by Tara West
She hugged herself tightly as the spirit barged through her door, baring sharp fangs. She whipped Tatiana’s hair and clothes, and spun in violent circles around the room. Great Goddess, save Dr. Johnson from this ghost’s vengeance.
EILEA BUTTERED HER cornbread. She sat across the table from her uncle, who usually preferred to eat in silence. When she’d first started eating nightly meals with him, she’d been offended by his reticence, but she’d grown accustomed to his introverted personality. Besides, he sure knew how to cook, which made up for his lack of conversation. But tonight he’d have to make an exception. She’d been upset since Tatiana’s visit. Had the girl implied a ghost was following her? Eilea hoped she’d misunderstood. Ghosts weren’t real. Then again, a few years ago Eilea had thought shifters and magical healers weren’t real either.
Setting her cornbread and knife down, she said, “Uncle, what do you know about Amaroki afterlife?”
He shrugged, cutting into his pulled pork. “A little.”
“Could you tell me?”
He spooned barbeque sauce onto his plate and gave her a long look. “After an Amaroki dies, they cover the body in henna tattoos and then burn it, releasing the soul into the heavens. They go to their version of heaven, a place called Valhol.”
That was the most he’d said at the dinner table in a long while. “What if the soul doesn’t go to heaven?”
He set his fork down, folding his hands. “Like a tornaq?”
She blinked hard. “A what?”
“A spirit that doesn’t go to heaven.”
Shit. So ghosts were a real thing to the Amaroki. Though it was selfish of her, she’d been hoping Tatiana was suffering from delusions, something that could be treated with medications and therapy. “What happens to the tornaq?”
“It is my understanding that they stay on earth and haunt people. Why do you ask?”
She clutched the table, trying to quell her shaking limbs. “I can’t discuss it. Patient confidentiality.”
He lifted a graying brow. “You had an Amaroki patient today?”
She straightened. “I did.”
“Excellent. Maybe now more will come.” He dropped his gaze to his plate and shoveled food in his mouth, signaling their conversation was over.
Though she feared she wouldn’t like his answers, she had many more questions.
For starters, did tornaqs simply haunt or could they inflict physical harm? If so, what were the chances Katarina Lupescu’s ghost would find out her mates had scented Eilea and come after her next?
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Tatiana hollered at the ghoul, her pale, distorted features passing in a blur as she flung clothes in the air, shredding them in the process. “Stop that!”
But the ghost ignored her pleas, knocking over lamps, flinging glass frames against the wall, and upturning dressers. She fell to her knees with a wail, burying her face in her hands while a whirlwind of demonic energy circled around her.
She shot up when the smell of smoke tickled her nose, shrieking when she saw her clothes on fire in the corner. She tried to stomp it out while Katarina let out a maniacal laugh. She howled when the flames burned her feet and singed her jeans before racing up the wall.
When a roar sounded outside, Katarina disappeared in a flash of light. A giant fist smashed through Tatiana’s door, and it splintered open. Tor stuck his massive, furry head inside, then busted the rest of it apart, making room for Van and Skoll as they raced inside with fire extinguishers, dousing the flames.
The wind rushed from her lungs when Tor slammed her to the ground, smothering her with his big, hairy body and rolling her. It took her a moment to realize he was putting out the fire on her legs. She hadn’t even realized her pants were flame until the blistering pain set in.
She gagged and coughed on fumes and the thick, acrid taste of the chemicals from the fire extinguisher. Tor scooped her into his arms and carried her down the stairs.
He laid her on the bearskin rug before clomping back up the stairs. Too stunned to speak, she winced when her mother and Arvid peeled off her jeans.
She gaped at the bloody blisters already forming on her shins. What the fuck? She’d been badly burned.
“Call Amara,” her mother whispered, wiping watery eyes with the back of her hand.
Arvid nodded and went to the kitchen phone.
Her fathers tramped around upstairs, then threw piles of charred clothes over the railing and onto the floor below.
She swallowed a sob. All of her beautiful clothes were ruined. A flash of light swirled in the rafters overhead, followed by the echo of Katarina’s laughter as she flew through the back window, out into the night air. No doubt she’d be back soon. She never left Tatiana alone for long.
“Why are you doing this to us?” her mother asked, burying her face in her hands.
They thought she’d started the fire? She wanted so badly to tell her mother the truth, but Katarina had threatened to kill her family if she told them about her. She opened her mouth to speak, say something— anything—to make her mother understand, but all that came out was a gasp. The ghoul had returned, hovering over Tatiana’s mother, eyes glowing fiery red, like the flames of hell were shining through her soul.
Chapter Two
AMARA STIFLED A YAWN as Drasko helped her out of the truck. Even though she was only a few weeks pregnant with Luc’s child, her mates were treating her like a fragile flower. She loved their attention, but the way they babied her sometimes grated on her nerves. Case in point, she’d had to argue with Drasko this morning to get him to bring her to the Strongpaw pack before sunrise. The Strongpaw alpha had called at six in the morning, disoriented, scared, and worried over his sick brother, Albert. Amara had wanted to go to them right away, but her mates insisted she eat breakfast and nurse Alexi first.
The Strongpaws had a small log house nestled on the side of a hill overlooking a quaint stream and valley. From what she remembered, they were a smaller pack, only three brothers, who’d just returned from Africa with their new bride. A man Amara assumed to be the alpha waited for them on the porch, looking as haggard as if he hadn’t slept in a week. The Strongpaws were supposedly younger than Amara’s mates, but the lines framing the alpha’s dark eyes and drawn mouth made him look to be in his mid-thirties. Only the dark Mohawk, with blue tips that descended into a long braid down his back, hinted at his youth.
“Good morning, Loki,” Drasko said, holding tightly to Amara’s hand and leading her up the stairs.
Loki Strongpaw made an odd grunting sound. “Good morning, Hakon.”
Drasko blinked, giving Loki a quizzical look. “I’m Drasko. You should know that.”
“Sorry.” Loki shook his head like he was trying to drain water from his ears. “I’m still disoriented.” He opened the rusty screen door and ushered them inside. “Thank you for coming so early.”
“We were asleep when you called,” Drasko grumbled. “Our mate is pregnant and nursing.”
She squeezed his hand, giving him a warning look. Why must he be so grumpy?
“Sorry,” Loki said, gesturing to a man hunched on an old velvet sofa. “We would’ve come to you, but I’m not fit to drive yet.”
“No worries. We’re here now.” Drasko’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the air. “Why can’t you drive? You been drinking?”
“No.” Loki banged his ear. “Still confused.”
She shared a quizzical look with Drasko. What’s wrong with him?
Drasko shrugged. Probably smoked too much pot.
She scented the air, but there was no trace of the skunky smoke smell.
They followed Loki into the small but cozy living room lined with fur rugs. The room was lit only with a few kerosene lamps and a fire in the stone hearth. The newest piece of technology was a pellet stove in one corner, next to an old-fashioned water pump. She realized they were one of the few packs who still lived off the land and didn’t use electricity. Yikes. She’d go nuts.
She tu
rned her attention to the man on the sofa, clutching a bucket between his legs. Thick furs were draped over him. He dry-heaved into a bucket while a pretty woman with skin glowing like polished onyx patted his back.
“This is our mate, Nakomi,” Loki said. “Nakomi, meet Drasko and his mate, Amara.”
She greeted them with all the regality of a queen. “Nice to meet you,” she said in a thick accent.
“Nakomi,” Drasko asked, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. “You from an African tribe?”
“I am.” She sat up straighter. “Ethiopia.”
“We’ve only been mated a month. We would’ve brought her to the tribal meeting, except we missed it.” Loki’s tanned cheeks flushed crimson. “We lost track of time.”
“It’s okay.” Drasko chuckled. “I remember our honeymoon phase.”
Amara nudged him in the ribs with a wink. “I thought we were still honeymooning.”
He scratched the back of his head, flashing a knowing grin. “Are we?”
She rolled her eyes. The reason they were so exhausted this morning was because Drasko and his brothers had pounded her brains out the night before. She was tired, but it had been worth it.
When Albert’s dry heaves became more substantial, Drasko swore and looked away. Used to dealing with sick patients, Amara rolled up her sleeves and sat beside him, waiting for him to finish. He finally lay back with a groan, spittle dripping down his smooth chin.
“Albert, let’s have a look at you.”
She felt his head, which was feverish. His face and neck were covered in little red welts that looked like the human chickenpox. Her breath caught when she pushed up his sleeve and looked at his arm. She recognized those welts.
“Omigod!” She turned to Drasko with wide-eyed alarm. Drasko leaned over Albert, squinting in the low light. “Looks like demon burn.”
“It itches like hell.” Albert moaned, his head lolling to the other side while he scratched scabs off the pustules, smearing bloody streaks down his arms.
Amara cringed. “Yeah, I remember.” She waited for him to stop scratching before placing her hands on him.
“Amara and I both had demon burn from the Hoia Baciu Forest a few years ago. Did you just return from Romania?” Drasko asked Loki.
“No.” Loki frowned at his brother. “We were hunting locally when he got sick.”
Amara shot up like a bolt of lightning had zinged through her. “I don’t understand. There are no haunted forests here.”
Loki shrugged, then stumbled and fell against an oak table.
Drasko helped him sit in a stuffed chair beside the fire. “Are you okay?”
“No.” He dragged a hand down his face. “We’ve been disoriented since the hunt.”
The door slammed open and what appeared to be a smaller version of Albert crossed the threshold, a bundle of firewood in his arms. “Here’s the wood,” he said, slurring like a drunk. He dropped the wood on the floor with a thud before collapsing into a chair beside Loki.
Amara and Drasko exchanged concerned looks.
Ice cold fear pricked the back of her neck. What the hell was going on?
Hurry, so we can get out of here, Drasko said. We need to alert my fathers.
Something strange was going on with the Strongpaws, and the tribal chieftains needed to be made aware.
She laid her hands on Albert’s shoulders and channeled her healing magic. Over the past few years, the magic had grown stronger. After she cured Drasko of a zombie virus, and Agent Johnson of stage-four cancer, her healing strength poured through her fingers like they were busted firehoses. There was nothing she couldn’t heal. She closed her eyes tight, feeling the magic pulse through her, stunned when her fingers started to ache. She released Albert with a shudder and looked at her swollen hands.
What the hell? That’s never happened before.
Her fingers throbbed as if they were water balloons ready to burst. Had the magic pooled in her fingers instead of pouring into Albert? She gazed at Albert’s skin with alarm. The hives were still there.
Nakomi’s eyes bulged when she looked at Amara’s fingers. Then she mumbled something in a foreign language.
“Drasko?” Amara breathed, resting her heavy, trembling hands on her knees.
“What is it?” He stood over her, a sharp edge to his voice.
She looked at her throbbing hands once more, her eyes welling with tears at the pulsing pain. “I can’t heal him.”
“What do you mean?” he snapped, his harsh tone slicing through her like a blade.
“I mean, my magic isn’t working on him.” She held up her hands.
Drasko’s mouth fell open. “That’s impossible.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. “The magic pains me. It won’t leave my fingers.”
“What in Ancient’s name?”
Nakomi shut her eyes, rocking back and forth, hugging herself. Her indecipherable chants grew louder.
“What do we do?” Amara asked Drasko in a panic.
“Call Raz.”
Amara silently nodded. Raz Spiritcaller was the tribe medicine woman and an elder with knowledge about Amaroki history. If anyone could explain what was going on, she could.
“We’ve already tried the Spiritcallers,” Loki said, rubbing his temples. “Nobody answered.”
Drasko’s expression hardened, and he latched onto Amara’s elbow, pulling her to his side. “Go to the clinic.”
Nakomi’s eyes flew open. “The human doctor?”
Amara clutched her throat. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw sparks of red in Nakomi’s eyes. She had to have imagined it. Shifters didn’t have red eyes. When they changed forms, their irises turned bright silver, gold, or orange.
“Yes.” She pressed into Drasko. “Eilea’s a good doctor.”
Nakomi turned up her nose, shoulders stiffening. “I’d rather take care of him myself.”
“He’s getting worse.” Loki shot to his feet, then groaned and clutched the chair. “We don’t have a choice.”
“I’m so sorry,” Amara couldn’t fight the note of panic that had slipped into her voice. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. This has never happened.”
Drasko wrapped a possessive arm around her waist. We should go. You shouldn’t be exposed to this. Think of the baby.
Amara clenched her teeth when she realized she had put not only her health in danger, but her baby’s health as well. What if it was contagious? She had touched Albert. What if she brought it back to her family? Her babies?
Drasko tugged her to the door. “I’m really sorry. We have to go now.”
Nakomi shot to her feet, hands clenched into fists, red flecks flashing in her eyes again. “You can’t just leave him.”
Amara, we need to go. Drasko’s urgent command was a low rumble in her skull. Now.
“I wish we could’ve done more for you, Strongpaws,” she said as she backed out the door. “We will pray for you.”
Prayers might not be enough. Drasko dragged her toward the truck.
She stood helplessly by the passenger door. “Can you open the door and buckle me in?” she asked, holding up her fingers.
He wordlessly helped her in, then held her hand to the overhead light.
“I-I think my magic is trapped.” She cried when she saw her fingers were even more swollen.
She shrank back when Drasko took out his pocket knife. Was he going to cut her fingers open? But he sliced open his arm with a hiss, blood streaming down to his hand.
Instinctively, she latched onto his arm with both hands, her healing warmth pulsing through her fingers and instantly sealing the wound. She let out a sigh of relief when the throbbing subsided. She turned over her hands, pleased that her fingers had shrunk considerably. She looked up at Drasko. “Why can I heal you but not Albert?”
“I-I don’t know.” Drasko’s face hardened. “But if this virus spreads, we’re all fucked.”
CHECKING HER REFLECTION in the mirror, Eilea fr
owned at the fine lines under her eyes. She’d always prided herself on her smooth, mahogany skin. Her grandmother used to say she had the complexion of a doll, though most of the dolls she had growing up were fair-skinned. She did have one dark-skinned handmade doll that looked like her, with large, mocha eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. Her grandmother had knitted a doctor’s lab coat for it, telling Eilea she could be anything she set out to be. Eilea had taken her grandmother’s words to heart and completed medical school at the top of her class. Dabbing moisturizer under her eyes, she wondered what the Lupescus would think of her wrinkles. Then she chided herself for caring. She wasn’t mating with the tall blond shifters, so it didn’t matter.
She emerged from the modest, two-bedroom home she’d shared with Uncle Joe the past year, pulling her jacket tightly around her shoulders and breathing in the frigid air. It was cold enough that Eilea’s breath clouded her vision, and it was only fall. Winter was coming, which meant longer nights, short, dreary days, and heavier clothes. She admired the Amaroki and her uncle for braving such an icy, dark climate year after year. Alaskan winters weren’t for her, though. As soon as she saw Tatiana had decent care, she would give Uncle Joe her notice.
She climbed the knoll, grass crunching under her boots, and rounded the corner to her clinic, surprised to see an unfamiliar old Army Jeep parked in the gravel drive. Leaning against the Jeep was a thin, dark-skinned woman with large, mocha eyes, full lips, and a neck that stretched for miles. She wore a thick, multi-colored shawl over a long bright dress, reminding her of the beautiful women she’d met during the year she’d worked for a charity hospital in Africa. Though she knew shifters came in many colors, there weren’t many African-born among the Alaskan tribe. When Eilea smiled at the woman, she was taken aback when her smile was returned with a scowl. Perhaps the scowl wasn’t meant for her. Maybe the woman was upset about the sick man who was bent over beside her, clutching his knees and looking like he was about to retch. Two men hovered nearby, patting his back and giving Eilea helpless looks. Alarm bells went off in Eilea’s head at the distinctive white pustules on the sick man’s neck and face. Though he wore long sleeves, she suspected the rest of his body was covered in blisters as well.