“If there were ever any doubt, the ‘suicide bomber’ that attacked the convoy bringing back the wind turbines put paid to it,” Maggie says dryly. “We’re a rallying point for the population. We’ve got the guns. And we’ve got the President, who also happens to be the one person with the technical knowledge to put the whole fucking lot of them out of business. From the moment she comes out of that room, I don’t want Kirsten to set foot out of the house without a guard on her. She’s got a goddam bullseye painted on her forehead.”
“Want a volunteer?” Manny raises his hand. “If you do, you got one.”
Maggie nods. “Get Andrews. Find two more to spell you, and bring me their names for approval. Twelve hours on, twelve off. We still have some wireless field sets with working batteries. Check out one apiece. And pick out an armored transport. I don’t want Kirsten going off Base any other way from now on. Get it together by suppertime.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Manny snaps her a salute, grinning. “I always did want to be a Secret Service agent if I couldn’t fly.”
Tacoma stares down at his hands. He cannot volunteer and knows he will be turned down if he does. His skills are needed elsewhere. Wanblee Wapka says quietly, confirming his thought, “Manuel will do what needs doing, chinkshi. You’re too valuable as an engineer and ground field commander.”
“You should have officer rank,” Maggie adds. “I’m going to ask Kirsten to brevet you Captain.” Tacoma looks up, startled, but she waves away his protest before he can make it. “I know it doesn’t matter to you. And it doesn’t matter to the men and women who have fought with you and know you. It will matter to others, eventually, particularly to any other military who may link up with us. You’re getting promoted, soldier. Deal with it.”
There is nothing else for it. “Yes ma’am,” he says. “Thank you.”
A wry grin cants across her face. “Thank me when you have the headaches that go with the job and there’s no more aspirin.”
“There’ll still be willow bark,” Wanblee Wapka says, smiling. “The old ways have gotten our people through a few thousand years or so. Others can learn to use them, too.”
“That could be what Koda saw, too, couldn’t it?” Tacoma meets his father’s gaze steadily. “Red all over. Red people, red ways. The buffalo will come back, and the people with them, just as White Buffalo Woman said.”
“And Wovoka, and others since.” Wanblee Wapka leans down to ruffle Asi’s fur again. “We don’t know yet how much we have lost, or how much we can recover. We don’t know yet how much we want to recover. But you’re right. We—Lakota, Americans, all people—have an opportunity to choose our paths in a way that has not been open to us for centuries. That will be part of Kirsten’s challenge.”
”And Dakota’s,” Tacoma adds.
“And your sister’s. Very much so.” His father levers himself up to his full height, giving Asi’s collar a tug so that Asi comes to his feet, too, tongue lolling in a hopeful grin. “I’m going to walk this guy here, then I’ll be back to stay with them for as long as needed.”
Asi praces to the door, quivering from ears to tail. When it opens he is out like a shot, Wanblee Wapka following more sedately. Maggie looks from Tacoma to Manny and back. “And you two are still sitting on your butts because . . . ?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tacoma says, smiling and getting to his own feet. “We’re on it.”
*
When Kirsten awakens, her body is in a full state of arousal. At first, her eyes still closed, she passes it off as the remnants of a wonderful, if unfortunately unremembered, dream. The hand laying hot on her naked belly, however, convinces her of an entirely different reality. Her eyes flutter open, and she moans softly, her body arching as that hand makes a slow, deliberate circle over her belly before reaching up and brushing tender fingers over her already hard nipples.
Before she can say a word, her lips and mouth are taken in a kiss that is hot, and deep, and wet. Dakota’s taste and scent floods her senses, and she latches on to strong shoulders with both hands, taking what is offered and giving back her own, spiraling desire.
When the kiss is finally broken, Kirsten looks up into eyes fully dilated and black with need. Only a small sliver of brilliant blue surrounds each pupil, like a corona around a total eclipse.
“Lila waya waste mitawa,” Koda purrs, her voice rough with sleep and yearning. “My beautiful woman.” Sliding her fingers down the silken bra, she cups Kirsten’s breast, feeling the strong heart beat quickly, forcefully against her flesh. “Like a drum,” she whispers. “Calling me to worship.”
Heeding the summons, she lowers her head, brushing her cheek against the smooth fabric covering Kirsten’s firm breast before using the tip of her tongue to inscribe wet circles around the straining nipple. A long breath of warm air almost sends Kirsten through the roof, and her cry is loud as warm lips engulf her breast, working it through the silky material of her bra. Dakota’s free hand glides slowly down Kirsten’s side, past her hip to her knee, then reverses its course, cupping her mound briefly before meandering over to the neglected breast and fondling it gently with her palm and fingers.
Kirsten squirms beneath her, hands now clenched in the bedsheets, her head turned to the side, chest heaving as she draws in deep breaths of much needed air. A gentle nip gets her attention; a harder one earns a groan, long and languorous as her hips twitch in response.
Smiling, Dakota pulls away, then leans in for another deep, probing kiss as her hands trail down to work the fabric of Kirsten’s briefs. The smaller woman lifts, and the garment comes free and is tossed to the side of the room, immediately forgotten. “So beautiful,” Koda murmurs, tracing her fingers the middle line of Kirsten’s belly to stroke through the thick, damp hair framing her sex. Long fingers dip lower, swirling through the abundant moisture as Kirsten gasps and moans in pleasure of her lover’s touch.
“So good, tehila, so good.” Stroking softly, she shifts her body until she is off the bed and kneeling on the floor. Grasping Kirsten’s hips, she pulls her young lover forward, hot breath playing over the weeping jewel so beautifully exposed to her. She lifts her gaze up to find brilliant emeralds staring down at her, and she smiles. “Watch me, canteskuye. Watch me love you.”
Lowering her head, she drinks of her lover’s desire, its taste finer by far than any nectar. Her strokes are long, and firm, and swirling, leaving no bit of the slick, swollen flesh unloved.
Straining to keep her eyes open against the waves of ecstasy rising and breaking against her body, Kirsten releases her grip on the sheets and lowers an unsteady hand to the glossy, shining mass of her lover’s hair.
Removing her mouth for just a moment, Koda slides one finger deep within her lover’s center, then removes it slowly, savoring the velvet tightness that grips her so lovingly. Then she returns to her task as her glistening finger trails down until it is pressed familiarly against the small, puckered entrance to the rear. Kirsten lifts her head at the sensation, her eyes showing a little fear. “Koda? What—?”
She collapses hard against the pillows as Koda’s tongue redoubles its swirling strokes and her finger begins a firm massage designed to relax and pleasure.
“Jesus!” Kirsten pants. “That’s—incredible!” she breathes out as Koda enters her to the top knuckle, stimulating nerve endings she never knew she had before.
Koda laughs softly in her chest as she gently eases her finger forward until it is fully sheathed. Then, with a motion that matches her tongue, she swirls and thrusts, ever so gently, reading her lover’s body like a book as Kirsten’s muscles tense and relax, tense and relax, and her breath becomes short, almost agonized pants.
She curls her finger within as she bites down gently on the flesh in her mouth concentrating solely on the swollen head, bathing it with staccato touches of her tongue.