Any Given Doomsday (The Phoenix Chronicles)

by Lori Handeland

  I connected to the universe; I saw what he’d meant; I understood all that had been denied me before. As my hands smoothed over his back, his shoulders, his neck, I felt the power of every beast shimmering at the edge of my world.

  The knowledge, the sensations, the damn orgasm was too much. My mind, my heart, my body seemed to implode and everything went as dark as Sawyer’s soul.

  I awoke inside the hogan. I had the faint memory of stumbling in here alone as the fire died.

  I glanced through the smoke hole in the ceiling. Dawn threatened. Had Sawyer ever come back last night?

  Images flickered. Him. Me. Doing things that had to be illegal in many Middle Eastern countries. In my dreams he’d been here for hours. I’d come several times, once screaming as he plunged into me from behind. His lips, his teeth at my neck, his chest to my back, hips to my flanks, a rhythmic slap that resounded in the quietest part of the night.

  Despite the submissive position, I hadn’t felt dominated. I’d been the one in control; the things in my mind had been the things that we’d done, at my unspoken request. And with every orgasm, I’d seen what he’d meant by opening myself, connecting to the power within. In those fantasies I’d believed I could run my fingertips along the edge of the stars, plunge my fist into the moon, walk across the sun and never be burned.

  I snorted. If I didn’t know better I’d think I’d been drugged.

  But I hadn’t eaten since we’d left Sawyer’s. The only thing I’d drunk had been water from the same canteen as him. Sawyer hadn’t been loopy. I didn’t think. I hadn’t seen him since he’d disappeared into the trees last night. Maybe he’d gone into the mountains for his own acid trip.

  I sat up, and the sheepskin fell down. I was naked. I didn’t remember removing my clothes. Except in that vivid sex dream.

  I was starting to have a very bad feeling.

  I dressed and stepped out of the hogan. A wolf stood at the edge of the clearing. At the sight of me, his snout opened in a welcoming, doglike grin, and the dead rabbit tumbled free, making a dull boneless thud as it hit the ground.

  “I’m not cleaning that,” I said.

  The wolf cocked its head.

  “Seriously. Eat it yourself.”

  He shook his body as if he’d just come out of the lake, but no water flew free. Instead he shimmered, caught in a moonbeam. His fur twinkled with a hundred thousand sequins, and his outline twisted, re-formed, grew and grew, pushing against the moonbeam, appearing to be caught inside a silvery balloon, until he burst free a man.

  My eyes ached. Probably because I hadn’t blinked from the instant Sawyer had begun to change. I hadn’t wanted to miss anything.

  Sawyer’s shifting of shape was different from any I’d seen before. The berserker had shaken, out came the fur, then bam, he was a bear. Sawyer’s transformation was more elaborate. There’d been something almost magical about it.

  My gaze wandered over the tattoos. I thought of the legends of the skinwalker. The robe they wore to make magic happen.

  “Why don’t you just wear a robe?” I asked.

  He reached down and grabbed the rabbit by the ears, stalking toward the ashes of last night’s fire, uncaring that he was naked. I didn’t mind. My own clothes felt too tight, itchy, wrong somehow.

  “Do I look like a man who’d own a robe?” Dropping the rabbit near the cold fire, he ducked into the hogan and returned with a knife, then hunkered down next to breakfast.

  “I meant the robe of the skinwalker. Why did you—” I broke off as he glanced up, making a vague motion to indicate his naked body.

  “Why did 1 what?” His voice was soft, but the tone was harsh. I had a feeling I’d stepped over a line, but I wasn’t sure when or how.

  “Wouldn’t a robe be easier?” I murmured. And less painful.

  “I wasn’t after ease but power. As much of it as I could get.”

  His eyes glittered, and the wind came up, howling down the mountain like a lone wolf, making me suddenly glad for the clothes I’d been wishing away only moments before. This man wasn’t a pet; he wasn’t a friend. He was dangerous.

  “The robe is for amateurs,” he continued. “Men of medicine who rely on a spell to attain their single spirit animal. I don’t need a spell, no ceremony, no chant. I wish to be, and then I am.”

  Slowly he stood, his hand trailing up his stomach, his chest, over his arm and shoulder. I was unable to keep myself from following that trail, from remembering how he’d tasted.

  I shook my head. That wasn’t a memory but a dream.

  “My animals are a part of me,” he said. “As she is.”

  My gaze jerked from his biceps to his face. “What are you saying?”

  “There’s more evil than good in here.” His palm skated over the left side of his chest.

  “That’s not true. You’re the same as the others. Nephilim and human.”

  “I told you before I’m not like them. My mother was a Nephilim, true, but my father was more than a man.”

  That shiver came back, stronger than before. “Jimmy said—”

  Sawyer’s hand slashed through the air, through my words. “Sanducci’s version leaves quite a bit out. My father was seduced, yes, but once he knew the truth he embraced the darkness. He became a skinwalker who wore the robe.”

  “An amateur,” I whispered.

  “Compared to me.” He dipped his head. “She was Naye’i.”

  “A Dreadful One,” I guessed.

  “A monster. Yes. She was beautiful but evil. She thrived on chaos, breathed it in like a drag. She could make anyone do anything that she wished.”

  I didn’t know what to say. What had his life been like being raised by a monster and the man she controlled? I probably didn’t want to know.

  “She convinced him to welcome his bear spirit; he lived as an animal all of the time. He killed at her bidding. He died with the blood of thousands on his soul, and because of her, he didn’t care.”

  I thought of all the animals tattooed on Sawyer’s flesh. Not one of them was a bear.

  “You care,” I said.

  “Do I?”

  I opened my mouth to say that I knew he did. That he wouldn’t be working with the federation, training seers and DKs, if he truly enjoyed killing just for the sake of killing, if he wasn’t trying to atone somehow for all that his parents had done.

  Then I thought of another question. “In the story your mother killed your father.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? Seems like she had a good thing going.” In murdering psycho bitch hell.

  “Have you ever heard, Phoenix, how witches gain their power?”

  “Aren’t they born with it?”

  “Some. Others take it.”

  “How?”

  “By killing someone they love.”

  My gaze flew to his, but I could read nothing there, as always. “Your mother wasn’t a witch, she was a—” I stopped, frowning. I wasn’t certain what she’d been.

  Sawyer lifted his brows at my unvoiced question, but he didn’t enlighten me.

  “She wasn’t at first,” he agreed, “but after…” He spread his hands. “She became more powerful than any Dreadful One or any witch ever known before.”

  “And you?”

  He lifted his brows. “Me?”

  “How did you gain your power?”

  “Didn’t Sanducci say that a mother’s blood is stronger?”

  “Sanducci says a lot. I try not to listen.”

  His lips twitched. He looked away, and I knew that he wasn’t going to tell me how he’d acquired his magic. I opened my mouth to insist, but he spoke first.

  “Do you know where I was all night?” he murmured.

  “What? No.”

  Slowly he stood, the hand he’d been rubbing over his heart skimming past his stomach, over his limp but rather large rattlesnake until he rested his palm on his thigh.

  I frowned, uncertain what he wanted, why he was asking me this que
stion, and then I saw the mark.

  At the tip of his index finger, as if he were pointing to it, a crimson circle marred his skin. I had a flash of my mouth on his cock, his thigh, the need to taste, to draw him in, to mark him, to make him mine.

  “You know where I’ve been, Phoenix.”

  My hands clenched into fists so tightly they ached. My palms stung as my nails dug in.

  I knew where he’d been, all right.

  He’d been in me.

  Chapter 24

  I don’t know how the rock got into my hand. I had to have bent and picked it up off the ground. But I don’t remember anything until I threw it at his head.

  I expected him to dodge, to duck or maybe to put up a hand with his preternatural speed and catch the thing. Instead, he just stood there and let it hit him in the face.

  A gash opened on his cheekbone. Blood trickled down. He made no move to staunch the flow but continued to stand next to the cold, dead fire and stare.

  He’d done something to make me think that last night had been a dream, to lower my inhibitions, to erase my unease and fear. A spell, a potion, who knew with him. Just because I was attracted to the man’s body didn’t mean that I wanted to be coerced into an act so intimate.

  When I’d been on the force, date-rape drugs were rampant, and every time I’d had to deal with some poor kid who’d woken up and not known where she’d been or who she’d done, I’d only gotten angrier about it.

  I stalked toward Sawyer. “What did you do to me?”

  He lifted a brow.

  “Oh, shut up.” He didn’t point out that he hadn’t said a word.

  Blood dripped into the dirt, turning black on contact.

  “Here.” I tore off an end of my flannel shirt and shoved it into his hand. He lifted the cloth and pressed it to the nick I’d made.

  My gaze caught on the fire, or what was left of it— ashes, charred wood, and stalks of something I didn’t recognize.

  “What is this?” I pointed.

  “What do you think it is?”

  “Peyote? LSD? Something funky.” I squatted and took a deep drag. Sun-warmed, fresh-cut grass. A pleasant enough scent; then my eyes crossed and colors swirled sickeningly. “You drugged me. Bastard.”

  My voice sounded far way, the anger of my words, the anger that tightened my chest, not reflected in my lethargic tone.

  I stood, walked to the lake, threw water on my face, then gave up and doused my whole head until the misty rainbow went away. When I opened my eyes, bare feet had appeared at the edge of my vision. I glanced up, abruptly straightening when my nose nearly brushed his dick.

  “No wonder you wouldn’t let me take a gun. You knew I’d kill you.”

  The cut on his face had stopped bleeding. It appeared to be healing right in front of my eyes. I remembered what Jimmy had said about killing him. The gun wouldn’t have done me any damn good.

  “You didn’t seem too angry last night,” Sawyer said. “Last night you liked it.”

  I swung at his head. This time he ducked, grabbed me before I fell in the water, and hauled my elbow behind my back until it ached. I bit my lip and refused to let out a single squeak.

  “Do you see now why I say I’m different?” he whispered in my ear, his lips so close 1 felt them move against my lobe, causing me to remember things I shouldn’t and want them again with a desperation that frightened me. He might be a skinwalker like his father, but I was starting to agree that he had a lot of his mother in him too.

  Why had he drugged me? Was he that desperate for sex? I found it hard to believe. Maybe he was an outcast from his people, but he was gorgeous—at least on the outside. Most sweet, young things could care less about the inside. If all he wanted was sex, he could have gotten it anywhere.

  Which meant he’d wanted sex with me. Why? He didn’t love me. You couldn’t love someone and do what he’d done. Although considering his life so far, I doubted Sawyer knew very much about love at all.

  Not that I was an expert.

  He tugged a little harder on my arm, bringing my thoughts back to the problems at hand. There were a lot of them.

  “All right,” I agreed, desperate for him to let me go so I could stop feeling his body aligned to mine, remembering how it moved, how I’d felt when he was inside of me. “You’re evil. Happy?”

  He stiffened, but not in a way that made me think he was aroused, or even angry; it was as if he’d seen something, maybe heard something.

  “Not really,” he murmured, and let me go.

  I stumbled away, spun around. Sure enough, he wasn’t looking at me, but at the wash of trees on the north side of the clearing.

  Out there something howled, then something answered. No, that wasn’t right. A whole helluva lot of somethings answered.

  He muttered several words in Navajo that didn’t sound like hello.

  “What is it?”

  “I’d hoped we would have more time.”

  My eyes narrowed. “For what? If you think I’m going to let you drug me and do me—”

  “Coyotes only howl at night,” he said.

  “Well.” I paused, uncertain. “That was random.”

  The trees shifted in a sudden breeze; the foliage danced as several animals with scraggly, gray-brown fur slunk into the clearing. The sunlight sparked off their eyes, making them shine like polished ebony.

  Or maybe not so random after all.

  “If coyotes only howl at night,” I murmured, “what are those?”

  “More than coyotes.”

  I was afraid of that.

  Sawyer faced what now appeared to be a pack of coyotes larger than any coyotes I’d ever seen. Probably because these were the “more than” variety. I was going to assume that meant shape-shifter.

  From prior experience I knew that some shifters were on our side—like Springboard. But some—like the berserker—wanted us dead. Or at least they wanted me dead.

  I didn’t have to wonder for long whose side these were on since they’d formed a half-circle between me, Sawyer, and any chance of escape. The lake was at my back; I guess we could swim for it, but they’d only follow. I wasn’t very good at fighting for my life while swimming for it at the same time.

  One of the coyotes charged. Sawyer did a graceful ball change and kicked the animal right in the nose. That must have hurt like hell in bare feet, but Sawyer didn’t even flinch at the impact.

  The shape-shifter wasn’t so lucky. The sickening crunch of flesh and bone was followed by a yelp as its head snapped back. He went down, pawing frantically at his bruised, maybe broken, snout.

  Instead of running, like real coyotes should, the pack growled and stalked closer, their half-circle of doom tightening.

  Sawyer laughed, the sound so out of place I jumped. The coyotes even paused, tilting their heads, staring at him with their shiny black eyes before lifting their lips in silent snarls.

  “Have you lost your mind?” I asked softly, furiously.

  “They have.”

  “The coyotes?” I watched them warily. I wasn’t sure what to do with ten coyote shifters; I certainly didn’t need ten crazy coyote shifters.

  “Whoever sent them.”

  “Why’s that? From my angle, we’re inches away from getting our butts handed to us in several bloody pieces.”

  “Wait a few minutes, our angle will change.”

  “Is the cavalry coming?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” He trailed one finger over his bicep, where the black wolf howled, then glanced at me. His eyes had shifted to yellow lupine orbs. “A lone coyote will run from a wolf.”

  I frowned. “They had to have known what you could do.”

  “Which is why they sent so many.” His outline shimmered. The coyotes howled, not in fear, more like a battle cry.

  “One wolf and ten coyotes,” Sawyer continued, his voice rumbling as the change rolled closer, “outnumbered.”

  “Terrific,” I muttered.

  “And
there lies their mistake.”

  “What mistake?”

  Sawyer reached for my hand, drawing it toward his bicep. As my palm met the wolf, the earth seemed to move; the world around me flared electric silver.

  “There isn’t just one wolf anymore.”

  Chapter 25

  I didn’t know what was happening.

  That’s not true. I did know what, I just didn’t know why. How could 1 possibly be shifting into a wolf along with Sawyer?

  The light was so bright, I had to close my eyes. My body went first cold and then burning hot. Beneath my palm, Sawyer’s bones shifted, crackling, seeming to break and then reknit in a different direction. His skin rippled as fur sprang free. When I opened my eyes, my hand was already a paw.

  I toppled downward—bipedal to quadrupedal cuts the height by half. By the time my hands, knees, paws, claws—whatever—hit the dirt, I was a wolf.

  I could still think; I knew who I was. Liz. I knew the enemy. Coyotes. Sawyer? Friend? Foe? Not sure. My wolf nature knew him as pack. The person deep within me wanted to tear out his throat.

  Several of the coyotes took one glance at us standing shoulder to shoulder and ran. Cowards.

  Sawyer snarled, his wolf voice as deep as his human voice and twice as threatening. Two more coyotes disappeared into the trees. Unfortunately the four largest snarled back.

  The fight was dirty, bloody, to the death. Nothing I hadn’t done before, just not as a wolf. I have to say, it wasn’t bad. I was faster, stronger, with the built-in weapons of tooth and claw. No more worrying about where I’d left my knife or if I had silver bullets in the gun.

  The coyotes split up. Three went for Sawyer, the other for me. I would have been insulted if I hadn’t been so glad. My attacker didn’t waste time but went right for my throat. I ducked and rolled, just as I would have as a human.

  But I had two extra legs that didn’t bend quite as well as real legs did, or maybe I just didn’t know how to work them yet. The extra strength gave me speed, but that only made me crash into the earth harder. The roll wasn’t really a roll, but a goofy-looking collapse and slide.