The Native (A Legacy Series Novella) (The Legacy Series Book 6) Read online

  As the last of his dominance ebbed away, Hugo stepped forward. “I say we go.”

  Geoffrey glowered at his younger brother. “You can’t be serious.”

  He only shrugged. “If Adam’s right, then we’re doing the Navajo a favor. If he’s not, then we’ll come back and it’ll be a lesson learned. There’s no harm in indulging him this once.”

  Scrutinizing the subtle hints in Hugo’s deportment, Geoffrey knew that his brother wanted to say so much more. He knew something, or perhaps suspected something that he wasn’t willing to divulge just yet. Whatever it was, it was giving some merit to Adam’s persistence that they find this skinwalker and eliminate him. Geoffrey hated to not have all the facts and details laid out before him. Perhaps this was one of those instances where faith had to be applied to his decisions, rather than rational thought.

  “Fine,” he said. “We’ll go, but I don’t want to ever hear the word ‘skinwalker’ again if we find nothing on that mountain. Am I understood?”

  Adam, still a little shaken from his first brush with dominance in his human form, nodded.

  By the time they came upon the particular mountain where Adam had predicted the skinwalker to be, the sunrise had splashed a golden-orange brilliance across the morning sky. It would have been a beautiful sight, if his heart wasn’t so full of dread for what they knew they had to do.

  Adam wasn’t too ignorant to notice that neither Geoffrey nor Hugo believed that simply speaking the name of the skinwalker would reverse every evil thing that he had done through his dark magic. He knew how ridiculous it might have seemed, especially for the men who hadn’t grown up listening to the medicine men of the village. But speaking the skinwalker’s name was a preferred method over simply killing him, which he knew was another possibility in their minds. Of course, that was only if they found the villain. Adam had no doubt of it because he trusted what his wolf had shown him.

  The doubt in the minds of Geoffrey and Hugo were put to rest when the first welcoming aromas of fire smoke and herbs greeted them, still some distance away from the ridge where he spotted the cave. All fell silent and scaled the cliff with deft precision, so they wouldn’t be detected.

  The closer they climbed, they began to realize the cave was vacant. As they pulled themselves over the final ledge, they were met with a makeshift campsite, the fire still smoldering in the open. Deeper into the recess of the mountain, they found other signs that the skinwalker had been there recently.

  Ritual masks, bags of herbs, the fur pelts that Adam had seen in his vision, and a suspicious looking pile of bones that had been cleaned of raw flesh. Hugo was the first to pick one up and examine it, only to declare what the rest suspected.

  “These are too big to belong to a rabbit or bird,” he said. “They’re too thick for a deer leg bone too.”

  Adam shut his eyes against the truth. The elders spoke of skinwalkers who ate the flesh of other men, but he didn’t want to think it was possible.

  “And he is a werewolf,” Geoffrey added as he picked up the fur cloak that had been cast upon the ground. He eyed it with a startled look of fascination and disgust.

  “Skinwalker,” Adam corrected, unafraid of any reproach from his father now that he had been proven right.

  “No,” Hugo said. “He is a werewolf. They have a distinct scent and this place is covered in it.”

  Adam took a deep whiff of the cave and discerned the exact scent they spoke of. It was that scent he usually attributed to his father and uncle because of their relation to one another. Now, he knew better.

  “This changes things,” Geoffrey remarked before laying the cloak back down where he had found it. “Just saying the man’s name won’t solve anything for us.”

  Hugo dropped the leg bone to clamor against the others in the profane pile of leftovers and wiped his hands on the back of his pants. “It’s likely this werewolf’s gone rogue. He’ll be tough to kill.”

  “Kill?” Adam asked, his lips curling in abhorrence to the very idea.

  Geoffrey looked to his son, eyes welling with sympathy for his innocence. “Werewolves who have gotten used to eating humans can’t be reasoned with. They only care for themselves and their own interests. It’s likely this man has been poisoning the river so he can dig up the corpses of those who have died from the sickness.”

  Nausea tickled at Adam’s stomach, but he swallowed back whatever bile threatened to come up his throat.

  Hugo took a sniff of the herb bags beside the ceremony masks against the cave wall. “And he probably poisoned the water with this stuff.” He wrinkled his nose and lowered the sack back to join the others.

  “There’s no coming back for a werewolf who has eaten human flesh,” Geoffrey continued. “Not easily anyway. We don’t have a choice.”

  Despite the finality in Geoffrey’s words, Adam saw the same grave hesitance in his eyes that was mirrored in Hugo’s expression. Neither of them were eager to shed blood, especially that which belonged to a fellow werewolf.

  “We always have a choice,” Adam replied. “Maybe we could drive him out of the region. We outnumber him. There are three of us and one of him, after all. We’re a pack and he’s alone.”

  Geoffrey shook his head. “It’s not that simple. A werewolf who’s gone rogue will be much stronger. The two of us would be an even match for him.”

  Adam nodded. “Right, and then there’s me. So, we have three. We overpower him.”

  His father slashed his hand through the air between them. “No,” he barked. “I don’t care how much control you think you have. I won’t allow you to go up against him, even if we were with you. When we go to face him, I don’t want you to have any part of it.”

  He opened his mouth to argue against Geoffrey, but quickly snapped his teeth together. His wolf reminded him of what had happened in the village when he disputed his father.

  Adam was hardly aware of what he was doing when he combated Geoffrey with that unseen spiritual energy. But when he was struck by a return blow, he suspected it must have been some sort of ability reserved for the dominant werewolves of a pack. His father, being the eldest of the three, knew how to refine this dominance and use it to his advantage. At this point, Adam could only swing it about like a boy pretending to be a great warrior when he was nothing of the sort. One day, perhaps, he would be as dominant as his father.

  For now, he wouldn’t test Geoffrey’s patience again.

  “He’s probably not far from here,” Hugo ascertained. “We can follow his scent and hope he’s in a listening mood.”

  Geoffrey nodded in agreement and they approached the ledge in preparation to lower themselves back down. Adam was not as quick to leave yet. He turned back and stared at the skinwalker’s tools.

  “I don’t want you to stay here,” his father said from a few feet over the edge. “Come on.”

  “We need to burn his things, so no one else finds them,” Adam boldly stated before going to the meager fire to coax it back to life.

  Hugo and Geoffrey exchanged some heated words and then hoisted themselves back over. They would lose time in finding the skinwalker, but they must have seen the sense in destroying his things. Perhaps they thought it would deter others from seeking out the man they intended to kill, but Adam had other thoughts. If some misguided youth or outcast Diné stumbled upon this cave, they might have been tempted to take up the yoke of a skinwalker. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Every trace of him had to be eradicated for the future security of his clan and tribe. Even if this skinwalker was no ordinary skinwalker, Adam didn’t want another threat like this to ever step foot into Diné territory again.

  Chapter Eight

  Geoffrey and Hugo followed the scent of the rogue werewolf farther to the east and further up river. After a while, he ordered Adam to fall back at least a quarter of a mile so he would go unnoticed once they came upon their target.

  “Maybe we should let him help,” Hugo whispered as they traversed through a sparse patch o
f trees around the lake. Somewhere around its shores, they could hear the careless splashing of water and they knew they had found the werewolf.

  “Adam wouldn’t be able to control himself if it came to a fight,” Geoffrey observed as his keen eyes probed ahead to search past the tall tree trunks. “I’d have to keep my eye on you, him, and the rogue.”

  Hugo shoved his brother’s shoulder. “When are you going to learn that I don’t need to be looked after?”

  “You’re my brother,” he replied with a teasing grin. “I’ll always look after you.”

  They crouched low behind a row of shrubs that separated them from a steep incline that descended toward the lake to their right.

  “Besides,” continued Hugo in a whisper, “I think you’re not giving Adam enough credit.”

  Geoffrey sighed. “Perhaps, but I’m taking no chances. If this man can’t be reasoned with, I don’t want Adam to get hurt.”

  “Neither do I, but I still think he could hold his own.”

  He shushed Hugo as soon as he spotted a native up ahead. The werewolf had waded into the lake and looked to be bathing as he tossed water over his shoulders and dunked his head. Since he could heal from any infirmity, there was no reason to fear that he would get sick from the water like the rest of the Navajo. With his backed turned to them, they weren’t given the chance to recognize him.

  The man also didn’t seem to notice they were there, despite their hushed conversation. Geoffrey gestured further up the hill and Hugo followed his lead. When they came to a sheltering grove of trees, he squatted down and watched.

  From what he could tell, the rogue wasn’t armed. There were absolutely no belongings along the sandy shore, not even a pair of buckskin trousers for him to wear after he emerged from the lake.

  Geoffrey had seen a couple of rogue werewolves in Europe, but never one in the New World. In fact, he hadn’t met any of their kind since they first arrived almost a hundred years ago in the far north. There was no mistaking his scent, but something didn’t seem right.

  How did this man come to be a werewolf? There were only two ways – one by the bite and the other by birth. Both would hint that there was another werewolf besides Geoffrey and his brother, but where? Was he Spanish? Mexican? Would an explorer from Europe and the colonies venture this far west? Why hadn’t they known there was another werewolf in this region earlier?

  None of it should have mattered, but to Geoffrey, it did. If there was a man going around spreading this preternatural gift, they needed to know about it before it got out of hand. Who was to say that this rogue hadn’t already bitten and turned someone? What if he had a son somewhere that would grow up to become like his father?

  More werewolves in the New World wasn’t such an alarming reality. It would happen eventually, especially as more settlers and explorers came to fill in the edges of the map. What they couldn’t afford were more uneducated, freshly turned werewolves who adopted a twisted and distorted view of what it meant to be half man and half wolf. That was certainly what had happened to this man. Geoffrey saw it as a tragic thing that they couldn’t just walk away and let him live his life in peace.

  Geoffrey gave his cue and they crept toward the tree line together, being careful not to disturb a single branch or tread upon a fallen twig that would give away their position.

  They stepped into the sun and waited. The rogue would sense them coming by now. He slowed his movements but made no other sign to acknowledge their presence. Geoffrey stood up straight and did his best to appear as non-threatening as possible. If they could leave here without the use of violence, he was all for it.

  The native finally looked over his shoulder, and then turned to look upon them with neither fear nor anger, but with a cold, assessing stare that gave Geoffrey hope that perhaps they could talk like civil men.

  He rotated through the usual greetings to establish which tribe he belonged to, but he gave absolutely no hint of understanding to any of them. Not even Navajo or Spanish. By his features, he certainly belonged to a native tribe. The tools and ceremonial masks they found in the cave would give him away as being Navajo, but what if he stole those things upon his arrival into the area? What if he was from another part of this country that they hadn’t explored yet? Then, hope of communication was scarce.

  The man made no attempt to reciprocate his own greeting, but his countenance did not waver.

  As soon as Geoffrey took a cautious step forward, the man bolted from the water and dashed to the forest to the north, toward where Adam was supposed to be hiding. He moved so fast that there was no doubt he was a werewolf like them.

  Out of reflex and fear that the rogue would find his son, Geoffrey gave chase. Hugo trailed behind, but neither of them could even keep up as the werewolf sped to the top of the ridge that overlooked the lake and exiting river to the west. There was hardly a place for him to hide, but if they didn’t close the distance, they’d lose him anyway.

  As soon as they crested the ridge and broke through the thinning forest, they were met by the rogue but he was no longer in his human form. In the time it took them to catch up, he had shifted. His dark pelt was proof of his youth as a werewolf and the mad glint in his eyes was indicative of the corrupt soul behind them.

  He snapped at Geoffrey, nearly sending him falling backward down the slope, but Hugo tackled the rogue to the ground, wrapping his arms around the torso of the demented beast. As men, they were no match at all for him. What fangs and claws they could produce were shorter and not as lethal as his.

  Geoffrey, in too much of a rush to discard his trousers, at least stripped off his shirt and summoned the shift as Hugo continued to wrestle with the beast in his more vulnerable form. Past the pain that rolled through his body, Geoffrey was vaguely aware of Adam’s approach. If he could have articulated anything, he would have warned him to stay back. But by now, his mouth and tongue would not form the right words.

  Once the shift was complete, he charged forward and ripped the rogue from Hugo’s grip. A chaotic string of growls, snarls, and roars echoed across the dusty plane which they fought upon, rolling in the dirt to soil their dark pelts.

  The only difference one could tell between Geoffrey and the rogue was that his fur boasted streaks that varied in shades of brown and blonde, which denoted his age as a werewolf. When Hugo was finished shifting, his own coat featured the same marbling of colors that tended toward the darker tones. When it came to size, however, they were both outweighed by the rogue, which put them at a serious disadvantage.

  Hugo joined the fray, nipping at the heels of the rogue to distract him while Geoffrey repeatedly dove for his thick mane, fangs bared and ready to rip open his throat, if he could get through. Every assault, every swipe of claws and gnashing of jowls was countered and beaten back with an inexhaustible ferocity that neither of the brothers had fully expected.

  They were not warriors. They did not practice fighting, nor did they condone brutality unless for a noble purpose. If this man was born and raised in a native tribe, especially like the Comanche or Apache, then he had another thing on his side. Experience.

  Geoffrey sustained a blow to his chest and rolled out of the way, only to be stopped by Adam, who did not heed his first warning to stay away. This would be the first time his son had ever seen them in their full, truest form. But when he looked up to Adam’s face, he saw no terror as he had once expected. Only concern.

  A bit of blood oozed from his wound, but he quickly jumped onto his feet and began to push Adam to the sidelines again. He resisted.

  “Let me help!” his son demanded.

  Geoffrey looked back and saw the rogue had turned to face them. Hugo lay on his side, struggling to get back to his feet. One of his hind legs was broken into an unnatural angle that crippled him for the moment. Their accelerated healing abilities could help them recover from such injuries, but broken bones still took time to mend.

  The rogue hurtled toward them, kicking up a cloud of dirt behind
him as his paw-like hands propelled him onward. Geoffrey roared back and rushed forward to crash into his enemy. The fight continued and through the din of beastly noises, he heard the soft whimpers of his brother… and his son.

  At the soonest possible moment, Geoffrey tore his eyes away from his opponent to see his son in the middle of his first willful shift. He hadn’t been a werewolf for a week and already had the strength of mind to summon forth the change. He might have been proud if he didn’t know what was coming next.

  While Geoffrey was momentarily distracted, the rogue tore at his shoulders and back. Fangs snapped down over his neck, but he wrenched free to return the attack with his own.

  Blood of all three battling werewolves caked upon the ground in massive clumps that absorbed into the sand. Puddles were sucked into the parched earth and splattering showers looked like mere speckles scattered in every direction.

  Less than a moment later, Adam hurried forward to relieve his father. The smaller wolf leapt upon the rogue’s back and clamped his jaws down over his ear. The rogue let out a yowl of pain and tried to reach behind him to throw the pup off.

  Geoffrey made another advance, mouth agape to snap tight around the rogue’s neck, but his opponent wasn’t distracted thoroughly enough and swatted him away. He tumbled across the ground, leaving only Adam and the beast to fight.

  Adam hung onto the rogue, claws hooked deep into his skin so he wouldn’t be bucked off easily. When the rogue’s ear was ripped clean from his head, Adam had little else to hold onto. Without proper time to latch onto the other ear or even into the rogue’s neck, Adam was seized and tossed off.

  The rogue wouldn’t even let him make a complete roll. The two battled in a flurry too fast for Geoffrey’s spinning head to keep track of. He rose to his feet, but was sure that the rogue had given him a concussion with that last blow.

  In the time it took him to shake off the dizziness, Hugo was up and running toward the rogue and Adam. Hugo rushed in, his own ferocity unequal to anything Geoffrey had ever witnessed rise from his brother before. He watched, chest heaving and limbs quivering as the rogue left Adam alone to contend with this new threat.