Free White Flame by Susan Edwards Page A

she didn’t understand why. “The captain is very kind,” she whispered, trying to soothe the Indian.
    Striking Thunder’s shoulders stiffened and his hands curled into fists. He took a step forward. “Sanders and your father are responsible for the murder of many of my people, including my wife.”
    The world tilted. Suddenly, Emma was very afraid of the dark storm of fury raging in this warrior who stood before her with hatred glittering in eyes black as the night. This time, when he advanced, she picked up her skirts and ran for her life.
     
    Striking Thunder didn’t need the soft guiding light from Grandmother Moon to follow the white woman. His upper lip curled into a sneer of contempt. “She thinks to outrun this warrior?” He tensed, staring off across the darkened prairie in the direction she’d fled. His thigh muscles bunched, his body quivered with anticipation of the hunt. “Let her run,” he spoke, forcing himself to relax. There was no hurry. The spirits were with him this night. The colonel’s daughter would escape only if he allowed her to do so.
    “Emma.” The name rolled off his tongue, smooth and silky, as beautiful as the woman with her wide, frightened doe eyes the color of spring grass, flame-red hair and skin as pale as freshly fallen snow. Seeing up-close the bruises marring that flesh brought forth fresh waves of fury. Realizing where his thoughts were taking him, Striking Thunder looked to the moon to clear his thoughts of the white woman. To his dismay, Emma’s features were imprinted on the disk’s glowing face.
    He closed his eyes. Why did this woman draw him so? She was a white woman and the daughter of his enemy. He summoned the image of Meadowlark’s lifeless body to drive all desire for the white woman from him. His wife’s life-giving blood had flowed across the maka, seeping into the dirt. Wasted. Gone forever.
    A shaft of pain pierced him, sharp as the blade Meadowlark had used to end her life. Anger, fierce and as hot as a fire whipping across the dry prairie, raged within him. He’d failed to protect her life. He would not fail to appease her spirit.
    Colonel O’Brien and Captain Sanders would pay for their evil crimes and how better than with the life of the colonel’s own flesh and blood: the daughter and wife-to-be. Both would pay, not with their lives, but their suffering would be far worse than death.
    A pang of regret for what he must do tore through him. That hesitation, that small showof weakness, displeased him. Warriors showed no mercy to the enemy. The colonel must suffer the loss of his family as Striking Thunder’s people had suffered the loss of their loved ones. His resolve firmly in place, Striking Thunder took off after Emma on foot. After a few minutes, he bore to the left. He didn’t need to see his prey. He felt her, sensed the direction of her flight. The spirits guided him, just as they had led him to Emma once before.
    As he gained on her, her ragged sobs led him to her. Then he saw her running ahead of him, a dark wraithlike shadow that grew clearer the closer he got. When only a few feet separated them, she glanced over her shoulder, the trail of tears luminescent on her pale skin. A tug of something pulled at his heart, but he ignored it. Not watching where she was going, she stumbled and fell. He stood over her. “You cannot escape Striking Thunder. You are mine.”
    “No. Never!” Emma’s hoarse gasps signaled her exhaustion, yet still she tried to get to her feet and run.
    Tired of the game, Striking Thunder reached down and grabbed her by the arm. Like a she-bear, she came up kicking and clawing, until he knocked her feet out from under her. He followed her down, his length falling atop hers. His size and weight easily pinned her to the grassy mat beneath them. With ease, he captured both her wrists in one hand and held them high above her head. Despite his anger and the driving need for revenge, he admired her courage. She fought