Lost Vegas Series

by Lizzy Ford

  River bank! He ordered his magic.

  The river pushed him over and upward, towards the surface. Arthur stretched up – and his hand, then his head and shoulder, were met by solid ice. Panic began to form in his mind, and he pounded on the ice as hard as he could, until the warmth of blood brushed his face.

  Leave me. The voice was so soft, he barely heard it above the frantic thoughts of survival circulating around his mind.

  The she-wolf was limp. Was it possible she had spoken to him?

  Unable to focus his much needed energy on anything other than breaking through the ice, Arthur continued to pound. Pain radiated through him, warming him, fueling his desire to make it through the ice.

  But the ceiling standing between life and death did not budge.

  Desperation crept through him, along with the shadows around his mind, closing in, suffocating him mentally as his lungs screamed for air.

  Leave me. The voice was stronger, louder.

  No! Arthur held the wolf against him more tightly, or so he hoped, since he was quickly becoming unaware of his body and unable to control it. His fist fell away from the ice, and he began to sink into darkness, and coldness, and the unforgiving depths of the river.

  The water pushed him upwards again, keeping him afloat when he wanted to let go and die.

  A sharp object slashed his shoulder, cutting him deep enough to draw him from the darkness. Arthur peered into the river again and saw the flash of … something before it fell close to his head. In the far corners of his mind, he recognized the shape of an axe.

  Up, he ordered his magic.

  The water shoved him upward, towards the axe. He collapsed against the ice.

  Up!

  The water pushed harder, until it felt as if his insides were being crushed.

  The axe fell again, and the ice shattered around him.

  Arthur bobbed to the surface. The cold air felt warm after the frigid water, and he struggled to move a body too frozen to do so. He ducked under again, and this time, someone reached in and dragged him back up. His eyes closed. Though he heard the movement and sounds of the world, he could not process them well enough to make them out. One second he was in water. The next, he was being hauled onto the bank.

  “Arthur!” This cry was familiar but far off, as if it came from across a vast canyon.

  Arthur’s eyes opened, and he blinked without being able to clear his vision.

  “Breathe, Arthur!” the blurry form above him ordered amidst wailing too fantastical to be real.

  Did I survive? He thought doubtfully.

  Something slammed into his chest. Arthur choked and then began to cough. He was pushed onto his side, and he threw up water before he began to suck in huge breaths of air.

  “Oh, burn me. Burn me …” Marshall was muttering over and over, between pants.

  Arthur coughed and breathed, and his senses began to return. He felt … hot. And cold. And hot again. His body was heavy, his extremities immobilized. He lay still and slowly became aware of his situation. Unable to speak let alone raise his head, he searched for the wolf through his blurry gaze.

  A blob of black was beside him, and the scent of wet fur was thick in his nostrils. Afraid the animal had not survived, Arthur made a gurgling sound as he attempted to speak.

  The blob of black shifted towards him, and the she-wolf’s pink tongue licked his forehead.

  Ouch. Arthur tried to move away. Her tongue felt scorching and rough. It left a trickle of hot energy everywhere she licked him. The streak of heat began to spread through him, searing him from the inside out.

  Arthur arched as the strange agony pierced him to the core, reawakening his body in a way nothing natural ever could. Seconds later, he lay, breathing heavy and blinking rapidly, aware of everything from the rocky, cold, sandy bank he lay on to the shrieks of pain from the Ghouls to the landing of snowflakes on his cheeks and forehead.

  The too intense sensations lasted a few more seconds, before both the energy and intensity of his world faded to normal levels.

  Gasping for air, alarmed by the wolf’s strange ability, Arthur rolled onto his stomach. All his limbs were healed and had returned to working order, to include the fist he pounded into a pulp, and the icy shadows were gone from his mind. His clothing remained drenched and cold. He pushed himself into a sitting position and gazed at the two figures on the bank before him.

  Marshall was soaked and pale and beside him, a broken axe at his side, along with coiled rope. He had draped his cloak around the shivering, panting she-wolf.

  “You did not run,” Arthur said, unable to hide his surprise. He had written Marshall off as the weak-willed, philosophical, spoiled son of a man content to spend his entire life fostering the reputation of his ancestors rather than making the city better, as Arthur’s misguided father tried to.

  “I did not want your father to burn me at the stake for leaving you,” Marshall replied.

  Was there more to the Cruise heir than Arthur ever allowed to be possible? Mettle, perhaps, a touch of courage, or even honor?

  “I believe you now. She is magic,” Marshall said with a glance at the wolf who now seemed content to sit beside him. When they had met, she refused to allow him within five feet of her, while Arthur had no problem approaching. “So are you, Arthur.”

  Arthur’s features shuttered.

  Sudden silence was as jarring as the screams of the Ghouls.

  Grateful for the distraction, Arthur climbed unsteadily to his feet. “We need to warm her up.” He held out a hand to Marshall, who accepted it. Pulling the Cruise heir to his feet, Arthur released him and then bent over to rub down the wolf with the cloak.

  “Arthur,” Marshall said.

  “I know. She is tougher than both of us, but I just want to make sure her fur does not freeze.”

  “Arthur.” This time, Marshall sighed in irritation.

  Facing him, Arthur was about to ask what his companion wanted when the words died on his lips.

  The skinwalker stood in the middle of the ice, his face and hands red with blood from killing the Ghouls. He was in human form again, a tall Native of indistinguishable age, with piercing brown eyes and the stillness of a predator about to pounce. The man held an otherworldly presence, as if he were not fully present, despite appearing solid.

  Arthur eased to face him fully. There was no mistaking the man from his visions, the one who, one day in the near future, would chase Tiana across the plains and probably kill her.

  He also became suddenly aware his plan was never going to work. He had no weapons to confront the skinwalker who had massacred ten Ghouls without a single wound to show for it.

  “I think he wants his magic wolf back,” Marshall whispered. “And I think we should give it to him.”

  Frustration unfurled within Arthur, along with acknowledgment he was not going to win this, if it became a battle.

  “I think you’re right,” he said reluctantly. Twisting, he motioned to the wolf. She shook off the cloak before trotting forward. When she reached him, she looked up with her golden eyes and nudged him with her nose, then continued onward.

  The she-wolf circled the skinwalker and sat on her haunches beside him.

  He continued to glare at Arthur. Without speaking, he turned away and began to cross the frozen river.

  “Wait.” The word was out before Arthur knew exactly what he was going to say next. “Please.” He started forward.

  The Native stopped.

  “Are you mad?” Marshall snapped quietly and snatched his arm. “This is a truce. Let us take it and leave with our lives!”

  Arthur shook him off and ventured several steps closer, slowing his pace to ensure the skinwalker was not about to transform. He could think of no other way to help Tiana, and he doubted – no, he hoped – never to be this close to a skinwalker ever again. “Just … wait.” He glanced over his shoulder at an astonished Marshall and gauged the distance to be far enough for the Cruise heir not to h
ear him. “I have seen you in a vision.”

  The Native turned.

  “I have a recurring vision that began months ago,” Arthur rushed on.

  The skinwalker lowered his head and glared at Arthur. “What are you?” he asked in a low growl.

  “I do not know,” Arthur replied honestly. “But I know our paths crossed for a reason, and I know I have seen you many, many times before they did. Will you listen to me?” Acutely aware of Marshall inching closer, Arthur tried to keep his voice as low as possible. He glanced at the she-wolf, who was watching him. “She spoke to me, did she not?”

  After a pause, the Native nodded.

  “My abilities are not of my understanding,” Arthur continued. “But I know, without a doubt, what I saw of you will come true.”

  “What is this vision?”

  Arthur was quiet, debating what to say, how much to reveal. When it came to his sister, his first instinct was to protect her, not reveal her danger to the very man who threatened it. But how else did he explain the circumstances he wished to prevent than by addressing them directly?

  “You try to murder my sister,” he said finally. “This happens this spring, in a location I do not recognize.”

  The Native’s scrutiny intensified. “For what reason?”

  “Reason?” Marshall echoed with an uncomfortable laugh. “We saw what you did to those two villages. Do you need a reason?”

  “Shut up!” Arthur snapped to him before addressing the Native. “I do not know.”

  “What form am I in?” the skinwalker asked.

  Arthur blinked, not expecting the question. He shifted his gaze towards the sky, recalling the visions. “In each one, it’s different. But mostly, you are in my vision as you are now. On rare occasion, you are a bear, and at times, a wolf and other times … a creature I do not recognize from this world.”

  “But mostly this form,” the Native repeated.

  Arthur nodded. He waited for an explanation.

  None came.

  “I wanted to find you and well, I planned to kill you to protect her,” Arthur admitted. “I am aware the odds are not with me this day. I want to hire you for the sole purpose of not murdering or harming my sister. It is my understanding you are a mercenary. My family is very powerful and very wealthy. I can give you anything you request.”

  “It so happens this is my fee,” the Native said with a glimmer in his gaze.

  “What is your fee?” Marshall asked.

  “Whatever he dictates,” Arthur said. “Correct?”

  The Native studied him. “How will I know her?”

  Not expecting this question, Arthur hesitated again. His instincts warned him not to answer, while his heart was desperate to utilize this interaction to his advantage, since he was not likely to receive a second opportunity.

  “Your mark,” Marshall said, nudging him.

  Arthur pulled off his shirt and twisted to reveal the eagle tattooed on his shoulder. It was the mark of every Hanover, given to them shortly after birth. “She bears this mark, in the identical place on her body. It is unique to us.”

  He replaced his shirt. When he faced the skinwalker, the Native was striding away. His wolf trotted ahead of him.

  Arthur’s mind was not on him but on the uncomfortable memory sliding through him. Before the skinwalker attacked his camp, he had been talking to their Native guide, Running Deer, and Warner about the visions. Running Deer claimed the skinwalker could be hired – and that his price was unknown, for no one who ever hired him spoke of what they paid, except to say it was not money.

  “I assume if he leaves us alive, he agrees,” Marshall said, puzzled.

  They both watched the skinwalker disappear into the snowstorm and forest, but neither of them moved for some time. Arthur suspected he and Marshall were feeling the same thing: wariness, laced with fear, after the encounter with the monster that killed the inhabitants of two villages, their encampment, and ten Ghouls.

  “You should’ve asked him why he killed everyone in our camp,” Marshall said.

  “After what we saw him do in the villages, I don’t think he had any reason,” Arthur replied.

  “Except your tent was the only one destroyed.”

  Arthur did not know what to say to this statement, for he had been thinking along a similar line.

  “No vengeance for us this day,” Marshall muttered. “Will you insist we track him tomorrow, after what we saw him do to the Ghouls? Or will you display some common sense for once and agree to return home?”

  The longer they lingered, the less sense Arthur made about all that had happened.

  “Let us go home,” he said quietly. “We will need half my father’s Shield to take on this kind of opponent.”

  “Agreed.” Marshall spun and strode towards the horses located at the top of the embankment. “Maybe when we stop next, you can tell me about your deformity and what we were really doing here, because it had nothing to do with Warner.”

  Arthur scowled and trailed. While Marshall’s bravery and persistence in helping him was impressive, Arthur was not about to trust the secrets of his family to the heir of the only other family in Lost Vegas with a legitimate claim on the city.

  Marshall stopped so fast, Arthur collided with him. Before he could speak, Marshall whispered, “We might have a new problem.”

  Arthur looked in the direction where his companion faced.

  Natives armed with firearms – weapons outlawed in the city after the riots of twenty five years ago – and traditional bone or iron weapons lined the top of the embankment, so still, they could have been statues, if not for the puffs of air each exhaled.

  How long they had been there was impossible for Arthur to guess, just as he had no way of knowing if they had seen the two of them interacting with the skinwalker boogeyman even the Natives feared.

  “They are Kutsipiuti,” Marshall added. “Neutral.”

  “Then I will simply inform them of who I am, and they will allow us safe passage,” Arthur said confidently.

  “The arrogance that runs in your family is astounding,” Marshall snapped quietly. “We have no agreements with them. For all intents and purposes, we are trespassing. And that one,” he pointed, “is Diné, our enemy. Your father may be able to bully people around, but you cannot. Not out here, when we are exposed, vulnerable, and alone.”

  “And I suppose only the great Cruise heir can negotiate with them?” Arthur retorted.

  “My family has been forced to be diplomatic for generations, while yours unleashes a new generation of madness upon us all every few decades. The Cruises have survived ten generations of Hanover madness, have we not?”

  Arthur grounded his teeth. It was not the appropriate place or time for them to fight about whose family was lesser in its dedication to the city’s survival. “Then go negotiate. If you fail, we will try it my father’s way,” he managed to say.

  Marshall nodded. His jaw was clenched, and he was paler than usual. He pulled off his weapons and made a show of laying them out in the snow. Lifting his arms, he then began following the trail up the steep bank towards the Natives.

  None of their observers made a move to fire upon them, though no one moved forward to greet Marshall either.

  Arthur shivered, aware of how exposed they were, with the treacherous river behind them and no horses to flee.

  At least I found the skinwalker, he thought. With any luck, the Natives would have news of Warner.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The dream about Arthur faded. Upon waking fully, Tiana understood it was not a true dream, but one of her fleeting visions.

  She sat up, clenching the blankets hard enough for her fingers to ache.

  Arthur was alone. Cold. Imprisoned? She had the sense he was somewhere he did not wish to be but could not see deeper into his surroundings to identify his circumstances. Except … she knew where he was. He had drawn a familiar symbol in the dirt at his feet. Did he know she would see him, or did he
draw absently?

  She released her grip on the bedding and swung her legs off the bed. The marble floor was cool beneath her feet, and she snatched her clothing to dress. After a lifetime of being sealed away from the world, she had made it clear to the slaves that no one was to close the window, no matter how cold its draftiness made her room.

  Seconds after she finished dressing, Tiana jumped at the loud knock at the door. She took up her usual guarded position, behind the table, near the window, with her shoulders hunched and her eyes down. The chilly morning breeze leaked through the window to graze her bare forearms, and she shivered.

  The door opened. “Forgive me for disturbing you so early,” George began. He closed the door behind him, sealing off their discussion from the two blind slaves in the hallway.

  Before Tiana could respond, he spoke again.

  “Warner returned.”

  Tiana looked up. “Arthur?” she breathed.

  “Warner was alone. But he gave us hope to believe your brother is alive before collapsing,” George replied. “Their camp was attacked, and Warner was the only person to escape. He said Arthur and Marshall Cruise were away from camp for the ceremonial first hunt.”

  Tiana’s heart was in her throat, her mind swimming with questions. The messenger Arthur sent back had warned his father about the Cruises planning to target his heirs. Why had he ridden off with Marshall, if he knew the danger? “And then?” she asked.

  “That’s all he knows,” George responded.

  Her hope was all but dashed. “Who attacked them?”

  “Bears.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Bears?”

  “A group of them.”

  “Bears don’t travel in groups, and should they not be hibernating?” she asked, recalling what she had read about the animals in one of her books.

  “From what I understand, because of his condition, what he said made no sense, and this was an interpretation of what he likely meant.”