50. Chapter 50
Chapter fifty
Day 24 Denali, Alaska
A sound—a grunt or a groan—woke Demi from a partial doze. She lazily stretched, listening for anything out of the ordinary. Beneath the blanket and sheet, she was cocooned in warmth. Her own personal furnace burned against her back, while a band of muscle and heat wrapped around her waist. Even as he slept, Aiden clung to her. She liked to think it was because he was afraid to let her go, afraid he’d lose her again.
Probably wishful thinking.
Still—she’d missed this, the heat of her man in bed beside her, the lethargic, well used ache of her muscles, the way his hard frame fit the contours of her body, as though they’d been individually crafted to complement each other. As though they were meant for each other.
The concept of soulmates was increasingly plausible.
He’d turned off the bedroom light after disposing of that last condom. They’d forgotten about protection during the frenzy of that first joining. She’d done the math though, and they should be alright.
She stretched again. Somehow, the lack of light enhanced her contentment. It allowed her to focus solely on her satiated body, full heart, and the prospect of her own happily ever after, something she’d always believed was a mythical beast at best.
It horrified her to think of how close she’d come to tossing this contentment away, to tossing Aiden aside and severing the connection between them because of fear. What a short-sighted response that would have been.
Thank God she’d opened her eyes and heart in time.
A raspy groan came from behind her, and the arm around her waist tightened with bruising force.
Her lazy stretch stilled. The sound was familiar. Aiden’s voice, but not his normal, smooth baritone. No, this voice was gritty, almost guttural. It was the voice he used at night while dreaming.
The dreams, although she suspected they were more nightmares than dreams, had occurred often enough over the past three years. She’d asked him about them. He’d brushed her questions aside or distracted her with sex. Awesome sex, true. But sex, as a means of distraction, was ultimately unsatisfying, at least in the aftermath. She’d laid there beside him, panting and spent, yet emotionally empty.
She tugged on his arm until it loosened and fell away. He stirred against her back as she leaned across the mattress, reaching for the lamp on the nightstand. Bright light temporarily blinded her, but her eyes had already adjusted by the time she twisted around to face him.
He’d pushed the sheet and blanket to his waist, giving her eyes plenty to appreciate. Hell’s bells, the man was gorgeous. His chest and shoulders were bronzed and muscled—a living classical sculpture. His thick black hair stood upright, mussed and spikey. A layer of stubble darkened his lower cheeks and jawline. Dark, sleepy eyes caught her gaze. But they were vague…distant…like he was still trapped in whatever dream he’d awakened from. Even as she watched, the fog dissipated from his eyes.
His gaze focused on her face, sharpened. A small frown pleated his forehead. “What’s wrong?”
“That’s my line.” She reached up and smoothed the furrows from his brow. “You were having a bad dream.”
“Yeah?” That inward, distant expression touched his eyes again. After a moment, he sighed, caught her hand and drew it down to his lips. He feathered a kiss across her knuckles. “I woke you? I’m sorry.”
She shrugged, studying his face. He wasn’t pulling away. In the past, the mere mention of his dreams brought a reaction. He’d either roll out of bed to use the head , or lean in for a kiss, which always led to another bout of sex. This time, the light kiss he’d dropped on her hand felt more like an apology.
He’d opened up the night before, shared some of his secrets. Was he ready to share this one too?
“You know you can tell me about your nightmares, right?” she offered cautiously. “Sometimes dragging them into the open lessens their power.”
“This wasn’t a nightmare. At least, not like my normal ones.” That distant look fogged his eyes again. He shook his head. The frown was back, but it looked more puzzled than stressed.
This was the first time he’d even admitted to having nightmares.
“You’ve never wanted to talk about your nightmares. What about these dreams? Do you want to talk about them?”
He cocked his head, his gaze sharpening on her face. “It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you about the nightmares…it’s…” He broke off and scooted up until his back was against the headboard. “I didn’t want to infect you with the ugliness inside my head.”
She sat up and scooted back, too, mirroring his position. “Ugliness?”
“Yeah, ugliness. Ugly images. Ugly memories.” He shifted to face her. “I replay all the fucked-up missions in my nightmares. Chopper crashes. Ambushes. Insertions gone wrong. Executions.” He lifted his hands and stared at them. “Blood.” He shook his head. “So much damn blood.”
His face looked hollow, even haunted. She knew soldiers often returned from deployments with PTSD. But other than the nightmares, Aiden had exhibited none of the common symptoms. No flashbacks. No hallucinations. No reactions to loud noises. No trouble sleeping. No difficulty distinguishing dreams from reality.
Still, he’d obviously been affected by his time in the field.
“I never told you about my nightmares for the same reason I never told you about my deployments.” He grimaced, then pressed her hand against his cheek. “You’re everything pure, Demi. Pure light and joy and innocence. You sparkle like sunlight against the snow. I hate the thought of my experiences, my darkness, extinguishing your shine.” His face hardened in resolve. “I’ll never share my nightmares or missions with you. I need to keep you separate, unaware of the ugliness I’ve seen, the ugly things I’ve done.”
Demi thought about that. If he needed her light to balance his darkness, she could do that for him.
“Okay.” She smiled slightly as his face relaxed. She scooted over and leaned against his side until they were pressed together—shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. “But what of this new dream? You said it was different from the nightmares?”
“Yeah.” His voice was slow, absent. He stared straight ahead, his gaze narrow and thoughtful. “It wasn’t about a mission, or any of the brothers I’ve lost. It was…” he shook his head. “…odd.”
“How so?” She kept the question soft, non-intrusive. She could almost feel the puzzlement radiating off him.
“It’s just…strange. Full of mist and shadows and weird, stretchy people that don’t talk but give plenty of attitude.”
Demi’s eyebrows rose. “Stretchy people?”
Aiden grimaced. “Yeah, stretchy. Elongated. Completely white, like plaster. Vaguely human limbs and torsos. But their faces—” he broke off, his frown digging deeper into his forehead. “They remind me of that Ghostface mask in the Scream movies, the one with the stretched-out mouth and eyes. All warped and creepy.”
His description was interesting. “Have you watched any of the Scream movies recently?”
He huffed out a laugh. “Fuck, no, not since I was a kid.”
She laid her cheek on his bare shoulder and snuggled into his hot torso, her personal furnace to repel the cold. “Well, dreams can be weird. You probably saw or heard something that didn’t register consciously, but your subconscious latched onto it and stuffed it into your dreams.”
“That’s the thing.” His voice was quiet, reflective. “It didn’t feel like a dream.” He shook his head. “It felt like I knew that shadowy place, and those weird stretchy people. It felt real, I guess.”
He glanced over at her and frowned, then bent to grab the sheet and blanket. Drawing them up, he tucked them around her shoulders.
“Is this the first time you’ve had this dream?” The chill was already giving way to warmth and lethargy.
“No.” His gaze narrowed. “I’ve had them as long as I can remember. But intermittently. Maybe once or twice a year. They started hitting more often six months ago. Since Karaveht, they’ve escalated to every night.” After a brief hesitation, he continued. “I spent the entire time I was unconscious in the ER in that shadowy, twisted world.”
Something about his description niggled at her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “Do any of the people seem familiar to you? Do they talk to you?”
“They don’t say a damn word. And I only get fleeting glimpses of them. They’re wrapped in shadows and fog.” His voice held a baffled note. “But in the dream, I know they want something from me. They’re waiting for something, and their impatience is…palpable.”
That’s when it clicked. Demi straightened. Perhaps his subconscious had picked up on the Kalikoia motifs of shadows, realms, and gods. Weird, twisty people in a misty underworld could be his subconscious’s representation of the Kalikoia shadow gods. That would explain these dreams he was having—or at least the escalation of them.
Although it didn’t explain why he’d had them before arriving at Shadow Mountain.
“Have you talked to Wolf about these dreams?”
He snorted. “Hell, no. They have nothing to do with him.”
She suspected his resistance to the idea had more to do with perceived weaknesses. Wolf, after all, had final say on who joined, or didn’t join their missions. Aiden wanted to be first on the chopper when the Shadow Mountain forces went after the people responsible for killing his teammates. Maybe he was afraid that Wolf would see the dreams as a weakness and bump him from the team.
“You should talk to Benioko. Isn’t he supposed to be an expert on dreams?” Wasn’t deciphering dreams part of shamanism?
While Aiden looked exceptionally dubious, he didn’t outright nix the idea.
“You mentioned there were shadows in your dreams,” she continued, her voice thoughtful. “I wonder if your subconscious picked up some of the Kalikoia tribal mythos—like the Shadow Warrior and all the Shadow Realm stuff. For God’s sake, the base is even called Shadow Mountain, and it's full of people who are committed to the Kalikoia mythology. The theme of shadows and gods is everywhere. You could have subconsciously eavesdropped on a conversation between two believers and integrated it into your dreams.” When he didn’t immediately shoot that idea down, she continued quietly. “You really should talk to Benioko. These dreams are obviously bugging you. Maybe he can help you figure out why.”
It surprised her that his demeanor seemed more thoughtful than dismissive, like he was considering her suggestion, which was a giant leap from their former couple’s dynamic—where he’d hop out of bed or distract her with sex to avoid sharing his secrets.
The change made her feel invincible, like they really could work through their problems and share a life together.
Day 24 Denali, Alaska
“I do not know why the heschrmal has chosen your le'ven'a after centuries of absence . But she has been chosen. This I have seen with my own eyes.”
Wolf frowned. Perhaps not centuries of silence. According to the Taounaha, O’Neill was lion chosen as well. O’Neill’s claiming was difficult enough to believe, and he was male with a splash of Kalikoia blood.
Jillian was woohanna and far past puberty.
“You said a lion’s scream woke you from—”
“I did not dream this, Ho'cee! It happened. Jillian carries the spirit lion’s bite and totem. She is lion clan now.”
Squinting into the darkness, Wolf grunted thoughtfully. His anistaa would not mistake a spirit animal bite or the totem cementing the claim. Such things were impossible to mistake. If she saw what she said, then Jillian had been chosen by the heschrmal. Which, if the Old One spoke true, made her clanswoman to O’Neill. Wolf grimaced.
And of the cat clans. Ice pierced his gut.
Cat and bird clans often clashed. While there were no lion clan members on base—with the possible exception of O’Neill—there were lynx and bobcat. He was often required to smooth ruffled feathers and fur after clashes among his men.
The thought of Jillian’s reaction to him, through the lens of her spirit animal, sent the ice in his gut churning.
“Why would the woodland spirits gift Jillian with a warrior’s animal?” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded numb.
“This I do not know.” His anistaa ’s voice softened with sympathy. She well-knew the rift between the bird and cat clans. “Perhaps the Taounaha knows?”
Wolf frowned. As the earthside voice and eyes of the Shadow Warrior , Benioko knew many of the Shadow Realm’s secrets. But the Shadow Warrior was the essence of the male life force—the provider, the protector, the hunter, the warrior. He did not meddle in the Blue Moon Mother’s sphere of influence, which was the female life force—the harvester, the healer, the supplier, the nurturer.
As a female, Jillian fell under the Blue Moon Mother’s web of influence. But there was no way to ask the great mother why she had gifted Jillian with a warrior’s animal. The Blue Moon Mother had not chosen an earthside mouthpiece since Silver Spruce had crossed to the web of her ancestors nearly two hundred cycles ago.
Would Benioko know why Jillian had been chosen? Or what gift she had been given? Each animal gifted something different. Both he, Aiden, and Kait had been chosen by the thae-hrata . Yet he and his javaanee had received the gift of future sight, while Kait had received the ability to heal.
“To be chosen by such a powerful animal, our moon mother must want something from Jillian.” Wolf’s voice tightened.
He was expected to save the lives of those shown in his warning flash. Kait was expected to heal when her ability flared. The expectations for Aiden’s claiming gift were unknown, as his javaanee had refused to seek the counsel of the Taounaha.
“Jillian must have been gifted an ability by the heschrmal. What is it? What will be expected of her?”
“We are not equipped to answer these questions,” his mother responded.
She was right. But who was equipped to answer them?
The obvious place to start was with the Taounaha. If the Old One could not answer Wolf’s question, at least he could reach out to the Shadow Warrior and report back on what the Shadow Realm was up to.
After a few seconds of idle chatter, he hung up, his mind buzzing with what he’d learned. It was too early to visit Benioko . He would have to wait for his answers.
By 8:00 a.m., Wolf was more exhausted than ever, but oddly wired. He grabbed a cart from the charging hub and headed for the cafeteria.
The thought of food rolled his stomach, but he piled a plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage and hash browns. Benioko, indeed most of his warriors, approved of the woohanta breakfast. At least he could provide the Taounaha with a hot meal upon arrival at his door. He snapped plastic lids onto the plate, and the two cups of piping hot coffee—no cream, no sugar—and boxed his haul up. Normally he would have walked to the old section where the Old One lived, but the food and coffee would cool during the walk, so he carried the box out to his cart and climbed onboard.
Benioko’s door was propped open with an old boot when he arrived. This was not a surprise. The shaman often knew of Wolf’s visit before Wolf did himself.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside, letting it swing shut behind him. The Taounaha was not on hand to greet him. Unusual. The propped-open door proved Benioko was expecting him. He deposited the covered plate and both coffee cups on the small Formica table with its chipped and stained surface and took a seat on the sagging couch.
You wouldn’t know from the thrift store relics that Benioko, as the earthside mouthpiece, was the most important member of the Kalikoia tribe. The shaman chose a thrifty life, one without creature comforts or ostentatious symbols of status. The Taounaha’s life was spent in dreams and visions and service to his people.
“ Ho'cee,” Benioko said, surprise in his thin, crackly voice as he shuffled into the living room. “You are here. Why?”
Judging by the question, along with the surprise in Benioko’s voice, Wolf was not the visitor the Old One had expected, which was odd. Few people visited the shaman. Those with spirit trouble went to Wolf first, and Wolf reached out to Benioko. As base commander and the Taounaha’s Betanee, Wolf facilitated spiritual ceremonies and Shadow Realm connections.
“Who are you expecting?”
“Your javaanee .” Benioko shuffled into the kitchen, stopping at the drawer next to the sink.
Wolf heard the clink of metal. When he returned to the table, Benioko held a fork. With a deep, tired sigh, he pulled out a chair, sat down, and popped off the lid to the plate and coffee.
“You’re expecting Aiden?” Wolf concealed his surprise.
What business did his javaanee have with the Taounaha ? Aiden still wasn’t interested in learning the Kalikoia ways. Indeed, he actively avoided Benioko. It was strange that his brother would seek out the shaman now.
Although curious, he locked the questions behind his teeth. Benioko would speak to him of Aiden’s visit if it was meant for his ears. Instead, he sat in the chair across from the shaman, pulled the capped cup of coffee toward him, and waited.
Respect called for the Taounaha to begin the conversation.
This didn’t happen until Benioko had plowed through the food on his plate and finished his coffee. Once the last morsel of eggs had been caught and transferred to his mouth, the Old One carefully set the fork down and leaned back in his chair. Milky, yet shrewd, eyes snared Wolf’s gaze.
“Why have you come, Ho'cee ?”
Wolf chose his words with care. “My anistaa called last night. She spoke of Jillian. Of a claiming by a spirit animal.”
A slow frown wrinkled Benioko’s lined forehead. “Your shadow-locked le'ven'a was claimed by the forest spirits?”
Wolf flinched at the description, although it was accurate. Jillian was locked between the living and the dead.
“Yes. By the heschrmal.”
Benioko straightened at that news. Shock widened his eyes. Had the Blue Moon Mother withheld this claiming from her mate? Or had the Shadow Warrior withheld the information from his mouthpiece?
“A heschrmal? ” The Taounaha straightened even further. His eyes flared, some of the milkiness burning away. “Is your anistaa certain of this?”
“She saw it. She heard the heschrmal’s scream,” Wolf said quietly. “She says Jillian bears the claiming bite and carries the totem.” He steadied his voice. “What does this mean?”
Several moments of silence were followed by the slow shake of Benioko’s head. “This I do not know. I will seek answers.”
Unsettled, Wolf slumped into his chair. The Shadow Warrior’s Taounaha was unaware of Jillian’s claiming? This was not normal. The shaman was rarely left hanging like this. Not when it came to the elder gods or the dynamics between their earthborn children and the Shadow Realm.
Uneasiness crawled through him. Why had the elder gods turned away from Benioko?
What was going on in the Shadow Realm?