Chapter 3

Oklahoma 1870

Halona's eyes cracked open, the harsh morning sunlight stabbing straight through to her throbbing skull. She winced, trying to blink the blur from her vision as a wave of dread washed over her.

Shit, she was late.

Like, apocalyptically late for the morning shoot-call. This was a PR disaster waiting to happen - the kind of "difficult talent" story that followed you around forever.

"Hā́ deidl ám?"

The deep, heavily-accented voice shattered her drowsy haze. Before Halona could react, rough hands clamped down like a vise around her arm, wrenching her into an upright position.

"Hey! Get off me!" She cried, yanking herself free and stumbling back several paces.

Five imposing men formed a tight circle around her, eyes narrowed. But it wasn't their stony expressions that made her heart leap into her throat - it was the array of very real, very deadly-looking weapons they gripped with tightly.

Halona's fingers scrambled for her car keys as her eyes darted around the empty landscape, panic surging as she realized her car was nowhere in sight. A strangled cry escaped her lips.

"Ȟā́-tsou Ȟn béi-k ma'?" One of the older men barked out a harsh accusation, unintelligible to her ears.

"Where...where did you take my car?" She stammered weakly, bile rising in her throat.

As if sensing her fear, a younger man in the group angled forward, studying her with an unreadable gaze. "What do they call you?"

"Halona...Halona Blackwater," she whispered, shrinking back.

He relayed the information in that strange tongue to the other men, who muttered among themselves before the older one addressed her again, his tone level but brooking no argument.

"'Eim- 'Ȟ."

The younger one's eyes flicked to her. "You come."

What choice did she have? Halona forced a shaky nod and took a hesitant step forward - only to feel herself unceremoniously scooped up and plopped onto the back of a waiting horse in one jarring motion.

She clung white-knuckled to the coarse mane as the animal took off at a bone-jarring gallop, the bizarre cluster of men giving chase alongside her. Trees and boulders whipped past in a dizzying blur until, finally, the breakneck pace slowed near the crest of a grassy hilltop. Halona dismounted on wobbly legs, cold sweat trickling down her spine as she struggled to make sense of the bizarre scene splaying out before her eyes.

Hundreds of people in buckskin clothing milled about a sprawling encampment dotted with towering teepees. This sure as hell wasn't some movie backdrop or historical reenactment - the details were too intricate, too viscerally alive.

Was she dreaming? Had she drunk herself unconscious and stumbled into some sort of twisted fever dream? Halona pinched herself hard, hissing at the sting. Nope, she was most definitely awake.

"Hey, Dances with Wolves!" She whirled on her apparent captor, voice shaking with a mix of fear and bravado. "What the f-"

"Béi-toubei!" The man's booming reprimand cut her off, shrill laughter from the nearby women only fanning the flames of Halona's mortification.

Chest heaving, she turned pleading eyes to the younger man lingering nearby. "What did he just say?"

"Be quiet," the man replied flatly.

As the elders convened in hushed discussion, tears of panicked frustration blurred Halona's vision, mascara stinging her eyes as it mingled with the hot tears rolling down her cheeks. A woman's sharp voice suddenly pierced the air, sending a fresh jolt of fear through Halona's veins. But the young man just frowned, his gaze locked on her face with an inscrutable expression. Finally, one towering figure emerged from the group and extended a calloused hand towards her, his deep voice oddly melodic despite its gruffness.

"I am called P'áu úldàu Má é. You can call me Red Bear."

With a roughened thumb he swiped away the makeup-stained tears from her cheeks, studying the black streaks on his digit with a faint frown.

"What tribe are you?" His question was laced with genuine curiosity, not accusation.

Halona blinked dumbly. "...Tribe?"

Red Bear's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her foreign stance and her clothing. "You were raised by the white man, then?"

She gave a small nod, her throat tightening around the words. "I was...adopted by a white family, yes."

The older man grunted, his expression unreadable as the two studied each other in the stretch of silence. Finally, Halona found her voice again, pleading and tinged with uncertainty.

"Look...sir, I'm not sure what's happening here, but could you please take me to the nearest town? I can pay you, whatever you want, I just..." She swallowed hard against the quaver in her voice.

Red Bear shook his head, his obsidian eyes holding fathomless depths she couldn't begin to decipher. "Nearest white man's town is many days' ride from here."

A spark of desperation flared within her. "It's just a few miles down the road! Please..."

But the man's expression remained infuriatingly stoic as he placed one heavy hand on her shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

"Come."

As much as every thought in her mind was screaming at her to run, to fight, to wake up from this impossibly vivid nightmare... some deeper instinct told Halona to obey. Shoulders slumped in resignation, she fell into step beside Red Bear, casting one final look over her shoulder at the foreign, dreamlike landscape before letting it swallow her whole.