Healer's Choice

by Jory Strong

  It was darkly carnal—to want to imprint himself on every one of her senses—but all aspects of his soul demanded it.

  He rolled so she was underneath him, hands supporting her upper body so she was only partially in the water. He cut off her surprised laugh and turned it into a sigh of pleasure by filling her with his cock.

  “That feels so good,” Rebekka said, the throbbing ache between her thighs soothed by having him inside her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, touched her lips to his.

  Each of his thrusts sent her spiraling upward. And with every rub of her nipples and clit against his wet skin, she surrendered to sensation—and ultimately to an ecstasy that sent her soul flying as his penis pulsed in long, hot surges of release.

  Only reluctantly did she let her arms and legs fall away so he could move to his side. She sat, content to stay in the warm water rather than sit naked on the ground out of it.

  He sat as well, pulling her onto his lap. “You’ve proven yourself to the pack and to the ancestors. The Were owe you a debt they can’t repay. Stay with me. Be my mate. If my father still insists you go through the Rite of Trial, then I’ll leave his pack and form my own.”

  He pressed a kiss to the place where her neck and shoulder met, sucked on the mark he’d left there. “I wouldn’t have considered it possible, or even wise before, but with you as my mate, Lions, Wolves, even Hyenas might be drawn into the same pack. We could include them, furthering the idea of alliance and cooperation.”

  Rebekka’s chest expanded with hope. Her lips trembled, and the words, when she could speak them, were barely more than a whisper. “And the outcasts trapped in the brothels, those not condemned by pack law?”

  The instant tension in his body and tightening of his arms around her answered before he did. “If they are willing to go through the rite, they will be allowed onto our lands. Those the ancestors judge as worthy will have a home with us and be protected against recapture or retribution as a result of their life among humans.”

  Her heart slowed to a painful throb. “Very few survive the rite.” And Levi wouldn’t be one of them.

  “They could be given time before the rite, instruction, a chance to do things that would gain favor in the eyes of the ancestors.”

  A breeze picked up, coming from the direction of the encampment, and as if speaking about the ancestors drew their attention, Rebekka thought she heard the beat of drums.

  Aryck nuzzled her ear. “You hear them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Those belong to the shamans. There are six of them. If the elders possess stories of hearing so many shamans representing different Were groups calling upon the ancestors as one, they’ve never shared them with the pack. This is a time of great change, perhaps with the possibility of redemption for the outcasts you care so much about.”

  He kissed her shoulder. “If you’re one of us, an alpha’s mate and a pack’s healer, a human whose presence in Were lands has already spawned a legend to be passed down for generations to come, then surely you are also fated to help the outcasts find a way to come home.”

  Annalise Wainwright’s words whispered into Rebekka’s mind, speaking of war and alliances being forged, of healers who would emerge so those Weres trapped in an abomination of form would be made whole.

  Hope returned in a crawl, too tentative to give voice to. Desire followed as Aryck’s tongue traced the shell of her ear and he murmured, “We’ll talk again about our future after the encampment is gone. Until we return to witness the departure of the humans, I intend to show you what it means to be claimed by a male Jaguar.”

  AT dawn a plume of dust marked the convoy of trucks on their way to Oakland. Only two jeeps remained, positioned well away from the encampment, their drivers waiting for the command to leave.

  Captain Orst leaned against the back of one vehicle. Captain Nagy stood several steps away from the other.

  As Rebekka watched, a man wearing the Ivanov uniform exited the encampment. Two others came afterward, followed by a fourth and a fifth.

  The last of them to leave stopped in front of the militia captain for a conversation. Captain Nagy gave a brief shake of his head, accompanying it with a gesture toward the jeep closest to them.

  The man walked over to it, spending a minute doing something Rebekka couldn’t see. When he turned back toward the site, she guessed he must have a control unit in his hand, given the antenna jutting from it.

  He seemed to do a count of the men gathered around the vehicles. Then satisfied, he looked forward, at the site, and yelled, “Clear!”

  The word rang through the abandoned valley and was followed seconds later by the thunder of explosives. Concrete shattered and dirt erupted, reaching skyward as if a volcano spewed its unheated contents in one mighty heave.

  Clouds of debris billowed outward for a short distance. And from the swirling mass, a figure emerged, an urchin dressed in gray rags with a rat sitting on his shoulder.

  Fear tore through Rebekka at the sight of him, and, sensing it, Aryck’s arms tightened around her. He nuzzled her ear, murmured, “We’ll face my father and Nahuatl together.”

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement, guessed the alpha and shaman were approaching, and knew by Aryck’s reassurance that he didn’t see the apparition standing amidst the destruction.

  The urchin reached up and stroked the rat. “Game over,” he said, his image blurring into the dust created by a second explosion. “For now, Healer.”

  Addai

  LIGHT coalesced in front of where the urchin stood with debris billowing through his noncorporeal form. It bent and twisted into a human shape silhouetted by glorious white wings. Gained presence without becoming flesh by drawing color through it while remaining diffuse, transparent to eyes seeing only what had a physical reality.

  You always did have a touch for the dramatic, Caphriel, Addai said, the words spoken on a plane unheard by the mortal.

  And you weren’t always a fool for lost causes. Does this form suit you better, brother?

  The grubby child with the rat perched on his shoulder transformed into a man astride a horse. He spread his arms wide and lifted his face to the sky. And death sat upon a pale horse, given power to kill with sword and plague and pestilence and disease, and with the wild beasts of the earth.

  Addai shook his head. The quote grows tiresome. As does this often-repeated conversation. But I’ll say my lines so we can move beyond them. You won’t go unchallenged. You won’t succeed in the task assigned you.

  Caphriel morphed again, from a horseman of the Apocalypse to an angel whose resemblance to Tir was unmistakable. Ah, brother, even if I’ve yet to discover the source of your motivation, I’m glad you continue to cling to your delusions. You and those you call allies won’t wrest this world away from our father, but the game between us helps pass the time.

  He looked at the place where Rebekka and Aryck stood, the alpha and shaman approaching them. I concede. This victory is yours, Addai. But there are other cities and other game pieces. In the end your efforts will come to nothing. Those living here will be gathered and judged, and I will finally be free of this world.

  A stretching of black wings and Caphriel was gone, leaving parting words whispering through Addai’s mind. Echoing Addai’s own.

  Until we meet again, brother.

  Until we meet again.

  Thirty

  REBEKKA remained in Aryck’s arms when Nahuatl and Koren reached them. His openness about their relationship chased away some of the chill caused by the urchin.

  “We heard the drums last night,” Aryck said.

  For the first time Rebekka saw acceptance in Koren’s expression when he looked at her. “There is no need for you to stand before the ancestors and be judged. They have heard of your deeds and spoken. Jaguar. Wolf. Lion. Coyote. Hyena. Bear. You may move freely in those territories as one who belongs there.”

  She wet her lips, preparing to ask the same question she’d put t
o Aryck when he spoke of forming his own pack. Aryck beat her to it. “I told Rebekka if she would agree to be my mate, I would see to it those outcasts not condemned by pack law would be allowed to enter our lands. I promised they would be given time and instruction before undergoing the Rite of Trial, a chance to redeem themselves so they would face the ancestors and hope to survive it.”

  “The ancestors spoke on this,” Nahuatl said. “As well as on the subject of the healer becoming your mate.”

  Against her back Rebekka could feel Aryck’s heart speed up to match the quick race of hers. Hope curled in her belly, warm and sweet with the possibility her dream of a husband and children could become a reality. But as Nahuatl’s dark eyes met hers, a chilly tendril of foreboding wound its way through the hope, arriving with the knowledge that nothing came without price.

  “What Aryck has promised you is acceptable to the ancestors,” the shaman said, “as is your becoming his mate. If you remain on Were lands. To return to the human world is to risk the corruption of your soul.”

  Nahuatl turned and walked away. Koren hesitated, as if he would say something; then he too left without a word.

  Aryck’s lips touched Rebekka’s neck, brushed over her ear. “Stay. Be my mate.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut against tears. The fast race of her heart only a moment ago now a slow, painful beat, bringing with it images from her life in Oakland.

  The heavy weight of choice settled on her shoulders. She could have a mate, children, friendships extending beyond a single group of Weres. Safety unlike anything she’d ever known and a life full of love and happiness. But at a cost.

  With the threat posed by the encampment gone, there would be little need of her gift among the pure Were. Most of their injuries could be cured by a shift in form. What little sickness befell them naturally could be treated with remedies.

  To accept this life was to be defined as mate and mother instead of healer. Her heart craved it, yet at the same time, it seemed wrong to abandon those in need, and care only about her own happiness.

  Rebekka turned in Aryck’s arms, looked up into the face of the man she wanted to spend a lifetime with. How could she leave him? But what if staying meant her gift would never deepen so she could heal the Weres trapped between forms? What if staying meant their only hope lay in escaping the red zone and surviving the ancestors’ Rite of Trial?

  What about those who weren’t Jaguar or Lion, Bear or Wolf, Coyote or Hyena? What about Levi, who would die if he stood before the ancestors? And Cyrin and Canino, trapped in their animal form, not outcast but not whole either?

  Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “I need time alone, to think,” she whispered, touching her lips to Aryck’s in a silent plea for him to understand the struggle keeping her from giving him the answer he wanted.

  He crushed her to him, mouth claiming hers in desperation. She responded with like emotion. Opened for him, her tongue rubbing and tangling with his. Their breaths mingling, bodies pressed tightly together, both of them afraid of what would happen once they separated.

  Rebekka felt torn apart, bereft when he released her and stepped back. Cold replaced the heat of his body, the burden of conscience leaving no room for passion.

  “I’ll meet you back at the Lion dwelling place.”

  His expression became that of a protector. “No Were would dare attack you, but I don’t like leaving you unguarded.”

  She laid her hand on his chest. “If I’m to live in these lands, I have to be able to survive without a personal bodyguard.”

  A muscled twitched in his cheek. Conflict was written in taut muscles and rigid posture.

  Aryck covered her hand where it rested on his chest, pressed as though he wanted to anchor her to him. “Be careful.”

  Rebekka felt the loss with each step away from Aryck. She knew it was nothing compared to the agony she’d experience if she returned to Oakland.

  Why contemplate it at all? a small voice whispered in her mind. Hadn’t she wondered if working in the brothels only perpetuated the misery? Hadn’t she done enough for others?

  Memories of lovemaking contrasted against the loneliness she’d known before. Images of teaching Caius his letters brought fantasies of other children learning to read, small boys who looked like Aryck. Didn’t she deserve happiness, too?

  Arguments and counterarguments chased themselves around in her thoughts as she walked through the woods until, weary of the battle between her heart and her mind, Rebekka sat on a log beside a dry creek bed.

  A male cardinal landed a few feet away from her, a bright splash of color against yellowed grass. Seeing it reminded her of those moments standing in front of the Wainwright house after the dream and the rat in the alley sent her running to them.

  The blood red of the cardinal sitting in a nearby tree had seemed like an omen waiting for interpretation. It seemed like a second omen to have the cardinal appear now, at another crossroad in her life.

  The thought sent uneasiness rushing through Rebekka. She rose to her feet, only to realize the true source of her sudden nervousness.

  A Jaguar watched. It remained crouching just long enough for its fury to reach her, and for Rebekka to recognize Melina before she charged.

  There was no time to scream. No time to react.

  No need to as the cardinal morphed into a tiger and launched itself at Melina, its weight and unexpected appearance giving it the advantage.

  They collided then hit the ground, the tiger landing on top, driving its canines into Melina’s exposed throat and clamping down savagely, cutting off air and sound and delivering a killing bite.

  He turned toward Rebekka, and in her mind’s eye she saw him even before the tiger became the man who’d saved her from rape when she was sixteen and sent her to Dorrit.

  Her mother’s voice rang through her mind. John. They’re all named John.

  Rebekka’s eyes went to his hands, expecting to see wickedly curved black talons. Instead his fingernails were short and clear. Human, not demon.

  His sharp features were the same, as was his hair. He wore it in a hundred braids, all of them with black and red beads woven in—a cardinal’s coloration to go with the image of it on his bare chest.

  She felt foolish for having missed the connection, for not having questioned how often she noticed a bird not commonly seen.

  The fear-spiked adrenaline caused by Melina’s sudden appearance and attack washed away, leaving Rebekka nauseous. Or maybe it was the knowledge that whatever plans her father had for her were about to be revealed.

  She studied him as he studied her, was reminded of the raven outside the Wainwright house who’d sat in the same tree as the cardinal before shifting into a supernatural being so powerful at masking his nature not even Levi could see beyond the human facade, of Zurael, the shamaness Aisling’s mate, who had the same otherworld feel.

  “What are you?” she asked, hesitating on a breath before acknowledging the relationship between them. “Besides my father.”

  “My race is ancient, existing before the birth of mankind. We ruled here once and will do so again.”

  “Demon.”

  “That name was given to us by our enemy, when the oldest and most powerful of us was twisted into a terrifying shape in an effort to subdue us. Since then we have hidden behind the label and been forgotten by humans even as time and the power of their belief has given birth to a legion of true demons.”

  Dread clawed through her but it didn’t stop her from saying, “Abijah said you had no love for humans. What do you want from me?”

  Not for the first time since the testing began, Torquel felt regret. Were it in his power, he would prevent his daughter from suffering further. He’d found it unbearable to see her bound and gagged, at the mercy of human trash.

  It had been a small transgression on his part to take a mouse’s form and heal her with a quick touch of fur to forehead. A small interference he’d present himself to be punished for s
hould The Prince demand it.

  He wished he could reveal the things she needed to know. Bestow the gifts he could on her. But he was as trapped in these proceedings as she was.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked for a second time, her courage swelling his heart with such pride that he wanted to embrace her, to become a true father to her, a teacher and confidant.

  There wasn’t much time. The enforcer would soon come looking for her.

  Torquel asked, “Do you love the Were?”

  She stiffened, looking for the trap in his question and, after a long moment, springing it closed by answering, “Yes.”

  “Then I’ve come to give you a choice. Remain here and make a life for yourself, or accept my gift and return to Oakland as a healer who can heal not only those Weres caught between forms, but those trapped in only one form.”

  Rebekka knew with absolute certainty he could bestow such a gift on her. Deep down, a part of her had guessed it would come to this the moment Aryck spoke openly about her becoming his mate.

  “And if Aryck is willing to come with me to Oakland?” she asked, churning with uncertainty, wondering if he loved her enough to enter her world, if he would be willing to risk becoming outcast—

  But how could he be trapped between forms if she could heal him?

  “The Jaguar can’t know unless he chooses to accompany you or to follow afterward. It’s one of the conditions. Until you leave Were lands, you can’t reveal the change to your gift, nor can you heal the outcast here. Those coming to these lands must seek out the shamans and survive the Rite of Trial or, if they are in animal form, present themselves in Petitioner’s Rite, as they have always been able to do, and have their penance named.”

  “And the cost to me of making a Were whole?”

  Approval shone in her father’s eyes. “No more than you can bear. Nothing the life you’ve led hasn’t prepared you for. Great gifts always come with great responsibility.

  “The choice is yours to make of your own free will. It will be offered only this once, and your answer required after I’ve told you the last condition associated with it, and that is, you can tell no one about my presence here and what we spoke of.”