The Spirit Seducer (The Echo Series Book 1) (2 page)

M
y head pounded
at Mom’s loud command. I scrunched my eyes and gripped my hair in my hands and tugged, trying to release the incredible ache.

“Oh, my . . .” Layla’s quiet voice had me turning. I squinted against the pain and the late afternoon sunshine. The puffs of innocuous white clouds had thickened, roiling into patterns and shapes. Not the normal, this-looks-like-a-rabbit shapes from the game I’d played as a child.

No. Something was in the cloud. Something big and dangerous.

Layla gripped my hand, her chest rising and falling too quickly against the back of my arm as I tried to breathe through a wave of dizziness.

“Oh, holy . . . Echo, move!” Layla’s voice split through the buzzing in my ears, but I couldn’t get my body to cooperate with her command. My legs trembled, and I gaped as the shapes I’d glimpsed solidified and the thick, stormy vapors settled over my yard.

I clutched at my pounding skull, my vision tunneling and dotting. I cringed back, away from the one image left to me: those clouds.

Creatures didn’t live in clouds. I had to be hallucinating. I was twenty-one years old and madder than the Hatter in Alice in Wonderland.

Layla’s fingernails dug into the back of my hand but did little to relieve the persistent stabbing sensation taking place in the roof of my mouth. I needed to focus on Layla and pull back from the abyss my brain had conjured.

“Echo,” Layla whispered. “We’re running out of time!”

Why would she say that? She couldn’t be in my crazed, broken head.

I swung to the left, away from Layla and my mom. Something was there. I could feel it.

From the far edge of the yard, a shaggy-furred coyote trotted forward. This one had yellow eyes. They were unblinking and intense, focused on the porch where my mother stood, frozen.

She looked so small. Alone. She raised her chin, her lips set in a defiant sneer.

Dios mio
. This wasn’t good.

As the coyote got closer to the house, it swelled, rising onto two legs—human legs covered in some type of leather pants. In the next stride, his back straightened and thickened at the shoulders, stretching and molding into a masculine form. He stepped forward again, his feet clad in beaded, knee-high moccasins. I looked up—way up—into the face of a twenty-foot-tall warrior.

Layla’s sharp gasp didn’t help ward off the building panic.

“You see him, too?” I breathed. “It’s not in my head?”

At my words, the giant turned. His eyes, deep-set and golden, pierced through me, leaving me uncomfortably hot. Thick, brown brows slashed across a high forehead. His nose was long; his nostrils flared as if he’d caught some scent.

His lips were ripe, plump, and surrounded by a grizzled beard. His facial hair was well trimmed and peppered with gray, blond, and bits of dark brown. It looked soft. I wanted to run my fingers over it. I managed to rip my gaze from his perfect features.

“How . . . Oh, my God. He was a coyote.”

“No,” Layla said. “He is Coyote.”

It took me a moment to catch on. “The god?” I squeaked.

“The one and only,” she muttered.

Coyote, the trickster, prankster, god of sensuality. I knew this from all the library books I’d read in my younger days, and later, from textbooks I’d studied. But my mom had the best collection of literature on the gods—rare, old, hand-printed tomes she said priests had transcribed hundreds of years before.

My mom was fascinated with Hisatsinom culture—the ways of native peoples who’d lived in the Southwest thousands of years ago. Their descendants still lived on reservations throughout New Mexico, Arizona, and even Southern Colorado.

Coyote was one of the more popular gods; his prankster tendencies played up in art and stories I’d heard second- and third-hand from my mom and aunties. I’d spent years studying the myth, only to find him here—in my yard.

Soft animal pelts sewn together with thick leather threads encased his wide shoulders. He totally rocked the look. The whole I’m-a-warrior-and-I-don’t-take-prisoners outfit was smokin’.

Mmm. No. His magnetism—the sheen of godliness and power that cloaked him was even more appealing than the clothes.

I was so focused on the god I almost failed to notice the warriors who’d followed, landing from the clouds in light, lithe movements around Coyote.

I counted ten distinct shapes. They were men up to their necks, then vaguely not. Their faces were overlaid with animal features. Like translucent masks.

Each warrior stood over six feet, towering above my five-one frame. Their bodies were primed for hard physical activity—their arms bulged with thick muscles, large hands holding various knives, tomahawks, and even, in the case of the tallest, a spear.

“This is so bad,” Layla whispered.

My eyes flicked back and forth between Coyote and the tallest warrior, whose gaze had swiveled toward us. Lust burning bright in his eyes. Yeah, it was bad. I wanted a god. And not just any god, the love-’em-and-leave-’em god. My head pounded so hard I was surprised my eyes didn’t fall out.

“Oh, gods.” The blood drained from Layla’s face and her hand went slack. “He’s supposed to be dead.”

The warrior growled and Layla whimpered. I stepped in front of her, an instinctive need to protect her overcoming my fear.

“Who’s supposed to be dead?” I whispered.

Layla gripped my shoulders as she tried to regulate her breathing. The tallest warrior’s face was smooth, tanned. Dark brows pulled low over his hooked nose. His lips were peeled back in a sneer, but his eyes—they were tawny like the jaguar face I glimpsed when he turned quickly. The biggest problem was the malice that seeped from his features. I shivered, unnerved by his desire to elicit pain.

I’d never seen such a look before. I didn’t need to see it again. Ever.

The warriors formed a wedge behind Coyote and marched forward. My aunts, who’d been unnaturally quiet, screamed and ran in a circle like chickens scenting a predator. They bolted toward the dubious safety of the house, practically falling across the threshold. When the door slammed, the reverberations echoed through my head with a sickening finality.

My eyes sought Coyote’s broad back. Much as I wanted to focus on him, the jaguar-warrior caught my attention again. He scowled. Layla whimpered. A fox-faced soldier moved between us, followed by a jackrabbit and a pack rat. My focus stayed on the jaguar-soldier. Problem was, my eyes kept drawing back, over and over, to Coyote. He stood in front of my mom, who’d stepped forward to face him.

There were so many of them, so much I needed to see and process, that I was missing important details. I inched backward, trying to buy some space and thus a few precious seconds so I could better assess the situation.

With each step the warriors took, dirt kicked up, slamming bits of grit into my clothes, hair, and face. They formed a semicircle in front of my mom, Layla, and me. When the jaguar-warrior bared his teeth in a vicious smile, I backpedaled, unaware I’d dropped my drink to the ground until wetness coated my sandaled foot.

“We need help. Did you hear me, Zeke?” Layla’s voice was low but fervent. I’d never heard her pray before, but she seemed to be doing so now.

At her words, something pulsed deep in my head, growing. Awakening.

This—whatever it was—didn’t hurt. Much as I wanted to celebrate my ability to see, to stand, to think again, I couldn’t. Fear built as the thing in my head pressed against its confines.

Much as I should be on sensory overload, I wasn’t. That scared my mouth dry, but the thing in my head watched, assessed.

“Layla, what are those things?”

“Really bad news,” Layla muttered. Her eyes darkened to nearly the same color as the leaden sky. She loudly cursed an impressively nasty string of words I never would’ve thought to put together. “If he’s figured out who you are . . . Zeke, we need help.”

“Who I am?” My voice rose with each word. I swallowed, my eyes darting around. “You’re not making any sense.”
None
of this made any sense.

“We need to get out of here,” Layla whispered, pulling me toward the fence gate a few feet to our left. I could see the vein in her neck throbbing. Her pulse pounded too rapidly.

“I’m not leaving my mom.”

“Coyote wants you, Echo. We have to leave.”

The god looked at me and winked. I licked my lips, my body thrumming to life. I’d do anything for Coyote. Wait, no, I didn’t know him and these thoughts weren’t like me.

“Almira, quite the day,” Coyote proclaimed. “I see we made it in time for the festivities. To celebrate my victory here, no doubt.”

“No. Now leave.” Mom’s tone was clipped, like she was trying to stave off any emotion from bleeding through. Her arms remained at her sides, her back straight, her chin tilted in stubborn resolve. I could feel her fear grow with each breath.

“I think not, my dear.”

“You are not welcome here,” Mom said, her voice cracking. Her chin wobbled but her copper eyes remained firm and focused on Coyote. He leaned forward until he was just inches from my mom’s nose. He howled.

My knees wobbled, and the world around me dimmed. I knew that sound. I’d heard it off and on my entire life. When I was young, that howl would send me running to the warmth and safety of my mother’s bed.

By my teens, that howl meant my dream warrior would appear. He’d fight mountain lions, bears, even half-humans like these dust warriors who stood behind Coyote. Once the demons lay dead, crumbling strangely to dust at his feet, my dream guy would walk away, never once glancing back at me. I’d never thanked him for saving me.

I hated the howl, but I loved that my dream guy was close. Unfortunately, this time I was awake. Could my dream guy still show up?

“That’s no way to treat guests,” Coyote said.

The jaguar-warrior turned to face my mom, and Layla yanked me toward the gate.

My mom narrowed her eyes. “You were not invited,” she shouted. I jerked my head back at the sound. My mom was always so unruffled. Polite.

What the hell was going on?

The god’s lips slid upward into the most beautiful smile I’d ever witnessed. What was wrong with me? I didn’t think like this. I didn’t want Coyote.

“I think I’ll have dessert,” Coyote rumbled.

Oh, for the love of gods, I did want him. I wanted him badly.

No. I didn’t. I paused, unwilling to follow Layla. Confusion warred with frustration. I had no idea what to do, but I wasn’t leaving my mom to face armed warriors and a god by herself.

The winds picked up again, shoving Layla and me against the fence. I clawed my dark hair out of my eyes, searching the yard. My aunties’ pale faces peered out at us from behind the closed sliding glass door, all with eyes popping and mouths hanging open. Layla muttered too softly for me to hear over the keening wail of the wind spirits.

I stepped forward, needing to at least offer my moral support. Layla snagged my wrist in a tight, nearly bone-crushing grip, her eyes never leaving the jaguar-faced warrior.

“Let go,” I shouted.

Layla shook her head, her face determined.

Coyote’s voice drew my attention back to my mother. “What? Nothing more to say? I’ll talk, then. You hid her well, Almira,” Coyote said. “I’m not leaving without my prize.”

Mom’s face froze. I should note my family doesn’t do “white as a sheet” because we’re, you know, not white. Well, we’re part white, thanks to my grandmother. Even with that portion of Caucasian flowing through us, my mom and I are a lovely shade of tan that Anglo women wish they could replicate.

In that moment, though, when Coyote spoke to Mom, she turned whiter than Elmer’s glue. Mom inched in even closer to the god, mesmerized. Coyote growled deep, almost a chuckle.

I tried to pry my wrist from Layla’s death grip. Desire and fear drifted over my skin like a feather duster. The touch was light but definitely there. Which couldn’t be possible. And was beyond gross. Because it came from my mom.

I couldn’t feel other people’s emotions. At least I never had been able to before.

“As usual, you’re misinformed,” Mom said. “We’re celebrating my niece’s birthday.” No we weren’t. Why would she say that? “Leave. Before you bring down Sotuk’s wrath on us both.”

Coyote chuckled. It was dark, foreboding, and unlike anything I’d heard before. I thrilled at its promise.

“You were clever, Almira. I wondered why I couldn’t bear one of my own to be part of the Four.” Coyote stepped closer, his nose nearly touching my mom’s. “You usurped my place,” he growled. “I won’t be left out of this round. The prize is too great.”

My mother’s frown was fierce. “You can’t be attached to one of the Four.”

“You forget I’m a god.” He pressed his nose into her hair. “I want my due, my interests secured. Since you and Sotuk eliminated my ability to have my progeny sit at the table, I’ll have to remove yours.”

My mother swayed as if hit by a mighty blow. She rallied, managing to recover her stance. “You can’t.”

“Sussistanako agrees.”

“No,” Layla whispered.

Barely more than a breath, the word reverberated through my head and chest louder than the warning bells at the nearby chapels.

“You lie,” my mother said. Her eyes flashed, bright and dangerous. “She cannot. Sussistanako vowed her protection to both Sotuk and me.”

“In Sotuk’s absence, Sussistanako has changed her position. And she’s given me permission to use your daughter. As I see fit.” He leaned in, nuzzling into my mom’s hair. “Ah, fear. My favorite perfume. I wonder if you’ll taste as good as you smell.”

He licked her cheek with provoking slowness. “You do.”

Revulsion cramped my insides, but his caress galvanized my mother. She drew up all one hundred pounds of her frame. She yanked a thin chain forward, showing Coyote a chunky piece of pottery that looked remarkably like the pendant she’d given to me this morning.

I’d put it on because she’d asked me to. I’d planned to take it off, but I’d forgotten to after I suggested I move out and she’d gone too quiet, then off-the-charts loud.

I gripped my necklace in my fist through the thin fabric of my top.