Spirit Flight

  Spirit Flight

  Thunderbird Chosen

  Jory Strong

  Revised Edition of Spirit Flight

  Copyright 2015 by Valerie Christenson

  Smashwords Edition

  A huge shout-out and thank you to Jennifer Kiziah for her help!

  Many, many thanks to Susan White who was kind enough to read this story and offer insights from a Native American perspective.

  Cover design by Syneca Featherstone

  * * * * *

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Thank You!

  About the Author

  * * * * *

  Chapter 1

  Marisa Lacoste doubled over as pain sliced through her sides.

  Run.

  Keep running!

  She sucked in air. She just needed a minute, then she'd get moving.

  Stupid! She'd been so stupid. So unaware. So naive.

  If she hadn't returned to camp earlier than expected… If she hadn't overheard them deciding to find her and kill her now, when the storm would work to their advantage…

  She tried to quiet her breathing so she'd be able to hear them. Tried to force herself to breathe through her nose, her throat and lungs already aching from gasping cold mountain air.

  How could Ethan be involved in this? And for money. He knew the most important thing to her was her art. It was all she'd cared about since she was old enough to hold a crayon.

  A rumble sounded in the distance. Thunder to go with the darkening sky and gathering gray clouds.

  Tears wet her face. She brushed them away impatiently. Tears wouldn't do any good.

  Maybe later. When she found her way off the mountain. When she flagged down a car or found a call box. When she got back to the last town they'd stopped in. Hohoq—so small it wasn't on the map.

  They'd eaten at a tiny home-style diner there and anyone who'd seen them together would testify they'd been in great spirits. A man and two women. Enjoying themselves the way people do when they're on vacation. Laughing. Teasing. Probably in the area for rock climbing or hiking, or just to camp.

  She and Ethan resembled each other so closely with their black hair and blue eyes that they were obviously related. Not that Kaitlyn wouldn't have drawn her share of appreciative glances with her blonde, fashion-model looks.

  Fresh pain ricocheted in Marisa's chest. They'd played her so well. Not just for the last couple of days, but for months.

  The beautiful tabletop books with pictures of the Cascades. Talking her into taking a rock-climbing class. All done so this trip wouldn't seem out of character and her accidental death wouldn't seem suspicious.

  Stupid! She'd been so thrilled to be included!

  But now, looking back, she understood how she'd set this in motion. She'd been so proud to realize that slowly, over the years, she'd begun living only on the proceeds from the sales of her paintings. She'd been so excited by the idea of putting the money she'd inherited from their father, the money her brother had been managing, into a scholarship fund so other artists could make it as she had.

  Was any of the money left? Had Ethan been embezzling it all along? Or only since Kaitlyn came into the picture?

  Marisa pushed thoughts of her brother and Kaitlyn aside. Forced herself to straighten. The air around her was getting colder and the sky darker.

  A different fear gripped her. Its fingers icy dread.

  Lost, her skin slick with sweat from running, exposed to the elements overnight with nothing more than the clothing she was wearing, she could as easily die from hypothermia as from a staged fall while rock climbing.

  It'd be easy for them to claim she'd gotten lost while she was hiking. Gotten so absorbed in her surroundings, in the beauty and colors she'd try to pull into her art later, that she hadn't been paying attention to where she was going. They'd say she had panicked and run when she finally realized she didn't know where she was or how to get back to camp.

  Anyone who'd ever seen her when she became immersed in her work would testify that she could go days without answering the phone or opening the mail, would barely remember to eat. It wouldn't take any great leap of imagination to believe she'd gotten lost.

  Marisa shivered. The sweat chilled underneath her shirt and jeans.

  They'd still want to find her body. They'd want to make sure she hadn't overheard them or guessed their plans and used her art supplies to leave a note.

  The breeze picked up, bringing the scent of rain. Thunder rumbled, louder, closer, confirmation that a storm was on its way and would turn the mountain and time into deadly enemies.

  She wouldn't last the night if her clothing got wet. She knew it with a certainty that came from being a news addict, not an experienced camper.

  She would give every penny she had just to spot smoke curling upward from a cabin somewhere in front of her or below in the canyon. But there was nothing. No indication anyone lived in the area despite the No Trespassing signs and the beautifully crafted totem poles capped with ferocious thunderbirds that she'd passed earlier.

  Another rumble sounded, not thunder but an off-road motorcycle. Her heart pounded faster, harder. Adrenaline and terror dulled the pain in her lungs and sides and thighs.

  They knew she was missing. They knew she was running.

  There was a grove of pine and cedar ahead but she wasn't sure she could get to it before being seen. And if she did, the trees and undergrowth might slow her down and trap her instead of offering her shelter and protection.

  The rumble of the motorcycle grew louder. She left the wide dirt path. Everything inside her screamed that she needed to get out of sight. Now. Now.

  She reached the canyon edge. Her heart surged into her throat. She swallowed, trying to force its throbbing beat downward.

  I can do this. I have to do this.

  She went over the edge. Scrambled over rock, grabbing with her hands and trying to gain purchase with her feet while pebbles tumbled like the beginning of a rock slide.

  All she needed to do was find a place where she could cling safely until the bike had passed and then passed again, returning to camp.

  The bike drew near. Its engine roared, echoed in the canyon.

  Hurry! Hurry! Just a little bit further and she'd be out of sight.

  The rock under her hands and feet gave.

  An involuntary scream escaped and sliced through the canyon.

  She hurtled downward. Clawed at the canyon side, each wild grab dislodging more rock and earth.

  There was a desperate awareness of speed and motion, of being momentarily airborne.

  She landed hard on an outcropping. Pain screamed through her. Legs, ribs, arms. Broken. So many things broken.

  She turned her head and vomited as debris struck her face and arms and torso before bouncing and continuing the journey downward.

  The sound of the slide faded and only the purr of an engine remained. Fighting to remain conscious, Marisa saw the motorcycle stop far above her. The rider slid the helmet off to get a better view—or maybe Kaitlyn needed to reveal herself to make her victory more satisfying.

  For long moments she looked down at where Marisa lay, and then with a wave, she put the helmet on and drove away.

  Tears streamed from Marisa's eyes. There was nothing left but pain. Emotional. Physical.

  Bleeding, killing wounds inflicted to heart and soul.

  Breaking, tearing wounds done to bone and flesh.

  She faded in and out of consciousness. Aware on some level of the blackening sky, the rapidly approaching storm, the feel of cold rain pelting her exposed skin. The wetness of her clothes, their sodden mass a
heavy weight on a frame barely able to sustain life.

  The thunder was directly overhead now, a violent, crashing symphony.

  Lightning flashed, flickering brilliance against Marisa's eyelids.

  She forced her eyes open, knowing she was dying and yet choosing to see the beauty around her. The magnificence of the storm. Far more powerful and real than anything she'd ever been able to capture in her art—though sometimes she came close, and those were the paintings she treasured.

  Jagged streaks illuminated the sky. Thunder crashed like the clap of cymbals at a song's crescendo.

  Above her a thunderbird formed and hovered. His powerful wings beat the air with such force that clouds swirled around and under him. The bright colors of his feathers reflected off gray rock, painting it red and white with splashes of yellow and blue. His beak opened in a soundless scream and lightning sparked from coal black eyes.

  She was hallucinating but she embraced the hallucination. A small laugh of sheer joy came. The wind caught the sound of her pleasure and carried it away as she felt herself floating upward, toward the thunderbird.

  The great bird turned its eyes on her and swooped. Its dive scattered the clouds and drove Marisa's awareness back to her body. To pain and cold. And finally—nothingness.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Two

  There was the sound of a solitary drum beating in the rhythm of a heart. A voice accompanied it in a chant-like song offering prayers in a language Marisa didn't understand.

  Instead of pain, there was only heat. Moving through her. Over her. Building in intensity as the song built, peaking, fading. The process repeated over and over again until the voice stopped. The drum stopped.

  Into the sudden silence came the eerie sound of water dripping in the distance. The sensation of being watched. The hint of a woodsy scent that called to Marisa and gave her the strength to open her eyes and struggle to her elbows.

  It took her a minute to see him, and then she blinked. Licked lips that were dry as she forced herself into a sitting position.

  The movement made her lightheaded. It warned her against trying to scramble to her feet.

  He rose from where he crouched next to a small fire and her fingers clenched involuntarily—not with the need to defend herself, but with the urge to draw him. To capture him on paper.

  He was a vision from history. A warrior. His muscles toned from a life where only the fittest survived. His skin bronzed, revealed except for the area covered by a loincloth.

  Most of his black hair flowed over his shoulders and down his back. But on either side of his face colorful beads and feathers decorated tight, narrow braids.

  "Drink this," he said, kneeling next to her and offering a cup she hadn't noticed him carrying. His voice was deep, confident. His words English, firm.

  She shook her head in confusion as the memories flooded in, of overhearing Ethan and Kaitlyn plotting to kill her, of running, of being injured, of knowing she was dying and seeing the thunderbird swoop down from the sky.

  He gripped the back of her head and held her still as he pressed the cup to her lips. "Drink."

  She struggled instinctively, wondered if she was drugged. Her captor set the cup down. His arms went around her, demonstrating how weak she still was, how easily she could be subdued.

  With the touch of skin to skin, she realized she was completely naked. "Easy," he said, as if sensing her rising panic and her intention to renew her fight. "Easy. I'm not going to hurt you."

  She looked around her, taking in the rock, the darkness, the campfire—her clothes. They hung torn and bloody and dripping water from a peg pounded into a cave wall.

  Her gaze returned to the man holding her. Seeing the dark eyes. The thunderbird's eyes. The colorful feathers braided into his hair. Red and white and black with splashes of blue and yellow. The thunderbird's colors.

  "You rescued me," she said, understanding she'd been delirious, her mind lost in the last piece of art to make an impression on her. The totem poles capped with powerful thunderbirds.

  Beautifully sculpted masculine lips curved upward, sending pleasure rivering through her. "I reached you in time."

  She pulled away from him and he let her go. She glanced at her body and saw no open wounds, felt no broken bones though there was dried blood on her skin and the state of her clothing attested to the fact that she had been injured.

  Her heart fluttered erratically. It didn't make sense. She hadn't imagined running, going over the canyon edge, falling, dying.

  She looked at her rescuer and the wild fluttering in her chest intensified. His gaze traveled over her, heating her skin with its caress.

  Her nipples tightened and his eyes darkened with masculine appreciation. His nostrils flared as though he could scent the sudden wetness of her sex.

  She shielded her mound and her arousal from his view with a hand. Gripped the material underneath her and realized it was thick fur.

  "No," he said, his fingers encircling her wrist, stopping her from shifting to free the soft hide and wrap it around herself. "I'll bathe you first."

  Her breath caught in her throat. Her entire body hummed at the words, at the possessive way he looked at her. At the command in his voice.

  He picked up the cup and once again held it to her lips. "Drink this. It will help you gain strength, Marisa."

  She opened her mouth to ask how he knew her name and he used her response to his advantage, tilted the cup and left her no choice but to drink the contents or choke on it. She swallowed, expecting something cold and bitter. Finding instead something warm and thick and tasting of honey.

  Almost immediately the heat of the drink spread from her stomach to her sex and breasts and made her whimper. She licked her lips and groaned as warmth spread there too.

  "You've drugged me," she whispered, her eyes meeting his then going to his mouth, her upper body leaning forward, following the direction of her gaze.

  He laughed, a small husky sound. He hugged her to him, brushed his lips across her temple. "You're feeling the call of our spirits to one another. The drink was to aid you, nothing more. I swear it."

  His oath resonated like a struck drum. She believed him, allowed herself to relax against hard muscle and hot flesh, to soak in his strength and breathe in his scent.

  He'd saved her life. She didn't know how, but without him, she'd be dead.

  Firm, possessive hands smoothed over her back. They cupped her hips and pulled her more tightly against him, creating a shiver of pleasure and making her breath catch as she became aware of the erection his loincloth concealed.

  The liquid heat in her stomach rippled and turned into need sliding lower and plumping the lips of her sex. "I don't even know your name."

  "Ukiah."

  "Ukiah," she said, and the sound of her saying his name brought fierce joy.

  Ukiah rubbed his cheek against Marisa's. Until she opened her eyes and became aware of her surroundings he'd tried to respect her privacy and not stare at her naked body where it lay on several hides, he'd avoided touching her intimately but now…

  He tangled his fingers in her hair to keep her from turning her face away. He settled his mouth on hers. His. She was his.

  He coaxed her lips into parting, rejoiced in her willing surrender and the soft sound of acceptance she made. His tongue slipped into her mouth, tasted her essence along with the drink the Creator had provided and directed him to give her as part of their covenant.

  It wasn't his place to question the Creator's choice of a wife for him and he had no desire to challenge it. Marisa was beautiful. Exquisitely feminine. Her breasts tipped with large dusky nipples, her pubic hair trimmed into a small black triangle left to arrow downward toward a delicate clit and bare, swollen folds.

  She was lush and sweet, utterly desirable. His. Given to him by the one who had called up the storm and drawn the thunderbird into the air, then led him to where she lay dying, her soul ready to flutter away.

 
; He'd carried her to the cave and stripped her of the wet clothing. He'd started a fire then began the sing, offering up prayers and promises, agreeing to accept her and care for her and teach her so that she would answer the call as a thunderbird.

  His heart soared as her tongue twined with his and her arms wrapped around his neck and she clung to him. The smoothness of her skin and scent of her arousal tempted him to lay her back down on the furs and cover her with his body.

  He ached for her as he'd never ached for another woman. Wanted desperately to peel away the loincloth and slide his cock into her, merging his body to hers.

  He'd waited so long. He'd dreamed of having a woman at his side, a lover and a companion. A mate who would fly with him when the thunderbird was called to the sky, who would winter with him when the snows came and celebrate with him when spring kissed the land.

  His cock demanded he strip and enter her, but he wanted to finish caring for her as he'd promised to do. He wanted them to know each other better, to have their first joining be more than an urgent, mindless rush toward physical release. He wanted her to welcome him into her body as a soul mate, not simply as the man who'd saved her life.

  "I need to bathe you first."

  "No, I need this more," she whispered against his lips, her arms tightening around him as her tongue forged into his mouth and she became the aggressor.

  Marisa knew she was reacting to the betrayal, to the wild run which had very nearly ended in her death. A part of her mind argued that she should pull away from Ukiah and put some distance between them. But that part of her seemed powerless against the deep anguished cry of her soul, the clamor of her body for his.

  She'd never known need like this. She trembled with it, felt consumed by it.

  Still kissing, he eased her backward so she was once again lying on luxurious fur. He straddled her, making her whimper and arch in a futile attempt to rub her pelvis against his.