Jory Strong: Dakotah's Reading

It was time to leave. The tightness between Dakotah Flemming’s shoulder blades, the sensation of being watched, the faint whiff of wolf she’d smelled on several occasions—all of it was confirmation of what her instincts had been urging for days.

She needed to get moving. Tomorrow. Sooner if she could find Roy and get her cut of the ride receipts. Tonight if she could still catch a bus out of the small town where the carnival had stopped, setting up in the hopes of drawing from the people coming for the psychic fair.

Fuck. If she’d known about the psychic fair, she would have bolted from the last town.

Her stomach twisted, exposing the lie for what it was. She’d caught faint traces of wolf in that town too, but she’d stuck around anyway, just in case Sarael called, needing help.

Dakotah shivered. Vague images of the man Sarael had been running from pressing in on her. Whatever he was, he wasn’t human. He wasn’t wolf. His scent was cold and alien even though she’d been aware of the blood rushing through his veins and heard his heart beating with lethal menace.

Her nose wrinkled in a silent snarl of denial as her womb fluttered and desire rippled across her abdomen before settling in her pussy. A lingering reaction to the potent pheromones the man had used to subdue and enthrall her.

She had a vague impression of talking to him, of being led to her trailer, of knowing she was in the presence of a predator more deadly than anything she’d encountered before. A man whose presence had stirred the wolf inside her. It wanted a mate like the male who’d claimed Sarael.

Dakotah’s lips twisted. The wolf was mistaken in thinking that a mate would solve all their problems. The wolf hadn’t seen men like those she’d been forced to service. The wolf hadn’t been a part of her during those nightmare years. Hadn’t watched through her eyes or experienced things through her body.

The wolf hadn’t endured. Hadn’t loathed and reviled the men she’d struck with whips and paddles while they pleaded with her in little-boy voices, begging for more punishment. Begging her to do degrading things to them.

Disgust curled in Dakotah’s stomach. The wolf hadn’t seen men like the ones who’d populated her world before she died—not literally—though maybe it had been like that. Maybe she had died in those dark woods and been reborn into something straight out of a horror film. She couldn’t remember very much beyond escaping. Running. Bleeding. Hurting. The pain so intense that if she’d had the strength, she might have killed herself to end it.

Her hands balled into fists. Never. No matter how many men Victor Hale sent after her, she wouldn’t die without a fight.

The wolf stirred and she forced herself to relax. If she couldn’t get out of this town tonight, then she’d let it run. It might be a while before she could risk it again. She owed that part of herself a chance to escape from the deep cage it was forced to live in.

It had been a struggle at first—controlling the wolf, suppressing it, convincing it that only death would follow if its presence became known—especially to others who also had a second form. But a couple of chance encounters, fights that had left the wolf nearly savaged, lucky to escape, and it no longer believed that finding a pack was the answer.

Now the wolf moved deeper into the darkness of Dakotah’s soul when it scented others like itself. Now it tried to contain any trace of itself for fear of triggering an attack. And in return, Dakotah ceded control when the wolf’s form replaced her own, let it hunt deer and wallow in the kill, let it run free as long as it didn’t threaten innocent human life.

Yeah. If she couldn’t get out of this town tonight, she’d let the wolf run. It was cold enough outside that even horny teenage lovers would favor the backseat of a car over a blanket in the woods.

Dakotah looked around the small trailer that had been her home for the last year. A tin can on wheels. But a lump formed in her throat anyway, burning for a second until she swallowed it.

It’d been a good year. The safest she’d known in forever. Though the carnival still attracted its share of predators. Townies usually. Who thought the women would be easy.

But she’d managed to have some fun. To be around boys and men who were…decent. Around people who were decent.

She’d forgotten people could be like that. She’d forgotten that it didn’t always come down to either using or being used. Maybe she’d never known it to begin with.

But it was still time to move on. At least she could leave knowing Sarael was okay.

Dakotah reached for the black leather jacket hanging on a hook next to the door and heard the slow, unmistakable gait of Helki, the carnival’s ancient fortune-teller, drawing close to the trailer. She tensed. Bracing herself for the rattling of the door as the old woman stopped on the other side of it and knocked.

“You’re leaving,” Helki said when Dakotah opened the door and stepped back to allow the old woman to enter.

Dakotah shrugged, determined not to feed the fortune-teller any information. Even after a year of traveling with the carnival, of hearing Sarael’s tales of Helki’s tarot readings, of being around Sarael who actually believed in what the cards foretold—Dakotah remained skeptical. Not that truth couldn’t be found in the cards—but that it couldn’t be altered.

“You won’t find Roy tonight,” Helki said, her eyes dancing with mirth when Dakotah stiffened, giving away the fact that she’d been about to seek the carnival owner out.

“Where is he?”

Helki cackled, a sound she seemed to reserve for skeptics and fools. “He’s got a couple of lady friends in this town. He’ll be catting around all night and most of the morning.”

“Thanks for coming by and saving me the trouble of looking for him.” Dakotah shifted from one foot to the other before pressing forward, deciding it was better to get it over with than to play head games with the fortune-teller. “Is that all you wanted to tell me? Or did Sarael send a message?”

Helki’s face softened at the mention of Sarael, the child she’d raised when Sarael’s mother left her behind at the carnival. “No. Though you will see her sooner than you might think and be a part of her world for more years than you can imagine.”

A burst of warmth filled Dakotah’s heart, and for a moment she let herself believe, but then she ruthlessly pushed it aside. Sarael was already in Italy. And even if she did come back to the United States, there’d be no happy reunion. By tomorrow Dakotah would be gone. In another couple of days, she’d have a new name, a new identity, a new cell number. In a couple of days, Dakotah Flemming would no longer exist, though she had a feeling this name, this identity would be the hardest one she’d ever shed.

She’d adopted the name for the rugged wildness that could be found in the Dakotas. For the wolf. But over the last year, she felt as though she’d become Dakotah. It would bother her to… She shrugged the thought away. She couldn’t afford to become sentimental over a name.

“So you swung by to save me the trouble of looking for Roy? Thanks,” Dakotah said, her body tensing, her mind already guessing the reason behind Helki’s visit.

It was a strange tradition at this carnival. A reading by Helki before you were allowed to stay. A reading by Helki before you left—if you intended to leave on good terms. She didn’t plan on coming back. But the life she’d led had taught her it was smarter to leave doors open than to slam them shut. “You want to sit down?”