Batukhan and Mac exchanged a glance. “You are a very impatient youngling. It is customary to at least sit and share food or drink before asking things like this. So, I will offer you a seat by my fire and I will pour you a drink.”
Annoyed, Chance sat on the log beside Batukhan and stared at the golden flames in the pit before them. Instead of letting his frustration get the better of him, he meditated while staring at the organic wisps licking at the sky, each one reaching high and disappearing before its replacement tried to meet an even greater height.
While he was spacing out at the fire, he failed to notice Mac pouring something from a glass bottle into a small shot glass until it was being held out to him. He accepted it and gave it a sniff. It was odorless, but he had a feeling it wasn’t water. If Ana were here right now, she’d eye it suspiciously and warn him from taking a sip. But she wasn’t here right now, and that was reason enough to slam it back with reckless abandon. If it helped numb him or distance him from the nonstop echo of the other personalities reverberating in his brain, then it was welcome. It no longer concerned him if he could trust Mac or not. If Mac could put him out of his misery, in some way or other, Chance was ready.
“Thank you.” He tipped the glass back and the cool liquid burned all the way down. It reminded him of what Balam had given him to aid him to see his nagual in the flames of the fire before he got his tattoo. It would do perfectly.
Batukhan accepted a glass from Mac and lifted it to him in thanks. “I see you have continued to live in the same way. Still no interest to live near people?”
“I prefer living in the wilderness,” Mac said. “It’s peaceful and it allows me to be in animal form most of the time, which is what makes me happy. Although I do like catching a hockey game and a burger every once and a while. And then there’s the fun I have with hikers, giving them a taste of the mystical to keep the legend alive.”
Batukhan grew serious. “Just be sure not to go too far. There’s a difference between a legend and you winding up on a scientist’s table. We would never want that to happen.”
Mac grinned. “Has anyone caught the howler yet? I have not arrived at my age without knowing how to hide. If I don’t want to be found, I won’t be. Anyway, tell me about your friend here.”
“He’s trying to return to his mate,” Batukhan said. “I believe that is why he’s so anxious, although I never knew him before he got the sickness. I stopped him from feeding on an innocent’s power, and I have tried to teach him to calm the voices. I knew you would know how to help him.”
Mac’s brown eyes studied Chance and he grew serious. He reached out with the bottle and poured Chance another glass of whatever the mysterious drink was. “Will you honor me with your story? How you got the sickness?”
Chance was already beginning to feel the effects of the clear liquid. When he tried to think back to the events that had transpired in the jungle over a month ago, the memory was fuzzy. Not because he couldn’t remember it, but because it felt like a bunch of stuffing was filling the space in his head, making it hard for him to think quickly or clearly. It took him a minute to recollect what had happened. The pain and sadness triggered from the incident echoed in his heart, but it held only a dull ache.
He blew a lungful of air between his lips, which made them feel tingly and numb. “I was in Mexico with my girlfriend, Ana, being mentored by my great-grandfather. He was teaching me all sorts of stuff and he even gave me a tattoo of my nagual. Everything was going great when my cousin showed up. I thought he was a psychopath before, trying to hunt me down to kill me for my power, but now I’m thinking he really wasn’t so bad. He just had the voices in his head like I do now, you know?”
While he narrated the story, he realized just how relaxed he felt. After being on edge for so long, tortured by the voices in his head, this was a nice getaway. It was like he was on an island, offshore from reality and his sucky life.
“And then what happened?” Mac asked, snapping him from his reverie.
“Right, so then Markus caught up with us and killed Balam.”
Mac nodded. “Balam was your great-grandfather?”
Chance couldn’t remember if he’d told them his great-grandfather’s name or not. “Yeah, so Markus killed him and there was this bright light. Then Ana came along and Markus started chasing her and I had to stop him. She couldn’t protect herself from him, so I had to do something. And I did. He won’t be coming after us anymore . . .”
The words didn’t make sense to him. That wasn’t right. Markus was still there. Inside of Chance. And now he was the one Ana wasn’t safe from. To his surprise, he discovered that his cheeks were wet. When was the last time he’d cried? He wasn’t sure.
His throat was dry, so he swallowed, which didn’t help. “I’m thirsty,” he said. “Do you have water?”
Mac poured him one more glass of the clear liquid. “Drink this last cup and I will get you some water. I promise.”
Chance did as the bigfoot shapeshifter told him and obediently swallowed it in one shot. This time it didn’t even burn as it rushed down his throat. His cheeks were warm, if not flushed, and he was content giving control to the friendly man in the hockey jersey.
“Very good, Chance,” Mac said. “I will give you some water now.” He picked up a pot from the side of the fire and emptied its contents into a brown mug. Then he grabbed a handful of snow from a few feet away and dropped it in. “It’ll be a little warm so take it slow.”
Mac handed it to Chance. While Chance swallowed it down, Mac directed another question to him. A very simple question that Chance was able to answer.
“So, Chance. Can you tell me if you hear Markus in your head?”
“Yeah. He’s there. His memories aren’t very happy.” Chance shrugged and took another sip of water.
“Is there anyone else in your head?”
“Yeah.”
“Like who?”
“Oh, there’s Nastas, Markus’s grandfather. Markus killed Nastas because he was stalking him and he knew the only way he’d leave him alone was to kill or be killed.”
“Yes, I understand. Those memories must be hard to live with.”
Chance whispered, “You have no idea.”
“Are there any others?”
“Balam of course, and Niyol too.”
“Who is Niyol?”
“My grandfather. His voice is soft and I have to listen hard to hear him. He saved my life—that is why he’s with me.”
Batukhan and Mac stared at Chance and all he could hear was the crackling of the fire. He didn’t mind that they were so focused on him because he didn’t really care about much at the moment. He was comfortably numb. Batukhan stood up and wandered over to a wood pile and carefully set two more logs on the fire. Embers sparked and hissed at the disruption and the umber glow brightened, which mesmerized Chance.
“Are there any other voices in your head?” Mac’s low voice broke his concentration.
He nodded mindlessly. “So many memories of death. I don’t know who else is in here”—he tapped the side of his temple—“but they’ve gotten around.”
Batukhan looked to Mac. “Five voices at least—so many. Will you be able to help him?”
“I can try,” Mac said, “but what he really needs is a healer. We can work on pushing the voices back so it will be more peaceful. That will be the best I can do for him.” Mac’s mumbling was barely noticed by Chance, who continued to watch the firelight dance and flicker before him. Mac raised the volume of his voice and directed it at him. “What I’d like you to do is continue to stare at the fire. I will have you concentrate on Markus first. Picture his face in your thoughts and let his voice come forward. It is time to call him out.”
Chance slouched down on the log seat and his eyes blurred. Bright and dark strokes of flame painted into disjointed shapes at first, but then they began to form a face. Scruffy hair hung down and empty eyes stared out at him.
I will not be led like a
lamb to the slaughter. It’s kill or be killed.
Markus’s voice filled his head like a church bell echoing through a valley. Chance shrugged, unsure what to tell the guy.
“Do you see him?”
“Yeah, he’s staring right at me—it’s creepy.” Chance squished up his face until his nose tickled.
“Yes, okay,” Mac said. “I want you to use your energy to push him away until you cannot see or hear him any longer. Do you know how to push your energy out? Not many know how.”
Chance was vaguely aware of Mac’s face beside the fire pit, and his question confused him. Had he pushed his energy out before? He had definitely pulled energy in, but that wasn’t what Mac was asking.
“I healed Ana before,” Chance said. “I had to push my energy out to her then . . . does that count?” Chance slurred his words and laughed at himself.
“It counts. It isn’t exactly the same thing, but while you’re thinking about Markus, I want you to push your energy out to him in the fire until he disappears and you cannot hear him anymore. Okay?”
“Right-o.”
Chance furrowed his brows and focused on Markus’s face in the fire. He tried to think back, but it proved challenging. What had he’d done when he’d saved Ana? The ball of energy at his core was awake and alert, unlike his consciousness. With every exhalation, he pushed his power toward the fire. He imagined himself blowing a pile of powdered sugar off a stack of pancakes. A drop of sweat curled down his nose and he brushed it away. It began to get a little easier the more he worked at it and soon, Markus’s face faded away and all that was left was a piece of a log that resembled a nose.
“Hello? Are you there?” Chance asked aloud, waiting for an answer. “Nope, Markus is on vacation.”
“Great, now I want you to do the same with Nastas, was it? Picture him in the fire and call out his voice.”
Chance recalled one of Markus’s memories and imagined his angry face. Maybe he could have used one of Mac’s drinks to make him a little more chill, he thought to himself. Then maybe he wouldn’t have been so bent on killing everyone.
Similar to before, Nastas’s features were represented in the flames of the fire and his voice echoed in his thoughts. You should not do this. Protect yourself.
Without waiting for Mac’s repeated instruction, he went ahead and tried blowing out Nastas’s birthday candles. The idea made him chuckle to himself as he pushed his energy out in an attempt to snuff out his face from the fire.
“You seem to know what to do. Is he gone now?”
Chance tilted his head to the side as though he were listening for a bird chirping in the trees. When only silence met his ears he nodded contentedly.
“Who’s up next?” He laughed. When was the last time he’d laughed? It sounded strange in his ears, foreign.
“Hmm, who did you say?” Batukhan asked from beside him on the log. “Was it Balam?”
Balam. He really had no reservation about saying goodbye to Markus and Nastas, two people who held only negative memories for him. But he’d never been able to give Balam a proper goodbye. Chance never believed he’d die. He’d lived through the Spanish invasion and a shapeshifter war.
As if sensing his hesitation, Mac said from across the fire pit, “I know he is family and every mentor is important. They make you who you are. But they belong in your heart and not your mind. You need to let go for your sanity.”
Chance nodded.
He didn’t have to recall anyone else’s memories to picture him. It may have been just over a month since he’d last seen him, but the memory of him was fresh. His proud and regal face stared back at him in the fire, although it was nothing like the man in the flesh.
Stay focused, Chance. Don’t lose control.
The lightheartedness that was there just moments ago dropped away. With sadness in his heart, he pushed his energy out in slow waves until his great-grandfather’s voice was silenced. Chance stared at the fire and the place that had occupied Balam’s face. Now, only undulating wisps of flame remained.
A warm hand pressed onto his shoulder and he looked up into Batukhan’s eyes. All expression left his face and he returned his stare to the campfire.
Mac filled Chance’s shot glass again. “Are you ready for the next one? Niyol?”
“No,” he answered with a shake of the head.
Chance slung back the cold liquid and welcomed the severing of threads of his consciousness. It was as though he let go of a heavy balloon he’d been holding on to for far too long. Relief set in.
While he stared at the fire and the shapes within it, a shadow crept into his mind, fast and silent. It lulled him into silence and took hold with a sense of finality.
Chance straightened out of his slouch and surveyed the scene before him. Batukhan was staring out at the forest and Mac had turned his back to set down the bottle. Without hesitation, Chance reached out and pulled one of the fresh logs from the fire, its full underbelly blackened with charcoal, alight with flame. He swung it up and brought it down with as much strength as he had over Mac’s head. A loud hollow crack sounded and the bigfoot shapeshifter dipped face first into the snow, not to move again.
The smell of burnt skin met his nose, but he didn’t care. Chance tightened his grip on the log despite his sizzling skin and turned to take a swing at Batukhan, but the man was too quick and sprung from his seat, his eyes wide.
“Chance?”
“Maybe, somewhere in here. Your friend did me a big favor. Without the other voices fighting against me it gave me a clear path, so thanks.”
Batukhan’s surprise was amusing to him. You know that moment when everyone knows you’re the most powerful in the room? Success.
A memory fogged up his vision and he clung to the log while he planted his feet firmly on the ground. Bright red walls surrounded him. They were decorated with Chinese symbols that were painted in gold. Gauzy fabric was draped over a regal bed. He appeared to be in a Chinese palace. Screams rang out nearby and in the distance.
He dropped the body of a thin woman from his mouth, the taste of copper on his tongue. Her black hair tumbled free from its decorative bun and her maroon blood flowed from multiple wounds on her neck and legs.
He stretched his long, furry legs out in front of him and howled. The sound reverberated off the walls in the room. A woman ran in and called out, “Princess Chaka!”
A look of horror spread across her face when she saw the bloody scene before her and she began to cry. “Batukhan, how could you do this?”
Chance slunk toward the devastated woman, and he would have laughed if he could. There wasn’t time to waste. He had orders. No prisoners. No survivors.
He pounced the woman, knocking her over and sank his canines into her neck. Her words came out gurgled. “No, please, I love you . . .”
The memory dissolved as quickly as it had set in, and Chance licked his lips as he stared at Batukhan.
Batukhan began to back away slowly, but it didn’t escape Chance’s notice. “I do not understand. Why are you doing this?”
“You know, when you were crying your sob story about your woman, and how she’d blamed you for her murder, it all fell into place for me. I thought she looked familiar before when I saw her and now I know why.”
Batukhan squinted and shook his head in disbelief. “What? Chance, is that you talking?”
“I thought it was strange that the young maid pleaded with me, saying another man’s name. She was so surprised that I killed her, even telling me she loved me with her last breaths. I knew that Khan had other secret officers who were especially gifted with surveillance and murder, but I was never lucky enough to meet you. The others were not so fortunate, sadly.”
The expression of confusion turned to horror on Batukhan’s face. He slipped his shirt off into the snow and he flexed his arms, in a ready position.
Chance laughed in a strange sort of way. “I am not here for you. I don’t need another voice to battle with when I’m so ne
ar my prize. But if you wish to have a taste of me, so be it. When you die, you know the truth about your love—but she never will. What a sad love story.”
Batukhan growled and hair sprouted in a carpet across his arms while he sank into all fours on the ground. The enormous blue wolf sneered at him, his white dagger-like teeth gleamed white.
“Here puppy,” Chance muttered before calling on the same mapping as the beast before him. The burning log fell to the ground with a sizzle, his hand seared with the shape of a C.
His skin prickled with sensation and his power rushed like a fire hose on full. The rush of energy made him euphoric and he wanted more. Saliva flowed from between his canines and he snapped his teeth with pleasure. His gray paws pressed into the snow and a cool breeze brushed through his fur. It may not have been his form of choice, but he didn’t mind using it to humiliate his opponent.
Batukhan launched across the distance between them and onto Chance. The force of the impact sent them spilling over the log they’d sat on and into the snow. Batukhan’s teeth sank into his neck. He was flung toward the lip of the fire, his fur catching light. Chance yelped with surprise and sniffed at his smoldering shoulder. Then he stared at the lumbering shape of the blue wolf coming to finish the job.
Chapter 22
“Chance!”
Ana woke with a start, sweat beading at her temple. She hadn’t caught much, but what she did see frightened her. He was being thrown around by another shifter.
He’s in trouble.
Her mind raced. She’d seen him surrounded by snow and pine trees. He definitely wasn’t in Mexico any longer. He could be home in Montana, or anywhere at altitude. Could he be close by?
She reached for her phone and held it in her hands. The guys said it wasn’t a good idea to let him know where I am until I knew how to help him. Maybe this isn’t a good idea.
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