Ghost Stalker (2 page)

Her second reached the waitress and made sure Allie saw her slip the change into her bra. Her eyes set in a challenge directed at Allie, but the alpha chose to ignore her defiance, letting her keep the cash.

“Shall we?” said Alpha.

Nick helped her with her coat and then assisted her blonde second.

Beta hovered. If she had had a tail, it most certainly would have been tucked tightly between her legs.

Alpha paused and cast her a backward glance. “You coming, Becca?”

Becca hesitated, then followed the pack. Funny, she seemed physically the strongest, but that was not always what mattered in the battle for dominance.

They cleared the bar and stood on the sidewalk, still wet from the cold New York City rain. Nick’s breath came in white puffs of condensing air. He wore no coat, nor did he need one. His leather jacket would keep him warm since it was, in fact, part of his own furry hide. Nick was of the wolf clan, and like his brothers, he could stand the bitter cold.

Even at this late hour, cabs lined up, hoping for a fare. Allie hailed one and then slid into the back, dragging him along. Krista tucked in beside him, leaving Beta the front seat with the cabbie.

“Second Avenue and Eighteenth,” said Allie.

By the time they reached their destination, the woman had him half-undressed and hard as iron. He buttoned his trousers before exiting to follow the giggling women. The streetlights were switching off as night gave way to dawn but for him, the night was still young.

Allie paused to punch in a code on the entry box, releasing the heavy metal door. She turned, leaned against the panic bar and posed, giving him a come-hither stare. When he didn’t move, she grabbed the lapel of his collar and dragged him along. They passed the rows of silver mailboxes.

Krista hit the elevator button. The doors of the waiting car creaked open and Beta stepped in first. Nick faced the panel of buttons.

“What floor, ladies?”

No answer. The dank odor of decay reached him first, like the stink of an animal rotting by the roadside. He whirled to face them: these three women now stared at him with eyes that glowed yellow as a patient dying of liver disease. The stench of illness and death clung to the three possessed women.

Like all of his kind, he could not sense ghosts until they took possession of a body, but he knew with certainty that they had followed him. How many more waited for other victims to capture?

Krista pointed something at him. He threw up his arm but not in time to prevent some of the Mace from reaching his eyes. In this small space, all the women should have been affected, but it did not stop them. Allie slapped a handcuff on his wrist and clamped the other end to the metal railing circling the elevator as the door slid closed. None of the women selected a floor, so the elevator remained suspended in place, trapping him.

His eyes streamed with water as one of the three kicked him in the ribs, sending him to his knees. A barrage of blows followed. They tore at his face with their long acrylic nails, gouging valleys in his skin and tearing out hunks of his hair.

More kicks rained down upon his torso until he felt a rib crack. He struggled to his feet, still blinded by the chemicals burning the sensitive tissues of his eyes.

He had one chance of escape—no choice. He stretched from the rail, opening his eyes past the burning, and jabbed at the button that retracted the double doors.

They swished open. He reached for his necklace
made of the teeth of wolves and clasped the talisman concentrating his power. All Skinwalkers needed to hide their animal coat when in human form, and like many of his kind, he preferred to hide it in plain sight as clothing or jewelry. Instantly, the electric energy coursed through him as he changed from man to wolf, his amulet reformed into his fur once more. His paw slipped from the handcuff and he ran out the door and down the hallway, his claws gripping the industrial carpet. At the outer door, he lifted his front paws to hit the panic bar and then charged down the sidewalk. He barely made it past the building when the rush of adrenaline deserted him, replaced by pain. Blood bubbled into his throat. His rib must be tearing at his lung.

“Don’t lose him,” shouted Allie.

He charged around the corner of the building and transformed to human form as he called to the sky for help. Above him, lightning crackled at the arrival of the whirlwind. Inside, the immortal Thunderbeings swept over the tall buildings, creating a tornado that touched down before him with the precision of a scalpel. These great creatures had long ago given their favor to his people, agreeing to carry them from danger.

“Quick, he’s right there. Catch the wind with him.”

The swirling storm descended, bringing stinging bits of ice as it captured Nick. He called his friend’s name, knowing that Sebastian could heal him, but as he did so, he heard Krista’s delighted scream.

“He’s bringing us to her!”

All three women stood together, gazing skyward, eyes gleaming like yellow demons. Then the ghosts
released their hosts, causing all the women to fall to the pavement.

And he understood. They had not come to kill him—they had allowed him to escape. The ghosts did not want his mangy hide. They only used him to get to Sebastian, and to Michaela.

Nagi was hunting her again.

The Thunderbirds scooped him up, the beating of their mighty wings making the wind that lifted him and roared like a freight train. He shouted a warning, begging them to change their course, to bring him away from his friends. But the lightning cracked with earsplitting force and he feared they could not hear him.

Had the ghosts succeeded in joining the Whirlwind?

His head swam as he coughed up blood into the freezing air.

Still he cried his warning, growing dizzy from the pain. Nicholas struggled to remain conscious. He had to warn them. He had to tell Sebastian.

His vision blurred as he prayed he would not be the instrument that brought the Ruler of the Circle of Ghosts to his friends’ doorstep.

J
essie Healy saw the storm blowing down the valley toward her spread, a thunder dome so powerful it created twin twisters that reached sinuous black arms to the earth. The thunderstorm beat with a pulse of life and she recognized it from her mother’s description. This was no ordinary gale, but a creation of the Thunderbirds. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the men scrambling to bring in the horses.

She stood beside the corral, gripping the sturdy pine post as the winds increased, trying to catch a glimpse of them, knowing that if she did so, she would be changed forever. And still she could not resist the chance to glimpse a true Spirit.

The flying debris finally forced a retreat. The farrier held open the barn door for her to enter. It took both him and his assistant to drag it shut behind them.

The howl of the wind reminded her of a freight train as it passed over them, shaking dust from the rafters and causing the old timbers to creak like the beams of a ship. Darkness descended in moments. The horses pawed the earth of their paddock, shifting nervously.

Jessie flicked on the lights, turning on the row of naked bulbs that lined the center of the barn. She did not try to speak over the shrieking wind. The roar diminished by degrees and the shower of hay settled as the twister passed.

“Lucky it didn’t take off the roof,” said Hal, the farrier, removing his hat and using his forearm to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Damned lucky.”

He threw his rasp back into the open five-gallon bucket. The young man lifted the handle and headed toward the door, waiting for Hal to drag it back.

The tall grasses by the road now lay flat as if ironed, but beyond, her house remained standing. Hal’s truck, sheltered beside the barn, had been polished clean of dust by the scouring rain.

She saw the black heap first and took a step in that direction. The object lay in the exact spot where she had been standing before taking cover. How odd.

Jessie continued forward, away from the men who were congratulating themselves over her rescue, which was ironic as it was her duty to protect them.

A leg became obvious first and then an arm.

“What’s that?” asked Hal.

She saw him clearly now. He lay in a puddle of water, dressed in gray slacks, a black leather jacket and
matching dress shirt. His clothing was soaking wet and his dark hair lay plastered to his head.

“It appears to be a man.” Her eyes narrowed as she peered at him. His aura was wrong, very wrong.

“Holy hell,” cried Hal.

He dashed forward and rolled the man to his back, revealing the deep gouges in his face, but Jessie focused on the aura.

“Looks like he was clawed by a wild cat,” said the assistant. “Think it was that mountain lion?”

“You idiot. It was the storm,” said Hal.

His assistant pointed. “How could a storm do that?”

“Right. Might more likely a cat attacked him and then the storm rescued him and dropped him here.”

His assistant stopped arguing in favor of scratching his neck and staring down in puzzlement at the person in question.

The man’s aura shone bright iridescent pink. That denoted sexual energy. The pale blue that encircled him like a bright bubble meant torture, and the black centered near his ribs, a brush with death.

Hal stooped with his ear just above the man’s open mouth. “He’s breathing.”

Jessie saw the dark brown aura. Now that was a color she recognized instantly, for she had seen it before. This was no man.

“We gotta get him into the house,” said Hal.

The barn would be more appropriate, she thought but could not reveal her revulsion without seeming a madwoman. He belonged in the woods, skulking about
like the trickster he was. But she couldn’t say so, for her people’s law prohibited her from doing anything that would reveal who and what she truly was.

“Miss Healy?”

She glanced at the men to see them both staring at her with wary expressions. She did not want this enemy in her home.

“Yes, of course.” She turned away, preceding them across the dirt road. Why would the Thunderbirds drop an Inanoka on her doorstep?

For reasons of their own, Thunderbirds protected these dreadful creatures and knew full well that their races hated each other. She had never even spoken to one but had seen them, one still in animal form and the other walking down the middle of the sidewalk of Billings, Montana, fooling the men, but not her.

Why, by the Great Spirit, would Thunder Spirits carry such treacherous creatures on their backs? No one had ever been able to answer that one to her satisfaction.

She had the door open and led the way to her study, situated beyond the kitchen and adjoining her bedroom. Choosing this room simply because she did not think the men could make it to the second floor. Across from the computer and overstuffed reading chair stood a daybed overflowing with pillows. She began piling them on the floor, finishing just as the men carried in the creature. They had one of its arms draped over each of their shoulders. His shoes dragged along between them, trailing dead leaves onto her clean floors.

They lowered him to the sunny yellow bedspread and all three stood over him.

“Look at those cuts,” said the assistant.

“You might be right, Chuck. Something or somebody did that to him. I’d bet my bottom dollar on it.” He turned his attention to her. “Real lucky for him he collapsed here, unless it wasn’t luck. You think he was trying to reach you, Miss Healy?”

“How? I didn’t see any car or truck,” said his underling.

Let them try and work it out,
she thought, knowing they never would. Creatures such as this had preyed on men for centuries. It was the responsibility of all Niyanoka to keep mankind safe from creatures like this, but to do so without them knowing of her people’s benevolence.

Hal scratched his neck. “Damned strange. Better call the state police, I guess.”

“Or the volunteer fire department. My brother-in-law is right up the road.”

She felt a burst of relief, as if someone had turned on a warm, sweet shower to wash away all her troubles.

“Yes, let’s do that.” They could take him away. That would be best all around.

Hal leaned forward to examine the Skinwalker and Jessie tensed, ready to defend him if the creature showed any sign of aggression. She could not see much of his face past the bloody lacerations, but his dark hair was thick and straight, cut short on the sides, which—coupled with what she could see of his nose, mouth and jaw—confirmed he had blood of the first people. He had to if he was a Skinwalker.

“He’s bringing up blood. Gonna need surgery, I’ll bet.”

Jessie went cold. Surgery meant anesthesia and that meant this damned thing would change back into a beast right there in front of a room full of doctors.

She couldn’t let that happen. Jessie set her jaw against the bitter taste rising in her throat. She swallowed, knowing what she must do and feeling uncertain that she was up to the task. She had spent her entire adult life helping people and had never intentionally caused harm to any creature.

Even one like him.

Jessie fastened her gaze on the Skinwalker, pressed down by the weight of her responsibilities.

Her voice trembled only a little. “Phone is in the kitchen.”

Hal stepped out, but the assistant remained.

She glanced at him, forcing herself not to fidget. “Get me a towel from the bathroom, Chuck.”

As he turned to go, she nearly called him back but found her voice had deserted her. She adjusted her work gloves, pulling them over the cuffs of her long-sleeved shirt, before lifting a pillow from the floor, clutching it with trembling hands.

She had to. It was her duty to keep the humans from discovering about them and her purpose to protect humans from all threats, including shifters.

Her fingers sank into the soft foam and she hesitated. Her shoulders sagged. Then she held the pillow to her own face to stifle the sob. No matter what kind of monster he was, she could not kill him as he lay helpless
before her. But she could not let him go to a hospital. What to do?