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musician’s. “My name’s Byrd, right? You found a feather, right? You remember and you even thought about the possibility, then rejected it.”
    Celia drew a hard breath and held it.  Memory flooded her, the way she’d had a funny feeling when he told her his name and she’d connected it to the dark, sleek Thunderbird she thought she’d seen.  Something about him was unlike any man she’d ever known, but the idea he might be a mythical being defied all logic.  Yet, as she studied him, her eyes intent on his face and his body, Celia wondered.  Snippets from literature she’d read about gods coming to earth in human form haunted her mind, Zeus among them.  Angelique warned her about the Thunderbird, and others mentioned the creature as if they believed.  But acknowledging existence seemed a long way from accepting she’d just made love with a Thunderbird.
    After a long silence, she touched his face. “Are you trying to tell me you’re a Thunderbird? That they’re real?”
    Byrd nodded. “I am the Thunderbird,” he said. His voice remained soft and gentle. “There’s just one and I’m immortal.”
    She said nothing.  What words would make sense? Her mind reeled from the impact of what he claimed.  Celia touched him, his body, his solid man flesh. “Were you born what you are?” she asked. “Or were you a man?”
    His dark eyes went blacker than a moonless night. “Once,” he said. “I was Lakota, a warrior.  And I killed the Thunderbird in error.  My pride as a hunter was my downfall and I became what I had killed.”
    An urge to rise and flee or scream filled her, so intense she almost did both. But Celia tried to sort it out, to grasp what he said, even as she figured this had to be a weird dream. “If you’re immortal, how could you kill another Thunderbird?”
    “The creatures weren’t always this way.  It’s my punishment for my sin, to be the Thunderbird and to live forever.”
    A thousand questions plagued her mind. “How long ago was this?”
    Byrd shrugged, the gesture graceful even when reclining.  “By your calendar, in the mid 1700s, 1750, I believe.  In my real world, calendars don’t matter and mean nothing.  There’s just time.  Do you believe me, winuhca?”
    Did she? Could she? She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “I want to, Byrd , but it’s so far-fetched.”
    He didn’t respond, just kept still.  Then he sat up and stood.  “I need to go,” he said.
    Celia realized, whether she believed him or not, that she wanted him to stay.  “Don’t,” she said.  “I’m trying.”
    He grinned, a warm expression that all but melted her heart. “I know, Celia , but I have to go.  There are more storms to bring.  I’ll return soon and when I do, you must know if you believe and if you will be my mate.”
    He might as well tell me to learn to fly while he’s away.   “I have so many questions,” she blurted out. “If you’re immortal, how can I be your mate? Where would we live? Would I still be a woman or a bird? What would I do while you’re out, uh, doing whatever you do?”
    Byrd leaned over and stroked her face, his expression tender. “I have the power to make my mate immortal too.  In fact, if we come together two more times, you will be, regardless.  Three times is the charm when you’re fucking a Thunderbird. You would be a winged creature when we fly and take your woman form when we aren’t. My home is in Lakota country, in the Black Hills, far beyond civilization.  It’s a cave but large and well-appointed.  It’s comfortable and you could stay or come with me.”
    I’m crazy to even consider any of this. “Do you live there as a man or bird? Is it a nest?”
    He laughed and shook his head. “It’s not a nest, dearest Celia.  I assume my human form there.  Come watch me go and you’ll believe.”
    Outside, the night sky had cleared.  Stars spangled and sparkled against the darkness.  A last quarter moon gleamed