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him.” The warrior took a single, telling step toward her. “Leave me alone, Tory Kent. Your presence ended my forever sleep and I hate you for it. You had no right!”
    He was saying that her coming here had brought him into the present? It was insane—insane and yet unshakable.
    â€œThis—this isn’t fair,” she blurted. “Please, at least tell me your name.”
    His features contorted, briefly revealing raw anguish. He glanced upward, and she wondered if he was looking for the eagle. Then, the gesture reluctant, he again settled his attention on her. “You are not Maklaks. You will not understand.”
    But I want to. I need to. “I’ll try to pronounce it.” She stumbled through the words, only dimly aware that she was no longer trying to tell him that he couldn’t possibly be who he said he was.
    â€œNot that.” He sounded angry. “My name has meaning the enemy cannot understand.”
    The enemy. So that’s what she was to him. “Try me,” she whispered. “At least give me something to call you.”
    â€œLoka. I am Loka.”
    She took his name into her through her pores. It settled uneasily, a word from another time and culture, part of a proud and defiant people. “Loka.” She still couldn’t bring her voice above a whisper. “Is that all?”
    â€œIt is enough.”
    Yes, it was. Although the syllables felt harsh on her tongue, she found something solid and right about it. The whites of her great-great-grandfather’s time had called the Modocs such things as Curly Headed Doctor, Hooker Jim,Captain Jack. She’d thought those tags both sad and obscene, was glad this man had escaped the demeaning labels.
    â€œLoka.” His name crawled even farther inside her. “Did your father call you that after you had your vision quest? Is that how those things were done?”
    Although she’d asked as gently as she knew how, his body instantly became tense and hard and remote. “You know nothing of the Maklaks. How can you stand on our land as if you have a right?”
    â€œI’m—I’m trying to learn.”
    â€œYou cannot! Go. Now!”
    But she couldn’t. Something as old and permanent as the rocks themselves held her here. “Why do you hate me?”
    â€œWhy? You are part of the man who put an end to the Maklaks.”
    â€œNo, he didn’t!” She felt on the edge of losing self-control and couldn’t think how to change that. “Your people killed him. Murdered a man of peace. That’s why he was here, don’t you understand that? He came to this awful place because his job was to try to put an end to the war. He didn’t want any more killing. Do you think he wanted to jeopardize the lives of the young men under him? To be responsible for sons and sweethearts and fathers—he was doing everything he possibly could to keep things from getting any worse. And what happened? Some hothead—”
    â€œEnough!”
    The single word stripped her of the anger she didn’t know she had until he’d unleashed it. Although she wanted to tell him that she hadn’t said enough yet and might never fully expel her anger at a good and dedicated man’s untimely death, Loka had leaned closer, and his eyes—his unbelievable eyes—were a tunnel to his soul.
    â€œWere you here?” she asked, her voice so calm that it had to belong to someone else. “Did you kill him?”

Chapter 5
    S ilence spread between them like a slow-moving river. Tory stared up at this man from the past, thinking not of his role in history, but of the way the sun caressed his ebony hair. His eyes were morning and darkness, danger and challenge, and yet she wanted to experience everything about him. Yesterday she’d wished she was behind the wheel of a speeding vehicle because, maybe, that would kill the energy eating away at her.
    Today he was what