The Soul Survivors Series Boxed Set

by Vella Munn

  She'd already guessed what he'd carried her out here for, why he'd waited for her to regain her senses, but hearing him say it sent a shudder through her. To her horror, that made him laugh. "You haven't forgotten me, have you? I didn't think so. We're going back, you and me. Back to the plantation. Nothing's changed. Nothing except that Isiah is as dead as his ugly daughter and everything he ever had is now mine."

  Reddin had killed Liana's father; Calida had no doubt of that. She wished she understood what could make a man do something like that, what had made his pursuit of her so relentless, but it didn't matter.

  Nothing did except protecting her baby. Hers and Panther's.

  Reddin released her right arm but kept his fingers clamped over the left. For a heartbeat it didn't register that he'd drawn his knife and was holding it up for her to see. Then he touched it to her throat, and she froze.

  "You think I'm going to kill you? Not too likely, not after what I've spent and done hunting you down." Turning the blade, he sawed at her neckline until it gave. He sliced some more until the fabric fell away, exposing the tops of her breasts. They'd become slightly swollen since the baby began its life inside her. Would he notice?

  Resheathing the knife, he released her arm and ripped her dress off her. It fell in a heap on the ground. Shivering despite the heat, she forced herself to stare at him. Slave. She was a slave again. "Getting uppity, are you?" he asked. "You didn't used to look at me while I was bothering you." His big hand closed over a breast, and she gagged, wondered if she was going to pass out. When he captured her other breast, she took an involuntary step backward and ordered herself not to panic.

  "Don't move. You know what's expected of you."

  Expected. Oh yes, she knew. She could never forget.

  He pushed her until he'd backed her against a tree. Then, smiling a little, he pulled off his belt and unfastened his pants. He didn't bother to remove any more of his clothes, only yanked down until he was exposed.

  Panther. Panther!

  But Panther was the army's prisoner.

  Leaning toward her, Reddin braced himself by planting his hands on her shoulders. She turned her head to the side to escape his breath. Still, that did nothing to diminish his impact. Before she could react, he rammed his manhood against her. Legs clamped together, she denied him.

  "Damn you, Calida!" He balled a fist and shook it under her nose. "You know better. I'm waiting. Damn it, I'm waiting."

  He wanted her to lay herself open to him as he'd forced her to long ago. Unable to breathe, she stared at the ground.

  "Now." He pressed his fist against the underside of her jaw. "Now, before I make you sorry."

  Brain burning, she started to spread her legs. He rocked back, smiling. Watched. Instead of taking her, he ran his fingers over her breasts, his mouth slack. "You've changed, Calida. Gotten even riper. No wonder I couldn't get you out of my mind. I must have known—damn it, I've waited so damn long."

  Changed. That was the only word she heard. Changed.

  Willing herself to wait, she remained passive as he slowly, intimately explored her breasts. When he was done, he pressed his hands possessively over her hips and belly. She thought about her baby nestled safe and hidden inside her. When, if, Reddin learned about it, he would—

  He would kill Panther's child.

  Reddins breathing came faster and more labored. He'd begun moving in a jerky way that told her he wouldn't wait much longer. He no longer held her captive, but why should he? She was his slave. His willing, obedient, frightened slave.

  Only, she'd changed.

  His hands trailed lower. He pressed his thumbs against the inside of her thighs, opening her to him. He was coming closer. Bringing his manhood—

  Screaming, she rammed her knee upward. Bone connected with soft, vulnerable flesh and she screamed again. Gurgling, he doubled over and dropped like a deer with an arrow through its heart. She screamed for a third time but not as loudly this time, not so insanely. For a moment she couldn't make herself move. This man, this huddled, hurting mass had once owned her. He'd captured Panther, had tried to take her again. But he'd failed!

  Eyes never leaving him, she reached down for his belt. She pulled out the knife and gripped it, feeling its deadly strength. Her head still throbbed from her earlier beating, and she had to be careful not to move too quickly.

  She had to kill him. Had to!

  Breathing heavily, she backed up a few steps. He continued to jerk about, looking helpless, pitiful.

  Her fingers were cramping. She needed to let up on her grip but didn't dare because if she did, she might lose her courage for what she had to do. What part of his body was the most vulnerable? His manhood was cradled in his hands, and she couldn't get to him there. His neck. Could she slice his throat? This man, this monster had so terrified her that she'd destroyed her babies to keep them away from him. Hers! Not his!

  Using her foot, she pushed on Reddin's shoulder until he was on his back and looking up at her. His eyes bulged, and she read hatred so powerful it sickened her. Hatred and something else. His throat was nearly hidden beneath his graying beard.

  Her babies! And now this one—hers and Panther's!

  She'd just started to crouch when Reddin kicked out and up. His boots connected with her belly, doubling her over. She tried to breathe. Couldn't. Tried to regain her balance. Couldn't.

  Panther!

  * * *

  The ropes around his wrists cut into his flesh, but Panther barely noticed. Fear for Calida made it impossible for him to keep track of the amount of time that had passed since Reddin Croon had left with her. What he did know was that Osceola had agreed to send out word for the rest of his clan to come into the fort. Since most of his warriors were already here, that meant the fort would soon be filled with women and children, all of them wondering what would happen next.

  Panther knew. They'd be forced to leave the land of their ancestors and taken to some strange, faraway place, made to live a new way. The chiefs might be—what was the army word?—exterminated.

  He couldn't think about that.

  Calida was with Reddin Croon.

  Feeling both hot and cold, he willed himself not to give in to rage and fear unlike any he'd ever known. His hands had been tied behind him and a length of rope held him to a stake. Occasionally someone looked at him, but for the most part he was left alone while the army men talked excitedly among themselves. Why shouldn't they feel triumph? They'd made a lie of a flag of truce and captured the greatest Seminole chief.

  Seeking distraction from thoughts of what Calida might be enduring, Panther looked over at Osceola, who hadn't moved from his log. General Hernandez was sitting beside him, gesturing urgently as he tried to explain something, but Osceola said nothing in return. Was his chief beaten?

  Did the rest of the Seminoles feel like their leader?

  Acknowledging that over seventy braves had given up their weapons without a struggle made Panther want to bellow until his throat bled, but he didn't dare give in to despair. If he had more time, he would wait until dark and then convince one of the Seminoles to cut him free. But by then it might be too late for Calida.

  And for their baby.

  Feeling as if he was drowning, he forced himself to study his surroundings. There was so much confusion, such heavy lethargy. The Seminoles had no leader, or rather Osceola had resigned himself to the inevitable. He might be dying; if he was, his sickness had stripped all fight from him.

  With a violent shake of his head, Panther dismissed his chief. He strained again, but he'd been tied too tightly, and there was no way he could free himself. If he hadn't allowed fear for Calida to rule him, he would be stepping into the void left by Osceola's surrender. He would be chief of a splintered people.

  Either that or dead.

  Was Calida dead?

  "Panther?"

  Instinct warned him not to acknowledge the low whisper. It was a woman's voice, but not Calida's when that was the onl
y one he wanted to hear. After a moment, he felt something hard and thin graze his wrists. His arms fell free, but mindful of the soldiers, he managed not to let them drop to his side.

  "What—"

  "Quiet," Winter Rain hissed. "They must not see me."

  "Where is Gaitor?"

  "Outside. Hiding. He wanted to come but he does not dare because too many would know who he is. No one looks at me."

  After assuring himself that none of the army men was watching him, he glanced over his shoulder at Gaitor's wife. Winter Rain had padded her body with layers of clothing, rubbed dirt in her hair and pulled it down around her face. If it wasn't for the knife held in her long fingers, he might have taken her for a shuffling old woman.

  Ignoring his aching arms, he asked how she'd learned what had happened and managed to get into the fort. She told him that Gaitor had intercepted the runner Osceola had dispatched. When they learned that the fort had been turned into a prison and Panther captured, she'd thrown on her disguise and taken Gaitor's knife. Gaitor had begged her not to risk her life, but she'd insisted that only she had a chance of freeing Panther. She'd waited until the guards went inside to see what was happening before slipping in herself. "They are so full of themselves," she whispered. "They think the Seminoles are beaten. Panther, are they?"

  There was no time to answer her, to seek the truth. In a harsh whisper, he told her what had happened to Calida. Looking pale, Winter Rain said she and Gaitor hadn't seen Calida or Reddin, but then there was more than one way to enter or leave the fort. Panther already knew that because he'd seen Reddin dragging Calida toward a small opening at the rear. "Give me the knife," he insisted.

  She stared up at him, and for a moment he couldn't move. Winter Rain had risked her life coming in here. If there'd been no army or Calida he might have loved her. Finally, she held out the knife, and he took it. A sensation like hundreds of tiny, sharp teeth raced up his arm. He touched her cheek with his free hand and then, moving silently, buried himself in the middle of a large group of Seminoles. Several of them stared at him in recognition, but he didn't take the time to explain what he was doing free. As soon as he dared, he began slipping toward where he'd last seen Calida. Reddin had kept to the shadows earlier, but shadows didn't care whether the person they hid was army or Seminole.

  Calida! He had to get to her! Nothing else mattered.

  It took only one slash to cut the rope now holding the rear door in place. Without looking back, Panther slipped through the opening. The wilderness was no more than fifty feet away. Reaching it, he spotted a dim foot-trail leading away from the fort. Running, straining to hear, he put more and more distance between himself and where his people had been trapped. He prayed that Winter Rain would be able to leave as easily as she'd snuck in. He prayed Gaitor would be waiting for her and that they'd leave this place.

  Head deep into Piahokee and find safety in its embrace.

  Calida had been unconscious when Reddin carried her out of the fort. Much as he wanted her to be all right, he prayed she was still locked in nothing where Reddin couldn't reach her. If she wasn't—

  If she wasn't, she'd fight Reddin with every bit of life in her body. The slave she'd once been no longer existed, would no longer claim her. She—death—

  He'd stopped before he realized he'd heard a scream. A woman's scream. High and thin. Inhuman. Slipping forward a few more feet, he filtered out every other sound except for his heart's wild beating. The scream wasn't repeated; he might have only imagined it and he might have—

  Not taking time to finish the thought, he began running again.

  A turtle was just ahead of him. He leaped over it. He couldn't see far enough. If he wasn't careful, he might run right into Reddin. His mind filled with the echo of that scream and prevented him from thinking of anything else. Calida, sounding as she never had, as he'd never wanted her to.

  Calida dying?

  Despite fear so intense it nearly paralyzed him, Panther forced himself to stop his wild plunge. Leaving the trail, he slipped into the dense foliage and trusted instinct to take him to the woman he loved. Brush and branches reached out to stop him with every step. If he was a turtle, he could—a turtle was too slow. He was too slow.

  Sweat ran down his chest and back, and his left foot stung from something he'd stepped on. Ignoring the discomfort, he ducked under a large, trailing branch. When he straightened, he saw that he was at the edge of a small clearing.

  Calida, naked, stood in the middle of it. Calida! He willed his legs to move but they refused. Couldn't. What—

  Reddin Croon lay at her feet, a knife protruding from his exposed belly. His pants were tangled around his hips, and he didn't move.

  "Calida." He tried to repeat her name but couldn't. Alive! Breath Giver, alive!

  Looking as if her arms and legs had turned into stiffened tree branches, she slowly turned toward him. Blood coated her lip. There were several red marks on her upper arms, and her chest heaved with each breath she took. He didn't remember reaching her. All that mattered was holding his arms out to her. She jerked toward him, one step, two. She wasn't crying. Her eyes, huge and black, seemed to look through but not at him.

  "Calida," he whispered as he drew her away from Croon's body. "Calida," he repeated when what he wanted was to demand she tell him she was all right. Her arms felt all bone and muscle with no softness. No giving. Not sure how to reach her, he slid his fingers over her flesh and knew he'd never get enough of her. She started to jerk away, then blinked and her gaze settled on him.

  "Panther?"

  "I'm here, my wife." His throat constricted and he tried again. "You're safe."

  "Safe," she whimpered. The word awakened something in her, and she sagged against him. Enveloping her, he pressed her body against his. His heart swelled so he wondered if it might break.

  Calida. In his arms. Alive.

  * * *

  They didn't reach where Gaitor and Winter Rain and a half dozen others were hiding until after dark. He'd had to lead Calida away from where she'd killed Croon because she'd forgotten how to place one foot after another. He'd put her dress back on and used vines to repair what he could of the damage Croon had done to it. He hadn't asked if Croon had had his way with her before she'd killed him; when she felt strong enough, she'd tell him. He'd covered their baby with his capable hands, protected it. She remembered that. And his shaking had matched hers.

  Still holding Panther's hand because she couldn't get enough of him, Calida listened as Gaitor explained that two of Osceola's wives and their children had already joined him in the fort. Osceola's sister had gone too, as well as three warriors who'd stayed behind. The Negroes who'd been staying with Osceola's clan, Winter Rain's father included, had also turned themselves in.

  "He will not live," Panther said somberly. "The army has taken the life from my chief."

  "What's done is done, Panther," Gaitor muttered. "You cain't help him no more."

  "I know."

  How beautiful he was, Calida thought. How strong and wild. The months of trying to stay out of the army's grasp had taken none of that from him. Courage flowed around him, the courage of a man who has seen the only world he'd ever known end. "What you gonna do?" Gaitor asked. "I ain't stayin' here, you know that. I doesn't dare. Neither does Calida."

  Hurting for Panther, she waited him out. He was a tastanagee, his clan's leader; she'd never want him to be anything else. But his clan no longer existed. He would be a father soon, and that had already changed him, would change him even more once he held his baby in his arms. If nothing else, she could give him that.

  Breath Giver, thank you.

  "It is a new world," Panther was saying. "Different. What I always believed, what I have always done, is like morning mist. Gone."

  I'm sorry, Panther. So sorry.

  "I do not want this! My ancestors, my father's ghost, those things will live within me forever."

  My love, I can't give you back the past.

/>   "The Seminoles are no longer a nation," he whispered. His eyes looked both old and ageless. "We are scattered. We will scatter even more while the army seeks those they did not capture today."

  "I don' want it like that. You knows that," Gaitor said, his voice both harsh and laden with emotion. He was holding Winter Rain's hand.

  "I know, my brother. I know because our hearts beat the same." Panther took a long, deep breath then swept his gaze over their surroundings. It seemed to Calida that he was trying to drink in the wilderness and make it part of him. "I say this; I believe this. Our hearts will continue to beat only if we walk into Piahokee's belly and lose ourselves there."

  "Panther..." Calida began but couldn't continue.

  "I walk a new way," he whispered after a long silence. "Into a new tomorrow."

  "You—you mean it?" she asked.

  "I do what I must, my wife. What will protect our child. I pray to Breath Giver that my son or daughter grows up free. That is my marriage gift to you. Freedom for us and for our children."

  Freedom.

  The End

  Page forward for a Special Author's Note

  followed by

  SPIRIT OF THE EAGLE

  The Soul Survivors Series

  Book Two

  A Note from the Author

  Osceola and approximately eighty other Seminoles were captured on October 23, 1837. They spent several months imprisoned in St. Augustine before being transferred to Fort Moultrie at Charleston, South Carolina. Some say Osceola died from malaria on January 30, 1838. Others maintain he died from a broken heart.

  What is known as the Second Seminole War finally ran itself out, neither won nor lost. Between 1835 and 1842, some four thousand Seminoles were relocated west of the Mississippi. However, approximately five hundred remained hidden deep in Piahokee, their presence ignored when the war was declared over on August 14, 1842. Those fugitives' descendants still live in southern Florida, part of and yet separate from today's world. Free.