The Soul Survivors Series Boxed Set

by Vella Munn

  "Get away from him!" Sebastian ordered.

  "No. I won't let you hurt him. Don't you understand, I can't!"

  Black Wolf grabbed her and tried to move her aside, but when she resisted he ceased his efforts, and she gave silent thanks. His hands remained on her, drawing her father's attention to that.

  "You are his whore!" Sebastian's cheeks flamed red. "My daughter, a savage's whore."

  "No! I'm pure. A virgin."

  "You think I would believe anything you say?"

  "That is your decision, Corporal." What she'd just said made her throat burn, but she wasn't sorry. Only then did she realize Pablo was on her father's left. Something crackled in the air between the two men, but she didn't dare allow herself to be distracted by it.

  "I will not run from you," Black Wolf said, his tone calm, cold. "It is time for us to stand face-to-face."

  She expected her father to shout Black Wolf down or, worse, finish what he'd begun last night, but for one of the few times in his life, the man said and did nothing. He looked old this morning, not beaten, but something had been lost. It was as if he'd left something of the soldier behind.

  "I am Chumash," Black Wolf continued. "Once I cowered from the leatherjackets, but if I allow that to happen again, I can no longer call myself a man."

  "A man!" The soldier snorted. "You are a savage."

  "To you, perhaps. But that is because you have chosen not to understand the ways of my people. What say you, Corporal? Do you believe the same as him?"

  The good side of her father's mouth worked; then, still silent, he clamped his lips together and turned his attention from Black Wolf back to her.

  "You have made your bed, Lucita." He bit out the words but spoke softly. "Now you must spend the rest of your life in it."

  Had she? Intent on the drama taking place around her, she felt a lifetime away from knowing the answer to that. Before she could begin to comprehend what faced her, Pablo urged his horse close to her father's. Nothing about the way he carried himself or the look in his eyes gave away what he was thinking. Had it just been a few days ago that she'd sat talking to him about the life they could share, the world beyond Alta California that they would explore together? She'd thought she'd wanted it—had wanted it—but now...

  "What is in your heart, Corporal?" Black Wolf broke the silence. "Is it in you to see me as your equal? To settle this thing between us man to man?"

  "Let me have at him, Corporal," the soldier hissed. Lifting his musket, he aimed it at Black Wolf's chest. "One shot, that's all it'll take."

  "No!" Once again she squared herself in front of Black Wolf, but this time he easily pushed her aside. Looking up, she found something in his eyes that kept her where he'd placed her. A warrior, those beautiful and expressive eyes said, did not hide behind a woman's skirts, even if those skirts might save his life.

  "Lucita?" Pablo pressed. "This is between your father and him. What is it going to be? Either you return with me, or I leave alone."

  Pablo represented her one and only way out of this existence. In her heart she believed this confrontation between her father and Black Wolf would have come whether she was part of it or not. Black Wolf didn't need her, not in any way she could see or touch, and what did he have to offer her? Certainly nothing like Pablo did.

  "What is it going to be, Lucita?" Sebastian asked.

  How had her body become so heavy? It took every ounce of strength she possessed just to stand upright. "You don't understand!" she cried.

  "I understand enough."

  Maybe her father did. She would never again be the child waiting for one of his rare hugs, never again know what it was like to be protected by his position in life. Pablo was offering her protection and security while maybe all she'd ever know with Black Wolf was running and hiding.

  No. Black Wolf had made a vow to never run again, and his decision might kill him today.

  "Leave," Black Wolf said.

  "You can't—"

  "Lucita, your way is not mine. You will never understand what it is to be Chumash."

  Nothing had ever hurt as much as his rejection; she bled in places that would never show but would leave her scarred for the rest of her life. Only dimly aware of what she was doing, she stepped away from Black Wolf, but instead of walking toward Pablo, she remained apart from everyone.

  The air smelled of heat and summer, of dirt and rocks and dry grass, but there was more to it than that... a hint of something—

  The sea.

  Humqaq.

  Wolf had been at Humqaq.

  Closing her eyes, she searched within herself for the memory. There'd been a closeness between Black Wolf and his spirit that transcended anything she'd ever experienced, as if warrior and beast shared a single mind, a single thought, the same heart even.

  "Lucita?"

  Pablo. But she couldn't think of anything except that extraordinary memory. Eyes again open, she fixed her gaze on Black Wolf, who seemed to have forgotten where he was and stared, not at the men who had come to kill him, but at the horizon.

  Throwing back his head, he stretched his arms toward the sky. The howl began deep in his chest, rose slowly, first touched the air, and then became part of it. Pablo, who had begun to back his horse, stopped. Her father increased his grip on his musket, as did the soldier with him, but no one spoke.

  Black Wolf's howl went on and on like a restless and endless wind, both beautiful and hard, ancient and utterly right. His eyes were nearly shut and she couldn't see anything of that most expressive part of him. Crying a little because of the loss, she discovered that her own throat was trying to make the same sound, trying and maybe succeeding, but she couldn't be sure because only what Black Wolf was doing mattered.

  "Silence!" her father bellowed. "If you are trying to call your warriors—Lucita, what in the name of the devil are you doing?"

  Trying to understand, maybe trying to find myself.

  A dark mist began to form at the base of a great spreading oak at the top of the nearest rise. She might not have yet noticed it if Black Wolf hadn't opened his eyes and she hadn't followed the line of his relentless gaze. After taking a deep breath, Black Wolf again called out and the mist grew and took on shape and definition. Shaking, she stepped toward the form but stopped when she could no longer sense the warrior's presence.

  "What..."

  "The devil!"

  "No, not a devil," she told her father. "Wolf."

  If anything, she felt weaker than she had a few minutes ago, and yet she would somehow find the strength she needed for whatever was happening. All eyes were now on the massive creature slowly walking toward them. From behind her, someone moved, but she couldn't make herself look at anything except Wolf.

  Black Wolf began chanting in the harsh and yet lyrical Chumash language. Wolf was his spirit, whom he trusted to show him the way to walk in both this world and the one that came afterward. Black Wolf had opened his soul and heart to accept Wolf and, because of that, feared nothing. He didn't want to leave his son, but if that was what Wolf had decided for him, he would accept.

  "You can't die!" she cried. "I won't let—Black Wolf, please."

  "Damnation, what is happening?"

  Her father would have to find his own answers, because Black Wolf cared about nothing except greeting Wolf and she couldn't take her eyes, her emotions, her soul, off what was taking place between a man and his spirit.

  Looking as if he existed in a world all his own, Black Wolf stretched his arms even farther and waited. Wolf, glossy fur shining in the morning sun, superbly muscled body striding effortlessly, headed unerringly toward the warrior.

  You cannot die. If you do, I will die with you.

  In just a few more heartbeats, the two would meet and she could cease her desperate prayer because Wolf, surely, would not let anything happen to Black Wolf.

  A new sound spun her around, shattering her although she already knew what caused it. The soldier had placed his musket agai
nst his shoulder, his arms ridged to support its weight, the barrel aimed at Wolf. Before she could so much as cry out, an explosion split the air.

  Wolf had to have been hit! No more than fifty feet separated soldier and animal, and the man's grip on the weapon had been so steady, his features so determined.

  Wolf—

  "You missed!" her father bellowed.

  "No! I didn't—here, I'll show you!"

  Urging his horse close to her father, he dropped his weapon and snatched his commander's musket. By contrast, Black Wolf still hadn't moved a muscle and seemed unaware of what was taking place around him, as did Wolf, who continued walking toward the warrior.

  Shocked into immobility, Lucita watched the soldier load and prime her father's musket, barely breathed as he again aimed at Wolf. She could have tried to stop him, but—

  The second blast was even more terrible and forced a shriek from her. This time Wolf glanced at the soldier, but that was all. No red stain ruined his magnificent coat.

  "You can't kill him!" she cried out as strength flowed through her veins. "You can't because he isn't of this world."

  "No! I swear, Corporal. I swear..."

  What did she care what her father and the soldier said to each other? Ignoring them, she focused on Black Wolf and his spirit as they came together, absorbed the energy and love between them, and believed that a little of that love touched her as well. With his arm now resting on Wolf's shoulder, Black Wolf acknowledged her.

  "I heard you call to him," he said to her. "The sound came from your heart?"

  By way of answer, she extended her hand toward the massive carnivore. After a moment, Wolf touched her fingers with a cool, moist nose and she didn't ask how he could have substance and be impossible to kill because she knew that he existed as flesh and blood only for those who understood, who believed.

  "Lucita?" For the first time in her life, she heard uncertainty in her father's voice. "What—"

  "Listen to me, Corporal," Black Wolf interrupted. "You tried to kill me. Because we are enemies, I understand why, but I will say this to you."

  A glance at her father assured Lucita that he was hanging onto every word.

  "I could have ended you," Black Wolf continued. "It would not have been a difficult task; my arrows are straight, my arms strong."

  "Why didn't you?" her father asked after a long and charged silence

  His attention sliding back to Wolf, Black Wolf spoke over his shoulder.

  "Because I am a human being, one who could not kill the father of the woman who understands."

  * * *

  "They will return. Your father may think about what I said, but the time will come when they remember only what today was to have been about."

  Although she nodded agreement to what Black Wolf had just said, Lucita didn't take her eyes off where she'd last seen her father and the others. They had left a few minutes ago, the soldier who'd tried to kill Wolf lashing his horse into a gallop, Pablo and her father going much more slowly.

  "He believed," she said as realization of what she'd seen sunk in. "My father has always said that the only things he trusts are his own senses."

  "It will not change him," Black Wolf said. "Maybe today he is different, but tomorrow he will look inside himself and see only a leatherjacket."

  "I know," she whispered.

  She'd sat down because standing had taken more energy than she possessed and because she needed to be closer to the earth. Black Wolf remained standing with his fingers buried in Wolfs fur, oblivious to his wound. She smelled the animal smell of the wolf, heard air going in and out of his deep lungs, and yet there was something not of this world about him.

  "You could have gone back with them," Black Wolf told her. "They would not have turned you away."

  "It doesn't matter." It seemed to take a long time to say the words. "That isn't where I want to be."

  "Where then?"

  Where?

  "Just—just before you called to Wolf, I smelled the sea," she said by way of answer. "It made me think of Humqaq."

  "Humqaq was in my heart as well."

  I know. "Black Wolf, your spirit accepts me."

  She looked up and into the animal's deep, dark eyes and knew she would never see anything more beautiful. "Humqaq sent me a reminder of that acceptance," she continued.

  "You believe that?"

  Yes. Needing to be held, she said, "A little while ago you told me I wasn't Chumash, but I can touch Wolf. Would Humqaq reach out to me if I had no understanding of what it is to be Chumash?"

  Instead of answering, he stepped away from Wolf and held out his hand to her. Accepting his challenge, his promise maybe, she placed her hand in his, feeling the heat Wolf had left there.

  "I said you were not Chumash because I wanted you to remember where you came from," he told her once she was standing in front of him. "I would not take you from that."

  "I... thank you."

  "Lucita, only you could decide whether to leave your past."

  She had, she thought as Black Wolf wrapped his arms around her and the emptiness inside died. No matter what she'd been when she came to this land, she was no longer that child, and the journey that lay ahead was a new beginning, one she wouldn't have to make alone.

  Still wrapped within Black Wolfs warmth, she stretched a hand toward Wolf, palm down so the creature, the spirit, could make the decision whether to accept her. Wolfs nostrils on the back of her hand burned her flesh, and the heat slid throughout her.

  "I love you," she whispered. She wasn't sure whether she was speaking to man or beast, maybe both. "You are so fierce, so powerful, and yet... yet you can be gentle."

  "You understand that?" Black Wolf asked.

  "Yes, now."

  "Why?" he asked as Yucca and her horse came into view.

  "I... I think you know."

  When Black Wolf ran his hand down her shoulder, she understood his need to make her part of him because the same need filled her.

  "I want to meet him," she said from her heart.

  "My son?"

  "Yes."

  "And then?"

  "And then I want to learn how to be a Chumash."

  The End

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  Want more from Vella Munn?

  Here's an excerpt from

  THE RIVER'S DAUGHTER

  The Soul Survivor Series

  Book Four

  ~

  The look tore at Barr. He didn't want to feel for this woman! Especially not a Rogue Indian. He wanted to press his rifle against her head and pull the trigger. Or, if not that, turn his back on her and go on his way. But her mouth was open as if she couldn't draw enough air into her lungs, and the slender fingers clutching her blanket to her had turned white around the knuckles. She glared at him like an animal in a trap.

  He pointed the rifle at her chest, not to protect himself, but because he wanted to see her reaction. She didn't take her gaze off him, and yet he wasn't sure she comprehended his presence, or how close she was to death.

  Didn't she care?

  Why did it matter to him?

  A few feet from her lay a snow-coated, human-shaped mound. He needed no explanation. This squaw had come after her man and, despite the danger, was mourning him in this lonely setting. This wasn't his business. Hell, if she wanted to freeze to death in the snow, he could care less.

  "Go," he said harshly in Rogue. "Leave this place."

  If the woman was surprised by his abilit
y to speak her language, she didn't show it. Instead she took a few steps, not away from him, but to place herself between him and the silent mound at her feet. "He's my husband." Her voice was as soft as his had been harsh. "Leave him to me."

  "Sorry. It isn't going to work that way." He pointed in the direction of the miners' encampment. "They'll find you before you can get him out of here."

  The woman didn't take her attention off him, but, inch by inch, he lost her. He could sense her self-absorption, a drawing into herself. She bent over, her arms wrapped so tightly around her middle that he could make out the distension of her belly.

  She was pregnant. And in labor. That and not a cry of grief was what he'd heard a few minutes ago. As he watched, an unwilling witness to an act as old as mankind, she repeated the bitter cry.

  "Go home," he ordered even though he knew it was too late. "Let the women of your tribe help you."

  She grunted. Sweat sheened her smooth, dark forehead and cheeks.

  Barely aware of what he was doing, Barr waited with the woman. Soon the pain would pass, and she would be able to concentrate again. The time took longer than he hoped it would and told him even more: her time was almost on her.

  Damn. Walk away. Just walk away.

  Finally, slowly, she straightened. She spread her legs slightly and faced him. The elk-skin covering had slipped off her head, revealing a waterfall of night-painted hair parted in the middle and framing high cheekbones. Even with the layers of clothing and the changes made by her pregnancy, he was aware of small, delicate bones and firm muscles honed by her life-style.

  Despite the distraction of finding a Rogue woman where there should be nothing except silence and snow, he remained alert. He had no doubt that she carried a knife. If he made the mistake of trying to touch her, he might pay with his life.

  Barr didn't want to go on looking into haunted, hurting eyes. He didn't want to feel a damn thing for her. She should have stayed in her warm house and waited for her baby to be born. Her husband's relatives, or braves intent on revenge, would have come looking for him. They'd have brought his body back to her.

  But those things hadn't happened. And the woman who was once again drawing into herself had no one. Even if he hated her and everything she represented, damn it, he couldn't leave her alone. Clayton had taught him to feel and care. And before Clayton, his parents had instilled him with the same values.