Naomi’s heart beat faster. She knew her family would help Julie more than Julie’s own father would, but the thought of leaving the little girl alone made her crazed.
She turned in Jamison’s arms. “Let’s get this bastard.”
Jamison smiled and kissed her. “That’s my girl.”
When they reached the house, Coyote in tow, Jamison flipped on all the lights, inside and out. The flood of light made him feel better, but he knew it wouldn’t last. Coyote seated himself next to the Christmas tree in the living room, snapped the shotgun open, and started to clean it.
Naomi decided to make sandwiches while they waited, and while she was occupied, Jamison went out to his studio. He unlocked it, turned on the lights, and looked around. The wrought iron project he’d started two years ago still hung on the wall, his equipment ready for use.
Jamison wrapped the unfinished stone mountain lion in heavy cloths and carried it out. He didn’t lock the studio this time, and he set the padlock on the ground inside the door. When he reached the house, Naomi was still making sandwiches. Coyote had put aside the shotgun and turned on the television.
Jamison took the sculpture upstairs to Julie’s room and placed it on a shelf in her closet. He smiled at the clutter of little-girl things in her bedroom: magazine pictures of current male stars, posters of unicorns and ballet dancers, and stuffed animals all over the bed. Books spilled off shelves and lay in piles on the floor, from the latest young adult novel to classics like the Narnia series to the Navajo storybooks Jamison had given her. In Julie’s silent life, books were her connection with the world.
Naomi set a plate with a sandwich on the breakfast bar, and Jamison leaned on the counter to eat it. He wasn’t hungry, too keyed up, but he knew he shouldn’t drain his strength.
He caught Naomi as she turned away. He skimmed his hands up her back and kissed her lips, unable to keep from touching her.
“So we just wait for him to attack?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“It’s better this way. We have a base here, and it will be safer than going out to hunt him. He’ll come tonight.”
He kissed her. She melted into him, her fear and adrenaline flowing up to him. He wanted nothing more than to take her upstairs, bury himself in her, draw strength from her for the coming fight.
From the way Naomi kissed him back, she wanted it too. She pressed her thumbs to the corners of his mouth, put her tongue inside. Her hips rose to his, rubbing his hardness, which itched for her.
“Nice,” Coyote said. “Want to f**k while we wait?”
Jamison eased away from Naomi in regret. “It might not be a good idea.”
“I meant with me,” Coyote said.
Naomi gave him a withering glance. “Don’t you wish.”
“I do wish. That’s why I asked.”
“Keep your paws off my mate,” Jamison said, torn between amusement and possessiveness. Trickster gods.
“I meant with both of you.”
“No,” Jamison and Naomi said at the same time, and Jamison laughed.
Coyote shrugged his massive shoulders and turned away. “TV it is, then. You have HBO?” EIGHT
The skinwalker struck just after one.
Naomi lay against Jamison on the sofa, her warm head on his shoulder, while he and Coyote watched an old horror movie. Coyote had laughed all the way through the movie, pointing out flaws in the plot, claiming no werewolf would act like that. And anyway, there was no such thing as werewolves, he said; only Changers who could take wolf form.
Jamison didn’t notice the movie, listening for every noise outside.
He knew the skinwalker had arrived when the house suddenly went black. The television noise ceased abruptly and the pinprick lights on the Christmas tree died. Jamison picked up a flashlight from the coffee table and pressed it into Naomi’s hands. He heard Coyote reach for and lift the now-loaded shotgun.
Something scraped on the boards of the porch. The door-knob rattled then there was more scraping, then silence. Jamison saw Naomi’s eyes glitter in what little moonlight penetrated the windows, saw the glisten of the shotgun’s barrel, held steady by Coyote.
They heard a quiet splinter of glass in the back door’s window, then the latch clicked and the hinges creaked. A huge creature stood in the open doorway, blocking the light outside.
His stench was overpowering. Jamison’s sense of smell had developed sharply since his Changer ability had manifested, and the odor made him want to vomit.
Beside him, Naomi clicked on the flashlight and shone it full on the creature. He must have been eight feet tall, his skin crusted with blood from his earlier wound. His eyes were huge and red, teeth jagged.
He was a far cry from the clean-shaven, controlled Alpha Jamison knew. Skinwalkers could take the shapes of their victims, so he must have killed the real Alpha a long time ago and stepped into his life.
The skinwalker roared and charged into the kitchen. Coyote brought the shotgun up and fired.
The gun’s roar blotted out all other sound. The creature moved fast, spinning away from the shot, and Jamison couldn’t tell if he’d been hit. A second later the skinwalker was back on his feet and crashing toward them.
Jamison shoved Naomi at Coyote. “Get her out of here!”
Naomi screamed as Coyote grabbed her and hauled her to the front door. Jamison began ripping off his clothes, willing the change to come.
Changing without stilling his mind could be painful and made him nauseous, but he had no choice. His limbs jerked as they became the strong legs of a mountain lion, his face aching as the shift took him.
The skinwalker lunged, trying to get past Jamison to Naomi. Jamison knew the strategy: Kill the mate, weaken the Changer.
Jamison leapt, twisting to plant all four paws into the giant creature’s chest. The skinwalker’s foul stench nearly overwhelmed him, but he held his breath and raked his claws across the being’s flesh.
The skinwalker wrapped two huge arms around Jamison and threw him across the kitchen. Jamison regained his feet, running back at the skinwalker as soon as his claws touched the floor.
His full-on attack gave Coyote time to get Naomi out the front door. The skinwalker threw Jamison aside again and charged after them.
The lights of Naomi’s pickup sliced across on the skinwalker’s body, and he threw up one hand to block the glare. The truck roared at him. Coyote hunched over the wheel, Naomi next to him with the shotgun.