The pain dulled, and as the pain dulled, her inner vision cleared as well so she could see what had been hidden by the film of red.
Uniformed bodies mutilated like Ben’s had been.
A little village—one road, a tiny, ramshackle store, a bar, a church and trailers and somewhat shabby houses, some with parts of trucks and defunct snowmobiles in the yard, or deer hanging frozen from front-yard trees awaiting butchering.
Only this ramshackle store looked looted and so did the bar. The once handsome frame church was on fire, the body of the priest hanging from the cross in the churchyard. Another body sprawled in the road, and this one looked like a child’s.
Cara managed not to scream. She made herself blink and saw the room she was in again, oil lamps and a sturdy table scattered with the remains of food, and worried faces staring at her. Even Lynx looked mildly concerned.
Cara took a deep breath.
Her nostrils filled with the scents of cooling steak, red sauce, oily campfire coffee.
She made it out the door, and the fresh air contained her queasiness. Barely.
She still crashed to her knees in the snow just outside the open door, breathing deeply and trembling. “Visions suck,” Grand-mère said conversationally.
Hearing suck on Grand-mère’s lips set off Cara’s incongruity meter, but she couldn’t manage to smile. Lynx hovered next to her, as if trying to reassure her with her presence without being annoying—a courtesy she wouldn’t have expected.
“Easy there.” Jack’s voice was hard to recognize when he was neither sarcastic nor fierce and erotic. He placed one hand flat on her back.
The touch tingled like Lynx’s fur had.
Her stomach settled down. She still felt queasy, but not like she was about to be sick. She rocked back on her heels and looked up at Jack. Thanks, she mouthed, not quite daring to speak out loud and shake her tenuous calm.
He looked about as green as she felt. “Yeah, visions suck. I don’t get them a lot, thank the Powers, but they always shake me up.”
She stood and realized she was feeling much better.
“Inside with you.”
When she got back inside, she asked, “Is the church in the nearest town white clapboard, with a big honking cross in the yard?”
Jack nodded.
“We don’t get the local police involved,” she said firmly. “This problem stays in Couguar-Caché, or more innocents will die.”
She poured herself another glass of water. Glass in hand, she sat more abruptly than she’d intended. “I suppose it’s too much to hope for that shamanic visions ever involve playful kittens, winning lottery numbers or sexy people naked?”
Rafe, Jack and Grand-mère all shook their heads. “They’re not always bad,” Rafe said. “But no lottery numbers and usually no attractive naked people, unless they’re either in danger or dangerous.”
“Damn.”
She put her head down on the table. Grief was exhausting. Magic was exhausting. Being constantly over her head and outside her realm of experience was exhausting.
She yawned, took a deep breath.
The meat-and-wood-smoke-scented air in the cabin freshened. A breeze passed through it, carrying scents of pine and spring mud and new growth. Impossible not to raise her head and open her eyes.
Grand-mère’s white hair had the faintest of green tinges at the scalp, and a few fresh new leaves clung to the end of her braids. “I’m sure you’re all exhausted, but ponder this. The Americans think they have brought this evil upon us. Cara fears that she has. Jack is simply angry, and rightly so. But why do you children think evil is unique to your generation? This enemy has been with Couguar-Caché for generations.”
No one spoke, not even Jack, as Grand-mère started her story.
Chapter Eighteen
“The white human’s bible talks about the sins of the fathers falling upon the sons.” The green faded abruptly from Grand-mère’s hair. “But sometimes it’s more generations than that. I’m afraid, children, that you are caught up in a conflict that started before Canada was known as Canada.” She hung her head. “I made an enemy of a sorcerer once, but before he became my enemy, we were close enough that he was able to steal a bit of my power. He isn’t immortal, but he’s extraordinarily hard to kill, and since he has some of my power, I have not been able to defeat him permanently, though I have kept him at bay for many years. And he has a particular hatred for my descendants. Once a generation or so, he tries something. Always before, I have been able to beat him back before he harms the village. But this time, he has more allies, and as the wilderness shrinks, it becomes harder and harder for me to exert myself in the outside world. So I will need allies this time myself.”
The nature spirit looked from Cara to her actual descendants, and then to Jude and finally Elissa, studying each one sharply and yet, Cara thought, affectionately. Finally, she proclaimed, “It might work this time. It is hard for me to fight one who has a sliver of my powers and more ability to affect the normy world, but it should be less so for you. The sorcerer knows what the people of Couguar-Caché can do. But there are people in this room who are nothing like anything he has seen before. Unlike anything the world has seen before, in some cases.”
Cara had a ton of questions, but she needed a moment to digest the fact she’d walked in the middle of a centuries-old fight with opponents she knew nothing about except they’d killed Phil and at least two other people. Oh, and they’d known what she was before she did, which added to the terror factor.
Rafe didn’t hold back. “Grand-mère,” he said, respect for his ancestor overlaying rage. “Are this sorcerer and his minions responsible for my parents’ deaths?”
“It’s more complicated than yes or no. The ones who shed your parents’ blood were not alone in bearing the responsibility—and there were villains involved who were also saviors.”
She slumped as if the memory of all the time past, all her losses, was crushing her at once. “There is more,” she added, “and worse. For many years, he has attacked only those who leave the protection of the village—like your parents, Rafe, or his attempt on Cara. But the blood magic we found tonight was intended to break through our defenses and let him infiltrate our home. I don’t know that it would work. I am still strong here. But he is determined to try.” The old manitou pointed to the cradle where Jocelyn slept. “I think he comes for your child.”
Cara froze, expecting the baby’s parents to freak. Instead, Elissa nodded and said quietly, “I feared something like this would happen.”
“Why?” Cara couldn’t stop herself from asking.
“Jocelyn’s unique. She was born on the Winter Solstice, and she has three parents.”
“Yeah, but…” Cara paused as the words sank into her skull past years of normy experience. “Literally three parents? Three sets of DNA? How?” She’d assumed the baby was Rafe’s biological daughter, which was odd enough, since duals and humans couldn’t normally interbreed. Three parents, though, hit her freaky meter, which she thought had recalibrated so nothing that didn’t involve blood sacrifice of friends would jar it anymore.
“My heritage makes it possible, and a touch of fae blood in Elissa. Jocelyn has the bloodlines of manitou, human, fae and human, and two different kinds of dual. And her human ancestors included both witches and shamans. No one knows what she may become, but her powers will most likely be immense and unusual. This sorcerer has long sought such a child, and he will stop at nothing to claim her.”
The room misted, and Cara realized that when Grand-mère wept, even the long-cut trees that made up the cabin wept with her.
Rafe spoke, his voice a dark, angry growl, “They may have killed my parents, but they won’t touch my child.”
“Our child.” Jude rose from the hearth, and he no longer looked lazy at all. He looked dangerous.
But possibly the most dangerous-looking one was Elissa. She didn’t say a word, just gathered Jocelyn into her arms, but her aur
a suddenly filled the room.
Jack touched Cara’s arm. “You remember when I was trying to talk you out of going back to Toronto? Forget everything I said. This is going to get ugly, and I’m not sure I can get you up to speed fast enough to keep you safe.”
She couldn’t stop herself. Cara stood as she looked from face to face in the cabin. “Hell no. This sorcerer and his thugs killed my fiancé and my friend’s sister and my other friend’s kid brother. Besides, this is my mother’s village, and you’ve made me feel more at home than I ever did in Toronto. No one is breaking in here and kidnapping any babies. No one. Not even some ancient enemy even Grand-mère has trouble handling. This may have started long before we were born. But it ends with us. I’m in.” She patted her hip. “I may be clueless where magic is concerned, but I still have a gun. Though I may need to order more ammo.”
One by one, her new friends nodded. Grand-mère jumped to her feet and darted to Cara with amazing agility for someone her apparent age. “I knew you came home for a reason,” she proclaimed and hugged her.
“We have a lot of work to do, fast, to get Cara and Rafe up to speed,” Jack remarked. “I hate work. But it’ll give me something to think about other than revenge—while working on the revenge.”
Chapter Nineteen
“See that pile of kindling?” Jack pointed at something she could have hardly missed. “See if you can set it on fire.”
“I don’t want to set kindling on fire.” Cara chose her emphasis carefully.
“Powers, another student with violent tendencies. I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve told Rafe a dozen times, not that I expect you to listen either. Our powers don’t work well for killing. We’re supposed to use them to teach, and if someone’s dead, they can’t learn anything.”
“If they’re dead,” she said, her voice soft and savage, “they can’t hurt anyone else.”
“How very un-Canadian of you.”
“Lately, I don’t feel like the soul of polite moderation. I feel like setting someone on fire and roasting marshmallows over his smoking corpse. Though I suppose it would spoil the marshmallows.”
Jack made himself laugh. He knew the bleeding wound behind each glib word because he had them too and was masking them in the same way. He wanted to take a chunk out of the people who’d killed his brother, wanted it bad. And he wanted Cara, and he wasn’t good at being patient. The spring equinox had come and gone, and they were no closer to finding the sorcerers—and he was no closer to winning Cara. But he was doing his best to hide the anger and frustration with humor. “It’s a Trickster thing,” he mused, only dimly aware he spoke out loud.
“It’s a mask,” she responded, energy crackling like lightning in the icy air around her. “You make people laugh, you make people think, and you make them think you’re harmless even when you’re not.”
“Got it in one. Which is pretty good, because I was thinking out loud and not making much sense even to me.” He stepped closer, drawn by the energy and by the woman herself. Cara was pale, hollow-eyed, probably ten pounds thinner than she had been when she arrived in the village, and she hadn’t been carrying much spare weight to start with. She was pushing herself and the magic hard, trying to master in a few weeks what most young shamans learned in the course of several years, and the strain was showing.
And she was still beautiful. Still could give him an innocent look that went right to his cock.
“Feel the wood, Cara. Make it want to burn. Tell it it’s fun.” She closed her eyes, concentrating.
Concentrating too much. Her whole body was stiff, tense. Common beginner mistake.
“Relax,” he intoned, stopping himself at the last millisecond from putting his hands on her shoulders. That wouldn’t help either of them relax. She didn’t shy away from a friendly touch—but neither had she given any hint she was ready for more.
“Relax,” he repeated. “If it’s not fun to call the fire that lives in the wood out, you’re thinking too much. Ask Lynx for help, if you’d like.”
“She’d think this is beneath her. Wouldn’t want to dirty her beautiful paws. But she might get a kick out of it if I beg enough.”
I’d get a kick out of you begging.
Where the hell had that come from?
Once he thought it, he couldn’t get the image out of his mind—Cara stretched out on the bed, restrained by nothing except her will and his, her body lit from the outside by flickering firelight and from the inside by a fire he’d stoked with care until she burst into flame. He’d tease her until she was slick and sweating, sucking and nipping her nipples, lavishing all the attention on them that he hadn’t taken the time to do that first and last frantic encounter. Kissing each rib. Licking each scar until she knew the scars too were beautiful. Worshiping the plane of her stomach and the curve of her hip.
Only when he could smell her arousal reaching a point of madness would he work his way down so he could breathe deep of the scent of her wet pussy, ruffle the rich, thick pubic curls so she’d feel his hot breath caressing her. He’d open her labia, take a good look at what he’d been too blinded by lust to study before. A few light caresses, nothing more.
Not until she begged. And then he’d taste her, lick her clit and pussy until she came…
Cara elbowed him in the side. “Earth to Jack. Come in please.” He blinked, forced himself back to reality. “I hope whatever you were thinking about was interesting.”
Altogether too interesting.
“Look! The fire lit this time!”
The pile of kindling was blazing wildly. “Excellent! Do you know what you did differently?” Slipping back into the teacher role was the safest thing he could do.
Cara shrugged. “I started talking to the wood, trying to convince it that it wanted to burn, that it would be more fun than rotting, an extreme-sport thing. And then—poof! Goofy, isn’t it?”
Jack wasn’t sure, but he thought she was blushing. “Hey, it worked. We all find our own way to work with the magic, and a lot of the time it is pretty goofy. Are you sure that’s all you did?”
Now she definitely was blushing. “Okay, I thought about sex and fire. Fire as a metaphor for sex. I can’t explain it better than that, but as I was trying to come up with a way to convince the wood to burn, I got all these crazy images, snippets of old songs. You know, ‘Light My Fire’ and all that. I figured I was going to flub again because I was distracted, but it worked.”
“You,” he said with all the dignity he could muster while thanking the Powers his jacket hid his hard-on, “have been spending too much time with Elissa.”
“No, it’s just that I let myself think about sex again, and now it pops into my head at the damnedest times.” She stepped closer to him, within touching distance.
There was a pause that seemed to last a year. Jack’s body vibrated with need, but he willed himself still. There was no magical interference going on now, he was pretty sure, just desire. But if he made a move, he might spook her, undo the progress they’d made toward trust and friendship.
Cara wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you,” she said, her voice husky and smoky. “Even with all the tragedies, all the weirdness, I feel like I’ve come back to life. And you’ve helped.”
Jack wanted to say something deep and wise, or, failing that, something witty yet suggestive. Instead, he groaned, “Cara…” and pulled her close. She felt so good against him, so right. But he still made himself hold back.
She was the one who initiated the kiss.
Desire flooded him. Already aroused, he became as hard as steel. His cougar growled need, and everything in the world vanished except Cara’s lips on his, Cara’s tongue slipping into his mouth, Cara’s body undulating against him. He gripped her ass with one hand, fisted her hair with the other. But Cara put one hand on the back of his neck, slipped the other into the back of his pants so her cool hand cupped his hot ass, and instead of taking control of the kiss, Jack found himself in a sensual battle of wills,
one that neither of them could lose.
All too soon, though, Cara pulled away. She smiled as she looked at him. “Consider this a promise for later,” she said. “I don’t think I’m ready to take this too far yet. I’m still sort of a mess.”
“Not to mention we’re a little busy with the crash course in magic,” he conceded.
“But I’m interested. Definitely interested. I’m still not sure this is a good idea. But I want you to know I want to figure out if it might be. And that’s not magic making me say it, except maybe for my magic and yours.”
Chapter Twenty
Cara dreamed she had a cougar in her bed, and she knew it was Jack and she was safe with him, but sharing a bed with a full-grown, horny cougar seemed like a bad idea. She bopped him on the nose and exclaimed, “Bad kitty!” and he became wordy Jack again. Wordy, naked Jack, and she was naked too and…
For a second, Cara’s conscious mind butted in: I don’t like where this dream is going. Maybe I should wake up.
Then: Bullshit, I love where this is going. I may not be ready to jump Jack in real life yet, but we both know it’ll happen eventually. Meanwhile, I’ll enjoy the dream.
She let it take its delicious course.
When she woke, it was just after dawn, and her heart was racing. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the good kind of racing heart, the kind she’d expect after waking from a sexy dream, but the kind that came with a side order of sweaty palms, a taste of copper in the mouth, and a fierce sense of wrongness. She all but fell out of bed and into her clothes, possessed by a crazy urgency to be in the forest.
Cougar's Courage (Duals and Donovans: The Different) Page 11
