by Sahara Kelly
The offer from the logging company had been both a boon and a headache. Ned Harper could never have envisioned himself presenting a report that favored old wood destruction.
Ned stared across the green grass of the square, looking inward rather than at the traffic. The tiny consulting firm he worked for had been supportive, all things considered. It wasn’t every day a pretty hefty contract offer ended up in their mailbox, nor every day that a substantial check in the five-figure range accompanied it as a retainer.
They’d accepted the job and Ned had known immediately it would fall on his shoulders.
Evaluate and report on the effect of logging activities in the Pacific Northwest in relation to the continued survival of the marbled murrelet, with particular attention to the minimal impact of the proposed development project under the management of Greenwood Resources, Inc., copy attached.
So he’d said yes. Gone to California, done his job, figured out what the hell a “marbled murrelet” was—pretty unimpressive bird, all things considered—and had ended up here, in Washington DC, with a thick file of information he would be presenting to various committees, sub-committees and grand poohbahs over the next few days.
He was happy to be here, happy he had a new car and no bills looming on his horizon. He wasn’t happy with the niggling feeling he’d sold out somewhere along the line, even though his research was accurate and nothing he’d found pointed to the imminent demise of the few remaining murrelets, endangered though they certainly were. Greenwood Resources was a massive company and certainly couldn’t boast environmentally clean hands. But when it came to the murrelet, Ned honestly couldn’t find a negative position.
G.R. Inc. wanted wood—old growth wood. The murrelet, dim bulb of the bird world that it was, nested in old growth wood. Even though it was a sea bird. Talk about confused. However, it nested in areas well away from Greenwood’s proposed development. He should’ve been happy about it, but he wasn’t.
But most of all, he wasn’t happy about the dreams plaguing him.
He’d been tucked up in a nice suite at the Hilton for three nights and each night he’d had the same damn dream. It was freaky.
Woodlands, wild and untouched, rich with trees and plants that seemed familiar to him. Air that smelled fresh, green and tangy, touched with floral fragrances that teased his nostrils.
Then there was her.
A woman—the same woman each time—her image seared into his brain by the incredible realism of his dream. She had the longest legs imaginable, hair damn near down to her ass…
He fidgeted, tamping down the bolt of lust that shot immediately to his cock just at the thought of her. His Native American maiden. His lover. His dream woman—his goddamned erotic nightmare. She ran to him, or had done so for the last two nights, eagerness written all over her beautiful face. They’d collided in a breathtaking crash of flesh against flesh, all over each other without words.
He’d fucked her with abundant pleasure and enormous joy, emotions overloading his brain every bit as much as they overloaded his cock. He’d known her, this incredible beauty of his—she’d been as familiar to him as his own face. Her body was a perfect match for his, her thighs holding him in a vise-grip as she cried out and welcomed him into her blazing hot channel.
He’d awoken seconds before coming, each morning finding himself with a hard-on to end all hard-ons. This jerking off in the bathroom of a deluxe hotel had to fucking stop.
The bird thing…well, that just defied all his attempts to understand it. He had no desire to become intimately acquainted with anything possessing feathers. No kinky fetishes—Ned Harper was pretty much a straight arrow when it came to sex. He was totally at a loss to understand why his dream mate would turn into some kind of distorted heron in the milliseconds before her orgasm.
But she had. She did. The image lingered even as he eased himself in the shower, a fuzz of grey and white feathers, a long beak where a nose should’ve been…if it’d been a marbled murrelet he might have been able to rationalize it.
But nope. She turned into a heron. No two ways about it.
Ned sighed and finished his coffee. He had half an hour before his first appointment, just enough time to catch the Metro and haul his ass over to the Department of Agriculture building. Tossing his empty cup into a nearby trashcan, he headed toward 18th Street and the large “M” sign denoting a subway stop. From there he would ride to the Smithsonian station and walk the rest of the way.
Piece of cake. His briefcase hung comfortably on his shoulder, the folders inside containing concisely written assessments on the current state of the logging industry, the pros and cons of future plans—and, of course, a detailed discussion of the marbled murrelet and its issues. Why a seabird had to go nest inland, in old growth trees to boot, Ned had no frickin’ clue. He was, at heart, a dedicated biologist and figured the bird deserved to be eccentric if it wanted to.
But sometimes he had to wonder if some species were just too dumb to survive. The marbled murrelet was waddling perilously near to that mental line of his. Although humans were one hundred percent responsible for some pretty drastic ravaging of the planet’s resources, every now and again Ned asked himself where and when common sense and respect for nature should begin negotiations.
Sure, he’d like to see all species of creature thriving. But that did include his fellow man. Ideally, the people working in the hallowed halls of government—many in the buildings surrounding him—should be able to rationally implement policies that allowed for both sensible development and ecological stability.
He snorted as he reached for his Metro ticket and slid it into the appropriate slot. Hoping for that was most likely as fleeting a dream as his Native American woman.
And just as unreal.
Chapter Two
“So, that’s the deal, Charlie.” Gaia stared out of her window absently as she cradled her cell phone against her ear. “This omnibus budget bill is gonna have one or two items in it that might sneak past the Hearings without much public attention. We don’t want that to happen.”
On the other end of the line, there was silence for a moment or two. “Hmm.”
Charlie was thinking, Gaia knew. She’d gone on a couple of dates with him some time ago and they’d remained friends, even though they’d both known romance wasn’t in their future.
“You think it might be of interest to the fifth estate?” She let a quick smile cross her lips as she considered the implications of her question. Charlie was a junior reporter for the Washington Post, a position every journalist wanted, and when they got it the only thing necessary for instant success was a story similar to the Watergate scandal of the seventies.
This wasn’t quite that big, but still…
“Lemme look into it. Talk to a few people.” He sounded thoughtful. “There’s a few environmental pieces in the pipeline—no pun intended.”
Gaia chuckled. The whole Alaska pipeline thing was always a hot-button issue when it came to matters like appropriations, bills before the House or Senate and front page headlines. Sadly, her environmental concerns didn’t merit such attention.
“You say this rally is tomorrow morning?”
“Yep. On the Mall. You can’t miss us. We’ll be doing all the usual stuff, handing out informative pamphlets, signing people up for our newsletter, a few games for the kids, costumes, music, that sort of thing.” She paused. “Some good photo ops, I would guess.”
“Yeah. Sunshine, autumn, the environment, people working for the earth…” Charlie’s voice tailed off.
Gaia could imagine him writing the prelude to the piece in his head.
“I wouldn’t bother you with this ordinarily, Charlie. But this time, it’s important. Big business is gonna win one when it comes to this bill and there’s nothing you or I can do about it. Once it gets to this stage—well, I don’t need to tell you how the system works. You know.”
Charlie did know. Most everybody with a closer-than-average k
nowledge of the political system knew. If budget bills weren’t slid smoothly past all the checks and balances within the governmental system, they wound up bundled into an “omnibus” bill. Most of it was worthwhile and fully deserving of smooth passage through the process, but it was also a chance to stick in a couple of less-than-popular measures. The media would trumpet the successful passage of the budget, mentioning the high profile and immediate consequences. They wouldn’t have the time to devote a sound bite to a minor item concerning the lumber industry.
The closer it got to November, the more the pressure built in Congress. Recess began just before Thanksgiving and there was a sense of urgency developing along with the need to settle the budget for the next year. Nobody wanted to come back for more votes if they could avoid it. It took a week or so from final passage to the desk in the Oval Office and even that was pushing the limits of the process.
“You know how important everybody considers the bill to increase funding for port security.”
Charlie grunted. “Hell, yeah.”
“So? Need I say more? The omnibus budget will pass on the strength of that item alone and everybody’s gonna pose for photos when it’s signed.” Gaia sighed. “They’ll know there’s other things in there, but they’ll pass it anyway. Make a big noise about the good stuff and maybe the bad stuff will go away.”
She was well aware this wasn’t news to Charlie, but sometimes she got frustrated at the way the Government worked. Yes, port security was very important these days and, yes, she wanted it increased as did most politicians in DC, regardless of party affiliation.
So she accepted—wryly—the knowledge that this bill would pass, even though smaller details, like rulings in favor of environmentally unfriendly industries, would get lost in the depths of such a bill. And without even a mention.
Gaia wasn’t about to let that happen. “Ag and Fish has been holding hearings. There’ve been a couple of House Sub-committees convened. Experts—and I use that word loosely—have been bought and paid for. Information in favor of old-wood logging has probably dazzled half the Representatives on the Hill by now. Or at least anybody on a Committee with a say-so on this thing.”
“Like I said, lemme look into it.”
Charlie’s voice told Gaia all she needed to know. “You’re a doll.” Once again, she chuckled. “If all else fails, you might meet a real sweetheart, Charlie, and have yourself a hot weekend. There’ll be plenty of females attending.”
“Yeah. Right. Some chick with armpit hair and no makeup who’ll try and tell me I need to ditch my deodorant and switch to all-natural briefs.”
“Charlie! You jerk.” Gaia couldn’t help laughing. “We’re not all like that, ya know.”
Charlie snickered. “I know. But with my luck? Other than you, babe, I’m not exactly batting a thousand when it comes to good-looking women with a cause.”
“Remind me to introduce you to Maxie.”
“Oh Jeez.” Charlie’s response was more of a groan. “Do not—I repeat—do not set me up, okay?”
“Hey. Would I do that to you?”
“Yes.”
Gaia sighed loudly and dramatically. “You know me too well.” She grinned. “But I’m still gonna introduce you to Maxie. She’s a whirlwind—she’s got this rally up and running. You should talk to her for no other reason than she’s got every single fact at her fingertips, much more so than I have.”
“Urgh. A lecture? No thanks.”
“You might be surprised.” Gaia knew that if Charlie thought this was a bad idea, he’d never met Maxie. Hooking the two of them up would provide a little private fun tomorrow, if she could manage to do it in between educating the throng on the looming threat to their world.
“Okay, then. I’ll be there. I think I can pull a photog from the pool too. Babes and the environment should be a lure. I might even throw in coffee and bagels if the first two don’t work.”
“Charlie, you are a pearl beyond price.”
“Yeah, but you still aren’t gonna fuck me, are you?”
“Nope. Been there, thought about it, decided not to.”
This time, the gusty sigh came from Charlie. “You’re a cruelly beautiful woman, Gaia Jackson. I must have a wide streak of sadism for loving you so desperately.”
“You smooth talking charmer, you.” Gaia stood and stretched. “See you tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
Gaia glanced at her phone, checking to see if it needed charging. One more thing to do before she hit her pillow for an early night. Tomorrow would be a long day and she wanted to be at her best if she was going to sway tourists and fellow Washingtonians around to her way of thinking.
Protect and preserve the earth and all living creatures. Remember that humans are co-residents, not rulers of the planet on which they live. Show respect for fellow denizens, co-exist in harmony, not strife.
She undressed quietly, taking care of her nighttime routine automatically while her mind wandered elsewhere—and elsewhen. The Iroquois dream catcher over her bed was a comforting presence, a reminder that perhaps tonight she’d visit the land of her forebears, the forests of the northeastern part of this country where she had lived many lifetimes ago.
She’d had the dreams for as long as she could remember. Her mother had simply acknowledged them, telling Gaia they were a part of who she was and to learn from them. Her ancestry was full of tales, spirits moving through time and space, protecting, encouraging—her mother had even approved the tiny bird tattoo Gaia had desperately wanted for her sixteenth birthday.
It was a simple stylized heron on the inside of her right ankle and although it had hurt like a son-of-a-bitch for an hour or so, Gaia knew it belonged there. All these things were part of Gaia and she accepted them without question.
She’d learned to also accept them privately, since the one time she’d told anybody else about her dreams, she’d gotten some real weird looks and, for a while, her seventh grade teacher seemed to pay special attention to her behavior.
Of course, back then, they’d been simple dreams of a life as a Seneca girl. It wasn’t until Gaia started developing an interest in boys that her nights had changed, becoming more and more involved with one particular figure, one strong and handsome warrior.
Now he dominated her sleeping hours, arriving unannounced, arousing her passions to their limits and, she acknowledged, providing a benchmark for her real-time relationships.
None of which, up to this point, had come close to the desire she shared with Nohnohsot.
She shrugged to herself as she turned off the light, made sure her alarm was set and then drew back her drapes for a last look outside. The night was clear and she leaned over to take a quick peek at the dome of the Capitol, lit softly in a creamy yellow glow by the lights surrounding it. She could barely see it from her window, but the tiny glimpse was enough to reassure her that the world was where it ought to be.
After 9-11, when everybody’s lives had shifted so terribly, there was something comforting about seeing this symbol of her country, gleaming against the dark sky. It was her bulwark, her measure of security in an insecure existence. It represented order and continuity, even though Gaia had plenty of disagreements with those who worked beneath it.
She drew the drapes shut once more and tumbled thankfully into her bed, snuggling the covers up under her chin and pulling her hair free of her shoulders.
She was looking forward to the next day. Gaia enjoyed people, talking to them, sharing laughter and sunshine with them—hearing their tales and playing with their children.
Not unlike the simple life in a village of Seneca Indians so long ago—
“Hush, my love.”
His long dark hair brushed her body as he slid himself down to her parted thighs.
“Hush, I would taste you. Devour you…”
Her braid caught behind her neck and she moved to loosen it as Nohnohsot settled himself between her legs. The heat of their passion flooded her naked limbs and
she trembled as his breath fluttered like butterfly wings against her soaked pussy.
Tiny blades of grass tickled her spine, the scent of evening mingled with the scent of her arousal and Gandewitha lay back with a shivering sigh of pleasure as her lover delicately teased her sensitive folds with the very tip of his tongue.
“Oh…” It was a sound from her heart, somewhere between a moan and the soft cry of a night bird. She loved this, loved everything he did to her, but especially this. As if his tongue were guided by her own needs, it found the perfect places to delve and to stroke, bringing a flood of her juices to his lips.
He made little noises as he lapped and licked, murmurs of delight, slick whispers that told her how he savored her taste. They added to her excitement, building on her own passions, driving them higher and higher.
He could make her come this way so easily, his touch unerringly accurate, like a hawk swooping down from the sky to lift a tiny creature from the earth without a moment’s hesitation. His hands slid to her buttocks, kneading them as he pushed his face even closer to her, his shoulders forcing her thighs to spread wide, offering all that she was for his delectation.
She wanted his cock inside her, but didn’t want him to stop this exquisite torture. He knew how to keep her trembling on the very brink of madness, how to keep her from tumbling over until he was ready to let her go.
Strong fingers squeezed and stroked her ass, pulling the cheeks apart, daringly caressing the delicate muscles between them. When one finger slid to the very entrance and ringed it, pushing against it and finally penetrating, Gandewitha cried aloud with the sensation.
“I shall come, I shall fly, Nohnohsot. Sweet God of all things—”
“Not yet, my morning star.”
His mouth left her, cool air brushing the hot flesh, a sense of loss swamping her and keeping her arousal from exploding. Nohnohsot’s strength was unparalleled and his lusts matched only by Gandewitha’s own needs.
Together they moved, Nohnohsot’s finger still penetrating her dark secret places. With one arm, he lifted her, muscles ridged and hard as they took her weight, sliding her upward. He held her against him as he rearranged himself into a kneeling position and moved her thighs either side of his hips.
