The Vow (Black Arrowhead #1) - Dannika Dark Page 0,17
the vehicle and shut off the engine. He must not have wanted me to park by their vehicles. Understandable. The last thing I wanted to do was piss these guys off by leaving a scratch on somebody’s pickup.
As I hopped out, I noticed five women sitting in rocking chairs on the front porch. They were quietly talking, their eyes on me, and I had a feeling they didn’t get visitors too often.
I took a step back when a ferocious-looking man with tribal markings all over the left side of his face approached me. He was a beast with a menacing presence. A man like him could easily have a lucrative career in professional wrestling.
He regarded me for a moment. “Are you Miss Church?”
I bit my lip. There must have been some kind of miscommunication.
A little girl came sprinting toward us, her pigtails bouncing like springs with every step. When she insistently tugged on the man’s hand, he scooped her into his arms and anchored her against his left hip.
I shut the door. “I’m here to speak with Shikoba.”
The toddler’s eyes widened as she took in my hair color. I gave her a gleeful smile and bobbled my head back and forth playfully. When she reached out to touch it, the man swung away.
“Come with me,” he said.
I followed him, stealing a glance at the men to my left. They stood motionless. One of them spat and turned his back to me. I had to remind myself I wasn’t in Austin. If the encounter with the locals back at the bar was any indication of the fractured relationships in this community, I had a feeling they didn’t trust anyone who wasn’t in their tribe.
When we ascended onto the porch, the women steered their eyes away. Hope had taught me that Native Shifters were very different from the human tribes. They had their own unique languages, traditions, and way of life. Many tribes didn’t welcome outsiders to live with them, especially other animals. Hope’s family was an exception—an example of how the younger generations were branching off and running their packs differently. But her father still held fast to the belief that only Shifters should live in a pack, preferably wolves.
My family had different opinions on the matter.
When we entered the cabin, a double-sided stone fireplace in the center of the room drew my attention. It was flanked by simple furniture, which told me that the pack spent a lot of time socializing. The room had a lofty quality, with high ceilings and wood floors. The architecture seemed to suppress the desire to isolate oneself.
The man set the little girl down on a woven rug littered with wooden animals. She clutched a pony to her chest as I followed Mr. Beefcake to a narrow sunroom at the back of the house. It was closed off, affording privacy without the feeling of seclusion because of the tall windows that overlooked the back of the property.
An older man I presumed to be Shikoba greeted me with a nod from his brown chair. He tapped his hand on a wooden table and gestured for me to take the seat in front of him. I sat down, and the chair felt as leathery and lived-in as Shikoba’s skin appeared.
After the door closed and we were alone, he plucked a blackberry from a wooden bowl and ate it. “You don’t look like a Church.”
“I’m Hope’s partner and best friend. I came in her stead.”
He pushed the bowl forward to offer me some. “I know her people. Our tribes were allies in the days of war centuries ago. Why would she not come to see me face-to-face?”
I wasn’t sure what to say without inadvertently offending him, so I danced around the answer. “Our store is opening soon, and she has to finish as many designs as possible. We’ve fallen behind.”
He licked his finger and never tore his gaze from mine. “I’m familiar with her mother’s people. Good people. What a shame her grandmother fell for such a heartless man.” He tapped the rim of the bowl.
Even though my stomach was still queasy, I graciously accepted a plump blackberry. “Thank you for the honor of inviting me into your home, Mr. Shikoba.”
A smirk formed on his weathered face, and his whiskey-colored eyes twinkled. Unlike the other men in the tribe, who wore single braids, Shikoba had two thin ones. A few black hairs were woven in with the grey as if they were too stubborn to concede to aging.