by Megan Hart
He didn’t want Annie’s love. She’d be better off without him and his problems. Especially now that she’d learned to control her sense of hearing. There was nothing more he could offer Annie. Tombi shrugged off her hand. “Bring everyone as soon as you can.”
He leaped out of the truck and hit the ground on a panicked run. Must save Annie. Must save Annie. The refrain echoed with every footfall, forming a rhythm of urgency. Heart and breath raced in despairing accompaniment.
Tombi wanted to kill Hanan. The rat bastard. After everything they had been through together. If the traitor harmed Annie, he’d pay with his life.
CHAPTER 17
Annie’s arms, shoulders, back and legs dug into rough pine bark. Rope burned into her wrists like a bracelet of thorns. The more she struggled, the more it tightened, as if the cords were the sinew of a boa constrictor squeezing opportunistically with its victim’s exhale. So this must have been what it felt like hundreds of years ago for women accused as witches and bound to a stake.
Hanan walked around the tree, inspecting his handiwork with the precision of a mechanical engineer. “That should hold you.”
Annie bit her lip, struggling to hide her fear. Worse than the physical pain was the terror from being at Hanan’s mercy. She was totally vulnerable, and he could do anything with her that he wanted. For as long as he wanted.
Had Tallulah gotten to Tombi yet? Her sense of time was as warped as an antique mirror. Every second dripped like a dollop of molasses. Tallulah could have been gone twenty minutes or twenty seconds for all she knew.
Defend yourself. Miss Belle’s scent of myrrh and licorice teased the back of her throat. I’m not alone. She grabbed on to the belief as if it were a lifeline at sea.
What would Tia Henrietta do if she were in this position? Annie took a deep breathe. First, her grandma would admonish her to calm her mind, to find that quiet place deep inside that was still and peaceful and ever-present, an inner lagoon of peace and tranquility. There, she would find guidance—or the endurance to weather this ordeal. As long as her hawk possessed the flute, Hanan and Nalusa needed her alive.
He stood before her and crossed his arms. “Call your hawk.”
She wouldn’t outright defy him. Not tied to a tree. “I’ll try.” Annie closed her eyes and moved her lips in a flow of mumbo-jumbo words. It helped not to look at his eagle eyes dissecting her every move, watching for the slightest misstep. On and on she continued the charade, knowing each moment that passed brought Tombi closer.
Hanan interrupted her almost hypnotic reverie. “How long is this going to take?”
“I have no idea. This is new to me.”
A sudden pressure pinched her chin, and Annie’s eyes snapped open. Hanan’s face was so close to her own that his hot breath fanned across her eyelids. His fingers dug into her flesh. Slowly, he increased the pressure until she feared he would break her jawbone. Tears stung her eyes, and a low whimper escaped her mouth.
“We don’t have all night, witch.”
“I’m...I’m doing my best.” Her words were distorted from his grip on her chin.
“Try harder. I’ll give you another minute. If it hasn’t appeared, you’ll force me to use other means to persuade you.” He ran a hand down her breasts and painfully squeezed a nipple.
Bastard.
Annie clamped her teeth together to keep from crying out. Hanan would like that. She guessed he was the kind of man who would find rough sex a turn-on. What had Tallulah seen in him?
He took a step back and lifted his head, searching the night sky. She couldn’t keep putting him off with the fake incantation. Perhaps the wisest course was to try to summon the hawk after all. Just because it came didn’t mean it would bring the flute.
Come to me. If you are my animal spirit, meant to guide me, I need your help. Fly toward me. I ask this by the power of all the saints and by all that is sacred in our bond.
From a great distance, the swoosh from a spread of wings brushed against the synapsis of fear pounding inside her body. The hawk had heard her petition and would soon be here. The beating of its feather upon liftoff fluttered in her chest, and she sagged against the tree in relief. “My hawk’s on the way,” she whispered.
“Excellent.” Hanan unloaded the leather backpack from his shoulders and withdrew a rounded stone.
Annie’s breath caught. “What are you doing?” But she knew. She tugged against the ropes binding her wrist and ankles but only succeeded in further abrading the raw skin. Liquid trickled down her fingers. That blood would soon be a mosquito magnet.
“And now we wait,” he said coolly.
“Please, can’t you loosen these ropes a little bit? I’m bleeding.”
“As soon as I have the flute, you’ll be free.”
Liar. She’d be trapped forever in a will-o’-the-wisp. Just like Bo. With the flute, Nalusa would defeat the remaining hunters, and there would be no one left to free trapped souls. And what would happen to Tombi?
Be careful, Annie urged the hawk. Hanan is armed and means to kill you.
Ca-ca-caw came a faint screech. The hawk understood her silent petition! There was still a chance to escape this disaster.
“What are you smiling about?” Hanan growled, his attention back on her. He stared up and down her body, slowly and deliberately.
She hadn’t realized she was smiling. The blood drained from her face at this new menace.
Hanan abruptly grabbed her hair on both sides of her face and thrust his body against hers so hard she could feel his need pressed against her core. “You planning something, witch?” he growled into her right ear.
“N-no.”
As suddenly as he’d been upon her, Hanan withdrew, and she gulped in fresh air.
“What the hell? Something’s burning me.” He slapped at the front of his jeans, and his brows knit as he studied her. Rough hands reached for her again, yanking and ripping the mojo bag from her belt loop. Smoke drifted through the cloth, and he threw it on the ground, shaking his fingers from the hot contact.
Annie smiled. This time a deliberate curling of the lips, a taunting. Hanan wasn’t invulnerable against her hoodoo powers. He might hurt her, but she wasn’t entirely defenseless.
“We’ll have our fun later,” he promised.
A flurry of feathers and wings beating in the wind sounded from above, so loud even Hanan heard it.
Thank the spirits.
Her relief was short-lived. Hanan gripped a rock, and his thin lips set into a predatory line.
“Look out!” she screamed.
Hanan rounded on her so swiftly she didn’t see the blow coming. Pain slashed her left cheek and cut her bottom lip—white heat pulsed and burned. A metallic taste tinged her mouth. Annie braced herself for more of the same, but Hanan’s attention was directed upward.
The casual violence of the assault churned her stomach. This man would have no mercy in reaching his goal for more power and money. It was as if his soul had already blackened to match the pitch of the night.
A flick of the wrist, and his round stone was propelled upward. It pinged against a tree branch and fell harmlessly back down to earth. Hanan loaded his slingshot and attacked again.
Ca-caw. The hawk drew near enough she could make out the reddish-brown feathers spread in flight from one tree top to another. Be careful, she warned silently. He’s trying to kill you. But her animal guide could probably see the enemy from afar better than she could only a few feet away.
Or so she hoped.
Another stone missile rustled through leaves and again fell harmlessly down.
“Damn it,” Hanan muttered, loading another stone in the sling. The weapon whizzed in the night.
A sickening thud of rock hitting bird flesh rent the thick, humid air. Ca-ca, ca-caw.
Its cry high-pitched and tattered. Wings fluttered and the sound of dead weight descending.
No! Not her hawk.
“Bingo.” Hanan smirked, his voice pregnant with satisfaction.
Damn him. If she could escape her bindings, she’d make him pay for this.
A brown clump of feathers and claws appeared a few feet above Hanan’s head, a motionless heap of dead weight.
“What the—” Hanan began.
The clump of bird stretched, wings spread open, feet and talons extended.
It lived.
Hanan flung his slingshot to the ground, one leg moved forward, set to run.
Her hawk swiped the man’s forehead, ripping flesh. Hanan screamed and batted uselessly at his attacker. The hawk clung mercilessly to the top of Hanan’s scalp, even as Hanan ran.
She was alone. Annie sagged with relief, muscles grateful for the reprieve. If only she could untie the bindings at her wrists. Her hawk would take care of Hanan, and Tombi should be along shortly. At least she was safe. Unless... Annie cast a nervous glance at the nearby underbrush. Unless Nalusa saw her predicament and decided to pay a visit.
She shivered in the sweltering darkness.
* * *
Tombi stilled at the unexpected scream. Could it be Annie? He pushed away the paralyzing terror and ran toward the sound. If it was her, at least she was alive.
For the moment.
He cut through to rough, less-traveled shortcuts on the main path. Limbs smacked his torso and scratched his face, but nothing mattered if it shaved microseconds in getting to Annie.
He’d never leave her alone again. Not for a second. Not for a chance to reclaim all the trapped souls in Bayou La Siryna. Not even for a chance to kill Nalusa. Tombi ran on, not bothering to consider the ramifications of his thoughts.
Still no sight of anything but the familiar, accursed swamp. “Annie?” he called. “Where are you?”
“Here!”
Relief jellied his knees for two seconds. The cry was weak but near. He pushed on with even greater determination. The path widened, and he rushed into the Choctaw sacred land by the marsh.
And found the most unholy sight—Annie tied to a tree, blood oozing down her bottom lip, the left side of her face discolored and bearing a hand imprint. Her eyes were wild and frightened.
“Be careful,” she warned. “Hanan might be back any moment.”
Tombi wished he’d show his traitor face. “Let him.” He walked to her and reached out to touch her swollen cheek. “How bad did he hurt you?” Despite his intention to be gentle, his voice was rough, and he choked down bile. Hanan dared do this? He would pay with his life.
“I’ll be okay,” Annie whispered. “Untie me and let’s get out of here.”
Tombi rounded the tree, and anger gushed like a geyser at the sight of the blood-soaked rope. Grabbing the knife from his backpack, he made quick work of cutting the ropes binding her wrists and ankles. “Don’t try to walk just yet,” he cautioned, returning to face her.
“We have to hurry.” She took a step forward, and her body collapsed.
Tombi caught her and lifted her slight frame in his arms. “I’ll carry you. It’s going to take a few minutes for the blood to recirculate in your feet.”
She nodded, and he hurried down the path, holding her in his arms. “You’re a dead man, Hanan Sheffield,” he yelled, itching for a confrontation. But first, he had to get Annie to safety.
“He tried to kill my hawk.”
Tears ran down her cheeks, salty as the bayou breeze. He stopped abruptly and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “Everything’s going to be okay now,” he promised.
She smiled in spite of the swollen, disfigured lips. “I know. You’re here. I knew you’d come for me.”
Her trust humbled him. And to think he once suspected her as the Na haksichi. She deserved a man so much better than he. But he would never let another man touch her. Not now. Not ever.
“Always,” he said, voice near breaking. He frowned. This wouldn’t do at all. The battle was near, he knew the enemy, and it was a time for courage, not weakness.
“I love you, Tombi. Take me home.”
“I can’t leave you alone at your grandmother’s cottage,” he apologized, deliberately ignoring her declaration of love. “Come back to my cabin, where you’ll be safe.”
“Your cabin is my home,” she said softly.
Her words felled him, touched the cold, dark spot deep within his heart. Resolutely, he resumed walking, intent on getting her to the safety of his cabin. Tallulah could protect her while he sought Hanan.
She laid her swollen cheek against his chest. Her absolute trust, after all he’d put her through, was his undoing. He might keep silent with Annie’s declarations, but he could no longer deny the truth to himself.
He loved her. Loved her passionately, loved her tenderly, loved her with mind and body and soul.
Forever.
* * *
Violet-and-coral streaks radiated from the east, although the risen sun was merely a promise of the golden glory to come.
Annie snuggled in Tombi’s arms, inhaled his unique scent. “Aren’t you tired of carrying me? I can walk this last little bit.”
“You aren’t heavy.” Vertical lines marred the bridge of his nose. “How are you feeling? You look like hell.”
“Gee, thanks.” She tried to smile, but her swollen bottom lip pulled and cracked at the motion. “Oomph,” she mumbled.
Tombi’s frown deepened. “Soon as we get home, I’ll put some ice on it to stop the swelling.”
“Perfect.” They entered the clearing, and light glowed from the cabin. Tallulah and Chulah stood on the porch, watching them approach.
“Let me down,” she insisted, wiggling out of his arms. She and Tallulah may have drawn a truce, but Annie didn’t want to risk again being viewed as weak, as someone who needed her brother’s attention and distracted him from his duties.
Her feet made contact with the earth, and her knees buckled. Some of the numbness had left and in its wake left sharp nerves flagellating in protest at bearing weight. Damn. She was about to fall and humiliate herself. Tombi slipped an arm around her waist, and she gratefully sagged against the support he offered. She might look a bloody mess, but at least she stood on her own two feet. Sort of.
Tallulah shoved off from the porch steps and approached, Chulah close behind. “You look like shit,” she proclaimed.
Tombi stiffened. “Tallulah, what did I tell you—”
“I’m fine,” Annie said hurriedly. “A hot bath and a good night’s sleep is all I need.”
Tallulah stepped to her side and wrapped her arm around Annie as well, lending her support. “Any of your special witch’s herbs you want me to brew?”
Her words were brusque but not unkind. A cup of chamomile tea would be just the thing. “Sure. I’ll go in the kitchen with you and show you how.”
“Not necessary,” Tombi said. “I’ve watched you make it, and I know where everything’s at.”
They slowly made their way to the porch, and Chulah stepped in front of them to hold the front door open. He regarded her with—could it really be?—concern in his warm brown eyes. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Seriously?” Annie clamped a hand over her mouth as if to call back the word, wincing at the contact with her tender lips. “Thanks,” she mumbled, feeling foolish. Of course he and the others were glad she’d survived; they needed her to get the flute.
She hobbled to the kitchen table and sank into a chair, bones heavy and eyelids even heavier. One cup of tea and then it was bath and bedtime. She closed her eyes and sank her head in her hands, feeling the smooth oak of the table. Cabinet doors and low murmurs, the clanking of a teapot, the running of water—cozy so
unds that invited slumber and a cocoon of safety.
Warmth pressed into the middle of her back.
“What—” She sprang up, dizzy and confused. The kitchen was packed with men. The hunters had come together, and they each stared unwaveringly at her.
Tombi set a mug of tea in front of her. “Drink this.”
The heat singed the raw flesh on her lips, but she drank and cradled the warm cup in her hands as if it were a magical elixir. She took dainty sips, conscious of everyone watching.
It was evidently too much to ask that she be allowed some peace and rest. They were set on hunting Hanan, and they would want to know everything that had taken place earlier. Tombi kept his hand possessively on her shoulder. For all she knew, some in the group still suspected she was the traitor. That would be much easier for them to accept—a witch infiltrates the group, charms their leader and casts blame on one of their closest friends. So much more acceptable than the truth, that the evil sprang from one of their own.
“What do you want to know?” she asked wearily, setting down the empty cup.
Chulah spoke for the group. “Tombi and Tallulah have filled us in on what happened. The only question remaining is—can you summon your hawk to bring us the flute?”
“I can try. I was able to contact him earlier. I don’t see why I couldn’t do it now, too.”
“Not right now.” Tombi’s grip on her shoulder tightened. “She’s been through enough. We’ll summon the hawk tomorrow and hold our ritual next week when the full moon rises. Our best chance to defeat Nalusa once and for all is to have that flute and use it at the right time. Together.”
“At least agree to let us track Hanan tonight,” Chulah argued. “He’s injured, and the odds of all of us against him are in our favor. We’ll find him and keep him under lock and key until this is over.”
Tombi’s heartbeat grew stronger, faster, an angry tempo exploding sound waves.
“Go with them,” Annie said, looking up at his tight, set face. He wanted to be with his friends, wanted to help capture the traitor. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ve left you alone before, and it never turns out well. I’m staying.”
