The Hunter's Moon (The Secret Warrior Series) (14 page)

An odd twinge ran through her. She really must be under the influence of the moon to get sentimental at the thought of his demise.

Chapter Thirteen

The Wapicoli Gather

Footsteps muffled, voices stilled, Morgan retraced her steps over the darkening trail. Despite her earlier boldness, the clash with Mateo had taught her to be more cautious in the woods. Doubly alert to anything out of the ordinary, she kept Jackson’s coat in sight. Jimmy crept along right behind her. No need to caution him after what he’d seen. Hawthorne brought up the rear, and she’d no doubt his eyes were peeled.

Bad enough Mateo was a black-hearted gang leader, but a demon panther shifter taking shape right in front of them? Morgan never foresaw that, or anything else hidden in these veiled ridges. Did the residents of the remote valley suspect what lay around them? If not for the Wapicoli, their secret guardians, they would find themselves under assault from a myriad of sinister forces.

Life would be more
normal
at the lodge. Supper awaited the returning warriors and trainees. She was grateful Miriam and Willow took pains to prepare regular meals, and glad she wasn’t in charge of dishing them out. Pride warmed her that she’d proven herself worthy of sharing in the provisions.

There.
A whiff of roasting meat rode on the evening breeze and wafted through the trees.

What on earth had the two women cooked? She couldn’t place the beast, or was it a feathered fowl? The foreign odor reached beyond her conscious memory to a primal awareness she hadn’t even realized she possessed.

Were they serving wooly mammoth, or some other equally distant, supposedly extinct, species for supper? The aroma both heightened Morgan’s hunger and baffled her.

Distinguishing between scents hadn’t been a big deal before now. With her wolf awakening, this sense of smell thing had opened an intangible new world; almost overwhelming. Scents came at her from everywhere.

Jackson’s masculine essence was deeply stirring. She wished they could be alone together again. In him, she’d found her future mate, both body and soul, if the ice queen could be persuaded. At least, her highness didn’t loathe his scent.

Jimmy’s familiar aroma meant family, siblings, an unbreakable bond. Hawthorne’s odor spoke of friendship. This meal entree, whatever it was, conjured no positive emotions.

A wash of color pinkened the western sky when they reached the edge of the woods near the lodge. She stopped and gazed through the smoky haze at the surreal scene in the yard. It would seem they were eating outdoors and had company for supper. A swarm of guests were collecting; Wapicoli, by the looks of them.

Planks of wood laid over sawhorses created an informal table. Benches lined the sides, with seats at either end. Gleeful children ran among men engaged in conversation, while chattering women carried dishes of food from the kitchen.

The gathering drew Morgan’s eye, but the bonfire was the focus of her attention. The flames must’ve been tremendous to begin with, shooting into the sky, but had burned down and licked blackened wood over a bed of reddish coals. Ideal for cooking—what?

She peered past the gathering at the offering for the feast. Spitted over the orange glow was a creature that resembled a mammoth goose. However, geese didn’t grow this big, and the shape was—

“Holy moly. Is that what I think it is?”

Jackson pushed back lengths of black hair and studied the unlikely barbecue. “Yep. Looks about done.”

Hawthorne inhaled appreciatively. “I’m hungry enough to eat the whole bird.”

“I’m famished, too, but this?” She waved her hand at the roasting raptor. “How can I forget
what
it is, or was?”

“Whoa.” Jimmy’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “Kind of like having a dragon or a pterosaur for dinner.”

“Exactly.” She rested her case. “Where are we?
Jurassic Park
?”

Humor lit Hawthorne’s eyes. “Heck, yeah. We eat pterosaur a lot. Tastes like—”

She pressed her fingers to his mouth. “Don’t say it.”

“Chicken,” he blurted past her efforts to suppress him.

“Hawth’s never actually sampled pterosaur or thunderbird,” Jackson affirmed. “But he’s game for anything.”

She dropped her hand. “I’ll bet. You don’t really have pterosaurs in these mountains, do you?”

“Nope. Farther west. Our winters are too cold for them.”

Jackson could lie through his teeth and she’d believe him, but she expected he was serious. She waved at the browned offering. “Are you even supposed to eat those things?”

“It’s well cooked, if you’re worried about catching something.” Hawthorne acted like she was a germaphobe.

“Pretend you’re on an episode of
Bizarre Foods,
” Jimmy suggested. “Or that Uncle Don’s cooking. Remember when he barbecued rattlesnake?”

“Like I’d ever forget. Even Uncle D. might balk at digging into this.”

“Nah. He’d be stoked.” Jimmy was a big Uncle Don fan.

“I wish he were here. And Aunt Maggie,” Morgan added. “Maybe they’d take me out for pizza.” She was ready to bolt.

“They’ll come soon enough, and may want to do more than just take you out for pizza,” Jackson said pointedly.

Uneasiness stirred inside her. “You mean, take me and Jimmy back?”

“No way.” Jimmy shook his tousled blond head. “I’m not leaving. They can move in here.” He thumbed at the woods. “Besides, it’s not safe out there for us.”

“Relax, Jimbo.” Jackson clasped his narrow shoulder. “Okema would never allow them to reclaim you. Nor I. You’re both Wapicoli now.”

Misgiving pricked at Morgan. They were also Morcants. She could well imagine Aunt Maggie demanding they go with her, although she had no idea where. And who knew when they’d see Uncle Don again, or what he might want when he finally reappeared?

Jackson returned his gaze to her. “As to the bird, be reasonable. Did you honestly think people who make use of everything would simply bury your kill?”

“I suppose not.”

“No suppose about it. The meat’s not going to waste, and the feathers will decorate pouches, vests, headdresses, and whatever else the women fashion for the spring arts and crafts show in DC. The men make furniture and carvings. We haul a lot of stuff there.”

“We load a couple of pickups. It’s our biggest money maker of the year,” Hawthorne added.

“Using the feathers does make sense. And the meat, I suppose,” she conceded. “Appears they’re having quite a hoopla, too.” She shrank from the animated assembly. “Must be several dozen people gathered in the yard, and probably more inside the lodge. I’m not ready to meet the whole tribe yet.”

Jackson snorted. “Hardly a tribe. More of a remnant band. I prefer clan.”

Nerves fluttered in her empty stomach. “Whatever you call it, there’s a lot of them in one spot. Couldn’t I just sneak on past and go to my room?” She still had a few chocolate bars in her bag.

He flung up his hand. “You can’t
sneak
past werewolves, and blowing off a party in your honor might be considered rude.”

The pressure doubled. “This is for me? I had no idea.”

“Who else would it be for? You shot the main course.”

“Wow. I’m touched, really,” she said, fighting the urge to bolt. “It’s this meet and greet stuff I don’t like. Never know what to say.”

“Just nod and smile. Jimbo will speak for you. He’s got the gift of gab.”

“God only knows what will come out of his mouth.”

Batboy eyed her reproachfully. “I won’t blow it, if you won’t.”

Jackson smiled. “He’ll work the crowd like a pint-sized politician. And you’ll be fine. Everyone is excited to meet you.”

“Ding dong the wicked bird is dead. That sort of thing,” Hawthorne interjected. “Now, can we please go eat? Or shall we leave you in the trees and explain we lost track of you?”

“They’d never buy that.”

“Nope,” Jackson agreed. “The men have probably already detected your scent.

She surveyed the assembly while taking a headcount. “Are you guys actually related to all these people? Jimmy and I can count our relations on one hand, with fingers left over. At least, the ones we know of.”

Running his eyes over the crowd, Jackson shrugged. “Aunts, uncles, first, second, third, fourth and fifth cousins…”

“In-laws, outlaws,” Hawthorne wove into the thread.

“Whew,” she breathed out. “I’ve never seen so much family assembled.”

Jimmy planted his hands on his hips. “Put your big girl pants on, Missy, and march. Now.”

Chuckling, Jackson nodded. “What Jimbo said.”

“He’s imitating our drill sergeant Aunt M. She’ll be a force to reckon with when she does come. Worse than Uncle D.”

“Okema is up to the challenge.” Jackson guided her toward the multitude, with Jimmy and Hawthorne closely behind them. He bent his head near her ear. “Grandma Miriam isn’t hosting this party only because of your amazing shot, but also for your birthday tomorrow. Happy early birthday, Morgan.”

A dark cloud shadowed her anticipation. “Or wolf day.”

“That works too. We figure you’ll be a bit distracted for a mega celebration on the big day.”

“You think? That’s the understatement of the century.”

“Not quite. Of the year, maybe.”

No opportunity to debate this further. People swarmed around her, immersing her in a sea of faces. They wore a blend of Native American and country attire. She saw a lot of leather, buckskin, denim, and plaid flannel shirts. Colorful skirts swirled around the women’s ankles.

Thanks to Miriam, Morgan was a rebel in leather pants molded to her figure. Her blue eyes and blond hair also stood out in the Native American assembly, as did Jimmy’s. Even if the two hadn’t entered a pack of werewolves, the Wapicoli would’ve picked up on the differences between them.

Not all the people had NA characteristics, though. Some of the men must’ve married women from outside the clan. Maybe some of the girls had too. Morgan supposed they’d have to seek elsewhere for mates, at least some of the time, or marry their cousins. Wedding distant cousins was all right, she guessed, but they’d need fresh blood occasionally.

She wondered how the Wapicoli dared to trust the newcomers with their identity. The newbies must be sworn to secrecy on pain of death. Jackson had said no one could know the hidden truths of this strange world. Not only that, but if any male offspring born with Wapicoli blood carried the werewolf gene, that called for a heads-up, as well.

Everyone seemed friendly enough. Hands outstretched in greeting and rapid-fire introductions flew from eager lips. She couldn’t remember who was who or how they were related, but their gracious reception was vastly reassuring. This tight knit group accepted her and Jimmy without question. Was Okema’s blessing and subsequent agreement with Morgan common knowledge, or were they impressed with her shot, or both? The Wapicoli held skilled hunters, warriors, and courage in high esteem; she’d displayed all three attributes.

Did they not care she was a Morcant? How many of the men saw her inner wolf? She couldn’t yet detect theirs. It was rather like being viewed by a host of unseen eyes, along with the visible gazes.

Torches were lit. They visited by their glow and the bonfire’s illumination while Jackson’s father carved the bird with a saw. Morgan almost expected him to fire up the chainsaw, if the Wapicoli used power tools.

Good grief
. Had they stuffed the thing?

Miriam and Willow were scooping something that resembled stuffing onto a platter. They’d even baked pumpkin pies, and Morgan spotted dishes of cranberry relish, corn pudding, green bean casserole, and mashed potatoes. The whole event was like a bizarre Thanksgiving feast, considering what the main course consisted of, and who the attendees were—werewolves and the descendants of Star People.

One attractive man with long dark hair shook Morgan’s hand warmly and recaptured her attention. Beadwork embellished his denim jacket and he sported a brown cowboy hat and boots. “I’m Roan Wapicoli and this is my son, Simeon.” He closed his arm around the small boy gazing at her with brown eyes, then gestured at a pretty redhead helping at the table. “My wife, Annie, and I are grateful not to have that bird stalking us anymore. One less thing to look out for.”

Jackson really should’ve taken the shot, and would have if Morgan hadn’t distracted him, but she didn’t let on. “I’m happy to rid you of the menace. And glad Simeon’s OK.” She smiled at the child, who showed dimples with his cute grin.

“Yes.” Roan regarded her thoughtfully. “Word spreads fast among our people. We heard you had a run in with Panteras and crashed your car on the mountain.”

“We were attacked again this afternoon.”

He arched chestnut-colored brows. “What happened?”

Onlookers leaned in to better hear. Being the center of their rapt attention made her self-conscious. She glanced around for reinforcements.

Jimmy pushed into the huddle. “Morgan got in Mateo’s face. Wouldn’t back down for nothing.”

“She was protecting you.” Jackson squeezed her arm. “Maybe a little too boldly, but she’s got courage.”

Surrounding heads nodded, and murmurs circled the group.