Healer's Choice (32 page)

REBEKKA wrung her panties and bra out one last time before turning toward the place where the rest of her clothing hung draped over low branches. She glanced around, feeling self-conscious at the prospect of leaving the deep pool.

Her hand slid over her belly, trailing heat in its wake. Her channel clenched as she remembered the hot spray of semen jetting from Aryck’s cock, the look of sublime pleasure on his face, and the heady feeling that had come from making him lose control.

Her clit stiffened with the memories and she played with it, stroking the underside and across the tip, imagining it was Aryck’s fingers, Aryck’s tongue.

A blush stole up her neck and across her cheeks as she pictured him between her thighs, black hair whispering across her skin, his mouth doing exquisite things and making her feel feminine and desirable.

Twice she’d told him no.

She wasn’t sure she would give him the same answer the next time.

Was it love?

Or simply lust?

Was there any way to know for sure without risking her heart? Without yielding her body?

Her fingers left her clit and settled on the tattoo, tracing it without looking down at the ugly mark. Her heart thundered at the very prospect of revealing it and witnessing his reaction.

She’d half hoped Aryck would join her in the water, his arrival forcing her to let him see the tattoo. To tell him about the laws still upheld in places in the San Joaquin and about stepping out of the caravan bus when the settlement police were there to collect the sin tax. He’d listened as she told him about life in Oakland, though she’d only told him about her life among outcasts, not about her mother. Or her father.

Fear threaded through her heart. She had other secrets to reveal.

Soon
, she promised herself. Once she was more certain of him.

Weres were physical, earthy beings. He might be acting on lust alone, with no thought beyond experiencing shared pleasure.

Rebekka left the water, grabbing up the towel on the bank and hurriedly drying herself. A few steps took her to her clothing.

She hung the wet panties and bra on a branch, then dressed. The weight of the journal against her thigh reminded her of the promise to Phaedra.

Was it only this morning she’d agreed to share the knowledge contained in it? So much had happened since then.

She pulled the book from her pocket, wondering if Phaedra had gained permission for her to remain with the Jaguars. Doubt crept in as Rebekka remembered Koren’s expression when he’d stepped out of his cabin. The alpha didn’t approve of Aryck being with her.

A chill swept through her. What if Koren sent her away this very night?

It wouldn’t come to that, she realized. Ice replaced the chill as dread returned.

He wouldn’t send her back to Oakland, not with disease threatening. She was needed here, more now than before—even if she’d brought the devastation with her.

“There’s no proof I did,” she whispered, speaking out loud to give the words the ring of truth.

The healer’s journal documented the horrors of biological and germ warfare let loose during The Last War. The Jaguar cubs had already stumbled on one weapon; who was to say there weren’t more on these lands?

The knots of fear and worry and dread loosened as Rebekka saw a different possibility. She was here when she was needed the most, with the journal and the amulet, both given to her by the Wainwrights—her father’s allies.

If war was coming, as the witches claimed, then what side would the Weres stand on?

She couldn’t suppress a shiver as she remembered those moments when she healed the Wolves, when she’d heard the drumbeats of the Were ancestors. Hope slipped in as she thought about her argument with Aryck and his claim that being made outcast was the result of having the eternal soul cast from the shadowlands.

If there was any truth in it, then shouldn’t the ancestors be able to restore those in the brothels, so they could shift fully between forms? Shouldn’t she be able to gain intercessions on the outcasts’ behalf as a result of the healing she did
here
? If she could, then there would be no need for her to return to Oakland. A future with Aryck would be possible—assuming that was what he wanted.

Old insecurities resurfaced. She wasn’t sure a man was capable of being faithful to only one woman over the course of a lifetime together. Wouldn’t the temptation to stray grow more acute the longer a Were was with someone who had only one form? Was it even possible for the permanent bond both Phaedra and Levi spoke of to exist between a Were and a human?

Rebekka’s elation tumbled away with the thought of Levi. If the Were ancestors could restore those viewed as outcasts, wouldn’t the Lion shaman have already approached the ancestors on Levi’s behalf?

He couldn’t be blamed for being twisted into a monstrous shape by a human using witch-charmed silver. Instead of being exiled from the pride, Levi should be rewarded for choosing a human shape so he could work to keep others from ending up in the maze as he waited for the chance to free Cyrin.

Rebekka put the book in her pocket, deciding to seek out Phaedra. While she shared the information in the journal, she could ask about Were ancestors and outcasts.

She found Caius and Canino at the cabin. The Tiger was sprawled underneath a tree while the boy was practicing with a slingshot.

Caius hugged her in greeting, rubbing his cheek against her shirt. She leaned down and kissed the top of his head.

“Phaedra sent me here to wait for you. I’m supposed to show you the way to her cabin. She’s cooking a meal.”

Rebekka’s stomach rumbled with the reminder of how long it’d been since she’d eaten. “I’ll be right out,” she said, going into the cabin long enough to leave the damp clothing in a place where it could dry.

She laughed at her modesty. The Weres stripped in the blink of an eye. If her panties and bra gained any attention at all, it would be because they were a novelty.

When she stepped outside Canino was up and standing a short distance away. Caius took her hand, grinning as he led her to the Tiger.

“Watch this,” he said, vaulting onto Canino’s back. “I’m going to ride instead of walk.”

Canino grumbled but didn’t shake the cub off. They walked, Caius talking excitedly about how he’d spent the day, only going quiet as they neared Phaedra’s cabin.

Rebekka’s mouth watered with the scent of cooking meat. After the stench of the corpse fires burning the Elk she hadn’t thought it would be possible to eat meat again.

Life goes on.
Aryck’s voice whispered through her mind, her nipples tightening with the remembered feel of his fingers and mouth on them.

Caius squeezed her hand, drawing her attention to him. “Somebody cooks a meal for me every night. In exchange I do chores, like gather wood.” He puffed up his chest. “I also give them the rabbits I catch in my snares.”

Her empathetic senses felt his happiness dim an instant before his chest sank and his voice dropped. “Mostly everyone cooks me stew because I’m still growing and stew can be taken home and eaten later.”

And shared with a mother lost in grief
, Rebekka thought. One who couldn’t be helped directly but who could be kept alive until she found the strength to live and be the mother her son needed.

Rebekka wanted to take away Caius’s pain, but anything she said would be a platitude. She remained silent.

He traced one of Canino’s stripes then glanced sideways at her, partially hiding behind his bangs. “Do you think it would be okay if I took Canino to my cabin?”

The hope underneath the words made Rebekka’s throat tighten with unshed tears. She didn’t know how to answer his question except to say, “Let’s ask Phaedra what she thinks.”

“Okay,” Caius said in a small voice.

They stepped into the clearing behind the healer’s house. Instead of kettles boiling water for making the wash, a stew was on.

Phaedra looked up from her stirring. “This needs a little longer on the fire before it’ll be ready. You’ve got permission to stay on Jaguar lands for two days in order to share the knowledge in the journal with me. If you’re willing, this is a good time to start. You can read to me while I make the pan bread.”

Two days.
An ache settled in Rebekka’s heart. She wondered if that explained why Aryck didn’t join her at the bathing hole, because a couple of days of physical pleasure weren’t worth creating a rift with his father over.

With fingers that trembled slightly Rebekka retrieved the journal from her pocket and sat on a smooth log. Caius slipped off Canino’s back and sat next to her.

She willed herself not to think of Aryck or anything that had happened after leaving Wolf lands. “Do Were healers discuss treatments and help one another?”

Phaedra’s lips turned up in a tiny smile. “For healers and shamans the territorial lines are not as sharply defined as they are for the other members of our pack.”

“So anything useful in the journal, you’ll pass on?”

“Where I can.”

Rebekka opened the journal and began reading about poisons. When she noticed Caius’s rapt focus on the pages of the book, she used her finger to note the words as she spoke them.

She read through the sound of bread frying and stew being dished up, only stopping and setting the journal aside when Phaedra handed her a bowl.

Caius got his own meal and returned to his seat next to her. “Will you teach me how to read?”

He dipped his bread into the stew before offering it to Canino. It disappeared in a single bite, making Rebekka laugh despite the ball of sadness that formed around her heart at how little time she had left on Jaguar lands.

It wasn’t just thoughts of Aryck that made her ache. She would miss this. Joining Phaedra for meals and having another healer to share information with. Watching Caius with Canino. Sleeping with the windows open and no fear of the night.

“I only have two days; less now, I imagine,” she told Caius.

His small chest puffed up. “I’m a fast learner.”

“You have to know your letters first.”

“I can learn them now.” He grabbed two twigs and handed one of them to her.

Rebekka leaned over and drew an
A
in the soft dirt, then proceeded to tell him everything she could remember about the letter as he practiced drawing it.

They were at
M
by the time they’d finished eating and Phaedra had poured stew into a small kettle for Caius to take home with him. His ability to focus drifted from the wonder of letters, his hope to read eclipsed by a much deeper one.

He looked down at his feet then sideways at Rebekka. She took his hand and squeezed, offering her silent support.

“Phaedra,” he said, voice hesitant. “Do you think it would hurt if I showed Canino where I live?”

The healer contemplated the question, finally saying, “No. I don’t think it would hurt.”

“I guess I better go then.”

Caius gave Rebekka a hug before lifting the small kettle and leaving. She picked up the journal as Phaedra used stored water to clean up after the meal. “I can continue reading to you if you want.”

“I would like that.”

Rebekka opened the book to the page where she’d left off but didn’t start reading. It seemed like the perfect time to ask, “Do the ancestors have the power to change an outcast back into a pure Were?”

Phaedra looked up from her washing, her eyes going to the book, contemplating, perhaps, the rightness of information being shared in both directions instead of one. She gave a small nod, more to herself than to Rebekka.

“Yes. They have the power, but there is always a price to be paid where they are concerned. In the case of outcasts there is a rite they can submit themselves to, providing they are not under a pack death sentence. It is a direct test by the ancestors. Few survive it.”

“Can a shaman intercede on an outcast’s behalf?”

“It would be a rare undertaking. The ancestors see more than we see. A shaman is never quick to question their judgment when it comes to the outcast.” Phaedra’s expression held compassion. “You’re thinking of the Lion?”

“Yes. And those in the brothels.”

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you hope.”

In that moment the beaded leather holding the amulet around Rebekka’s neck felt like a collar, a reminder that her desire to heal the Weres and her gift were leashed to her demon father, and whatever plans he had for her. She opened the journal and resumed reading it to Phaedra. Tried not to think about Aryck, and why he hadn’t sought her out.

TORQUEL en Sahon flew from tree to tree, changing forms as he followed the alpha from elder to elder. Cardinal to jay to thrush to woodpecker to mourning dove.

He took a wren’s form in the clearing where a couple of elders supervised young boys as they lay twigs and sticks in the fire pit in preparation for the evening storytelling.