by Megan Hart
She ambled to the opposite wall, ignoring the buzz of conversation from another room where the others had disappeared. In the center of the largest bookcase was a Native American headdress decorated with colorful beads and feathers and shells attached with leather cords. A feeling of pride and majesty settled on her with a formal solemnity.
There were also several framed pieces of art featuring elaborate, beaded necklaces and collars. The need to create art in even a simpler, more natural past existence revealed a deep-felt human desire to express beauty, one that touched Annie. She fancied she could hear the lighthearted, higher-pitched voices of women talking and laughing together, beautifying the life of their community.
Being here was like walking through a time portal in a museum. It felt warm and right, like a secret home, a feeling of belonging and acceptance.
Wishful thinking. She pictured her mother’s home in North Georgia, a shotgun-style house that was always cold in winter and stifling hot in summer. Everything in it was worn and shoddy and contained a past history of carelessness—just like the family who lived in it. Careless and hot and cold with their love.
Mostly cold.
Instinctively, Annie wrapped her arms across her chest. She didn’t ever have to go back there again. She was done trying to earn their love. If her mom could shake off Grandma Tia and wash her hands of her own mother and hometown, Annie could do the same. It’s the last time I’ll let history repeat itself, she vowed. Crazy Annie was in the past.
She strode down the oak floorboard, taking in more of Tombi’s belongings. It was obvious he was a man who took pride in his heritage and loved family and friends. Near the end of the bookcase was a shelf of framed pictures. Square in the middle was a small, faded three-by-five photo of a man and woman holding a pair of toddlers in their arms. She picked it up and examined it closely. Tombi and Tallulah. Tombi regarded the camera with wide, solemn eyes, while Tallulah’s mouth parted in a huge laughing grin, a chubby finger pointed at the photographer.
Times had sure changed. Annie carefully set it down and retraced her steps to the headdress. She lifted her hand and touched one of the white feathers, startled to hear the slight swish sound of a bird in flight.
“Don’t touch that.”
Annie swirled around at the abrupt command, guiltily clutching her hands behind her back. “Sorry.”
“Do you need a lift home?” Tallulah asked, scowling.
The message was clear. She wasn’t welcome. “I can walk.” Despite the heat in her cheeks, Annie lifted her chin and made for the front door.
“Suit yourself.”
Annie refused to look at Tallulah as she left the cabin and fled down the steps.
“Hey! Where are you going?”
Tombi leaned on the door frame, swaying slightly. “I can’t chase after you today. Come back.”
Of course. How could she have allowed Tallulah to so completely sidetrack her? Tombi needed her. She’d come to do a job, and it was only half-complete. The first whiff of rejection had lanced the sensitive sore in her heart, and she’d run away, mortified.
Again.
Annie straightened her shoulders and went to Tombi.
Tallulah stepped onto the porch beside her brother. “You sure you want her with us?”
Tombi shot her a warning look, and she backed to the door. “Your call,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.
“Don’t you have some hoodoo juice or herb tea or something for me to drink?”
His smile was crooked, and the unexpected humor lightened the weight in her chest. She lifted her purse. “In here. The tea won’t taste any better than the last brew you drank, but it will draw out any poison or toxins in your system.”
Tombi held the door open, and she swept past him, back into the cool tranquility of his cabin.
Hanan, Tallulah and Chulah exited the kitchen, ready to leave.
“We’ll check out who sent those texts,” Chulah promised. “Pisa’s a cop and has access to phone records.”
Hanan fished the four-wheeler keys from his jean pockets. “And I’ll notify everyone to meet here tomorrow. We’ll figure out who sent it.”
Tallulah stood behind her brother and flashed Annie a slash mark at the throat.
Annie paled. “It wasn’t me.”
Tombi faced his twin, hands on his hips. “What did you just do?”
“Nothing.” Tallulah lifted her chin and smiled sweetly, sweeping past everyone. “Let’s go. We all have lots to do before the gathering.”
Annie watched them leave with relief. “Point me to the kitchen, and I’ll make that tea.”
He nodded and made his way out of the room. His gate was stiff and unnaturally slow. Tombi was hurt more than he wanted anyone to know. “Why don’t you lie on the couch, and I’ll bring it to you when I’m finished.”
“I need to show you where everything is.”
Stubborn man. Annie followed behind him. The kitchen had gleaming walnut cabinets with a matching island at the center. “Did you make these?”
He nodded, sinking into a chair at the small table in the corner. “Pots and pans are in the cabinet below the oven.”
Quickly she set about brewing the tea. Outside the window, the sinking sun was a striking coral. She realized she was ravenous. “Are you hungry? What can I fix for supper?”
“Now that you mention it, I’m starving. You don’t have to cook anything. I’ve got leftover spaghetti in the freezer.”
With his directions, Annie got dinner going. She served him the herbal tea and returned to the stove, warming the spaghetti and buttering French bread. She found a pitcher of iced tea in the fridge and set the table.
The cozy intimacy of the meal restored her good spirits, as well as the sight of Tombi’s skin turning from its former ashy color to its normal cinnamon glow. They settled into a comfortable silence. At last, Tombi set down his fork and pushed back his chair. “I feel like a new man.” He held her eyes. “Thank you.”
The simple compliment had her own skin glowing. “I just warmed up leftovers.” She stood.
Tombi clamped his warm hand over her own. “You did more than that.”
She screwed up her courage. “There’s something else I’d like to do. If you’ll let me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”
She so didn’t want to do this. If only Grandma Tia were here, everything would be so much easier. Her grandma was the one with the real healing touch, the real magic. Her own attempts were weak, more hesitant. But she was on her own. She had to try. Annie took a deep breath, suppressing her inhibitions. If he refused or mocked her, at least she tried.
“I want to do a healing ritual.”
Tombi strummed his fingers on the table. “And what would your ritual entail? Because we have our own purification rituals. Unfortunately, I don’t have days to seek solitude and stay in a steam tent to purify my blood.”
“I don’t know that mine’s as effective, but it’s simpler and quicker. All that’s involved is a prayer, lighting a candle and—” she stammered a heartbeat “—an anointing with healing oil.”
“Who gets this anointing? Me or the candle?” He was as still and tense as a crouching jaguar, eyes intent and assessing.
“You.” Annie cursed the burn in her cheeks. This was a sacred ritual, purely performed for medicinal and spiritual purposes.
Tombi slowly rose and came to her side, guiding her up by the elbow, until her body faced his, only inches apart. His aura melted into hers with the vibration of a base drum pounding in her ears and in her gut and in the womanly core between her thighs.
“Let’s do it.”
The deep, hoarse words implied more than an anointing. Tombi cocked his head toward the door. “This way.”
Qu
ickly, she grabbed her purse and followed him down a hall into a bedroom.
It was sparse and utilitarian. A large four-poster bed dominated the room, neatly made with green sheets and colorful Native American blankets folded at the foot. A matching wooden dresser and two nightstands. A brightly colored braided wool rug was in the center of the room. The windows were curtainless. Despite the barrenness of the room, Annie appreciated the minimalistic masculine atmosphere.
“We don’t have to use your bedroom for the ritual.” She stood by the door, clutching her purse.
“I’m going to take a quick shower. Just relax and set up everything.”
Relax. Hah, fat chance. As soon as she was alone in the room, Annie walked to the dresser and pulled from her purse all she needed to arrange an altar. She placed a blue candle and a white candle on the table between a small, wooden statue of Black Hawk, a Native American spirit guide called upon in hoodoo as much as the saints.
The sounds of a water spray from the shower, and she pictured Tombi naked, the rivulets running down that silky black hair, onto his chest, down the lean abs and... Annie swallowed hard and returned to her task.
Carefully, she set out a stick of incense and a vial of sand from the Gulf Coast. She dressed the candles with Van Van oil and lit them with unsteady fingers, the tiny flame dancing between her fingers. Again she struck another match and applied it to the tip of the sage incense stick until it turned ashen, and curls of smoke saturated the air. She inhaled the pungent herbal scent and focused on the coming ritual.
Don’t think about his naked body. Don’t think about his wet flesh being lathered by soap. Don’t think... As if.
She could think of nothing else. Sighing, she withdrew the last ritual item from her purse, a small glass bottle of healing oil. How would she be able to rub it across his chest without molding herself into his arms and kissing the strong plane of his jawline? From there she would be a hairbreadth from his lips, from his chest...and then she would be lost.
Well, it wouldn’t be a crime if they made love. They were both single, consenting adults. Annie couldn’t deny how drawn she was to his power and strength. Only—she wasn’t the kind of woman who had casual sex. Oh, she wished she was. Very much. But for her, it went so much deeper.
Annie sat on the edge of the bed and closed her eyes. What did she really want? Her body yearned to feel Tombi inside her; it had been so long since a man had touched her. And emotionally, she had to admit, she was equally drawn to Tombi. The problem was she had no clue how he felt about her. He wanted her body, that was plain. And he wanted to use her gift to fight Nalusa. He was kind in trying to shield her from his sister and the other hunters’ mistrust.
But did he love her?
The question drew her up sharp. Equally important, did she love him? If she didn’t, she was close. So very close.
The shower spray ceased, and Annie paced, fighting a desire to flee the room and return home. The urge was strong. She went to the dresser, picked up her purse and flung it over her shoulder.
“Annie.” Tombi lounged by the bathroom door, wearing only a white towel knotted at his hips. His long hair was sleek and plastered back from his temples, making his already severe face look harsher, more intense. “Running away again?”
CHAPTER 11
She was doing it again. Running. Over the years, it had become her go-to method for dealing with difficulty, ingrained since that disastrous kindergarten class with the unbearable, discordant triangle music. You need to stop running away, Grandma Tia had warned. Stand up fo’ yerself, girl.
Grandma Tia was right. Tombi was right. She was sick of the cowardly acts.
No more.
Slowly, Annie pulled the purse strap from her shoulder and set it on the dresser. “I’m not leaving. I came here to do a job, and I intend to do it.”
Tombi nodded. “Glad to hear that.” He sniffed the air and pointed to the altar. “I smell sage. We burn it, too, for cleansing. Tell me how the rest of this works.”
The matter-of-fact voice dispelled some of Annie’s nervousness. He wasn’t mocking her beliefs. “Sure. We traditionally use blue-and-white candles...” She inhaled sharply as he drew next to her. She smelled soap and some secret pheromone that was unique to him. And so utterly sexy and irresistible.
Tombi picked up the carved statue and examined it, frowning. “What’s this?”
Would he take offense? “It’s a statue of Black Hawk, an old war chief and spiritual guide we petition for help in battle. In this case, the battle is for your health. I’m worried that when the wisps attacked you, you inhaled some of their form or absorbed it through your skin. The earlier prayer to the saints helped in the emergency, and the fig-tree-bark tea helped revive your strength, but to really get rid of any lingering toxins, I think this ritual is needed. It’s what I know Grandma Tia would recommend.”
“Your recommendation is good enough for me.” He put the statue back on the dresser. “Anything else?” Amusement lit his eyes. “I seem to remember you mentioning an oil rub.”
Annie strove to keep her face and voice controlled and smooth. “If you’ll sit on the edge of the bed, I’ll get to work. I’ll invoke Black Hawk in my thoughts while I rub your chest, above your heart, with healing oil.”
“Time for the oil massage?” He gave a slow, sexy smile. “I like your witchy ways.”
Annie pointed to the bed. “Just sit. And please don’t talk while I rub you, because I’ll be silently invoking Black Hawk while I do it.”
Surprisingly, Tombi obeyed without a word. He sat on the bed and winked. “I’m ready. Actually, I’m a little tired, so I’ll lie down instead of sit.”
He swung his legs up on the mattress, and Annie blushed at the part in the towel that exposed him for a second.
Did he mean to do that? Sure he did. She should be angry. But instead, her thighs tightened in response. This would be the hardest ritual she’d ever performed. Annie licked her dry lips and went to the dresser again and retrieved the bottle of healing oil, spreading a generous amount in her palm. She rubbed her hands together, releasing the purifying medicinal smell of eucalyptus, allspice, myrrh and thyme.
Annie eased on the bed beside him and placed both her hands on his bare chest. At Tombi’s dark look of desire, she closed her eyes, fighting the draw of attraction. The heat of contact was intensified by the slippery oil. Annie rubbed clockwise over his heart, determined to do her duty.
Inwardly chanting the familiar words of the petition eased her nervousness, and a deep calm settled through her body. A drowsing numbness crept into her fingers and palms, spreading upward, tingling unpleasantly.
So this was how Grandma Tia must have felt when she’d absorbed the toxins from Tombi after he’d been bitten by Nalusa in snake form, only it had to have been much more dangerous and intense.
It is done. All is well. The thought whispered through her consciousness, and she withdrew her hands and placed them in her lap.
Thank you, Black Hawk. She took a few deep breaths and opened her eyes, catching Tombi’s frowning stare.
“Are you all right?” he asked, rising up on an elbow. “You look funny.”
“I’m fine. Only a little tired.”
“Damn.” Tombi scooted over and patted the mattress. “Lie down and rest.”
“Good idea.” Lethargy weighted her bones, and she sank down on the bed. “Just a little nap,” she murmured.
A large calloused hand gently brushed the hair from her face. “Are you going to be okay? I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you.”
He cared. Annie smiled with a secret happiness and curled her knees into her chest. “I’m fine. Just hold me for a little while.”
A warm, strong arm planted on the side of her hip. Nice. Passion warred against drowsiness. Sleep won. At last, she be
came aware that the pressure of his hands against her had vanished. Annie opened her eyes. “Where are you going?”
Darkness had settled in the room, and in the candle glow she watched as Tombi picked up the glass bottle of healing oil and returned to her side.
“Time for me to return the favor. Looks like you need this stuff.”
“I’m okay.” Black Hawk had reassured her on that point.
“Maybe. But this couldn’t hurt.” He emptied a dollop of oil into his palms and rubbed them together before sinking into the mattress beside her.
Annie’s heart thudded with anticipation at the dark intent in Tombi’s obsidian eyes. With great deliberation, he placed his hands on either side of the nape of her neck and rubbed the tight pressure points where skull joined spine. She rolled onto her back and sighed at the pain/pleasure cocktail as he worked his fingers and loosened the tight knots of tension.
The caress lowered to her shoulders, and Annie closed her eyes, relaxing into sensation. Bliss. If only this moment could last forever. A tug at the neckline of her T-shirt snagged her attention.
“This needs to come off,” Tombi rasped.
She offered no resistance as he pulled her shirt over her head. One deft movement, and he’d unsnapped her bra and removed it, as well. Annie quickly pulled the bedsheet over her exposed breasts.
Tombi didn’t remark on it, but resumed his ministrations on the curve of her shoulders. The oil glided like the liquid, healing caress of warm water. It spread from her shoulder to her collarbone and inched farther down to the round swells of her breasts. Her nipples tightened underneath the cotton sheet, and the friction made her core ache. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, unwilling to break the magic spell of passion.
