My father’s voice came to me out of memory. “Gvhe. Your mother carries my child, a brother or sister for you, one of her clan. I charge you to remember this place, this moment. I charge you to promise to care for your mother and your brother or sister. They are yours. Your heart is strong. You are strong. You are enough to protect them should something happen to me.”

I stared into the chasm. The river rumbled. The ground was chilled beneath my feet. My father loved this place more than any other. He had wanted to fight for this place, for this land. For this water called Nvdayeli. The yunega, the white man, was stealing it and all the land which no one could ever own. America was stealing it. And there was nothing the Tsalagi could do about it. We would have to leave. Forever.

Because the white man had discovered yellow rock here. Gold, like my true, full birth name. And the white man lusted after it.

My father said, “Your mother will name our child after this place. Nvdayeli. And you will care for the child of your mother’s womb.”

This memory, this place was the origin of my brother’s name; the name meant Land of the Noonday Sun, a gorge so deep, so sheer, that the sun reached to the valley floor only at midday. Nantahala. Nvdayeli, in the language of The People.

And . . . Yellowrock. Yellowrock, the gold for which my people had suffered. Gold—the curse for which I had been named.

I blinked and the tears spilled over my cheeks, scalding and salty. My breath came faster. Shorter. I whispered, “Nvdayeli Tlivdatsi, of Ani Gilogi. Nantahala Panther of the Panther Clan. Ayatas Nvgitsvle, One Who Dreams of Fire Wind. Your sister welcomes you. I welcome you to my home.”

Ayatas reached out and touched my hand with one fingertip, a sliding caress. “Sister.”

I said, “I failed you.”

“How so?”

“Before you were born, our father told me your name. He told me to take care of you. Instead, if your tales are right, I attacked and injured a white soldier, and I was forced into the snow to live or die. I let my anger endanger you, after our father took my word that I would protect you.”

“You were a child of five or six.”

Ayatas’s finger was still touching the back of my hand, the sole point of contact between us. The touch was warm and unexpected. “I failed.”

“I . . . You . . .” He stopped and began again. “You need forgiveness, but I don’t need to forgive. There is nothing to forgive.”

I shook my head. I didn’t know what I needed. What I wanted. But my tears and my inability to meet the eyes of my brother said I needed something.

He said, “In the way of the yunega, I offer you pardon and absolution. You should not carry this burden any longer, my sister.”

I shook my head. I hadn’t carried the burden of taking care of Ayatas. I hadn’t remembered it until the single word triggered the memory. Gvhe.

I believed. And I didn’t. I halfway believed because Ayatas had the proof of words and partially remembered tales, and I had fragments of memory. I halfway believed because I wanted it to be true. I disbelieved because the timing of it was too convenient. Because magic might fool me, or he might have heard old stories that he had made his own. But mostly I disbelieved because Eli had been right. Ayatas hadn’t come for me. The man claiming to be my brother could have come months, even years earlier. He could have told the Elders to stuff it and come anyway. It’s what I would have done. He could have made the pilgrimage to meet me when it wasn’t killing two birds with one stone. When Bruiser hadn’t turned him down for arranging a meeting with Leo. When I was not an afterthought. Would a brother make finding his sister an afterthought?

These deliberations allowed my breath to come easier. My tears to dry. I slid my hands to my lap and raised my eyes to his. I inclined my head in the way of The People, an acknowledgment without agreement. “I have work to do. I hope you will understand and excuse me.” Polite, as The People are unfailingly polite except when they kill their enemies. I stood in preparation to go to my room, the kitchen chair scraping across the floor.

“Jane.”

I stopped. Tilted my head so I could see him from the corner of my eye, my hair falling across my vision, hiding my face.

Ayatas was sitting so that his long black hair tumbled forward in a shimmering veil. It coiled on his thigh and dropped below the chair seat. Hair just like mine. “Even if you will not believe that I am your brother, I know you accept that I am skinwalker.”

I nodded. “I accept that.”

“I know the timing is bad, but—” He broke off as if wanting to stop. But he couldn’t. “I’m asking you to teach me the half-form that you fight in.” The words came out rash and almost angry.

Maybe I should have gotten mad at his presumption, like the lost child I had been, and told him to get out. Maybe I should have been nice, like the sister I might be, and said yes. Instead, I felt nothing, and so answered as the woman I was, with all the formality of the job I had. “Your request has been made known to the Enforcer of the Master of the City of New Orleans. It will be considered at a time of my choosing and you will be informed of my decision.”

Ayatas rose from his chair. “Ayatas FireWind awaits the decision of his sister. Not the Enforcer of the Mithrans.” Quietly he left the house.

CHAPTER 8

You Can Try, Little Kitten

The SUV’s tires ground on the wet pavement, one of New Orleans’s too-common rains pattering down. The windshield wipers squished back and forth slowly. The air in the vehicle was close and muggy and the presence of Eli beside me was comforting.

The day had taken a lot out of me. Emotionally I was wrung out, tired, feeling a little faded, like a rag I might use when I worked on Bitsa, my Harley.

Ride Bitsa, Beast thought.

Not tonight.

Soon, she said. Need wind in my/our face. Need scents in air. Need growl of power beneath us.

I smiled, my face turned away from Eli as he drove so he couldn’t see my expression. Yes.

Tonight we will make kits.

What? No. No kits. We aren’t making kits at all. This is vamp clan stuff. We’re attending ceremonies at vamp HQ.

Making Jane clan. Jane clan will depend on us for teaching. For food. For care and training. For fighting and life and death. Kits.

Ah. Edmund was a better fighter than I’d ever be. Eli took care of me like the brother I had claimed. Alex had mad skills I’d never have. But still. Beast had a point. I supposed so, then.

We will have kits again, she thought.

I let my smile widen and said aloud, “Beast thinks tonight will make you my kits.”

Eli chuckled. “Tell Beast I love her.”

Beast sat up and forced me to look at Eli. I could feel her padding to the forefront of my brain and staring out through my eyes. Eli smiled, a real smile, not that soldier flick of humor that was left over from too long on a battlefield. Beast studied him and then shoved down on me, hard, forcing me out of control of my body. Beast! Stop! I had no idea what she would say, but it wouldn’t be me saying it. I struggled against her.

My voice in a lower register, she said, “Beast does not understand love. Beast understands killing enemies. Tracking prey through deep snow. Taking down fat deer. Eating. A full belly. Clean water that shouts as it falls through rocks. Mating. Kits. Not love. Love is for Jane, not Beast.”

Eli put on his blinker and took a right. Beast waited. Eli said, “That feeling, that need, and hope and dependence that kits feel toward their mother, that is love. That feeling that a mother puma feels toward her kits, the desire to protect, to feed, to share, to teach, that is love. You think we will become your kits tonight when we join Janie’s vampire clan. Therefore I love Beast. And Beast loves me.”

Beast scented the air. Tasted his sincerity. Tasted the truth in his words. “Beast did not understand love. But Beast loves Eli.” She turned my head to the backseat and the three who sat there. I could see her golden eyes reflecting in theirs. “Beast loves Edmund. Beast loves Alex. Beast loves Gee, though Gee is wily like a fox and might have to die someday at Beast’s claws and teeth.”

Gee’s eyes went wide and he laughed. “You can try, little kitten.”

Beast turned back to stare out the front windshield. “Beast accepts kits into Jane’s clan.” She released my mind, padding back into the deeps of my soul home. I felt her leap onto the ledge where she used to live, back when we first came to New Orleans. She curled into the small hollow of rocks. She blew out a breath and said to me, Beast is happy to have kits again.