Jory Strong: Spirit Flight

For the first few seconds there was only wild panic, a desperate awareness of speed and motion, of being momentarily airborne. But then came pain. Legs, ribs, arms, back as she landed hard on an outcropping, the debris in her wake striking her face and arms and torso before bouncing and continuing the journey downward.

When the last of it had passed and the sound of the slide faded, only the purr of an engine remained. Marisa opened her eyes and watched as the motorcycle stopped far above her and the rider slid the helmet off to get a better view-or maybe it was a gloating show of victory. Either way, for long moments Kaitlyn looked down at where Marisa lay, and then with a wave, she put the helmet back on and drove away.

There was nothing but pain afterward. Emotional. Physical.

Bleeding, killing wounds inflicted to heart and soul.

Breaking, tearing wounds done to bone and flesh.

Marisa faded in and out of consciousness. Aware on some level of the darkening sky, the rapidly approaching storm, the feel of cold rain pelting against her exposed skin when it finally arrived. The wetness of her clothes. Their sodden mass a heavy weight on a frame barely able to sustain life.

The thunder was directly overhead now. Lightning flashed, its brilliance flickering against Marisa's eyelids.

She forced them open, knowing she was dying and yet choosing to see the beauty around her. The magnificence of the storm. Far more powerful and real than anything she'd ever been able to capture in her art-though sometimes she came close, and those were the paintings she treasured.

A crash sounded, followed by lightning. Jagged streaks illuminated the sky and Marisa gasped, her pain forgotten as the thunderbird image from on top of the totem pole hovered above her.

His powerful wings beat the air with such force that clouds swirled around and under him. The bright colors of his feathers reflected off gray rock, painting it red and white with splashes of yellow and blue woven in. His beak open in a soundless scream as lightning sparked from coal black eyes.

Marisa knew she was hallucinating and yet she embraced the hallucination, even managed a small laugh of sheer joy as she felt herself floating upward, toward the thunderbird, the wind catching the sound of her pleasure and carrying it away.

But then the great bird turned its eyes on her and swooped. Its dive sending the clouds scattering and rushing away, driving Marisa's awareness back to her body. To pain and cold. And finally-nothingness.

There was the sound of a solitary drum beating in the rhythm of a heart. A voice accompanied it in a chantlike song offering prayers in a language Marisa didn't understand.

Instead of pain, there was only heat. Moving through her. Over her. Building in intensity as the song built, peaking, fading. The process repeated over and over again until the voice stopped. The drum stopped.

Into the sudden silence came the eerie sound of water dripping in the distance. The sensation of being watched. The hint of a woodsy scent that coiled in Marisa's womb and gave her the strength to open her eyes and struggle to her elbows.

It took her a minute to see him, and even then she blinked. Licked lips that were dry as she forced herself into a sitting position. The movement made her lightheaded for an instant, warned her that she shouldn't try to scramble to her feet.

He rose from where he was squatting next to a small fire and her fingers clenched involuntarily-not with the need to defend herself, but with the urge to draw him. To capture him on paper.

He was a vision from history. A warrior. His muscles toned from a life where only the fittest survived. His skin bronzed, revealed except for the area covered by the loincloth he wore.

The bulk of his black hair was a curtain flowing over his shoulders and down his back. But on either side of his face beads and feathers decorated tight, narrow braids.

«Drink this,» he said, kneeling next to her and offering her a cup she hadn't noticed him carrying. His voice deep, confident. His words English, firm.

She shook her head in confusion as the memories flooded in, of overhearing Ethan and Kaitlyn plotting to kill her, of running, of being injured, of knowing she was dying and seeing the thunderbird swoop down from the sky.

«Drink this,» he repeated, gripping the back of her head and holding her still as he pressed the cup to her lips. She struggled instinctively, wondered if she was drugged.

Her captor set the cup down and quickly subdued her. His arms around her torso all that was necessary in her weakened condition.

A different kind of awareness ripped through her when skin came into contact with skin. When she realized she was completely naked.

«Easy,» he said, as if sensing her rising panic and her intention to renew her fight. «Easy. I'm not going to hurt you.»

Marisa's attention flitted wildly around her, taking in the rock, the darkness, the campfire and finally her clothes. Torn and bloody, dripping from a peg pounded into the wall. The sight of them calmed her as nothing else would have.

Her gaze returned to the man holding her. Seeing the dark eyes. The thunderbird's eyes. The colorful feathers braided into his hair. Red and white and black with splashes of blue and yellow. The thunderbird's colors.

«You rescued me,» Marisa whispered, understanding dawning. She must have been delirious when he found her, her mind lost in the last piece of art to make an impression on her. The totem poles.

Marisa pulled away from him and this time he let her go. Wonder flowed through her, disbelief as she gazed down at her body and saw no open wounds, felt no broken bones even though the state of her clothing attested to the fact that she had been injured and bleeding.

She glanced up and her nipples tightened in reaction when she saw his gaze travel over the same territory hers had just explored. His eyes darkened with masculine appreciation at the sight of her exposed nipples and cunt.

His nostrils flared as though he could scent her sudden wetness and Marisa's womb fluttered in response. Her hand went to the apex of her thighs in an attempt to shield her mound and arousal from his view. The other hand dropped to the material underneath her and she realized it was thick fur, a hide tanned and softened.

«No,» he said, his fingers going to her wrist, stilling her when she shifted, intending to free the fur and wrap it around herself. «I will bathe you first.»

Marisa's breath caught in her throat. Her entire body hummed at the words, at the possessive way he was looking at her. At the command in his voice.

He picked up the cup and once again held it to her lips. «Drink this. It will help you gain strength, Marisa.»

She opened her mouth to ask him how he knew her name and he used her response to his advantage, tilted the cup and left her no choice but to drink the contents or choke on it. She swallowed, expecting something cold and bitter. Finding instead something warm and thick and tasting of honey.

Almost immediately the heat of the drink spread out from her belly, going first to her cunt and breasts and making her whimper. She licked her lips and groaned as warmth spread there too.

«You've drugged me,» she whispered, her eyes meeting his then going to his mouth, her upper body leaning forward, following the direction of her gaze.

He laughed, a small husky sound, and once again took her into his arms, this time brushing his lips across her temple. «You are feeling the call of our spirits to one another. The drink was to aid you, nothing more.»

She allowed herself to simply luxuriate in the feel of hard muscle and hot flesh, to soak in his strength and breathe his scent. A shiver went through her and another whimper escaped when his hands smoothed over her back, slid down to her hips and pulled her more tightly against him. Her breath caught when she became aware of what his loincloth was concealing. «I don't even know your name,» she said, wondering how she could be naked and yet so at ease in this stranger's arms.