Page 28 of Shadow Blind

Not that anyone outside of the Taounaha believed him.

His fingers closed around the satin-soft pouch in his pocket. He’d created the misshapen thing himself, stealing needle and thread from his grandmother’s sewing box and a rabbit pelt from his grandfather’s shed. He’d been beaten for that—for the thefts. He’d been seventeen then and much bigger than the old woman and old man who’d never accepted him as kin. He could have stopped their fists and belts. Instead, he’d taken the beating as a memory, something to remind him of things best forgotten.

Among the Kalikoia—or at least normal families among the Hee’woo’nee—the claiming pouch was gifted to each child chosen by a spirit clan on puberty. For young males, the gift was delivered by the eldest male in their father’s family line. For females, the eldest female among the mother’s family line. The totem pouches represented the Shadow Warrior and Blue Moon Mother, and the spirit animals they sent forth. This remained true for all the Hee’woo’nee…except O’Neill.

But then, his family had never been normal.

With a disgusted shake of his head, he turned, watching as Samuel, Wolf’s second in command, wrapped one of the dead SEALs in a plastic sheet. Good ol’ Samuel, one of Shadow Mountain’s most venerated warriors, didn’t look worried about handling what could be a highly infectious body.

Another face, a feminine version of Samuel’s, tried to transpose itself over the warrior’s face. O’Neill shoved it away. He had plenty of practice shoving it away. Particularly since her son, who looked so much like her and Samuel, had joined Shadow Mountain for training.

No, Samuel didn’t appear concerned about handling the dead bodies, but then why would he? Benioko, the Shadow Warrior’s earthside mouthpiece, had assured everyone they were safe, assured everyone no harm would come to them while rolling the corpses of Aiden’s infected teammates in plastic, stuffing them in the body bags and sharing the cramped space of the Thunderbird with them for the five hours it would take to fly back to base.

O’Neill would have rolled his eyes at that insanity if he didn’t believe the Old One too.

He might be an outsider, but he’d grown up on the Brenahiilo alongside mysticism and clan magic. He’d seen things that couldn’t be explained by science or logic. But what carried the most weight was that he’d never known Benioko to be wrong about anything.

Infallibility walked hand in hand with access to an elder god who foresaw all futures and all likely paths. Benioko’s infallibility was why O’Neill had joined Shadow Mountain and currently put up with the warrior assholes who ran it.

After that God-awful moment two years ago, when the Old One appeared on his doorstep in Hebron Palestine and showed him the horrific events about to unfold, he’d needed to do something. He needed to do everything in his power to stop Benioko’s vision from coming true. To stop humanity from turning on each other and disposing of everything that made humans…human. No more cruelty, or greed, or violence. But no more love, creativity, or compassion either. Only programmed precision and endless emptiness.

To prevent that future, he’d broken every promise he’d made to himself and returned to the Hee’woo’nee, to the very ones who’d shunned him, who labeled him a thief and liar. Who called him jie’van. Outcast. Outsider.

In all his years, only two of the Kalikoia had seen him with unfiltered eyes. And one of those two…well, hell, she’d proven to be a mirage, nothing but an illusion, spawned by his own mind.

Even now, a year after the Taounaha had appeared on his doorstep in Palestine and showed him the fate of humanity, he questioned whether joining Wolf and Samuel and the rest of the assholes at Shadow Mountain had been necessary. Why couldn’t he do his part to prevent Benioko’s nightmarish future from coming true while tucked into his own little niche in the shadows? Why upend his life and resume his position as jie’van among those who had no clue who he was, or why he’d returned?

A muted thud caught his attention as Mackenzie dropped Aiden’s rucksack next to the Thunderbird’s open cargo door.

“Hey, asshole,” Mackenzie growled. Angry black eyes locked on O’Neill’s face. “You want to help us here, instead of standing around with your thumbs up your ass?”

Ah, Mackenzie and his poetic insults. The rest of Wolf’s warriors might feel the same disdain, but they never acted upon it. They were too busy pretending the jie’van didn’t exist.

That old familiar resentment rose. Fuck them. Fuck them all. He should have never fallen for the Old One’s machinations and joined him at Shadow Mountain.

“Wouldn’t want to deprive you of workhorse duty. You do it so well,” O’Neill drawled, loading his voice with mockery. Maybe he could annoy the former commander into throwing a punch.

Mackenzie was the easiest to rile, although the other SEALs weren’t far behind. Simcosky and Winters were easy to needle, too, although they never lost control and launched a physical strike, just spewed biting verbal assaults. But their response was enough to provide some entertainment while the skirmish lasted. The southern one, though…he just shrugged the needling off and shot him a knowing look—like he knew there was more to the taunts than sheer arrogance.

His eyes volcanic, his fists clenched, Mackenzie let loose with a string of mother fucking this and mother fucking that. Before he could stomp over to where O’Neill waited, Rawlings blocked his way. Good old Rawlings, forever the peacekeeper. At least among his SEAL brethren.

There wasn’t much need for peacemaking among Wolf’s warriors. It was impossible to push their buttons, although O’Neill prodded them as often as he could. The urge to antagonize was instinctive after a lifetime of using sarcasm and derision to deflect and shield. Not that such tactics worked on Wolf and his men. They responded to his taunts with placid faces and flat, distant eyes—like he was an annoying fly buzzing around their heads. Or worse, like he didn’t exist.

Except for Benioko. The Old One just shook his head and watched him with chiding eyes.

“Why even come if you ain’t gonna make yourself useful?” Rawlings asked, although he sounded more curious than annoyed.

“Good question.” O’Neill grimaced.

Joining the go team hadn’t been his idea. Or Wolf’s. Wolf was never thrilled to have O’Neill shoved down his throat. Nope, the Taounaha had insisted on his inclusion in this mission.

But why? He wasn’t needed here. What was he supposed to see? Benioko knew better than to expect O’Neill to use his cursed talent with so many eyes as witnesses. Besides, there wasn’t anyone to use it on. Was he supposed to learn something up here? Something about this new enemy, this new war? He scanned the few corpses that hadn’t been shoved into body bags yet. This wasn’t the vision that Benioko had shared with him all those months ago in Palestine. But it was related. He sensed that.

His gaze drifted to Winchester, who was just now climbing to his feet. Maybe Benioko’s insistence that he join this op was because of Wolf’s little bro. Did the Old One want him to meet and bond with the chosen one? That seemed unlikely. The shaman knew better than that. There would be no bonding with anyone from the eagle clan, even those unaware they’d been claimed by the thae-hrata.

Winchester’s instant animosity toward him illustrated that point.

Cats and birds didn’t mix.

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