Ghost Stalker (7 page)

Nick reached for a slice of toast. The medicine seemed to be working, but still he took shallow breaths, which made him seem as much wolf as man.

Why then did she have trouble taking her eyes off him?
Curiosity,
she told herself. For with his face swollen and discolored, he certainly wasn’t easy on the eye, except for that perfect mouth. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. The sensual curl, the full lower lip and the slight indent in the skin below it. It was the most tempting mouth she’d ever seen and one of the few places not damaged by the attack.

She could leave now, but she sat rooted to her place, fascination battling with her survival instinct.

He chewed the toast and took a swig of tea and made a face.

She smiled. “It’s chamomile to settle your stomach and it’s herbal.”

He eyed the yellow liquid suspiciously, then took another tentative swallow. He was an oddity, a real Skinwalker, and she had him here, captive, after a fashion. She could ask him things that had always puzzled her.

Just don’t expect him to tell the truth.
She heard the voice in her head as clearly as if her mother had spoken the words and wondered again if her mom had already picked up some vibe about her houseguest.

“Tastes good.” Nick popped the last crust of toast
into his alluring mouth and then hoisted the soup bowl, glancing around. “No spoon?”

She felt her cheeks heat as she realized she had assumed he wouldn’t know how to use one.

Nick seemed to recognize her oversight was not an oversight at all. But he smiled. “I’m also housebroken.”

“I’m so sorry. I just never… I don’t.” She rose. “I’ll be right back.”

She made it to the kitchen, where she rested her head on the cool refrigerator door. His voice did something to her and that teasing… Why did he have to be charming?

She retrieved the silverware and a linen napkin and returned to him. “I don’t have many houseguests.”

He accepted the spoon.

She watched him and realized he had better manners than she did, dipping the spoon from the front of the bowl and moving it away from him before bringing the mouthful to his lips.

He finished what he could but did not lift the bowl to drain the last drop, as she often did.

Nick raised his attention to her and grinned. “Expecting me to lick the bowl?”

She felt her neck and cheeks grow hot. “Not at all.”

He lifted one brow, showing his disbelief, and they shared a smile. Hers died first.

“You weren’t there, were you?” she asked.

“Where?” he asked.

“The war?”

He flinched as if she had slapped him and glanced
into the empty bowl as he slowly shook his head. Why wouldn’t he meet her eye?

“I was a child then. With my mother.”

“Was she a…”

“A Skinwalker? No. Human. Fleetfoot’s exception to the rule. He hunted humans but somehow mated with one. A mistake that cost him his life.”

“Never heard that.”
Perhaps because it isn’t true.
Jessie leaned toward him, feeling the tension between them and something else. Why did he follow her every move with such interest? “I don’t know if I should believe you.”

“Truce was signed by both sides. The war is over.”

“Not to some.”

Nick set aside the tray and stifled a yawn.

“You should rest. Do you want something to help you sleep?” She did not wait for his answer but brought him two bottles. “This one is your pain medication and this one is one of mine, to help you sleep.”

He didn’t like her sudden animation. What was she up to?

“Thanks.”

“Call if you need me.”

She scooped up the tray and practically ran from the room.

Nagi finished with the woman and left her in the tangled sheets. He was not certain what would come from the night’s work. Unlike his fellow spirits, his body lacked a certain corporality. Bedding the woman
required possession, and he was not sure if the offspring would be his or his host’s.

Time would tell.

Now he would seek another womb that was ripe and fertile and then another. After all, a farmer does not sow one grain of wheat.

When his race of Halfling ghosts was born, he would be unstoppable. His race would rule them all.

But first, he needed to find replacements to guard the wolf. He had many able ghosts in his circle, but if he released them, Hihankara, the old viper, was sure to sound the alarm. Evil souls never left his circle once they crossed unless it was to enter the Spirit World and then out if they were redeemed by the prayers of the living, in any case, they could not cross to the physical plane without his help and the crone’s notice. Soon it would not matter. But for the time being, he had to keep his plans secret.

He abandoned his host and took to the sky, turning back just in time to see the man fall like wet cement to the floor of the garage. His purpose served, Nagi left him where he lay to hunt the earth for strong, ruthless ghosts clever enough to outwit a wounded wolf.

As he journeyed over the land, he kept an eye open for an Inanoka. If he happened upon one, he could try wounding it in hopes it knew the bear. He wondered if he could again stir the hostilities between Niyanoka and Inanoka. The two Halfling races hated each other and their truce was fragile. It would not take much to bring them to war again. On the other hand, the Inanoka might serve as allies if he left the animals alone. Perhaps
they would see the elimination of man as a boon. After all, many had once thought so and the species had only grown more destructive in the interim.

Either way, he knew the guardians of humans would surely stand between him and his aim. It was the duty of every Spirit Child to protect man.

This was why he could not fathom the reason the Thunderbirds had taken a wounded Skinwalker to his born enemy. And who could have predicted a Dream Walker would shelter him. The Thunderbirds, obviously, he realized. Why hadn’t the Niyanoka killed him?

There was a reason, but he was missing some vital detail. What was it?

It did not bode well. If these two could set aside their old grievances, their people might do the same.

The wolf had found an unlikely ally. But his ghosts could remove the Dream Walker and that would leave the wolf with only two choices—seek the Healer or die.

The first ghost arrived alone. He traveled through the wall and paused before the wolf. This one had strong sexual energy; it beat in a low throb even as he rested, calling to the female in a sweet song just below her hearing. But the woman felt it. Already her own pulsing beat began to change, answering his call, connecting them with invisible threads.

His predecessors had done their work well. The wolf’s body was broken and torn, but still he was a Skinwalker and not to be underestimated.

The Dream Walker had used Western medicine to
heal him, instead of her own powers. Did she not know her gifts could heal more than the mind?

Not that it mattered to him that the wolf suffered. The ghost did not mind another’s torment. But he did prefer pleasure. He had lived as a hedonist, satisfying his unique tastes mostly with children, young ones especially, and had been so adept that he was never brought to justice, not to human justice, at least.

But now Nagi had found him. Instead of judgment, he’d been offered redemption. It was better than he could have ever imagined—a chance he would not squander.

He had been a voyeur in life. As a ghost, he found this habit much easier. The wolf did not perceive him. What about the woman? She had powers of sight, but was not a Seer. Still, he would keep clear of her when possible.

He would wait outside of her house, unless he sensed some disturbance.

J
essie peered into his room before retiring and found Nick lying on his back with his eyes closed. His breathing was slow and relaxed and she noted the cap off the painkillers. What surprised her was the realization that she still found herself intimidated by him even when he was sleeping. She let her gaze wander from his thick black hair and over his brutalized face to the thick corded muscles at his throat. He had left his shirt unbuttoned and it was flipped back on one side, revealing his magnificent chest. Earlier she had been too embarrassed to look, but she did so now and felt her heart beat faster.

She had been around ranchers and cattlemen much of her long life and had had many opportunities to see young men shirtless as they went about their work. But never in all her ninety-seven years had she seen the
chiseled perfection of this man’s chest and abdomen. The smooth skin and thick muscle were broken only by the blue and purple bruising over his ribs. She winced. That must have hurt. The center of the bruising was punctuated by a small white bandage over the incision.

She felt sorry for his pain and that surprised her. It seemed the hatred her mother had injected into her only daughter was not as strong as her empathy for a man in pain.

He turned his head and winced, drawing his breath through clenched teeth. She took only one step into the room before his eyes snapped open and fixed on her. The muscles of his stomach tensed and she caught her breath at the sensual sight.

“How you feeling?” she asked, embarrassed at the strange strained quality of her voice and the tingling sensation rippling over her skin. It reminded her of the electrical charge of the air before a lightning strike.

“Better.”

He didn’t look it. She smiled and lifted the full glass of water as if it was her admission ticket. Then she gathered her flagging courage and crossed the room, setting the glass beside his bed, next to the medicine. “In case you don’t want to chew them.”

She leaned down to flicked off the light beside him. He watched her every move with such an intent stare, it made her nervous. Next she turned off the overhead light, leaving only the small lamp on the desk glowing dimly because of the large stained-glass shade. Then she backed away until she collided with the reading chair
across the room, fell back into the familiar cushions, leaping up again as if scorched.

Why was she suddenly so clumsy?

He continued to stare.

“I wanted to be sure you didn’t need anything else. Before I, uh, head to bed.”

His eyes were distrustful. She remembered the pillow, now under his head.

“Rest,” she urged.

He didn’t. “I’m a very light sleeper.” He glanced at the water and inhaled.

“Don’t be so suspicious. I’m not trying to poison you.”

“Because I could smell it if you tried.”

She couldn’t keep her mouth from dropping open. “Really?”

He gave a slight incline of his head. He stared long enough to make her truly uncomfortable and then turned his head and closed his eyes. She crept from the room.

When she checked on him an hour later, she made it to the chair beside her desk, and he did not seem to rouse, though his breathing changed. She did not venture closer, fearing he’d wake, but instead settled in her comfortable chair.

She closed her eyes to meditate. She was attuned to dreamers and so knew that her appearance had roused him, but not quite to consciousness. She had been wise not to draw any closer. She felt the moment when he relaxed back into slumber and exactly when his first dream began.

From her meditative state Jessie released her astral
self from her body, freeing her spirit to seek the wolf. Vicinity did ease in location and she found him quickly, surprising even herself. Her entrance to his dream caused barely a ripple, and has much more gentle than with most of her human clients.

She found herself standing beneath the shelter of the wide branches of a huge pine, which hid her in shadows. Jessie looked out on a sunny grotto, surrounded by evergreens on three sides and a rocky cliff face on the fourth. For some reason the area radiated power, like a holy place. There before her, below the altar of rock, stood a woman with long dark hair pulled back at her nape. She wore a loose cotton dress that flowed over her ripe body, revealing herself to be at the final stages of a pregnancy. From the look of her, she would deliver very soon. Beside the expectant mother stood a giant of a man, dressed like Paul Bunyan in red flannel and dark blue jeans. His earthy aura marked him as a Skinwalker, while the woman cast a bright golden light that said unmistakably she was one of Jessie’s people.

The Seer and the Healer.

Here were the two Nicholas had told her about. So they did exist, and they glowed with life. Somehow Nicholas had managed to contact his friends, but would they remember his visit upon waking?

Jessie always did, but it was her gift to speak to the living in dreams. Her grandmother had the gift of contacting the dead. Thus far, Jessie had been unable to reach anyone who had crossed to the Spirit Road.

But where was Nicholas? She knew this place and these people could not exist here without him. The
Healer glanced about and found the large gray wolf, standing so still he was nearly imperceptible among the trees.

He approached them from the opposite direction. The large man saw him first, or rather smelled him, his nose twitching as he turned.

Silly mistake to approach a Skinwalker from downwind…or was it a mistake? Somehow she doubted it.

The woman followed the direction of her mate’s gaze and her arms went up in surprise as a smile blossomed on her face. “Nicholas!”

The wolf paused, sat and curled his tail around his paws.

She moved slowly, but with grace. “Transform this instant so I can give you a hug.”

He did.

Jessie gasped at what she saw. He stood tall and strong, without a hint of the cracked ribs that had rounded his shoulders. His thick black hair curled about his face was not bloody or swollen. No stitches crossed his nose and cheek.

His face took her breath away, for it was too beautiful to be believed.
Such a face should be illegal,
she thought at the sight of his strong jaw and cleft chin, his mouth now only the punctuation to compelling eyes and elegant nose.