White Shadows

by Susan Edwards

  Despite Clay’s warmth at her back she felt chilled. If Clay died it would be her word against Hoka Luta’s. Winona hated feeling helpless.

  Hugging Clay’s arms tightly around her, she vowed to keep him alive. If only she could escape and find her father first, then together they could confront Hoka Luta and learn the truth. But until she and Spotted Deer were reunited she had to keep Clay away from father. Not even for Clay would she sacrifice her best friend.

  Chapter Eleven

  The bear jumped into her dreams with an ear-shattering roar. Standing on hind feet, the massive animal lifted his paws high. Curved, sharp claws reached out and out and out with deadly intent. She ran. Always in the dream, she ran—and screamed for him to go away and leave her alone. His roar drowned out her screams and sounded like laughter. Mean laughter.

  The faster she ran, the smaller she became…until everything loomed large and frightening. Out of breath, she stopped and looked behind her. The bear was gone but she was still scared.

  She eyed each tree as she backed away. He could be hiding. He did that sometimes. He liked to jump out and scare her.

  “Kaa,” she screamed. “Make him stop. Make him go away.”

  Something hard at her back stopped her retreat. She spun around and screamed. The bear had sneaked around the trees silently and now stood over her. He shook his bear head and roared. She ran. He laughed.

  Over her shoulder she saw a man stalking her with his hands held high, fingers curved like a bear’s claws. The bear head he wore sat askew. She knew he wasn’t a real bear. But he still scared her. He was mean. He thought it funny to scare her. She tried not to be afraid because then her brothers would tease her.

  With a fast lunge the bear grabbed her by the arm. His hand was so large, his grip so hard, her arm hurt.

  “I got you. Now I’m going to eat you.” He bent his head down. The nose of the dead animal stabbed her own nose as her tormentor lifted her arm to his mouth.

  At the feel of his teeth scraping her flesh, she yelled, “Mama! Kaa!”

  She squirmed and struggled free, then ran again. Hide. She had to hide from him. She hated him and wished he’d go away forever. She fell, hurt her knee, but ignored the pain and blood as she crawled beneath a bush. She heard shouting. Fighting and arguing. Then silence. That scared her even more until she heard a familiar and loving voice.

  “Come out, Jenny. He’s gone.”

  Jenny willed the tears to stop flowing down her cheeks. Kaa had come. He always came. He called her again but she waited until she saw him—and saw that he was alone.

  Crying, she ran into his arms.

  Her vision of Kaa faded. But instead of the nightmare ending, it began again. The same, yet different.

  Because this time there was more blood.

  This time Kaa did not come.

  No one came.

  She whimpered in her sleep; the sound, so soft as not to be heard by anyone else, was enough to wake her.

  Sitting, she breathed a sigh of relief that she’d been able to escape the dream. But she could not forget the screaming. Lots of screaming. Resting her head on her knees, she let her calf-length dress slide down between her legs.

  Breathing slowly and deeply as her mother had taught her to do when the night spirits came to visit, she closed her eyes and forced herself to relax. Keeping her eyes closed, she turned her sight inward, focusing on her center.

  Darkness swirled. It took effort to keep the lids of her eyes closed while she rolled her eyes upward. When she had her focus, she willed the black away and called upon calming colors. Her mother had taught her to see colors and call upon the wisdom of the spirits to help her when she was troubled.

  Black slowly gave way to blue, a deep, dark blue. Truth. Healing. Knowledge. Blue meant feeling safe, warm. Cool and comfortable. Yet she wasn’t safe. Her spirit was troubled.

  For many years the dreams had stayed away. Now they were back, worse than she could ever remember. They came every night now. She knew the spirits were speaking to her, trying to tell her something. Were they a warning? If so, the spirits had been trying to warn her of something terrible since she’d been a young child.

  Keeping her focus on the color swirling behind her closed eyes, she wished there were someone who could tell her what they meant. Her tribe’s shaman had said years ago that the dreams were memories of her past, yet she recalled only a happy childhood.

  Frustrated that, like all the other times, she knew nothing new, she lay back down and opened her eyes, the black of the night chasing the blue color away.

  Tonight the colors and their meanings did not soothe. For the first time they frightened her. The spirits wanted her to learn something, but she suddenly didn’t want to know what the dreams meant.

  Wait. There had been something new in tonight’s nightmare. Tonight she’d called out a name. She tried to remember the name the child had called out—but it was gone. Her head ached and her skin prickled with tiny bumps. A chill slithered down her spine.

  That name was important, but it eluded her. It frightened her, the grown woman, yet the child had called out to him. Who was he? What did this night’s dreams mean?

  The more she thought the more her head ached. Finally she put the terrifying dreams aside and concentrated on her heartbeat. She turned the pounding rhythm of her body into the beat of drums. Slowly she swayed in a slow circle, moving only her upper body. She chanted inside her head using her power chant, the words and song known only to her. She repeated it as many times as it took to chase the night spirits away. Fast at first, then slow. Very slow.

  Finally she opened her eyes and placed her hand between her breasts and felt for the tiny pouch the size of her thumb that lay nestled there. She drew it out and stared at it.

  Her fingers found the shape of the tiny stone inside. She slid her finger inside and pulled out a gleaming chain and held it up. In the darkness she couldn’t see the shiny gem but she knew it was red. Blood-red. Quickly she dropped it back into the pouch.

  The stone and its color both frightened and calmed her. For as long as she could remember she’d worn the pouch around her neck. Her medicine bag, her mother had said.

  In the quiet dark of the night she questioned whether it was good medicine or bad. Lying back down, she curled into a ball and hugged her knees to her chest beneath her furs. As she drifted off to sleep, her fingers ran unconsciously over a short, thick scar just below her knee.

  For the next four days Winona and Clay traveled by foot. Rock gave way to thick forests, then large and small rock formations again as they climbed with the land. Under other circumstances Winona would have loved to take her time and learn this new and exciting land. She loved the contrasts, and she loved the heights, ridges and peaks.

  But Clay didn’t stop more than was necessary. And he didn’t talk. He walked ahead of her and not once did he glance back to see if she lagged behind. She shot his back an angry glare.

  Ever since that night in the cave when he’d told her of his past he’d been distant. She knew he blamed her for his weak moment as well as for what had happened between them earlier. Maybe it was her fault. Then again, just maybe she’d proven to him that he was far from dead inside. A man of his strong reactions was not a dead man. A man who brought out strong reactions in others, namely her, was not a man who did not feel.

  Yet knowing that she was right, knowing that she’d gotten under his skin, didn’t make her feel better. Kicking a small stone out of her way, Winona scowled. Why did she care? This man didn’t care about her, didn’t care that he was causing her and her family pain. He cared only about himself.

  No. She had to be fair. He cared not about himself. But only for Jenny. Should Clay learn that Jenny had not survived she had no doubt he’d face Hoka Luta, kill him and not care whether he died as well.

  So what was she supposed to do? Keep making him angry to the point where they mated? Winona blushed as she remembered the wild joining of their bodies and
the incredible pleasure she’d achieved.

  She eyed Clay’s fine form. As much as she’d like to repeat that wild night, she knew that was not the answer. Besides, many times over the past few days she’d tried to goad him out of his cold silence, and nothing seemed to work anymore.

  Wiping her brow, she quickened her steps to keep up. Though it was still early spring, and they traveled in the high hills, it was warm.

  Clay had discarded his leggings and buckskin shirt. His torso held a sheen of sweat, and muscles danced up and down his back with each swing of his arms. And with each long-legged stride, his breechclout swung from side to side, baring teasing glimpses of flesh.

  She remembered the feel of his fingers digging into her backside. Her fingers itched to do the same to him. A tiny dribble of sweat rolled between her breasts. Not paying attention, she tripped over a rock and nearly went sprawling. She caught herself.

  Up ahead, Clay kept going. He had to have heard her, yet he never looked back to see if she was all right. Mad, she stopped. She’d had enough of this. Spotting a nice flat-topped boulder sitting in the cool shade of a towering giant piece of granite, she marched over and sat.

  “I am resting,” she declared.

  Up ahead Clay didn’t stop. Winona folded her arms across her chest, then changed her mind and put them behind her on the rock. Leaning back, she gave the appearance of not caring.

  “Leave me a trail to follow,” she called out.

  Clay didn’t stop. Winona didn’t budge.

  She tipped her head back and shook out her hair to allow the cooling breeze to brush against the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and counted.

  Wanji.

  Nunppa.

  Yamni.

  Topa.

  Zaptan. And kept counting. When she reached opawinge—one hundred—she heard a soft scuff. It was hard to keep from smiling. She might be his captive, but at the same time he was hers. That realization fueled her own sense of power. She thought of her vision, of the symbol of power the great cat inspired and spoke of, and knew she was here for a reason. Clay was a lost soul, and she had the power to save him.

  Though he said nothing, made no further noise, Winona knew he stood glaring at her with his arms crossed over his chest as he fought for control. He was not happy with her. She bit back a smile. Strangely, the knowledge that she could break through his barriers sent chills of awareness through her.

  The tips of her breasts tightened as if from a blast of cold air—or the touch of a lover’s caress. She put that thought from her mind. She needed her mind sharp and alert, not drugged by pleasures of the body.

  “What game are you playing?” Clay asked. Irritation edged his voice.

  Winona resisted the temptation to remind him that it was he who was playing games. She shrugged instead. “I am tired—”

  “I will say when we rest.”

  Winona opened one eye. Clay stood a few feet from her with his arms folded across his chest. “—of being ignored.”

  Her statement startled him. But only for a moment. He lifted one brow. “You are my captive. You will do as I say,” he warned softly.

  Lifting one brow in imitation, Winona sat upright and tucked her right foot beneath her left thigh. “You may be strong, but not that strong,” she said, deliberately eyeing him from his strong legs up past powerful thighs to his broad shoulders.

  Clay rocked back on his heels and silently waited for her to explain herself. Winona stretched her arms overhead and slowly brought her arms down. “Strong enough to carry me wherever it is you are taking me.”

  “Make no mistake, woman. I will sling you over my shoulder and carry you if you do not get up now.” He took a step forward.

  Instead of being intimidated, Winona smiled, stood and walked around him. When he turned, she again went behind. “Stand still,” she ordered.

  Clay whipped around. “For what?”

  Once more she moved around him. “If I must flop over your shoulder, I wish to be sure the view is to my liking.” She paused to swish aside his breechclout.

  “Yes, it will do.” More than do, she admitted to herself. Swallowing hard, Winona forced herself to saunter casually around the rest of the way. Clay stood speechless.

  Her boldness shocked her as much as it obviously shocked him. But she’d meant what she said. Clay could yell, shout or boss her about, but not ignore her. She refused to be treated as if she weren’t there, especially not from a man who’d taken her innocence and shown her the primitive beauty and power that came from being one with the elements.

  She’d never felt that wild abandon or the desperate need that had consumed her. No touch of Hoka Luta’s had even come close to igniting her senses. Not even his bold caress. She’d been enamored only by the thought of what he was doing, and what he’d wanted to do. She was a woman and she’d yearned to have a man treat her as such.

  It still amazed her that her body had responded so fully to Clay and his passion. That knowledge alone would have kept her from going through with marriage to Hoka Luta. What she felt for Clay she suspected was the same feeling her mother had for Hawk Eyes, and White Wind for Golden Eagle. How often had she seen those around her exchange secret smiles or hurry off to be alone?

  Clay only had to look at her to make her aware of her body and her reaction to him, the man. She moved close to him until she stood with her breasts just a hairsbreadth away from his bare chest. She held up her hands.

  “Now what are you doing?” Clay whispered the words hoarsely and took a step back.

  The power of becoming a woman surged through her. She felt alive. In love. The thought nearly buckled her knees. She put it away to examine later, though the thought of being in love with a man who’d taken her captive didn’t seem to matter right then.

  All that she cared about was breaking through the barriers Clay had placed between them. Only then would she be able to determine whether or not the emotions he evoked in her were love. So she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You said you would carry me. I am ready.”

  “Are you crazy?” He looked and sounded dumbfounded.

  Winona slid her hands down his shoulders and grinned. The man was definitely out of his element. She leaned in close. “Not any crazier than a man with a death wish.” Her fingers rose back up to his neck and linked together.

  “You know why I must do this.” Clay looked torn between anger and anguish.

  Winona used her thumbs to trace small half circles behind his ears. “For Jenny. But what good will you be to her if you are dead?” And what good to me? she asked silently. With each passing minute, each beat of her heart, she grew more confident and sure of herself.

  Power. Love. They went together. But with the gift of both power and love came responsibility. In a flash of insight Winona fully accepted the responsibility to save this man.

  Not just for Jenny—though she was determined to help him find his sister.

  And not just for herself, though when he’d claimed her body, he’d claimed her heart. When he’d opened his heart to her, he’d joined their souls.

  Night Shadow stepped back and pulled himself from Winona’s arms. “No more talk. We leave now.” He strode off with an even, uncaring stride. He didn’t stop. Didn’t look over his shoulder, but somehow he knew she hadn’t followed Why wasn’t he surprised?

  “Nehnesevatamestse! Have pity on me!” He muttered the words in both Cheyenne and English, unsure if his command was directed to the spirits, his white God or the woman who was quickly becoming a pain in the—

  He cut the thought. Having her eye his flesh so deliberately had thrown him off center. Knowing that if he carried out his threat she’d be staring at his backside had been more than he could handle.

  He came to a skidding stop. The woman had cleverly manipulated him. He whipped around. Though he couldn’t see Winona, he had no trouble imagining her smug satisfaction.

  Narrowing his eyes, Night Shadow quickened his
steps until he was standing in front of his captive. She wanted to be slung over his shoulders like a sack of flour, fine. She wanted to stare at his bare flesh, fine. Let her stare all she wanted. It mattered not.

  Without a word he rearranged his quiver of arrows, his bow and the other belongings he carried, then bent, caught her around the waist and put her over his shoulder.

  Night Shadow wasn’t sure what reaction he expected. Squeals of indignation would have been nice. A spate of furious curses he could live with, and even agree with. But what made him nearly dump Winona back onto the ground was her soft laughter.

  His lips tightened. This was no game. He found no amusement in taking an innocent woman captive or being forced into playing rough. He didn’t want to hurt her, damn it, but he’d spent more than half his life waiting for this moment. Jenny had counted on him and he’d failed her. He’d not fail her now—if she was still alive.

  “Clay?”

  Night Shadow felt her elbows dig into his shoulders as she held her head up. Ignoring her seemed the easiest thing to do, so he started off walking down the path.

  “Clay, I like watching the way your back moves when you walk. Your flesh dances beneath your skin.”

  Night Shadow bit back a groan and forced himself to move faster.

  Ignore her, he told himself. If he didn’t need her in order to get Jenny back, he’d dump her here and now and walk away. And never look back. His gut tightened at the thought, but Night Shadow refused to believe otherwise. There was no place in his life for a woman—any woman except his sister.

  Unfortunately, he couldn’t ignore the vision of Winona’s head thrown back, passion overtaking her. He heard her hoarse cries, felt her tightening around him as he lost all control. His palm burned where he held her by the back of her thigh. One glance at her soft flesh tempted him to scoot his fingers upward and beneath the hem of her skirt.