He stepped into the door and closed it behind him. "I've been waiting out there in the woods … night after night … waiting for you to come back here."
"Go home, Terry. Go home before you do something you'll regret." At the same time she spoke these words, her gaze darted around the room, frantically seeking a weapon of some kind.
"I'm not going anywhere until my job here is done." Terry pulled off the bear skull so she could clearly see his dark eyes … eyes that glittered with the anticipation of evil.
"Everyone's been shaking in their boots about the slasher serial killer, but after tonight, they will fear the power and destruction of the bear."
With these words, he advanced toward her.
* * *
Was it only last night that he and Tamara had fought? It seemed like a lifetime ago, Clay thought as he drove to her cottage. The day had been so full. And now his mother was home safe and sound and the wounds that had been inflicted on his family would be healed.
And those moments in the car alone with his mother had also healed some old wounds and created a confusion inside him. He shoved those thoughts aside. He just wanted to see Tamara now and let her know his mother was home safe.
When he pulled up in front of the cottage, he knew instantly that something was wrong. Although the front door was closed, silhouetted against the front window were two figures, not one.
One of those figures appeared huge, the other one much smaller and although it appeared they were moving in a strange dance of sorts, he knew it wasn't a dance. It was a struggle.
Drawing his gun, he left the car and approached the house in a crouch, hoping the steadily falling night would obscure his movements.
He needed to see exactly what was going on before he acted. He crept up to the front porch and peered into the window. The scene that met his gaze froze his breath.
Tamara was backed up against the far wall of the living room, wielding a small lamp like a weapon against the big bearskin-clad man who attacked her. Blood poured from a wound in her cheek and as he watched the man slapped at her with a huge bear claw.
Clay wasted no time. He burst through the front door, but tripped over a sofa cushion that had somehow landed in front of the door. He flew forward and the gun left his hand, sliding into the shadows beneath the sofa.
He was up and on his feet in a second. The bear creature turned and Clay saw the face of a teenager. The boy's features were rather coarse, the glint in his eyes cunning and the twisted smile was filled with malevolence.
"Clay!" Tamara exclaimed, her voice filled with the terror that darkened her eyes.
"Well, well. What have we here? Another victim of the bear. The bear can take care of two of you." The young man roared as he waved the deadly claws in the air. "And people will talk about the bear's power for years to come."
"Nobody is going to talk about a dumb teenager dressed up for Halloween," Clay scoffed. He needed to draw the boy away from Tamara.
"You shut up. I'm not a dumb teenager," he exclaimed.
"It's Terry Black, Clay," Tamara said.
Terry growled and swiped one of those claws in her direction, just barely missing her other cheek. "You shut up, bitch."
"I thought in the legend the bear loves the Native princess," Clay said, advancing two steps closer.
"He kills her anyway," Terry replied. "And you'd better stop right there or I'll take her head off right now."
Clay stopped in his tracks, cursing the fact that he didn't have his gun, respecting the sharpness of those claws and desperate to get Terry away from Tamara.
"You're the one who vandalized the classroom," he said, buying time so he could figure out what to do. "And you destroyed the cottage last week."
Terry grinned. "I wanted people to know my power."
"But your mother gave you an alibi. She said you were cleaning out the garage on the day this place was wrecked."
Terry's grin fell. "That stupid cow does what I tell her to do. She knows better than to cross me."
"So, you beat up on your mother and then you come to attack a young woman who lives alone." Clay snorted in derision. "Typical bully behavior … terrorizing the weak but scared to face an equal threat. Face it, Terry. You aren't anything but a big bully and everyone knows that at heart bullies are cowards."
His words had the desired affect. With an enraged bellow, Terry charged him. The two men fell to the floor, Clay grappling to grip the claws that posed the most danger. "Run, Tamara," he yelled as he fought. "Go on, get out of here."
He felt a searing pain down his side, along with the ripping sound of his shirt and knew a claw had made contact with his chest. He managed to grab one claw, vaguely surprised to realize Terry had strapped the claws onto his arms and hands.
They rolled over and over again on the floor, Clay ending up on top of Terry, but the boy kept an arm free, swiping dangerously close to Clay's face. Clay finally managed to grab Terry's flailing hand. He held both the young man's wrists tight as Terry bucked and kicked to get free. The kid was strong, stout, but Clay was older, more experienced and determined that Terry Black would do no future harm.
"Do you need my help?"
Clay looked behind him to see her standing with the gun in her hand. It was pointed at Terry and she held it calmly, steadily.
Clay scrambled up and took the gun from her. "Go find some rope and a pair of scissors," he said. Tamara raced for the kitchen. "And you, don't move," he said to Terry.
"It was just a joke," Terry exclaimed and forced a laugh. "Come on, man. It was just a big joke. I didn't mean anything by it."
Clay touched his chest where blood oozed from where the claw had made contact. "When you draw blood, it's no joke."
Tamara returned with the items Clay had requested. He handed her the gun once again. "If he moves … shoot him."
"It would be my pleasure," she replied.
Armed with the scissors and rope, Clay first cut the bear claws from Terry's arms and threw them across the room. He then tied the boy's hands behind his back and tied his feet together.
"That should hold him. I'll just call in and get somebody here to take him away." Clay made the call, then he and Tamara stood, watching Terry as they waited for his transport to jail.
"You son-of-a-bitch. You really think I'm going to jail? I'm going to come back for you," Terry yelled.
"Shut up before you irritate me," Clay warned.
Terry growled. "I'm the bear! I will have the Native princess."
Clay walked over to him and slammed his fist into Terry's mouth. Tamara gasped and Terry cried out as his bottom lip split and spurted blood. "I warned you," Clay said. "Native warriors don't like bears talking about their Native princesses."
Within minutes a squad car had arrived. Jason Sheller and his partner Charlie Zeller walked in. "What have we got here?" He looked at Terry, then looked at Clay and Tamara. "You two okay?"
"Fine. Just get this piece of varmint out of here. Book him for vandalism, criminal mischief and attempted murder. Tamara and I will be down at the station later to make a full statement."
The minute the officers and Terry were gone, Clay looked at Tamara. "I told you to run."
"I wasn't about to run and leave you here with him." She stepped closer to him and touched his chest. "We need to get this cleaned up," she said.
"And this…" He touched her cheek, grateful to see that it had finally stopped bleeding and the wound didn't look too deep.
"I've got some peroxide. Why don't you go into the kitchen and I'll be right in."
Clay nodded. Now that the drama was over, he could tell her about them finding his mother. Then he'd be on his way and that would be the end of their story.
* * *
As Tamara got the peroxide and cotton balls from the bathroom cabinet, she tried not to think of that moment when Clay had told Terry that a Native warrior didn't allow anyone to talk about a Native princess. Considering the man he professed to be, the word
s had seemed incongruent.
She took a moment and cleaned her cheek, pleased to see that the blow had been a glancing one and the wound was little more than a scratch.
Now that she had a moment to think, she wondered why Clay had come when he had. Certainly she'd wished and hoped that he'd come here and tell her he'd realized he couldn't live without her. But she knew that was just the fantasy of a broken heart.
She returned to the kitchen where he sat at her small table. He'd already taken off his torn shirt and she tried to steel herself against the sight of his beautiful chest, now sporting a long, bloody wound.
"It's not as bad as it looks," he assured her.
"It looks terrible." She dropped to her knees before him and began to swipe off the blood.
"Tamara, we found my mom."
Her gaze flew from his chest to his face. "What?"
The joy of his words shone from his eyes. "We found her alive and well and being held in Jacob Kincaid's basement."
"Oh, Clay!" Unmindful of the blood on his chest, she reached up and hugged him, tears of happiness splashing on her cheeks.
She released him and got back to work. It had been too heady for that moment, being in his arms.
As she began cleaning the wound again, he explained to her about finding his mother and Kincaid's confession. "You helped so much, Tamara," he said when she'd finished cleaning him up.
"Me? How did I help?" She recapped the bottle of peroxide, then remained standing near the table.
"The nature of the beast. That's what made me sure Mom was in Kincaid's house. He was a collector. It was in his nature to covet things. It wasn't a big leap to realize he also might covet beautiful women."
He stood. "And that same philosophy held true with Terry Black. We should have looked at him more closely. It was in his nature to enjoy bullying … creating terror."
"I think something about the serial murders set him off," she said. "He was jealous that those murders were getting so much attention." It was so hard, to stand there and not want him. It wasn't just a physical want … it was the need to love him, to be loved by him, the need to have his children and build a life. A stupid, foolish need that would never come to pass.
"Thank you, Clay," she said and headed into the living room. As much as she needed him to stay, she wanted him to go. "He would have killed me if you hadn't shown up when you did."
He'd followed her into the living room, but instead of heading for the front door he sat on the sofa. "When I peeked into the window and saw you backed against the wall by him I swear my heart stopped." He patted the sofa next to him. "Sit with me."
She hesitated a moment. She sank onto the sofa, keeping as much distance as possible between them.
He frowned and rubbed a hand across his forehead, then looked at her for a long moment without speaking. "Long ago I chose the path that I intended to walk," he finally said. "And until I met you I thought I was happy with the choices I'd made. You were right about one thing. I have taken childhood pains and carried them into my adult life, allowed them to dictate the choices I made."
He broke eye contact with her and instead stared down at the coffee table in front of him. "When I was driving my mother back home, she had a talk with me." He looked back at her again. "Remember when I told you that I'd always felt as if the cultural center was another sibling?"
She nodded, unsure where this conversation was leading but wanting to hear whatever it was he felt compelled to share with her.
"It consumed my mother and I don't think she had a clue how many problems it caused me in school. Anyway, on the drive home she told me she was sorry, that she wished she'd been more of a mother and less of a Cherokee if that's what I needed from her."
Again he returned his gaze to the coffee table. "Her words were meant to soothe, but what they did was make me feel small and I realized that I'd been punishing her with my childish rebellion for years. The path I've been walking doesn't feel right anymore."
This time when he looked at her, his eyes were filled with an emotion that accelerated the beat of her heart. "I'm not sure where I'm going, what new path I'll choose, but I know one thing for certain. I want you walking beside me."
He rose abruptly, grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. "Tamara, I can't promise you that I'll become the man in that sketch you drew. I can't promise you that I'll spend all my spare time at the cultural center. What I can promise you is that I'll keep my mind and my heart open, that I'll work on loving the part of myself that I've rejected for so long. I can promise you that I love you with every fiber of my being. Can that be enough?"
Tears half-blinded her as she reached for him. "I can't imagine not walking the path of life with you, Clay. It's enough. It's more than enough."
His lips met hers in a searing kiss. He was promising everything that he could be, promising the opening of his heart to what was important to her.
"I love you, Tamara," he said as the kiss ended.
"And I love you," she replied as a joy almost too intense to bear winged through her.
He looked around the destroyed room. "You can't stay here. I guess you'll have to come home with me."
"I guess so," she said.
"And you can forget about sleeping in the spare room. I want you beside me every night for the rest of my life." His eyes blazed with his love for her and she knew she'd found her warrior … the man who'd stolen her heart and would hold it captive forever.
* * *
Epilogue
«^
Alyssa Whitefeather sat on a lounge chair on the James's back patio. She sipped her iced tea and reveled in the feeling of all being well.
Uncle Thomas reigned king over the barbecue grill where meat sizzled and spat. Aunt Rita was busy rearranging the rest of the food on the tables, greeting guests and doting on the men who were newcomers in their family.
Adam and Breanna sat with Maggie at a nearby table, their laughter a joyous sound riding the light breeze of the perfect August day. Breanna's tummy was beginning to show the signs of her pregnancy and Alyssa knew she'd been placed on desk duty at the police station.
Savannah and Riley had married the day before in a quiet ceremony with family only. Savannah wore the beautiful smile of a new bride as she and her husband helped Rita with the food.
Clay and Tamara stood near Thomas at the grill, Clay teasing his father about his grilling skills. Alyssa had never seen Clay look so relaxed, so happy.
It was a joyous gathering … a celebration of old love and new, of happiness. It was the celebration of a family reunited.
The serial killer was still out there, but there was no talk of those crimes today. Rita had been returned to her family and Tamara's tormentor was in jail and the conversation was pleasant and happy.
Alyssa took another sip of her tea and that's when it happened. Blindness overtook her in an instant and she heard a faint whimper escape her lips. Then she was seeing not the party, not her beloved relatives, but a man … a handsome man with black hair and ice blue eyes.
It was night and he was walking toward her, a sexy smile riding his sensual lips. Suddenly he was being stabbed … over and over again and Alyssa wasn't just a spectator to what was happening. She was a participant. She was the one stabbing him, driving the knife into his chest and she heard screaming and realized that she was making the noise, screaming in victory.
She opened her eyes, shocked to find herself still in the lounge chair, laughter ringing in the air. Her glass of iced tea was no longer in her hand but had dropped to the ground.
Thankfully, nobody had noticed that she'd been out … momentarily unconscious … lost in a horrific vision. The sound of merriment now sounded too shrill as an icy chill claimed her soul. She knew now that evil forces still surrounded Cherokee Corners and that somehow, someway, she was a part of that evil.
* * * * *
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