“I wish you’d stop avoiding subjects you don’t want to talk about.” Damn, it was like having a conversation with Jed or Sam. Kid’s father and eldest brother shut down when they didn’t want to talk and didn’t allow the subject to be brought back up.
“Why?” But something that vaguely resembled a smile touched the corners of the man’s hard mouth.
“Because it’s annoying as hell.” It was the best he could do considering he didn’t even think he could stand up at the moment.
A sharp, biting sound filled the cave and it took Kid a moment to recognize it was laughter. Hell, I made him laugh. He wasn’t sure whether to be amused…
Or terrified.
“You feed on the emotions of others. You feel everything. You’ve been dining on the negative and positive for years blindly and you’ve let it injure you and warp you until you need to use it or you suffer. I haven’t let you near a woman, so you can’t drown out your own emotions on others. You can’t feed your beast and it turned on you. Our gifts do that, rip us apart if we don’t learn how to focus them, when to let them out and keep them chained.” Wyatt’s attention was definitely not on him anymore.
But he said ours… When had Wyatt’s gift slipped the leash and who had he killed? Kid hadn’t asked for that insight and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it. He turned the knowledge over and over in his mind, wrestling with the choice of leaving it alone or trying to fix it. He didn’t dare touch on Wyatt’s emotions, but he could use his words.
“So basically it’s your fault that I’m sick.”
That earned him a bland, dry look. “Go to sleep. You’re getting better and we can get back on the trail again.”
Somehow, he knew the teasing accusation had helped the other man. Unwilling to examine how he knew any closer, Kid finished the hard tack tossed the last bit of dried beef to the eldest Morning Star and let his eyes close.
The icy shadow of the man watching over him didn’t bother him this time. Oddly enough, it was a kind of comfort. If Kid failed, if he couldn’t get it under control, Wyatt would take care of it.
Still, a thought drifted across his mind that he wouldn’t have dared allow if he’d been more awake. Maybe I can fix what’s wrong with him before that…
Chapter 3
Kid, The Mountains
Three days later, Kid wrestled with urge to throw something at Wyatt. The man had said next to nothing since they’d left the desert behind and began to climb into the mountains. The higher they went, the colder the air turned. Kid couldn’t stop thinking about the last set of mountains he’d climbed in the snow or the dark hunter casting a bleak shadow over them.
That was different. The internal argument plagued him, because the only true difference was the man riding ahead of him was Wyatt and not Cody. The darkness chasing him wasn’t an insane wolf, but a more insidious evil—a darkness Kid had cultivated inside himself. But I’m not evil.
At least he didn’t think he was. Micah accused him of manipulating the people around him, which was true to a certain extent. He didn’t think he could admit it out loud. In the quiet isolation of this hellish journey his scattered emotions seemed to have no where to go, but inside. He wasn’t sure he wanted to look deeper at his motivations.
“Ask.” Wyatt’s voice broke the silence like the crack of a rifle.
“What?” The question came out edgier than he intended. Wyatt glanced at him, his mismatched colored eyes hidden by the brim of his hat, but Kid could feel the weight of his gaze.
“Ask.” The man reined in the big black beast he rode. Kid didn’t make the mistake of thinking it was anything but a beast. No horse got as large as the black creature and, despite its gorgeous conformation, it moved like a silk shadow and didn’t have any trouble with the climb, even as the snow deepened around them.
“It’s not important.” And you can go back to being icily quiet. Missing the camaraderie of his brothers, even if they gave him hell, was preferable to trying to converse with Wyatt.
“Okay. Suffer in silence.” Wyatt nudged ahead and they crested the next rise to find the sun scattering over the freshly fallen snow. The blaze of light was damn near blinding. Hundreds of prisms sparkled up, slicing across his vision and digging into Kid’s brain like daggers.
His mare shuddered a sigh and Kid rubbed her neck. The temperature dropped and the cold air burned in his lungs. Trusting Wyatt to not lead him off the edge of the damn cliff, Kid tucked his hat lower over his eyes to cut the glare. He didn’t manipulate people on purpose, no matter what his brother said.
And strictly speaking, I don’t manipulate them for personal gain, but taking the edge off isn’t manipulating. Mariska’s misery, for example, after her clan first abandoned her. He hadn’t really helped with that. He could have, he debated it, and he’d resisted. Of course, she poisoned me.
Later, even after he’d been mauled and she’d worked so hard to save him, he’d sensed her struggle and the need fighting to overwhelm her. He’d helped then. But she needed it and I needed her to be stable…
Cody, however, was an entirely different story. Tracking the Morning Star brothers away from Dorado for days had been far easier than any of them suspected because Cody blazed like a beacon of hostility and aggression. The blacker the mood, the more it called to Kid and he couldn’t ignore it no matter how hard he’d tried.
And God help him, he had tried. His fingers flexed on the reins. The gloves weren’t doing much to keep them from stiffening. After Sam’s wedding and the upheaval leading to it, Kid left the ranch. He’d left Dorado behind and went west. Maybe Jason had the right idea…and didn’t that thought fester. Jason had been running from the ranch for years. First it was too school and later to work.
Shock sucker punched him and the reins went slack in his hands. Jason had been leaving for years. When they were eight and ten, Jason asked to go visit their maternal grandparents and later it was to attend a boarding school and later after that, he’d written to stay on and attend college. Jason had been leaving since he’d been old enough to ask.
Kid hadn’t.
I always said I wanted to go, but I couldn’t make myself leave. Even when I left with Cody—a part of me expected to be dragged back. So why the hell didn’t I want to get out of there sooner? His father. Just thinking about Jebidiah William Kane senior made his soul ache. For as long as Kid could remember, Jed Kane showed the ranch a stern, taciturn face. He was the weathered oak, strong and sturdy. He gave instructions and the ranch hands hurried to comply. The same could be said for Kid’s eldest brothers. Sam and Micah lived to please the old man. They became twinning aspects of their father—Sam in his steadfast leadership and Micah in his dedication to tending the needs of the ranch. Jed’s influence had been everywhere and they’d dutifully followed the path he blazed for them.
But not Kid. Jed and Kid had shared a tenuous relationship at best. His father had always been busy, always hurrying on to the next task. Every time Kid told himself that was okay, he’d find himself trapped with his father. The weight of his disappointment and grief—a black, choking morass that sucked all the life out of Kid’s soul and left him devastated and empty.
So, he avoided his father.
He’d avoided his father for years. But the blackness continued to fester and Kid couldn’t escape the knowledge that he was the source of that grief. He’d cost Jed Kane the woman he cared about when he’d been born. Every year on his birthday, Jed sought him out, took his hand and led him beneath the old weeping willow to Molly’s grave. They’d sit together on the bench his father installed for hours.
It had taken Kid years to learn to just absent himself on those days. His father would rail at him for disappearing, but his temper was far less potent than his grief. Kid preferred the anger to the crushing disappointment. He’d never be able to please his father. Hell, the last time Jed reached out to try and talk to him left Kid’s soul lacerated in a thousand tiny cuts until he’d felt shredded from insid
e out.
The world tilted sideways and Kid slammed into the snow. The icy impact sent all the air whooshing out of his lungs. Blinking slowly, he stared up at Wyatt’s looming presence.
“What…?” The words came out a croak and Kid winced. Snow slipped down the collar of his shirt and the cold burned and cut at in the same moment. Wyatt fisted his jacket and hauled him upright. Kid spread his arms out, fighting for his equilibrium and to avoid any actual physical contact with the man.
“You’re bleeding.” Wyatt’s expression was a grim mask. “And you were turning your gift inward again. We don’t have time for you to get sick. It’s colder on the mountain than the desert and snow is coming. I’ve been gone long enough. If you can’t handle it, I’ll put you down and carry you up the rest of the way.”
Waiting until after Wyatt released him, Kid stumbled back a step and then touched a gloved hand to his nose. Blood trickled down. Wyatt pointed to his ear and Kid found blood there, too. That’s new… But the thought didn’t carry even an ounce of comfort. “I was thinking about my father.”
The eldest Morning Star said nothing.
“Fine, I was thinking about my whole family.” Kid looked away from the cool assessment in that hard face and down at the packed snow. He’d landed hard, but the ground was soft. It didn’t explain bruises inside or the ache spreading out in his chest. When Wyatt continued to say nothing, Kid eased back a step. Coming on this damn journey had been a mistake.
He’d gone west before to escape all of it, to put distance between himself and the raw wounds around him… And look how well that worked out. Not only did I have to go back, they carried me back, unconscious. For a little while, a scant few blissful weeks, he’d been numb to the world around him. No emotions battered him, no self-loathing, no hatred, no desire, no want, nothing that didn’t belong to him.
And I nearly got everyone killed because I let that bastard Quon on the ranch. Revulsion twisted with guilt and burrowed sickeningly in his stomach. He’d buggered it all with that addlebrained move. He ruined everything he touched.
The blow cut across his face so hard that his ears rang and the world narrowed to the stinging pain of his face. Pressing his gloved palm to his cheek, his attention wrenched back to Wyatt.
“Last chance to decide.” Flat and implacable. Wyatt hadn’t actually touched him, but he’d—
“What the hell are you?” The question burst out on a wild wave of frustration.
“A man who wants to get home and I’m tired of the little boy feeling sorry for himself. You were dealt a raw deal. You have two choices—you can keep wallowing or you can grow up.” Harsh, abrasive, and utterly lacking in any heat. When Kid pushed people this hard, their emotions spilled out, but nothing escaped the icy trap of Wyatt’s reserve. “Up there, you have a chance to get your life back. Down here, you’ll be dead inside a week if you’re lucky.”
More curious than afraid, Kid poked the bear. “What do you mean if I’m lucky?”
“You have no sense of control and you’re used to sucking in the emotional experiences of everyone around you—I doubt you have any idea what you actually feel. But gifts like yours—you’ll be drawn to darkness and you’ll want to take it in, you’ll want to take the edge off, that’s what you’ll tell yourself. You’ll want to fix people.” The eerie echo of a half-forgotten thought froze Kid all the way to his marrow. “Just like you want to fix me. Don’t you?”
Kid swallowed. If he said nothing, it neither confirmed nor denied.
Wyatt took a step closer. “Go ahead, Kid. Fix me.”
Fear coiled around him. “What are you? Exactly?”
“You can find out.” A faint smile curved Wyatt’s mouth and the sight terrified Kid more than his scowl. “Go ahead. You’re dying to unleash it, it wants out—let it out.”
His heart slammed against his ribs and the fear coiling inside of him tensed, muscles bunching as though it wanted to spring.
“Do. It.” Wyatt lunged forward, stopping just an inch from Kid’s face. A distant part of his mind shrieked, a child’s terrified scream and it cut off abruptly. The clawing need to rip away the icy veil separating them left deep, and bloody scores inside him, but Kid wrenched the coiling beast back and stomped on it like a fire that needed to be put out.
“No.” The word vibrated with effort, but he pushed it past the nausea clogging his throat.
“Better. Now say it like you mean it.”
Kid swallowed, bitter rebellion souring his stomach. “No. I—“ He swallowed the lie unspoken and blinked.
“Problem?” Wyatt didn’t back away from him, didn’t give him any space, but the cold presence actually helped. Like icy air clearing away the stuffy, hazy smoke of a cabin with a dirty chimney.
“I can’t fix you,” Kid said slowly. “At least not yet.” The violent need to act evaporated in the same moment. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you.”
“Do you know what’s wrong with you?”
Exhaling a slow, shuddering breath, Kid elected to not lie this time either. “No. You keep saying it’s my gift turning on me, but…”
“But…?” Dammit the man wouldn’t leave him alone.
“But I don’t know if you’re lying or simply telling me what you want me to hear so I’ll keep digging around inside of myself. Tell someone the same thing enough times and they will believe it.” He practically spit the words and a second wave of shock slapped him, only this time it was an internal blow. Wyatt didn’t move, he didn’t blink—but his scary ass smile grew.
“Much better. Now you’re thinking instead of reacting.” He jerked his thumb toward the horses. “Mount up. We’re going to ride into the night, it’s too cold to stop for long and your mare will have problems.”
The man pivoted and stalked back over to his horse and swung himself up in the saddle, completely assured of his cooperation. And Kid trailed after him, his mind churning, but this time the wildness in his blood didn’t make his skin feel like it was going to itch off his body.
“You’re a jackass.” He muttered as he dragged himself back into the saddle.
“I’ve been called worse,” Wyatt grinned, a true grin and it caught Kid so off guard that he could do no more than stare. He turned the stallion back toward the trail only they seemed to see and the mare trotted after, unwilling to wait for Kid’s nudge this time.
After a moment of silence, Kid snorted.
“What?” Wyatt’s voice floated back.
“I’m sure I’ll have worse names for you as I get to know you better.”
A second sound, so unexpected and so alien, drifted back and Kid blinked hard, rocked nearly to core. Wyatt laughing rattled him.
* * *
Frozen solid, Kid didn’t argue or complain when Wyatt sent him toward the house. Quanto stood on the porch as Kid shivered and shuddered his way in a bow-legged walk up the wooden steps. His fingers didn’t want to work, and his gloves were frozen to his jacket. Frosted—he’d been frosted by the frigid air and the godforsaken snow that started falling about an hour before Wyatt announced they’d arrived.
The old Indian seemed even older, if that were possible, than their first meeting nearly a year and a half before, but he moved with more freedom than Kid felt. Opening the door, he motioned inside. “The fire is there.” He pointed to the large hearth, as if Kid might have missed it.
Not stopping for fear he might not be able to start again, Kid stumbled over to the hearth. Sinking down to sit on the stones in front of the roaring blaze, he couldn’t feel the warmth penetrating the icy shell encasing him.
Some part of his brain said to take his gloves off, but they wouldn’t come. They were stuck. Quanto appeared in front of him. In two swift moves, the man tugged Kid’s gloves off and set them down on the stone. Next came Kid’s jacket and he swore he could hear the crunch of ice as it crackled along his sleeves. A frigid burn scaled his spine and then his shirt was off.
“Help him with his boots, Rudy.”
Quanto’s words barely penetrated the fog of exhaustion hazing Kid’s vision. He turned his head to see who the hell Quanto spoke to and stared at a man about his age with an easy smile and a hell of a lot of freckles on his face. They ran together like ink splotches that stained.
“I have them.” He had Kid’s boots.
When the hell did he get the boots? The frigid burn lit up along his arms and then his hands cramped as painful shivers of awareness dug up from his fingernails to scale back up his arms.
A shirt was dragged over his head and his pants went next. The sting of hair coming off his legs ripped through him and he scowled. “Stop it.” He went to shove away whoever it was, but another caught his arm and his damn muscles wouldn’t work.
“It’s okay,” Rudy patted his shoulder. “The next part will hurt like a bitch though.”
Rubbing. Someone rubbed his legs in hard, brisk motions and Kid looked at another man who had a rough towel in his hands. The fabric rasped against his flesh, but he couldn’t quite make the connection between the action and the sensation until…
“Fuck.” He swore. Pain shot up his legs, a million angry stings as though he’d landed in a puddle of bees. Pitching backward, he would have hit his head save for a hard hand on his shoulder keeping him still.
“Get him the tea.” Quanto came back into the room and wrapped a blanket around him. Somewhere between the pain and the towel, someone had dragged a pair of pants onto him. They were dry and warm, but they hurt—his skin raw and stretched too thin across his body.
Just when the pain seemed to be manageable, he began to shiver. Body jolting, racking shudders that threatened to send him into the fire and he couldn’t focus. The room swam in and out.
“Were you trying to kill him?” Quiet rebuke filled the words, but Kid couldn’t answer.
“He had too much trouble. It was push him physically and keep him focused on that or let him tear himself apart.” When the hell had Wyatt come into the room?
Raising Kane Page 3
