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A shadow crossed his face. “I do, more than you realize.” Damian’s green gaze roved around the room. His jaw tightened. “We need to leave. Now. I feel it. You’re not safe here. You need to go home and rest.”
Rest. The thought sounded lovely. Jamie got to her feet. Dismay filled her as Damian joined her.
“I’m coming with you. Consider me your guest.” He offered her a roguish smile, filled with dark promise. Smooth, cool sheets, warm bodies curling next to each other as they tangled together in passion …
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?”
