Before he could renew his sensual assault, the door opened with a crash, and Aryck rolled to his feet, ready to defend against attack. Rebekka sat and grabbed a blanket, pulling it up to her chest.
The sight of Melina and Phaedra cleared the haze of passion from Rebekka’s mind with the effectiveness of stepping out into the rain during the winter season. But it did nothing to eradicate the lust pooled in her belly and between her thighs.
Her breathing remained harsh, as did Aryck’s. A blush stole over her at seeing him standing naked, perfectly at ease. Uncaring and unconcerned about the hardened length of cock on display.
The Jaguar healer came farther into the room. Rebekka noticed the bundle in Phaedra’s arms then, recognized her own clothing, clean and folded, the journal lying on top.
“Leave us,” Phaedra said to Aryck, including Melina with a glance.
Aryck bent over, retrieving the pants he’d dropped to the floor the night before. The action afforded Rebekka a view of sculpted muscle, of graceful power and sheer masculinity.
Her channel clenched, wetting her inner thighs with arousal and sending a spike of need through her clit. He looked back at her, eyes holding heat and knowledge. If they hadn’t been interrupted, he would be inside her now.
She shook her head in silent denial but knew it was a lie. He stepped into his pants, drawing them up with excruciating slowness. Behaving like a cat wanting adoration and smiling as he got it when she licked her lips.
Rebekka turned her head. A fist tightened around her heart. She’d be gone soon, probably after she’d eaten.
Phaedra handed Rebekka the bundle as Aryck and Melina left. Rebekka set the journal aside and dressed quickly, needing the armor of clothing to cover the awkwardness of what had happened—or nearly happened—with Aryck.
“Your breakfast should be almost ready,” Phaedra said, turning and walking toward the door.
Rebekka saw her shoes next to it. She picked them up rather than stop to put them on.
A young girl tended a fire at the back of the cabin. Rebekka’s mouth watered at the smell of spiced sausage and fried potatoes.
“Sit,” Phaedra said, gesturing to a heavy log as she took over the chore of cooking.
Rebekka sat, dropping the shoes to the ground rather than put them on. The rich loam was cool against her feet, fertile where much of the land they’d passed through to arrive at the Jaguar camp had been red dirt and sandstone.
The girl lingered, obviously curious. Rebekka sent her a tentative smile and had it returned.
Phaedra glanced over her shoulder at the girl. “You have roots and berries to gather if you hope to continue your lessons today.”
The girl slipped into the woods, quickly disappearing from sight.
Rebekka looked around. Like the healer’s cabin, this one was well hidden and seemingly isolated. It was a concession to the jaguar in their natures, she guessed, since the big cats were solitary creatures.
Levi had told her Lion prides lived in family groups, several generations of females with their mates and offspring sharing the same dwelling. Wolf packs were the same, though an alpha pair ruled and membership depended more on mutual agreement than blood ties.
A plate thrust against her hand scattered Rebekka’s thoughts and made her stomach rumble. She set the journal on the log. Phaedra sat so it was between them.
With the first bite of food it became impossible for Rebekka to do anything but eat. She was ravenous, starved. Thinking back on it, the last meal leaving her feeling full had been at the Iberá estate.
When she finally finished eating there was nothing left, on either the plate or the skillet. “How are the cubs?” she asked.
Phaedra’s smile held the answer. “They shift between forms and already chafe at being told they can’t stray far from their homes. I suspect their parents will soon grow tired of having energetic and rambunctious boys underfoot.”
“Caius included?”
The healer’s smile faded. “He is well, but his mother remains the same. Our kind mate for life. Some do not survive the loss of the bond.”
There were herbs and potions to combat depression. During The Last War shock and grief had driven many to turn inward and lose touch with the world of the living.
By Allende’s order, Rebekka didn’t make or dispense mood-altering drugs to those who worked in the brothel. That was a business for a vice lord. But like the stimulants some of the prostitutes took, drugs to lift a user out of depression were available.
“Can you give her something?”
“It’s not our way.”
Rebekka looked around, taking in the beauty of the dark woods only a few steps beyond the fire pit. She breathed in the pine and cedar scent, the smell of earth. Listened to the birds and sought them out: quail pecking and rattling through scrub, a crow sitting high in a tree, a cardinal a few branches beneath it, a red-tailed hawk flying above, crying out in a harsh, prolonged kee-ahrrr.
She understood why Phaedra wouldn’t interfere. Here nature would take its course. It held the capacity to soothe and restore, but it was also ruled by a law dictating survival of the fittest.
Rebekka set the empty plate aside and picked up the journal. She traced the edges with her fingertips, remembering Phaedra’s threatening growl when she’d first seen it. “This belonged to a man who was alive during The Last War. He treated anyone brought to him, human or Were. I received it in payment for a healing. The person who gave it to me knew it had once belonged to a Were. I’m not sure if they knew he was Jaguar, and I don’t know how it came to be in their possession.”
“I reacted badly. I’ve had few dealings with humans and none of them good. You are not what any of us expected.” Phaedra laughed softly. “Save for Nahuatl, the shaman, perhaps. But that’s the way of those who visit the ancestors, to dole out information only as it’s deemed necessary.”
Curiosity led Rebekka to risk getting into an argument with Phaedra as she had with Aryck. “The Weres in the brothels don’t mention the ancestors.”
“The ancestors aren’t to be spoken about lightly. Their reach is long, even for those who’ve had their eternal soul cast out of the shadowlands.”
Rebekka wondered if Phaedra ever questioned whether all those trapped between forms had been judged by the ancestors. She considered challenging the healer’s beliefs as she’d done Aryck’s, then shrugged the thought away. She wouldn’t be here long enough to change the way they saw those they considered outcast.
“Do I leave today for Oakland?”
“I hoped to convince you to stay and share the knowledge contained in the journal. Koren, our alpha, hasn’t granted permission, but I believe he will once he learns Nahuatl spoke to the ancestors and your continued presence in Jaguar lands won’t anger them.”
A flash of need hit Rebekka, having everything to do with Aryck and nothing to do with remaining in order to discuss healing. Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks as her body readied itself for him. There was no way to hide what it meant from Phaedra, who’d witnessed evidence of the attraction already.
Rebekka expected Phaedra to warn against any involvement with Aryck; instead the healer said, “In our pack knowledge is passed down orally. Our history is learned sitting at the feet of our elders. The stories we tell are created and embellished at the fireside. The best of them are committed to memory and become favorites.
“There are marks we use to leave messages behind. We don’t put ink to paper, or know how to read what others have recorded. Until you came, bringing the journal, I thought there was little that hadn’t been passed down, healer to healer. I was wrong. Now I know much has been lost. I hope you will stay and share what was once known by one of my kind.”
Rebekka rubbed her palm against the material of her pants. Her pulse sped up when she felt the Wainwright token in the pocket, then slowed with the realization Phaedra must have found it and decided that possessing something connected to witches wasn’t important and didn’t make Rebekka a threat to the Jaguars.