Tears of the Shaman

by Rebecca Daniels

  He pushed against her, moving her legs apart and settling himself between them. He heard her groan softly, a plaintive, needy sound that ricocheted through him. Rising up, he looked down at her lying beneath him. Her eyes had been closed, but she opened them now and fixed her gaze on him. Her beautiful face was streaked with need, and her lips silently repeated his name—a sensuous, carnal chant. Graywolf, Graywolf.

  He slipped his jeans to the floor, taking a small packet from the pocket before letting them slide onto the carpet.

  “There can be no mistakes,” he murmured, in a coarse voice. They had agreed on one night, and the thin latex shield that he used to protect them both would ensure there would be no regrets.

  In one powerful move, he entered her. For a moment, he could do nothing—not even move. Everything had fallen along the wayside, discarded and forgotten. Conscious thought ceased, involuntary movements were ignored, and ambient noise was quelled. It was all he could do to brace himself against the violent assault to his system, to the frenzy of emotion and sensation that coursed savagely through his body.

  “Mallory,” he murmured dizzily, the ringing in his ears making his own voice sound muffled and faraway. “Oh, Mallory.”

  Her body moved beneath him, sending delicious slivers of sensation jolting through him and starting a chain reaction in him. Life returned in one blinding flash as air began circulating through his lungs, blood started pumping hot through his veins, and muscle found form and motion again. He pushed into her deeply, hearing the sound of her soft groan in his ear and feeling himself go a little mad.

  See me, now that I am one with another.

  The chant flowed through his brain, like the song from an ancient medicine man—haunting and powerful. It was as though he’d finally discovered what it was to belong, to feel at one with nature and the earth, to be a part of the stars, and to touch the heavens.

  See me...

  The words screamed silently in his ears, reverberating hotly through his system like molten lava down the side of a cliff.

  He was one—with himself, with the earth, with those who had come before. He was part of the grand scheme, part of that blissful harmony of the ancients, that timeless and eternal unity of souls. Each brush of skin to skin, of man to woman, made him feel more alive, more connected. And even as the storm raged inside him, he felt at peace. He was one with his woman.

  Mallory felt the air leave her lungs in one, long gasp as her body slowly transformed to mold intimately with his. The night, the moment, the man, had become everything, and she could think of nothing else. Her world had become Benjamin Graywolf, and the act of love they shared.

  And for her it was love. Never in her life had she felt like this, had she cared so much, or so deeply. He was everything she’d ever wanted, more than she’d ever hoped to have. It didn’t matter that there were no promises, no guarantees. His honesty had bordered on brutal—one night, and nothing more. But as she felt his body move inside her, as she felt herself come alive with new life and new passion, she knew that one night with him would be worth a lifetime in the arms of any other man.

  She was hungry—so hungry for him, and the motion of his body inside hers made the hunger almost unbearable. She felt herself falling, falling, tumbling out into space—reaching, wanting, hoping.

  She felt him tremble, felt desire quaking through his system, and it made her desperate for more. She twisted beneath him, the needs in her quickly becoming cravings. Her hands moved over him, wild and ravenous—over his shoulders, down his hard torso, over the rounded swell of his bottom. He was magnificent—firm and perfect, and she couldn’t seem to get enough.

  “I love you,” she whispered, slipping her legs around his waist as his huge body drove into her over and over again. “I love you. I love you.”

  Graywolf heard her words over and over again—felt them in his heart and in his head. He knew he should stop them, knew he should tell her to stop, tell her no, but he couldn’t. They were such beautiful words, like magic in his ears—a soothing balm that healed and protected. After a lifetime of hard breaks and harsh realities, he wanted the gentle comfort of her love, he wanted to wrap himself in it, to be consoled and shielded by its purity and its strength.

  He was the shaman, he knew the ancient ceremonies and aged chants. But her medicine was much more powerful. She had cast her spell on him, had worked her wizardry and performed her art. He could think of nothing but her—of touching her, holding her, being inside her. Her love was a warm, wonderful place—a place where skin color didn’t matter, and Indian wasn’t a dirty word, and for just this once—just tonight—he could forget.

  Mallory felt something in her snap, something powerful and profound. It was as if the world had slipped away, leaving only the man and the moment—and she was quickly losing control over both. Each powerful thrust of his body, each caress of his lips or touch of his hand, caused a flood of fire to ravage through her. She felt herself propelled upward, traveling at the speed of light to a place she’d never been before. She was moving faster and farther than ever before. New worlds were opening up to her with every breath, new horizons were being conquered with every touch.

  Never had it been like this before, never had she been like this before. It was all so new, so different, and yet he gave her no time to be cautious or afraid. When the zenith came, it came for her in one blinding moment of sight and sound, of body and soul. She was hurled out into space, her body convulsing wild and erratic. She had no thoughts of control, no idea of escape. She just held on to him, and let him guide her beyond.

  Graywolf felt her body tense, heard the sharp intake of breath into her lungs and the strangled gasp in her throat. He pulled his mouth from hers, looking into her face and feeling the hold on his own control begin to slip.

  In the moonlight she was magnificent. Her beautiful face was a portrait of ecstasy, distorted only by the sweet agony of rapture.

  He pulled her close, his body moving instinctively as she made her way through the tortured labyrinth of delirium. But the effort was quickly becoming too much. His body shook, crying out for solace and completion, and his mind was feverish with the soft, carnal sounds that she made.

  Hunger gnawed at him, urgent and critical, and his breath came in huge, heaving gasps. Shivers of excitement darted through him, like tiny sparks of lightning along a wire. She was like a finely crafted instrument tuned to perfection, and in her arms he’d become a master musician.

  “I love you,” she groaned, her voice raw and made all but mute by the turbulence of the moment.

  But Graywolf heard—with his heart rather than his ear, and felt the last fragile hold on his sanity give way. With an anguished growl, he surged into her.

  ...one with another...

  The words chanted through his brain like an ancient sing, revered and respected. They were one—joined by an emotion so profound he dared not give it voice.

  His body trembled, convulsing with sight, sound and sensation. She was his, they belonged together. One. In that moment he gave her all he had, all he possessed—his love, his life, his soul.

  With his lips to her ear, he whispered to her his secret Navajo name.

  * * *

  “You’re very beautiful.”

  Mallory turned her head and looked at him, finding his comment as astonishing as it was unexpected. “You think so?”

  They lay together, their bodies still locked in an intimate embrace. Graywolf’s head rested against her shoulder, and his mouth brushed the tender skin of her neck. Her blond hair looked like white silk in the moonlight, and he picked up a long strand and lazily twisted it through his fingers. “You sound surprised.”

  Mallory shrugged, his compliment making her feel oddly embarrassed. She’d always assumed that she was attractive enough, that she held a certain attraction for the opposite sex. After all, other men had told her she was beautiful. It was just that until now, until this man, she’d never really felt it. “I guess I am�
�a little.”

  He twisted onto his side, bending his arm at the elbow and resting his head on his hand. He gazed down into her crystal blue eyes, which were dark and murky now. “Oh, come on. You’re not going to try to tell me no one’s ever said that to you before.”

  She smiled. “No, that’s not it. I just didn’t...” She stopped, letting her words drift.

  “Just didn’t what?” he prompted. His fingers dropped the long strand of hair and began to trace the delicate swell of her breast.

  “I guess I didn’t think you thought so,” she murmured after a while.

  “I’m Navajo,” he said, bending down to place his lips where his finger had been. “Not made of stone.”

  “I know,” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat. “But you never acted as though...I didn’t even think you liked me.”

  He lifted his head. “I didn’t. But those nights in the desert were awfully long. I would lie there and think of you.” His rigid mouth softened with a smile. “You sort of grew on me.”

  “You fought it.”

  “Maybe,” he shrugged. “Indians aren’t suppose to want white women. That’s been...discouraged in the past.”

  “Well, this isn’t the Wild West any longer,” she pointed out. “It isn’t exactly like my pappy is going to be roundin’ up the posse to come after you, or anything like that.”

  “You’re white, and I’m Indian, that’s never going to change,” he pointed out. “And it’s obvious you’ve never had a mob of reporters after you.”

  She pulled back a little. “You still think I’m going to write about all of this?”

  He shrugged, his nonchalance betraying his real feelings. “Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  She regarded him for a long time, his handsome face shadowed by the darkness. “You still don’t trust me at all, do you?”

  “Don’t take it so personally,” he said lightly, pulling her back into his arms despite her feeble attempts to stop him. “There aren’t a lot of people I do trust.”

  “But I do take it personally,” she said, absorbing the words and his bitter tone like a blow to the chest. “How could I not? I told you I loved you. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  Graywolf’s body tensed, and he pulled away. He stood, oblivious to his nakedness, walked to the window and stared out into the night. “Love...was your choice.”

  Mallory suddenly felt naked, vulnerable and exposed. She reached for the sheet, pulling it up around her even as the tears spilled down her cheeks. “You’re such a coward.”

  “Not a coward,” he said quietly. “Just a realist.”

  “You’re running scared.”

  He turned around slowly. “Don’t make this into something more than it is. It’s one night—nothing more, nothing less. It’s that simple.”

  “There’s nothing simple about any of this,” she said, her voice cracking. She scooted up to lean back against the headboard. “Whether you want to accept it or not, I love you—and there’s nothing you can do to stop the way I feel.” She paused, her chest rising and falling with angry breaths. “And you’re a fool to think I had a choice at all.”

  He walked back to the bed, lowering himself down beside her. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “I want you to be honest with me, and with yourself.”

  He reached for her, yanking the sheet away and pulling her beneath him. “I want you, how’s that for honesty?”

  He moved his body into hers, pressing his mouth against her lips and kissing her even as the fire in his loins built to an inferno. He didn’t want to talk it out, didn’t want to explain or define what he felt or why. He wanted her, that was all that was important.

  Mallory surrendered to his lovemaking—she could do nothing else. In the end it didn’t matter if he trusted her or not, if he liked her or loved her or would be there forever. He was the man she loved, and she would take from him what she could, for as long as he’d let her.

  “You want me,” she murmured in a thick voice.

  “I do, very much.”

  “That’s never going to change.”

  As he gave in to the passion, gave in to the desire pounding through him, he knew her words would stay with him for a long, long time. She’d gotten under his skin, gotten to him in a way no other woman had—not even Susan. He’d hoped that this night would be his cure, would purge him of all need, of all vulnerability, but now, he wasn’t so sure.

  He wanted her with a desperation he’d never known before, with a recklessness that could only end in disaster. He’d allowed himself one night to get her out of his system, to rid himself of the craving once and for all. But now, with her in his arms, with her touching him and surrounding him with her love, he wasn’t so sure.

  His life stretched out before him, empty and barren, with the light of a special love nowhere to be found.

  Chapter 13

  “I thought Indians call their men braves.”

  “We do.”

  “Hmm,” she murmured thoughtfully, giving him a skeptical glance.

  Graywolf turned to her, the predawn sky through the window looking pale and bleak. “Are we going to start this again?”

  “Start what?” Mallory asked innocently.

  “This coward thing,” he said. They were both propped up against the headboard, the pastel sheet tossed haphazardly across them. “We weren’t going to talk about that, I thought we’d agreed.”

  “Well, I’m breaking the agreement,” Mallory said, turning her head and looking up at him. “It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mine, you know.”

  “You’re not changing your mind, you’re changing the rules.”

  She shrugged carelessly, giving him a small smile. “You’re the lawyer, so sue me, then.”

  “Mallory,” he said with a sigh, sliding down onto the mattress and taking her with him. “This is serious. I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t make this into something more than it is.”

  “It’s too late for that,” she whispered, looking up into his dark eyes. “I already have.”

  “But I told you from the beginning,” he said with a frustrated breath. “This was it—just tonight. That’s all there can be.”

  “I know what you told me,” she admitted willingly, reaching up and sliding her hand along his cheek. “But I still want more.”

  Frustrated, he stared up at the ceiling. “It’s impossible and you know it.”

  “Do I?” she asked, turning onto her side and looking down at him. “What’s so impossible about it? Explain it to me.”

  He gave her a dubious glance. “You know very well what I’m talking about.”

  “You mean that red-and-white thing—that ‘you’re a big bad Injun and I’m the frail white woman’ thing?” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you think that argument wears just a little thin in this day and age? I mean, for God’s sake, this isn’t 1860, I’m not one of the women from the wagon train. We’re two reasonably intelligent, well-educated people. Are we suppose to let some ridiculous customs and prejudices get in our way?”

  “It’s more than that and you know it!”

  “No,” she insisted. “I don’t. Maybe you should enlighten me.”

  He glared up at her. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

  “Too late, you’ve already done that,” she told him, hiding the pain with a matter-of-fact voice.

  He felt a cold chill spread through him. “Look, let’s just drop it. It’s nearly daylight. I should go.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” she said, grabbing his arm as he started to get up. “Not until you answer my question.”

  “I already have,” he said, angry that it was ending so badly. “It just wouldn’t, that’s all there is to it.”

  “Because you’re being stubborn.”

  “No.”

  “Because you’re a coward.”

  “No!”

  “Because you don’t want to try?”

  “
No, damn it, because...” His voice thundered in frustration, and he pounded his fist down hard on the bed. “Because I don’t love you.“

  His harsh words reverberated through the quiet house, and Graywolf cursed violently under his breath. He hadn’t wanted to say it, hadn’t wanted to hurt her in that way. The night with her had been like no other. Why couldn’t she have just left well enough alone? Why couldn’t they have ended it without the hard feelings and ugly scenes? But she’d pushed and prodded him, had interrogated him with that reporter’s mind of hers.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He stared up at her, rendered speechless with surprise. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected—tears, maybe, angry recriminations, hurling insults. But not this. “What did you say?”

  “I said that’s bull,” she told him, moving her body over his. “I don’t believe any of it.”

  “I’m just trying to be honest—”

  “You’re just trying to make excuses,” she said, cutting him off. She leaned close, brushing her lips against his. “You love me—you don’t have to say it. I know. I know it just like I knew that Marissa was in trouble. I...just...know.“ She kissed him, slipping the sheet out from between their bodies.

  “Mallory, please, listen—” he said, wanting to protest, wanting to explain, but already his arms were moving to embrace her.

  “No, you listen,” she said, interrupting him with another kiss. “I love you, and you love me, too. We could make it work—I know we could, but not if you don’t give us a chance.” Moving with slow, deliberate motions, she joined their bodies together. “I’ll wait until you’re ready. I’ll wait even if you never will be ready.” Her lips moved against his, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll wait for you, Graywolf—forever, if I have to.”

  Graywolf closed his eyes, succumbing to what he was helpless to resist—her. She was right, of course. He did love her—wholly, desperately, absolutely. But one of them had to be practical, one of them had to think of the consequences. She had no concept of what their life would be. She hadn’t known prejudice, didn’t understand it the way he did. She’d never dealt with the pressures of an intolerant society and didn’t know what it would do to their love.