Quinn

The Inn, St Louis

---

Most of her gear was soiled, but she’d found a clean shirt and undergarments in the bottom of one of her satchels, so she pulled it on after applying his ointment to the bruises on her chest. Admittedly, the cold sensation eased the stiffness nearly as much as the hot water had. The bath also erased the dirt and the stink. Of course, now they had to empty the tub.

Still wrestling with his revelation, she left the screened area to sit on the bed. Her legs were bare, but she suddenly didn’t give a damn about propriety. “What do you mean your body isn’t alive?” He had a pulse, and she’d seen he could bleed.

The dead didn’t bleed.

Facing her with an impassive expression, Wyatt shrugged. “I told you I was a spiritwalker.”

“Yes.” That still didn’t add up to dead. Gripping her leggings, she debated just pulling them on or washing everything. The time it would take all her clothes to dry might leave them exposed. She’d had a bath, she could deal with her gear as it was. It wasn’t likely they’d be staying clean once he resumed his long, arduous path toward MacPherson. “Doesn’t explain the dead part.”

“When I attempted to bring my brother back,” he spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “I bound the creature to me, his life to mine.”

Tipping head to the side, she studied him. No emotion creased his cheeks or softened the firm set of his lips. It wasn’t a ruse or a misdirect. He was serious. “Blood magic always has a cost.”

“It does. I thought I could cut the tether, drive him from the world. It took me years to reach the conclusion that to kill him, I had to die.” Yet, he stood there.

“So, it’s the other way around?” An odd sensation tightened in her chest. He’d tried to kill himself to end the creature? And yet MacPherson still lived.

“It wasn’t,” Wyatt blew out a breath, and the chair he’d commandeered earlier slid across the floor until he could catch it, turn it around and straddle it. The position wasn’t lost on her. He’d put the chair between them.

The terrifying, big bad man needed a sense of security. Interesting.

“By the time I made the decision, my wife had died, and I’d lost allies I considered to be close friends. We were not family, but close.”

Wife? Stunned, she didn’t interrupt.

“The battles had gone on too long. I’d whittled his forces down, and he’d slaughtered mine. It was just the two of us. We savaged each other, but physical wounds meant nothing to him. So, I made the leap to shove him out of the body.”

Her stomach twisted. “And he took your body?”

“The tie of living to dead remains. As long as the physical body remains intact, I continue to occupy this one.”

He was dead.

Something else possessed his body. The dull ache behind her eyes returned. “You leapt into him. You are possessing your dead brother’s body? And whatever you brought back…is possessing your living form?”

“Yes.”

Rising, Quinn dragged on her pants. “I think I need something to drink with that dinner.”

Dinner. Food.

“That’s why you don’t eat or drink. You don’t need to.”

“No.” Wyatt rose as she did. He moved to the door, giving her his back while she secured the britches. She should pull on boots, because it would be colder downstairs than in her room. She claimed her gun belt and secured it. “I can eat if I need to, just as I can breathe. My heart beats because I will it.”

He willed it—his gift.

“So, you can bleed and kindle the blood.”

Another nod. “If I were anything but a spiritwalker…it likely would not have worked. If I were anything other than a spiritwalker, I couldn’t have taken this body.”

One blue eye and one green stared at her. MacPherson had two blue eyes. Was that another byproduct of the possession?

“You can drink. We’re getting whiskey. We’re drinking, and I’m eating. Then we’ll figure it out.” The moment the words fell from her lips, something unlocked within her, and she could almost feel the shackles crumbling.

“What is it?” Wyatt was suddenly at her side, but she didn’t move. The sense of freedom was heady. The first time it happened, she’d regained her ability to transport herself. This time?

“I don’t know.” When he put a steadying arm against her, she gripped his forearm. “The last time you fought with him…when he took your body? When was that?”

“Fifty, sixty years ago. The years tend to run together.” He studied her. “Why?”

That would have been when the first coven bindings on her began to fray. They’d weakened in the years since Rosemary’s passing, but she’d been freed to hunt actively then. “Why didn’t the shaman destroy him when he took your living body?”

Shamans could banish spirits, restore harmony, and bind the spirits within the Fevered themselves. It was part of how her own gift manifested. Yet she also had her witchcraft, the power to break spell bindings, so she could separate person from power and consume it.

“Because he wouldn’t kill me,” the man next to her answered. Where she touched him, the coldness took on a new meaning, yet beneath it all continued the gentle throb of his heart. A heart he forced to pump with his own power. If he were this powerful in the body he possessed, what was he when he had his own?

“He let MacPherson roam? Left him to commit harm…” Unable to complete the sentence, she pushed away from him. “Your blood turned Jason and Kid Kane.” MacPherson had done it to taunt Wyatt. Of course he had. The creature—demon, whatever the thing possessing him was—it knew it was still tied to Wyatt. His own enemy could not be defeated without killing the vessel he was housed within.

“That’s why the barrier doesn’t affect you, but it would be sufficient to keep the new MacPherson out.” Every thought tumbled out, and aligned. It was also why MacPherson turned his attention on the shamans and witches after escaping Wyatt’s plan for him.

In a living form, he was no longer resistant to their powers. He had to have figured it out. He’d also staked a claim near enough to where Wyatt had pocketed himself to protect the shaman who’d saved him.

“No, though you had no trouble with it, either.” His comment pulled her to the present, and she pushed away from touching him. At least her gift hadn’t activated at the contact.

“I told you, I’m not Fevered. Not as they are—closer to how you were afflicted.” Leaving him, she headed for the door, but the handle wouldn’t turn. Sparing him a look she raised her brows.

“Gun,” he reminded her. The weapon was still in its holster. Gripping it, she held it up so he could see it. The silence on the room vanished, and the handle gave. He could maintain a field even when he wasn’t present, make his heart beat, and still fight. Chances were, he did other things by simply dividing his attention.

The man had a terrifying amount of power and wore it easily. So much more formidable than anything he’d done so far was the knowledge he’d shared. They encountered no one on their return to the kitchen.

Betsy had left bowls and eating utensils next to the pot of stew. Wyatt took a bite of the stew before she even made it to the pot.

“Are you really testing it for poison?”

“Yes.” The unapologetic answer earned her laughter.

The chuckle escaped, and she glanced around the kitchen as she tried to contain the rather unsuitable mirth. Nothing about their situation was funny, yet she couldn’t stop chuckling. She wished Betsy had remained. She could steal the woman away and transport her to Boston where some abolitionists would look after her. Of course, stealing her without her permission was hardly better than what she’d already endured.

“Well, let me know if I can eat it because I’m hungry as hell.” While he sampled the food, she went in search of the liquor. The main doors all appeared locked from the inside. Maybe Betsy was still inside the inn somewhere. The liquor was in a secured cabinet, but she’d paid a fair amount of coin, so she felt no compunction about breaking in.

Two bottles of whiskey in hand, she returned to the kitchen. Wyatt had a tray with an oversized bowl and some fresh bread on the side of it. He’d covered the kettle once more, and a glance told her the fire was fully banked in the little oven. “We don’t have to stay here,” she told him. “Though you could use a bath.”

“And a change of clothes,” he told her. “I’ll handle washing up after you’ve eaten. We came here because you were tired of riding.”

“Correction,” she told him as she led the way back up the stairs. They hadn’t discussed it, but they would have more time to react from the third floor than the first. It didn’t matter what came at them, she could get them to the stable, and get the horses out. “I was tired of smelling terrible. We’ll be cold and wet once again, soon enough.”

No matter what route they took, the farther north they went, the worse the weather would be. Texas had been balmy by comparison to where she grew up.

In the room again, she ignored the bed and took a seat on the floor. Wyatt settled opposite her. The sound of the city faded to nothingness, which meant he’d penned them in once more. Quinn twisted open one of the bottles of whiskey and took a long drink from it. The heat struck her belly as though she’d swallowed real fire. It was smoother than the rotgut they sold at the saloon, and harsher than the wine she’d drunk at home.

Closing her eyes, she let the liquor do its trick on her system. It would relax some of the tension and ease what the icy ointment he’d put on her had already helped. The combination of native medicine and the quality of the alcohol helped. Opening her eyes, she found Wyatt watching her again.

He was dead already.

Except he wasn’t.

The knowledge required another drink. Tipping the bottle up, she took another long pull. The second one had far more kick than the first. Blowing out a breath, she set the bottle down and found the stew bowl and a hunk of bread hovering in front of her.

“I’m capable of feeding myself.” She took hold of both.

“If you say so.” The corners of his mouth kicked into a hint of a smile.

“Keep it up and I’ll port you back to the river and dunk you there for your bath.” It wasn’t an idle threat. He would survive.

Oddly, it appeared to be his turn to chuckle. “Few people feel comfortable enough in challenging me.”

“You might have done better in your life had they done so.” Maybe not be dead. Or have raised his brother…or whatever it was he’d done. It made her head ache to just think of it.

“Perhaps. Tell me of your life before you began hunting Fevered.” He made no move to open his whiskey, and he didn’t say anything about the food.

After dipping some of the bread into the stew, she paused, “If you don’t eat, and your body is already dead. How do you know if this is poisoned or not?”

“I don’t need to eat. I didn’t say I didn’t eat at all.” Of course he didn’t. Another low rumble of masculine humor escaped him. “As for whether it is actually poisoned or not, you’ll have to take my word for it.”

Accepting the challenge, she took a bite of the gravy soaked bread and nearly groaned. It was hot, fresh, and full of gentle spice. Very savory. The bread itself was still warm, so it just melted against her tongue. “If I have to die,” she said around the mouthful before swallowing it. “This will be the way to go.”

“Didn’t you tell me you were nearly immortal, as long as Adam and me are alive?”

“Fair point.” She conceded the match to him. “Poisoning would still hurt.” Truth be told, she didn’t know if she could die. She’d been stabbed, thrown off a cliff, and shot a couple of times. Digging out bullets hurt. Another couple of bites added to the warmth spreading through her. She’d meant it when she said she was hungry. Wyatt had hunted after that night in the rain soaked cave, but this was more like the foods she was used to.

“Have you been poisoned before?” The circle back to learning about each other was complete. If she had been in his position, she would have done the same.

Had already proven so. “No,” she admitted. “I have spent time working with poisons and potions. I know what some taste like, and as any good potioner would do, I learned to build a tolerance to some because I worked with so many large quantities.”

“The book in the bag,” he said, even as her satchel flew from where it had been left to his hands. He pulled out the leather-bound journal with its vellum sheets. “These are potions.”

“Yes,” she admitted, seeing no sense in trying to disguise it.

“You were an apothecary.” He sounded more fascinated than shocked. “Truly?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Rosemary made a fair income from putting together concoctions for the people of her village as well as her town. Since she raised me, she also apprenticed me.”

“Strange that you were raised by the coven and not your parents.” Though he didn’t frame it as a question, she understood what he wanted to know.

“When the auguries told one story and my father’s vision quest told the same, it was decided by all the adults of the time that it would be better if my power were contained.” Regret as she did not knowing her parents, she had met them, albeit briefly. They had other children and seemed happy and content. For a brief moment, her gaze had collided with her mother’s, and she’d read sorrow in those eyes. Better to leave the wound untended than to hurt them further.

Quinn had survived her childhood.

“Jessica.” Her name on his lips resonated with her, even as it seemed strange. “I’m sorry the choices of Morning Star and Golden Hair affected you.”

An apology was the last thing she expected. Setting her half-eaten bowl down, she wiped her hand on her pants before lifting the whiskey bottle. “To new beginnings. We may be what we were made, but what we do with it is our choice.” After taking a swallow, she passed the bottle to him.

He accepted after a long moment, then added, “May our choices lead us on the right journey.” He took a drink, and there was another clank inside of her. His sudden rigidness suggested he’d felt it this time.

Whatever happened, they were in it together.

---

Wyatt

East of the Mississippi, 12 Days on the Trail

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Surprisingly, Jessica didn’t argue with him about leaving the inn before dawn. Nor did she complain about him sleeping on the floor in her room. He could hold the shield over the whole floor, but he wanted to leave nothing to chance. Betsy appeared when they were leaving the stables. Jessica had paused to give her coin, and whisper in her ear.

She didn’t tell him what she said, and he didn’t ask. He didn’t need to—the more he got to know Jessica, the more certain he was she offered Betsy a way to freedom if the woman wanted to take it. Rosemary and the coven may have tried to keep her leashed, but she was a natural protector. It was why she didn’t argue about his course, nor complained that he wanted her with him.

On the way to this fight was where she wanted to be.

They hadn’t spoken since setting out. A pleasant respite from some he’d ridden with before. Jessica didn’t speak unless she had something to say. The cold morning didn’t seem to affect any of them as much as it had. Even her gelding had a spring in his step, trotting with a freer gait and Jessica sat straighter in her saddle. It also helped that the rain had been left behind. Snow blanketed the fields and trails they followed, but the sky had turned a brilliant azure blue and the sun shone down on them. The illusion of heat wasn’t lost on him, however.

At midday, he had them halt so her horse could have a break. He’d given Goliath blood before they’d left; the horse practically shimmered in the sunlight. As if summoned by the thought, Jessica came to stand next to him. She’d resumed her duster and heavier gear—including her weapons. The length of hair had been braided and hid beneath the duster.

From a distance, no one would expect her to be female. Up close, he couldn’t see anything else.

“What do you do to him?” She pulled her hat off and squinted over the snow-laden field. At least it wasn’t deep. They must not have had as fierce storms yet. His last trip north in winter had been by far more difficult. “To your horse. You’re doing something, but he’s far more intelligent than any of the species that I have dealt with, and he never tires.” Though she didn’t tack on an additional like you, he heard it nonetheless.

“I found Goliath when Adam and I went on our vision quest. We were young and free and exploring the world.” The older he grew, the more difficult it was to recall those days. Finding Goliath always stood out. “Some Spanish cavalry officer rode him, we were deep in foreign territory—both by tribe and by what they call the country. Not many whites came that far west, but the Spanish were there. He was too beautiful for the man riding him.”

“So you stole him.” Traces of amusement filled her tone.

Grinning, Wyatt shrugged. “More like liberated.” Her gelding munched on the grain she’d spread out on the snow while Goliath nuzzled in the snow, looking for a hint of grass. “He’s been with me ever since. I can still kindle enough in this blood that I have to keep him alive and strong.”

“You’re still dabbling in blood magic?” Surprise, not rancor, marked the question.

“Not dabbling. I know exactly how much to give him. He’s been my companion through every war I’ve fought, and I’ve offered to release him, many times.” Goliath usually gave him his hindquarters whenever the conversation came up. Even now, he lifted his head and gave him a baleful look. “He will not leave me.”

“And you won’t leave him,” she said, her voice so quiet, he nearly missed the words. “You are a man of deep loyalties, Wyatt Morning Star. I find it both peculiar and attractive.”

Surprise shivered over him. “Thank you. I think.”

“You’re welcome.” Her benevolent smile illuminated her face and her eyes glowed. “Have I earned enough trust yet to know the plan?”

“The trust isn’t the problem,” he assured her, since the answer leaned more heavily on the side of yes than no. She’d fought an enemy he couldn’t see, proven she was capable of taking care of herself, and still managed to look out for him.

He’d also told her things about himself he hadn’t shared with anyone since Quanto. So, if he were to examine his feelings on the subject, he would have to agree that he did indeed trust her.

“Care to share the reason, then?” They were both walking, moving in a slow circuit. Jessica needed to stretch her legs. Hours in the saddle could do that. Wyatt paid closer attention to the little signs she gave, particularly when she pulled a foot from a stirrup to stretch her leg.

“While it is not about trust, it is about compartmentalizing information. We do not know what resources Adam has at his disposal.” Though Wyatt could easily imagine it. “He tends to draw the most powerful to him. Look what he did with Jason and Kid.” The first time he’d met Kid, he’d sensed the kinship, and in their own way, Adam’s actions had turned the two Kanes into blood brothers. The binding of blood to blood—it had so many layers of meaning.

“Fair, but he does not have the loyalty of two of the most powerful Fevered I have ever met, and there is an attrition rate to those who serve him.” The bland response dismissed the overall threat. Even with her numerous attempts at MacPherson, she couldn’t comprehend how the creature thought. How could she? Wyatt had spent years studying his adversary, and learning that he relied on manipulation and power acquisition to fight his battles.

“No, and he doesn’t have a siren anymore. To think he hasn’t been planning in opposition is a mistake.” Perhaps it was time for a confession. “Two of our siblings are missing.”

She cut a glance at him. “You didn’t mention this at the ranch.”

No, he hadn’t. Nor did he have any intention of doing so. “I told one person, the one most likely to keep searching for them no matter what I shared or didn’t.”

“The dreamwalker,” Jessica said, making the intuitive leap.

“Yes.” Buck had already indicated an awareness of an issue because he couldn’t locate them. “He’ll continue to search, but he’ll take precautions knowing that there is a chance they may be in MacPherson’s hands.”

Exhaling slowly, Jessica slowed and faced him. “What threat level do they present?”

“Ike’s gift is with the land, he’s a noncombatant.” The younger man was gentle, shy, and preferred to spend his time tending his crops. “He can grow wheat in a desert, and nurture even the wildest of fruits in the middle of winter. I’ve seen him turn fallow, poisoned land back to green and thriving.”

“That’s still useful. He maintains a compound near Lake Erie, at least that’s as much as I’ve been able to put together. The region gets heavy snowfalls, and even a man like MacPherson needs to feed his people.”

“True.” Wyatt agreed with the sentiment, if not the actuality. “Rudy is trickier, he’s able to phase through solid objects. He can also carry people and items with him. There is no fort or secure area which can keep him out.”

“That would make him difficult to harm or catch, yes?” The immediacy of the question left him with no doubt about how often Jessica had to decide how to deal with an unknown ability.

“Very.”

“So how is it you think MacPherson has him? Unless you believe he has taken one—the innocent to control the other.” Thoughtful, she turned away from him and began to walk again. Unwilling to be left behind, he fell into step with her once more.

“The night you heard me speaking to the fire…”

“I wasn’t going to ask about that,” she said, raising a hand. “That seemed personal.”

A laugh burst out of him, so unexpected it startled him and then he chuckled. “You found my conversing with a shadow man in the flames too personal to ask about, after all I’ve already told you?”

Jessica surprised him by smiling. The warmth of the expression reached her eyes. “I’m getting the impression you don’t want me to know specific things, whether out of concern that I will betray you or because…” Her smile faded, and it was like a kick to the gut. The loss killed his sudden humor. “Because you want me to betray you.”

It had occurred to him, and he nodded slowly. “They’re trying to track me…and it’s difficult for them. Adam would know this, and he would target anyone traveling with me.”

Sudden understanding blossomed in her expression. He’d limited information, sharing it only with those who could shield it. The others would come, there was no doubt in his mind. He could forbid them, then they would have made the decision anyway. Quanto had instilled within them the capacity to work together, honing their loyalty to family. Wyatt had raised them to be skilled with their abilities, training their gifts until they controlled them.

“You do.” Disappointment edged the two words, then she shook her head. “I can’t go near him. Even if I attempt it, the urge to attack him will overwhelm everything.”

“You seem to manage with me.” He didn’t doubt she was capable, not when he’d seen her fight up close and seen the damage she’d taken, all the while still rising to fight again.

“You’re different.” Instead of expanding on the thought, she said, “The best way to have them get the information is if they take it from me. Which requires capture and interrogation.”

No matter how he tried to distance himself, he didn’t care for the plan anymore. “Or spell bound tracking. They are looking for me, not what I’ll do. They need to know what direction I am coming at them from. He’s known from the moment Quanto passed that I would come. It was never a matter of if, only when.”

“For a spell to hone in on me, I would sense it. You experienced that yourself, and I will not let anything have the opportunity to dig its claws in. Not again. Not after years of being trapped by a family who thought they were doing what was best.” Her chin lifted and for the first time, he thought he could see hints of her tribal father in the tilt to her nose and set to her jaw.

“Then don’t. Fight them off. It gives them a place to look. We’re much farther than where they found you the first time.” Enough that their arrival would be a surprise.

“We could be farther still,” she reminded him.

“We could, but sometimes it is better to take the time it takes.” And when the time came, he would like the memory of the time with her to take with him.

Her eyes narrowed and she cut a look toward him, but he gave her only a faint smile. The time to tell her what he needed from her was coming, but not yet.

Not now…

“Fine, we’ll do it your way, but if we get drowned in freezing rain, I’m going ahead, with or without you and wonder horse.” The soberness in her eyes didn’t match the taunt in her voice or the half-smile on her lips.

She knows. Like him, she didn’t broach the topic. “You have warned me,” he said, touching a hand to his heart. “If the event occurs, I will be at your side rather than without.”

“Fine,” she said, then looked away from him toward the distance. They might have been the only two people on the snow dusted plain. Too soon, they would reach farm country, and move deeper into the denser populations of the east.

Then the games would really begin.

“Ready to resume?” She’d already begun to angle back toward the horses, but Wyatt touched her arm.

“We have time.” For now. “Walk with me a little longer.” It was not an invitation he ever thought to issue again.

Though she said nothing, she accepted his direction, and they walked.

While we have the time, we should take it. Quanto’s frequent reminder carried a note of satisfaction in it. Yes, Old Man, while he had the time with her, he’d take it.