Ghost Flute

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An Excerpt From: GHOST FLUTE

Copyright © KIMBERLY DEAN, 2010

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Chapter One

The music came again just as Serena was drifting off to sleep. It floated on the breeze outside her bedroom window and slipped through the tiny holes of the screen. Alive on the air, it circled around her restless body, caressing her and tempting her. She shifted on the bed, caught in that hazy land between sleep and wakefulness. The melody stirred something inside of her.

The song was as haunting as it was beautiful.

A long, mourning note vibrated over her skin and her breath caught. In that instant, she awoke fully. Her eyes popped open and she was immediately aware of her surroundings. Yet still, the music called-and her body responded. She stretched, trying to ease the ache, the absolute yearning... A damp sweat covered her skin and her thighs trembled. The arousal was so acute, she sat straight up in bed. Her hand went to her heart and her gaze darted to the corners of the room.

"Who´s there?" she whispered.

Only the night music answered. It was still out there, throbbing with sensuality. The song tugged at her.

It wanted her.

A flute. Somebody in the backyard was playing a siyotanka.

Swinging her legs off the side of the bed, Serena clenched the edge of the mattress and listened harder. The sounds were coming from behind the house, back near the trees that lined the small creek that fed the Missouri River. Her feet touched the floor and she rose silently, leaving the lights turned off.

The mid-August air was heavy with humidity. It clung to her skin, even though the night air had cooled from its midday extremes. Central air-conditioning was a luxury on the reservation and her aunt and uncle´s window unit in the living room didn´t reach back to the two small bedrooms. They didn´t even let it try, closing off the living area to save energy. She´d tried sleeping on the couch, but it was too short and lumpy. That left the guest bedroom. She didn´t like sleeping with the windows open, but it was a necessity. For the past few nights, the breeze had been her only salvation.

Until it had started singing to her.

Tiptoeing to the back door, she peered through the window into the darkness. The moon overhead was bright, casting an eerie, bluish light across the landscape. Long prairie grass shifted in the breeze, creating moving shadows. The leaves on the trees rustled with nocturnal life, but she couldn´t see anyone standing back there.

She could hear them, though.

The music seemed stronger and clearer. Sweeter. Goose bumps popped up on her arms. She rubbed them briskly, but felt the music pulling a stronger response from her. Her nipples beaded hard against her tank top and an ache settled deep in her belly.

She was out the door and onto the back porch before she could think better.

Outside the music wasn´t muted. It was full and textured. Alive. Her hair blew with the breeze, away from her face, as the tempting song kissed her cheeks, her neck and the sensitive spot between her breasts. She shivered, her arousal swiftly changing to hunger.

Her fingers wrapped around the porch banister as she scanned the dimly lit copse of trees. She wanted... No, she had to find the source of that music.

She needed him.

Her feet started moving. They skipped lightly down the porch steps and into the damp grass. With each step she took towards the trees, the music became more sensual, more irresistible. Her heart rate sped up and her feet followed suit. He was back there. Waiting for her. Needing her.

Nothing else mattered. The music swooped and swayed, tangled around her, immersing her. She began to run, oblivious to anything else.

Until a hot hand wrapped around her arm and jerked her to a stop.

"Serena?" a low, male voice said.

She let out a shriek.

And the music vanished.

"What are you doing?"

Broken from her near-trance, she jerked back from the man-only to stumble on a rut in the ground beneath her. The stranger caught her by both arms and steadied her. The hold was warm and strong, but she felt trapped. Captured.

She hadn´t expected anyone to be out here. Other than... She didn´t know what she was doing out here!

Wide-eyed, she looked at the man who´d appeared from out of nowhere. The moonlight smoothed some features and sharpened others. High cheekbones were lit, while dark pools of black lay where eyes should be. His long hair seemed nearly blue and his tanned skin absorbed what light there was, making him almost appear as a living shadow. The fear shimmering along Serena´s nerve endings pierced deeper when she recognized him.

Chayton Arrowhead.

She swallowed hard. When had he gotten home? She usually got up to close her windows when she heard the rumbling of his truck. She looked around quickly and was surprised at how far from the house she´d ventured. What had she been thinking?

She hadn´t been thinking. She´d been reacting. Pure, deep-seated compulsion had stripped her defenses and blocked all other instincts.

Including self-preservation.

They were in the deepening shadows, almost to the tree line. Back this far, none of the neighbors could see her-other than the neighbor next door, the one who´d already found her. Arrowhead´s house sat next to the Little Feathers´ at the end of a long dirt road. Together, their small cabins backed up to the trees where nobody else could see. Nobody else could hear.

"Hey," he said, drawing her attention back to him. "Are you all right?"

Her fingers curled. Despite the breeze, the air felt heavy and warm next to him. Much too warm.

Although he wasn´t wearing much more than she was...

Serena tried not to look-willed herself not to look-but her body was too roused to be ignored. The music had toyed with her. She could still feel the sensuous touch of the notes and hear the promise on the wind. As frightening as Chayton Arrowhead was, he was sexier for it.

She looked.

And had to press her thighs together hard.

While his face might be hidden in shadow, his body wasn´t. All he wore was a pair of khaki pants. His chest and his feet were bare. He was lean, dark-skinned and roped with muscle. His black hair blew in the breeze, swinging halfway down his back. He had more Sioux blood in him than she did and it didn´t take much of a stretch of her imagination to see him as a warrior of old dressed in soft deerskin leggings. He looked dark, intense and scarily sexy.

Her own private fantasy.

Music suddenly floated across the wind, one faint note, low and trembling. Serena looked sharply to the trees and Chayton´s head turned as he followed the glance.

"What is it? What do you hear?"

Her mouth parted. He couldn´t hear it? It was all that was in her head. The tone was sweet and pure, echoing off the trees.

Until it disappeared again.

Confused, she listened harder. Was she really hearing a flute? Or was it something else? Something natural that he took for granted? She lived in the city. The sounds of the reservation were comforting, but abnormal to her. "I...I´m not sure," she said hoarsely.

"Then where were you going?" he asked.

She shifted uneasily, the prairie grass scratching at her legs. She didn´t know.

She didn´t know.

Her heart began fluttering too fast. She´d been pulled out that door. By what, she couldn´t say, but her destination certainly hadn´t been him.

She watched him carefully, the fear taking root. She shouldn´t be out here with him. He was wilder than anything that awaited her in the woods. He was too earthy, too primal.

And he had a reputation that scared her.

His grip on her arms tightened and he gave her a shake. "Are you with me? Serena, why were you running towards the trees?"

He knew her name.

Fight or flight finally kicked in and she jerked away, putting several feet between them. His gaze went over her then and she felt it as acutely as a stroke of his palm. Suddenly, her tank top seemed too skimpy, the straps too thin and delicate. The prairie grass brushed against her calves, emphasizing how short her shorts were. She felt vulnerable and exposed. Scared and way too turned on.

"How do you know my name?" she asked.

"Your aunt and uncle told me you´d be watching the house."

While they were on vacation. It was something she hadn´t wanted him to know. She´d heard about the Arrowheads. They were troublemakers. Hell-raisers, yet her aunt and uncle trusted their neighbor, even spoke highly of him. Serena wasn´t as open to the idea of rehabilitation.

The man had done time.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked. "Why are you following me?"

"I called your name, but you didn´t answer." He took a step closer. "It´s not safe out here in the dark, especially down by the creek."

Serena´s gaze darted towards the trees. The shadows seemed deeper, but the only sounds she heard were crickets chirping and frogs croaking.

What had she been doing? She pushed back her hair. Everything was so foggy in her head, like she was still waking up. Could that be it? Had she dreamt the whole thing? "I...I think I might have been sleepwalking."

His gaze swept over her. "Are you okay now?"

She didn´t need any more attention drawn to her lack of dress. Self-conscious, she folded her arms over her chest-and nearly moaned when even that touch was too much against her sensitive breasts. "Just...unsettled."

"Has it happened before?" he pressed. "Wandering like this?"

She let out a shaky breath. "This is a first."

Looking over his shoulder, Chayton surveyed the trees. Finally, Serena could see his eyes. They were dark and sharp, like the falcon´s name he carried.

The man was a hunter.

She took a step back towards the house.

His chin swung towards her. "You heard something. What was it?"

Her lips pressed tight. There was no way she was going to tell him that. "I don´t know."

His eyes were shadowed again, yet she could feel the dark holes boring into her.

"I need to get back inside." Fear and desire were a bad combination. She couldn´t stay out here in the moonlight with this man-not with as forbidding as he was and not with the way the music had made her feel.

Imagined or not.

He watched her for a long moment and then nodded. He walked towards her and she took another instinctive step back. When she realized he meant to walk her back to the porch, she quickly swung around. He settled in at her side, matching his pace to hers. It made the trip back slow and tense. The ground suddenly seemed uneven under Serena´s bare feet. Every time a shadow moved, she flinched.

He noticed. "If anything was out here, we´ve scared it away by now."

All of a sudden, a gust of wind lifted her hair. It brushed against his arm, and he inhaled sharply. Awareness pinched at Serena.

They´d scared away everything but him.

She moved further away, but Arrowhead only followed. It put her on alert. She wanted to run, but she didn´t want him to know she was afraid of him.

Or attracted to him.

By the time they made it back to the steps of her porch, her body was quivering from holding back. Her mind raced. Would he let her go back in the house alone? What was she supposed to do? Would he-

He stopped at the base of the steps. "If you hear it again," he said quietly, "stay inside and call me."

She looked at him sharply. He wasn´t buying the sleepwalking story any more than she was. Unable to hide her nervousness one moment longer, she scurried up the stairs. She grabbed the screen door and opened it. Holding it almost as a shield, she looked back to him.

And her mouth went dry. From head to toe, the moonlight bathed him. His black hair lifted with the breeze, fanning out beside him. It was nearly as long as hers. His arms were folded over his hard chest and his sculpted abs lifted and fell lightly as he breathed.

He was beautiful.

And he was danger personified.

She slipped inside to safety and latched the screen. She´d stay inside, all right, but she wouldn´t call. "Thank you," she said nervously. "For...helping me."

His ebony eyes didn´t blink as he watched you. "You´re welcome, Little Feather. Sleep tight."

Serena´s belly clenched harder than when the music had played. Hot tingles of heat spread through her and the tug of desire returned. Her feet wanted to move. She forced them to step backward instead of forward and she shut the door abruptly. Locking it, she took another wary step back.

What had just happened?

Her hand smacked against the wall switch and the overhead kitchen light turned on. The fluorescent bulbs glowed brightly. Still, she backed away.

Why had she gone out there like that? Into the darkness and into the woods? What had happened to her brain? Her common sense?

And what had he been doing out there?

She hit the hallway light, backing up until she bumped into the door that led into the living room. She quickly let herself inside, turned on a table lamp and shut the hallway door again.

She´d put as many barriers between them as she could, but it didn´t feel like enough.

Compared to the outdoors, the living room was an icebox. The air conditioner blew steadily, humming loudly and spitting drops of water. Shivering, Serena turned up the temperature and lowered the fan speed. The unit quieted, but not before her teeth started clattering. She grabbed the star quilt off the sofa. It was one her grandmother had made one summer when she´d visited as a child. Wrapping the soft material around her shoulders, she pulled it tight.

It was warm and comforting, just what she needed to help her calm down and think.

Her brain was fuzzy and racing at the same time. Had she truly been sleepwalking? She´d never done anything like that before and it had felt like she´d been awake. She´d woken on the bed. She remembered that distinctly.

Just like she remembered the sounds that had been coming from the trees.

Her head turned slowly towards the far wall and her gaze landed on her uncle´s flute. She´d lied when Arrowhead had asked her what the sounds had been. She´d recognized the instrument, if not the music. Moving slowly, she crossed the room. She took the flute off its shelf and sat down in the overstuffed easy chair that was too big for the room. She held the wooden instrument in her lap.

The siyotanka was an instrument meant for only one kind of music. Love music.

Her fingers ran over the beak-shaped end. The flute was carved in the form of a bird, but its music was said to sound like the call of an elk. And the Sioux held the elk in high regard. It was considered the holder of the love charm.

One who had strong elk medicine was attractive to the opposite sex. Elk medicine was sexual magnetism, beauty and hotness all rolled up into one. When a siyotanka was played, the spell its call wove was powerful. So powerful, it made the man who played it irresistible... Whether he was the right man for the maiden he romanced or not.

As legend went, Brule Sioux warriors would use their siyotankas to court the maidens they loved, their winchinchala. In a society where families lived so closely together, it was sometimes the only way a man could let a woman know he was interested. At night, he´d go into the forest close to his love´s family tipi. When he´d start to play, the music´s pull would be overpowering. Girls´ thoughts would be so clouded that only the physical mattered. They would run to their suitors, unable to hold back. The lure of the elk medicine was that strong.

Serena´s gaze lifted, but she didn´t see the wall decorated with shelves holding her aunt´s pottery. Instead, she saw through it to the back of the house, all the way to the shadowed trees.

Somebody out there had been playing a flute tonight.

And their elk medicine had been undeniable.

She shook her head. She knew the stories; she´d heard them dozens of times. And she´d believed them-to an extent. As with all legends, they had some base in fact, yet she´d thought they´d been exaggerated. Music didn´t have that kind of power; she didn´t care who was playing it.

Yet she´d been powerless under the spell of that haunting melody. It had wrapped around her, touching off nerve endings and stoking needs. Those notes had literally pulled her from her bed. She´d been a willing winchinchala.

But for whom? She hadn´t met anyone she was interested in, unless-

The beak of the siyotanka suddenly poked into her fingertip and she winced. Her gaze swung towards the window holding the air conditioner. Above the sputtering unit, she could see that the lights in Arrowhead´s house were still on.

Had it been him? Was that the reason he´d found her, wandering through the night? Had he lured her to him? Used the night music to tempt her into a tryst that would be no good for her? He was sexy enough. He had elk medicine that wouldn´t quit.

She shivered and pulled her grandmother´s quilt and her protection more closely around her. She hoped it hadn´t been him.

Because as beautiful and alluring as that siyotanka´s call had been, there was something wrong about it. It had a darkness to it, a darkness that was as disquieting and seductive as only evil could be.