Beauty's Beast(3)

“Follow him!” he shrieked, but his words were lost to the roaring wind, and his children rolled past him like tumbleweeds.

Two of his children managed to change into their essence, billowing upward into the storm like a volcano erupting below the sea. But they were blasted apart and fell in pieces all about him, dead or dying.

“Useless, brainless fools!” he roared at his fallen children.

The last mighty Thunderhorse galloped after his brothers, the great eagles who carried the old bear. Nagi watched them go, unwilling to chance pursuit.

The massive storm above him broke apart, sweeping away in the four directions. Nagi turned in a slow circle.

Which storms carried the Seers?

* * *

Samantha spun in space. She had long ago stopped fighting the winds that tore at her, tossed her, tumbled her like clothing in a dryer. Instead, she gave herself over to the whirlwind and found she could breathe and that the needles of ice did not chill her or cut her skin. She was as dizzy as a child barrel-rolling down a hill. And when she spilled onto the ground, she fell hard, tearing the clothing from her knees and scraping the skin from the palms of her hands. The pain came a moment later. Samantha glanced at her stinging hands in time to see the blood welling from multiple tiny abrasions.

She groaned and rolled to her back, closing her eyes against the spinning sensation that continued even though she was now still. Gradually the wooziness receded and she opened her eyes. Above her, tall trees towered, elephantine trunks with deeply grooved reddish-brown bark. She recognized them instantly even though she had never seen them in person. These were the mighty sequoias. She breathed deeply, scenting pine, moss, the sweet fragrance of rich soil and the ground squirrel that had recently passed this way.

In what seemed moments, she had flown from above the Arctic Circle to California. She braced, waiting for Nagi to appear, but the minutes ticked by, birds flitted through the forest and she sensed no threat.

She glanced at her palms, now sticky with blood. A sweep of her hand brought an electric zip of energy as her clothing transformed. Her boots, snow pants, parka and gloves reconstituted to create a fairly respectable copy of the uniforms she had seen the foresters wearing, with serviceable work boots, olive-green slacks and a tan jacket with the familiar white patch on the left sleeve.

The soreness of her muscles and the annoyance of the blood on her palms brought her to her feet to search for sixteen stones. She placed them in a healing circle and managed to repair the minor damage to her body even without the tobacco and sage needed to sanctify the circle or the feather she used to focus her energy. Her stomach knotted as the gravity of what she had done settled on her like mist.

Were they safe?

Had the Supernaturals done as her father requested and taken her to the raven, or carried her elsewhere? Her father said the Thunderbirds knew the fates of us all. Where had the Supernatural beings taken her?

The crack of a branch brought her about. Nagi?

Someone or something was here. She inhaled, finding the new scent of another creature, but she could not identify it. It was sweet, like the rich soil and the autumn leaves. This was not the scent of any animal she knew. But it certainly was alive. She could hear it breathing.

Samantha weighed her options—attack or run.

She crouched, preparing to change and charge. There were few creatures who would face a charging grizzly, especially one who was frightened and without her family for the first time since birth.

What was hiding behind that massive trunk? A Toe Tagger? Her father’s warning bounced up in her mind. If you see a Toe Tagger, run.

Something stepped into tall ferns. She hesitated as she realized it was a man, a hauntingly beautiful man with fine silvery blond hair that swept the shoulders of his charcoal-gray wool sports jacket. His slacks and fitted cashmere sweater were also gray, but more the color of a mourning dove. An odd choice of attire for a hike in the woods. He dressed like a walking shadow.

Samantha sagged with relief at finding a man, rather than one of her dreaded enemies. Was he human? The light played tricks because his aura seemed only a gray shadow, which wasn’t right. No living thing had a gray aura. It was too bright to clearly see in any case. The late-afternoon sun sent golden light down to the forest floor in bright, wide beams.

She needed to find Bess before she ran into one of Nagi’s hated spawn.

The man stepped closer. His features were similar enough to her own to make her believe he was of the First Nation. But his pale skin tone and that hair, it did not fit. The texture, the color was all wrong. She stepped closer, drawn by his ethereal beauty and her own curiosity. He glanced back, as if considering retreat.

“Hello,” she called.

He frowned, his dark brow lowering over his blue eyes. She’d never seen eyes that color. They reminded her of glacial ice, and when he fixed them on her she felt a little charge of excitement buzz inside her. He moved with a grace and power that brought a trickle of fear to her belly. Her instinct told her he wasn’t human. His scent told her he wasn’t a Skinwalker. Niyanoka? She tried again to see his aura, looking for the distinctive golden cap that marked her mother’s people, and failed once more.

She stepped back and he closed the space between them, the flat heels of his boots sinking into the soft earth. She inhaled his scent, searching for what he really was, and the sweetness of him made her want to move closer. She held herself back.

“Where did you come from?” he asked, his voice a rich, velvety bass that rumbled through her belly, making her insides quiver.

He stood with a relaxed confidence she found unnerving. His eyes swept her body, making her skin tingle and her muscles tense. Was he friend or foe? She could not tell. She only knew he was not Nagi.

“I’m doing some work in the forest.” She tapped the patch on her left sleeve.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Rangers in California have yellow patches and they carry sidearms. So, I’ll ask you again, where do you come from, little Skinwalker?”

Her arms dropped to her sides and a shiver of panic went through her. He had her at a disadvantage, for he knew what she was.

What was he that he could so easily spot her? Niyanoka, she decided. Must be. Those born of the race of Children of Spirit could see auras and easily recognized Skinwalkers from their brown aura visible in all but the brightest of light.

Her parents said she must find Bess Suncatcher. Did her father really have friends so old and so true that they would welcome such trouble on their doorstep? Samantha did not think so.

“What are you doing in my woods, little one?” he asked, stepping closer.

She shook now. The fear, the journey and the unknown were all swirling inside her to form a perfect storm.

He moved forward. She stepped back, uncertain what to do. Changing shape before a human broke one of the two rules by which the Skinwalkers lived. First, protect the Balance, the finely spun web of the natural world, from all threats. Second, do not let the humans know what you are except to save your life.

He wasn’t exactly threatening her. But somehow he was. His stare unnerved her. Why did her breathing accelerate at his approach until she grew dizzy again?

“That’s a Canadian uniform. Why would you think you were in Canada?” His questions were casual, as if he did not expect an answer but preferred to puzzle out his own. His eyes narrowed and dark lashes descended over pale eyes. “Unless.” He glanced at the skies, putting it together. “The storm.” His gaze shot back to her. “So it’s true, then. The Thunderbirds do carry you. But why here?” He stared up at the sky. “They couldn’t have meant for me to find you. There’s been a mistake.”

She retreated another step, thinking that she had to agree with him, but instead she repeated what her father had said.

“The Thunderbirds don’t make mistakes.” They know the fates of us all. If it is not safe, then they will bring her somewhere else.

She stared up at this stranger. They had brought her to him.

He flicked his gaze back to her, and she felt her throat go dry.

“Ah, it speaks. Well, then. Now we are getting somewhere.”

Was it his presence or his looks that made her so anxious? He wasn’t human or he wouldn’t know of the Thunderbirds, unless he was a shaman. He didn’t look like a holy man. More like a hunter.

“I’m Alon,” he said, pressing an open hand over his heart and inclining his head. His feathery hair brushed his cheeks.

She stared at his long pale fingers, cushioned now in the gray fabric of his sweater and thick muscles of his chest. Her ears tingled at the rush of blood pouring through her.

“Samantha,” she managed.

His smile revealed dazzling white teeth but failed to have the desired effect. The baring of his teeth only made him look more dangerous. White teeth and that strong, square jaw. She briefly considered the possibility that he might be a Toe Tagger, but she had seen Nagi’s children as they attacked her father. They were terrible to behold. While Alon looked more like a statue carved by a master’s hand, almost too perfect to be real.