She let go the arrow. It found its mark, dead center of the straw bale target.
The next thing she was aware of was being lifted off her feet and into the air. Being twirled in two massively powerful arms, she lifted her face to the sunshine and smiled. For the first time in her life, she was proud of herself.
He released her, letting her body slide down the front of his hard length. It was painfully arousing to feel her breasts brush past his cheek, his chest. He told himself to put her down, to let her go. But he did not listen. When her face was next to his, he breathed in the sweet scent of her. He saw the darkened pupils of her cornflower blue eyes. And this time, he knew it was not fear that he saw there. It was him. He brought her lips to his, in a hungry search for joining. The taste of her overwhelmed his senses. She tasted of daisies in the sunshine, of poems whispered aloud in the downy soft comfort of his bed, and of promise. Promise of his youth to be healed. Promise of his future to be fulfilled. Promise of his loins to be drawn in the honeysuckle dew of her center. All this, he took from the kiss whose heat consumed him.
She was in his arms as he searched for an appropriate bed on which to place such a treasure. For it was she, the prize he had sought for so long. And she was not brown skinned as he had supposed she should be, but she was his. And she would be his. Yes, she would, he thought. In his frenzy, he found a soft spot of grass, taking her down with him. With one strong hand, he brushed aside a few dry leaves that had fallen from the oak tree above their head. And he set her down gently, delicately as if she were made of the finest porcelain. He was determined not to break her, for she was too valuable a prize to play with outdoors. He would just lie with her; know what she felt like beneath him. Kiss her. Run his hands through the soft waves of her hair. Just for a while. Then he would return her safely to his house. And when the skinwalker was found and he had his job back, he would ask her to marry him. The thought filled him with a thrill of excitement. To hell with his people. They had never cared to accept him as he was. To hell with marrying a Native girl. It would not change anything between him and them. It had been wishful thinking on his part.
Propping one elbow on the grass, he covered her, sinking into her curves. His head nearly spun with the plans he had for them. He stroked his tongue along her bottom lip, silently asking her to open to him. And when she did, he dipped in, savoring the sweetness of her breath.
Bethanie was transported by her emotions. She could scarcely breath from the force of her desire. It scared her and she pulled away from him suddenly, abruptly ending the kiss.
As he raised his head, looking down at her frightened expression, a picture formed in his mind of a frightened little boy, himself. He was sitting on the playground. Estranged from his friends, an outcast, and an outsider. He wanted her so badly, but he just could not do it to the little boy he had been. Any son of his that she bore would feel the brunt of his father's pain. For he too would be Whitebread with a Native soul. He could not do it.
He loved Bethanie now, respected her too much to use her. The realization that he felt so strongly for her was startling to him. But nevertheless, his duty was to his unborn children. He could not ask them to be outcasts like he was. This madness between them had to end. And end now.
It was Monday when Shadow left the cabin early as he usually did at the beginning of a workweek, only he had no job to do this morning.
The house was silent when Bethanie woke up. She had endured another long night of sleeplessness and dreams. Only the break of dawn, bringing with it the promise of daylight, had allowed her to settle down and finally fall into a deep sleep.
The note on the counter read, Be back soon. Stay here! Breakfast in fridge. Shadow.
She sighed. She hated nothing more than being ordered around like a child. And the idea of being alone indefinitely in this cabin was more than she could bear. A cold sensation ran the length of her back, still afraid to be alone, despite her determination to be independent. To take her mind off her rising nerves, she opened the refrigerator door with more force than was necessary to find her breakfast. A plate of chilled fruit and hard-boiled eggs waited for her, looking appetizing enough. But after her coffee was ready and she had toasted two pieces of whole wheat bread in the toaster, her stomach twisted into a knot. She sat down at the table to the feast before her, listening to the silence all around her and was unable to eat a single bite.
“Chris.” Shadow nodded in acknowledgment from the hallway where the man’s office door stood ajar.
“Come in, Shadow,” came the soft-spoken voice of the man thirty years Shadow's senior. His long gray braids decorated with red strands of leather lay atop the calico button down shirt he wore.
“I just a need a minute of your time,” Shadow said, his deep voice taking on its usual commanding presence despite the nerves in his stomach. It had been a long time since he had stepped foot inside the community center.
The older man nodded. “I've always got a minute for you, son.” He stood up from his desk and closed the door behind Shadow. “Sit down.”
Shadow sat in the chair directly across from the silver-haired man, the leader of the Catawba Indian Band in Virginia. With fists clenched in his lap, he looked out the older man's office window that held an impressive view of Fairy Stone Lake. Because of his reason for being there, Shadow was finding the right words difficult to form. He opened his mouth to speak then shut it. Asking for the elder's help with choosing a wife was humbling, much more than he had anticipated. But it had to be done. He had to choose someone from his own tribe. This was the only solution to his problems and now his additional problem with Bethanie.
“I'm glad you're here, Shadow,” the elder began when Shadow did not speak. “I've needed to talk to you about something very important. And this saves me a trip.” Chris Hogan's eyes twinkled as he spoke from his reclining, leather office chair. He had deep, penetrating eyes that had seen years of struggles for his people, making their way in a white man's world. He fingered the prayer beads he wore around his neck for the very purpose of asking the Great Spirit for guidance. And with his free hand, he slid a copy of the local newspaper across the top of the large maple desk and leaned back again, reclining with his hands folded across his slightly rounded belly. “I assume you’ve seen this.”
It was his tribe’s local paper with a readership that spanned the entire Southeast. Shadow read the headline. Skinwalker Terrorizes College Campus. Local Tribe in Uproar. Below the caption was what had to be an Internet photo of what some movie producer thought a skinwalker should look like. It was a naked man dressed in nothing but animal skins, baring large fangs and devilish eyes.
“I don't have to tell you how much council members are concerned about the potential for damage to the tribe's reputation in the press.”
Shadow continued reading the article, which laid out all sorts of speculation, mostly finger pointing, none of which had any substantial basis in truth.
“These kinds of lies become what we are associated with, instead of who we really are.” Chris leaned forward in his chair. “Peace, equality, fair treatment of all men, this is what we are about.”
Shadow watched the older man, seeing the lines in his weathered face as he spoke with such intensity of emotion. And Shadow understood that all he said was true.
The older man continued. “Our people have held onto our heritage for hundreds of years despite government involvement. When most of our people traveled south into North Carolina and merged with the Cherokee tribes, those who remained in South Carolina fared much better since they were federally recognized back in 1993. But a few Catawba chose to remain here in Virginia, instead of going back to South Carolina. We banded together with the Six Nations, despite our lack of recognition. And we have been fighting for federal recognition these past fifteen years. We want to be recognized as an Indian Nation by the federal government.”
Shadow nodded. “I want to see this happen as much as you do.”
“We a
re only now making real headway in the Virginia State Senate. They are beginning to recognize the importance recognition is to our people. It will mean help for our children. We can put an end to racial hostility, exactly what this,” he pointed to the newspaper, “is trying to stir up.”
“I'll do whatever I can,” Shadow said. And he meant it, more determined now than ever to put an end to it.
The phone on the man's desk beeped and he pressed a button, listening to a high-pitched, woman's voice over the speaker. “Senator Johnson's office is on line one.”
“Thanks, Gracie,” Chris said to his secretary.
Shadow took this as his cue to leave and stood up from his chair.
“I’ll be in touch, Shadow. As you can see,” he said, standing up from his desk and nodding to the paper on his desk, “the press is stirring this up, trying to sell more papers. And now, some of our own tribe members are accusing each other, asking pointed questions about our young people.” He opened the office door.
Shadow shook hands with the man he respected so well, feeling a heavy burden in his chest to help. He did not know if he was more angry at being preempted by the older man or at being needed by his tribe after all these years of estrangement. For the first time in his life, they were asking him for his help. And he had no idea what to do with that.
“If you can't help stop this, the damage will be great.” He heaved a deep breath. “If the skinwalker isn't stopped, the harm may be irreparable.”
Shadow spent much of the time driving home from Chris Hogan's office brooding over his wasted effort. He knew all too well of the havoc caused by the individual masquerading as a skinwalker. He did not need to be told. But he had gone there with a purpose, to find a woman he could make a real life with.
He blew out a frustrated breath, then the answers to his problems suddenly hit him. He knew exactly what to do with the sassy five foot four brunette in his house. He would drive her to the Bella Inn in Floyd, leave her there, and be rid of her for good. And as for the skinwalker, he was not going to let that bastard get away with any more antics. As far as he was concerned, its days were numbered. He would put an end to it himself.
When he pulled into the drive, there was no sight of Bethanie in her usual spot out by the shed. He got out and called to her, expecting her to be out checking the rodent traps. Swinging the front door of the cabin open wide, he called her again. And again there was no answer. Fear gripped him. How long had he been gone? His heart pounded as his long legs took the stairs two at a time up to her room. Had it been enough time for her to leave him again? He cursed. Going back to her family was the last thing he wanted her to do, regardless of his wanting her out of his life, she did not deserve to be so badly treated as she had been. For a split second, he wished that he had asked her to marry him.
To his relief, all of her things were still in her room. A blue sweater hung over the back of the desk chair. Her dream catcher hung from the bedpost. On the dresser beside the lamp sat a wood-framed photograph of her with her siblings when they were kids.
Long strides of his legs ate up the distance from the cabin to his pick-up truck. There was only one other place she could be. He headed for the fields. And once he hit the campus, from his truck, he spotted her to his immediate relief in the distance.
Atop the nesting pole, there she stood, wearing fitted blue jeans and a heather gray sweatshirt he had never seen her wear before. The red highlights in her brown hair were lit by the sun as the wind lifted it into the air around her.
As he got out of his truck, it struck him how much she had frightened him. He stalked towards her as his anger grew heavier and heavier. Thoughts of her safety had tormented him since taking her into his home. But they were nothing compared to the ones he had endured on the drive here. The thought that the skinwalker had hurt her before he could reach her drove him mad. By the time he reached her, he had forgotten all about ridding himself of her and now wanted to hold her.
“I told you not to leave the house,” he barked at her from the bottom of the pole but the wind prevented her from hearing him. So he climbed the ladder, all the while, repeating himself until she finally heard him. But by then, he was right behind her and the volume of his voice scared her so much that she lost her footing.
Before she could fall, his powerful hands reached out and grabbed her, holding onto her like a vice grip around her waist. She turned her head to him, trapped by his furious gaze just as surely as if she were his captive.
The fear he had felt before still had him reeling, but catching her, he realized he did not want to be angry anymore. All the agonizing years of living on the outside of society, driving him out of the arms of love once before came rushing back. His grief needed an outlet. And looking at her now, he saw everything he wanted and could not have. His hands moved up until he gripped her shoulders. For such a strong woman, he was surprised to find how slight her body felt beneath his hands. He took her with him down the rungs of the pole until they reached the ground and he turned her to face him.
Their chests were pressed so close that she could feel his breath tickling her face. She was scandalized by the desire that surged through her at the closeness to him; she could feel him from the tip of her nose to the tips of her toes. With nowhere to run, no way of getting away from him, she realized she did not want to. She wanted to know what it was like to be truly desired, if for only once in her lifetime.
He was going to kiss her. He moved slowly, giving her the chance to protest before his lips came down upon hers. And when he kissed her, it was with a force close to pain. He wanted her to feel how much, with this kiss, that he wanted her. He would be imprinted upon her from now on. No matter where she went, no matter who she was with, whenever she was kissed, for the rest of her life, she would think of him.
Chapter 8
Shadow lay in bed that night unable to sleep for the first time in his life. Hard work made it easy to sleep at night. But tonight, he lay awake wondering when his life had gone to hell? A woman he wanted more than life itself lay not ten feet from him, but he would not let himself have her. And it pissed him off. Was it her virginity that stopped him? Was he afraid of hurting her? Or was it because, if he brought her to his bed and fell for her, what would he do then?
He let out a frustrated breath. Then he made up his mind that he would make the skinwalker pay dearly for all of the shit he had been caused. Now even his tribe’s people were suffering because of it. And the only way to ensure that it paid would be to take matters into his own hands starting tomorrow morning at the police station. His old friend there could at least answer a few of his questions. For starters, why the hell were the police looking at him as a suspect when the bastard was running loose?
After an unforgiving night of sleep, at dawn on Tuesday morning, he got out of bed and shrugged into a t-shirt and jeans. Carrying his boots in one hand, he peered into Bethanie's darkened room. She was sleeping peacefully, so he decided not to wake her. He gulped down an ungodly hot cup of black coffee and scribbled a note for her to read when she got up that said, I'll be back by lunchtime with groceries. It also contained the gentle reminder, if you check on your owls, remember to take the goddamned crossbow with you this time and remember everything I showed you. And only point it if you are prepared to kill!
Bethanie opened her eyes with a smile on her face. Had Shadow really kissed her so passionately just last night? It seemed like it had been a dream. But it was not. It was real. But she had dreamed last night. She dreamed of her owls and protecting them with her crossbow and arrows, the way Shadow had taught her.
Dressed only in an old t-shirt, she swung her legs off the side of the bed. Pulling back the curtains from her bedroom window, she felt immediately disturbed when she noticed Shadow's truck missing from its usual spot in the driveway. Maybe it was something important that had him out of bed so early in the morning, or perhaps it was regret. Maybe his feelings for her were driving him away. She tried to tell herself tha
t she was being silly. That it did not matter anyway because Shadow had not given her anything more than food and shelter, no promises. But he had shown her passion, she reminded herself, and it was a kiss she would not soon forget.
After leaving the cabin, she barely noticed the dark clouds forming overhead as she trekked out to the shed behind the house. First she picked up the crossbow, then removed a day's worth of food for her owls food from the trap. Soon, she would not need to hand feed them any longer. The grass on the field had begun to return, tiny sprouts but greener than ever.
Once at the field, she left the bulky crossbow at the bottom of the pole. And as she climbed up, she looked out over the valley at the patchwork fields and the beautiful barns dotting the landscape. She felt as if the world she had come to know over the past three years had returned to some kind of normalcy. Here she was, in her element again and happy. Alone with her owls, caring for them, monitoring their behavioral habits, and recording each and every tiny detail in her field journal. This, she had missed; this she craved... a purpose other than becoming someone's wife.
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