Call of the White Wolf Page 25

  Tara strained her ears, noting that Raven was moving in a circular motion as he spoke, for the sound continued to change directions. Her hands folded around another stone the size of her foot. She waited tensely for the anticipated attack.

  “White Wolf is no match for a full-blood Apache,” Raven growled. “My so-called brother is a fool and he will be until the day I kill him.”

  She knew he was closing in on the area where she’d gone to ground because his voice now came from her right. Even worse, it wouldn’t be long before the darkness no longer concealed her.

  “Since childhood, White Wolf wanted to take my place as Gray Eagle’s true son. He tried to outdo me, to prove himself the better warrior so he could earn my father’s praise and gain influence. I pretended to accept him, but I hated him for interfering.”

  Tara winced at the venom in Raven’s voice. He was roiling with deep-seated resentment and, no doubt, blaming White Wolf for his own failures and shortcomings. It saddened her that White Wolf had been deceived by Raven’s pretended acceptance in the family, that John made undeserved allowances for this vicious, traitorous man who warranted no sympathy whatsoever.

  “Did you lie with him, paleface?” came the taunting voice. “Are you his puta? Perhaps you’ll be mine, as well, after I kill him once and for all.”

  Tara knew Raven was trying to terrify her, hoping she’d break and run. She refused to give the bastard the opportunity to pounce on her. She tensed when she heard the crunch of pebbles beneath his moccasined feet. Any moment now he’d notice her shadowy form wedged in the narrow gully. Heart pounding, Tara raised the stone and hurled it sideways. She needed to distract the demon warrior long enough to give herself a sporting chance.

  Time and darkness were running out.

  When she heard Raven moving away, she knew this was her last chance to find a new hiding place. It would take him only a moment to realize she’d tricked him, and he’d head straight toward her.

  Tara bounded to her feet and tore off in the opposite direction, running as fast as her legs would carry her. She tried to ignore the throbbing pain at the back of her skull, but dizziness and hunger had her floundering to remain upright. She forced herself to keep moving, told herself that she was granting John valuable time to locate her.

  God! She wished he’d materialize from nothingness because her exhausting ordeal was taking its toll. She felt as if she were moving in slow motion as she struggled up a slope to reach higher ground, hoping to locate the pinto and make her getaway.

  Her breath gushed from her lungs when an unseen body blindsided her, knocking her to the ground. Damn, so blasted close to escaping, yet not close enough!

  Raven yanked her abruptly to her feet, intensifying the dizzy sensations that plagued her. He wrapped his arm around her throat like a vise, cutting off her air supply. Tara tried to send up a cry for help, but she couldn’t catch her breath.

  “Try that stunt again and you’ll be dead,” Raven snarled. “I have no more patience with you, puta.”

  “Let her go, Raven.”

  The bone-chilling voice came from the ledge that Tara had been trying to scale when Raven pounced. She glanced up to see a powerful, formidable figure looming in the slanted rays of dawn. Her eyes widened when she recognized the warrior dressed in full Apache regalia.

  It was White Wolf, not John Wolfe, who’d come to rescue her. Tara was never so glad to see anyone in her life, though the cold, forbidding expression on his rugged features was utterly foreign to her. This, she realized immediately, was the legendary lawman and bounty hunter that ruthless criminals dreaded and feared—and with good reason. There was a dangerous aura emanating from him. He was poised like a vicious predator prepared to pounce. His eyes glittered with deadly intensity as he focused absolute concentration on Raven.

  White Wolf looked so dark, threatening and unapproachable that Tara honestly wondered whether, if she’d initially met him under these conditions, she would’ve had the chance to know the good and decent man he was inside. This definitely wasn’t a facade that invited friendship, she realized. This man lived in a harsh and violent world and was accustomed to using harsh and violent means to insure his survival.

  “I said let her go….”

  His growling voice reminded her of a rabid wolf. Although Tara would’ve been thoroughly intimidated if White Wolf were staring her down, Raven didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the threat or the presence of the six-shooter trained on him. Of course, Raven was using her body as his shield, so he probably assumed he was safe for the moment. Tara, however, wouldn’t have assumed anything of the kind if she were Raven.

  “I see that you have as many lives as a cat,” Raven said with a smirk. “But your puta does not. I will trade her life for mine, White Wolf.”

  Tara didn’t believe for a moment that Raven planned to bargain her life for his. She’d spent enough time in this devil’s presence to realize he wasn’t the man White Wolf thought he knew and could trust. And for the first time, she fully understood what a difficult task John faced—more difficult than he ever realized.

  He was hounded by guilt because he had his freedom, and he was tormented by a sense of betrayal of the Apache—Raven in particular. White Wolf was willing to forgive his blood brother, to make accommodations and excuse his vile behavior. But Raven had no fond sentiments to cloud his thinking. He was merely maneuvering to gain the upper hand in this confrontation, just as he had during the showdown in Paradise Valley.

  “Don’t trust him,” Tara squeaked, despite the intense pressure on her throat.

  She could see the uncertainty sweeping over White Wolf when he spared her a quick glance.

  “Shut up, puta,” Raven muttered, giving her a hard shake that did nothing to improve the dizziness making her head swirl. “This is between my brother and me.”

  Tara refused to tolerate Raven’s deception and was determined to point it out to White Wolf. “Raven doesn’t consider you his brother,” she wheezed. “He never has and he’s preying on your sympathy to gain an advantage. He resents your favor with Gray Eagle. He told me so himself. To you, Raven represents a fallen nation struggling to survive the best way it can, but he’s done nothing to guide and assist the captive Apache, while you’ve tried to ease their plight for five years!”

  “Do not listen to her lies, White Wolf,” Raven snapped. “She is trying to turn you against me. I only did what I had to do to escape and survive when we met in the Canyon of the Sun. I need to be free!”

  White Wolf felt frustration and torment channeling through him while he stood poised on the ledge, his pistol trained on Raven’s head. Tara was asking him to alter his entire perspective. He reminded himself that her concept of Raven was distorted because she was his captive, that her own anger and resentment were dictating to her.

  “I saw Raven with the outlaw gang, you didn’t,” Tara insisted breathlessly. “It was he who was in charge. He was not a reluctant accomplice. He’s as cruel as the rest of them. Even worse! You have but to look at my face to see how he mistreats his captives.”

  Yes, White Wolf could see quite plainly how Raven reacted to Tara’s defiance. John hated that she was both a witness and victim in this vicious world where he resided. He would’ve spared her this traumatic torment if he could. But because of her dealings with Raven, White Wolf wasn’t sure she was capable of making a fair judgment. She’d known him less than a day, and White Wolf had lived with him for two decades.

  “Raven told me that he resents your favor with Gray Eagle. Raven wants you dead because he’s jealous of you, has always been jealous of you,” Tara declared.

  “Lies!” Raven thundered. “You are my brother. We are family, even if you have forsaken the Apache to enjoy your freedom, just as I have found my freedom by fleeing from San Carlos to join the outlaws. I am only trying to survive!”

  White Wolf felt the conflicting emotions tugging at him again. He wanted to believe Raven, but that meant he had to disregar
d Tara’s pleas. She had always been open and honest with him. But then, he believed Raven had been honest and sincere, too. Damn it to hell!

  “Look at him,” Tara pleaded. “Really look at Raven. Don’t you see the bitter, jealous, ruthless criminal that has taken lives in the name of revenge? He’s the one who truly abandoned his people for the sake of his personal freedom. He chose a path of evil and destruction and aligned himself with cutthroats, while you chose the path of justice. Raven could’ve remained on the reservation to bolster his clan’s spirit and become their spokesman. Instead, he’s preyed on innocent victims. He’s stolen, lied and murdered. He’s lied to you as he is lying now. He has no code of honor—can’t you see that?”

  “This white woman doesn’t understand,” Raven countered. “Only you can, White Wolf. You are Apache. She is not!”

  White Wolf swore under his breath. Logic, sentiment and confusion entangled his thoughts. To believe Raven was to forsake Tara. To believe Tara was to forsake Raven.

  “Come back to San Carlos with me,” White Wolf requested. “Gray Eagle needs to see that you are well. He needs you with him.”

  “I can never go back. It would be easier for me to turn white, and we both know that is impossible. I am Apache at heart, White Wolf. The question is where is your heart? Will you betray your own brother, sentence him to a life of captivity, just to have this woman?”

  “Raven is trying to manipulate you again,” Tara panted. “He isn’t a credit to the Apache. He’s given them a bad name with his marauding and murdering. You don’t want to look clearly at him for fear of what you might see. The truth is he secretly despises you, and he’s been careful to conceal his feelings so he can use you to get what he wants. But this time, White Wolf, really look at Raven. Imagine that he’s neither Indian, white or Mexican. Then tell me if he measures up as an honorable, trustworthy man in any culture.”

  “Is she right, Raven?” White Wolf questioned grimly. “Have you betrayed me and my feelings for you all these years?”

  As the sun climbed higher on the horizon, casting its light on Raven’s scowling face, White Wolf looked into eyes that glittered with hatred and resentment. He looked past the color of his blood brother’s skin, forced himself to recall those times when Raven had insisted his cruel comments were no more than a form of playful teasing. John remembered those times when Raven had gone behind his back to denigrate him to Gray Eagle and other members of the clan. In White Wolf’s eagerness to make a place in Indian culture, to be wanted and accepted, he’d overlooked Raven’s character flaws. But now he could see the truth seeping between the cracks of those manipulative lies.

  Finally, White Wolf acknowledged the truth of Tara’s words. Raven was not his brother or friend. He had tolerated his presence all those years because he’d been forced to, at Gray Eagle’s insistence. It was true that Raven was bloodthirsty and merciless, for White Wolf had seen the evidence in raids, in his treatment of captives. White Wolf couldn’t help but wonder if Raven used the white captives to vent his suppressed feelings of hatred for his blood brother.

  As much as White Wolf wanted to defend Raven, he could no longer do it. Tara was right. Raven wasn’t a man of honor and courage like his father. His soul was tainted with resentment, hatred and bitterness. Raven was not his friend, but rather a clever, cunning, self-serving enemy.

  Something in White Wolf’s expression must’ve given him away, because he saw Raven stiffen, saw the boiling fury seep through his carefully controlled demeanor. Years of training alerted White Wolf that Raven had cast aside all pretenses and intended to take his best shot.

  Raven jerked up his Colt, aiming straight at White Wolf’s heart.

  “No!” Tara shrieked, then slammed her fists against Raven’s arm.

  Reacting instinctively, White Wolf dived to the ground. He snapped the pistol up in front of him, levering onto his elbows to gain a better angle for his shot. Thanks to Tara’s interference, Raven’s first bullet sailed over his head. When Raven fired a second time, White Wolf rolled sideways, brought the Colt into firing position and squeezed the trigger.

  To his horror and dismay, he saw Raven shove Tara directly into the path of the oncoming bullet. In that terrifying instant, White Wolf knew without question that every word she had spoken about Raven was true. The man would stop at nothing, would sacrifice anyone, to save himself.

  When Tara crumpled to the ground, White Wolf fired again, a split second before Raven could get off his third shot. The repetitive report of the pistols shattered the dawn. Inexpressible torment pummeled White Wolf as he watched Raven stagger backward, clutching his belly. The pistol cartwheeled over his hand and clattered to the ground as he dropped to his knees, then teetered sideways.

  White Wolf bounded to his feet and sidestepped into the ravine to crouch beside Tara, who lay facedown on the ground. Hearing a faint sound behind him, he glanced back to see that Raven had retrieved his dagger from his moccasin and was preparing to make his final strike.

  White Wolf bolted up, then slammed his heel against Raven’s hand, thwarting the oncoming attack. Raven didn’t have the strength to move, for the gunshot to his midsection was rapidly taking its toll. Even as his lifeblood spilled away, he glowered murderously at White Wolf.

  “You were never my brother,” he said in a hateful growl.

  “But you were mine, Raven. I would’ve spared you, remained loyal to you, but it was you who betrayed me,” White Wolf whispered. “Gray Eagle had enough love for both of us, but you were too selfish to accept that. I pity you, Raven, for you could’ve been so much more of a man than you are.”

  When Raven slumped, his clenched fist fell away from the dagger and he stared sightlessly at the sky.

  His heart heavy with grief and regret, White Wolf turned away. It was bad enough that he’d been forced to kill Raven. But even worse, he had to break the bleak news to Gray Eagle. The agonizing thought of informing the old chief that his true son had perished at his adopted son’s hands tied his stomach in knots.

  Again White Wolf knelt beside Tara. He hesitated to touch her, for fear the shot he’d fired had been fatal. Praying to every deity in the heavens above, he gently eased Tara onto her back to examine her wound.

  Bloodstains soaked the left side of her shirt. Her skin was deathly pale. His hand shaking uncontrollably, he checked her pulse and half collapsed in relief when he felt her shallow, erratic heartbeat beneath his fingertips. Hope rising, he worked frantically to stem the blood flowing from the wound below her collarbone. His heart twisted in his chest as he closely appraised the bruises and scrapes that discolored her face.

  He knew he was responsible for every physical and emotional torment she’d endured. Raven had vented his hatred for White Wolf on Tara. He’d used her body as his shield in an attempt to save himself. And worst of all, White Wolf mused as he bandaged the seeping wound with strips of cloth from the hem of Tara’s shirt, he’d exposed her to terrors he’d never wanted her to witness, much less experience. She’d been dragged into hell and she’d come face-to-face with the harsh realities of his world.

  Grimly, he gathered her motionless body in his arms and carried her up the rocky incline to his horse. He struggled to mount up behind Tara without jostling her more than necessary. Pie didn’t object to carrying double weight as he walked carefully from the rock-strewn ravine. It was as if the steed sensed White Wolf’s despair, understood the gravity of the situation and was aware of Tara’s precarious condition. There was no impatient prancing to stretch out into a run, just a steady, even gait that carried them toward Paradise Valley.

  “I’m so damn sorry, Irish,” White Wolf whispered brokenly. “I’d give anything if I could spare you this.”

  He remembered that he’d assured the children he would return Tara to them, but he hadn’t intended to bring her back fighting for her very life! It seemed that no matter how hard he tried to set this cursed world aright, things turned out all wrong. He’d broken his promise to G
ray Eagle, to the entire Apache nation and to five orphans who trusted him implicitly. He’d failed time and time again.

  He would gladly sacrifice his own life, subject himself to all the torments of the damned in the furthermost reaches of hell if he could magically wave his arms and restore Tara’s health, grant the Apache nation freedom to roam over the land the whites had taken from them.

  Tears clouded White Wolf’s eyes as he clutched Tara possessively against him, praying she’d survive the trek to the ranch so he could treat her injuries properly and allow her to rest comfortably on her bed. If there was anything to that business about Irish luck, he sincerely hoped it was at work, here and now, because Tara needed all the luck she could get if she was going to fully recover from having White Wolf shoot her down.

  He wondered if there was some kind of irony, some moral in here somewhere. Unfortunately, he was too overwhelmed by grief, torment and regret to figure out what the hell it was.

  John was relieved when he finally reached the ranch, but he dreaded the moment the children spilled out the door and raced toward him. Alarm registered on every face as he leaned out to hand Tara into Derek’s and Samuel’s uplifted arms.

  “What happened to Tara?” Flora wailed, on the verge of hysterics.

  “Oh, my God!” Calvin bleated. His thin face drained of color the moment he clapped eyes on Tara’s lifeless body and waxen features.

  John’s gaze darted to Maureen, who didn’t speak at all, just stared at Tara with haunted eyes.

  In the space of a heartbeat John had another situation on his hands. Not only had Tara been exposed to the violent life he led, but the children were reliving their own traumatic experiences while being forced to deal with Tara’s injuries. John cursed himself soundly for bringing more fear, pain and grief into their lives.

  Hurriedly, he dismounted, scooped Tara from Derek’s and Samuel’s arms and strode toward the cabin. “I need medicinal herbs, roots and mesquite bark…now,” he ordered. “You know where to find them in the canyon. Hurry!”