The enormity of what might be—what she had to do—overwhelmed Liz and stole all of her fight. She stopped twisting her hand, which forced Zeke to loosen his grip. When he turned to her, Liz sagged against him and whispered, “I love you so much.”
He caressed her.
Jacob stood behind them in the hall. He held back. Extending her arm, Liz invited him closer.
“We’ll get him,” Jacob said. He rested his hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek, his touch gentle. “We won’t let him harm that woman or anyone else.”
Liz murmured, “He won’t do anything if I go back.”
“No fucking way,” Zeke said. “Jacob and I won’t let you.”
“That’s right,” he said.
Liz rested her forehead on Zeke’s chest, relishing the moment and the little time they had left. “I have to. It’s the only way. If I’m able to heal, that might appease him. It could buy you time to plan your attack and get rid of him for good.”
“I won’t allow it,” Zeke growled. He held her tightly. Rough breaths poured from him as though his anger was at its limit…or he was battling despair. “We’ll figure something out. He won’t win.”
Liz had no strength left to argue. Carreon had already won. All that remained was for her to find a way to leave the stronghold and allow her destiny to play out as it should have from the beginning.
She and Zeke weren’t meant to be together. They’d been born as enemies, not lovers. Being with him had caused nothing but grief for his people and her clan. She recognized that inescapable truth on Isabel’s face.
The older woman had just come into the hall, stopping at what she saw. Her leader and his brother giving solace to a woman who had no right to it.
“Zeke,” Isabel said. “We need to talk.”
Liz felt his body tense.
“Later,” he said, clearly irritated.
“No. Now,” Isabel insisted.
“I’ll take Liz back to your room and make certain she’s safe,” Jacob offered. There was no lust in his voice, merely a desire to help.
Despite Isabel’s presence, Zeke cupped Liz’s face in his large hand and pressed his cheek to hers. “Everything will be all right,” he whispered.
Liz didn’t believe it. She saw Isabel’s expression and recalled what Carreon had threatened.
Zeke followed Isabel to one of the smaller meeting spaces where the women sometimes played cards or caught a moment for themselves away from the boisterous children. Unlike the main meeting room, there were several smaller tables in here surrounded by comfortable chairs.
Isabel closed and locked the door.
Zeke braced himself for the worst.
Rather than speaking, she went to a cupboard on the far left. Inside were packaged snacks—Cheetos, Snickers, Pringles, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. She reached behind them and opened a hidden compartment. From there, she pulled out what appeared to be a stack of photos.
Isabel placed them side by side on the table nearest to Zeke, then said, “Look at these.”
He wanted to ask why but figured it would only prolong whatever this was leading up to. Zeke wondered if those were photos of his parents. Did Isabel honestly believe she could use their memory to shame him into doing what she wanted?
He wanted to tell her it wouldn’t work. He ached to leave.
On a heavy sigh, he went to the table and regarded the pictures. Taken at various times, clearly different decades, they depicted several members of the clan dressed in that period’s clothing. Like the garments, the scenery behind them also changed. The oldest photos showed the desert landscape dotted by teepees, their people wearing buckskin, their braided hair decorated with eagle feathers. In the later pictures, Anglo clothing and storefronts replaced the earlier Comanche lifestyle.
Many of these photos appeared to be from the early eighteen hundreds. Was the process to take pictures even available then? How was it possible that it had been so good? These were remarkable images, as sharp as those from today’s digital cameras. Not understanding, Zeke glanced at Isabel.
She tapped her finger against the table. “Look at the pictures. Tell me what you see.”
“Our people,” he said.
“You’re not looking,” she accused. “You’re not seeing. You’re deliberately being blind about this, just as you’ve been about everything concerning your clan since you brought that woman here. Look.”
Clenching his jaw, Zeke regarded the pictures, not knowing what in the hell he was supposed to be looking for. A sign that he shouldn’t have brought Liz here? A message written in the dirt or in the sky? A particularly threatening scowl that would reveal what his ancestors thought of—
Zeke’s musing stopped as he more closely studied the faces. Once he had, he compared the earliest picture to the most recent one. All of the people in it were different, of course. The previous ones gone because they’d died as many as a hundred-and-ninety years before.
Except for one individual—a woman.
Zeke’s mouth went dry. He took the two photos, placing them next to each other. The same woman was in each, nearly two centuries apart. She hadn’t changed a bit. Hadn’t aged past her sixty or so years.
No. It wasn’t possible.
Zeke stared at Isabel’s image in all of the pictures. It had to be a trick. She’d done this on Photoshop.
As though she’d read his mind, or perhaps his expression, she murmured, “The tales the elders have told about the Others—that we’ve walked among you in your earthly form—aren’t simply myths, Zeke. I’ve been with your clan from the start, well before you were known as Comanche. I was sent here to watch over all of you, to make certain your people protected the land and heritage we provided, that you didn’t dishonor your gift of prophecy or us.”
Zeke forced down a swallow and shook his head. “This is a trick.” He shoved the photos away. Several fell to the floor. “You did this on a computer.”
“Have you ever seen me looking any different than I do now?” she asked.
“This is a damn trick. It’s not going to change my mind about—”
“Have you?” she insisted.
“You know I have,” he said as intensely as she had, his voice as low-pitched. “When I was a kid.”
“And I was your mother’s best friend from high school then, wasn’t I?”
Before Zeke could answer, he noted a subtle difference in Isabel’s eyes. The pupils were no longer round, but vertical, like a reptile’s. And then the whites disappeared, replaced by a golden color.
He gaped, and the phenomenon was gone. As though it had never happened.
“Tell me,” she said, “when did I ever come to your house? When did you ever see me with your mother?”
This was nuts. Her complexion looked darker suddenly, more like hide than skin.
“Zeke?”
He blinked, because she now looked as she always had. What in the fuck was happening?
“When did you see me with your mother?” she repeated.
He snapped, “Many times.”
“When, exactly? During one of your birthday parties? At another celebration your family had, like when you won that track meet in middle school or when Jacob won that spelling bee?”
Zeke thought back to every special event he could think of, knowing there had to be countless instances when the two women had been together. They’d been inseparable. BFF’s. Two normal females.
“You can’t recall details from even one now, can you?” Isabel asked. “Because they never existed. They’re no more than beliefs I put into your mind and those of the others so I could walk among you without causing fear.”
Unable to speak, Zeke kept shaking his head.
Isabel gestured to the pictures.
He studied her hands. The nails seemed yellowed and clawed, then ordinary once more.