Soul Whisperer (2 page)

Now he faced a similar problem, how to get answers without using his gifts.

He arched away, keeping them connected at the hip, letting her feel his desire. Her eyes flashed a warning, which he was tempted to ignore. Instead, he straightened his arms, keeping her trapped between his hands, but breaking the contact between them. He tensed, resisting the urge to take her in his arms.

She gave an audible exhalation of breath that seemed laced with relief. Her response irritated him. Since he could not read her thoughts, he did not know for sure if she held a similar desire. He had only the looks she had given him. That had been yearning, hadn't it? Yes, she had wanted him, too, until she recognized what he was. He was certain. Now all that had changed. Perhaps she was wiser than he or more able to rein in her passions, while his body shook with the wanting she raised. Damn her and her shifter magic.

She straightened her skirts. They fluttered about her like downy feathers. He noted she was dressed completely in black, from the crisscrossing straps of her Roman-style sandals to the low-cut, tight-fitting leather bustier. An odd choice of attire for a walk in the woods,
but she could turn her hide into anything, couldn't she? So why choose black? His eye caught on the center of her throat, fixing on the only thing she wore that held color.

Her necklace.

A strand of black crystal beads hung about her slender neck. At the center lay the carving of a bird. In its open beak sat a red faceted jewel. The stone flashed bright—a ruby?

He recognized the symbolism immediately—raven stealing the sun.

The jewel exactly matched the red of her lips. He glanced from her mouth to the necklace and back to her beautiful face, putting it together. The realization jolted him as if he'd been pushed from behind. Yes, he decided, that was the perfect fit for this female, who epitomized grace and power. She'd be smart, too. Had to be.

“A raven,” he said.

She made a slight throaty sound that might have been a laugh. “And I thought you were all brawn.”

Their eyes met and held. She broke the contact first, glancing toward the sky. Her natural home, he realized. Why hadn't she changed and escaped him?

His instinct was to keep her here with him, against her will if necessary. So he grasped her upper arm and held fast, preparing for the change that she could summon as easily as he could draw answers from a human's mind.

“Stay,” he coaxed.

Her smile was all seduction. “Why?”

He cleared his throat, changing tactics. “I'm Cesar Garza.”

Her mouth quirked.

“And you are?”

“Bess.”

“Do Skinwalkers have last names?”

“Suncatcher.”

Appropriate, he thought, since it was the legendary raven who stole the sun from Wakan Tanka, the Great Spirit, and brought it to earth. But the sun burned her colorful feathers and afterward, her kind dressed only in black. He smiled at Bess, feeling awkward for the first time in a century. But the feeling was not mutual, judging from the menace glinting in her eyes. He felt the resistance of her as she tried to draw away from him. Her proximity made his body roar in a mad rush of blood and heat and wanting. He had been too long in the company of human females who were more than happy to give him what he wanted.

Here was the first real challenge he'd faced in decades. And he was blowing it.

“Why are you here?”

“I believe the question is, why are
you
here?” she said in a low, musical voice. “Outside the usual territory for Niyanoka, isn't it?”

Had she seen what had done this? It was definitely possible. He had to find out what they were and if they threatened mankind.

He should go, continue his hunt, but this woman…
No, she's not a woman, not completely, at least
.

Cesar lowered his chin. “Did you see what happened?”

Bess glanced in the direction of the victim, but Cesar knew the corpse was beyond her line of sight. She showed none of the horror or disgust he would have expected from a typical female.

“I need to know.” It wasn't a question, exactly, but
neither did it force him to stoop to asking her for help, while still allowing her to offer it.

“I didn't see.” She hesitated. “But I can smell them.” She met his gaze. “I've never scented anything like this before. What are they?”

“They?”

She inclined her head. “Two.”

His mouth pressed into a grim line. “I'm not sure yet. I have to read the body.”

She nodded, her eyes slightly wider now.

He waited, swallowing against the bitter taste in his mouth, because he knew what would happen next, what always happened after he revealed himself. But she said nothing.

“Well?” he asked, his voice full of venom.

She shrugged. “Well what?”

“I'm a Soul Whisperer.”

She cocked her head as if she were part retriever, instead of a raven.

He pressed his lips together in frustration. She was going to make him spell it out for her.

“Don't you know what that means?”

She made no reply to his question, just continued her quizzical stare.

His nostrils flared as he breathed deep of the moist air and then spoke slowly, as if to a child, enunciating so there could be no mistake. “I touch the dead.”

“Your aura already told me that.”

He waited for the condemnation he had faced every day since he first learned of his awful gift. But still she said nothing more.

“It's unclean. I'm unclean because I touch the dead.”

She screwed up her face as if tasting something sour. “But that doesn't make sense. Touching the dead is nat
ural, isn't it? How else would we consume prey or bury a loved one?”

Cesar's jaw actually dropped.

“Are you teasing me, about the unclean thing?” she asked.

It took a moment to comprehend that she might not know, might not understand how it was with him. Was she really ignorant of the stigma endured by Soul Whisperers? Still he could not quite believe his ears.

Cesar brushed a thumb along her high cheek and still could not read her thoughts, but he did feel her emotions—curiosity and confusion, but no disgust. He'd never read emotions before.

He sensed that she knew the truth and still she did not turn away in revulsion or shy from his touch.

How remarkable.

S
ilence stretched between them as Bess stared at the Soul Whisperer who stood glaring at her. Was his hatred for her kind so strong, or was this a very personal chip on his shoulder? If he was teasing her about the unclean thing, he didn't show it. He looked deadly serious and seemed to be trying to size her up as she engaged in the same activity.

His people were different from hers, so it was not surprising that they did not understand each other.

“Are you going to watch me?” he asked.

“Is it safe?”

He nodded. “But no one ever watched before.”

She lifted one shoulder. “First time for everything.”

“I'll blank out for a few moments.”

She glanced about the forest, her keen eyes checking for any threat. She listened intently, but she heard only the gentle rustle of the wind in the branches and
the scurry of ground squirrels about their business. Nowhere could she sense any danger. Her search concluded, she returned her attention to the son of Niyan.

“I'll watch your back, then.”

His eyebrows lifted again, then fell, low and dangerous over his narrowing eyes. “Since when does a Skinwalker protect a Spirit Child?”

She motioned toward the body. “Common interest.”

He made no move toward the corpse. “Is this a trick to escape me?”

She laughed. “No one holds a raven, unless she wants to be held. If I wished to escape, I'd already be gone.”

There was that uncertain expression again as if he did not know what to believe. He apparently made up his mind because he gave the slightest nod of his chin, spun and then stalked to the body. Bess had witnessed many gruesome sights and tried to convince herself that this was no different. But it was, because of the body's resemblance to her mother.

Her mother's death had been sudden, accidents usually were, and even her father's special gifts could not save her. It seemed cruel that a man who could see the future of complete strangers could not foresee the day he would kiss his wife for the last time. Bess had been there, witnessed her mother's death and been equally helpless to prevent her passing. All she could do was hold her mother as she died. Could that really be over a hundred years ago now? Still her chest filled with a hollow ache that made it difficult to draw an even breath.

She swallowed back the knot that squeezed her throat, determined to keep her face placid and remain as still as the silent giants surrounding them. The red
woods endured and so could she. When she glanced at the Niyanoka, she found him studying her again.

“You don't have to watch,” he said.

“I know.”

Still he did not touch the body, waiting.

“Who have you lost?”

“Is it so obvious?”

His smile never reached his slate-colored eyes. “Only to one who sees so much death.”

“My mother was also slim and dark-headed.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding his understanding. “My situation is just the opposite. My mother is alive and just wishes I were dead.”

Bess's mouth dropped open as she watched for some indication that he was making a bad joke. He gave none as he kept his attention pinned upon her.

“You shouldn't watch.”

Her eyes widened with interest and she leaned forward. “Why? What will happen?”

He gave a befuddled shake of his head as if her questions made no sense. “Nothing you can see, but it's unnecessary.”

Bess bristled. She shouldn't have mentioned her mother. Now he felt sorry for her. “Skinwalkers are made of sterner stuff than that, Niyanoka. I'll wager I have looked on death as often as you.”

He held her gaze a moment longer and she knew from the sadness in his eyes and the long intake of breath that she had been wrong. This man had stared often into the face of death, far more often than she ever would. Still he nodded and then sank to his knees, pressing a hand to the woman's forehead. His eyes fluttered closed. The only change she could detect was in
his heartbeat and the rate of his breathing. Beyond that he was the picture of tranquility.

As she watched, his expression grew strained as the color ebbed from his tanned face, until his skin exactly matched the grayish shade of the corpse. Bess stepped closer and noted his eyeballs moving erratically beneath his closed lids as if he were deep in dreaming. At last he broke the connection with the body and sank back to his heels, capturing a huge breath of air. Cesar blinked down at the woman and then seemed to remember Bess and turned toward her.

“How long?” he asked.

“Were you…?” She pointed at the woman. “Maybe five minutes. Your color isn't good.”

“Temporary,” he said, rising to his feet and dusting off his knees.

“Do you just see what she saw?”

He broke the contact of their gaze and stared down at the deceased. “No. I can hear their thoughts, as well.”

That would be hard enough, she realized. “But not what they feel?”

He was studying her again. “Yes and no. I feel their emotions, fears, sorrows, the person they think of when they know they'll die. But I don't experience the pain of their final moments.” He glanced back at the victim. “She was killed giving birth, twins again, just like the first case.”

“First? Are you some kind of Dream Child cop?”

“I help humans investigate difficult cases. Work with the FBI.”

“They know what you are?”

He shook his head once. “Same rules for us as for you. Human's don't know about us—ever.” He rubbed
his palms on his trousers. “She was also only in her first trimester.”

“That's impossible.”

“Apparently not. Also the newborns can walk, run actually.” He pointed. “That way. That's why the self-made cesarean. They were too big to be born.”

“Are you sure they were not some kind of parasite?”

“I'm sure. They are small, with ash-gray skin. Their teeth are long, pointy and sharp and they have bright yellow eyes, like a cat's.”

Yellow eyes. She stilled, wondering why this tidbit made her entire scalp tingle.

“If they're Skinwalkers, they are like none I've ever seen,” Cesar continued, without noticing Bess's rising concern.

“We are always born in human form and don't change until we hit puberty.”

“That's what I was taught.”

Taught in his little racist Niyanoka schools, where they learned to hate her kind.

Cesar seemed oblivious to her seething anger for he continued on.

“What I'm not sure about is what they'll grow into and if they are a threat to mankind.”

Bess pressed her lips together in disapproval. He didn't give a fig if the little terrors killed every animal within fifty miles as long as they didn't kill men.

“Do you care nothing for The Balance—the give and take between species that is as fragile as a butterfly's wing?”

He made a face. “I don't like insects.”

“Yet you protect men who are more voracious than grasshoppers in their need to devour the land.”

“Spoken like a true tree-hugger.”

“Better than cutting them all down to build redwood decks for your Jacuzzis.”

They faced off in silence now, his jaw ticking and her fists clenched as she fought the soaring urge to fight. She had been so taken with him that she had nearly forgotten that they were born enemies.

“You're not going to help me find them?”

She couldn't quite disguise her surprise. Had he just requested her help?

“You asking?”

He shrugged.

She turned away.

“Wait. I'm asking.”

“How much of a head start?”

“Two hours.”

“I'll take a look. Where shall I meet you?”

“Here. But if you find them, don't get too close. They may be dangerous.”

She made a face. “I can handle myself.”

He gave her a serious look, then opened his mouth as if to say more, and closed it again.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He glanced back at his crime scene. “I have to call this in.”

“They think you're human?”

He nodded.

“Meet you here, then.” She lifted her arms but he grabbed her hand. The zip of adrenaline shot through her as well as the sensation of anxiety.

“Be careful, okay?”

She pulled her hand free. “Yes, okay.” Bess rubbed her wrist, but could not quite eliminate the strong feeling of worry and the nearly irresistible need to protect. Had she just read his emotions?

She did not know what was more disturbing, sensing his feelings or having him worry over her as if she were something more to him than a way to get answers.

She kept her eye on him.

He pinned her with an intense gaze. The corner of his mouth quirked and she felt an ache begin deep inside her.

“You going to watch?” she asked.

He grinned. “Oh, yeah.”

“No one ever watched before.”

His full smile dazzled her.

“First time for everything.”

Yes, this one was dangerous in an entirely different way. Bess backed away. Once clear, she lifted her arms and pushed off the earth, feeling the electric zing of power as she changed to her raven form and burst into the sky. She glanced back to see him staring, slack-jawed, before he disappeared into the forest below. It was surprisingly exhilarating to have someone know what she was, see her other self and not turn in horror. The law prohibited her from ever showing herself to a human unless in mortal danger. But now, this man could see what she was and he had not shown anything but wonder.

She flew low through the trees, swooping and dodging around the mighty trunks, listening for a disturbance and watching with her sharp eyes. Bess flew in widening circles, seeing nothing for what she gauged to be an hour. She had almost decided to turn back when she spotted the carcass of the freshly killed moose.

She perched on a limb and stared down. What she saw next made her stomach pitch.

The animal beside the moose was gray as the ash of a campfire, but its flesh had the pocked appearance
of burned charcoal. There was no fur or feathers. It hopped like a human from one leg to the other and already stood three feet tall. This thing was only two hours old?

She studied the knobby head and batlike ears. The creature's eyes were huge, wide and yellow-green with black pinprick pupils.

The dead moose shook and the other twin crawled from within the empty body cavity, dragging a section of glistening intestine between sharp white teeth.

A cry of horror escaped her. One creature looked up, staring with the fixed biopic focus of all predators.

She opened her wings as the thing leaped to the tree and climbed the forty feet that separated them with unnatural speed, reaching her just as she threw herself into the sky. Wings stretched wide, she flapped to put distance between them and then saw the second, identical thing on the ground. It snarled and snapped, then lifted into the air like smoke.

Another glance showed that the first thing was also airborne. It did not fly like any natural creature. Instead, it darted after her as if something shot from a gun, rocketing and billowing.

Fear sent a hot burst of blood and adrenaline to her muscles as she veered this way and that, darting through the trees in an effort to evade her pursuers. Not Nagi, her mind shouted, but what then?

Something brushed her tail. She cried out, flying low to the ground, dipping, swerving. No more time to look back. She beat her wings with greater urgency as she fled the twins.

She did not turn her head until she had gone two miles and found no sign of them. They could fly! And two of them, big as bear cubs and just as dangerous.

Dangerous did not even begin to describe these creatures.

It took some time for her breathing to return to normal as she flew straight for Cesar, coming instead into the middle of a police crime scene. Just like most humans, they were so preoccupied with their own concerns they did not notice a raven winging through the middle of the proceedings. But Cesar did. She landed on the boughs of a redwood, and watched the men crawl about the scene like ants. Cesar indicated to her that she should meet him at the parking area.

While she waited for him, she dressed in a conservative black suit fashioned after a particular favorite from the fall collection of a top New York designer. She was excellent at mimicking such clothing, changing her feathers into whatever suited her, though she was just as likely to buy the real thing and wear her skin in the form of only her necklace. She brushed the crease of her trousers, admiring the fabric. She did love fashion.

Cesar appeared from the wooded trail, so she stepped into view. As she crossed the lot a young officer moved before her.

“Crime scene, ma'am. You can't—”

Cesar cut him off. “She's with me. Consultant.”

The officer dropped his hand and stepped aside, allowing her to pass.

“Any luck?” he asked.

“Yes, all bad. I found them. They're about five miles northeast of here. Dangerous as hell. They killed a bull moose, just the two of them and had the innards eaten already.”

Cesar folded his arms across his wide chest.

She expected him to say something, but he didn't.

“Well?”

“They're entitled to eat.”

She threw her arms up in exasperation. “Would you say that if they had killed a hiker?”

He gave her a withering look. “Of course not.”

“Well, they're attacking animals. That means they're my concern, even if they're not yours.”

“I didn't say I'm not concerned. I'm just not going to hunt something that is only…” He clamped his mouth shut.

“Only killing animals?”

He didn't deny that this was what he was about to say.

“What about Skinwalkers? Because they also attacked me.”

His hard expression dissolved and his eyes rounded. He reached out, clasping her hand. She felt his emotions blast her like a warm wind—anxiety, then fear. His gaze swept her as she regained custody of her hand. How did he do that?