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Dread clawed at Nicolas’s chest. He had not feared them, even faced with death. He feared now for Maggie. “You’ll never find her. I’ll die fighting before you get your claws on her.”
Kane flashed an obscene grin. “We already found her, Nicolas. We infected her dog with our new disease. And you can’t stay away. The mating urge is claiming you even now. You can’t fight your nature.”
A mocking snort came from the Morph leader. Nicolas steeled himself against reaching out to strangle Kane. The Morph leader gave a thin, mocking smile.
“Leave the bodies. The law will blame the Draicon. Again.” Kane laughed.
Clever twist. More ammunition to hunt wolves, destroy his dwindling pack. Pain racked him. Slumping against the oak tree familiar with his scent and Damian’s, he watched the Morphs vanish into the forest. They would continue growing in power and strength, continuing their assaults. He couldn’t stop them.
He needed Maggie. Margaret, the empath prophesied to become the force capable of eliminating the Morph leader. His destined mate, who didn’t realize she was Draicon.
Dead leaves crunched beneath their feet. He waited until their stench no longer fouled his nostrils. On the wind, silent laughter followed his noiseless crawling out of the glen.
An hour later, his wounds healed, Nicolas hid beneath the recesses of an overhanging rock. He rested, staring at his beloved moon, listening to wind rustle the branches and stir the dead leaves. Hunger scraped his insides. Power he’d lost needed replenishing either by ingesting food, or sharing his body with a woman and absorbing the rich energy emitted during sex.
He needed to hunt. Too weak to change, he ignored the growling of his empty stomach. Must think of other matters. Focus. Softly, he began singing, in desperate hope of easing the agonizing hunger. It didn’t work. He switched his thoughts to Maggie.
Sweet, lovely Maggie. His draicara, his destined mate. Naked in the shower when he’d sunk into her mind yesterday.
A wave of desire rocked him as he remembered. Slender figure, full, rounded breasts and that mouth … ah, made for kissing. Nicolas felt his body tighten, thinking of the delicious things her mouth could do. Those legs, slightly padded with muscle, curved, silky smooth. He’d felt the brisk, impersonal glide of her hand as she’d soaped one thigh, bubbles frothing and popping. In her indifferent eyes he’d seen the thatch of dark red curls hiding her cleft, and he’d gone wild.
Nicolas had howled with lust, driven by the fierce need to claim her. Running his hands over her silky flesh, cupping her breasts, watching the nipples harden and peak. Gently parting her female flesh, testing her readiness, feeling that wetness as he slid a finger into her tight sheath. Then spreading those silky thighs wide open, mounting her, her yielding body pressed beneath his hard one, sinking into her wet, waiting flesh …
Hunger abated, replaced by lust as he focused on Margaret. Seeping into her mind like water percolating into the ground.
New agony assailed him. He raised his nose. Wolf inside him silently whined. Lust vanished. Thousands of miles away, he felt her stabbing pain as if it sank into his own chest.
She was crying over the dog again.
Last week, after years of searching, he’d found Maggie by pure accident. He’d been baling hay on his ranch when a wave of grief suddenly slammed into him, sharp as the pitchfork tines. Nicolas had sunk to his knees and moaned.
When he recovered from the initial shock, he’d sorted out the thoughts invading his mind. And realized he’d found his mate. Under extreme duress, a female draicara sometimes subconsciously projected emotions onto her intended mate, as if to summon him to her side at last. When he’d explored the mental trail she’d sent out, he realized who it was.
Margaret, the pack’s missing empath.
Nicolas drew in a deep breath, struggling to maintain his identity even as he now sank fully into hers. Absorbing her, sinking into every cell. Her breath as his. Her heart thudding rapidly, increasing his heart rate.
Her emotions his own.
Sweat erupted on his brow. His inner wolf whimpered, anxious to calm the spreading agony, human emotions twining with raw animal pain. So alone, as if all the world were oblivious.
He didn’t like feeling like this—open, vulnerable and exposed. Nicolas reminded himself it was Maggie, not him. Unlike his draicara, he could guard his emotions.
She perched over the sink, clasping it with whitened knuckles. Tension strained the heart-shaped face reflected in the wavy mirror. Her full, pouty mouth thinned with pain. Nicolas felt as if poison had seeped into his very bones.
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Trying to hold them back—oh, she tried—so as not to upset the animal she carefully tended. But the grief, it washed over her in cresting waves. She hung her head over the sink and sobbed.
Nicolas struggled to hold back his own tears.
Finally she splashed cold water on her face, and dried it. Forced a wobbly smile on her face, and went out to tend to her patient. The little brown dog lifted her head.
Across the white tile floor of Maggie’s kitchen, a small brown cockroach scurried, then went still. He tensed, for the roach might be a Morph in disguise come to kill her. But it did not show any signs of shifting. After a minute he relaxed. Just an ordinary insect.
Nicolas felt Maggie’s natural disgust. He figured she’d scream, slam down the broom. Instead, he felt her stride over to the loathsome insect. She fumbled for a jar on the counter, trapped it, turned the jar over. Just as quickly, she released the roach outside. Through Maggie’s eyes, Nicolas watched it crawl over the white beach sands.
His jaw went slack.
From its fluffy pillow, he heard the dog she’d named Misha bark weakly in protest. Damn straight, dog, Nicolas agreed. I’d kill it, too.
“You know the rules, Misha. Everything lives,” Maggie said softly. “Even roaches. I swore never to hurt another living thing. Ever.”
Damn. This was going to be far harder than he’d ever imagined. How the hell could he turn this woman into a cocked weapon ready to kill Morphs when she was rescuing bugs?
Nicolas drew in another deep breath, severed the connection so cleanly he could almost hear the snap. He dropped his head into the thick cushion of dead leaves and moss.
He didn’t want to break away. Part of him wanted to remain. Comfort her. Enfold her in his strong embrace and never let go.
Those emotions were his own, he thought grimly. Dangerous emotions but natural. Every male Draicon was born with the instinct to protect his mate. Even though his particular mate had no idea of his existence or that of his people. Their people.
Minutes passed. Or was it hours? A familiar scent approached noiselessly. Moonlight gilded a pair of polished brown boots. Naked and vulnerable, he sat up to face his leader.
“You look like crap,” Damian observed. The soft New Orleans drawl he’d acquired from a childhood in the bayou accented his words. “They came for you again because you were protecting us. Why do you insist on staying when you know you’re banished?”
Nicolas made no reply. He knew Damian had smelled the death, heard the screams. He had sensed what happened.
“Nicolas … one day one will kill you. If you stay,” Damian said gently.
“I won’t abandon you, Dai. You need me. The pack needs me.” He grated out the words, locking gazes with the older male.
As Damian’s beta, Nicolas was responsible for carrying out the leader’s orders. He was the pack’s best hunter. When the pack had been in danger of being eliminated by the Morphs, Nicolas had stepped in and taught them the best way to destroy the enemy. He had studied the Morphs’ weak spots and succeeded in destroying hundreds. Nicolas, the killing machine.
He knew nothing else.
Pale green eyes observed him silently. Damian waved his hands. A covered metal plate materialized on the ground before Nicolas. Nicolas sprang forward as Damian winced.
“Dammit, you shouldn’t be doing this. Not in your condition. Don’t waste your energy.”
His leader offered a rueful smile, dragged in a breath. Sweat glistened on his brow. With the flair of a gourmet chef, Damian whipped off the plate’s cover.
“Voila. I knew you needed food. Or sex.” The pack leader regarded Nicolas with a level look. “But you know the rules.”
No sex with pack females. Not for Nicolas, the banished. What irony. Damian often joked about Nicolas’s “harem,” the unmated, sexually experienced pack females eager to copulate with him. After a Morph fight, he’d pace before those presenting themselves to him. Dark eyes brooding, his muscular body tense and aggressive, he’d select one for the night. Then he’d claim her, using her sexual heat to restore his lost energy.
Now no pack female could touch him.
Salivating, Nicolas eyed the bloodied, raw meat. He shot a worried glance at Damian’s pale face, the flash of pain in his green eyes.
“Wolf it down,” Damian advised, a half smile touching his mouth at the old joke.
His hunger a live, writhing need, Nicolas hesitated. Trying to disguise his weakness before his leader, he couldn’t hold back his howling need for energy. Damian delicately turned his back. Grateful, Nicolas abandoned any pretense. Picking up the elk steak with his hands, he ripped into the meat. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he then replaced the cover. It clanged against the metal plate.
“Thank you,” Nicolas managed to say.
Stronger now, he used his magick to cover his nudity with jeans, a black T-shirt and boots. Damian turned. He sat on his haunches, silent.
“Dai, you’re getting worse.” The matter-of-fact statement cloaked his concern.
“I have time.” Damian’s cocky grin seemed forced. “Two months, maybe, at the rate my body is deteriorating….” He shrugged, glancing away.
Two months and Damian would be dead? After the agony, the cancerlike disease racking his body with pain ate its way through his internal organs. Nicolas clenched his fists. Dammit. He had to find Maggie. Fast.
“Dai …” His throat closed with emotion. Nicolas clamped a lid on his feelings and arranged a blank look on his face.
Damian seemed to understand, for he waved a hand, dismissing the topic. Never one to complain, more concerned about the pack.
“Tell me about Margaret.” The name slipped out in a soft slur. Mah-gah-rhett. “You made contact with her again. I can tell by your tears. Her emotions are yours, Nicolas. She was crying.” His sharp green gaze focused on dried tears streaking Nicolas’s cheeks.
Nicolas scrubbed his face with a clenched fist. “The dog is dying.” Always the dog, as Maggie sought a logical solution to a problem caused by something not logical in the human world. Then, in private, the tears would flow, because she could not heal the animal she loved.
“Ah. Her pet. Difficult.”
“A friend. Not a pet. She can’t cure Misha. She’s trying to find the mutation in the cells. The Morphs infected the dog.”
Damian rubbed the back of his neck absently. “A test of Margaret’s powers to draw her out. They’ve found her.”
Nicolas drew in another breath, feeling his lungs expand with clean, pure air. The dog had been Maggie’s constant companion for five years. Serving as canine nurse, she also helped her calm the animals she treated.
Now Misha was dying, succumbing to a new disease that baffled Maggie.
The very same disease eating away at Damian’s insides.
He felt an ache reverberate down to his very soul, his spirit crying out to be with hers. He threw back his head, feeling the beast emerge, the wolf howling to be released, and allowed to run. To avoid the pain. Find a dark place and seek comfort.
He could not, just as he could not sever the tie between himself and Maggie.
“She’s unaware of her true identity.” Nicolas stated it as fact. “I discovered that much by mind-bonding with her. Something happened when her parents died, and she blocked out all prior memories. She thinks she’s mortal, not Draicon. Convincing her will be difficult.”
“You know your duty, Nicolas. You must mate with her soon and bring her home. Before the Morphs destroy her.”
Damian stood, leaning his six-foot-tall body against a tree. Beneath the casual air lurked coiled tension, power. Ready to spring into action, if necessary. Their leader never released his guard. Or trusted easily, outside of his pack.
“I know. I know the risks.” To him and to Maggie. “But if it means saving you …”
“Forget me.” Damian made a slashing gesture. “It’s too late. But if she can heal our people when the Morphs infect them, that’s all that matters.”
“I’ll get her here in time,” Nicolas said fiercely. “Don’t doubt it. Trust me.”
Emotion flared in Damian’s eyes. “It’s not good for you to face this alone. You need our people.”
Nicolas lifted his head, regarding him calmly. “You know that’s impossible. They blame me for what happened to Jamie. As they should. When I get Maggie, then I’ll return. Until then …”
The casual lift of his shoulders hid his pain. For the good of the pack, Damian had banished him. Maggie was his way back to acceptance, back to the warmth and comfort of his family.
Maggie was much more. Maggie was the weapon destined to vanquish Kane. Her healing touch could cure the dying Damian.
“Do it,” Damian said softly. “Make her yours.” He watched Nicolas stand, and went to embrace him in the usual brotherly fashion, then pulled back.
“I can’t touch you,” he said thickly.
“I know,” Nicolas agreed. His scent would mark Damian, whose word was law, but the pack would question. Whisper. Worry.
“May the moon spirit guide and protect you on your journey,” his leader said in the formal blessing. “Stay safe, stay strong.”
A thick lump rose in his throat. “Up yours,” Nicolas said cheerfully, hiding his emotions.
Damian flashed another half grin. More pain knifed through Nicolas as he watched his friend slip into the woods, heading back home.
Home for him no longer.
He drew in another breath, began softly singing to himself and trotted in the opposite direction. Maggie, Maggie. He needed to get to Florida.
Every day the danger of Maggie being exposed intensified. Visits to her veterinarian clinic resulted in calmer animals. Maggie had a special healing ability, like a horse whisperer. Only it wasn’t her voice.
But her hands, her soothing touch.
Maggie was an empath, born once every 100 years. She was their last hope. She belonged with the pack, her family.
He’d mate with her, his hard male flesh sinking into her female softness, his warrior’s aggression sinking into her gentleness. Male and female, exchanging powers, becoming one. He’d perform his duty, then mold her into the warrior they needed to fight their enemy. And bring her home, even if she fought and kicked and screamed the whole way.
She had no choice.
Just like him.
Chapter 2
Maggie Sinclair forced herself to concentrate as she stared into the microscope for what seemed like the thousandth time.
Still there. The ugly reality met her weary eyes. Blink, and the cells did not change. A physical impossibility, yet, she could not deny it. The cell samples were black, misshapen like oblong ink blotches.
She had no idea what was killing her beloved Misha. All the academic research proved useless.
X-rays had revealed a large mass in Misha’s stomach. Blood samples showed cell mutation similar to cancer. Yet not cancer.
Maggie rubbed her reddened eyes, trying to contain the tears.
Misha had been her true companion for five years. The long bouts of loneliness she’d felt vanished when she’d adopted the dog from a shelter. Misha had been an abused puppy, and came to her snarling and suspicious. Maggie won her trust and now the dog offered unconditional love and trust. Misha curled up on her lap after a tough day at the office, and licked her face. She was more than a pet. She was a friend.
