Page 1 of Shadows of Eternity

Chapter One

Leia Winchester watched in awe as the Indian who had been introduced as Shadow Dancer dipped and swayed to the haunting music of flute and drum. His well-muscled, copper-hued body bent and twisted in ways she would have thought impossible, each movement masculine, sensual. His bare feet made no sound as they executed the intricate steps. Long, black hair fell like a river of silk almost to his waist, now flowing around his broad shoulders, now whipping around his face in time to the beat of the drum and the rhythm of the dance. She yearned to run her fingers through that masculine mane, trace the well-defined muscles that bunched and flexed in his arms.

He was, in a word, the most beautiful, exciting thing she had ever seen.

Unlike the other dancers who had performed earlier, adorned with colorful bustles and headdresses and beaded moccasins, Shadow Dancer wore only a breechclout. A single white eagle feather fluttered in his hair. A narrow slash of bright red paint ran from the outer corner of his left eye to the curve of his jaw; a handprint in the same bright red was painted on his chest over his heart.

She applauded wildly when his dance was over. Then, hoping to get him to sign her program, she practically ran out of the auditorium to the stage door.

Gradually, the other dancers emerged in groups of two or three or four. Half an hour later, Leia was still waiting.

She had just decided he must have gone out another way when the door opened and he stood there. He had looked magnificent in Native dress. He looked equally impressive in a pair of black jeans, boots, and a dark gray sweatshirt that said, “Go Native.”

One dark eyebrow went up inquisitively when he saw her. “Are you waiting for someone?” His voice poured over her like melted chocolate, deep and rich.

“Um, yes,” she murmured. “I was waiting for you.”

“Oh?”

She held out her program and a pen. “I … could I please have your autograph?”

To avoid this very thing, he generally left the venue after the crowd had gone, but he was glad he hadn’t waited tonight, he mused, as his gaze ran over her. She had hair like flame and eyes the color of new grass. “My pleasure,” he said, reaching for the pen and her program.

Leia shivered as his cool fingers brushed her own. For an instant, in her mind’s eye, she saw a flash of images—a tipi, a herd of running buffalo, a calico pony, a freshly-turned grave. Before she could make sense of the images, they were gone.

“Are you all right?” he asked, frowning.

“I … yes, of course.”

Opening the program to a page featuring his photographs, he scrawledShadow Danceracross one of the pictures, and below that, he wroteRohan,and handed it back to her.

“Rohan,” she murmured. “That seems like an odd name for an Indian.”

“Shadow Dancer is the name I was born with. I use it as my stage name.”

“Then where did Rohan come from?”

He shrugged. “It’s easier to use in everyday life than Shadow Dancer.”

“So, what’s the name on your driver’s license?”

“Rohan Stillwater.”

“Well,” she said, “it was nice to meet you. I thought you were wonderful.”

“Thank you,” he said, returning the pen. “What would you say if I asked you out for a drink?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Engaged? Going steady? Gay?”

“No, no, and no,” she said, with a laugh.

“Just not interested, huh? Well, it was nice meeting you.”

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