His heart pounded at the look on her face. She paused almost as if she wanted to. A ploy? It was a good one. He would do anything to help her step across that silken bridge of loyalty to his side.
Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Were I to stay with you, help you, would there be a way that Kakala and my warriors could leave in peace?”
“Could they promise me that none of them would ever lift a weapon against my people again?” His heart began to pound. Was this the way?
“I don’t …” She shook her head. “They fear the Council too much. Doing that would mean a worse punishment than the cages.”
“Keresa, just tell me …”
She shook her head miserably. “You’re right. I have to leave.”
She rose and walked toward the door, a defeated slump in her shoulders.
“Keresa?” He saw her turn, eyes moist. “There has to be a way out of this. Help stop the killing. Some way, any way, that turns good people like you, me, and Kakala back from being the monsters we’ve become.”
He stepped toward her, taking her hand in his. He rubbed his fingers over the smooth skin, his desperate gaze boring into hers. “If we follow the same old path, there will be nothing left for any of us.”
She pulled hard against his grip. He refused to let go. They stood eye to eye for ten heartbeats, and he could feel her pulse increasing until it raced as rapidly as his own.
He reached up with his other hand, gently running it down her long hair. What had she done to him? How had she worked her way into his heart?
Her lips parted, eyes widening. The telltale pulse in her neck was throbbing. Abruptly she seemed to melt against him, her body conforming to the hollows of his. She tightened her hold, as though he were the last thing she had left to cling to. A surge of warmth flooded Windwolf’s veins.
In the back of his mind a voice whispered: A game. This is all a game. We’ll both use whatever leverage we can … but what harm is there in soothing each other for a few moments? What harm … ?
He slowly disengaged himself and backed away. She was watching him, tears rimming her large dark eyes. Her breasts rose and fell with each rapid breath.
“Keresa,” he said in a strained voice, “tell Kakala that Goodeagle’s right about one thing: If I can’t find a way out of this, I won’t leave anything alive in the Nightland Caves.”
She hesitated for an excruciating amount of time.
“Windwolf, if I …”
He balled his fists. “I need you, Keresa.”
Without a word she ducked beneath the door curtain and disappeared. He caught a glimpse of Fish Hawk’s curious face before the curtain fell closed again.
Keresa walked down the trail with Fish Hawk at her heels. The warrior followed a good pace behind her.
The sensation of Windwolf’s strong arms around her had stirred feelings that terrified her.
Too deep, she’d gotten in too deep. How had that happened? How had she let it happen?
The game was going awry … .
After Keresa and Fish Hawk had passed into the darkness, Silvertip emerged from the cleft between two rocks. The shadow had been deep, black, and the crack that led under an overlying boulder had allowed him to slip close enough to hear most of what had been said in the war chief’s quarters.
Now he cradled the Wolf Bundle, and stared after the dark forms. “We all have our parts to play. I hope that you have bargained well, Wolf Dreamer. If we all Dreamed the future, would any of us find the will to live?”
He ducked back into the shadows as Windwolf emerged to stalk down the trail like a man with a purpose.
As the man’s footsteps faded Silvertip looked up into the night sky. He could hear Raven wings gliding through the dark air overhead.
Forty-eight
Kakala slept soundly, dreaming of the pleasant lazy days of his youth … .
The sweet pungent scent of tundra blossoms drifted on the warm wind. Hako was stretched out at his side beneath a huge boulder. From their vantage overlooking the Thunder Sea, they could hear the soft singing of the Ice Giants. Gulls flew overhead screaming. Pilot whales, six of them, were coursing among the bergs just off shore. A warm southern breeze was blowing across the land, driving the black flies to cover. The rock’s soft shadow smoothed Hako’s triangular face, and jet black hair hung like a cape around her shoulders. She gave him a reproachful look.
“Kakala, you’re the best warrior in the village. You can throw a dart farther than anyone else … swing a war club harder. But when it comes to finding your way back from Little Lake, you get lost.”
He chuckled in amusement. “I’m only good at useless accomplishments. Killing people and—”