Trail of Lightning

Chapter 16

I run, chasing something unseen up the side of a pine-covered mountain. Or through a red-walled rock canyon. Or across a sagebrush-swept mesa. In each dream I am alone, just me and the object of my pursuit. The only sound is my straining breath and the steady pace of my footfalls as I speed across the mountain. The canyon. The mesa. The only feeling the exhilaration of the chase. As always, my prey is a step ahead, seen for a moment, and then hidden by a copse of trees, the hollow dip of a creek bed, a twist in the dusty path. I finally sight my target, one moment lost to the landscape and the next revealed by the light of a million stars, the brilliance of a full moon, the bright desert sun. Grinning, triumphant, I lift my shotgun in hands slick with sweat. I pull the trigger, sending the deadly shot forward. A hit, and my quarry falls. I hurry forward to retrieve my bounty, my long coyote pelt moving in the wind.

Only it’s Kai that I’ve shot. There’s a hole in his chest, straight through. His eyes are accusing. Lips, wet with blood, crack open and he speaks to me. I lean close to listen. Or for a kiss.

But he only has one word for me.

Monster!

The dream wakes me and I decide I’ve had enough of sleep. The air is cold and sharp, and with no heat in my trailer and the sun still not up, the chill of the high desert has settled into the floors and walls. Shivering, both from cold and the lingering horror of my dream, I dress. Black leggings and a cotton shirt. I carefully layer my moccasin wraps around my calves, tying them below the knee and tucking in the loose ends. Slide my throwing knives into place, Böker at my waist. I pull on a wool cap and fingerless gloves too. I know the sun will be brutal later, but for now I want the extra comfort of the fabric against my skin.

Kai is sprawled across my living room couch, oblivious to the horrid death he recently died in my unconscious, and completely unconcerned. One of his legs has escaped from the blanket, his limbs too long to be contained on my small sofa, and a socked foot trails across the floor. He’s on his back, arms tossed carelessly over his head, hands dangling off the edge above him.

He was handsome yesterday, but now he’s even more so. Long lashes resting above his sculpted cheekbones, face gentled in sleep.

But all I can see is the Kai of my dreams, weeping blood with a hole in his heart.

I shudder hard enough to feel my muscles protest. Swallow back something hot that threatens to sear me from the inside. Rattled, I walk over, reach out, and shake his shoulder. “Wake up!”

He doesn’t move, so I try again.

This time he pries one eye open. Looks at me like he’s trying to remember who I am, then closes it again.

“You need to get up,” I say.

“Now?” He yawns, heavy with the disorientation of waking up in an unfamiliar place. “What time is it? Is the sun even up?”

“Get up. I’m going to reheat the leftover coffee.”

And I mean to, but once I am in the kitchen, I find myself staring at nothing. The sun is beginning to peek over the mountains, and the first rays of dawn spread through my window to fall across my hands braced on the countertop. I watch the light as it moves over my skin. My fingers are brown and riddled with tiny cuts from my fight with the tsé naayéé’. The newer wounds complement the calluses and rigid white scars of my old injuries. My nails are short and blunt and most of them are covered with small white dots, evidence of smashed fingers and who knows what else kind of trauma I’ve subjected them to.

Trauma, scars. That’s what I know, what I’m good at. Vomiting ugly into the world, Longarm said. His words, fueled by the dream, come crashing back on me, and suddenly I feel ridiculous for even thinking Kai and I could be friends, more than friends. I feel myself swaying, dizzy with awful awareness as the walls close in around me.

“Mags?”

A distant voice calls me back from whatever’s threatening to crest over my head and send me reeling.

“Mags?” A hand on my shoulder and I whip around. Training and instinct kick in before I can think clearly and I have Kai pinned to the wall, knife at his throat before I remember where I am. Who I am. And what I am about to do.

Horrified, I stumble back. Knock my hip into the counter hard enough to want to scream. Sheath the knife away as quickly as it came out.

“Stop calling me that,” I blurt irrationally. “It’s not my name.”

“Sure thing,” he says, his voice wide-awake now. And terrified.

I back away even farther, mind lurching around and looking for solid ground. Kai doesn’t make a move, just watches me, his eyes bright. He’s pale, sweating at the temples, but his hands hang by his sides and he’s not freaking out. Which is more than I can say for myself.

I back up until I hit the stove. Turning, I flip the switch on the burner. Babble something about the coffee that I remember saying before. I sound crazy, so I snap my mouth shut.

He’s still watching me, but the surprise has passed, and I can see some of his fear becoming concern. And his compassion is about the last thing I can take right now.

“You okay?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Going to load up the truck,” I mutter. “Watch the coffee so it doesn’t burn.”

I don’t wait for an answer. I just get out of there and don’t stop running until I am out the door.