Beautiful Warrior by Sheri Whitefeather

Author:Sheri Whitefeather [WhiteFeather, Sheri]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Romance, Fantasy, Time Travel, Multicultural & Interracial
Amazon: B00ISGUO3Q
Goodreads: 20984993
Publisher: Sheri Whitefeather
Published: 2014-03-04T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

After a long, sweet flutter of soul-stirring, heart-jarring silence, he finally spoke.

“Do I know you?” he asked. “You seem familiar.”

“My name is Vanessa.” I was still staring at him, still reeling from his effect on me. “And we sort of know each other because of where I come from.”

“Did you create me?”

I nodded, pleased that he sensed our connection. He behaved so much like Duncan, I had to remind myself to breathe. Of course there was a significant difference. The real Duncan didn’t believe that I’d created him.

“Do you want to ride with me?” he asked.

“Where to?”

“Just some trails.” He pointed off in the distance, far beyond his house.

I wasn’t about to refuse. I would go anywhere with him, even to hell and back if that was where he took me.

He boosted me onto the horse, then hopped up behind me. We would be riding bareback, our bodies pressed intimately close. Already I was lost in his nearness. He even smelled like Duncan, with a hint of spicy cologne. And like the warrior from the previous realm, his wrists were tattooed, also mirroring Duncan’s.

He took the reins and guided us in the direction he wanted to go. I glanced up at the sky, curious to see if the butterfly clouds were still there, but they’d gone back to being feathers, flowers, and broken arrows. If I wasn’t already acquainted with those symbols, I would’ve thought the broken arrows were out of sync, compared to the feathers and flowers. But in most Native tribes, broken arrows represented peace. I’d learned that from Duncan, who’d researched it online.

I leaned back, toward my current companion, taking comfort in his Duncan-like presence. We rode for a while, daylight surrounding us. The terrain was beautiful, with colorful foliage and sparkling streams. But as we traveled deeper along the trail, it became thick with trees, reminding me of the place where the other warrior had built his cabin.

We stopped in the middle of the forest, and he helped me dismount. My feet touched the ground, leaves crunching beneath my ugly shoes.

He said, “There’s a spot out here that opens up into a meadow. But we have to walk the rest of the way.”

“What about your horse?” I petted the stallion’s nose and it nuzzled my hand, treating me like an old friend.

“He’ll be fine here by himself.”

We took a narrow path with low-hanging branches crowding our way. I followed the warrior through the tight maze, captivated by his tall, dark beauty. But I always marveled at Duncan’s handsomeness, too.

Finally he announced, “This is it.”

He cleared the way to let me see. I gasped, but not because I was impressed. The meadow was covered with daisies, and I was afraid of what that type of flower represented to me.

Death, I thought.

Duncan had made a reference to “pushing up daises” once when he was disputing my fear of him dying, and ever since then, I could barely look at a daisy without shivering.

And now I was besieged by thousands of them.

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