People of the Lightning(146)

Hanging Star watched her approach through gleaming eyes. His desires had been growing over the past several days, until now he could barely contain himself. Dark Rain let her gaze linger on the swell in his breechclout—and smiled at him. He smiled back.

This might work to her benefit, after all.

She knelt beside him and kissed him on the lips. In a violent move, Hanging Star gripped her by the shoulders, threw her to the ground and crawled on top of her, kissing her hungrily in return.

“Hanging Star! For Sun Mother’s sake! Have you no skill at all?” She bit him hard, and laughed when blood welled.

“You whore! You filthy whore!” Hanging Star shouted, grasped her arms roughly, and used one hand to pin them over her head. With his other hand, he pulled his engorged manhood from his breechclout.

Dark Rain glanced at Bowfin’s gaping face. He looked frightened, eager to come to her aid. She half-heartedly struggled against Hanging Star. “Release me!” she ordered.

“You wish it!” Hanging Star responded. “You have always preferred lust to love.”

Dark Rain cried out, “Stop it! Hanging Star let me go! Bowfin … ? Bowfin, help me! He’s hurting me!”

Hanging Star used his knee to force her legs open and thrust himself inside her. She kicked and screamed … and Bowfin rose to his feet, his eyes wide.

Beaverpaw ordered, “Bowfin! Sit down! She’s not in danger, she’s—”

“Shut up!” Bowfin yelled as he watched her struggling.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and horror lined Bowfin’s young face. She wept, “Bowfin … Oh, please, please, I beg you!”

“Stop it!” Bowfin shouted. “Hanging Star! Let her go!” He drew his stiletto from his belt and stalked forward.

“No!” Beaverpaw shouted. He jumped to his feet. “Hanging Star, he’s armed! He—”

As Bowfin gripped Hanging Star’s shoulder and jerked him off Dark Rain, Hanging Star rolled, came up with his own stiletto, and plunged it into Bowfin.

Beaverpaw shouted, “No!”

Bowfin staggered backwards, staring open-mouthed at the weapon embedded in his lung. Blood bubbled on his lips. He coughed, choked, and stumbled over an exposed tree root. The stiletto fell from his fingers as he toppled to the ground and scrambled aimlessly on his hands and knees.

“Oh, Brother Earth, no,” Beaverpaw murmured as he shoved past Hanging Star and knelt beside Bowfin.

The young warrior’s strength failed him. He sagged to the ground, his fingers clawing at the sand as blood ran from his lips. His eyes had gone huge. He stared up at Beaverpaw in terror. Lungs filled with blood, he could not speak. He lay suffocating, his gaze riveted to Beaverpaw.

Dark Rain watched in fascination. This male ritual of death had always attracted her.

“Forgive me,” Beaverpaw whispered. “Oh, Bowfin. This is my fault! If not for me, you would have never become involved … and this … this …”

The youth stared sightlessly out at the dark silhouettes of trees, unable to hear Beaverpaw now. Beaverpaw hung his head and closed his eyes.

Dark Rain said, “Hanging Star, come back. I need you inside me.”

And she saw hatred, powerful, heady, rush through Beaverpaw. He glared pure loathing at her. Dark Rain smiled as Hanging Star laid down on top of her again, kissing her fiercely.





Beaverpaw sat unmoving.

Thinking about his future …

Musselwhite did not realize the trap that awaited her. Someone needed to warn her, and then fight at her side. That person would gain a great deal of status.

Once he’d finished his work at Standing Hollow Horn Village, Beaverpaw planned to run home as fast as his legs would carry him. He would beg Waterbearer for mercy. If she took him back, the Council might also. Having fought on the side of the great Musselwhite would go a long ways toward convincing the Spirit Elders of his worthiness for readmission to the clan. Perhaps he could even convince Musselwhite herself to speak for him.

Behind him, Hanging Star gasped and started to groan.

Beaverpaw gently slipped his arms beneath Bowfin’s body and lifted him. A small pond nestled in the woods half a hand of time away. He would send this young warrior to the Village of Wounded Souls by himself. No one should be condemned to wander the earth alone.

As he walked down the trail toward the pond, moonlight sprinkled his path. In each flicker, he glimpsed the smiling faces of his children, holding out their hands to him, pleading with him to come home. The raw wound in his heart ached.

He hurried down the trail.





Thirty-two

“Cut him down,” Cottonmouth ordered softly. “Tie his hands. I will speak with him after supper.” To Diver he added, “I’ll be bringing along an old friend of yours.”