Seneca's Faith

by Abigail Owen

  A lion, at least four-hundred pounds, glorious with a thick dark mane that covered half his back and wrapped around his front legs and under his belly, faced off against a mountain lion, closer to one-hundred-fifty pounds and a foot shorter. Seneca had seen Gage in this form before, and had always considered him one of the best looking cats she’d ever seen. His fur was darker than most with a red tint to it, offset by a white chest and underbelly.

  Rather than wait, he launched himself at the lion in a fast and furious attack. Ears laid flat back against his head, he hit his opponent with a frenzied series of strikes, claws unsheathed. The lion tried to get under him, go for his gut, but Gage’s relatively shorter height made that plan difficult to execute. Gage sank his long canines into the top of the lion’s head and ripped a gash with a yank. The lion roared in both astonishment and pain.

  Smart, Gage. Don’t go for the mane, she thought. The fur there was thick and offered a certain amount of protection. Gage was going for exposed skin.

  But Seneca couldn’t focus entirely on the brawl. Instead, she was watching the lioness across the way from her, the one who’d hissed at the start of the fight. The woman was pacing back and forth as if she were debating joining the fray herself.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Seneca snarled.

  Shock widened the woman’s eyes before she narrowed them, a laser pinpoint of hatred now focused on Seneca. “What are you going to do about it, latent.” She spat the last word out, as if even saying it made her dirty. Seneca knew, without a doubt, the lioness wouldn’t heed her warning.

  Seneca turned and faced Beno, crouching to address him closely. “Whatever happens, I am not a threat to you.”

  Golden eyes stared back at her, but she thought she caught a flash of trust there. That was something at least.

  She stood back up. Gage and the lion continued their fight, though the lion was starting to gasp for air, his ribs heaving with each breath, his size working against him. Gage would put an end to the fight soon. The lioness obviously assumed so too. With a shrieking battle cry, she launched herself at Gage’s back.

  With zero prior warning, Seneca leapt and shifted. She slammed into her tiger form mid-air, the clothes rent from her body as her size split the seams. In the soundless, painless shift, thick white and black-striped fur replaced her skin, nails elongated to claws, and teeth dropped forming a menacing jagged line.

  Seneca landed on all fours directly between the lioness and Gage. A roar erupted from her throat. Many of those closest to her ducked, several cried out, bewilderment and fear tinging their shrieks. The lioness, who still hadn’t shifted, froze, horror painted across her features, her mouth agape, eyes wide.

  Seneca didn’t attack, though keeping her tiger leashed was a close thing, as she’d never released her animal around others, except her mother, her teacher, and Gage. The animal inside her was determined to protect Gage, whom she’d claimed as her own.

  She paced back and forth, her long, prowling strides eating up the confined space, a murderous glare directed at the lioness, who, smartly, didn’t move a muscle. Meanwhile, the fight between Gage and the lion, still being hashed out behind her, was winding down. She never turned her head, but could tell by the sounds.

  Eventually, silence fell. After a minute, a hand landed softly on her back. Seneca whipped around, teeth bared, ready to sink them into whoever dared touch her.

  “Whoa,” Gage held up his hands and sprang back. “Steady.” She backpedaled and sat. A swift accounting of the room told her they were in no immediate danger, so she turned her attention to her mate. He stood there, chest heaving, blood streaked across him, only she couldn’t tell if the streaks of red were his or the lion’s. Two distinct coppery scents indicated a bit of both. She nodded toward his wounds, and chuffed a question.

  He glanced down. “Nothing I won’t heal from, angel.”

  Relief flooded her system in waves. With a small mewling sound, she stalked toward him. He eyed her approach warily, but relaxed, and even chuckled, when she rubbed up against him in an affectionate cuddle. He ran his hands through her thick fur, and she reveled in the sensation.

  Finally, Seneca relaxed enough to let her tiger go. Always difficult because she seldom let the animal out, an action that could result in a permanent shift, or so she’d been told. Today was more difficult than other times in the past, but she managed it. Eventually, she stood there, naked, Gage shielded her with his own body as best he could. Edward handed her what appeared to be a table cloth, which she wrapped around her naked body, sarong-fashion. She looked up at Gage. “My turn to talk.”

  He raised his eyebrows, but stood to the side. “Be my guest.”

  Chin held high, she stepped forward. With a sneer at the man, now lying unconscious on the floor, she addressed the room. “Aren’t you tired of all the death, yet?” She looked at each person in turn. “We may shift into animals, but that shouldn’t make us animals. We are still human too. While this war may have been instigated by Rick Delaney, there have been faults on both sides.”

  Most of the shifters nearby didn’t meet her glare.

  “Thirty years.” Her voice rang through the high-ceilinged room, echoing off the sand walls. “In thirty years, no one has come to negotiate with the Shadowcat Nation. In thirty years, no one thought perhaps new leadership among our people might have changed our thinking. Blood has been shed on both sides. It’s time for this to stop.”

  “How are you a tiger if your father is Rick Delaney?”

  Seneca shot a glare in the direction the voice had come from. “Seriously? That’s your first question.” She rolled her eyes. “Why do you think I’ve pretended to be latent and submissive my entire life? I am the one who turned in evidence of his crimes to the Shadowcat Nation Alpha’s Council. I was attempting to stop Rick Delaney, even when you took me from my home.”

  The people in the room shifted on their feet, and a low murmuring swept through the crowd.

  “I was, still am, willing to become a permanent part of your pride. But only if I see you are willing to set aside your hatred and try for peace.”

  “What about Delaney? He’s declared war against us.”

  “And I will stand with you against him. However, if you want the rest of the Shadowcat Nation’s help, you need to earn their trust. And mine. I have acted in good faith while here. I have even attempted to be friendly and start relationships among you. Have any of you done the same?”

  With her condemnation ringing in the air, she took the hand Gage offered, noting in a distracted way that he hadn’t bothered to cover up. Together they left the room. As they did, she searched out Beno and Eddie, hoping they weren’t pissed about her being a tiger. Difficult to tell Beno’s reaction behind the fur. Eddie was even harder to read as he stared back with fathomless brown eyes—the last thing she saw as they exited the room.

  A deafening silence followed in their wake.

  Chapter Nineteen

  By moonlight, Seneca allowed her gaze to travel over Gage’s sleeping form. The sheets were pulled up only to his waist, draped low, giving her an excellent view of his muscled torso. Her fingers tingled with the need to touch. After they’d made love earlier, he’d held her close and she’d traced the puckered pink slash of the scar that cut across his heart.

  Because he came across as urbane and business-like, people often forgot he was a warrior first and foremost. He’d earned his position in the Shadowcat Nation both with his smarts and his fighting skills.

  Now, though, she held herself unnaturally still, as touching him would be a mistake. A quick glance at the digital clock glowing red on the bedside table told her she’d been waiting for almost three hours. Time to go.

  Utilizing years of training in secret, she slipped, silent as a shadow, out of the bed. She didn’t bother to close the bathroom door, knowing the noise might disturb Gage’s sleep, and left the lights off. By feel, she pulled out the set of clothes she’d stashed in one of the cabinets
a few days before. The yoga outfit was black instead of dark blue, which was preferable in the form of secretive combat she’d been trained in, but the garments were close fitting and would move with her body. She couldn’t very well ask for a pair of tabi, as Edward would probably question her need for ninja boots. Instead, she made due with a pair of sneakers that she pulled on. At least they were black and she’d used a permanent marker to cover the reflective strips.

  Next, she pulled out the rope she’d made out of the hideous raw silk drapes around the bed, as well as curtains from the bedroom. At least silk was naturally strong. She’d spent days tearing it into strips and braiding it into a long length that would get her down to the ground below. She smirked at the memory of Gage’s reaction to her ripping down the heavy material from the walls and bed, leaving only the gauzy gold under-curtains on their rods.

  He’d stopped mid-stride on his way out of the bathroom and stared, open-mouthed, at the chaos. “What’d those curtains do to you?”

  She’d continued with her task. “Lareina likes red silk.”

  After a short silence, he’d joined her at the window and started taking down the curtains with her. She’d ducked her head to hide what she was sure was a sappy expression of pleasure on her face. The fact that he cared enough to accept her need to get rid of the ostentatious material touched her more than she cared to admit. Even to herself.

  She briefly wondered how he’d feel to know his good deed was being used as an escape method now. Guilt did not sit well with her, sinking heavy in her stomach, dragging at her heart. She pulled on the handmade rope, testing it for weaknesses. Guilty or not, she needed to do this.

  Time to go.

  Sticking to the edges of the room, she tied the rope to the leg of the bed, which she’d determined was so heavy it wouldn’t so much as wiggle under her weight. Then she slipped out the window and shimmied down the rope, her feet and hands flying, barely touching as she went.

  Luckily a small ledge—scarcely wide enough for her—stuck out from the base of the building before the sharp drop of the mountainside continued for about forty feet before the slope leveled off some. Once on the ground, she hugged the wall of the building and made her way to the opposite side of the castle where the mountain rose up, though at a more gradual slope. Like the predator cat she could shift into, Seneca scaled the rocks, not tiring or stopping, even after she was out of view of the castle. When she was six or seven miles away, outside the patrol perimeter, she stopped.

  And waited.

  She found a spot to the side of a relatively flat clearing, a place darkened by the shade of a taller rock, and sat. Unsure if her teacher would even show, she closed her eyes and remained there, not sleeping, her mind sharp, perfectly aware of her surroundings. The cool night breeze, carrying the subtle earthy scent of the desert, lifted her hair from her neck.

  Her teacher had always come before, when she could get away from the Delaney compound. Seneca had never had to contact him or make plans ahead of time. He just knew. Her mother had introduced them shortly before she died, and he’d always been there for Seneca. However, she’d also always gone to the same place close to home to meet him. What if he couldn’t find her here?

  The whisper of sound that preceded the hit was her only warning. She blocked, redirecting the force of the punch past her shoulder. In a seamless move, she leapt to her feet and settled into a defensive stance. Her fingers curled back, palms open and hard, in the Tiger style of Kung Fu she preferred.

  Her teacher stood in a wide stance and crossed his arms. “You let me get too close.”

  The tips of her ears heated, embarrassed to be called out, but she kept her expression neutral as she relaxed her stance, letting her hands drop to her sides. “Yes.”

  He lowered his chin and gave her a stern stare, his pale blue eyes startling even in the dark. “You can’t afford to relax.”

  “No, Daje.”

  After a long silence, during which she did her best not to shift or shuffle her feet like an errant child, he nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Seneca moved back into her fighting posture, feet apart, hands up, balanced forward lightly on the balls of her feet.

  Daje’s attack came swift and hard. He used to hold back when they sparred, but no longer. Not in years. While he was more powerful, she was faster and meaner. By long-standing agreement, he kept his hits away from her face. Explaining a black eye when you were supposed to be submissive was not easy. She blocked, paired, and struck. She leapt out of the way of his own, harder hits and kicks, using a series of acrobatic moves and the landscape around them.

  Daje managed to get a grip on her wrist and pull her around to the side. Rather than fight it, she cartwheeled her legs in the air to land on his other side, twisting her wrist out of his grip at the same time. Then she delivered a succession of rapid hits to his ribs and kidneys before doing a back handspring to avoid the leg sweep coming her way.

  Daje must’ve anticipated her move, because the second her head came up, he was there. He used her momentum to tumble her backwards. The air exploded from her lungs as she banged into the hard rocky ground, sharp protrusions jamming into her backside in several spots. That was going to hurt tomorrow. Daje followed her down to land a knee at her throat, crushing her windpipe.

  He finally let up when her eyes rolled back in her head, spots dancing in her vision. “Good.”

  She gave an impatient huff. She had never beaten him in a fight. Not once.

  His grin flashed in the moonlight as he held out a hand to help her up.

  She waved it off, sat up and draped her arms over her propped up knees.

  In response, Daje dropped to a crouch in front of her. “Fill me in.”

  Seneca fiddled with her hair, pulling out the band holding it up, scraping back the strands that had escaped during their sparring, and re-securing the ponytail with the band. She wasn’t even sure where to begin. He obviously knew she was with the lions because he’d found her here. Then again, Daje was a deity. He probably knew everything. She never had determined the full extent of his powers.

  Dajoji, the West Wind of Iroquois legend. Originally a mountain lion shifter, as a young man, he’d been called into service by a more powerful deity, Gaoh. Daje hadn’t aged a day since, something he’d explained to her when she’d realized he hadn’t gotten any older after ten years of seeing him. Even now, his skin was unmarred by wrinkles, and his sandy brown hair showed no sign of gray. She didn’t know much more about his life—Daje didn’t talk much—but he’d always been there for her after her mother died, the only person who knew who and what she truly was. Her only confidant and friend.

  “I’m mated,” she blurted.

  He gave a crisp nod. “To a mountain lion shifter.”

  From that, she interpreted that he approved. “Yes.”

  “Gage is a fine man. You’ll do well with him.”

  She glanced away.

  “You don’t agree.”

  With a shake of her head, she looked back. “He deserves better.”

  “No.”

  She gave him a tight smile. “We’ve joined the lion pride.” She watched in wary anticipation for his response. He had history with lions. She had no idea what, but whatever had happened wasn’t good.

  Daje considered the words in silence, picked up a rock and tossed it back and forth. “Worry more about Delaney.”

  “Does he have Sarai?” The Seer and her polar bear mate still hadn’t shown up, and Seneca figured out as an adult that Daje kept tabs on his mountain lion shifters. Sarai and Andie both knew him, though the man they first met was a grizzled old trucker named Mac, one of Daje’s disguises.

  He shook his head in answer to her question, and she blew out a sigh of relief.

  “Delaney is on the move.”

  Though she already knew this, the hairs stood up on the back of her neck. Daje telling her meant the fight would be soon. “Do you have details?”

  “He’s on foot.
I’m doing what I can to slow him down, but my powers are…leashed at the moment.” Frustration gave his voice a dark edge.

  She knew Daje’s master had laid down restrictions as of late. Still, a smile curled her lips at his words. Even limited, as the controller of the west winds, Daje was probably blasting Rick and his forces with a front the likes they’d never seen.

  “He’s coming to us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will his attack succeed?”

  “You know I can’t tell the future. What does your gut tell you?”

  She lifted her gaze to the myriad of stars blanketing the night sky as she considered that, reaching down deep inside herself for that spark of belief. She wrinkled her nose. Her gift didn’t work that way “I can’t tell yet.”

  He ran his tongue over his teeth, eyeing her warily as if considering her reaction to his next words. She tipped her head. She’d never seen Daje hesitate before.

  “You have certain skills. You could stop this—”

  She sprang to her feet. “No.”

  He remained seated. “Your mother trained you as an assassin.”

  “No. You trained her as an assassin, and she trained me to protect myself.” Besides, her mother had failed miserably at her trade when she fell in love with her mark.

  “She was supposed to kill Delaney and didn’t.”

  Seneca’s head snapped back as her suspicion was finally laid to rest. “So she was supposed to kill Rick.” She’d always guessed, but wasn’t sure if her mother’s mark had been Rick or Seneca’s birth father.

  “Yes. But she fell in love with him and couldn’t do it. Then Delaney sent her to Russia to kill an Alpha tiger.”

  Blood drained from Seneca’s head, leaving black spots to dance before her eyes for a moment. “My father?” she whispered.

  Grim silence confirmed it. Daje’s face appeared to be hewn from rock.

  “I thought he was against her going?”

  “That’s what he wanted people to believe, but, after his experience with the lions, he was taking no chances with tigers, who had similar designs on mountain lion lands.”