Awakening the Alpha Book 2: Snatched

Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3

Logan lifted his arms and face to the sky. As the sun’s rays fell on his high cheekbones, dark eyes, and tinted skin, his chant rose—masculine, yet falling on the morning air as sure as a songbird in flight—sometimes soaring, sometimes riding the gentle currents of the wind.

The clear notes of his father’s flute strengthened and quickened as the drum picked up its pace. Rosalie shook the rattles now, and her son danced, face impassive, his concentration on his feet as he continued his chant and took intricate steps in time to the rhythmic voice of the drum. The tinkling bells on his ankles added to the musical mix.

Blaze soon found himself lost in the vision before him of the athletic man whose movements were created by his artistic gifts and the honest heart Blaze saw anytime he looked into the depths of his soul mate’s eyes.

Logan’s feet moved, seduced by his chant. He swooped, turned, and bent, throwing his arms out and up at times, then hunching over, knees bent, with his palms hovering above the Earth as if to draw power from her, to receive her blessing or offer one. Chanting and dancing, he circled through the empty space in front of the watchers.

Blaze wondered if he was celebrating a new appreciation of his heritage or maybe even their newfound love, for he sensed joy and sacredness in all of it.

Little by little, the rhythm slowed and tapered off. The rattles quieted. The drum stopped, and the notes of the flute faded away. The dancer was silent and still again, arms folded across his chest, head bowed.

Blaze ached with disappointment because he’d wanted it to go on forever.

Audiences were notorious for ignoring a request not to clap, and Blaze sensed it was difficult for these people, the non-Natives in particular, to restrain themselves after such an impressive performance. Everyone stood to signal their appreciation. Behind him someone clapped, and it jarred and irritated him because it ruined the happy, yet solemn and beautiful ritual.

Another someone made quick work of silencing the rude individual.

Now the quiet was broken by the same sounds they’d heard when the Riders had first appeared—the muffled shuffle of feet clad in deerskin, an occasional small rattle quickly squelched, and the soft tinkling of the bells at Logan’s ankles.

The Riders slipped through the doorway. Some i***t ran up and tried to shove his way behind them into the building. Blaze’s gut tightened. Concerned for their safety, he took two strides toward the guy, but an armed guard blocked the intruder, and Blaze stopped. He wasn’t needed. Swearing, the miscreant struggled to fight his way around him while the guard talked into a radio attached to his shirt neck. Blaze hoped he was calling reinforcements. A second security officer arrived and escorted the gate crasher away. Blaze’s gut relaxed.

Although he was as culturally white as any white man could be, the emotions left behind by what this family had shared were palpable to him. He’d wanted to chant and dance to welcome the morning, too. And, klutz that I am, that would be a most unwelcome sight.