Lakota Honor (8 page)

He smelled of leather, smoke and a spice she couldn't quite put her finger on. She refrained from touching the feather in his hair, and instead stared into his troubled eyes. Sadness, anger and purpose melded together in the dark depths.

She smiled.

She never heard the sound of the blade until the tip pricked her throat. Black eyes, lethal and wicked, bore into hers. Tanned features tightened to conceal any hint of kindness and were replaced with evil and disgust. It was fascinating how he changed. How he masked any emotion other than hate and punched it forward onto his enemy, onto her.

She gasped. The enormity of his revulsion smashed into her, heavy and compressed. She felt dirty. Had her people done this to him? Had they mistreated him, pulling the hate from him, so anger was the sole emotion he displayed? Oh, if this was so, she needed to fix it. She needed him to see that not all white people were the same.

She closed her eyes. She had no idea where the courage came from to place her hand lightly over his. She felt the cool metal blade on the tip of her thumb but did not move her hand away.
If he is going to kill me, let it be quick.
She opened her eyes and watched as curiosity, anger and hate flickered across his face.

"Go," he rasped.

"No."

"I will kill you."

She gulped.

"Then do your best, because I'm not leaving."

He flexed his jaw, pushed the knife into her throat. The skin broke and she could feel the blood trickle down her neck.
Here we go. Please let Pa know how much I loved him.

She held her breath and met his eyes.

Time stretched. His broad chest rose and fell as he exhaled onto her face.

She refused to look away.

He growled, flung her to the side and threw his knife. The wood split as the blade struck the tree. She checked to make sure he hadn't sliced her throat before he threw the knife. Blood smeared her fingers, and she pulled a handkerchief from her apron.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Otakatay pulled the knife from the tree. What in hell had the wasicun winyan been thinking? He glanced back at her. She sat on a tree stump blotting a white cloth to her neck. He'd cut her. Not enough to kill her, a nick from the tip of his blade to scare her. But it hadn't worked. Instead she'd challenged him with her blue eyes, pushed him to harm her.

He threw his knife again. Every muscle vibrated, wanting to release the energy alive and coursing rampantly through his veins. He should've smacked her. She'd be running away in fear then.

He shook his head. He didn't hit women.
No, I only kill them.
His stomach pitched. He looked at her again. He murdered women like her, women with kind smiles and bright eyes—women who haunted his dreams. He massaged his chest. He didn't want to think of them.

He grabbed his knife and slid it into the leather sheath strapped under the coat on his back.

"What do you want?" he barked.

She stopped dabbing her neck. "To be your friend."

He had no friends and didn't want any either. "I don't need a friend."

Without missing a beat she piped up, "Everyone needs a friend."

He saw sadness flicker across her face, and he stiffened. She was the one in need. He didn't give a shit what she needed. He wasn't it. There were plenty of wasichu in town she could mingle with. He went to Wakina, wrapped the leather reins around his hand and walked away. He heard her steps beside him.
Why won't she go away?
She was like a fly, a nuisance that hung around until you swatted it away or killed it.

He grunted. He'd tried that, and it didn't work.

He glanced at her through his lashes. He couldn't kill her. He didn't kill without reason, and as irritating as she was, it wasn't a good enough excuse to end her life.

"Sir, where are you from?" She skipped beside him.

He walked faster. A hand touched his arm and he pushed it away.

"Wakina means
Thunder
in Lakota," he said, still feeling the heat from her hand on his arm.

"Well, that makes perfect sense," she puffed.

He didn't know why he'd told her Wakina's Lakota name, or why he hadn't jumped on the horse's back leaving her far behind him. He scowled at her and an innocence he'd witnessed before surrounded her
. Ina
.

There had been nothing soft, nothing warm in his life for years and he didn't know what to do with it—with her. She had an aura that illuminated a goodness he'd thought forgotten within the wasichu.

She was different.

"He is the color of thunder clouds, dark gray. I see why you named him that." She ran her hand along Wakina's mane.

He ignored her.

"Where are you from?"

He avoided the question the first time. He didn't know, didn't want to remember. "I've lived all over."

She nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Do you belong to a tribe?"

"No."
I belong to no one
.

"Oh." She was silent for a long time, and he thought she was done asking questions until her full lips opened again. "Are you white, too?"

Not by choice.
"Yes."

She stopped. He didn't, and soon he heard the rustling of the leaves as she caught up.

"You're a—

"Half breed." He didn't know what she was going to say and he didn't give a damn. Half breeds were outcasts. He'd been reminded every day of his life what he was.

"I wasn't about to say that," she whispered.

"It is what I am."

"It is cruel."

He tripped on a root but continued walking. "Why would you think it is cruel when your people continue to use it?"

"My people may use it, but it doesn't mean I do."

He'd brought her to his camp.
Damn it
. What the hell had he been thinking? He'd let his guard down for five minutes and this is what happens.
Why won't she go away?
Hell, even men feared him, yet this little minx walked beside him as if he were a preacher giving the Sunday Sermon.

He frowned.

She lifted her skirt, and he spied the white of her calves. His pulse quickened.

She plopped down onto the ground and crossed her legs. "You enjoy sleeping under the stars?"

He'd enjoy it if she'd leave.

"What is your name?"

"Otakatay."

He smiled, knowing what would come next.

"What does it mean?"

"One who kills many."

He watched amused as her mouth opened and closed a few times. White delicate hands fidgeted on her lap. "Why would your mother name you that?"

Ina.
He made a fist, constricting the muscles within his arms. He could not change the past. He couldn't make things right. He touched the feather in his hair.

"Have you killed many?"

Her words seemed far away. "Yes." There was nothing more to say. He'd killed more than he could remember, more than he should have. More than he wanted.

"Are you a bounty hunter?"

Why was she asking so many damn questions and why in hell was he answering them? He left Wakina to wander and sat down across from her. He threw her a menacing glare, but the little nit didn't even flinch. He pulled the knife from his back and with brisk movements, sharpened it.

"Is that what you do?"

"I kill for money."

She chewed on the inside of her cheek.

She was troubled, he could tell. He hoped she'd get up and leave, now that she knew what he was.

"Have you ever killed someone who was innocent?"

He held the blade of his knife up to his cheek. "I kill those who are deadly and those who I'm paid to kill."

"Even if they are innocent?"

"It doesn't matter to me what they are as long as I get paid."

"Even...even women and children?" She folded her hands together, twisting them until the knuckles were white.

His face hardened. "No children."

"But, but you've killed women."

He remained silent.

"Oh my."

He'd had enough of the questions and decided it was time for her to leave. It was time for her to see what she was sitting across from.

"I am a killer." He dragged his blade slowly across the whetstone. "I've gutted, sliced and pitted bodies for greenbacks. I'm a shadow lurking in the corner, waiting to." He threw the knife, missing the side of her face by less than an inch, into the tree behind her.

She lifted a shaky hand up to her head and patted her hair. When her eyes met his there was no malice or hate within them. No trace of fear. He blinked. Why wasn't she scared? Why didn't she curse at him, yelling savage, lowlife, breed?
Why is she still here?

She was not like any other wasichu he'd come across in his twenty-six winters. She was familiar in a peculiar way. He stomped down any gesture that might lead her to believe he was a good person. He wasn't.

He stood, and so did she. Dainty hands ran along the front of her skirt. The fabric should be burned, the edges frayed, the brown color faded and worn. He analysed her features. She was pretty, in a different sort of way. Pale skin, blue eyes and black hair were an odd combination, but one that seemed to compliment her. She was fine-boned, with dainty hands and short legs. Underneath the rags and braided hair, she was strong, a fighter. His previous attempts to scare her told him that. There was also kindness within her, and he'd seen it with his horse.

He shifted from one foot to the other, curled his fingers into fists. He wanted nothing to do with the wasicun winyan.

"I have to go," she said.

He watched as her eyes darted from him to Wakina. She went to the horse, placed her cheek against his and whispered something he couldn't hear.

"Goodbye, Otakatay."

He remained silent and watched her walk into the forest. When he couldn't see her anymore he let his shoulders fall, and kicked dirt over the ashes left from his fire last night. He broke branches throwing them onto the ground. He was moving camp. He didn't want her coming back with more questions. Shit, he'd rather face a den of rattlesnakes.

A terrifying scream carried over the trees and slammed into him. He pushed his feet into the ground, planting himself so he wouldn't move. She was fine, probably saw a snake.

Another scream echoed throughout the camp.

Wakina tossed his head and bared his teeth.

"No."

Two hoofs sprung into the air and landed with a puff of dirt onto the ground.

"Wakina."

The horse raised one leg, bared his teeth again and took off into the forest.

"Son of a bitch."

Otakatay pulled his knife from the tree and sprinted after Wakina
.
His moccasins allowed him to run with silent steps. A gift he'd acquired after much practice. He swatted at the branches, as he followed the sound of Wakina's hooves. He spotted the girl through the trees. She sat on a rotted stump by the river, holding something in her hands. Wakina
stood next to her, his snout resting on her shoulder.
I will eat the animal yet.

He set his jaw and pushed through the last tree in front of him. He saw the black fur on her lap. "Why are you holding a dead animal?"

Nora's tear-streaked face looked up at him, and he realized it wasn't an animal. It was a scalp. He ground his teeth together.

"It's a...a...a"

He yanked the wet hair from her lap and threw it into the river, making sure it was within the rapids.

Her hands shook. He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to help her, he couldn't.

"I will walk you to the end of the forest."

She didn't move, instead continued to shake worse than before.

"It was a scalp, Otakatay. It was a woman's scalp." More tears burst from her eyes, making the blue within them shine.

He didn't answer. He knew what it was. Remorse, grave and intense, weighed on his shoulders. He swallowed. He had nothing to offer her. He placed his hand upon her shoulder for a mere second, before snapping it back to his side. He was a killer. A low-life half-breed that belonged nowhere. There was nothing gentle within him.

He left her and went to stand by a tree. The distance helped to bring back his senses and the overwhelming urge to help the girl. Wakina stayed by her side and he glared at the horse.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and gave Wakina a shaky smile. He scanned the river for more floating scalps and exhaled when he saw none.

She wrapped her arms around the horse's neck.

He'd never seen a wasichu show affection for an animal. He waited until she twisted toward him before ushering her out of the forest.

"Why, Otakatay, would someone scalp a woman?"

He clamped his lips together so he didn't confess.

She caught her foot and stumbled.

He grabbed her before she fell onto her face. He turned her in his arms and gazed into her eyes. They reminded him of a stormy sky, sapphire with a dark ring around the outside. A jolt of lightning shot through him, and he couldn't look away. He couldn't see anything but her.

He leaned forward, hovering above her pink lips. She smelled of roses, dirt and horse, and before he could control himself, before he could talk some sense into his thick skull, he grazed his lips over hers.

Softly, he melded them together, branding this moment into his mind forever. The sun's rays filtered through the trees and onto her hair, transforming the dull color to a shimmering shade of dark blue. She brought her arms up, wrapped them around his neck and tilted her head to deepen the kiss. He stilled, and his arms fell listlessly at his sides.

She dropped onto the ground with a thud and gaped up at him confused.

I have to be sure.
He yanked her up and cushioned her back against his chest. He kissed her neck and pushed the hair to the side. Delicately, so he didn't startle her, he moved his lips up to her ear.

Amidst her braided hair, nestled so it wasn't easily seen sat his destiny. He hugged her to him as a wave of nausea bloated his stomach. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
One more. I need one more.
The demon inside him whispered,
slit her throat.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Do it. Kill her.

He fought with the hunter he'd become, and the promise he'd set out to fulfill.
One more. One more
.
One more.
He shoved her from him and watched as she hit the ground.

He took a step back.

"What?"

"Go." He pointed in the direction they'd been walking.

"But…"

"Get the hell away from me, witkowan," he growled.
She'd be the last one.
He stretched behind him, his fingers tightened on the handle of the blade.