d rather face his own death than give a woman his
heart. At least there was a limit to how much suffering one could experience while dying. Not so with the pain of love.

He groaned again and closed his eyes, knowing it was not over.

There in the night, he trembled with need for her, straining his control to stay in his narrow single bed. How had she stirred this reaction? He had never ached for a woman as he ached for this one. He’d always chosen when and who, keeping the power for himself and making the engagements brief. He had never faced anything like this gnawing hunger.

Was it because she was not a woman, or at least, not only a woman? She was a Spirit Child and that was something with which he had no experience.

Perhaps she had this effect on all men. It would explain why she wore such armor against invasion. But, oh, once he found the chink and crawled inside, she was all fire and heat.

He had three broken bones and the Great Mystery only knew how many stitches, and yet the throbbing that caused the most discomfort was well south of his ribs. He wanted her again—and not just in a dream. What would he do if she didn’t accept him again?

He groaned.

Nick reached for the pills she had left, seeking a few hours respite from his healing body and spinning mind. They were bitter, but it was not very long before his skin began to tingle and his eyelids sagged. The pain was still there, but disconnected somehow, as if it belonged to someone else.

“If I’m lucky, she’ll come visiting again.”

He slipped into a heavy sleep and did not rouse when a large black raven landed upon his windowsill. In a moment it had torn the screen away and slipped into his room.

It hopped onto the bed and strode up to his pillow, examining the line of stitches that punctured his skin. Then with loving care, it began to preen the hair that had fallen over his face. As it worked, it made a rolling caw, low in its throat, as if humming or scolding the sleeping man.

Jessie should have asked her neighbor to carry Nick to the upstairs bedrooms so he would be that much farther away. But she’d shut the heat off up there and the bedrooms were unfurnished, plus the distance from the bathroom and kitchen would have made caring for him more difficult. Just once she wished she hadn’t done the practical thing, because now he lay only steps from where she slept. She briefly considered moving upstairs herself, but rejected the notion. She would not let a wolf drive her from her bedroom.

Jessie lay beneath her coverlet, resting fitfully, unable to escape from her thoughts.

Of all the dreams she had entered, never had she been remembered. Not one of her patients ever even knew she was watching. None spoke to her unless she engaged them in conversation and no one ever touched her. She had never experienced anything like this.

Her breech of ethics galled her and she could offer no defense. What she had done was wrong—so wrong.

She had never been tempted to kiss a man in a dream, had never felt that exulting freedom that comes from anonymity. She had wanted him and she had acted on impulse.

And she had been caught.

She deserved every bit of his outrage. And now things were a hundred times worse. There would be no denying her attraction to him, not when he knew the truth. Since he had first spoken to her, she had felt the unnatural hum of desire vibrating inside her, but she’d fought it. She didn’t want to be attracted to a wolf.

Great Mystery, if her mother ever learned of this…. Jessie trembled, pulling the blanket up around her neck but gained no comfort. She glanced out the window and groaned.

Outside the world was black. The clock beside her bed told her it was the middle of the night, yet she could not sleep.

Her mind lay divided. Part of her wanted to sneak away and never have to face him again. Another part recalled her promise and wondered if he needed her. Did he need the bedpan or more water? Round and round her mind raced.

Perhaps she’d just hire someone to care for him, or bring him to the hospital. There was no danger he would transform now. He could heal there, safely, away from her.

But he wasn’t safe from her there. She could still visit him anywhere he went. How long could she resist his allure?

Why didn’t he have someone he could call, some
family member or friend? She had never met anyone who was so absolutely alone. But then she recalled why. Her people had killed his father.

She had promised him. She groaned and covered her head with the pillow, then tossed it away and resigned herself to check on her patient. She kicked viciously at the bedcovers and retrieved her robe.

The night-light in the kitchen cast a yellowish glow and provided enough light for her to reach her study. There she found her pace slowed. Maybe she shouldn’t. He was a light sleeper and she might awaken him.

Coward.

If he didn’t wake up, could she resist the need to visit him again?

She paused before the door as she recalled her promise to do her best for him.

Jessie stiffened her spine and entered the study, but paused as she realized what she was wearing.

She glanced down at her mismatched yellow-and-green fuzzy socks, her tattered lavender cotton nightgown and her very large men’s red flannel robe, which she’d taken when her father announced his intention to throw it out.

It certainly wasn’t something she’d like to have him see her in. The very fact that she even cared what he thought of her outfit, that she had for one instant considered changing into something he might find appealing, sickened her. It showed that she had no control.

Well, she would beat this thing. She was a Spirit
Child. It meant stifling her animal impulses and acting only after considerable thought.

Like you did earlier?

She balled her hands into fists, hating that little voice. Jessie clasped the doorknob and turned it very gently, cracked the door and peered inside.

The desk lamp cast enough illumination for her to see Nick, his head turned to the side, his chest uncovered and his breathing shallow. She took a step inside and registered motion near the wall.

A raven sat on the bedpost of the headboard, its sharp beak no longer tucked beneath its wing as it turned its head and fixed two bead-black eyes on her.

A bird in the house—the worst of all omens.

Jessie staggered backward, striking the door with her back and slamming it closed. Nick did not even stir. That frightened Jessie even more than the raven.

Had it killed him?

She flicked on the overhead light and then rushed forward to strike it, but the raven opened its wings and lifted into the air, landing on the back of her comfortable chair.

Jessie continued toward Nick, stroking his cheek and assuring herself that he was alive. She gazed down at the black stitches, knowing he would bear the scars the rest of his life. That, too, was her fault, for she had allowed a large-animal vet to stitch him instead of a plastic surgeon.

Jessie stood between Nick and the raven. Why was it here?

“It’s just a bird,” she whispered to herself.

She glanced about the room for a weapon and then spotted the torn screen. This was past bizarre—a raven flying at night and breaking into a house. She lifted a glass paperweight from her desk and hefted it like a hand grenade. It was then that she noticed the familiar brown aura glowing about the bird and something more. There was a gold glow circling its head, like a wreath. It was the mark of a spiritual creature. She had never seen this color outside of a Niyanoka.

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered and lowered her weapon. She replaced the glass orb on the desktop, keeping her eyes on the Inanoka. “I know you’re a Skinwalker.” She glanced at her patient. “Just like Nick.”

There was a flurry of feathers as the bird grew into a woman—a beautiful woman with dark flowing hair and eyes nearly black. She was tall and lithe and lovely. She could be a cover model for native beauty, wrapped in a cloak of glossy feathers.

An instant later she stood in a fashionable dress with fitted sleeves and a modest neckline. An outer corset constructed of crisscrossing ribbons hugged her slim torso, which made the free-flowing skirt appear even more feminine. High-laced boots clung to her calves. Her hair was swept up in a sculptural bun that would have taken an ordinary woman hours to achieve. She wore no makeup and needed none. The Skinwalker was stunning.

Jessie felt a roaring fire of jealousy consume her.

The woman arched a brow as she surveyed Jessie’s outfit with slow disdain. “I didn’t know the circus was
in town. But then, Niyanoka never did have any fashion sense.”

Jessie felt the sting of the insult. Her odd combination of night clothing was made more evident by the flawless attire the Skinwalker wore.

The woman was a knockout, making Jessie feel as though she had just crawled out from under a rock.

“How do you know what I am?” asked Jessie.

“A Dream Walker, you mean? Typical for a Spirit Child to think they are the only creatures who can read auras.”

This insult stung even more because it was true. She had been taught just that and Jessie could not quite keep her mouth from gaping open as she learned otherwise. It took a moment to compose herself.

“Why are you here?” she managed, keeping between Nick and this stranger.

“I picked up that Nick was in distress. I’ve been following him ever since.”

Jessie thought of the Whirlwind. “I didn’t hear a storm.”

“I don’t like the Thunderbirds. We had words. And the journey is a nightmare on my feathers.” She lifted her arms as if to show Jessie. “So, I fly solo. It takes longer, but the experience is unparalleled.”

Jessie recalled that ravens were the only creature that could fly to the Spirit World. That alone made this woman a powerful spiritual creature, but to be able to fly…

The Skinwalker strode past her and sat on the bed,
beside Nick. Jessie had an irrational impulse to shove her to the floor. Instead, she stayed close.

What was the relationship between these two?

The Skinwalker stroked his bruised cheek. “Look what they’ve done to you.”

She glared at Jessie. The look alone was enough to cause Jessie to step back. The woman had a savageness only thinly veiled by her high-end wardrobe.

“Did you do this?”

“I found him on my property, terribly injured. I got him help.”

Bess pointed to the sloppy stitches. “You call this help? You should be horsewhipped.” She was on her feet, stalking Jessie as if she meant to do the job. “Why you? Why didn’t he go to the Healer or to me? Are you one of his women?”

Jessie caught her breath, taken aback by the barrage of questions. Just how many women did he have?

“I never met him before.”

“This makes no sense. I will take him.” The woman returned to Nick’s side.

Jessie took a step after her and then stopped herself from the appearance of resentment. Damned if she’d let this mortician’s feather duster take Nick from her.

She quickly reined in her gut reaction and impulse for a quick refusal as she recognized that this solved her problem. Nicholas would be taken care of, she would have fulfilled her promise and she would not have to keep him in her home. Temptation would be removed.