Soul Whisperer (4 page)

“Cesar, what is wrong with you?” asked Bess. She had both hands on her hips now.

Tuff kept his gaze on Cesar, placid as ever. Cesar still wanted to punch him, but the rage cooled now that Bess no longer hung on his arm. He wasn't certain what was happening himself.

“You okay with this?” asked Tuff.

“Or do I have to lock you in your room?” added Bess.

Cesar shoved his hands in his pockets. He should apologize; attacking a guest in his home was unforgivable. But for the moment it took all his slipping self-control to keep his teeth clamped together. He wanted to order Tuff out. Instead he nodded, lowering his chin and glowering at the other male.

“Honestly,” said Bess, giving Cesar a scowl before
returning her attention to Tuff. She smiled and shook her head. “Sorry about that. Thank you for your sacrifice.”

Why was she bowing to him? What would he do to her? He took a step toward her again. She lifted one finger and pointed at him.

“Sit down, Cesar. I need this healed or I can't go.”

He didn't want her to go, so he took another step. She rounded on him, putting both hands on his chest. Thankfully his shirt kept her from touching skin.

“He's an old friend.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“You're being ridiculous.”

His vision narrowed to Tuff as the blood beat against his eardrums like a hailstorm. “I don't want him here.”

“Yeah, I got that, too. Nothing subtle about your signals. So go sit down and he'll be out of here in a few minutes. If you get up off that sofa, I'm going with him.”

Suddenly he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. He wasn't letting her just walk out of here until he understood what the blazes was happening between them and that might take all night. What was he thinking? He had no claim on her. But somehow, he did—he felt it.

He folded into the sofa. She perched at the edge of the love seat and Tuff knelt at her feet. She lifted her skirt and placed one high-heeled sandal on his coffee table. Then she peeled off the bandage, showing the red scab forming along her smooth skin.

“Not too bad.” Tuff closed his eyes and placed both hands on her thigh.

Cesar left his seat but was stayed again by Bess, who aimed a warning index finger at him again as if he were
her pet Pomeranian. His nostrils flared as he sank back to the edge of his seat.

Tuff began to chant, words Cesar hadn't heard in over a century. His Lakota was pure and without accent, a lilting, rolling song of power and sacrifice.

Cesar glanced at Bess and saw the strain on her face. He followed the direction of her gaze and saw, to his horror, that Tuff's left leg was now bleeding through his jeans. The blood appeared in the exact place as Bess's wound. Fingers of uncertainty wriggled down his spine as he realized what was happening. Cesar's gaze flashed to hers for confirmation and she nodded. Tuff wasn't so much healing Bess as taking her injury from her. What kind of a man would willingly do such a thing?

His prayer of gratitude ended and his eyes flickered open.

“You lost a lot of blood,” he said.

“I was a ways out when I got hit.”

He nodded. “I can't replace blood. So you can't fly very far until you get some nourishment and rest. I'd offer to take you with me, but you know I sleep in that truck.”

Cesar knew he should offer the Skinwalker a bed. He had a guest room and this sofa, but damned if he'd have him in his house a moment longer than necessary. His selfishness seemed to stand in particularly stark contrast to this man's generosity.

“She stays here,” said Cesar.

Bess made a face that said otherwise. He made a note that she didn't like being told what to do.

“Or I could drive you back to your place,” said Tuff.

How did he know where Bess lived? Cesar found his rage shooting him off the sofa like a geyser blast. Drive
her to her place, his ass. Damned if he let her out of his sight.

Bess looked from one to the other and smiled, seeming pleased at the turmoil she'd brought to his quiet life. He'd spent so much time with the dead that he'd forgotten how the scent of a beautiful woman could affect him.

“I'll stay here…” said Bess, and then peeled the butterfly bandages from her perfect, unblemished skin.

Cesar's smug smile died as she completed her sentence.

“…in the city. And maybe tomorrow I can start my journey to the Spirit World.”

“Perhaps. If you eat and rest,” he said.

She rose and Tuff followed. She walked him toward the door. “Is your leg healed already?”

“Yes. That was a small one.”

“What about your pants?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Got a real pair just like these behind the seat in the cab.”

Cesar trailed behind them, battling his need to defend his territory and this woman. He couldn't understand it. He was acting much more like an animal than either of these two. Weren't Niyanoka supposed to be the ones in control of their baser sides? Yet his libido seemed to be roaring like a hungry lion. How long since he'd been so eager for sex? Too damn long and never like this.

Cesar did not like how Bess clung to the man's arm.

“Can you heal anything?” he asked.

Tuff paused and then lowered his eyes in a show of modesty. “So far.”

“Can you bring someone back from the dead?” Cesar stilled, waiting for his answer, wondering if this man,
this half-man could have saved his brother, had he been there.

Tuff met his eyes. “I only repair the body. Once the soul has fled, I can't call it back.”

Bess looped her arm in Tuff's as she escorted him to the foyer.

Cesar moved to follow, but she rounded on him. “And you are staying here.”

He wanted to make sure she came back and then he realized the choice was hers. He could not quite keep the growl of frustration from escaping his clamped jaw.

Tuff smile remained placid as he faced Cesar, who stood like a gargoyle at his front door. “Thanks for the seltzer.”

Tuff turned back to Bess, but she did not release the Skinwalker's arm or show any sign that she made her farewells.

“I'm walking you out,” she said to Tuff, and then turned to Cesar. “See you in a bit.”

He reached for her, but Bess evaded him and stepped into the hall. It surprised him how difficult it was to let her walk away.

Bess walked Tuff to the elevator, her leg feeling perfect, while Tuff limped slightly. She had last seen the buffalo Skinwalker when they had fought Nagi's ghost army, in the spring, a little over three months ago. She knew he was fearless and selfless, for she had seen him heal the injured from both sides after the battle. He was also gentle and thoughtful. Exactly the sort of man a woman should want. Why then did she feel the sensual pull only from one surly, infuriating Soul Whisperer who was absolutely wrong for her?

“He's an enemy,” Tuff said, seeming tuned in to her thoughts. “Do you know what you're doing?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not particularly, no.”

“The guy has a serious thing going for you.”

“I thought you couldn't read auras.” Bess could see the change in color of her aura and of Cesar's. They pulsed with the salmon pink of lust and the bright blue of sexual power. But to have Tuff see that embarrassed her greatly. It wasn't as if she were some teenager with hormones raging. But something sure as hell was raging.

“I can't. But I can read a male defending his territory and fighting for the rights to a female. And I can smell the pheromones in there and his testosterone.” Tuff thumbed back toward Cesar's place. “I'm dizzy from the scent.”

Bess flushed.

Tuff's shoulders sagged with his long sigh. “I'd warn you to be careful, but I see it's already too late. The man's in rut.”

“A Spirit Child can't go into rut.”

Tuff gave her an incredulous look and hit the elevator button.

“I thought they were above all those base instincts, too.”

“Apparently not,” he said.

“I think he just finds me attractive.”

Tuff gave her a serious look and then slowly shook his head. “He's a stallion defending a mare. He's keeping you with him and he'll kick the ass of any other stallion that comes near you. His door is open right now.”

The prospect of being so coveted both annoyed and titillated.

Bess looked back, seeing only the empty corridor. “How do you know that?”

“Never heard it shut behind us.”

Bess couldn't keep from smiling.

The elevator doors slid open. “I can take you with me.”

She felt touched by his offer and knew the instant he spoke that she was staying here. She shook her head and he gave a long sigh.

“I'll camp in the Redwood Forest until you return from your journey. Call me if you have need of me or of a male to challenge that one and bring you safely away.”

“Don't be silly. He's not keeping me. I can leave whenever I like.”

Tuff glanced toward Cesar's door. “I'd kiss you goodbye, but I don't want to have to kick his ass unless it's strictly necessary.”

She smiled. “Thank you for all you have done.”

He stepped into the car and nodded. “Walk in beauty.”

The compartment closed and the engine whirred. Bess turned back to find Cesar standing in the middle of the hall, arms akimbo with fists at his hips and his chin lowered as he fixed his stare on her. She cocked her head, wondering if Tuff was right. His expression was predatory and arousing as hell.

Bess hesitated, realizing two things simultaneously. First, she was well enough to leave and, second, she recognized exactly what would happen if she returned to his apartment. She considered escaping now, troubled by the alarming yearning he stirred in her. But, at the same time, she wanted to linger and
explore this exciting, arousing male. Was it already too late?

He seemed to sense her indecision, for he stalked forward ready to claim what he already thought was his.

N
agi had followed the raven to its home territory. On the journey, he realized something. If he killed it, not only would he lose his only connection to the Seer of Souls, the raven's death would send the Skinwalker to Hihankara, the immortal who guarded the Spirit Road, and alert the crone about what he was up to. Hihankara could then tell his fellow Spirits. It was one thing to fight Halflings and Supernaturals, quite another to face true immortal Spirits with powers equal or greater than his own. He still hoped to possess the earth before the others learned of his efforts. It was a dilemma.

Of course, a raven could fly to the Spirit World any time it liked and so the longer it lived the better the chance the Skinwalker might tell. Still Hihankara didn't like ravens or their intrusion into her domain. They might not even speak.

Nagi fumed. For many days and nights, the raven
had done nothing and contacted no one. He'd become so bored he'd slipped away to make three more attempts at fatherhood. He did not have all century to follow this damned bird. Better to find a ghost to watch her and report. That way he would be free to continue his breeding project and still have a chance to again find the Seer.

C
esar stalked toward Bess, who stood motionless beside the bank of elevators on his floor. He advanced, drawn by the power of their mutual attraction. Bess squared her body, sending her long, inky hair back over her shoulder with a toss of her head. She looked as if she were preparing to do battle. He stared at her through lowered brows, unable to keep the anticipation from licking along his insides.

“I'm not going back into your apartment.”

He stopped, clenching his jaw.

“Why not?” he growled.

“Because we both know what will happen if I do, and I'm not that kind of bird.” She gave him a sensual smile that made his abdomen twitch. “You're taking me out to dinner.”

“A few minutes ago you were bleeding so badly I had to use a tourniquet to stop it. We should stay in. I'll order something.”

She shook her head and he tried again.

“It's cold outside,” he said, having no idea if it was cold, but certain it was colder than his big empty bed would be right now.

Bess let out a sigh and then brushed her hand over her shoulder. A lovely, belted black trench coat of glossy curling fur appeared over her cocktail dress. Her shapely legs were now encased in tight, knee-high boots with killer heels that made her nearly as tall as he was. She touched the fur at her throat.

“Like it? It's Persian lamb. Well, it's raven actually, but you'd never know. I do faux better than any designer in the business. Ready, or would you like your coat?” She didn't wait for an answer, just turned and pressed the elevator button. “Lovely.”

Cesar growled as he stormed back to his apartment, grabbed his coat and locked the door. When he returned and stepped up beside her, he found their reflections, distorted in the shining, gold metallic finish of the elevator doors. The car behind them opened a moment later, empty of the Skinwalker. Bess moved toward the compartment and he followed. Damn, he'd follow her anywhere.

She stepped into the car and turned, lounging back against the rail. He pressed the button for the lobby and then he turned to face her, breathing in her scent. He crowded her space until his legs straddled hers. She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow in a silent question, but couldn't quite keep the ghost of a smile from lifting one corner of her mouth. She knew what he wanted, damn her. They both did.

The doors whisked shut and as he closed in she smiled up at him as if she didn't know what was coming next. She'd made a mistake, trapping herself in the car
with him. He placed his hands on either side of her head and leaned in, keeping their bodies separate, wanting that first electric zing of awareness to come from her lush mouth. He took his time, angling his head to align with hers. Just before he kissed her she spoke.

“How will you explain to the front desk when they capture me on their security cameras changing into a raven?”

He straightened his arms to get a better look at her. She couldn't be serious.

“You can't. You're not allowed to show your transition to humans.”

Her voice dropped, yet she managed to make it sound like a threat. “I can if I'm in danger and I will if you don't back up.”

He did and the door dinged open, admitting a wiry man whose sunburned face showed beneath his Giants baseball cap. His running shoes, navy sweatpants and a gray crew-neck sweatshirt broadcast his intention to exercise. He turned to face front, inserting white earbuds into his ears and then fiddled with the controls of his MP3 player.

Cesar growled and threw himself back against the wall with a bang that rocked the car. Bess gave a musical laugh and then looked up at him. The other occupant glanced around and then sank back into his oblivion.

“So where are you taking me?” she asked.

“Dominicos,” he said without thinking. It was where he took all his dates—first dates, only dates. He didn't do second dates.

She scrunched up her delectable mouth as if thinking and then gave a barely perceptible shake of her glossy head. “No. Somewhere different.”

“What's wrong with Dominicos? They've got the best Italian on the bay.”

“Because it was your first choice. Take me somewhere you've never been.”

How did she know he was trying to make this no different than the others? Make
her
no different. But she was and they both knew it.

He frowned. “I've been everywhere. I've lived here for…”

He hesitated, looking at their silent companion who now drew an arm across his chest, pulling it as if he were a relief pitcher being called from the bullpen instead of a weekend warrior about to go pull a hammy. The music throbbed from the earbuds.

Cesar leaned in and whispered. “Lived here for fifty years.”

“Yes, but Niyanoka are creatures of habit. You visit maybe ten places.”

It was true, damn it. “What kind of food do you like?”

She gave him an impatient look and pressed a delicate hand to her chest. “Raven-ravenous. We'll eat anything.”

The elevator bumped to a stop and the doors opened. They followed the jogger out and headed for the street.

“Evening Mr. Garza,” said the night man as he swept open the gilded-and-glass door to allow them exit.

“Call my driver, Anthony.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Garza.” Anthony pulled out his phone and began pressing buttons.

“We'll walk,” said Bess.

Cesar ignored her and signaled for Anthony to continue his call behind her back. An hour ago he'd feared
she'd bleed to death in his bathroom, now she wanted to go for a stroll.

The breeze off the bay was cool and damp, yet she didn't seem to feel the cold.

He took a hold of her elbow and moved in close to whisper in her ear. “The Skinwalker said you're weak.”

Her eyes flashed fire and he couldn't hold back the smile at the indignation he saw there. He'd said
weak
and she did not like it.

“Well?” he asked.

“The car then.”

She had conceded for the second time and would be trapped in his vehicle. Was that why she wanted to walk, because she could escape him instantly?

He wrapped an arm around her, tucking her against him while using his body to block the wind. She allowed it as she watched for his car.

“What about the Figurehead on Pier Two?” she asked.

“Overrated and too far.”

“You've never been.”

It was more statement than question but he answered anyway. “No.”

“Perfect.”

His Cadillac pulled up and he motioned to his driver to get back behind the wheel as he opened the door for Bess himself.

“The Figurehead, Tommy.”

“The…yes, sir.”

Bess smiled as she settled into the plush backseat.

The lights from the street flashed over her face, revealing her beauty. She kept her attention fixed on the road and did not speak or look at him until they reached their destination.

Once free of the car, some of the tension disappeared from her.

“You don't like driving.”

She got a wistful look in her eye. “It makes me feel trapped. I don't own a car. Never needed one.”

Because she could fly.

“What's it like?”

“There is nothing that compares to it.”

Cesar thought that sleeping with Bess might be a close second, but he merely nodded.

She turned toward the red-and-blue neon of the restaurant.

You would never guess from her long, effortless strides that she had suffered a recent injury. He clasped her elbow, taking charge of her and controlling their pace if not their direction. She glanced at him and laughed, as if this were a game at which she excelled. Cesar took a moment to consider how many lovers she might have taken in all her years upon the earth and found he resented each and every one.

When they arrived at the restaurant the hostess was polite but Cesar missed being greeted by name and being shown to his regular table. Bess asked for a water view and the hostess led them to a table before a huge bank of windows. The smell of garlic and cooking meat made him realize that he was starving. Bess stared out at the expansive view of the water. The lights of the Bay Bridge sparkled against the approaching twilight. He stood beside her for a moment then pulled out her chair. She graced him with a lovely smile that made his empty stomach drop several inches.

“May I take your coat?” asked their hostess.

Bess slipped out of the black lamb's wool. “I think I'll keep it with me.”

The hostess nodded. “Enjoy your meal.”

They exchanged a look, and he smiled. It felt good to share a secret. He'd been alone with his own for so long.

He kept his hand on the back of her chair as she nestled into her place. It was not until after she was seated that he realized the coat had vanished. On her wrist she now wore a new bangle bracelet sparkling with hundreds of tiny black crystals.

Their waiter made his introductions, listed specials and handed over the menu and wine list. Bess studied her menu as if there would be a test later as the waiters circled the room, lighting small oil lamps on each table. They were early for the dinner crowd and momentarily had the room to themselves.

Cesar ordered wine and afterward discovered Bess didn't drink.

“Dulls the senses,” she said. “And I like my senses sharp.”

The waiter returned with his wine, opening the bottle and offering a taste to him. He nodded and the waiter stepped back to take their order.

She requested the calamari, mussels, lobster bisque, house salad and entrée of Columbian salmon. Cesar silently cautioned himself to disguise his surprise at her appetite, and then ordered the rib eye with potatoes.

“How very pedestrian.” She smiled.

She sipped her sparkling water, crossing her legs and bouncing her foot in a way that made him draw his chair closer to hers. Two tables behind her, the hostess seated another couple.

He tried small talk but she shut him down.

“What do you really want to talk about?” she asked.

Sex was his first thought but he managed to censor that and instead said, “Tuff.”

“Ah, yes. You were very territorial, for a man who has no claim on me.”

“Does someone else have a claim?”

She made him wait for the answer, all the while his stomach squeezed as if encircled by a boa constrictor.

Her musical laugh struck him in the center of his chest. This was why it was forbidden to have a Skinwalker. They were as compelling as sirens and twice as deadly.

Forbidden.

Why should he care what his people thought? They already would have nothing to do with him, repelled as they were by his useful if repugnant gift of sight. Soul Whisperers were not permitted to have connections to anyone except the dead.

But he did care. Outcast or not, he still had his position and his work. He'd lose both if they caught him with Bess. He glanced about, searching the arriving diners to see if he spotted any other golden aura. It was dangerous to be out in public with her.

When he brought his attention back to Bess it was to find her glaring at him.

“Don't worry, Cesar. I never stay in one place for long. If I decide to have you, your little racist friends won't find out.”

She'd somehow guessed his thoughts, but he knew enough not to walk down that road. Besides he didn't have friends. He kept the conversation on the Skinwalker. “How does he do it?”

“Tuff? He's a buffalo.”

Cesar choked on his wine, but Bess continued without pausing.

“They have the gift of sacrifice. Terrible burden, I imagine, but that is their life's purpose. He bears the pain with the dignity of his kind and can heal anything. I've seen him take on one injury after another, more agony than any one being was ever meant to bear, but he does it and he regenerates.

“The more egregious the wound, the longer it takes to heal. And it costs him more of his strength. Buffaloes are very strong, but even he must have a limit to his endurance.”

“And you can fly to the Spirit World.”

She lowered her water goblet, circling the rim of the crystal with her index finger until it hummed. He imagined her running that finger down his stomach and felt his muscles twitch.

“That is my purpose. But I can only travel over the Way of Souls. I can't really cross to the Spirit World. Well, I can, but just like everyone else, I can only do so once and there is no coming back.”

“And you can talk to the ones who have departed?”

“If they have entered the Spirit World. But I can't speak to my own relations or anyone I love. My mentor said it was to keep us from lingering too long or crossing the veil and losing our way. But…” She straightened and shook her head, as if warning herself not to go there.

“But what?”

She studied him for a long moment. He felt her judging him and held his breath awaiting her decision, hoping she would trust him with the answer.

At last she said, “But it didn't stop me from thinking about it after my mother died and then again after my dad. I almost crossed. All that stopped me was knowing how angry they would be at my decision.”

She scowled so deeply that Cesar grew wary.

“But for years when I flew over the Ghost Road, I would try to speak to them. I called their names and waited.” She lifted her hands, palms up as if offering herself to the heavens. “No answer,” she whispered.

“Then you must wait for your time, just as I must wait to speak to those who have crossed before us.”

She tucked her chin to her chest.

“They died together?” He didn't want to know the answer but he asked out of respect.

She regarded him steadily now and he hoped she would tell him it was none of his business. He didn't want to have one more tragic story of loss in his head. Cesar had seen so many deaths he was weary from the burden of them all.

“My human mother's death was accidental. I was ten and got into a nest of white-faced hornets. She scooped me up and ran me to safety. Today it would have been nothing, but back then, well, who ever heard of bee-sting allergies or epinephrine? We were both stung. It hardly affected me, but the swelling closed her throat. She couldn't breathe and I couldn't do anything to save her.” She swallowed but her eyes remained dry, which surprised him. “After that it was just me and my dad.”