The Temptation (Kindred) (2 page)

I
hunched against the numbing wind.
I heard the baying of coyotes getting closer, and I wanted to throw up.

Weakly, I scanned the ground for something—anything—that I might be able to use against them. But there was nothing—no stick, no branch, no rock visible above the thickening white blanket of snow. Nothing but three coyotes cresting a nearby hill, ragged and lean, their shiny eyes focused on me through the snow. They moved fast to hide themselves behind a bush across the road, next to a couple of wooden roadside crosses, the kind people made to mark spots where people had died, usually in car accidents—much, I thought hopelessly, like this one. Not comforting. Not comforting at all.

“This isn’t happening,” I moaned as I stumbled along near the demolished corpse of my car. The heap of twisted black metal was the only shelter around, and I hoped that the clicking, gurgling sounds it still made, and the awful oily smell it gave off, might be enough to keep the animals away. It was far too twisted and crunched up for me to get back inside, so I could only use it for support.

The car didn’t stop the coyotes, however. They inched closer, noses to the ground. Within a minute or two, I was being circled by a mangy pack of six or seven of them. They did hungry laps around me, coming closer and closer, communicating with one another in body language, with their eyes, and with those horrible, mournful yelps. Each of them, other than the red-eyed one, was smaller than a German shepherd, but they were strong and well-muscled, and in the winter, out here in the middle of nowhere, probably hungry. They would take what they could find, and right now the hot red scent of our blood must have been carried to them on the wind, delicious, seductive, irresistible as life itself.

Frantically, I tried to find something, anything, that had spilled from the wreckage of the car that I might use to scare them off. All I found were a couple of dirty paper coffee cups. I grabbed one of the cups, and wadded it up in my free hand, still holding Buddy with the other. The movement was excruciating, and I began to weep. The coyotes continued to circle me, growing ever closer, howling ever louder, their tongues wagging from their mouths in anticipation of fresh meat.

“Get away from me!” I screamed, hurling the cup at one of them as it slinked within a few feet. It scampered back, surprised for a second. Then it picked the cup up in its jaws, chewed it a couple of times, and dropped it in disgust.

Closer they came, all of them together, their hackles raised, and their lips pulled back to reveal sharp, serious fangs dripping with saliva. They snarled, and positioned themselves for attack.

“Go away!” I screamed again. I grabbed whatever I could, more of the cups, snowballs, and I hurled with what little strength I had left, first to the front of me, and then to the back. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.

Suddenly, two coyotes came at us with lightning speed, their jaws open and ready. I managed to feebly knee one of them in the head before it sank its teeth into me, causing a hollow pop, and the creature backed off, shaking its head. Unfortunately, the other coyote had already clamped its fangs down upon one of Buddy’s back legs, and was attempting to drag him away from me. Buddy made an awful, desperate bleating sound I had never heard from him before. I was horrified and sickened, and shocked he was still alive.

“Get away!” I whimpered, hardly able anymore to hold myself upright. The coyote would not let go of my dog. We were in a tug of war, and Buddy, poor Buddy, was the rope. I tried to hang on, but I was powerless and dizzy. I couldn’t hold Buddy any longer. He began to slip away.

J
ust as the coyote was about to jerk Buddy from my grasp, I heard a loud boom. Gunshot! Instinctively, I cowered. The coyote released Buddy and scattered with its pack, but not too far. They still watched me hungrily from a distance, and began their circling anew. I tried to see where the noise had come from, but all I saw was snow and emptiness. I prayed the shot was intended for the animals, and not for me.

Quickly, the coyotes were closing in again, and the one with the red eyes came from behind me, charging with a terrible snarl. Again, the blast of a gunshot, and again the coyotes scattered, all except this one, who seemed utterly unmoved by the sound. I screamed, because the red-eyed beast was running toward me now, smiling as it had done in the middle of the road, leaping toward my throat. All I could do was stare, paralyzed by fear, as it sailed through the falling snow toward me.

Just then, I heard a different sound, a sort of fast
whoosh
, like a ball moving through the air. I saw a blur shoot past my head, and then the projectile, whatever it was, landed squarely between the red eyes with a loud crack. Stopped in its tracks, the coyote fell to the ground, a large dark rock in the snow by its head. Again came the whizzing sound, and a deep thunking noise as yet another rock found its mark. Again and again they came, in quick succession.

When the coyote had had enough, it retreated, loping unsteadily down the road with its tail between its legs. The other coyotes still circled, though at a greater distance than before. They would not give up easily. All around me I heard the whooshing noise, and watched as one by one the coyotes were struck and felled by stones. I spun around, searching for the source of the rocks.

At first I saw nothing, my vision blurred by blood and exhaustion, but then I saw the silhouette of a guy through the heavy snow. He was across the highway from me, on a small rise several yards down from where I was, atop a large, dark horse. His features were obscured by the snow, but I saw he wore a cowboy hat, and held a slingshot. He continued to pelt the coyotes with rocks, as the horse walked slowly closer. Finally, all of the coyotes ran from him in fear, back over the rise, and were gone. The horse clomped on, moving toward me, and stopped a short distance away. A powerful wave of pain doubled me over, and my vision tunneled. Dizzier than I’d ever been, I felt myself heave as though to vomit, but nothing came up. My chest felt broken, so terribly broken, and a loud ringing began in my ears. The world dimmed, and came back, then dimmed again, like intermission lights.

“You there, you all right?” called the young man’s voice, tinged with a rural Western accent.

I tried to respond, but no sound came. I was weak. Breathing was incredibly difficult. The adrenaline had run out now, and I was overcome with a searing agony in nearly every part of my being. I leaned against the wreckage. My breath came fast and shallow as the world dimmed yet again.

“Hello?” he called.

“Here,” I managed to choke out, my eyes blurred, the world spinning, the warm, horrible metallic taste thick and suffocating in my mouth. “I’m here.”

The horse rounded the edge of the wreckage, and the young man brought it to a halt, swinging himself down off his saddle. He dropped the reins to the ground and said softly to the horse, “Stand.”

It was an effort to keep my head lifted anymore, so I stared at the ground, tired, so very tired. I watched as drops of my own bright-red blood fell from my head to the snow below. This is the end, I thought. This is it for me.

I heard footsteps crunching over the snow toward me, and saw his well-worn brown leather cowboy boots as he approached.

“It’s gonna be okay now,” he said gently, no trace of concern in his voice. “Help’s on the way. Just try to calm down.”

I tried to get a look at his face, but my vision blurred as I lifted my head. The ground lurched beneath me and I heaved again. “I’m dying,” I moaned frantically between wretches.

“I won’t let you die,” he said, easing Buddy from my arms.

“Buddy,” I whispered, groping in the air for my dog. I tried to see the young man, but my vision was still not right, and blood filled my eyes.

“Dog’s all right. I got him. Try to stay calm. It’s real important you do that.”

The guy placed a hand on my shoulder and gently told me to relax and focus on his touch. I could feel the heat of his body through the frozen air. His touch gave me a strange and instant sense of peace in spite of all that had happened, and I felt my pulse slow down. For the first time since the crash, I was able to take a full, deep breath without immense pain.

He reached out to open my jacket, and I felt a literal electrical current course through me as he brushed against me, almost as though I’d been shocked, but without any pain. He reached around me, and placed his hands upon the bare skin of my back, along my spine, almost holding me in an embrace.

That’s when I felt a buzzing inside my skull, a low humming sound as some sort of energy zipped out of his hands, through my skin, into my spine and on into the rest of my body. Suddenly worried as I realized this was not even remotely normal, I tried to push back from him. He held me in place, his grip nonnegotiable, and I felt his powerful heat and energy move through me, to my legs, directly into my broken foot, bringing relief with it. The pain began to simply drain away out of me, as quickly as it had come.

I was amazed and confused. “You’re scaring me,” I said.

“Listen,” he said gently. I felt the electrical pulse again, mellower this time, and it filled me with the oddest sense of hope, and happiness, and calm. “There’s no reason to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help.”

“But what are you
doing
?” I managed to ask.

I felt his mouth near my ear as he moved his hands to a different part of my spine. “Just shhh. Let it fix you.”

“Okay,” I whispered, feeling so strange and light-headed. I wondered if I was imagining the whole thing. How much blood had I lost to be so delirious? And yet, the heat and his touch were so incredible, so welcome, so soothing, I couldn’t help but feel a powerful happiness.

“That’ll do for now,” he said.

The guy released me and backed away a few feet. He squatted nearby and looked at me. I wiped my eyes, and it was now that I got a good look at him for the first time. He was tall, probably about my age or a little older, with an uncommonly—almost intimidatingly—handsome, kind face. He wore a heavy denim jacket, with a leather collar turned up against the snow. His head was capped with a cowboy hat the same pale brown as his boots. The handsome face was shaved clean, with a square jawline and a nicely formed mouth framed by dimples. He had a cute nose and large, intelligent brown eyes with incredibly long lashes. He carried himself with the rugged, countrified demeanor of kids from rural New Mexico, the type of kids I’d seen here and there all my life but, because I was from the city and came from money, never had any reason to talk to. I was startled by his unusually direct, almost grown-up way of looking at me. His cheeks were pink with the cold, and he looked straight into my eyes without a hint of self-consciousness, as though he could read my thoughts—or was at least trying to. He was unlike any teenage boy I’d ever known, and I can only describe him as seeming wise.

He spoke calmly. “Hey. I know you’re scared. You’re probably in shock, too. You got banged up real good. But it’s all okay now.”

Still unable to speak, I lifted a hand to my head and found the gashes there closed up. There was no new blood. I still had some pain here and there, but nothing like before.

He turned his attention to Buddy, on the ground at his side. He lifted him up. My sweet puppy was limp and unconscious, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. The guy folded his strong legs beneath him, a calm yet serious expression on his face, and sat in the snow with Buddy in his lap. He ran his hands over my dog’s legs and body, with his eyes closed and his forehead creased deeply. His lips moved silently as though chanting. He’d stop in a spot, hold his hands there for a moment, and then move to the next; wherever he’d been, it seemed the wounds just stopped bleeding and closed up. The coyote bite incredibly stitched itself together and was gone, just like that. Just like that, Buddy lifted his head and wagged his tail.

“But he was practically dead,” I said, shaking my head as my body trembled with cold and nerves. “What you did, that’s not
normal
.”

“Oh, I don’t know about all that. Depends where you’re from.” He grinned, and scooted toward me with a thoughtful expression on his face.

My head felt light with worry and confusion. I wanted him to touch me just once more, but I didn’t understand how he did any of it, and this scared me. I began to cry again, a pathetic weeping that was involuntary and unflattering.

“Shh,” he said. “I know it still hurts. I know. It’s okay, I promise. All right? Everything’s gonna be fine now.”

His eyes were so bright, so soothing. He smelled dry and warm, like sunshine.

“What
are
you?” I asked. “Like one of those healer people they have in churches and stuff?”

He took a bottle of what appeared to be water from his jacket pocket, cracked the cap, and gave it to me.

“My name’s Travis Hartwell. Here. Drink this,” he said, and I did. The liquid—I do not believe it was water because it tasted like thin, carbonated honey—was warm and tingled all the way down my throat. Soon, my whole body vibrated with warmth.

He told me to concentrate, and next put his hands over the spot that still hurt on my shoulder, closing his eyes again with that intense look on his face. His lips moved once more, and I felt a soft, powerful heat radiating from his hands, deeper down into my muscle and bone. Thirty seconds or so later, the pain was half what it had been. A minute later, it was entirely gone. He repeated this everywhere I had pain, as though he knew where it hurt without me telling him.

I breathed out a sigh of relief.

He smiled kindly, and made long, direct eye contact with me. His gaze gave me shivers—the good kind. I didn’t even feel the cold of the snow anymore, almost as though something shielded me from it.

“Glad you’re feeling better, Shane.”

“How did you know my name?” I asked, dumbfounded.

He ignored the question, and just used a white handkerchief dampened with a bit of water from his canteen to wipe the blood off my face. He smoothed the hair back from my eyes. He reached again into his jacket pocket, took out a bundle of small sticks tied together with string, and waved it slowly over the parts of my clothes that were soaked with blood. Most of the blood vanished, though not all of it. He moved the sticks over my head, presumably to take away the blood in my hair.

“This is impossible,” I whispered, breathless.

He smiled a little. “I used to think like that, too. You’d be surprised.”

I watched him wave the sticks over the bloody handkerchief, removing all stains from it before he stuffed it into his pocket again. I was overcome with awe, and a monumental hunger for him. Now that I felt better, his handsomeness was undeniable, and hypnotic. My racing heart felt an intense, inexplicable longing that frightened me. He peeked up at me, caught me staring, and blushed a little before looking away.

The hail and snow began to taper off, and Travis turned from me, moving with purpose around the crash site, digging through the snow for sticks and twigs. He dried these on the legs of his jeans, and set them in a pile near Buddy, whom he wrapped in his jacket. He scrounged for rocks next, and made a ring around the sticks. He held his hands over the twigs for a moment; incredibly, sparks rained down from his fingertips, and in this way he started a small fire.

“Come, sit,” he told me once it was burning brightly. “Keep warm.”

I did as he asked, and he pulled me in close. He did not touch me in a romantic way, exactly, but it was caring. My heart raced, and I wanted to burrow into him. I felt his hands, large and powerful, and I nestled under his strong arm. The strange sense of peace and calm, that same low thrum in the center of my chest, coursed up and down my spine. I felt that he recharged me, the way you might charge an MP3 player. He gave me strength. I wanted to stay in his arms forever.

I looked at him, and he looked back. I saw in his eyes that he found me attractive, too. He seemed confused about this, concerned. For a brief moment, he lost the look of mature confidence he’d had, and seemed like any other boy who might be nervous about a girl he liked. We shared an incredibly awkward moment where it felt like we both had things to say that we couldn’t, or shouldn’t—and didn’t.

“You live around here or something?” I asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” His eyes dodged mine now. He composed himself and became again the confident young man who’d saved me.

“What are you doing out on a horse in a storm like this?” I asked, hoping to draw him out, make him give me some hint about how he was able to heal me and Buddy with his hands.

He seemed slightly defensive, but still patient. “Came up real sudden. Just got stuck in it, I guess.”

“And just happened to be armed?”

“That’s how we do it out here in the country.” He seemed politely annoyed that I was prying, and then, just as quickly as he’d grinned earlier, he frowned, seeming preoccupied with something he heard in the distance. I strained my own ears, but could hear nothing other than wind.

He seemed to shake himself. “Um, so. Where do you go to school, Shane?” It was like when grown-ups try to distract children with questions they couldn’t care less about.

“Coronado Prep, down in Albuquerque.”

He lifted his eyebrows as though mockingly impressed. “Pretty fancy.”

I shrugged, embarrassed and uncomfortable. Coronado Prep was a fancy school, but I wasn’t particularly proud of that fact. It made me feel weird to talk about it outside of prep circles, because the school was obscenely expensive and elitist, and no matter how hard I tried I could never find a way to justify having been born so lucky.