Evalle and Storm

by Dianna Love

  Bidziil’s vision blurred then cleared.

  He glanced over to see Haloke’s intense gaze locked on him.

  Lifting a trembling hand to wipe his mouth, he said, “I’m trying to figure out what happened. That kid didn’t do drugs. I have nothing, nowhere to look.”

  She shook her head slowly, agreeing.

  “Nascha says—”

  Haloke hissed at hearing the medicine man’s name.

  He ground his back teeth, tired and short on patience, then plowed ahead. “Nascha says dark spirits walk among us.”

  She narrowed her eyes in sullen silence.

  Squeezing words from a cactus had to be easier. “What about you, Haloke? Why do you think Sonny did that?”

  She spoke with the authority of schooling a child. “You said he clawed his own face off. I do not see how he would do that even with a gun pointed at his head.”

  Bidziil had already come to the same conclusion. He’d gone to Nascha for spiritual help and walked away with nothing.

  Now he had to ask Haloke to go one step further.

  “What do you want from me, Bid?” she asked in a taut voice that brought him up short.

  Maybe she sensed his hesitation to ask a new question, but he sucked up his courage and got to it.

  “Would you reach out to the spirits and find an answer or even a clue for how Sonny died? I’m desperate to figure this out using our people. I don’t want to bring in outsiders unless I have no other option.”

  She drew up straight and stabbed a withering look at him.

  He held firm during her silent wrath.

  She ordered, “You must not bring in strangers. Outsiders will point fingers at our people for fast solutions. That will not deliver justice.”

  “Agreed, but I still need help.” He waited for her decision.

  Staring up at the sky, Haloke muttered too softly for him to hear her words clearly. When she finally lowered her head and faced him, she said, “I will ask the Holy People about this death, but Sonny’s wind could not have been in balance for this to have happened. To ask about such a death carries risk. They may show mercy and give aid, or they may refuse to respond.”

  She paused then added, “Or they could choose to take another action.”

  Even as an adult, he shuddered at contacting those spirits. He’d grown up hearing how the Holy People, sometimes called the Holy Wind, could play nice ... or not.

  “Are you in danger if you do this, Haloke?”

  The hint of a smile lifted one corner of her lips, but it disappeared just as quickly. “They have no quarrel with me.”

  Did that mean the Holy People might have a bone to pick with Bidziil? Or Sonny?

  She angled her head at him in question.

  He said, “I understand your warning. Please, find out what you can.”

  She ordered, “Move back twenty steps.”

  Once he reached the distance she’d indicated to allow her a private area, she began singing in their native tongue.

  Bidziil caught some words and phrases, but to his detriment he’d become rusty. No one in his inner circle spoke it often, but he should know his tribe’s language.

  The seer tossed invisible crystals into the fire, sparking tiny bursts of light.

  He stood there for a half hour, maybe more, but he couldn’t come asking for help and disrespect her by leaving before she spoke to him. To be honest, he had no idea where else to turn at this point without allowing an autopsy.

  Authorizing that would result in an uproar.

  His people believed the spirit had to be allowed to leave the body naturally four days after death. He might not believe as deeply as he should, but he did hold with not cutting a body open and trapping a spirit. He couldn’t leave Sonny’s locked in that grotesque body.

  Haloke quieted, drawing his attention. He started to move forward, then stopped.

  When another long minute had passed, she lifted a hand in his direction, waving him over.

  He hurried back, noting the sweat pouring from her face. Standing over even a small fire in this warm temperature had to be tough.

  “What did you find out, Haloke?”

  The gaze she turned on him was swollen and red as if she’d been bawling the whole time, but she hadn’t so much as sniffled. She spoke in a hoarse voice. “The Holy People are not happy with our clan. They will not share how Sonny died.”

  Bidziil slapped his head. “Another dead end.”

  “No. There is a path to the truth.”

  His heart clutched. “Are they willing to give us clues?”

  She frowned. “They are not servants to do your bidding.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Lifting a hand to silence him, she said, “Did Nascha give you answers?”

  “No.”

  “Did he send you to me?”

  “Nooo,” he said, drawing out the word to indicate he did not want to waste time on their conflict, which had been ongoing for years.

  “Humph.” She lifted her chin. “The Holy People sent a message. They advise that one of our blood will bring justice.”

  Screw it. Bidziil would endure Haloke’s criticism of Nascha with no complaint if he left with the name of someone who could help him solve Sonny’s death.

  Give Sonny a burial he deserved.

  Bidziil swallowed at the thought.

  Using his most respectful voice, he changed his approach for information. “Thank you, Haloke. Did the spirits offer anything more specific?”

  She closed her eyes, but her lids twitched with movement. “Sonny did not take his life, not of his own doing. They warn of more deaths until a wrong is made right.”

  “More deaths?” Bidziil asked, appalled.

  Ignoring his outburst, Haloke continued speaking as if she’d fallen into a trance. “The deaths will not end until the old one’s child comes to this land.” She hesitated and frowned, then continued slowly as if confused. “The Holy People say this child is of your blood. He will bring balance back where the wind is no longer at peace.”

  Haloke opened her eyes and started shaking her head. “That is not possible. Old one’s child ... of your blood.” She looked sharply at Bidziil. “That can only be Sani, but he is dead. He had a son?”

  Bidziil’s breath caught at what she said. He quickly explained, “You’re talking about Storm, Sani’s only child.” Bidziil cut off his next thought before he said too much.

  Storm had been born a Skinwalker in South America, something Bidziil’s people considered a demon.

  Bidziil had met him once.

  Storm would not come and Bidziil would not ask him.

  If the Holy People thought Storm could solve how Sonny died, then why couldn’t Nascha and Haloke work together to do the same?

  Haloke gasped. “You know of his son?” Then she pushed past her surprise and demanded, “You must bring him here.”

  “I’ll be honest with you,” Bidziil said. “Storm does not want to get involved. Don’t ask me how I know, but I do.”

  The smooth skin of her forehead scrunched in disbelief. “After Sani abandoned us, you would protect his son and not your people?”

  Bidziil’s gut twisted at that accusation, but he stated in a firm voice, “I will do all in my power to protect them and Storm, as he is my brother’s child. But expecting him to come out here is a wasted phone call.”

  She stood over the fire, staring down into it and speaking in a dead tone. “You may not have a choice, Bid.”

  “Why?”

  “I warned you about asking the Holy People for anything. Sani’s son can refuse them. That does not mean they will accept no from him.”

  CHAPTER 2

  In the Treoir Realm hidden above the Irish Sea

  Standing on the wide landing at the top step to the entrance of Treoir Castle allowed Storm a clear view of his mate as she walked away from him.

  The emotional distance between them felt wider than an ocean. His mind warre
d with his empathic ability, arguing that he should stop wasting time and bond with Evalle.

  She needed him.

  His heart still hammered fast.

  His jaguar pushed him to take their mate somewhere safe where nothing and no one would ever hurt her again.

  The resident druid, Garwyli, knew Evalle well. He’d cautioned Storm to not suffocate her. The druid claimed now that he and Storm had done their part, Evalle had to heal from the inside out. He believed none of them could bring her gryphon back.

  Evalle had to do it on her own.

  Storm couldn’t agree. Garwyli meant well, but Evalle would benefit from Storm’s power and healing once they bonded.

  Evalle crossed the lush open field and disappeared into the woods.

  Go or stay? Storm waged that silent battle in his mind. He wouldn’t allow anyone, even Garwyli, to keep him from protecting his mate, but she was in no danger here, right?

  Still, standing firm to give her room to find her way tore at his insides.

  “How’s she doing, Storm?” Adrianna asked.

  “Shit!” He jerked at being surprised. With his Skinwalker senses, few people managed to approach him unnoticed.

  The witch’s eyebrows shot up. “What’d I do?”

  “I didn’t hear or sense you approaching,” he admitted. “That doesn’t happen often to me.” Like never.

  She chuckled. “I’m insulted. You think I can’t sneak up on someone?”

  He smiled in spite of being caught off guard. “I would never underestimate you or Witchlock,” he quipped, noting the ancient power she possessed. “But you’ve said you don’t want to use that majik here, which means I wasn’t paying attention.” His gaze shot back to the woods.

  How long had Evalle been gone?

  Adrianna’s voice turned consoling. “I saw Evalle walk into the forest. Is that what has you jumpy?”

  Storm acknowledged the truth. “I’m having a hard time the minute she’s out of my sight.”

  “Everyone here who went with us to save her can sympathize, but she’s safe on Treoir.”

  He’d been telling himself that for days. It wasn’t helping.

  Adrianna asked, “How is she doing?”

  Unfolding his arms, he hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. “I’m not sure I can give an honest answer to that question.”

  “Why? Evalle claims your empathic gift is pretty phenomenal compared to anyone else, especially hers.”

  “Oh, I’m picking up plenty from her and that’s the problem,” he grumbled. “It’s as if her emotions are frenetic today. Sometimes it feels like I’m getting two conflicting messages at the same time.“

  Adrianna stepped forward and turned to him with genuine concern on her face. Her normal attire was that of a petite fashionista, but today she’d dressed down in jeans and a red button shirt with her blond hair twisted into some type of bun. A pretty woman, Adrianna could go bald and leave tongues dragging behind her.

  All but Storm’s.

  He appreciated her more for the friendship that had grown between the witch and his mate.

  Adrianna rarely showed emotions in public or touched others, but she gently clasped Storm’s arm for just a moment. “I don’t understand. Evalle’s emotions feel like what?”

  “Like there is so much going on with her it could be coming from multiple people. No one should have that many conflicting emotions at one time.” He caught himself and quickly added, “Please don’t share that, Adrianna, because it won’t help for everyone to think she’s becoming schizophrenic or ... hell, I don’t know what word would describe it.”

  “Of course, I won’t,” she assured him. “If she were human, what you describe sounds almost along the lines of a dissociative personality disorder.”

  Two guards walked out of the castle, laughing at some joke.

  Storm clamped his mouth shut and backed up a step. He rolled his shoulders.

  Talking about Evalle as if she were some psychotic basket case boiled his blood. He should’ve kept that to himself. His jaguar growled, ready to defend Evalle.

  “Storm, uh, calm down, okay?” the witch whispered.

  He glanced down at Adrianna, who stood just two inches over five feet tall. Energy pulsed through his gaze.

  Why was she staring at him as if his head was on backwards? “What, Adrianna?” His question came out on a growl.

  Keeping her voice discreet, she looked around first then said, “I feel energy pouring off you and your eyes turned red for a moment.”

  He yanked his emotions under control and checked their surroundings, too.

  Belador guards walked in a group on the far left. Gryphons flew overhead, swooping in and out of the clouds and gutting him with another reminder of what Evalle had lost.

  He would find a way to give her back her gryphon.

  His attention snapped back to the tree line. Should he give her more time? Back and forth, he fought to sit tight and be patient or check that she was safe every damn minute of the day.

  Adrianna tapped him on the shoulder and suggested, “Let’s walk.”

  With a last cursory glance to be sure no one stood close enough to hear them, he said, “Right behind you.”

  Storm waited until he and Adrianna were far enough from any of the others to say, “It’s killing me to watch Evalle struggle just to get her life back. She’s not happy Daegan isn’t ready to send her back to Atlanta to join the Belador teams, but neither am I. She freaking died.” He shook his head in wonder at those words and having watched her stop breathing. “I’m just happy she’s alive.”

  “I’ve been through my own trials with someone close, so you know I understand. But I also can see where Evalle’s anxious to get back to what her life was before the kidnapping.”

  Adrianna did understand. She never wanted Witchlock, but she’d taken it to free her twin sister who had been trapped by a crazy witch who had turned her sister’s body into a shell. The connection between the twins had to have been brutal with Adrianna hearing her sister in her head, screaming in agony for months until she could free her.

  The witch cocked an eyebrow. “What’s your plan? I know you have one and I’m willing to help any way I can. In fact, I talked to Garwyli this morning.”

  Storm held back a scoff. She gave him more credit than he gave himself. “I haven’t talked to the druid in two days. What’d he tell you?”

  She tilted her head. “Garwyli warned me not to interfere. He believes we can’t fix Evalle.”

  “He told me that too, but he’s wrong,” Storm snarled.

  She held up a hand then pointed at herself. “Messenger.” As in don’t take her head off for just sharing what she knew.

  “Sorry.” He seemed to be saying that a lot. Evalle wouldn’t allow him to say that word to her right now. She claimed no one was at fault for something none of them could have seen coming.

  Maybe. But he could have been better prepared.

  If he’d bonded her to him before she’d been kidnapped, he’d have found her quicker.

  “Storm, you still with me?” Adrianna asked as she stopped.

  Shit. Shifting his gaze from where he kept watching for Evalle to the witch, he muttered, “I’m back.”

  Adrianna continued in the same steady voice. “I also asked Garwyli if Evalle would do better here or back in Atlanta where she probably feels more at home.”

  “What’d he say about that?” Storm had thought the same thing, but he assumed Evalle would continue healing faster in Treoir where her Belador power got a boost.

  He’d brought Evalle’s two-foot-tall gargoyle, Feenix, to Treoir Castle along with her clothes to give her some sense of home. She’d been thrilled to watch Feenix play outside with no worries of discovery for the first time since she’d rescued him from a sadistic mage.

  Feenix and Evalle had a bond as close as any mother and child.

  That gargoyle had wanted no part of Storm nor would he share Evalle for the lo
ngest time, but Storm had been just as determined to stay.

  Of all the ways Storm had tried to develop a relationship with that possessive little gargoyle, finding Evalle in another realm and bringing her home had earned Storm a hug and being called, “Mine.”

  In Feenix’s world, that was the highest honor given to someone other than Evalle.

  Lifting her eyes to gryphons flying high in the sky, Adrianna muttered, “Evalle needs her gryphon back.” Looking to Storm, she said, “Sorry, it’s not like we don’t all want that. Garwyli said there was no way to know for sure if staying here or going to Atlanta would be better for Evalle without giving her the chance to find out. He firmly believes we need to allow her space to figure some things out on her own.”

  Storm grumbled, “I’m trying, dammit.”

  “I know,” Adrianna said on a sigh. “I also know how hard it is for you. I want to spin up Witchlock and fix whatever ails her, and I would, but I have no idea how that would turn out. Right now, Garwyli is the only one of us not hovering. He may have a point.”

  “Maybe I should take her to Atlanta.” Storm couldn’t say that with conviction. What about the preternatural threats waiting in the human world? “I’m torn. I want her home, but Evalle’s not in danger here.”

  “I get that, but being in Treoir is like going on vacation,” Adrianna pointed out. “At some point, everyone wants to go home. People heal better in their own environment in most cases.” The witch snapped her fingers. “Getting back to what I was saying, Daegan came in on the end of my conversation with Garwyli and argued that Evalle was not ready to battle anyone.”

  Storm had no quarrel with that opinion. He asked, “Did that change Garwyli’s mind?”

  “No. He said Evalle didn’t have to go out looking for trouble. Daegan stomped around complaining he did not want her in danger at all, then Garwyli reminded the dragon you wouldn’t let anyone dangerous get near her.”

  “Damn right,” Storm confirmed.

  Adrianna smiled at him and said, “Garwyli argued he’d seen Evalle in training battles this week where she could be hurt just as easily. Daegan said he’d order the guards to stay away from her. Garwyli threw his hands up and made it clear everyone needed to stop trying to run her life. That shut Daegan up for a second.”