How Not to Date a Skunk Read Free Page B

age left her an outcast. The abrasive attitude she developed helped protect her and stood her in good stead in a profession dominated by men. She was just lucky enough to get a university grant to photograph the pow-wows and the Native American lifestyle that she loved, recording the changes in the closed group dynamic that had developed over the years.
    And now she was standing with a man who had to be someone straight out of a myth. She was fascinated and a little bit intimidated, but oddly enough, not afraid. She was more afraid of the younger fighter and the elders than she was of this white-haired man.
    “So…” He took a step back, drawing her from her truck like a lord assisting a lady from a carriage. “Are we going in?”
    “Um, yeah.” She shook her head, clearing it of the past and her private thoughts about herself, preparing to fill it with the awe and mystery that seemed to make up this man. She allowed him to pull her from the truck and stepped gingerly onto the ground.
    Evenings in South Dakota were almost as hot as the day. The air was dry, and she blessed the lack of humidity that would have strangled her lungs otherwise. She looked around at the hotel grounds and sighed deeply. Why did South Dakota have to be so fucked up? The weather sucked.
    “Over there.” She pointed toward the townhouse she rented, noting someone had left a paper on the front stoop.
    The walk there was silent, Chaska saying nothing but acting the gentleman, placing her away from the street side of the sidewalk during their brief sojourn.
    She was still silent when she slid the key in the lock and ushered him inside.
    “So.” She sighed. “Wanna let me in on all of this?” She motioned him to follow her into the living area that took up most of the first floor.
    “All of this?” He placed her camera case on the long coffee table in front of the couch and stepped back. He gestured for her to take a seat and she smiled and did so, thinking that at least he wouldn’t silence her without warning her first.
    “So?” she asked again, as she watched him settle beside her.
    “So, I’m a skunk.”
    She blinked at him before reaching for her camera case. “Tell me something I don’t know!” She flipped her viewfinder on and began to scroll through the photos. She flipped the camera around and stuck the image of him growling at the younger warrior in his face.
    “It’s a nice one. Can I get a copy?”
    “Explain!”
    Chaska chuckled and leaned forward, his long braid sliding forward like a snake.
    “How much do you know about skin walkers?”
    “Huh?”
    “Skin walkers.”
    “My major was Native culture and mythology. I know what a skin walker is.”
    “Then you know the story of Aniwye.”
    “Aniwye? Didn’t he hunt men down and spray them to death?” Even as she said the words, her eyes grew round in her face and she shrank back into the couch.
    “In some legends, true.” He rolled his eyes. “But in the Dakota legends, Aniwye was a brutal killer. The actual story is a little different.”
    “As spoken by you.”
    “As spoken by my whole tribe, my elders, and most importantly, my ancestors.”
    “I know people have just begun to write the legends down over the past thirty years —”
    “Yes. We didn’t have a written language until about thirty years ago. But trust me, the oral tradition is accurate in some things. I think I am proof enough.”
    As he spoke, he lifted his right hand, and she watched in amazement as fur began to sprout thickly and his fingers bent over until his whole hand resembled a
    furry, black paw. Before she could actually begin her freak out, the fur reversed, sinking back into his skin, and once again, she was staring at a well-formed, slim, masculine hand.
    “You —” she stammered, “y-you need a manicure.” And that sounded so stupid to her own ears that she slammed the palm of her hand on her forehead and shook her head in shame.
    His laughter made her open her eyes and