by Jenna Kernan
They dropped now. She felt it in her stomach, that feeling from flights when she was safely nestled in the middle seat. The wind became a wild buzzing of hornets as her vision continued to dim, leaving her in an unnatural internal twilight. She knew what was happening; she was losing the battle to live.
Her fingers tingled from lack of air. Her lungs burned. She spun in twisting waves of dizziness as the light beneath her tightened to a tiny bright spot, like the view through a telescope, a shining moonlike orb that glowed bright and then faded to oblivion.
He was right. They’d never find her—not where he was taking her.
Ty Moon felt the woman go limp in his arms and knew he had to bring her down. He called to the Thunderbirds, who swept low along the meadow boarding the eastern side of his current home. A moment later they deposited them gently back to earth and the storm moved off.
He chanted his thanks to the thunder gods and then stared down at the still body of the woman. What was he thinking?
In all his years, he had never interfered in the affairs of men. But when he saw her bleeding out before him, something snapped inside him. He had spent much of the summer and fall watching her as she watched his bears. He couldn’t walk away, knowing she would die.
He broke the rules—for her. He fought for a woman, protected her. Worse still he hadn’t stayed to see that the others were dead before carrying her to safety. The magnitude of what he had done settled over him. There might be witnesses.
Could a human even survive the Whirlwinds?
Ty stared down at her pale face and felt constrictive bands squeezing his rib cage.
He gave her a little shake. “Breathe!”
She did, and he felt the tension in his shoulders melt away. Her skin changed from bluish to a lovely healthy pink, making her more beautiful than he remembered. Here, at such close range, he could see her dark, feathery eyelashes and lush curve of her lips.
He glanced down at her injured arm. He needed to heal her wound, for he feared the paleness of her flawless skin was a result of blood loss as much as the turbulent flight. Rather than construct a healing circle, he brought her to the closest one.
Ty carried her swiftly to the ring of stones, buried now under the snow cover. It did not matter. He knew where they were and would use them to focus the power he inherited from his sire, the healing magic that was the birthright of all bears, but most especially the Inanoka—or Halfling Skinwalkers that were neither man nor god.
It was his place to protect the animals and he had done so, returning the she-bear to her den unharmed. But now he chose to use his strength to heal this woman. He had never used his gifts this way and was uncertain he would succeed. After all, it was the providence of the other Halfling race, the Niyanoka, to look after the safety of men.
He laid her gently in the white snow and knelt to kiss her soft lips. It was not part of the healing ritual, but something he had spent many hours imagining—a payment of sorts, for her life. When she healed, he doubted very much she would let him kiss her again.
It was not that he was frightening to look at, but humans had instincts, no matter how they tried to deny them, and those instincts picked up that he was dangerous. That was true, though he would never hurt this little one. She had already earned his respect by her work protecting bears as diligently as any Skinwalker.
Ty dragged his gaze from her with reluctance and retrieved a feather he had hidden in the hollow of a tree. He lifted his feather to the sky. His chant rang clear and strong over the still, icy clearing. He felt the familiar warmth as power surged through him. When he had collected enough, he laid his hands on her, letting his energy pour into her.
She convulsed once, arching as if in pain. He nearly released her, fearing that, rather than healing her, he might be killing her. But then he saw the wound closing, the skin mending perfectly. He rubbed a thumb over the smooth satin of her skin and smiled. The spot was not even red.
He placed his head on her chest and listened to her steady heartbeat, feeling for other injuries and finding none. Ty sat back. Why didn’t she wake?
She began to shiver and he recalled he had torn off her jacket and now had her laid out on a sheet of snow. He scooped her into his arms, cradling her against the warmth of his chest as he dashed the remaining distance to his lodge.
He knew he was making a grave mistake, but seemed unable to keep himself from making it. With this woman he didn’t care about duty or rules; he cared only about protecting her from her enemies and giving her back her life.
But there would be consequences. This woman was not only brave. She was smart and curious. A scientist who believed in what she could see and measure. What would she make of him?
There would be no logical way to reconcile what she had seen with her knowledge of the physical world. And once she learned just what he was…well, it would be over before it began. He felt the stab of regret. Great Mystery, she had not yet even rebuffed him and already he mourned her loss.
He was unlike her in so many ways, but they both shared a passion to protect the bears and like him, she was largely alone. As if that were enough. It was why he remained in bear form instead of approaching her directly. He’d been close only once, when she caught him nosing around her place. That’s when he’d discovered the red lace bra and underwear nestled between white bedsheets. They still retained her scent and the lure was too much for him.
Why did a bear researcher living out here in the wild need such garish, impractical underwear? He’d torn them off the line and rolled in her linens, covering himself with her arousing fragrance.
Was she wearing the red lace now?
When she had pulled up at her place, he’d forgotten his strength and torn the door off her pickup and frightened her half to death.
Ty carried her through the back entrance of the large, modern log home, taking her through the kitchen he never used and into the living room where he laid her on his wide couch and stood over her. The dull pain in his chest grew as he gazed down at the first woman who had ever made him ache.
He thought about her constantly. She was brave today, standing up to those men. He knew she was also smart and stealthy because she’d once managed to get a dart in him. As if that would bring him down. But it was humiliating to know she’d gotten close enough for a shot without him even sensing her. Ironically, the reason she’d gotten within range was that he was thinking about those damned red panties again.
Since outliving his human mother and half sister, Ty had carefully avoided forming attachments because of this very feeling—until now. He hunched against the squeezing ache in the center of his chest. Grief was the only pain that did not heal in time. He stood gazing at what he wanted and knew that he could not have her. He sighed. He would miss watching her from a distance.
Chapter Three
Luisa sank farther into the warm cushions as the sound of magnificent music echoed low and soothing all about her. She recognized it: “Humming Chorus” from Madame Butterfly.
Her eyes blinked open and she gazed up at a spectacular wood beam ceiling gleaming golden in the sunlight.
“Welcome back.” The voice was familiar, low and deep. But she couldn’t place it.
Then it all crashed back in on her: the poachers, the shooting, the terrible wind—the dark stranger. She craned her neck and found him, sitting forward in a mammoth leather armchair beside a fieldstone hearth. His smile tripled her heart rate. She threw herself into a sitting position, which made her head spin and the room rock crazily.
He was beside her in an instant, the cushions sinking deep to accommodate him. The imbalance caused her to tip toward him, falling against the wall of muscle. His powerful arms encircled her, steadying her until her head cleared.
“Who are you?”
“Friends call me Ty Moon.”
She pushed back to arm’s length. “Then what should I call you?”
He blinked at her and then smiled as if suddenly understanding her
jibe. “Good one. You fainted.”
She recalled the blinding blizzard and the freezing cold air.
“What the hell was that?” She made a circular motion with her hand.
His laugh rumbled under her ear. “The Thunderbirds. They carry us through The Whirlwind.”
“Us?” She sat back, disbelief clear in her voice. He was pulling her leg. He had to be. “Oh, come on.”
He shrugged. “I don’t require your belief.”
Her stomach clenched at his proximity. He smelled strongly of pine but beneath that was the arousing scent that made her acutely aware of his maleness. Desire rippled through her, sending sparks flashing though her middle. The shock of her reaction starched her spine.
“You kept your eyes closed?” he asked, drawing back to look at her.
“Mostly.”
He laughed, the sound deep and rich. She could not keep herself from staring at the transformation. He was handsome before the smile, in a deadly sort of way, but now his grin and the small lines beside his tempting brown eyes transformed his ruggedly beautiful features to jaw-dropping irresistible. She couldn’t breathe again, but this time she knew the reason. This man, this gorgeous man took her breath away. She needed to move.
“How do you feel, Luisa?”
She inched back on the couch, her unease growing. “How do you know my name?”
“I’ve been watching you for months.”
She sprang away, skidding over the arm of the couch, keeping it between her and this stranger as he inched forward but found the change in position too fast as a wave of dizziness assaulted her.
He bent his knees and leaped, jumping over the couch and landing beside her in a move more puma than man. She staggered and he caught her, holding her safely erect before him. Once she had her balance he released her.
“You’re one of them? Those men who stole my maps, robbed my house!”
He shook his head. “No. I’m a guardian.”
He lifted a lock of her curling hair and brought it to his nose, inhaling. “Chamomile blossoms in winter.” He tucked the strand behind her ear. “You’re feeling better?”
His question reminded her of her bullet wound. She stared down at her bare bicep, finding it perfect and whole. She twisted her arm to examine the unblemished skin more thoroughly.
“It’s gone. But how…” She gaped up at him to find warm brown eyes on her. “Was it a dream?”
He shook his head, his smile seemed sad. “No. I healed you.”
“That’s not possible.” But so was throwing a snowmobile, carrying grizzly bears or riding on whirlwinds.
He made no effort to explain, only leaned placidly against the back of the couch as her world shattered to pieces all about her. He folded his arms and waited with the controlled stillness of a panther. He wore a white shirt, open at the collar to reveal his unusual claw necklace. The view of smooth, coppery skin and the swell of muscle made her mouth go dry. He seemed to have native blood, just as she did.
“Your heart is racing,” he said.
She pressed a hand to her cheek, but it felt icy cold. “How could you know that?”
“I can hear it and I can smell your agitation. Are your frightened or aroused?”
Her mouth dropped open. “Aroused? I think I’m losing my mind. How could you heal me without leaving a mark? It must be an illusion or…”
“It would be easier to believe that.”
He leaned back so he could ease his hand into the front pocket of his snug jeans and withdrew something, offering it to her in a closed fist. She waited an instant before deciding to open her hand to accept it.
“Bears have healing powers,” he said, as if that explained everything and then dropped something into her palm.
She stared down at the misshapen blob of lead. Blood still clung to the crevices of the bullet.
“It passed through your arm and lodged in the sled behind you. A keepsake.”
Her stomach flipped as she felt the blood drain from her face. Her gaze flashed to his and she found his expression had changed. He now looked predatory and dangerous.
“What the hell are you, some kind of superhero?”
His eyes glittered like moonlight on dark water. He studied her as if deciding whether to attack or withdraw. He rose to his feet and stalked to the picture windows to stare out at the pink light receding off the Tetons.
She remained where she was, happy to be able to breathe without inhaling the stirring scent of him. She leaned against the back of the reassuring bulk of the sofa, following him only with her eyes.
He stood before the wall of glass, surrounded by the majesty of the mountain range. Until now, she had never seen a man who so perfectly matched the natural beauty and inherent danger of this country. Even with his back turned she felt his attention pinned on her. Her skin prickled a warning and she decided that she was definitely more frightened than aroused.
“I am sorry to upset you. It is why I do not show myself to your kind,” he said, turning to stare at her with intent, focused eyes.
What did he mean by that? She glanced at her surroundings, looking for a way out. A massive flagstone fireplace anchored the room. Inside a fire blazed, devouring the dry wood and filling the space with an ominous crackling sound. An oak mantel jutted from the rock but was devoid of one single photo, knickknack or personal possession. She glanced past the rectangle of furniture about the hearth, past the huge oak table that sat beneath a chandelier constructed of elk horns and wrought iron. Beyond lay a spotless kitchen of gleaming wood and dark granite. The place looked like a model home—artificial, hollow and impersonal.
There must be a back door through the kitchen. She inched in that direction.
He turned back to the windows and the darkening sky, brooding and solitary. She did a double take as she recognized she was far south of where she had started this morning. A growing sense of the bizarre echoed within her.
“Where are we?” she asked.
He shoved his hands deep in his pockets as if trying to imprison them.
“One of my homes. West of the park entrance.”
One of his homes? How many did he have?
She did not mean to but found herself stopping only a few steps behind him, hesitating now, as one might do with an unfamiliar dog. Answers or flight? she weighed her options as she took in his wide shoulders, narrow hips and thickly muscled legs. She’d never seen a man more powerfully built. He rocked slightly, swaying from his heels to his toes in a rhythmic motion. There was something primal about his movements, something familiar. He swept a hand through his shoulder length, tawny hair. That hair reminded her of—Goliath. He had fur the same exact shade, right down to the gold highlights.
Oh—hell no.
Her mind flooded with the legends of her youth. The wonderful stories of her grandmother’s people, the lore of the bear clan. But those things weren’t possible. They were just legends. Tales told by the elders at tribal gatherings. Stories only stories. Weren’t they?
Suddenly, she was shaking, her body accepting what her mind denied. She staggered into the dining table and he followed, catching up in two steps.
After everything that had happened today, was it so far-fetched?
“You’re a Skinwalker, aren’t you…Goliath?”
It hadn’t taken her long to put things together. How the hell had she heard of Skinwalkers? Ty wondered.
She was white wasn’t she? He glared at her, his eyes narrowing as he stalked forward, halting just inches before her. She trembled but somehow remained on her feet and absorbed his threatening stare. She was braver than he thought or perhaps more foolish. Damn him, if she didn’t hold her ground. No living thing, animal or man had ever held their ground against him. His admiration for this woman grew as he noted her trembling and saw just what her stillness cost her. She was afraid, but had been around bears long enough to know the very worst thing to do when confronted was run.
He admired her bravery, eve
n as he loomed, trying to force her off before he did something incredibly stupid, like kiss her. Now he noticed things he hadn’t before. She was fair and her eyes were green, but the shape of her eyes and the dark hair spoke to him of native blood. He had hoped her scientific mind would keep her from believing what her instincts shouted, but he hadn’t counted on this. It changed things, didn’t it?
He spoke his suspicions aloud. “You’re Lakota, too, aren’t you? Like me.”
“My grandmother’s people were of the bear clan.”
“Which grandmother?” He waited, knowing her answer made all the difference.
“My mother’s mother.”
He straightened. “Then you are bear as well.”
“She always said so.” She looked up at him with wonder.
“I am also bear clan,” he admitted. It was what gave him his animal self, the power of his mother’s people.
“Like me,” she whispered. “But not like me. You don’t just watch bears.”
He waited. He couldn’t tell her, but she could guess and if she knew the old ways, perhaps she would remember the words passed from one generation to the next.
“The people still speak of you. Ty, are you a Skinwalker?”
She was of his tribe with an understanding of the way of things, but still she was human and so, afraid. It was what kept her kind safe from his and what kept him always alone. He hated his solitude. Since she came to the valley, it had become unbearable. To escape the long, lonely winter he had decided to stay in bear form and hibernate. Then he would be there when they needed him, but insensible for much of the year. In the numb blackness of the dark winter he could not dream of her and be brokenhearted on waking to know that he would never have a strong, lovely and compassionate woman for his own.
She stood there waiting for him to admit what he was. But of course he could not.
He stared down at her. His heart beat fast, but he reminded himself of the hurt a human could cause. Size didn’t protect him from this kind of danger.