Ghost Stalker

by Jenna Kernan

  Jessie sat beside him on the bed. She didn’t know when she began to stroke his long, muscular side, but at some point she noticed her hand half buried in fur as it made a rhythmic sweep. His steady breathing and the slow rhythmic beat of his heart reassured her.

  “You’re so soft.”

  It was past time to feed the horses, but she stayed where she was, as guardian or keeper, she was not sure which.

  He gave a growl and his legs startled as if in the midst of a falling dream. She jumped back and succeeded in scrambling off the bed before Nick’s uncovered eye snapped open.

  The black pupil contracted as he cut his husky-blue eye in her direction.

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were a wolf?” she asked, her fury boiling into her words.

  Nick could not answer in animal form. But he narrowed his unpatched eye.

  She leveled a gaze upon him. “Did you fight, Nick?”

  He met her gaze and held it, lifting his muzzle in a defiant posture, and then shook his head.

  “Your clan, then.”

  He didn’t deny it. He was kin to all wolf shifters, including the most notorious.

  Nick glared at her, his body aching all over. For some reason she had not killed him. But she had chosen not to cover him and that meant he would transform wearing nothing but his wolf pelt as a cloak. Then he need only touch his cloak to change it into any garment he desired. But he was not sure he could lift his arm. He tried his legs and discovered that they did not respond to his preliminary command, either. Had they paralyzed him?

  Nick closed his eyes and concentrated, feeling the rush of electrical energy that always came when he changed. For an instant it overwhelmed the pain. The bandage over his eye tore away as his face changed shape. He bit down to keep from screaming as the pain flooded into the energy vacuum.

  How he missed his friend Sebastian. The grizzly could fix him up in a matter of minutes. But he did not know if the ghosts had succeeded in following him and he would not take the risk of endangering his friend. That meant he was left with traditional Western medicine and that meant drugs.

  Jessie was on her feet now, staring wide-eyed at him. You’d think she’d never seen a wolf transform into a man. He tried to smile and failed, managing only to bare his teeth.

  She dragged a maroon-colored knit blanket from the back of her chair and tossed it over him as if casting a fishnet for minnows. Her efforts succeeded in covering his privates.

  “Did you know him?” she asked and held her breath waiting for the answer.

  “Who?”

  “Fleetfoot.”

  “Very well.”

  She wrapped her arms about herself. “How?”

  Cold blue eyes stared at her. “Fleetfoot was my sire.”

  She was on her feet in an instant and fleeing the room. She didn’t stop until she was in the living room, standing before the loaded gun in the gun safe.

  Fleetfoot’s son. She started to shake.

  “Jessie!”

  She flinched at the power of his voice.

  “Jessie, come back.”

  She did, but when she came, she carried with her a 32-caliber automatic rifle.

  Chapter 6

  What had possessed Nick to tell her the truth?

  He must have landed on his head. He’d spent his entire adult life denying his paternity, roaming from place to place trying to forget what he was.

  So why tell his secret to her when he had shared it with no one else? Her people had been the victims of his father’s bloodletting. Skinwalkers were nothing if not effective killers. All his education and attempts at refinement were stripped away by this woman’s hatred. She saw beneath the mask of civility to the beast within.

  How would he feel if their roles were reversed?

  He heard her coming. Nick managed to get one finger on the edge of his cloak, transforming his hide into a pair of jeans and the wolf-claw necklace he always wore when in human form. But the effort cost him, bringing a sheen of sweat to his skin.

  He crawled off the bed and limped toward the door when the crazy Niyanoka returned with a rifle leveled at his gut. She’d moved up from the pillow. Now at least, she had a chance of taking him out, slim though it was.

  While it was true that Skinwalkers were immune to most diseases and had a life expectancy some four times that of humans, they could not outrun a bullet. Injury, not illness, took out most Inanoka. His father had died of gunshot wounds and now he seemed about to follow in his sire’s infamous tracks.

  “You promised to take care of me.”

  “And I’m about to.” She lifted the rifle.

  The effort of getting off the bed and onto his feet had taken much of his strength. Still, even in his injured state, he had more than enough power to disarm her, before she ever pulled that trigger. But he did not, could not, harm her, even as she aimed the gun at his heart. What was wrong with him?

  “I’m not my father,” he said.

  “You’re his line. Fleetfoot killed my grandparents, my uncles, everyone but my mom.” She pressed her face against the stock and braced, her feet wide apart, in preparation for the kill shot. And still he waited, motionless.

  Had the Thunderbirds brought him here to meet his death? He stood silent and still before this woman who knew his shame.

  If she had the nerve, he would take the bullet standing like a man. There was no helping that he would change back to an animal at his passing.

  “I could say you attacked me,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “They all said I was crazy not to put you down.”

  He said nothing in his own defense.

  And then it came to him, the understanding he sought. If he died, Sebastian would be safe. The ghosts could not use him once he passed from their reach. Was this what the Thunderbirds intended when he begged them to protect his friend?

  She held her position until beads of sweat formed on her forehead. Her indecision was palpable.

  She gripped the barrel and released the stock. The gun swung upright. “God damn it!”

  She wrapped both hands around the steel, as if trying to choke it to death.

  Twice now she had failed to kill him.

  “Get back in bed,” she ordered.

  She stayed where she was, watching him return to the sanctuary of his bed…her bed.

  “You going to stare me to death?” he asked.

  “If only.” She turned to go and then spun to face him again. “Not only am I harboring an enemy. I’m harboring a descendant of the creature who tried to exterminate my people. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you.”

  “Because you don’t seem capable of it.”

  She flushed. “You’re a killer.”

  “My father was the killer. Would you judge a man whose father was in Hitler’s SS?”

  “Interesting comparison, since your father decided to kill men and Niyanoka alike.”

  “To protect the sacred buffalo when mankind was exterminating them for sport. He acted only when your people failed to take action to restore the balance.”

  She cocked the rifle but did not take aim. “You’re one of them!”

  “I was too young to choose a side.”

  “But it’s in your blood. At heart, you are an animal.”

  “As are all men.”

  She scowled. “You are a smooth talker, just like a trickster. But how can I believe anything you say?”

  He did not like to have his integrity questioned, but if anyone had the right, it was this woman.

  She held the rifle before her as she spoke. “That story about the Niyanoka marrying a Skinwalker. Admit it, you made the whole thing up to play on my sympathy. The ghosts, Nagi, all of it.”

  He didn’t succeed in curbing his anger at this. “That damn cloud of vapor nearly killed Michaela, attacking her using the dead body of her stepfather.”

  “Ha!” she said and pointed, as if catching him. “Ghosts can’t possess the dead.”

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nbsp; Nick lowered his chin and glared. “Nagi is not a ghost.”

  She lowered her arm, looking momentarily chastened, and uncocked the trigger of the rifle. “How did she escape him?”

  “My friend Sebastian attacked him. He is a grizzly shifter, very strong and a great healer. He found Michaela after Nagi’s first attack. She had a Spirit Wound.”

  Jessie paled and sank into her usual chair, laying the rifle across her knees. Clearly she was familiar with the kind of harm a true spirit could do to the soul, while leaving the body seemingly intact. Madness, coma, an unexplained wasting away could all be the result of such injury.

  “My friend saved her life.” He left the implication unsaid. A Skinwalker had saved a Spirit Child. It was her turn to return the favor.

  “But how could he heal a Spirit Wound?” She leaned forward now, forgetting her skepticism.

  “He couldn’t, though he tried. All his efforts only succeeded in keeping her alive. So he brought her to Kanka.”

  Jessie’s hands came up to cover her face. “He met the Witch?”

  “He indebted himself to her.”

  “Great Mystery,” she muttered.

  “Exactly. Nagi was tracking Michaela using the Spirit Wound. Kanka gave Michaela the knowledge she needed to heal the wound. Nagi still wants her, but he can no longer track her. My friend has taken her into hiding until after her pregnancy.”

  Jessie could not contain her shock. “She’s…”

  He nodded. “With twins.”

  “But what, what will…”

  He gave a sad smile. “Whatever they are, my friend will defend them with his life. He’s not fast, but he’s powerful as any creature I’ve ever faced. And I have no doubt that Michaela will be as fierce a mother as any Skinwalker and will love them unconditionally. She does not judge by appearances.”

  Jessie considered that in silence a moment.

  “But how could she marry him?”

  “She was raised by humans. Never knew who and what she was until after Nagi attacked her.”

  “Well, what difference does that make?”

  He shook his head and then leveled his gaze on her once more. “She had no knowledge of your laws, your beliefs or your prejudices.”

  Jessie’s indignation brought her to her feet. “More likely she does not know how treacherous Skinwalkers can be. She does not know how your people attacked mine or why we no longer dare live in clans. It is not so easy for you to find us now. Is it?”

  “If what you say is true, then why did Sebastian not kill Michaela the instant he found her?”

  “How do I know he did not? How do I know these two lovers even exist?”

  He had no answer. A moment later he closed his eyes and then opened them to pin her with a look. She had not seen this expression before and it terrified her. He stared with the cold dispassion of a hunter.

  “Then why have I not killed you?” he asked, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

  She stood, gripping the rifle. “Because I’ve given you no opportunity.”

  He laughed. An instant later he was across the room, seizing the rifle with one hand as he tore it from her and tossed it to the bed. He towered over her. She backed up, hit the chair and fell into the cushions. He gripped the armrests as he leaned over her and whispered in her ear.

  “I have not killed you for two reasons. We have an agreement and I do not kill your kind.”

  He stood, stepping back far enough for her to rise. She found her knees trembling as she gained her feet. All this time she had thought him helpless and he was anything but.

  “How could you move like that? Your injuries, your lungs.”

  “I am far stronger than a man.”

  He had made his point. He could have killed her anytime but didn’t.

  She stared up at him, trying to understand. It was then that she noticed the pallor of his skin. He had just had surgery and should be resting. Guilt stabbed her.

  “How much pain?” she asked.

  He gave her a weak smile. “I’ve had worse.”

  “I’ll get your medicine.”

  She retrieved her rifle. Once out of his room, she unloaded the gun and replaced it in the case.

  Only then did the trembling consume her. He could have killed her but didn’t. Was he her enemy? Did he tell the truth? She’d never been more confused in her life.

  She needed to know what was true. Was there a Seer of Souls? Was it possible that a Spirit Child would wed a Skinwalker and carry his children?

  She glanced toward her patient’s room. There was one way to find her answers. But she had never even met a Skinwalker before and so she did not even know if they dreamed.

  But if he dreamed, she would have her chance to learn the truth.

  She returned carrying the narrow white paper bag, and began removing orange canisters of medication.

  “Decided to put off killing me?”

  She smiled. “For now.”

  “Because I’m stronger than you or because of your promise?”

  “Both.”

  He glanced at the bottle she gave him. “What is this?”

  She inched closer. “Would you like me to read it to you?”

  He furrowed his brow as a suspicion clouded his mind. “I can read.”

  Her astonished expression revealed her prejudice. “You can?”

  “In six human languages.”

  Jessie’s jaw dropped in shock.

  He glanced at the ingredients of the narcotic and then removed two capsules.

  “I’m supposed to hide it in raw hamburger,” she said.

  He glanced up in surprise. Her face gave nothing away and he could not quite tell if she was teasing him or serious.

  “I shouldn’t think that would be necessary.” He popped the pills, chewing them to dust.

  She wrinkled her face. “Isn’t it bitter?”

  “I’ve tasted worse.”

  She resumed her place on the far side of the room. “Do you think, I mean, could you…” She pointed at him. “Put on something more formal?”

  He stared at his bare chest, hoping his undress unsettled her in a good way. He lifted a hand and touched his necklace, transforming his jeans into a full tuxedo with bow tie, undone.

  “Better?”

  Her initial shock gave way to a narrowing of her eyes, which she couldn’t maintain, and she laughed aloud. The musical tinkling was charming and encouraging. He touched his necklace a second time and his attire morphed again. Now he lay in loose-fitting denim carpenter’s pants and a sage-colored button-up shirt that would allow easy access to his wounds. He noticed a square three-inch hole in the fabric and lifted the shirt to examine the gap.

  “They shaved me,” he muttered.

  “For the chest tube. Lots of blood in your lung.”

  It explained why he felt so weak, but already his body was healing at an accelerated rate.

  She inched closer. “How do you do that?”

  “We are half man. This state is as natural as our animal form.”

  “I meant the clothing. It seems like magic.”

  He hesitated, deliberating before answering. It was not wise to provide her with information she could use against him, but to answer her might help bridge the gap between them. Something in her eyes called to him and so he told her the truth.

  “When in human form, we retain our coat. It allows us to transform back.”

  “But you don’t have your coat now.”

  He lifted his shirt collar. “I do. It can take any form, cloth, metal, bone, gemstone, as long as we wear it, to keep it safe.”

  Her eyes widened in comprehension. “Your necklace.”

  He nodded. “Many Inanoka wear their coat as a necklace, but I know a dolphin in Seattle who likes a tongue ring. It prevents her from losing her jewelry in the ocean.”

  “Dolphin? I had no idea.”

  It seemed to Nick she had no idea on many counts, but he kept his opinion to himself.
r />   “What about you? What is your gift?”

  Now it was her turn to hesitate. He waited patiently for her answer.

  “I’m a Dream Walker.”

  “I’ve heard of you. You can heal wounds while a person sleeps.”

  “My uncle has that gift, to heal physical wounds. I heal psychic wounds. I’m a social worker, working mainly with child services. That allows me to explore what a patient is unwilling or unable to verbalize.”

  “By sneaking into their dreams?”

  “I’m a professional. But essentially, that’s right. They never remember our conversations or the events they reveal to me, so my intrusion is very minimal. But while I am there, I can heal trauma, plant ideas, offer strategies and unearth truths that would take years to discover by conventional means. I can also learn if a crime is being committed. I work with the police when I find child abuse.”

  “You protect those least able to protect themselves.” It was a noble endeavor, but he wondered if it might be very depressing at times.

  The medicine had already taken the edge off the pain, making it easier to breathe but harder to concentrate.

  “Do you think you can rest now?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  Something in her smile put him on guard. She wouldn’t attack him when he slept, would she?

  She retrieved the blanket and draped it over him before drawing back. “When you wake up, I can give you something to eat. What kind of things do you normally, uh, prefer?”

  The tension in her posture and her uneasy expression nearly made him laugh. Likely she expected him to hamstring and eviscerate one of her horses.

  “Roadkill is good. I don’t have to kill it myself.”

  Horror blossomed on her face as she inched back.

  He grinned, pulling at his stitches.

  She cocked her head to study him. “Are you teasing me?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Were you kidding me about the raw hamburger?”

  She chuckled. “Yes.”

  He was rewarded with her smile.

  She turned toward the door, pausing at the entrance. “I think I saw a flattened ground squirrel out there. I could scrape it off the highway for you.” He liked her playful expression and impish smile.

  He made a face.

  “What do you really eat?”