Page 1 of Shadow Blind

Chapter one

Author’s Note

This note is for those readers who read the Red-Hot SEAL series and noticed discrepancies between those books and Shadow Blind.

Originally, Aiden, Kait, Wolf and the rest of the Native American special ops warriors based out of Shadow Mountain were Arapaho. The Red-Hot SEALs series, was written over ten years ago, before I knew about the own voices movement. Once I realized how offensive it was to the Arapaho people to mix my imagined supernatural elements with their history, culture, and tribal customs, I decided not to continue with the Arapaho story element.

However, for my Shadow Warriors series to work, I needed a Native American tribe. So, I created my own mythical tribe, with its own history, culture, language, and tribal customs. Thus, Aiden, Kait, Wolf, and the rest of the Shadow Mountain warriors are now from the Kalikoia tribe. My imaginary Native American tribe is not based on any living or dead indigenous culture and came straight from my imagination. Unfortunately, I cannot change the Arapaho element in my Red-Hot SEALS series as my publisher owns the copyright to those books, but I have changed these tribal elements in Hearts Under Fire and my new Shadow Warriors series.

For those interested, a glossary of Kalikoia words can be found at the back of this book.

Day 1

Vahdat, Tajikistan

“Fuck.” Aiden Winchester glared at the secure laptop’s screen with its spinning wheel of doom.

The SAT link was always iffy this far into shitkicker territory, particularly with the cloud cover. Sometimes the radio heads got the link reestablished, sometimes they didn’t. But dammit, did it have to go down during his scheduled FaceTime? Sure, he could reach for his secure squad SAT phone, but then he wouldn’t be able to see Demi.

Sometimes snarky, sometimes sweet, always sexy as hell, Demi’s pixie face broadcast her every thought and emotion. Listening to her voice wasn’t enough. He needed to see her too.

“Yo, Squirrel.” His shout turned his team brother’s scalped head his way. Squirrel was the only one of his squad mates who still went in for those buzz cuts of old. “Get hold of the brainiacs and find out what’s going on with the SAT link.”

“Bro, you’re so apron whipped. Can’t even last a day without kissy-facing your gal?” Squirrel asked with his patented squinty eyed smirk. But he turned and headed for the weighted door of the tent. That was his best friend in a nutshell—smartass quip, followed by immediate action.

The ruddy tattoo of a coiled rattler glinted across Squirrel’s neck as he shoved open the door and hunched his way out into the snow-crusted tundra that surrounded them. A blast of icy wind swept through the door, prickling against Aiden’s shoulders and the back of his head, before the door banged shut again. It was ass-crack cold and too windy for comfort during February, in the wilds of Vahdat, Tajikistan. Particularly at twenty-three-hundred hours.

Aiden turned back to the spinning circle of doom, and for a moment, a bone white face seemed to unfurl across the laptop screen. A twisted, elongated face with a gaping mouth and slits for eyes. A face surrounded by mist and fog.

He tensed and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the image was gone.

Fuuuuck.

He leaned back in the desk chair and scraped his palms down his face. What the fuck had that been about? This was the first time the damn dream had followed him into wakefulness. He’d like to pin that weird moment on stress—after all, they were about to spin up for another assault—except he didn’t do stress.

The rotating circle froze. The monitor flickered, and Demi’s face filled the screen.

Aiden cleared his throat. “Hey babe, like the hair.”

The pixie cut was the same, but the color was new. Blueish green this time. Not a surprise. This was her third color swap in the three years they’d been together. Demi liked to experiment.

Someone toward the back of the tent—Grub, if he wasn’t mistaken—made exaggerated kissing sounds. Most of the crew was sacked out on cots around the tent, trying to catch some shuteye before the chopper went skids up. But without a doubt, Grub wasn’t the only asshole listening to the conversation. The rest would start up with the razzing as soon as he hit the ‘End Call’ button.

Such were the annoyances of team life.

“This isn’t a good time, Aiden. I’m headed out the door,” Demi said in a flat voice. “Is there something you need?

Something I need?

The cool response caught him off guard. This was not how their sporadic FaceTimes went. Had she heard Grub’s bullshit? Was that why she’d shut the conversational door in his face? It was too bad he hadn’t found a warm, private space to place this call. But there had been plenty of less than private chats in the three years they’d been together. She’d never complained, nor had she cut the call short before.

He frowned, leaning closer to the screen. Her gaze was dull with crinkles of tension around her eyes. And her face was…guarded. Flat and guarded? His gut tightened. This was not the Demi he knew.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

She gave him a look, one he couldn’t quite decipher. Maybe accusatory? Maybe sad? Maybe both?

“I’m just tired. Today’s been a bad day.” She ran a hand over the top of her blue-green hair and looked down, avoiding his eyes. Her shoulders slumped. When she looked up again, her smile looked forced. “I’m sorry, Aiden. I’ve got to go. Keep yourself safe out there…” her voice trailed off and her lips twisted with something that looked almost cynical. “Wherever there is.”

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