Let them join her in the f**king dark.
“Fuck. Get that little hellion. She just tore off my shield!”
“We have Breeds in the hall! We have Breeds in the hall!” another yelled.
“Move out!”
Liza twisted around in time to see three dark figures jump from the shattered window, arms outspread. A breath later, three shadows seemed to streak through the air as flares of light erupted outside.
The door to the suite exploded inward and in a blinding, horrified flash, Liza watched as a dozen Breeds rushed the room.
It had happened before…
Soldiers had rushed the room, forcing Honor, Fawn and Judd to begin firing. They couldn’t use caution not to kill.
They had to kill or be killed.
Rushing into the night, a vehicle screaming to a stop as the door was thrown open and Judd rushed them into it.
The rest was a flicker of a memory. The race through the desert, the Navajo warriors who were trying to explain their plan.
Two girls were dying an hour away from a crash into a canyon. The daughters of two highly trusted members of the Navajo Nation. No one would ever question their identity. No one would know who they were, or what had happened if the ritual worked.
A ritual that would cause Honor and Fawn’s spirits to sleep while the knowledge, partial memories, and the identity of the other girls became theirs instead.
Not their spirits. There was no magic that could hold their spirits, and those who loved them would never countenance it. But memories, knowledge—that was different.
But they had to hurry.
Time slowed.
Candles flickered as she and Fawn were drawn inside the rough sweat lodge. Six Navajo medicine men were seated in a semi-circle around the glowing fire.
On one side of the burning embers, lying on two beds of folded blankets, were two young girls, so broken, so close to death that she felt agony tearing through her.
These were the girls whose places they would take.
The explanations had been made hastily an hour before as they raced through the desert with Terran Martinez, the son of one of the spiritual elders now sitting across from her.
The two girls had crashed into a canyon hours before. Their spirits had been taken, they’d been told, having already moved beyond life, but a part of them remained. Enough that an ancient ritual could be performed before the bodies took their last breath.
That ritual would give Honor and Fawn the lives that had been taken in a remote canyon when the girls’ car had exploded and thrown them free.
Too much speed, the confidence of youth and inexperience behind the wheel had resulted in the crash.
Fate, Terran had whispered, his niece and her best friend had met fate, and provided Honor and Fawn the means of escape.
Orrin Martinez waved his hand to the two makeshift beds that lay beside each girl. “Take your place,” his voice rasped through the hastily erected sweat lodge. “The sand is falling through the glass of life, and time is running low.”
Honor lay down, her heart racing, her throat tightened, as the blond man she’d been told was Audi Johnson and his wife, Jane, took their seats on the other side of the fire.
One of the medicine men whispered something; a second later, Audi and Jane reached out and dropped what appeared to be a handful of dried plants on the burning embers and rocks in the center of the shelter.
Sparks flew up, showering the air with pinpoints of red as the acrid then sweet smell that suddenly filled the air swept through her senses.
“Do you know, young children, the decision you have made this night?”
It was a scene from the oldest western movie they had ever watched. Not that they had ever been allowed to watch much television where they had spent most of their lives.
But she knew, as her eyes met Fawn’s, that this was the only decision they could make.
The steam that rose from the center pit, the hiss of water trickling upon the red-hot stones and the acrid scent of the pungent dried herbs that wafted thick and heavy in the air, all added to the sense of disbelief that swirled through her head.
“I know the decision I’ve made,” she answered, though her voice cracked with fear, and with tears.
Wizened, his lined face and deep, dark gaze reflecting his sympathy, the chief of the Six Tribes nodded slowly.
She turned her head to watch her friend. As always, stoicism defined her. Staring at the ceiling above, her gaze resigned, her expression still. It was more than courage that filled her. There was no fear, no panic—nothing but that resignation that tore at her heart.
Fawn had known no peace, no lack of pain, both physical or emotional, for nearly the whole of her life.
Even here, amidst these whose only concern was that of her safety and her comfort, she knew no peace.
But then, neither of them ever had, not really. The reasons for it had merely been different, the years of being so ill, of knowing such pain, were now too much a part of them.
“Know you, that when it is over, strength will be yours. There will be no fears, no nightmares to combat. You will be the child you have whispered to the Almighty that you wish to be,” he whispered to Fawn, his expression so gentle, so filled with tenderness that even she felt a part of her calm at the sound of it.
Watching Fawn, she saw the shame that filled her friend. The fear she always felt shamed her, made her feel weak. She wouldn’t listen when they tried to tell her it only made her stronger.
“Ah child, such heart and compassion you hold within your small body,” the chief seemed to understand each of those fears, to the point that as Fawn finally turned her head and stared into his dark gaze, her lips had trembled and Honor had watched her eyes fill with such hope.
The sense of pure peace and certainty that filled her expression left Honor suddenly thankful that Judd had convinced them to take this only path they could find to safety.
“Child.” He turned to her then, holding out his other hand to her.
She wasn’t afraid.
She had faced her fears and knew the monsters that lurked in the dark. The unknown wasn’t nearly as terrifying as all the terrors her past held.
“See you these four?” She followed as Orrin reached out a hand and gestured to the warriors, their faces streaked with war paint, their dark eyes flinty in the light of the burning embers of the fire. “They will guide you on your journey. You know not their faces, but their strength will ease your way and help you keep the secrets you have hidden for so very long.”