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A familiar scent teased her senses. Fresh lake water and warm, sensual spices. The enemy. Damian.
Adrenaline pumped energy into her tired body. Jamie’s gaze whipped around. But only tourists wended their way down the street in the bright, sharp afternoon. Wary of exposure, she turned toward home.
Her brother Mark’s original French Quarter house near Jackson Square looked innocuous from the outside with its forest-green walls. Jamie unlocked the gate, slipped inside and bolted it. She hurried through the dark corridor, reaching the inner courtyard with a relieved sigh. Dumping the groceries on a wrought-iron table, she sank onto a chair.
Centuries-old walls surrounded her, a safe exposed-brick cocoon. Little could penetrate her refuge, except perhaps Damian. A cold chill snaked down her spine. Draicon were ruthless. What would Damian do if he caught her? Would he exact punishment?
You did try to kill him.
What did he want?
The answer came back in a rush of remembering. Sex. It came back to sex, and mating.
Arousal rasped against fear as she thought of Damian, his large body heavy with muscle. He’d taken her virginity, now he wanted her as his mate. He would hunt her down and never stop until he caught her. Brought her to his bed, pushed his hard, heavy body against her, nudged his hips between her bare thighs and claimed her once more in the most primitive way.
The space between her legs felt tender, wet and ready.
Her brain pushed aside desire and concentrated on self-preservation.
Right now she was a fortress with broken defenses, open to storming by Damian. Damian, who wanted her body, would claim her spirit, as well, drag her back to his dangerous pack of vicious werewolves as his mate. She had no weapon but her wits. A plastic sword against an invading army of sharp, lethal steel.
After trudging upstairs and putting away the groceries, she went to a battered desk cluttered with cables, software, parts and cell phones. Jamie retrieved a new laptop and an aircard and stuffed it into her backpack. She headed for the Petite Maison Voodoo Shop. Mama Renee knew about the secret underworld of magick beings like the Draicon, just like Mark had.
A small brass bell tinkled over the door as Jamie entered. An altar devoted to Marie Laveau sat off to the side, candles burning steadily to honor the long-dead voodoo priestess. Jamie advanced to the back and rapped on the closed door.
Mama Renee opened the door. “Chère,” she cried, throwing her arms about Jamie. Jamie hugged her back.
“I brought you a gift. I bought a wireless PC card and put you on my cellular service so you can e-mail your granddaughter. It’s time you joined the information age. You’re two decades behind.”
The old joke brought a smile even as Renee shuddered at the laptop and the slim card Jamie thrust at her. The woman set them down as gingerly as handling a spider and ushered her into the kitchen where she plied Jamie with homemade herbal tea. A large black cat wound around her legs. Giving the silky fur a reassuring stroke, Jamie smiled as Archimedes purred.
“He’s looking fat and healthy now,” she observed, a little sad as she remembered how she and Mark had found him, skin and bones, living on the porch of a house wrecked by Hurricane Katrina.
The woman’s gaze sharpened. “You and your brother worked hard to rescue stranded animals and find them good homes. If not for you, they’d have died. He was a remarkable person, loving and with a good heart, as you are. The world suffered a great loss when he died.”
Desperate, aching loneliness filled her. Mark rescued her from a hellish childhood. He was all she had. And you killed him, Damian. You murdered my brother.
A lump clogged her throat. Her own heart wasn’t good, but pitch-black. What kind of woman tried to kill her lover?
Renee searched her face. “Something’s happened. I see the darkness in your beautiful eyes. But there is still light there, struggling to free itself.”
Stricken, Jamie explained everything. She clutched Renee’s hand. “Do you have anything, a potion, a gris-gris, that can remove Damian’s binding spell?"
Renee gently turned Jamie’s palm over and studied it. A frown dented her brow as her gaze widened. She shook her head. “Honey, there is no magick to counteract it. You need the source. It’s more powerful magick than I can summon.”
“I have to get my magick back. I must.”
She didn’t mean to sound hysterical. Jamie reached for the cracked sugar bowl. She dumped several teaspoons into the china cup and drank.
“Jamie, how many times have I warned you to avoid magick? It’s dangerous, and not for you, chère. Look at what dark magick did to you.”
“But it was the only magick I had. Now it’s gone.” Jamie set down her cup, hugging herself. “I feel so … lost and alone. Like I’ve been trying to find myself, and when I had that power, I finally felt comfortable in my own skin, even though I detested how I’d gained it. Every time I felt guilty, I’d use my powers and remind myself of the benefit. I didn’t have to rely on anyone. I had magick.”
Misery seeped through her. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I just want to find my way again. I don’t fit in with anyone.”
“And the Morphs made you feel like one of them, is that what you wanted?"
Jamie shuddered, remembering the stench of evil seeping into her spirit. “I know they used me, and I hated what they were doing. But the power, oh, Renee, you have no idea! For the very first time, I felt normal. Even if revenge, and evil, was the only way. And now I’m lost again.”
The woman sighed. “Revenge brings only darkness. Why would you want revenge on Damian? Why did you try to kill him?"
Jamie bit her lip. Mama Renee was the only woman she’d ever trusted. Perhaps it was time to confide in someone.
“I want you to swear on your life you will not repeat what I say. No one knows.”
The older woman looked startled, but nodded.
“I saw him kill my brother.”
Shock widened Renee’s eyes. “Non, chère, the papers said muggers attacked Mark. The police only identified him because …"
“They found his wallet nearby with his ID in it. His b-body … was burned to ashes.” Jamie dragged in a deep breath. “Six months ago, I was in a bar on Bourbon waiting for Mark when I met Damian. He was … compelling. It was odd, the chemistry. He told me he was a Draicon, a werewolf. Mark arrived. He got angry when he saw Damian. I could tell they didn’t like each other. Mark told me to go home, but Damian had slipped a note into my purse with his room number.”
A wry smile touched Renee’s mouth. “Let me guess. You’re young, enthralled and you went to him.”
Jamie nodded. A hot flush filled her face. Her first time, her shyness, his commanding sensuality. His powerful body mounting hers. The wild, uninhibited feeling … their naked bodies straining against each other. The odd feeling that it had been more than sex.
“Damian said he’d teach me magick. I went to the hotel the next day to make him deliver on his promise, but he’d checked out. I felt so used. I went home and Mark was furious. He guessed what happened and ordered me not to leave the house. Draicon were evil werewolves and he would make Damian pay.”
Never had she seen her brother so angry, so concerned about her. For the first time he truly cared. And Damian killed him.
“And how did Mark know about the Draicon?” Renee asked.
Shrugging, Jamie stared at the shelves of herbs lining the wall. “Mark knew secrets about the magick world. He was my only family and I trusted him.
“That night, Mark needed help coaxing out a stray dog from this building he’d just bought. Said he would meet me there. He told me to wear new clothing he’d sprayed with this chemical compound to hide my scent so Damian couldn’t find me. I was inside the building searching for the dog when I heard motorcycles in the alley. I peered outside and I saw … I saw … Mark. He was facing Damian and these five bikers, all tall and dressed in leather …"
Emotion squeezed her throat. “I heard Damian say, ‘That’s him, Mark Walsh. Kill him.’ Th-the bikers undressed and turned into wolves. I saw Damian shape-shift into this huge wolf and … Mark screamed … Damian, he was … he was …” She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the snarls, muscled wolves, the awful sounds her brother made as he died.
“I fainted. When I woke, I went into the alley. There was nothing but gray ash.” Jamie gulped down a breath. “I reported Mark missing and the police told me a witness saw Mark killed by muggers. Then I just ran, because I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Oh, Jamie,” the woman said softly. Opening her arms in invitation, she beckoned to her.
Oh, she wanted to! Wanted to let the older woman give her comfort she’d needed since Mark’s death. But Jamie didn’t dare remove the layer of steel she’d erected to shelter her from the uncaring world.
She shook her head. “I stayed in hotels, afraid to go home, afraid Damian would find me. A few days later, I met his friend. Nicolas was supposed to keep me safe until Damian arrived. I told Nicolas I’d go with him if he taught me magick.”
A grim smile replaced grief. “He did. And I used it to find the Morphs, gain magick and try to kill Damian. They used my blood to make a lethal disease and I infected him with a kiss.”
Anguish touched Renee’s expression. “You’ve suffered a horrible loss. But why would Damian order your brother killed? Perhaps you don’t know the full story.”
Jamie bristled. “He probably knew Mark was going to go after him for seducing me. I saw my own brother ripped to pieces. Draicon are merciless killers.”
The cries still echoed in her mind. The terrible screams of pain and tearing sounds …
Renee gently reached for her palm. “Jamie, you’ve had a rough life for one so young. You’re special, different and you suffered for it. It’s time you let go, and learned not everyone is the enemy. Sometimes the ones you think you can trust least are the ones you should trust most. They are your real family.”
Shifting in her chair, Jamie felt the rub of old scars against her lower back. Heard the mocking sneers from her cousins, felt the burning sting on her flesh …
Shame flared inside her. Relatives were highly overrated. “You’re more family than anyone else.” All I have left. “So there’s nothing you have to give me a smidgen of my old powers back?"
“Nothing.” Wisdom shone in Renee’s dark gaze. “What is holding you bound is ancient Draicon magick. If Damian did this, he did it to protect you.”
“I need an ancient Draicon spell to remove it. The Book of Magick.”
Renee looked troubled. “Such texts are meant to lie undisturbed, for they are too dangerous even in the hands of the wisest, most skilled sorceress.”
She wasn’t wise or skilled. But desperate.
“Promise me if you find the book, you will turn it over to the Draicon,” Renee begged. “You’ve already become a victim to terrible forces. The book could destroy you for good.”
“I wasn’t a victim, but a willing participant.”
The woman gently touched her wrist. “A victim, honey. The Morphs knew you were vulnerable. No matter how you argue the point, they took advantage of your weakness.”
Jamie bristled. “Not weak. Never. Thanks, Mama Renee. I can manage on my own.”
A cryptic expression touched the woman’s face. “Jamie, remember. Even good can come of darkness. The Draicon leader seeks you, and his kind need your healing power.”
The words made no sense. She didn’t heal, but destroy. Nothing made sense anymore.
The woman offered a sad smile. “And all Draicon are not evil.”
Jamie’s chest felt tight with emotion as she went with Renee into the main storefront. The little brass bell tinkled merrily behind her as she left.
Feeling lost, she headed for the Pedestrian Mall. Just another average day in the Quarter …
Jamie shrank back, her heart beating double time at the figure stalking toward her. Not Damian, the lean, chiseled face she remembered so well, but another, with cruel, twisted features, wispy hair and black, soulless eyes.
The Morph ambled along, its sallow, shrunken and hunched figure looking like a living nightmare. Couldn’t anyone see it? Run, you fools!
Jamie blinked hard. Instead of a Morph, she saw a middle-aged man in khaki shorts, his slight paunch covered by a flowered shirt.
I’m losing my damn mind.
Dragging in a lungful of air, she forced herself to relax. No Morphs stalked the streets. Only people, out for a good time. And one lone werewolf named … Damian.
Jamie froze in shocked fear.
Wind ruffled his short, dark hair. His elegant good looks made him stand out in the crowd like a sleek sports car among sedate sedans. He prowled with lithe grace toward her, his muscled body moving like a well-honed machine. Oblivious to the crowd, the artists, everything.
Everything but her. His hard green gaze riveted to her like a laser beam. Jamie’s heart raced.
Instinct urged flight. She turned, pushed past the crowd. Fast, faster, as she raced beneath the balconies of the Pontalba Apartments, feeling his breath on her like a warm caress of air.
A hand latched onto her upper arm, jerked her to a stop. Jamie gulped, panic racing through her veins, his muscled chest pressing against her as he herded her out of the crowd’s way against the brick building. Damian swung her into a faded doorway. Intensity radiated in his gaze.
“Jamie, ah, finally, I found you,” he said softly, her name rolling off his tongue in his whiskey-smooth accent.
“Let me go, Draicon. Let me go, now.”
She struggled against his steely grip. A hysterical sob rose in her throat. He was going to punish her for trying to assassinate him. Damian crowded her against the doorway, his legs pinning her against the wood. Trapped.
As she opened her mouth to scream for help, he pulled her against his hard body.
His lips descended on hers, cutting off her cry with a kiss.
Chapter 2
His kiss shocked Jamie into immobility. It was gentle, barely a brushing of lips. Damian raised his head, his expression softened. Hysteria fled as he cupped her face with his warm hands.
“Don’t scream, chère. I promise, I won’t hurt you, ma petite.”
With a mere touch, he extinguished her panic. Damn it, what was this? Draicon magick?
“I’m not going to hurt you, Jamie. That’s the last thing I want. I want to help you.” His expression grew fierce and intent. “But first … damn …"
He kissed her again.
Jamie sagged in his arms. Feeling the current sparking between them as it had on that night when they’d first met. Her head fell back as he cradled her neck in his palm. Her hands slid up around his neck, feeling rock-hard muscle beneath warm skin. Jamie hung on for dear life like a drowning woman. Tasting him as his tongue boldly invaded her mouth, flicked against hers. Challenging him in return, her tongue tangling in a duet of hot desire and lost passion. It felt as magical and crazy and uncontrollable as when he’d first taken her.
This wasn’t real. Or right. Or anything, but the moment, the succulent taste of him in her mouth, claiming it with each firm thrust of his tongue.
Jamie clutched fistfuls of his shirt, drawing him closer. Only then did Damian break the kiss. A low groan rumbled from him as he stepped back, never losing his grip on her. Intent burned in his gaze.
Alarmed and dismayed, Jamie licked her lips. I just kissed my brother’s murderer. The Draicon I tried to kill.
Damian laid a palm against her cheek. “Hush,” he murmured. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Then lift that damn spell of yours.” Jamie stopped moving, stricken by the calming feel of his touch. She stared at him, taking in his strong, square chin, straight nose and high cheekbones. Classical good looks. And a werewolf lurking inside.
She had tried to kill him in New Mexico, but Nicolas, his beta, had healed Damian. And then Damian had cast a binding spell, prohibiting her from doing magick. The dark powers Kane, the Morph leader, had bestowed on her had vanished. Damian had said it was because the Morphs wouldn’t want her without her powers.
But he lied. She knew it.
She then had escaped, but he’d found her. No matter. She would escape him once more.
“I can’t. The magick in you is dark. Until I can erase it, the spell remains.”
