Chapter 23

Denali towered over the woman’s lifeless body. Bitterly, he fought against the surge of shame threatening to surface. He refused to feel guilt. Not over this cheechako. The white woman knew nothing about his heritage. She would only bring destruction with her lies.

In fact, she already had. A fleeting thought of the fight he’d had with his friend crossed his mind. He should just leave her where she lay. But even as strong as his anger was, Denali knew he could not.

Gingerly, he picked her up, surprised by how light her body weighed. He laid her back onto the bed and chanted a few phrases from one of the songs his elders sang to those too sick to care for themselves.

A small lump had protruded on the side of her head, covered by a dry, flaky layer of blood. Denali wiped the wound clean, highlighting a dark bruise, black and angry among the deep gash. A vast contrast against the flaxen blonde of her hair and white, porcelain skin.

He touched the wound lightly and whispered a silent prayer as guilt wrenched his insides. He had never intended for it to go this far. He had never wanted her to get hurt. Only to scare her. He never expected her to run with the fleeting gracefulness of a newborn foal.

Denali allowed his gaze to sweep over her face. Sleep softened her features. The woman was beautiful as she rested. Not so unlike one of the dolls the children played with in his village.

Lightly, he traced a finger over her heart-shaped face. He could see why his friend had so easily fallen victim to her charms.

But not him.

He retracted his hand quickly as if she was a snake threatening to strike. He saw her for who she truly was—a porthole to destruction. Why couldn’t his friend see?

Denali shook his head and turned away. It didn’t matter how innocent she portrayed herself in sleep. It was best if he didn’t think about her. She would bring no good, but his intention had not gone as planned, scaring her only to make the woman return to her world. Not this…wounded and needing to be nursed to health.

The safety of Wolf’s cabin had been a rash, but wise, decision on his part. Not only was the retreat close enough to where she had fallen in the woods, eventually his friend would come home.

For the thousandth time, Denali tried to convince himself what he had done had been in the man’s best interest. His friend was lost. The outsider’s beauty stole Wolf’s ability to think straight. A little distance would do him good.

He, on the other hand, was strong. Immune to her deceptions. It was hard to believe she was possible of such destruction. But he knew what she was capable of. Of what all white men were capable of. He had seen it with his own eyes.

Descending the staircase, two steps at a time, he made his way to the living room and stared out of the window into the darkness outside. His thoughts drifted to how Wolf was faring. His friend was either still in the forest or at his work. He would be antsy for daybreak.

When Wolf found out what had been done, the man would be angry. Unstoppable. He would never understand the action had been done with his best interests at heart. And with the lies the woman would surely spread, who knew what else would come?

Certainly, he had made the right decision, but, what now? He needed help…guidance and counsel. The elders’ wise advice.

As soon as the sun rose, he would take the woman to his village. The elders would know what to do with her.

****

Sam stirred awake. She opened her eyes in search for water. Sitting up, she saw a full glass on the nightstand beside her and reached out, successfully grasping the cup. Pain sliced through her head as if she’d been hit by a bus.

Thirsty, she tried to swallow, but her throat, dry as sandpaper, rebelled, and her stomach bucked, threatening to spill its contents.

Enduring the agony, she fought for clarity. The room was oddly familiar, but the fog in her head made it hard to remember why. Her last conscious thoughts were of the forest and running for her life.

Although hazy, details started to come back, and she recognized the space. A sense of awareness washed over her. Walls made of large logs. The French glass doors.

Blake’s bedroom.

She released a deep, relieved breath and slowly stood. The effort robbed her of what little strength she had left. Her temple throbbed repeatedly, reminding her of the fall in the forest. Unconsciously, she touched the tender area. Soft, cotton gauze met her fingertips.

Someone had cared enough to bandage her head. Blake? Of course, it would be him. Who else could it be?

She swallowed the odd doubts threatening to consume her and took a step toward the door. Pain shot up her leg. She covered her mouth, holding back a yelp. The sudden movement made her stomach lurch, threatening once again to empty itself.

Dizzy, she leaned against the wall to steady herself, thankful for the taut ace bandage wrapping her ankle. Using the smooth, log walls as a guide, she pushed herself toward the glimmer of light streaming in beneath the bedroom door. A noise from downstairs caught her attention, and she quickened her pace. The effort cost her. Enduring the pain, she heard the sound of heavy boots pacing on the hard wood floor filtered up from below.

Blake.

Her heart fluttered, skipping a beat. Without a second thought, she limped her way down the stairs, gripping the banister tightly to stay upright while making her descent.

As soon as Sam reached the bottom step, rough hands grasped her tightly and pulled both her arms behind her back in a solid grip. An abrasive rope scratched at her skin, binding both wrists together before she had time to react.

Lashing out, she kicked helplessly with her good leg as a rag was placed in her mouth, stifling the scream rising in her throat. Through muffled protests, Sam fought waves of dizziness as she attempted to push out the cloth with her tongue without success.

If only her hands weren’t tied. She wiggled her fingers, trying to undo the well-knotted restraint. The endeavor only caused her to lose balance, and she landed helplessly on the nearby couch.

She struggled to catch her breath, and her stomach bucked again as she fought back a wave of nausea. Darkness threatened, but she focused on her assailant as he shouted words from another language.

Was Blake tied up in a corner somewhere, hurt and bleeding? Frantic, she scoured the room with a blurry gaze.

No. She calmed herself. He was more than likely searching for her. At least, she hoped he was. And what had Maggie said about him? He was one of the best trackers in the state? Certainly, he could find her in his own house?

Dredging her cloudy memory, she tried to decipher how many hours it had been since she’d seen him. Glancing outside, she could see the sky was a murky twilight shade. The last time she had seen Blake was at night.

Last night?

Fuzzy memories of her day filtered in…walking…sketching…running. How foolish she’d been to traipse off. He would be furious.

If she ever saw him again.

Sam stole another glance at the man holding her hostage, scanning his dark features with a thorough exam. A thick mane of hair so black it was almost blue. Skin the color of caramel. Tall, but lanky. And strong. Not to mention, defiant and deadly.

His gaze bore through her with a cold stare.

Did she even have a chance at reasoning with him? Probably not, she swiftly deciphered. The man with the penetrating, angry glare appeared to be beyond reasoning. In fact, judging by his expression, he seemed furious, as if his intent was one of vengeance.

He started to pace and mumble in his own language. Her thoughts reeled. If she couldn’t reason with the man and didn’t have the strength to overpower him, there was only one thing left she could do. She would have to outwit him. But in case outsmarting him didn’t work, Sam needed a back-up plan. She scrutinized the room, scouring for something, anything, which could be used as a weapon.

She focused on an odd shaped stone resembling a polar bear. Perfect. At least it appeared heavy enough to knock the man unconscious. Then again, with her hands locked behind her, how would she wield it?

A picture beside the statue drew her gaze, and the subjects caused her heart to skip a beat. Blake smiled back at her, his arm draped around a dark-featured man. Startled, she returned a steady gaze at her assailant. The same man who held her hostage.

Denali?