Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
One
Two
Caphriel’s Pawn
Three
Four
Addai
Five
Caphriel’s Visitation
Six
The Watcher
Caphriel’s Pawn
Seven
Eight
Addai
Closure
Nine
Messenger
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Caphriel’s Pawn
Fifteen
Sixteen
The Watcher
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
The Watcher
Caphriel’s Pawn
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Addai
Thirty
Thirty-two
Addai
Thirty-three
Addai
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Healer
Thirty-six
Praise for
Ghostland and Spider-Touched
“Strong’s terrific tale should win her many new fans. Really good stuff!”
—Romantic Times
“The world is gorgeous, the characters are fantastic, and the plots will draw you in!”
—Errant Dreams Reviews
“Ghostland is well-defined, intriguing from the start, and deliciously erotic.”
—Darque Reviews
“Jory Strong will leave you hooked and hoping for more of this dark world.”
—Romance Junkies
“Urban fantasy readers will relish Ghostland and look forward to more escapades in Jory Strong’s new California (and beyond).”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“Jory Strong writes an enthralling story which will quickly immerse readers in a futuristic fantasy.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“The world-building is nothing short of stunning. Rich and deeply detailed, the grim post-war Earth is both unique and intriguing.”
—Genre Fiction Reviews
Berkley Sensation titles by Jory Strong
GHOSTLAND
SPIDER-TOUCHED
HEALER’S CHOICE
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2010 by Valerie Christenson.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. BERKLEY® SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation trade paperback edition / September 2010
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Strong, Jory.
Healer’s choice / Jory Strong.—Berkley Sensation trade pbk. ed.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-101-44296-8
1. Women healers—Fiction. 2. Werewolves—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3619.T777H43—2010
813’.6—dc22
2010018550
http://us.penguingroup.com
Thanks once again to my editor, Cindy Hwang,
and my agent, Ethan Ellenberg. Your support of
and faith in my work is greatly appreciated.
Thanks also to Leis Pederson for her behind-the-scenes
efforts and assistance, and to copyeditors Luann Reed-Siegel (Healer’s Choice)
and Rick Willet (Ghostland, Spider-Touched), the unsung heroine and hero
who’ve kept me from erring too egregiously.
One
THE demon caught Rebekka in the forest, turning day into night and nature into a seething weapon. He arrived in a tornado swirl of fury, encircling her in a wind of dirt and shattered trees and rocks from which there was no escape. Trapping her there until her heart threatened to burst and only terror filled her. And then he relented—allowing what was left of the trail she’d been running on to fall back to earth in a twisted, horrifying demonstration of his power—and that was worse.
In the unnatural calm following the violence, he took form. A creature of nightmare. A dark-skinned thing heralding damnation.
Leathery, batlike wings spread out to block the sight of anything but him. Fingers ended in wicked talons and yellow eyes danced with sinister glee. His forked tongue flicked out to taste her fear while a barbed tail coiled around his thigh like a living thing.
His smile held a wealth of cruelty. His gaze held her immobile, trembling in the face of her own death.
Lightning-fast his hand wrapped around her throat, a razor-sharp claw digging into her flesh, slicing through it with ease. But instead of delivering torment and death, he released her, drawing his hand back to lap at blood-covered fingers.
“So there are other players in this game than the one I so recently encountered,” he said. “Your father’s involvement is a surprise. He had no love for humans when I was last among my kind.”
He laughed, a sharp-edged sound sending shards of ice sliding into Rebekka’s spine. And then as quickly as he appeared, the demon dissolved into nothing, leaving her shaking as she surrendered to terror and sank to her knees at the center of the destruction he’d wrought.
Rebekka pressed trembling fingers to the wound at her throat, stopped the flow of blood despite the wild pounding of her pulse beneath her fingertips. Nausea swelled in the aftermath of surviving the encounter.
The sweat from her run became a cold clamminess on her skin. Shudder after shudder racked her frame as the demon’s words played over and over in her mind.
Her features were those of her mother, as were the deep brown of her hair
and the blue of her eyes. There was nothing in her looks to identify who her father had been, and she’d never asked. What child of a prostitute wanted to hear her mother admit she had no idea which man had left more than his money behind?
Rebekka’s thoughts went to the place above her pubic mound where an ugly black circle with a scarlet red P in its center had been forcibly tattooed onto her skin. A terrifying memory from that day skirted at the edge of her consciousness. She reached for it but it eluded her as it always did, and she let it go, ashamed at the gratitude she felt for not having to confront whatever truth lay repressed by her mind.
A different horror had her standing, frantically looking around for the Weres who’d been somewhere on the trail ahead of her when the demon arrived. Relief came with the absence of twisted, broken bodies. It swept through her and brought with it sweet denial and a refuge in purpose. Her ability to heal using her hands and will alone was proof there was no stain on her soul, no taint of it in her blood despite the demon’s words.
Rebekka began running, scrambling and jumping over the demon-created debris. She caught up to the Weres a short time later. Of those waiting, only Levi appeared fully human, his lion form lost forever unless her gift deepened, strengthened.
The six Weres she and Levi and Tir had freed from the maze less than an hour ago were grotesque mixtures of human and animal, made that way by a man using witch-charmed silver and torture to twist them into an abomination of form.
Levi’s eyes flicked to the wound on her neck and his nostrils flared, his senses Were despite no longer having a lion form. “I smell the demon Abijah. What happened?”
“He caught up to me then left. I’m okay.”
She didn’t want to reveal what the demon said. In truth, she didn’t want to think about it at all or lose the shield of denial she’d managed to erect.
Lion-gold eyes met hers for a long moment, as if Levi sensed an evasion. He let it go, and she turned her attention to the waiting Weres.
There were five of them. Two Wolves, a Leopard, a Tiger, and Cyrin, Levi’s brother.
Pity and anger and sadness churned together inside her. Horror for what they’d endured and for what they’d lost.
“I’ve told them what their choices are and what to expect,” Levi said. “They all want you to heal them.”
She looked at the gathered Weres and asked, “Who’s first?”
The sole female stepped forward. Her body was wolf but her head was human. She was almost the complete opposite of the male. He had a wolf’s head on a body that was human except for the genitals.
Rebekka knelt on the ground, telling the female, “It will be easier if you lie down.”
The Wolf complied, stretching out though her body vibrated with agitation.
Rebekka trusted Levi to have spoken the truth about what the Weres desired, but she couldn’t bring herself to use her gift without making sure the Wolf understood fully what her choice meant. “I can push the parts of you that are human back or I can push the animal away, so you’re one or the other. But if I change you, there’s no going back. You will remain in animal form or in a human one. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” The answer was growled with lips pulled back and eyes darkening with rage. “I am Wolf. My mate is Wolf.”
Rebekka looked up to find the male had moved close enough to attack. He was tensed, but she’d lived in the Were brothels since she was sixteen, and with Levi at her back she felt no fear.
She turned her attention to the female, reaching for calm and projecting it outward. She wasn’t telepathic but her gift allowed her to touch emotion, to use it when dealing with animals and Weres.
“This won’t hurt, but it’ll feel strange, almost like you’re a piece of clay in the hands of a sculptor.” She placed her hands on the female’s furred shoulder. “Try not to offer any resistance. It’ll go faster and be easier for both of us if you don’t.”
“I’ll try.”
Rebekka closed her eyes, gathering her will to her as though it were something with form and substance. Her fingers tingled where they touched the Wolf, but the feeling passed quickly. In its place came the stomach-dropping sensation of fingertips passing through furred skin, like the sliding of a blunt knife into soft clay.
She became both sculptor and tool with the use of her gift. It was a melding that took her completely, sucked her in and blocked everything external out.
It was instinctive, complex. In her mind she saw what needed to be re-formed, reshaped. She felt her will driving the human parts back and tugging the wolf forward, forcing change where it wouldn’t willingly come.
By the time it was done and her hands dropped to her lap, she was light-headed.
The Wolf sprang to its feet and backed away, telegraphing distrust despite Rebekka’s help. The male took his mate’s place, positioning himself on hands and knees rather than lying down.
Weariness washed through Rebekka. Sensing it, Levi said, “Take as long as you need. The Tiger, Canino, is accompanying Cyrin and me to Lion lands. The three of us will make sure you get back to the brothel safely before we leave.”
Rebekka reached for strength and found it. “I can keep going.”
She placed her hands on the Wolf’s back. Though his mate had spoken for him, she still asked if it was his choice to become fully wolf. He yipped in answer, howled, and once again Rebekka let herself become her gift.
The healing took longer. Rebekka knew it by the change in light, by the hunger pains reminding her it had been a long time since morning and breakfast.
As soon as she lifted her hands from the male’s fur he sprang to his feet. But unlike the female, he didn’t back away in distrust. He stared, intelligent eyes meeting hers, holding a promise that if it ever came to pass that she needed his aid, he would help her.
“Thank you,” she said.
He turned away then and, with his mate, melted into the darkening forest.
“You need food,” Levi said. “The others can hunt while I build a fire.”
Rebekka glanced at the three remaining Weres. They were all big cats.
Cyrin, Levi’s brother, had the flattened, maned face of a lion. His arms were furred, ending in paws with deadly, nonretractable claws.
The Leopard had animal arms, legs, head, and back but human chest and genitals. A short distance away was the Tiger, a beast from his armpits down.
Rage filled Rebekka looking at the men. It poured strength into her.
What had been done to these Weres was criminal. It should never have been allowed by the vice lords who ruled the red zone.
There were Weres in the brothels who were an abomination of shape, too. She knew some of their stories but none of them had been trapped and created through torture so they could be used for entertainment purposes.
“I can do another before eating,” Rebekka said. Her gaze fell on the Leopard. With only his chest and genitals human, he would be the easiest—or so she thought until he indicated his choice, to take a man’s form.
She was shaking with exhaustion by the time it was done, so tired it sounded as though the ocean thundered in her head. So weary she couldn’t find the strength to stand despite the smell of meat cooking in a fire pit.
“Thank you,” the Leopard said.
Curious, Rebekka asked, “Why?”
“Because I have people to kill and this form will serve me best.”
Levi returned to help Rebekka to her feet. The Leopard lingered only long enough to eat some of the cooked deer; then after accepting a knife from Levi, he, too, entered the forest, startling a bright red cardinal into flight as he passed under the branch it sat on.
Food restored Rebekka’s strength enough for her to heal the Tiger, Canino, and then Levi’s brother, Cyrin. Both chose to take their animal forms.
“Stay here for the night? Or go back to the brothel?” Levi asked.
Rebekka looked at the rapidly darkening sky. “I’ve been away too long. By now I’ll be n
eeded in the brothels. If we hurry we can make it back to Oakland.”
Two
BLOOD and bowel and death. The shallow grave was an afterthought. The burial meant to delay the discovery of the bodies, hiding scent until predators had destroyed answers to how and when and who, and nature had eradicated the trail leading back to where.
The attempt failed. In jaguar form Aryck could easily find the answers to all those questions. Even why didn’t evade him, not when he felt the same seething emotions over the presence of human intruders in territory held by the Weres.
Giving up the Jaguar’s black form, fur yielded to smooth, deeply tanned skin. Bones and organs reorganized, the pain sharp, excruciating, lasting only long enough to mark the transition between beast and man, to serve as a reminder of the covenant between his kind and the Earth that had given birth to them.
Aryck remained crouched at the graveside, looking down at the man and woman he’d unearthed. His pack mate Daivat’s scent rose, intermingled with that of the dead.
Arrogant fool, Aryck thought, lips tightening into a grim line as he surveyed the carnage.
He reached in and grabbed the man’s blood-drenched shirt. Pulled the corpse from the shallow blanket of earth with easy strength.
The head dropped as though it would follow the shower of dirt back into the grave. It remained held to the body by sinew alone, a testament to the powerful swipe of Daivat’s claws in what would have been a fatal strike, though whether it had come first or last was unanswerable.
The human had been mauled. He’d been attacked in a rage Aryck knew stemmed from an urge not only to drive out an intruder but to prove himself, to issue a challenge to both the interlopers and, subconsciously, to the pack’s alpha.
Aryck released the corpse. It landed on the rich loam of the shallow hole with a soft thud.
He took more care with the female, rising to his feet as he lifted her. Her skirt fell open as he stepped backward, stirring the air and adding the smell of sex to that of death.