“You are saying he knew you would teach me how to send my spirit to my son?”
“I am saying he knew we would help you. I am saying … Hastiin Hashtaal loves you.”
Seta opened her mouth to dispute the claim, stilling as battle cries filled the air.
“What is that?” she asked as Atsidi turned toward the raucous.
“White men have found us,” he growled as he raised his spear and ran.
EIGHT
Seta raced behind Atsidi, past the field of sheep and into the clearing between the mountains where the majority of hogans were. As they neared she saw white men battling with the Navajo. They used firearms and long daggers to attack the Navajo, sneaking upon them in the middle of the night, giving themselves the advantage.
Atsidi immediately went into action, charging toward the closest group of enemies he saw, spear raised high, his battle cry deafening. Seta remained behind, assessing the situation. The invaders seemed to be targeting the women and children, pulling them from hogans. A trio of men pulled two children from a hogan Taazbaa had been defending. The woman turned and lunged for her children but a man knocked her backward and pointed his firearm at her head. Atsidi turned, saw the white man raising his blade in the air, ready to behead his young son. He would never make it. He had no choice but to watch his family’s slaughter.
“Not tonight,” Seta growled as Atsidi’s young son’s face turned into Rialto’s and flashbacks of the night her own child had been ripped from her arms fueled her rage. Her body flooded with fiery hot anger and two green flaming balls formed in her hands. She flung them at the men attacking Taazbaa and her children, setting the murderers ablaze. Instantly, two more fireballs formed in her hands. She flung them at the closest targets she saw, repeating the process over and over.
She walked through the center of the clearing, her body burning as one giant flame, as though her very blood boiled, her vision clouded with red. She heard the battle cries and screams of fear around her but focused only on the white men who dared invade the Navajo’s land. She had only spent one night with these people, but they had given her back something precious and sheltered her from the sun. They were her people now and they would not die.
Fire continued erupting from her hands, turning its targets into ash.
“Witch! Witch!” she heard the white men scream as her body jerked multiple times and her legs gave out. She fell to her knees, realizing she’d been taken down somehow. Through the haze of her fury she never saw it coming. White men surrounded her in a circle, firearms and blades pointed, ready to finish her off, to keep her from her son for eternity. In that moment they all looked like Count Roberto Garibaldi. Seta looked through their skin, watched their blood pumping through their black hearts and her rage intensified, becoming too much to bear. She threw her head back and let loose her own battle cry. As it echoed off the rock walls, she could just barely hear the men’s screams over it before a deafening pop drowned out all sound.
She saw that she kneeled in a circle of blood and eviscerated bodies. Looking down at her own body she saw wounds. So many wounds…
“Seta!” Atsidi ran toward her, dropped to his knees and slid through the bloody remains of their enemies to embrace her before she fell back, her life almost gone. He bellowed for the medicine man and pulled his hair away from his neck, exposing the long, thick column.
“Drink!” He commanded.
Seta shook her head. Her rage spent, she now drifted toward death peacefully, realizing how easy it would be to just let go and rest forever.
“Drink!” Atsidi pulled her into him, placing her mouth against his neck. “You saved my family. It is my duty to save you. Drink!”
Family. His wife. His children. A son. She had a son.
Rialto.
She had to stay for Rialto.
Instinct took over and Seta’s fangs descended. She clamped down on Atsidi’s thick neck and drank greedily to replenish the blood she’d lost in battle and give her the necessary strength to heal her wounds.
As she drank, images flooded her mind. She saw Atsidi as a young boy learning how to hunt, fight, and how to make things. She watched as he fell in love with Taazbaa, a mighty warrior in her own right, and not only saw but felt his pride when his children were born. The images reversed, went back to his childhood and further, until they were no longer his memories. She saw Hastiin Sani as a younger man watching over his own son. His son grew and married, and his wife bore him a son. Atsidi. Atsidi’s mother died during birth. A few years later, Atsidi’s father met a Spanish couple. Seta’s parents.
She saw Atsidi’s father with her mother, embracing. Her mother’s belly grew round…
Seta withdrew her fangs from Atsidi, reeling in shock. Still suffering from the blood loss, the movement was too fast and blackness crept in. She was lifted from the ground and opened her eyes a sliver to see Atsidi was the one to carry her away from the bloody aftermath of the battle.
He placed her on a wool throw inside a hogan and fell back, weak from having just given blood.
Hastiin Sani stood over her as the blackness stole more of her vision. “Rest now. You have done your people proud… Granddaughter.”
Rialto slept peacefully but Seta could see the tracks of dried tears on his face. She reached out to brush an errant curl away from his forehead but her fingers did not find purchase. A sob left her throat before she could stop it and Rialto’s caregiver murmured in her sleep from the nearby cot. Unsure whether it was a reaction to hearing her, unsure if that was a possibility, Seta cautioned herself to remain silent. There wasn’t anything they could do to harm her in spirit form, that she knew about, but she dared not tempt them to find some way to banish her from her son’s life, just in case.
She still felt weak from the events of the night but nowhere near death. She was more confused than anything, and a little betrayed. She’d led her whole life believing herself to only be Spanish. There was a whole other side to her she would have had no clue about had Roberto Garibaldi not thrown her off that cliff. Her mother had plenty of opportunities to tell her the truth of her paternity, but she never bothered. She’d only judged her, ridiculed her because of her relationship with a married man. Seta had been fooled, but what was her excuse? How could she have broken her marriage vows to her father and conceived her with another man? And who was that man? Atsidi’s father, Hastiin Sani’s son. Hastiin Sani was her grandfather, Atsidi her brother. Who was her father? What was his name? She had not seen him in the battle or when she’d been discovered by Atsidi and the hunters defending the sheep. Did he know she was there? Did Atsidi know she was his sister? Hastiin Sani had called her his granddaughter. He’d known all along.
The faint hum she’d felt since waking up a vampire intensified, pulling her out of her thoughts. She stood, surveying the room, but only she, Rialto, and the caregiver occupied the small space.
She walked to the window and looked out. A man stood on the cliff she’d been thrown from her last night as a mortal. The same man who’d saved her life by turning her into something else. Seta gave one last longing glance to her sweet child before turning back toward the window and focusing on the man whose very essence seemed to call out to her.
He showed no surprise when she appeared before him.
“Eron.”
“Seta.” He gave a slight bow. “I see the Navajo taught you quickly.”
She stepped back, surprised. “You knew?”
“The enchantment I was given allowed me to send you to a place of my choosing. I had spent many years with the Navajo and know of their gifts. I know you must hate me for sending you away from Rialto, however this was the only way I could keep you safe and allow you to still see him. I could see how being away from him was destroying you, turning you into something you are not, or at least were not before this atrocity befell you.” He gestured toward the cliff’s edge with his head.
“I was very angry with you,” Seta advised. “Then I saw my son.”
; “I felt it. I feel everything.” His eyes darkened. “What happened earlier? I felt complete rage, then it seemed you were slipping away. I feared I had sent you to your death.”
“The Navajo were attacked by a group of white men under the cloak of night. They were going to slaughter them all, including the women and children. I defended them.” Seta lowered her head, letting her gaze fall. “I was horrible. I became consumed. I am not sure exactly what I did to them, I let my fury consume me and I released it. Those men … I ripped them apart without touching them. All around me lay blood and bone.”
“They intended to kill children. You did what needed to be done.” Eron placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted until she met his gaze. His eyes warmed her cold heart as his gaze roamed over her face. He used his other hand to move a lock of hair out of her eye and his touch sent a tingle through her core.
His touch…
“You can touch me. How? I am in spirit form.” Seta backed away. “Is this a dream? Am I not here?”
He grinned. “You are here and I am here with you … in the same way.”
Realization dawned. “You are in spirit form.”
He nodded. “We are the same form, allowing us to feel as if we were in our bodies.”
“Are we dead?”
Eron laughed out loud. “Not any more than we usually are. The Navajo taught me as well.”
“How? I thought you had to be Navajo to send your spirit away.”
He frowned. “It is easier for Navajo, not to mention for anyone who speaks the language. Anyone can learn with enough time and practice and I have plenty of time. It took what felt an eternity for me to learn despite my own gifts. How did you learn so quickly? I know you have great magical ability. Still … the language alone should have taken some time, and … you are not Navajo.” He angled his head sideways, studying her.
“I cast a spell so the Navajo and I can understand each other, and I think you are figuring out that I am Navajo. I did not know until tonight.”
“How?”
“The man I thought was my father, was not. My father was Navajo. My parents traveled before I was born. My mother once told me of the savages from the land with red dirt. She must have spoken of them. I will learn more when I wake.” She frowned. “I should be sleeping. I must have longed for Rialto so badly I sent my spirit here without trying. Why are you here now, like this? It is night here. You should be awake, hunting, living. Are you still here or did you and Christian have to leave because of what I did?”
“We are near. I felt your spirit was close so I sent mine.”
“I could still see and speak to you if you were in your body.”
“I know.”
“Why send your spirit then? Why did you not come to me in your body?”
“I thought you were dying earlier,” he said, cupping her face. “I thought I had lost you, and when I felt your spirit near I had to come to you like this.”
“Why?”
“Because, damn it.” His mouth covered hers, his hands slipped from her face to her waist, pulling her tighter against him.
Seta allowed herself to be taken away by his kiss, to feel the things she vowed to never feel again. She gripped his shoulders, marveling at the strength she felt. She smelled his manly scent, felt his warmth as if they were skin to skin, not spirit to spirit.
“I had to touch you,” Eron whispered, resting his forehead against hers. “I had to feel you or surely I would die.”
“You sent me away,” Seta reminded him, confused. “If you feel this way, why did you cast me away from you?”
“I was supposed to kill you.” He closed his eyes, groaning in anguish. “You killed two men, guilty only of relation to a man who had wronged you. If you had been any other vampire I would have ended your immortality that very moment. I should have killed you.” He kissed her again, longer and deeper. “Heaven forgive me, I can not kill you.”
Seta awoke, the ceiling of the hogan above her. Was it all just a dream? She sat up, her heightened sense of smell taking in the heady aroma of Eron all over her as she touched her mouth with her fingertips, and felt her kiss swollen lips. She still tasted him.
“How do you feel?”
She turned to find Hastiin Sani sitting near her, having watched over her in her sleep.
“Betrayed,” she answered. “I saw my father when I drank from Atsidi.”
“My visions told me you would.”
“Did you know who I was all along?”
Hastiin Sani smiled. “My visions told me a great warrior woman with great magic would arrive to protect us and we were to protect her. When I saw you I knew you were her. I saw you were Navajo, I felt you belonged to this tribe. My heart would not let me believe you were my long lost granddaughter until I saw you fight and heard your battle cry. I saw your father in your war face. I heard him in your cry. He lived inside you and for a moment, my son was with his people again.”
Seta’s eyes watered. “He is dead.”
“The Great Spirit took him before you drew your first breath,” Hastiin Sani said as his shoulders slumped.
“Who was he? How did he know my mother? Did Atsidi know?”
“Atsidi knew nothing until tonight. I told him everything and now I will tell you the story of how your mother and your real father came together, and how she betrayed us, and took my son’s life.”
NINE
“Hello, Mother.”
Loma gasped, dropping the dish in her hand as she spun around. Her eyes moved from Seta to the door and back again as the dish broke.
“Seta? Is it really you? You are really here?”
“Do I not stand before you?” Seta asked.
“I had heard you died, and after you never returned…” Loma’s gaze drifted to the door once more.
“You told me I could not return, remember?”
“Oh Seta.” Her mother’s gaze fell to the floor and when it returned to her, tears coated her dark eyes. “I was desperate to keep you and my grandson from being hurt. I would have taken you back. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone.”
“Did you ever love anyone? My father? Hastiin Bidziil?”
Loma’s mouth fell open, her eyes grew wide.
“I have been with my father’s family. I know what happened. I know you had an affair with my real father and when the man you told me was my father found out you betrayed him, you said he took you without your consent. You had my real father killed along with other innocent members of his tribe. My family!”
“They would have killed me!” Loma looked to the door again and wept. “I never heard the door open yet you stand before me. It is true. You are dead and Rialto lives in the count’s castle. You have come back to haunt me.”
“I am not dead, yet not alive.”
Loma’s brow creased. “I do not understand.”
Seta considered telling her mother the truth that she was a vampire, but that would mean exposing Eron and Christian. Hunters would be sent for them the moment she left her mother. It was best her mother thought her just a ghost. “I walk in the night but must hide from the day. I live in shadow now, forever mourning the loss of what I once was.”
“No!” Loma fell to her knees on the floor, crossing herself. “Say it is not true.”
“Count Roberto Garibaldi stole my son from my arms and threw me over the cliff outside his castle. I will watch over my son from afar until I can be with him again.”
“I am so sorry, Seta. This was not the life I wanted for you.”
“No. You wanted my life to be a lie, to never know who I truly was.”
“I did it to protect you.”
“You lied to me long after you were safe. I deserved the truth.”
Loma looked up at her. “You must forgive me, Seta. Everything I did, I did for you.”
“No more lies, Mother. There is no need to continue. You will never see me again after this night.”
“Why did you come? I would have been mo
re at peace believing you were with the Lord. Did you reveal your fate of unrest to me to punish me for a mistake made so long ago? I loved Hastiin Bidziil. I love you, Seta. I love Rialto.”
“You allowed the man you loved to die? To be murdered?”
“He told me to.”
“What?”
Loma stood and held on to the back of a chair to support herself.
“I knew I was with child. I told him. He was so happy, so proud, but he knew our love was forbidden. We planned to be together but your fath… my husband, he found out. He and his men found us together. Your real father loved you before you were even born. He told me the story to tell if we were ever discovered so that no one would try to take my life. He was a mighty warrior. He stood a chance, a chance he was willing to take.”
“He was killed.”
“He was killed protecting you and I. He died out of love for his woman and his child. I wish it had been different. You can be angry with me for trying to protect you from the pain of how you were conceived, that is your right. Do not accuse me of not loving your real father, or betraying him. I did what he told me to do. I loved him and I still do. I also love you. We had a duty to protect you and we did. Did you not die trying to protect your son? Are you not here now because of him? You would have moved on and found peace if not for him. You are a mother. You will do anything for your child as I did anything for mine, including suffering the loss of the man I loved.”
Seta looked away. Looking at her mother had been easier while angry. Her tears had no effect on her then. She noticed one of Rialto’s blankets rested over the arm of the chair by the hearth, where her mother sat every night. A little rumpled, she imagined her mother holding it every night, twisting it in her hands, bringing it to her nose to smell Rialto’s sweet, innocent scent. Her own eyes burned with the threat of tears.
“I wish he had lived. I wish you had known him. I pray that one day your son will know you too.”
Her anger spent, at a loss for words, Seta turned and left, ghosting through the wall of the small home she’d once shared with her mother and son. She could not bring herself to give her mother words of forgiveness, but she could no longer speak words of condemnation either.
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