Enemy Lover

Stop it! Jamie sprinted away, but he easily kept pace.

“Haven’t you ever heard of a hotel? Or if you can’t afford one, there’s an animal shelter around. They take in strays,” she grated out.

Six feet of muscled werewolf stared her down, until she was forced to blink and look away. “You’re my mate, Jamie. Pack. Pack bands together. It’s how we survive. I won’t abandon you so get used to the idea of having me around for good.”

Damian held her elbow, a courtly, old-fashioned gesture with a greater intent behind it. Trapped, his prisoner. Too weary to fight, she walked. As they crossed over to Jackson Square and neared the cathedral, he ground to an abrupt halt. A cruel, ruthless smile curved his lips.

“Ah, I see an old friend. Stay here,” he ordered, guiding her over to a park bench.

Grateful for the reprieve, Jamie sat. Interest sparked as she watched the Draicon stalk over to the doorway near where he’d kissed her. The doorway was open. Odd, because that building was empty and …

The hell with it. She didn’t take orders.

Inside, dust and debris littered the empty room. Damian was standing in the far corner, crowding a short, elderly man in faded khaki trousers and a plaid short-sleeved shirt. She recognized him. The vendor who sometimes set up shop on the street near Café du Monde, sold fresh crayfish and then vanished before the police could order him away or question him about a permit.

Nice man, struggling to make a living after his shrimp boat had been washed away during Katrina’s awful storm surge. Originally from Slidell, he …

Jamie gasped.

Damian was picking the man up by his throat, shaking him like a rag doll. The vendor uttered a dry squeal. A dagger appeared in Damian’s hand. Horrified shock slammed into her as the Draicon thrust it into the man’s chest. Then Damian flung him, dear God, flung him, across the room. The little crayfish vendor’s head hit the wall with a sickening crack.

He was dead.

A scream died in her throat. Only a strangled moan arose as Damian turned, saw her and sped to her side. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, searching her face.

“Ah, Jamie, I wish you hadn’t seen that.”

“Y-you killed him,” she whispered.

“Watch,” Damian said quietly.

Before her eyes, the crayfish vendor’s body turned to ash. Gray ash.

“He wasn’t human. He was a Morph, disguised as a human.”

“But I knew him! I’ve known him for a year now, I used to buy crayfish from him, he lives in …” Her voice trailed off. Jamie rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled.

“The Morphs killed him, and one assumed the man’s identity. This is the second one I’ve killed today. I think the city is crawling with them, Jamie. Even people you know are really Morphs in disguise.” Damian released her.

“How do I know you aren’t one, as well?”

He waved his hand and a dagger appeared in his palm. Damian handed it to her, hilt side first. “Cut me. I bleed red, same as you. Not acid. The Morphs disguise themselves as humans, but they can’t disguise their blood. That’s how I knew the vendor wasn’t human. He bled acid.”

Hedging, she studied the knife. Calmly, Damian held out his hand. Then she slashed his palm. He didn’t even wince. Crimson droplets welled up, bright and viscous. Grimacing, she touched the fluid. Just blood. Fascinated, Jamie watched the wound slowly close.

Damian waved his hand and the dagger vanished. “I suppose that’s a good sign that you didn’t take the knife and thrust it into my heart,” he said with a wry smile.

“The thought occurred to me, but I think it would take a steel drill bit to pierce your hide.” Jamie leaned back against the doorjamb, suddenly weary beyond words.

His expression changed to concern. Taking her arm, he guided her out of the building. They went to her house, each step feeling as if she slogged through heavy mud. Finally she reached home. She unlocked the gate and he escorted her inside, taking the key and locking the gate. Damian pocketed the key and released her. Exhausted, Jamie headed for the courtyard and sat in one of the faded wicker chairs.

Approval flared on his face as Damian followed. He looked around, his hand resting on the redbrick wall. “This is a good house. A safe house.”

Jamie shoved out of the chair. “Find yourself somewhere else to sleep tonight. You’re a Draicon, the ground should suit you fine. Don’t howl at the moon. You’ll wake the neighbors.”

“Howling at the moon is an old wives’ tale. I only howl when I want sex. So don’t be alarmed if you hear me in the night.”

Startled, she turned to find him offering a charming smile.

“Howl at me all you want, Draicon, but you’ll have to force me to get me into bed with you again,” she snapped.

“I won’t ever force you. You’ll come to me. Soon, you won’t be able to resist any more than I will,” he said gently.

When wolves fly.

Damian followed her upstairs, but she ignored him. The bedroom door locked behind her. Jamie collapsed on the antique four-poster, clutching her pillow and staring at the yellowed ceiling. A cool night breeze drifted through the French doors open to the garden. She always hated this room with its dreary heaviness, but Mark had liked it so she left it alone.

Her body felt leaden. Was she turning to stone? Impossible. It’s a trick to get you to trust him, so he can sleep with you again.

She hugged the pillow to her chest. Tears didn’t come. They weren’t allowed. She hadn’t cried since, wow, when?

One single tear, shed from guilt and shame when she’d gone to Damian’s deathbed and saw him lying there. But real, honest, grieving tears?

Since the day her parents died. Since then she hadn’t wept. Not even for all she’d lost. And doubted she ever would again.

Small sounds barely audible to the human ear alerted Damian. He paused outside Jamie’s door. Hovering, he waited, instinct screaming to rush inside and hold her in his arms. She’d bite his head off. Tough Jamie didn’t want him seeing her break down.

Her breath was hitching in little gasps.

He broke the lock and went inside. Damian switched on a small Tiffany lamp. The soft yellow glow illuminated a crimson room smothered in ponderous furniture. Much too serious for Jamie.

She needed a light, airy room, with sky-blue walls and whimsical furniture.

Approaching the four-poster bed more suitable for a royal monarch, Damian silently assessed his future mate. Asleep, she lay curled on her side toward him, her shoulder-length black hair mussed. Little snuffling noises came from her, but she shed no tears.

Such delicate features, the pointed chin, the impossibly thick lashes, nearly translucent skin and carved cheekbones and full, mobile mouth and pert nose. She looked so damn young.

Sadness had shone in those expressive gray eyes. Jamie might try hiding her emotions, but her eyes were mirrored pools. He saw himself in the reflection, the arrogant, supremely powerful Draicon who had so much to offer, but instead took so much away. More than her innocence. He’d stolen away her dreams of magick and power.

And in doing so, made her turn to dark forces.

Regret arrowed through him. He would make amends, but had to earn her trust first. Her spunk relieved him. Jamie hadn’t lost her spirit or courage, two attributes she’d need in the coming days.

The house was safest for Jamie. He’d felt the ancient, sturdy power. Someone long ago had put a strong shield on it to guard against anyone performing dark magick. Anyone wishing to hurt Jamie would have to drag her outside the structure.

The bed sank beneath his weight. Just to hold her, touch her, if only for a moment. Instinct lashed him to mate. A purebred Alpha, Damian could only procreate with Jamie. He needed her for his pack in New Mexico, ruling at his side.

But he pushed aside lust, brushing back a lock of hair from her pale face. So cold, damn, her skin was icy.

He stroked her forehead. He would save her, at any cost. She was his, and he always took care of his own.

A grim smile touched his mouth. Even if they didn’t want saving.

Damian lay down, curled his big body next to her slender one and draped an arm about her waist. She moved back, snuggling against him as if relishing his heat.

He relished the feel of Jamie’s slender body. Heaviness flooded his loins. The erection reminded him of the relentless desire chasing him. Damian ruthlessly reined in his control and eased back. She was so slight, yet tough. Tainted from dark magick, yet innocence still clung to her.

Jamie whimpered in her sleep. A single tear leaked out of the corner of one eye. Deeply troubled, Damian chased it away with a kiss. Expecting a salty tang, he recoiled.

Pure, sweet confectioner’s sugar.

Growing dread gathered in his chest as Damian abruptly sat up. “It’s happening already. What the hell am I going to do?"

I will not let you die. You can’t die like my family did. I’ll do anything I can to stop this.

Rising out of bed, he left and quietly shut the bedroom door. Damian realized for the first time that he might be too late.

If he couldn’t find the book, he’d lose her.

Forever.

Chapter 3

Damian needed answers. His boyhood friend and adopted brother, Raphael Robichaux, could help. He whipped his cell phone out of his pocket, went to punch in Rafe’s number. His finger hovered above the keypad. Dialing for help. Help that never came for his family.

Oh merde, let’s not go there. But it came back, all in a roaring flood. The phone dropped from his numb fingers to the couch.

Twelve years old, delirious with the power of his first change. Determined to hunt in the bayou. His father had ordered him to remain home. It wasn’t safe. Morphs were on the hunt.

Damian wasn’t afraid. Hell, he could defeat Godzilla himself. Annie begged him to stay. “I’m scared, Damian. Please don’t leave me!”

He’d told his little sister she’d be fine, tucked her into bed with her favorite stuffed animal. Then escaped to the bayou and run with the night. Powerful. Draicon. Hunter. No Morph can harm me. Superwolf, mon ami.

Shortly after, the screams echoed in his mind.

Morphs had stormed into the mansion. Shifting back, his fear and grief scrambling his powers so he couldn’t summon clothing by magick, he’d run naked back to his house. He’d hammered his fists on neighbors’ doors, but they’d ignored his shouts for help. Cutting his feet on stones, praying he’d make it, his bloodied feet slipping on the pavement, his breath a hot, stabbing agony. The scent of death had poured into his nostrils when he’d bolted through the opened door. His father, on the floor, his body wrapped protectively about Damian’s pregnant mother. His brothers, dead. Annie, where was Annie?

He found her hiding beneath her bed. Blood splattered the stuffed dog still clutched in her thin arms. Horror and pain glazed her opened eyes. She was four years old. He’d held her broken body in his arms, rocking her and singing her favorite lullaby until he finally gathered strength to bury his family in the dark of night.

Dragging himself back to the present, Damian fisted his hands. Never again would he break the rules or abandon those under his protection. When he did, someone paid dearly.

The past was past. He had an adopted family now here in Louisiana, and back in New Mexico his own pack to rule. Soon, he would have his mate, as well. The cell went into his palm again. A loud buzz sounded. He pocketed the phone and headed downstairs, opening the grate that enabled a view of the street.

A petite, dark-skinned woman stood outside. “I’m Mama Renee, Jamie’s friend who runs the voodoo shop down the street,” she said in a soft slur. “You’re Damian.”

Startled, he narrowed his eyes. “Are you psychic?"

“But of course. May I come in? I have something for Jamie.”

The woman looked nonthreatening. Still … remembering his encounter with the crayfish, he studied her calm features.

“Blink,” he ordered.

She did without question. Dark brown eyes, soft and compassionate.

“You don’t remember me, do you? But of course, you were only five or so. I remember you. Your father, Andre, he was so proud of you. He called you loup petit.”

Shock reverberated through Damian. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the woman’s scent. Nothing but a faint fragrance of cologne or perfume.

“My family didn’t associate with many … people.” He stared at her.

“They only trusted a few. Will you please let me in? I need to see Jamie.”

Damian let her inside. Suspicion arose as he closed and locked the gate, then leaned against it. “What do you want?"

“I brought her something to make her feel better.” The woman fished a small cloth bag from a pocket in her dress. Damian inhaled the scent of herbs and spices. A gris-gris.

Morphs detested the good luck talismans. Still …

“You see everyone as the enemy. What must I do to prove I am a friend?” she asked softly.

Waving his hand, a dagger appeared in his palm. Renee did not look startled, only respectful.

“Cut yourself. I want to see if you bleed red.”

His voice was rough with hostility. The woman took the dagger, cut her hand and winced. She gave him back the blade.

A coppery scent of blood filled his nostrils. He jerked his head toward the stairs.

“Follow me.”

Senses on full alert, Damian took the stairs two at a time. He fetched a first-aid kit from the bathroom and returned. Renee put gauze over her wound.

“You don’t trust me, which is good. You’re very protective of her. She is in big trouble, mais oui?” Renee said.

Damian said nothing. He withdrew to the kitchen, out of earshot. He dialed Raphael’s number. His adopted brother answered on the first ring. Speaking rapidly in French, Damian told him what happened since his arrival.

“Do you know a psychic named Mama Renee?” he asked.

“Runs a voodoo shop in town. Good people.

Why?”

“She’s here. I can’t leave Jamie alone, but we need to talk. In private so she can’t hear us,” he said quietly. He wandered back into the living room, leaned against the wall.

“If you need to leave, I will watch her for you,” Renee offered.

With Renee’s apple-round cheeks, kind smile and ordinary flowered dress, she looked innocuous. Human, but still, humans were dangerous.

“Want me to come over?” Raphael asked.

“Hold on a minute,” Damian told him.

She held his gaze. “I was there at your birth.”

“T’me dis pas,” he said dryly, not believing a damn word.

“I do say,” she countered. Then she glanced around. Before his shocked eyes, she shifted into a wolf.

“Mon Dieu,” he muttered, watching her return to her human form. “You are family, non?”

“There are more of us than you know,” she said softly. Renee’s eyes grew sad. “My husband and son … they embraced the darkness. Your parents, they kept me safe. I am forever grateful and regret what happened to you as a bébé. Please, allow me to make amends now.”

He listened intently as she explained, everything making sense now. Renee laid a hand on his arm. “It’s all right. I’ll watch over her.”

Damian turned to the phone. “I’ll meet you.

Where?”

Raphael rattled off a place. Damian hung up, pocketed the cell.

He glanced at Renee. “Don’t let anyone in. When Jamie wakes up, don’t let her leave the house.”

“Go meet with your friend. Be careful. Terrible darkness has taken over the city.” The woman looked deeply troubled.

Though he trusted few outside his pack and his adopted family, and was frugal with his emotions, Damian hugged her. Renee looked startled, and then hugged him back. She patted his arm in a motherly gesture.

At the Chartes Street Café, his brother sat at a copper-topped table just inside the doorway. His gleaming Harley waited on the street, a shining chrome and metal horse.

Damian slid into the opposite seat.

“Watch our backs,” his brother cautioned, nodding toward the bustling street. He scrutinized Damian’s casual clothing. “Damian, ça va? Almost didn’t recognize you without your Versace socks, t’ frère.”

The endearment of “little brother” made Damian smile. “I’m trying to blend in.”

“You blend in like the wolf blends in the henhouse.”

Raphael signaled for a waitress and when she arrived, ordered seafood gumbo and water with lime.

“Just water.” Damian grimaced, thinking of the crayfish/Morph. He gave his brother a long, steady look. “Raphael.” He reached over and embraced his forearms.

The other Draicon squeezed back. His shoulder-length dark brown hair with its streak of pure white accompanied scuffed boots, faded jeans, black T-shirt and black leather jacket. A tiny gold sword earring hung from his left ear, and a day’s growth of dark beard shadowed his hard jaw. The ensemble contrasted with Raphael’s classically handsome face. It gave him an intense look, as if an angel had stumbled out of a Bourbon sex shop.

Damian leaned forward, serious. “How bad is it? How many?"

“Bad. Morphs are everywhere. Hard to get a count. Maybe fifty, or hundreds.”

“Dit moula vérité! Are you serious?” Damian sat back, stunned. “Why are they here?"

“We think it’s for the Book of Magick. It’s been hidden for seventy years, hasn’t it? If a spell isn’t used in the next couple of weeks, all the spells will vanish. Including the ones for evil the Morphs want, to make them more powerful.”

And the spell for curing Jamie would vanish, as well. Damian felt his insides clench at the thought. “If they get the book first …"

“They’ll use the bad magick to kill all Draicon. They’re killing machines now, here in town. And when they kill, the bodies they leave … They’re targeting the homeless. I’ve taught my guys to sniff the blood, find and destroy the bodies before the police arrive. We’ve gotten to most of them in time. We can’t risk cops poking into our world, our war.”

Damian felt his canines descend with the urge to hunt and destroy. A low growl rumbled from his chest. A passing waitress gave him a startled look. He offered a charming smile, which faded as she walked away.

“Bastards,” he muttered.

“Don’t fret, t’ frère. I took out a few. One dared to call me a dog. I showed him the unfriendly side of my blade before popping him.” The charming smile Raphael offered didn’t meet the hardness of his dark eyes.

Raphael was the Kallan, the only Draicon permitted to terminate the life of another Draicon, even a relative, without consequence. He had died and gone to the Other Realm and received the gift of immortality. Little scared him. Morphs who messed with Raphael lost.

Raphael’s gumbo arrived and he dug into it with zest. Damian sipped his water. “My father didn’t tell me where he hid it. Only said he entrusted a good friend with the secret until I was older. I wish our ancestors had never handed it down through my family, but it’s my responsibility.”

“What happened to your father’s friend?”

“Morphs killed Jordan when they killed all Father’s pack.” He stared at a droplet of water sliding down his glass like a tear. “The cure for Jamie is in the book.”

“So, tell me about your mate. We researched her. Her friends, her parents dying in that plane crash when she was five, the aunt and uncle who raised her. Hell, we even tracked down info about that bastard who imitated her brother. What’s she like?” Raphael asked.

“A killer.”

“Pretty?”

“She tried to kill me.”

Raphael stared. Damian explained.

Silverware rattled as Raphael slapped a palm on the table. “How the hell can you trust her? She deserves punishment.” His hand went to the dagger always tucked into his belt. “Remember our vow? You’re my blood brother.”

“And she’s my mate,” Damian said quietly.

“Then, t’ frère, you have a big problem. If you don’t bond with her, you’ll turn feral. But how can you mate with a human who wished you into a coffin?"

Damian leaned back, edgy and wanting. A male’s draicara pumped up all his testosterone, driving him to prove his strength and sexual prowess. In Alphas, the mating drive tripled, turning males wild and unpredictable. If he didn’t mate, he’d be dangerous even to his pack. Would they drive him away as his father’s people had?

He wanted only Jamie now, her scent, the taste of her skin, the feel of her soft, naked body beneath his. He couldn’t shake off his lust.

“Let it go, Rafe. I can handle her.”

“Then do it fast. Sounds like she’s running out of time. Sex can slow the porphyry cunja. If you trust her not to slam a knife in your back while you mount her.” Rafe’s jaw tightened.

Sex might be a solution. A Draicon’s cells, including blood and semen, contained magick. As a purebred Alpha, his magick was more powerful than other males'.

“Could I cure Jamie by infusing her with my magick when we have sex?"

Rafe raised his gaze to his. Damian tensed against the haunting sorrow swimming there.

“No. Your blood, or coming inside her, will only slow the spell. It can’t stop it.”

He stared at the big vein on Raphael’s neck, throbbing with life. His immortal brother whose blood contained immense energy and power. “Maybe …"

Rafe tensed and looked away. It was forbidden for Rafe, and he knew the consequences would be drastic.

“I have to find the book.” Damian ran a hand over his face. “But I can’t leave her alone. It’s too risky.”

“Then let me help. I’ll send Adam and Ricky. Keep watch. They’ll do anything to keep her from leaving.”

“Don’t you dare let another male near her.” Damian growled, his fingers digging into his napkin. Instinct urged him to stake a claim. Rip apart any male who glanced her way.

“Damian, easy, easy.”

Shreds of linen napkin lay on the table. Willing himself to calm, he retracted his claws.

Raphael’s wary look said it all. He dug into his gumbo, ate in silence. After a minute, Damian felt his control returning. His brother gave him a mild look.

“So tell me. Is she really dying?”

Raphael cursed in French after Damian told him. “My guys are yours. Take Adam and Ricky. Best warriors, can kick Morph ass from here to Houma. Or any of my other males. There’s twenty now, all show promise of being good fighters. Anything to help, t’ frère.”

Raphael had taken unmated male Draicon with no blood relations, taught them discipline and bonding and formed them into a pack to fight Morphs. Too many wild, frustrated males roved the streets. A grieving and angry Draicon without the close-knit society of a pack was dangerous.

“Merci,” he managed. “But I can’t risk a pack trailing me. Do your part. Find and kill Morphs, as many as you can.”

“It’s war,” his friend agreed.

Damian narrowed his gaze as his mouth flattened into a ruthless line. “Laissez les bons temps rouler.” Let the good times roll.

“Damian? This Jamie. She’d better not try anything

on you again. Mate or not. You’re blood, t’ frère.” Raphael removed a gold dagger from the sheath hanging on his jeans. Light played over the intricate runes carved into the sacred Scian. He flipped it into the air, catching it by the hilt. His eyes were stone-cold.

“My business, Rafe. Leave it be.” They locked stares, muscles quivering until Raphael sheathed the blade with a small nod.

“What can I do, then?” Rafe asked.

“Be available. I may need help. And fetch my stuff from the hotel, bring it over when I call.” A grim smile touched his mouth. “I’m moving in with her.”

“Later, then.” The other Draicon clasped his arm.