Be with me.

“Run to me, Em. I will not turn away from you, I promise.”

His mouth feathered over hers in a soft kiss. Emily closed her eyes, marveling in the firmness of his lips against hers. Raphael’s hands held her steady as he deepened the kiss, his tongue coaxing her to open to him. She parted her lips and he slipped inside, tasting her, his tongue plunging and retreating, brushing the roof of her mouth, tracing every part of the moist cavern of her mouth. Emily sighed and shyly met his sensual advances. Breath escaped her as he lightly nipped her lower lip.

Raphael pulled away, his chest heaving, his eyes darker than the blackest night. Her own pulse beat frantically as she struggled to breathe, feeling the delicious flush of heat suffuse her entire body.

She knew now what it meant and knew what he wanted. He wanted to mate, but waited patiently for her.

Emily was ready now.

BONNIE VANAK

fell in love with romance novels during childhood. While cleaning a hall closet, she discovered her mother’s cache of paperbacks and began reading. Thus began a passion for romance and a lifelong dislike for housework.

After years of newspaper reporting, Bonnie became a writer for a major international charity, which has taken her to destitute countries such as Haiti and Guatemala to write about famine, disease and other issues affecting the poor. When the emotional strain of her job demanded a diversion, she turned to writing romance novels. Bonnie lives in Florida with her husband and two dogs, and happily writes books amid an ever-growing population of dust bunnies. She loves to hear from readers. Visit her Web site at www.bonnievanak.com or e-mail her at bonnievanak@aol.com.

Bonnie Vanak
Immortal Wolf

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Come with me and dare to enter the dark, dangerous world of the Draicon werewolves.

Meet Raphael, the leather-clad, Harley-riding immortal Draicon. He’s a courageous fighter; a ferocious, yet tender lover; a loyal brother, and he will do anything to protect those under his care. He’s given up hope of ever finding his true mate. Until he meets Emily—the werewolf he must sacrifice for the survival of the entire Draicon race.

Everyone Emily touches with her hands she kills, or so she thinks. Her blood can restore life, yet the tenderhearted Emily doesn’t dare reach out and embrace any other living creatures for fear of hurting them.

Emily’s been abandoned by everyone she loves and lives in isolation. Now Raphael must convince her to trust him, the one she trusts least. Together they have to find answers to save Emily’s life—and prevent the spread of evil.

So if you happen to run into Raphael in the woods of eastern Tennessee, beware. Raphael is an immortal wolf who is extremely protective of those he loves!

Bonnie Vanak

For my chapter, Florida Romance Writers, thanks

for all your support and being such a great team.

And to Joan Hammond and Julie Sloane, who

encouraged me from the very beginning. Also,

special thanks to Meri Aigner for her knowledge

of Harley-Davidson motorcycles, and my friend

Maureen “Mo” Fries. You guys rock!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Prologue

Once she restored life. Now she brought death with her touch.

Emily Burke brushed a tender hand across the cold marble gravestone. Beneath it lay Helen, her favorite aunt. Around the stone, daisies planted in loving care were withering and dying on their frail stems.

Never had she felt this forlorn. Not since she’d killed her father a year ago.

Sunlight dappled fading gold-and-red leaves on the canopy of trees. Stray beams drifted onto the small clearing in the deep woods. Here and there, rounded markers etched in the Old Language marked the places where family eternally rested. The Burke pack had ruled this section of eastern Tennessee for generations, living and dying on these same three hundred wooded acres.

If her people had their way, soon her gravestone would join the others. Then the curse haunting her would be broken at last.

A shiver skated down her spine as a cool breeze caressed her cheek. In a few days, the most revered of all Draicon, the Kallan, arrived to prepare her for the rite of trasna. The ritual passage to the Other Realm required formal meditation, farewells and anointing. Though fairly young, the Kallan was renowned. Females whispered of his legendary sexual prowess. Males lowered their heads in respect for his tremendous power.

Without the Kallan, her own pack would be forced to execute her.

Stretching out her hands, she studied the chamois men’s gloves that covered them. She pulled off the right glove and the thin latex sterile glove beneath it. Emily touched the gravestone again, relishing the feel of the hard surface, cool marble. Just to feel…anything.

I can touch you now, Helen.

A daisy plant drooped by the gravestone. Emily swallowed hard. She glanced around and picked up a sharp rock. A sharp swipe across her palm and she winced.

She held her bleeding palm over the plant. One, two, three, four drops of crimson, her life’s fluid, dripped onto the flower.

Emily allowed the cut to heal and watched the daisy with faint hope. The white petals unfurled and the lemon-yellow center glowed with health. Once more, she’d brought back life. The last descendant of the pureblood Draicon, she could restore life with her blood. Emily had healed many, including the animals of the forest who lay sick and dying.

Yet for a year, her touch now killed her own kind.

Oh, to be cursed with the touch of death and the blood of life. Why? Did the goddess curse her because Aibelle saw Emily as vain?

“What have I done?” she whispered. “Please, tell me how I can amend it. I did not abuse this gift I was given at birth. I only wanted to heal.”

A year ago in a dream, the goddess Aibelle mysteriously told her the balance of life and death was within Emily. And the next day, Emily had touched her father and…

Tiny crescent marks gouged her palm as she squeezed, her nails digging into tender flesh. Swallowing hard, she covered her hand. Both gloves had been purified in sage smoke and bathed in a rich mixture of spices and herbs before drying. No matter. Her hands killed her people.

She had killed her father after touching him. Killed her aunt Helen as well. Now she must pay the price, before her curse spread to other Draicon.

She had one hope. Recently, she’d telepathically found her dracairon, her destined mate. Amant. His deep, sexy voice in her mind didn’t hint of origin, and it sent a thrill through her. Worried he might have heard of Emily, the cursed one, she’d given her nickname of Erin. She imagined him as big, powerful and slightly threatening to anyone who dared to hurt her.

Even the Kallan, the Draicon who would execute her.

Amant was her knight, who would charge to her rescue. If Amant knew of her fate, he would do anything to save her. It was his duty. Instinct would drive him to risk all to keep her safe.

Emily closed her eyes and mentally reached out to call out to her white knight.

Help me.

Raphael Robichaux sped toward Bourbon Street on his Harley toward his favorite bar for one last prowl through his turf in New Orleans. Miles away, a female awaited him to deliver her to death. A quick death, but death nonetheless.

The big bike purred as wind whipped his ragged shoulder-length hair. Riding the Harley gave him the only true freedom he knew. But as Raphael neared Bourbon, a voice called out in pained insistence.

Kallan. Kallan. I have need of you.

Raphael turned the bike around, toward the weak, hopeful sigh. In a shadowed alleyway littered with paper bags and the stench of old vomit, a male sat against the exposed brick wall. Even as he slid off the Harley, Raphael knew it was an elder Draicon in great pain.

Yellowed, sharp fangs flashed in the alley. Morphs. Former Draicon who turned evil by killing a relative, they could shapeshift into any life-form. The pair licked the blood streaming down the elder’s temples, tasting death and the Draicon’s fear to gain energy.

One swiped at the helpless male, swiping bloody furrows across his chest. The elder gasped.

Raphael stood at the alley’s entrance. “Go pick on someone able to fight back.” Challenge rang out in his voice.

Growls greeted him as they backed away from their prey. The Morphs straightened. Energized by the elder’s terror, they shifted into rats, cloned themselves and then chewed on the elder’s arms and hands.

The elder screamed.

Absolute calmness came over Raphael. He never lost sight of the original two, their markings, their movements. He lifted his hands to create a veil of protection, much like an electronic fence, around the elder. Shocked by the pure magick, the rats squealed and dropped off, before turning on Raphael.

He was ready. Waving his hands, he divested himself of clothing and shifted into wolf.

Focusing on the original pair, he sprang forward to attack. They squealed and shifted into their true form. As they did, their clones vanished, denied the energy necessary to maintain them.

Just as quickly Raphael shifted back into his human form, clothed himself. Daggers materialized in his hands. He twirled, punched, acted. The two Morphs gave low howls and dropped to the ground. In a minute, they vanished into ashes.

Raphael went to the elder, who was holding his stomach as if trying to keep his guts stuffed inside. His mouth went dry as he scanned the Draicon’s injuries.

“Please, help me end this. I can’t…cross.” The elder, at least 1,500 years, wheezed. Pain radiated from him in great waves. “Just let me go.”

Raphael hedged, torn between wanting to give the honored elder solace and the agonizing decision to end it for him. But the male’s burning plea nudged him forward. It was time.

Closing his eyes, Raphael laid his hand on the other’s shoulder. Concentrated, pulling back to the Other Realm of peace and no pain. He uttered words in the ancient tongue.

His eyes flew open as he removed a short, golden dagger strapped always to his waist. The blade had a magick anesthetic. With a low murmur of sacred words, he stabbed the elder in the heart.

Death was swift, merciful and painless. Light faded from the Draicon’s gaze, but a small, serene smile rested on his thin lips. With reverence, Raphael closed the elder’s eyes. He wiped blood off his sacred Scian with a small cloth tucked into his back pocket. Then he replaced the dagger, fished out his cell phone and made a call.

Five minutes later, four of his former pack arrived. They wrapped the body in a long length of oriental carpet and discreetly carried it to the waiting truck to take the elder to the honored burial he deserved.

Raphael closed his eyes, wishing he didn’t feel so damn alone right now. As much of a rush killing the Morphs gave him, dispatching one of his own into the peace of the Other Realm made him feel empty. Dark inside.

He was the Destroyer, the bringer of death.

Bringing the solace of crossing over to the Other Realm was an honored vocation. Screw it. He was a damn death dealer. He was the Kallan, the only one who could terminate the life of a fellow Draicon without consequence.

Minutes later, he parked the bike in front of the Full Moon bar. Music poured down the street in an acoustic tidal wave; soft, cool jazz and hard, pounding rock. A few women lounging on the sidewalk and sipping hurricanes gave him the twice-over. Wind teased the pure white streak of hair at his temple, played with the gold dagger earring dangling from his left ear.

A collective female sigh, soft as a Mississippi River breeze, drifted toward him. He angled his famous half-smile at the staring threesome. “Evening, ladies,” he drawled.

Three in one night. Nothing new. Hard, fast female company, the bliss of quick, anonymous sex and the energy it brought pushed back the loneliness a little. The tallest had a lush figure, with enough flesh on all the right places he loved to caress. He adored females. Even human women, who were too frail to absorb the rough sex Draicon males sometimes relished.

But sex with anonymous strangers never touched the empty space inside him. Raphael gave the women a charming smile and walked away. Behind him, their murmurs of disappointment buzzed like mosquitoes in the bayou.

He headed toward the scratched wood bar and grabbed a mug of beer. Male and female Draicon nursing drinks stared. “That’s him,” he heard one female whisper. “The Kallan. They say he was appointed because he killed eighty Morphs in one day when they were about to slay a pack in California.”

Sometimes the story boasted over a hundred Morphs, and the pack of Draicon were from New England. It mattered not, for the legend shadowing him was far bigger than reality.

“He’s also the only mixed-blood ever to become Kallan. Who would have thought a Cajun mongrel could have entered the ranks,” a male murmured.

Raphael stiffened.

Too often he felt as if he were dancing atop a paper pedestal erected by his people. When would he fall off because his blood wasn’t pure enough? Only his family treated him normally.

He snorted. Normal? He was immortal. Normal wasn’t part of the package.

Being a Kallan required strength, physical prowess but most of all, emotional detachment tempered with compassion and spiritual purity. A Kallan did not relish dispatching his own people. He saw his role as a guide to the Other Realm, who prepared them for crossing over. Those transitions, even if they committed crimes against their own kind, were treated with dignity and compassion.

He had never dispatched a female before. Raphael hoped he’d have the strength and emotional detachment to execute the cursed Draicon.

Two of his brothers shouted a hearty hello. He was crossing the distance between them when a voice spoke in his head.

Amant? Are you there?

The whisper made him halt. It was her, the one he revered above all others. Raphael held up a hand in greeting to his brothers. He retreated to a solitary table.

Erin. I’m here, he reassured her.

Her voice sounded shaky, as if she tried disguising her fear. But something deeply worried her.

I thought I’d lost you. You haven’t spoken to me since yesterday.

Hush, little one, he soothed. I’m right here, as I have been. What troubles you, chere?

I just missed you, that’s all.

I missed you, too, he admitted, pulling out a chair and propping one booted foot upon it.

One month ago, he had been preparing crayfish for the family barbecue when he’d heard her. His draicara seeking him out. Raphael had gone still at the sweet purity of her voice, the low melodic tones. He’d felt bathed in serenity and yet sharpened by sexual need.

It was the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced, and yet she’d spoken but one sentence.

Since then, they’d talked nearly each day. He wisely did not press her and allowed her to seek him out. He’d called himself the nickname bestowed on him by his brothers—Amant, the French word for “lover.” He didn’t want to frighten her or have her overcome with awe at the legendary Raphael, the most feared and respected Draicon.

Where are you now? What are you doing? Erin asked.

In a bar. Talking to you.

He leaned forward, placing both feet on the floor. What’s wrong, Erin? You sound sad. Are you alone?

A tiny sigh went through him like an arrow. Where I am, I am always alone.

Where was her pack? Her Alpha?

I must go. It isn’t safe here. I have to go someplace safe.

He picked up her anxiety, like little hairs brushing against the nape of his neck. Raphael frowned, wishing he could see her. Your people—are they near? Do you feel threatened?

It’s just some males from my pack walking nearby. I can’t let them see me.

His hackles rose at the suggestion of someone daring to touch his draicara. Automatically, he flexed his muscles, his protective instincts rising. If they try anything with you, they will pay.

Don’t worry. They won’t come near me.

They’d better not. You’re mine and mine alone, he couldn’t help rumbling.

She gave a light laugh, as sweet and airy as a songbird. I can take care of myself. Trust me. I have for a while now.

It’s my job to take care of you.

Her voice deepened. You’re so good to me, even if you aren’t here. I cherish our times together these past weeks. When can I see you?

Raphael blocked away thoughts of the task awaiting him. Soon. I have an assignment, then I will come to you.

Promise? Despair punctuated her voice. Troubled, he sent her waves of reassurance, soothing images of forest and glen, the deep quiet of the green woods. He felt her tension ease.

How I wish you could kiss me now. Kiss me and tell me all is well.

Her admission sent waves of erotic heat through him. He would kiss her, inch by sweet inch. His body tightened with need. He wondered what she looked like and wished she would allow him to see her reflection in a mirror.

I am eager for us to meet. I can’t wait to touch you, he admitted in a husky, sensual whisper.

No!

Her distress screamed in his mind. Raphael frowned and speculated. Even if she were a virgin and scared of her first time, such fear wasn’t normal.

Has someone hurt you? He didn’t mean to make his voice so sharp, and softened his tone. Tell me, so I may help you, chere.

I will be fine. Her wistfulness gave his heart a twist.

Let me help you. I’m your dracairon. It’s my duty to care for you, and see to all your needs, be they large or small.

You sound as if I’m an invalid who needs assistance getting out of bed, came the tart reply.

Raphael gave a small, amused laugh. It might come to that. He blocked the thought from her of the sexy image of Erin lying languid and flushed in bed, dazed by the pleasure he’d given her. Of course not. But I am your mate, and it grieves me to know you are in such distress. Tell me what you need.

You. She went silent a few heartbeats and added, Do you want me?

Her deep, sultry voice sent lust spiraling through him. Raphael gripped the chair’s armrests. Want her? You have no idea how badly I want you. Mentally he sent her an image of an enormous bed, two bodies tangled together between rumbled silk sheets. All that and much more, he said softly.

Oh! Oh. I didn’t realize, I’ve never…um…

Silent delight filled him at her charming, blushing innocence. Don’t worry, chere. It’s your first time, and I will be gentle. You have nothing to fear from me.

I’m not afraid of you. I could never be afraid of you.

Satisfaction poured through him. He would cherish her and be mindful of her innocence at their first joining. The ecstasy he’d deliver would erase any pain of taking her virginity. Raphael licked his lips, envisioning parting her soft thighs with his hands, lowering his mouth to her core and flicking his tongue…

There?! Shock vibrated through her voice. Raphael laughed softly.

There, and many other places. Trust me, you will enjoy it.

I wish I could touch you.

The absolute sorrow in her voice gave him pause. His heart twisted. Soon, he promised.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted two men strutting toward him. Both solid as linebackers. Deep frowns scored their faces. One sported a knife scar across his cheek. Trouble. At the bar, his oldest brother, Etienne, shot him a questioning look. Need help?

Raphael shook his head. Erin, pardon me for a moment, he told his draicara. He stood, stretching out to his full six feet, four inches.

“Gentlemen,” he offered.

“You’re the ugly bastard who screwed around with my woman last month,” Big and Scarred announced.

“Your ex,” he countered.

“We was gonna make up,” Scarred said. Glass shattered as he brought his beer bottle down on the table. He held the jagged edge out.

“I doubt it, judging from the bruises you left.” Raphael narrowed his eyes. “Women should be treated with courtesy and respect. All women. You need manners.” He felt power rising in him, the itch to slam this bastard into place.

“And you’re an ugly mongrel dog,” Scarred’s friend chimed in.

Violent anger rolled through him. He masked it. “Never call me a mongrel,” he said pleasantly.

Raphael coldcocked one with a fist and sent the other toppling to the floor with a bare shove. Beer splashed over the table as bottles toppled downward. His reflexes were so fast they’d had no time to blink.

He sat down again, placing a boot upon Scarred’s unconscious body.

My apologies, Erin. I had to take out the trash. Just a little business that took me away from your delightful company. Where were we?

What business?

Two men who didn’t like the looks of my face. He studied his knuckles. Not even a scratch.

Are you hurt? Sharp worry tinged her voice. Raphael felt unexpected wonderment fill him. No one ever worried about him fighting before. His family assumed that the Kallan could fight all battles. His friends knew he could.

You must be a very strong warrior.

I do what I must. He gave a little shrug, toed at the unconscious form on the floor.

You’re also quite modest. I can feel the humility radiating from you.

Again he laughed in delight. For the very first time, he wished he were not the Kallan and could speed to Erin’s side. His draicara had need of him, but his duties as Kallan came first.

Chere, tomorrow I must leave you. I cannot contact you. I have a duty to perform that requires absolute concentration.

For how long?

An eternity. Three weeks.

It’s all right. I understand. She gave a tiny sigh, sounding suspiciously like a muffled sob. Maybe…I will see you. In some other place. Someday.

Erin. He tried reaching for her, but she’d vanished like mist seeping through the bayou. Raphael sat back, slightly troubled. He didn’t like the sound of her goodbye.

It sounded almost like farewell.

He set aside his concerns. After, he’d find Erin and give her all she needed. For now he must focus on what lay ahead.

His brothers, Etienne and Gabriel, drifted over. They studied the two prone bodies at Raphael’s feet. “Couldn’t you have played outside?” Gabe asked.

“They didn’t want to share my sandbox.” He joined them at another table and signaled the waitress, who slapped a cold longneck on the table. Raphael tilted his head back and drank deeply.

Etienne turned a chair around, straddled it, leaning his long arms on the back. “When are you leaving?”

“As soon as I finish the next one.” He backhanded his mouth.

“What is it this time? Where?”

Raphael drummed his fingers on the table, overcome by a sudden chill. “A female.”

His brother’s mouth turned down. “Bad business. What happened?”

His mind sifted through the details with impartiality. “I’m told Emily is the cursed one, doomed by Aibelle the goddess. She was cursed a year ago by Aibelle with the death touch because of her vanity. All Draicon Emily now touches she kills. The ancient prophecies foretell Emily will bring about the end to our people if she is not sacrificed by midnight of the next full moon. If she isn’t, the curse shifts to the entire pack and beyond.”

Etienne whistled as Gabriel shook his head. “Seems unfair,” Gabe said. “Where is she?”

“They told me she’s ready, elderly and will be glad to cross. She’s in eastern Tennessee.” Raphael didn’t add he was relieved his victim was older. Bad enough she was female. Most he dispatched saw his services as a relief. In his forty years as Kallan, he’d only disposed of five very unwilling prisoners, who had killed innocents and were about to turn Morph.

Gabriel gave him a pensive look. “The Draicon in that area are the Burke pack. You’re not saying they’re…”

At Raphael’s brief nod, both Gabriel and Etienne’s eyes widened. “Whoa. Burke pack. Better mind yourself, Rafe. They’re very traditional and stick strictly to custom,” Etienne warned.

Like I don’t know it. The invitation with its fussy handwriting had arrived on crisp parchment (no e-mail for the Burke clan). The beer in his mouth soured. He swallowed hard.

“No cable for you, t’frere. No Internet, no Wii, nothing modern except the phone, basic utilities and cars. Keeper of the records of Draicon, the Burkes are direct, purebred descendants of our forefathers. Guardians of the Old Ways. Royalty.” Gabriel gave Raphael’s leather jacket a nod. “The last Kallan even dressed in ceremonial robes to please Urien, the Burke alpha. I heard Urien was upset you became Kallan because you’re not—”

“A pureblood like them? Like all the other Kallans before me?” Raphael’s fingers squeezed the beer bottle, cracking it. Foam oozed out of the sides.

Silence draped the air. Etienne exchanged uneasy glances with Gabriel.

Urien can kiss my leather-clad butt. Resentment filled him. The purebreds, always with their traditions, customs and superiority complex. They didn’t want a Kallan who was a renegade, a Cajun and a mongrel in their eyes. Tough. He was all they had.

“I’m not going there to make a fashion statement. Just to honor their request.”

Respect shone on his brothers’ faces. Gabe shook his head. “I don’t know how you do it, Rafe. I certainly couldn’t perform trasna on a female. I hope you find the strength.”

“You’d better hope, Gabe. You have a lot riding on this assignment.” Raphael set down the beer, his look grim as he studied his brother. “Just hope that she is older and ready to die. Because if she isn’t and I have a conflict on hand, remember the code? You’re the one whose life is forfeit. And there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.”

Gabriel removed a legal-size paper, a knife and a quill from his pocket and set them on the table.

“You don’t have to do this, Gabe.”

“If I don’t, then who will?”

The time-honored tradition bothered him, but he could not break it. Each time his services as Kallan were requested to terminate the life of another Draicon, he signed a binding contract. A male family member was required to sign as well, putting his life on the line as collateral should Raphael back out of the agreement.

The contract ensured Raphael would proceed with the execution or those requesting his services would kill his relative. No Kallan had ever reneged, and over time the document became more a formality than a reality.

Still, Raphael felt queasy over the idea of giving the Burke pack the authority to end Gabe’s life should he fail to dispatch Emily.

A nagging thought chased itself around in his head. He dismissed his worry. Discipline, not emotion, was needed for his upcoming duty. But this particular transition presented other challenges. The last time he’d had a brother sign a blood oath, Etienne had been unmated, and the transition was an elder longing for the peace of the Other Realm.

Never a female.

A very delicate, tough assignment.

Gabriel made perfect sense. Since Etienne had been mated, he was forbidden to sign a blood oath. Alexandre, who had lost his mate and daughter, had expressed a desire to join them and might even hinder the ritual of trasna in his eagerness to do so. Indigo and Damian, both adopted as blood brothers, were not related kin. Besides, Damian was mated now to Jamie and had a pack of his own. Indigo, well…

Purebloods considered Indigo an abomination because he was a Changling—half-vampire, half-Draicon. The Burke pack would ban him from offering his life.

Only Gabe remained.

His brother’s eyes, dark as his own, regarded him evenly. Gabe pointed to the paper. “I read over everything. Shall we?”

So be it. “Take the knife, cut your hand and sign your name in blood.”

Gabe picked up the sharp blade with a wry look. “Did I ever tell you I faint at the sight of blood, especially my own?”

“Faint after signing, monfrere. I might even catch you.”

With a slight wince, Gabe cut his hand and signed his name. Raphael stared at the crimson signature. A small dot of blood, like a tiny teardrop, stained the parchment.

“What’s wrong? My signature not legible?” Gabe joked.

Raphael made no reply, staring sightlessly out the window. The premonition was before him, dark and hovering like gray shadows. Blood staining his brother’s shirt. Gabriel lying still.

Death.

But for whom, he couldn’t say.

Chapter 1

Today the Kallan arrived. The male who would end her life. If she didn’t find a way to stop him.

Emily paced before her cottage. She couldn’t wait and walked silently to the farmhouse.

On the way over, she heard the steady roar of a motorcycle as it crested the quiet hill before the farmhouse. Despite every instinct that urged flight, she advanced toward the sound. She needed to see the one who would end her life. She crept through the yard by using the thick pine trunks of the trees that flanked the drive from the cottage to the farmhouse to shield her.

Her pack had gathered on the gravel drive. With a cough, the big motorcycle’s engine died and the pack drifted toward the male on the bike. Emily gave him a grim smile. Maybe the others went meekly. She’d give him the fight of his life. Her life.

He removed a gleaming black helmet. Shoulder-length dark hair fell about his head, curling at the edges. One lock of hair was pure white at his right temple. Dressed in a black leather jacket, black T-shirt and black leather pants, he looked tall and imposing even while seated.

The rider slid a firm thigh over the saddle and stood. Emily put a hand to her throat, feeling it tighten. He towered over her family. He was breathtaking, with his fine bone structure, high cheeks, full, sensual lips and determined chin. Power radiated from him, and he exuded a sense of authority.

His dress was as different as his height and muscled body. Her people wore the clothing of the Old Ones. Simple wool vests in dark green or blue, broadcloth shirts and trousers for the men. Women were always clad in long dresses, some laced up front with a full skirt and formfitting bodice. Traditional. This Kallan’s leather-clad body made her feel tingly and caused wicked thoughts to race through her mind. What would he look like without the covering?

She hadn’t expected him to look so sexy, so young. The Kallans of old in the Book of Records were ancients. The last Kallan had been a graybeard who wore dignified clothing, like the long emerald robes her Alpha wore at ceremonial celebrations.

Tight leather covered his long legs, molded to his bottom. A hot flush rose to Emily’s cheeks as she stared at the prominent bulge between his legs. The Kallan swaggered with easy grace, gravel crunching beneath his booted feet. Never had she seen such a display of raw masculinity. He sucked up all the open space with his presence. A dangerous Draicon, formidable. Emotionless as well. Had to be, to do what he must.

A small fear shook her. He looked like a fierce hunter who would flush out prey and never stop. Any thoughts that she could outrun him, outwit him, shattered like brittle glass.

Suddenly he looked up from greeting those around him. His attention shot straight to the trees hiding her. He seemed affixed to her position as his eyes narrowed.

Her heart galloped as she stumbled backward. This was not how she would meet him. Not cowering and lurking, but chin up, face forward.

Not yet. She needed to gather the fragments of her tattered courage first. Emily slipped away, her bare feet making no noise on the soft grass.

Later, when dusk fell and shadows cloaked the land, she would march up to the farmhouse and introduce herself. Kallan or not, Raphael would never best her. She would show him.

Instead of the animosity and superior attitude Raphael expected, the Burke pack welcomed him with vigorous handshakes. Immediately he donned the unemotional mask necessary for his duty.

Amid the glad-handing and introductions, Raphael scented her. Emily, the transition.

Wildflowers, a hint of lavender. His attention whipped over to a small stand of pines. She hid behind them.

Her scent spoke volumes to him. Fear twined with anger and tremendous strength. Underlying it was a strong femininity that flooded his body with sexual heat.

Raphael stared. It must be Emily, the cursed one, but why was her presence so enticing? He scanned the Draicon around him. None seemed to sense Emily was nearby. No one acted affected. Except him.

A small nagging tugged the back of his mind. But the sweet, sensual fragrance of Emily faded. He turned on his charming smile, the one reserved for uncomfortable situations. This pack didn’t seem anxious or upset as expected with his arrival.

They seemed relieved.

“Greetings, Kallan. We are most happy to have you. I will see to whatever needs you have in regards to Emily’s transition.” Bridget, the Alpha female, gave him a wide, welcoming smile.

This Emily. Yeah, he had need. A strong need to hunt down and flush out that alluring scent. Emily. Strong, fragrant. Not weak, as they’d told him.

Urien, the Alpha male, was short, slim, with red hair, blue eyes and a strong chin. He stared with the usual arrogant, domineering look of a purebreed. Raphael refused to lower his gaze. He fixed his coolest look on the Draicon. To his surprise, Urien glanced away and stepped back, clearly surrendering.

Most Alphas, engaged in such a bristling display of dominance, would step forward, give a small nod to acknowledge Raphael’s own position of power and shake hands.

“Where’s Emily?” he asked, searching their faces.

The pack shifted, shuffled their feet. “She is not welcome here,” Urien said bluntly. “It’s not important for you to meet her at this moment.”

Raphael hid his angry bemusement. The Alpha pair refused to smooth over this very difficult time for Emily? What could be more important?

He remained silent in his disapproval as they escorted him inside. They treated him with the usual reverence, but damn, they were all so cowering, refusing to look him in the eye.

What the hell had happened here? Had the earth goddess’s curse taken hold of more than the doomed Emily?

Bridget let him on a tour of the big, rambling Victorian farmhouse. She explained that the home housed the entire Burke pack but he could find no evidence of Emily.

As he followed her up the staircase, Raphael stopped. He cocked his head, listened. Silence.

“Your offspring, your young. Where are they?”

Bridget looked uncomfortable. “We have none.”

“None at all?” He was incredulous.

“Our pack has lived and thrived here for decades, but breeding outside the pack and mixing the bloodlines is forbidden. As a result, our females have become barren. We have been unable to conceive for decades. Now if you’ll follow me…”

“When was the last birth?” he demanded.

Panic flared in her eyes, then she glanced away. “A female, a forbidden birth, some years ago. Emily. Liam sired her on another outside the pack. Urien accepted her because Liam is his dearest brother and we needed a little one. But now Urien regrets not banishing Liam for the pack’s good.”

“You told me she was an elder who was glad to cross.” Raphael’s dismay grew. “Why did you lie?”

“It is hard for us. Emily was our hope. And now to have to sacrifice her for the good of the pack? It breaks our hearts.”

“Where is her father?”

Her expression went blank. “Dead a year ago. Emily killed him. Accidentally, when she touched him.”

Her own father? Pity surged through him, along with mounting suspicion. “What happened?”

“Emily had dreamed the goddess Aibelle appeared to her and said the power of life and death was within her. The next day, Emily asked her father and me what Aibelle meant. She grabbed her father’s hand, squeezed it. Liam gasped and dropped to the floor. I told Emily to fetch Urien from the fields, but it was too late. By the time he returned, Liam was dead from Emily’s touch. She is the one foretold by the prophecies to bring an end to our people.”

Bridget wrung her hands. “You must understand how difficult this is. Urien loves Emily, but she killed Liam, and then six months later his sister, Helen. We must follow the ancient prophecies and dispatch Emily before the curse spreads. The fate of the entire Draicon race rests with you, Kallan. How many more of our people must die?”

Raphael’s heart sank. “What about these ancient prophecies? I want to see them for myself.”

Not that he could read them. Any knowledge he had of the Old Language he’d memorized when he became Kallan.

“It is forbidden for those outside our pack to read them, those who are not pure of the blood.”

Her voice was soft and the tone apologetic, but if Bridget had spat in his face, she couldn’t have insulted him more. Raphael gave her a long, cool look and they resumed the tour.

When they reached the upstairs bedrooms, Bridget opened a door to a lavish suite. “This is your room. We hope you like it.”

“Where does Emily sleep?”

After some hesitation, she said Emily lived in a cottage in the woods. There were several cottages in the forest, but after Emily killed her father, everyone else moved to the farmhouse. No one wanted to be near her.

“Emily is too dangerous,” she insisted. “It’s best this way. Emily likes living in the woods.”

Did she? He wondered if it were Emily’s choice or if they forced her into it.

Raphael closed the suite door and leaned against it. He gave Bridget his most intimidating look.

“I want to stay in the cottage next to Emily.”

Bridget started to protest. He remained silent. Finally, she sighed. “I’ll see to it. But, be careful. She’s dangerous.”

“I’ll deal with it.” Raphael stared her down. “Now take me to my quarters.”

Raphael. The powerful, mighty warrior who would kill her was named Raphael. They said he was swift, merciful and gave the person a dignified end.

His dagger was honed with magick from the Old Ones.

Those subjected to an ending by his sword were even accorded dignified names. The transitions. They transitioned to the Other Realm, with Raphael the Kallan aiding their journey.

Noises had drawn her to the cottage next door. Emily stood now behind a pine tree, peering into the living-room window as she watched Raphael stretch his long body.

Fascination stole over her. Smooth tanned flesh flexed over strong biceps. Emily ducked out of sight as he turned.

Footsteps sounded inside. She peeked again. Raphael tugged his black T-shirt over his head and off. Now he stood at the bathroom door. Certainly the view was admirable. She felt a tingle rush through her body as she gazed at his body.

His fingers reached for the front of his black leather pants. Coloring, she ducked down again. When she lifted her head, sounds of the shower began.

Curiosity overwhelmed her. Emily crept around to the cottage’s side. The bathrooms were designed to let in natural light and give the feeling of being outdoors while in the shower. A wall of glass looked out to a curtain of pine trees. Sneaking between the glass and the pines, she watched.

In the glassed shower, Raphael stood beneath the twin jets, his back to her. Damp, ragged black hair hung in strands to his wide shoulders. Smooth, golden flesh covered his muscled backside, and his bottom…

Emily stared at the rounded firmness of his buttocks. When he turned around, she released a startled gasp. Her shocked gaze roamed from the dark hair on his firm chest to the rippling muscles on his abdomen, down to the thick hair at his groin and the…

Her gaze whipped back up to his other end to find two dark eyes regarding her with amusement.

Emily squeaked, fleeing into the safety of her forest.

Emily was curious to see him. Well, she’d gotten a good look at him. More than an eyeful, Raphael thought with a grin.

But would she spend the next three weeks running away?

He dried off, dressed and went onto the porch. Sitting on a wood rocker, he listened to the peaceful cheep of tree frogs, the distant lowing of a cow left in a pasture. Twilight draped shadows over the stretch of grass marching down the gentle slope toward the forest.

What kind of life was it for Emily when her entire pack feared even the tread of her steps on the stairs?

Something about his charge bothered him. Not her absence. That was normal. But the feelings she evoked in him, powerful and overwhelmingly sexual. He’d never felt like this before around a transition.

His feelings were equally intense regarding her pack. Something was off, especially Bridget. He couldn’t gauge them, probably because of their pure blood and lineage.

Old resentments flared, but he set them aside. He leaned back in the rocking chair. Raphael closed his eyes, scenting a delicate aroma of lavender and female. The fragrance heated his blood and he gripped the rocking chair’s armrests to steel himself against sudden arousal.

“Emily, come out. I’m Raphael, the Kallan. I know you’re there, watching me. I’d like to meet you. Don’t be afraid.”

Silence filled the air. Then a strong, sweet voice spoke into the gathering darkness.

“Afraid? You’re the one who should be afraid, Raphael Robichaux.”

Her voice deepened with a slight menace. “Very afraid. Because I carry death with me wherever I go. And my hands, judging from the way they are itching right now, tell me you are next.”

Something tugged at his conscience. Her voice with its slight Southern accent seemed familiar. Emotions crowded him. Most overwhelming was a deep feeling of utter sorrow, as if part of his very soul were to die.

It was his distress at her youth and growing anger at her pack’s deception that marred his perception. Nothing more. Raphael dismissed his inner feelings. Emotions were dangerous and clouded his judgment.

He opened his eyes, staring at the sunlit dappled oaks and maples. “Good. Then come forward. If you wish me harm, then have the courage to show yourself.”

“Why should I? I’ve already seen you,” the reply came, followed by a small sniff.

Delight filled him at her snappy attitude. “Seen a lot of me, have you? Let’s look at each other face-to-face and not through the bathroom window.”

Her gasp made his grin widen.

Movement snapped his attention to the left. Raphael half closed his eyes, waiting.

A figure emerged from the woods. His senses sprang to alert. The approaching female walked with quiet grace. Light from the porch showed hair the color of an angry sunset drawn up tight in a bun like the other Burke females. Damn.

Young. Much younger than his 105 years. Barely a decade past her first change into wolf. Much more disturbing was the wild cascade of emotions tumbling through him. Fascination. Thrill. And a reckless feeling of intense arousal.

As if he wanted to spring forward, take her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Strip off her ugly, ankle-length dress, lower her to the green grass and ravish her until they both lay panting and spent with pleasure. With her oval face, wide green eyes fringed with red-gold lashes, pert nose and rosebud mouth, she resembled a fae wandering from the safe haven of a forest. Even the ugly, shapeless dress she wore didn’t disguise the ethereal beauty and delicate features.

Raphael closed his eyes, shutting out his initial reaction. Emotions are dangerous.

He drank her in through his other senses. A small smile touched his mouth. Despite the myriad of feelings pushing at him, he could read her spirit. Defiant and not willing. He faced a big fight.

She would not go gentle into that good night, but kicking and screaming. And part of him relished her anger. After all the times he’d dispatched his own kind, he wanted someone to fight him. Someone to tell him to piss off, instead of beg for death with dull, pain-glazed eyes.

The air around him shifted. A chill dropped over him as if winter breathed hard and fast across his body. Raphael suppressed a shiver. His warm Cajun blood howled at the icy blast.

It emitted from her.

Death lingered in her, but not her own. Her touch killed.

Waiting, he reached out to assess her. She smelled absolutely delicious—strong and very alive. He tasted the cold fury in the chill she threw off. Yet he burned with desire as he sensed her drawing nearer.

Raphael waited, rocked and remained silent.

“You can’t be the Kallan. You’re much too young.”

The accusation made him smile. Opening his eyes, he studied her approach, graceful as a wood nymph. The last rays of sunlight glinted her hair, making it look as brilliant as the setting sun.

“So are you. I was told by your Alpha you’re elderly.” He didn’t hide his anger. Raphael sat straight, his thighs splayed, hands on knees as he regarded her.

“I’m twenty-two.” She hesitated, and her voice seemed sad, oddly familiar. “I feel as if I am an ancient.”

A frown touched his mouth as he scrutinized her appearance. “Have we met?”

She laughed, the sound like gurgling water cascading over stones. “Doubtful. You’d remember me, for I don’t shake hands. Ever.”

Emily held up her hands, displaying thick, ugly mustard-yellow gloves. They were a grim reminder of the lethal threat she carried.

“I could kill you with a single touch,” she said, her dulcet voice contrasting with the ugliness of her words.

“I doubt it. Come, sit beside me. It’s a lovely evening.” He patted the empty rocker next to him.

She narrowed her eyes as if he invited her to sit on a pile of rattlers. “Sit and do what? Talk about the weather?”

“If you wish. I want to get to know you better, Emily Burke.”

Gloved hands went to her rounded hips. Emily stared him down. “I know your purpose. You’re here to execute me. Don’t waste your breath on flowery prose or eloquent speeches about how lovely the Other Realm is, and how I will be at peace or this nonsense about getting to know me better. Let’s get one thing straight, Kallan. You’re my enemy. Period. We’ll never be friends. Period.”

We will be lovers.

His thought materialized out of nowhere. It startled him, and as he studied her, it became very appealing. His body responded to the idea, imagining removing the pins from her hair, releasing it to spill in a cascade down to her waist. Emily naked as he feathered tiny kisses over her pale skin, enjoying her whimpers of excited pleasure as he fastened his mouth over a reddening nipple and then nudged her legs open and settled his hips between them…

Merde! What the hell was wrong with him? She’s your transition, imbecile! He’d been thinking of her as if she were his alone. He had a draicara, Erin, and he was lusting for a female he must dispatch.

Raphael dragged in a deep breath, disturbed at his traitorous thoughts. What sort of Kallan was he? Viciously he wished Emily were a 1,200-year-old male, with warts and bowed legs, eager to end it all. Not this vision of springtime beauty, as ethereal and lovely as a delicate blossom.

“Hello?” The vision waved her gloved hands before him. “You deaf? Did you get my message? I can kill you.”

“You can’t kill me,” he noted calmly, glad to see all emotion fled his voice. “I’m immortal.”

“But you’re not immune to pain. I can make you suffer.”

Probably more than you know. Again the thought flashed before him, filled with heavy sorrow.

Her smile turned nasty. “Have you felt your body weaken and your magick leaking from your body? That’s what I do, Raphael. And that is what I will do to you if you dare to come near me and preach about the afterworld or dying for my people.”

The inflection of her speech told him all he needed to know. She bluffed. Beneath the nasty words and threats was a dark thread of pure fear. Not for herself, but him.

For all living things she might harm.

Raphael smiled gently.

“I don’t know any speeches. I don’t preach. But I do like to eat, and I’m sure at some point you do as well. Will you join me for dinner?”

“As your guest or the main course?”

Raphael threw back his head and laughed, delighted with her spunk. “Depends. Sprinkled with a few Cajun spices, you might do.”

And I know exactly where to sprinkle the spice. His body heated with erotic conjecture, Emily on the table like a feast for his hunger…

He stood, the rocker banging against the wall. “Come, Emily. I hate eating alone.”

As he walked down the stairs, heading for her, she froze. “Stay away from me, Kallan. Just stay away.”

Then she fled into the gathering shadows like a frightened deer.

Raphael sighed, ran a hand through his hair. This time he’d not let her go. He jumped off the porch and inhaled. Easy enough to find.

Tracking her delicious scent, he followed her into the woods.

Emily drew closer to the oak tree and the vine of sacred mistletoe twining around the strong limbs. Though the moonlight tonight would be too dim, she must pick the berries.

She needed answers from the sacred texts her aunt Helen once guarded.

Six months ago, Helen had taken her to the garden alone, telling her she had to share a confidence about the pack. Helen, keeper of the sacred texts, had told her where they were hidden. “If anything happens, Emily, find and decipher them. They will provide the answers you need.”

Helen asked if she could still restore life and pointed to a dying rose. Emily had removed the thin glove covering her hand and pricked her thumb on a thorn. Four drops of her blood caused the petals to unfurl and renewed their crimson blush. Helen had become extremely emotional.

“I knew it, Emily. You have the gift of life within you still. There is something I must tell you. You need to know the truth about your gift.”

To her horror, Helen had touched her hand. Her uncovered hand. Emily had screamed as her aunt dropped to the ground. Terrified, Emily ran off to tell Urien, who ordered her confined to her cottage. An hour later, Urien grimly told Emily that Helen was dead from her single touch.

He’d banished her for good that day.

The texts were a last hope. Ever since she was informed of her impending death, she’d poured over them, desperate to translate the prophecies foretelling her death. If she were to die to save her race, then she wanted proof. Helen said the texts would provide all the answers. But to discern the words, she needed to be calm and unemotional.

Impossible. The only alternative was smearing ripe mistletoe berries over the parchment. The berries would make the words clear to her, even if she became too upset.

Footsteps crunched the leafy undergrowth. Emily went still, like a deer scenting the enemy. He approached with deliberate announcement of his presence.

She fled.

“Emily, come out. Stop playing games. Sooner or later, we must talk.”

The deep, husky voice sounded familiar. No, it was this Kallan. He played games with her, trying to coax her to his side. Raphael possessed powerful magick. He could disguise his voice, making it sound familiar, and loved to encourage a transition to welcome death with open arms like a lover.

Emily squeezed her eyes shut, clapped her hands over her ears to shut away the deep, sensual tones of that voice, as soothing as an old friend. She had no friends.

I am alone.

Maybe this time she’d finally work up the courage to escape. Leave the property she seldom left since her birth. Flee into the night.

Driven by instinct, Emily cut back into the sheltering woods. Her bare feet, accustomed to the rough undergrowth, raced over the covering of dead leaves and twigs. Behind her she heard Raphael call her name.

Call all you want. You’ll be talking to air, peabrain.

Thinking of the mighty Kallan as a peabrain gave her small comfort. Emily continued on through her beloved forest, exiting into a sloped meadow. Dewy grass sloshed beneath her feet as she ran.

The property’s edge was within reach. Freedom. Emily ground to a halt, instinctively knowing the boundary. She stared at the dirt separating the Burke’s land from the outside world.

Her gaze whipped over to the crest of hill before her. Beyond the property lay freedom. If she worked up the courage, she could escape. Flee her fate.

Her overprotective father and Urien rarely allowed her to venture outside their territory, warning of great dangers. Morphs with talons ready to shred delicate skin to ribbons. Their fangs were long and yellowed, their greed for Draicon flesh very great.

Her heart raced with fear.

If she fled, where would she go? What if her touch killed humans as well? Emily’s heart wrenched at the thought of taking another innocent life.

Something moved in the darkening shadows. Shapes. Restless, pacing back and forth as if caged. Nothing but a band of coyotes. Urien had been wrong. The outside world presented little danger. Not compared to the larger, taller threat silently stalking her.

She stepped onto the roadway.

A stench like feces and rotting garbage filled her nostrils. Terror squeezed her heart like a strong fist. Emily recognized the forms as they came closer to the property’s edge. Close enough for her to smell their hot, fetid breath. Close enough for her to see the flash of black in their eyes.

Morphs, the ones who feasted on Draicon flesh.

Emily screamed.

Chapter 2

Raphael tore down the pathway, alarmed at the distressed cry. There, from the woods’ edge, near the property line. Emily. Something threatened her.

Instinct took over. He ran, waving his hands and eliminating his clothing as he did so, changing into wolf.

She stood in the gathering darkness, gloved hands to her mouth. Trembling as if a mighty wind shook her.

Just on the other side of the small, narrow dirt road he saw them.

A line of Morphs staring her down. As if they wanted her dead and would devour her heart.

While it still beat inside her chest.

With a snarl, Raphael leapt onto the road, charging the Morphs staring at Emily.

“Stop! They won’t come here!”

Stark fear in her voice snapped him to a halt. His paws skidded in the loose gravel. The Morphs inched backward, their hunched, shriveled bodies twisting, talons outstretched as they hissed at him.

Raphael growled at the enemy. Wanting to snap and tear and destroy, every instinct rising to attack. But his charge was his first concern. He wouldn’t leave Emily alone, facing danger.

The Morphs shapeshifted into wolves, loping off silently. Raphael trotted back to Emily and shifted back to human form. A cold wind brushed against his naked skin, chilling his bones. He clothed himself with a wave of his hand, looked at her terrorized face.

“Are you all right?”

Emily stared after the Morphs. “They won’t come on the property. Urien said it was the magick shield on the land, but I think it’s me. They fear me.”

Raphael sensed her inner turmoil and challenged her. “Then why not leave?”

A frown creased her lovely face. “I should. I could, but in the past, Urien said they’d attack in packs, cloning themselves and sacrificing the clones to kill me. They would strip the skin from my bones and eat my heart to ingest all the magick I have. I know I’m going to die, but I don’t want to die like that.”

Anguish tinged her voice. Raphael’s heart dropped to his stomach. Damn, this was going to be tough. All this time he’d been Kallan, he’d never faced such a challenge.

Think of her, not yourself.

“Emily, let’s get back. You’re shivering,” he said in his gentlest tone.

Raphael shrugged out of his leather jacket and went to drape it about her slender shoulders. She jerked back as if he were a hot iron. “Don’t touch me!”

“I was only going to offer you this.”

“Then you’d have to destroy it after I wore it.” She backed away. “You’re supposed to be wise. Everything I touch is contaminated. My own people can’t stand being within ten feet of me. They won’t let me touch anything. Even the livestock. I can’t feed them, water them, care for them. I’m unclean.”

Raphael’s heart twisted.

“Stop looking at me like that. I hate pity. Damn you.”

With a swirl of skirts, she spun around and stormed off toward her cottage. Raphael gazed after her. He’d leave her alone for now. Come morning, they had work to do.

Once Emily had loved the dark. Now it brought only fear of the night and terrible dreams chasing her through sleep. Last night’s had been particularly gruesome. Long, yellowed fangs ready to sink into her flesh, eager to rip and tear.

Emily hooked a band of hair behind her ear. Before sleeping last night, she had managed to calm herself enough to decipher a snippet of the sacred texts.

“The Destroyer has been sent to kill her. The Chosen One surrenders herself to the Destroyer.” Two sentences having a vague interpretation. But what if she did surrender herself to the Destroyer? What then?

She had become too upset, and the words blurred to nothingness before her eyes.

Emily poured herself a cup of coffee, donned her gloves and took the cup outside to enjoy the morning air. Distress filled her as she spotted Raphael sitting on the rocker on her porch. In a dove-gray T-shirt, jeans and boots, his powerful body tensed, he stared into the woods.

“Why are you on my porch?” she demanded.

Silence met her. She tracked the line of his gaze and saw a small deer peacefully cropping dewy grass. “What are you looking at?”

“Prey.” His voice was low, intent.

His back to her, Raphael stood and tugged the shirt over his head. Muscles rippled beneath his smooth, tanned flesh. Her mouth went dry as she stared. He reached for the waistband of his jeans.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I’m going to hunt. I haven’t eaten deer in months.”

“There are no deer where you’re from?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Where I come from, we eat nutrias. Rodents bigger than small dogs. They look like mutant beavers.”

Fascination stole over her as she watched him shed his clothing slowly and carefully. Emily suspected he did it on purpose to get a reaction.

She reacted.

She had seen naked men when her pack males shapeshifted into wolves. But not this beautiful. His legs were long and sturdy, his bottom taut with muscle. His broad shoulders tapered down to a lean waist and hips. Fascinated, she studied the rippling muscles of his tanned flesh. An odd marking in blue ink decorated his strong left bicep—a dagger that had intricate runes like the Sacred Scian thrust through a heart.

Iridescent sparks started to shimmer around him, then faded. “Aren’t you joining me?”

A ripple of pleasure went through her. Her pack hadn’t invited her to run with them in years. Emily leaned back, sipping her coffee.

“I don’t hunt anymore.”

“Why?”

She fell silent, reluctant to tell him why. He seemed to struggle with a decision. His large shoulders slumped as he heaved a sigh. “Ah, it wouldn’t be much of a challenge. Like fishing with C-4 explosives.”

Raphael waved a hand, clothing himself again. Relief swept through her, and bemusement. Most others would ignore her and pursue their hunger.

“Your refrigerator should be fully stocked,” she said, setting down her coffee. The Sacred Scian hung in a sheath on his belt. Emily swallowed hard.

“It is, but I like the thrill of the hunt. I am, after all, a big, bad wolf.”

A charming grin touched his mouth, melting her a little. He seemed friendly. Open and willing to talk with her as if she were just an ordinary Draicon.

She wasn’t. Emily squeezed her hands.

“Why do you wear those clothes?”

He shrugged. “It’s what I like. I never follow other people’s style.”

“Style? I don’t know of style, but I do know it’s important to be like everyone else in the pack.”

“So that’s why you wear that sackcloth?” he drawled.

Emily fingered the shapeless dun dress with its long sleeves and coarse material. “It’s tradition. Our people embrace traditional clothing.”

She stared at the small gold dagger dangling from a loop pierced through his left ear. “Our males do not wear earrings. We wear no decorations upon our bodies.”

Raphael leaned against the railing. “The earring is more than a decoration.”

He tugged at his left ear and the tiny gold dagger dangling from it. In a flash, the golden blade on his belt vanished and appeared as a second dagger in the earring. “I keep the Sacred Scian close to me at all times. The earring gives me the freedom to walk armed into places where humans forbid weapons.” He flashed the charming grin again. “Much better than setting off metal detectors at airports.”

She felt her breath escape her as he tugged his ear again and the Scian reappeared on his belt. The sacred dagger, carried only by a Kallan, would end her life. He wore the blade as he wore his clothing, with a casual indifference that belied his role. Fear skittered through Emily. Other Kallans had been purebloods, with long robes and gray beards, and kept the Scian hidden. They revered their dress and the Scian, and ancient texts painted them as mystics. They chanted ritual words, worked spells and possessed great magick.

This Kallan was a warrior. Beneath the amused dark gaze lurked the intent of a true hunter. Raphael would not easily be fooled as she might have fooled the elderly Kallans.

“You’re so cavalier with the Scian. Why do you wear it on your trousers at all? The pureblood Kallans of the past always kept it guarded in a tortoiseshell box.”

Amusement fled his eyes, replaced by a flattened expression. Emily backed away, sensing the rising anger, the ruthlessness of purpose.

“I wear it how I wish. I’m not of your people, but I revere my role and my duties as Kallan as much as the Kallans of old. My Scian is a weapon and never leaves my sight. I’d say I’m much less cavalier with it than the old ones.” Raphael removed the blade, flipped it into the air and sheathed it.

“We’ve never had a Kallan who wasn’t a pureblood. You’re a mixed-blood, so different.”

His jaw tightened to flint. “There’s a first for everything. I worked hard to become Kallan and passed the test. That’s all your people need to know.”

Sunlight glinted off the dagger’s fine gold hilt. Emily hedged. If he were to kill her with the blade, then she wanted to see it closer. Touch the knife that would end it all. She stretched out her gloved hands. The covering would protect the blade from contamination.

“May I see the Scian? I’ve never held one before.”

“No.” His voice was curt.

Hurt, she retreated to the end of the porch. Raphael stared out at the woods. “Come, Emily. Walk with me. It’s time to begin your lessons.”

“I’m not a good pupil.” Anger roiled within her.

“All transitions learn. It’s my job to teach you, to prepare you for your journey to the Other Realm.”

“A journey I won’t easily take,” she whispered.

His gaze softened. “Then let’s walk, a simple walk through the woods. Show me your woods, Emily.”

Given no choice, for he seemed determined to shadow her, she headed for the forest, the Kallan giving her plenty of space. Leaves drifted lazily downward, brushed by a cool wind. Emily scuffed her bare feet in the thick padding of dead leaves, moss and grass as they entered the woods. The path she used was wide enough to admit two, but Raphael trailed behind her. Sunlight filtered through the tall oaks, pines and maples. The welcoming scent of forest and earth wrapped about her senses. She breathed deeply, smiling. Here was home, a sacred place where she felt most comfortable.

“Do you always go barefoot?” he asked.

It’s the only part of me I feel free to bare. “When I can.”

When they approached the small glen, she tried to quickly pass, not wanting him to investigate. But Raphael halted.

A frown creased his forehead as he gazed about. “This is a sacred place, with much ancient energy. I feel a heaviness in the air as well. It’s coming from over there.”

She gazed in the direction of his pointing finger and her heart dropped.

“No, you shouldn’t.”

Raphael left, heading toward the direction where he’d pointed.

“Don’t. It’s nothing you need to see,” she called after him.

But as she raced forward, it was too late.

Raphael entered the small space with its uncommon quiet. No songbirds chirped here, and though the trees were not as thick, the air seemed dense.

He stood before the stone altar and touched the ancient rock with a solemn look.

Emily fisted her gloved hands. He was here to kill her. She didn’t dare trust him or anyone else. Raphael was her executioner. No overtures of kindness, treating her with respect and talking with her and staving off the constant loneliness would change that.

The stone altar served as a granite barricade between them. Raphael shifted, putting a hand on his hip.

A stray beam of sunlight flashed off the solid gold dagger hilt at his waist. He caught her staring at the dagger.

“Oh, Emily,” he said softly.

With a strangled sob, she turned and ran blindly through the forest, away from the grim reminder of what was to come. Finally she reached the haven of her cottage. Emily squeezed her eyes shut and, with all her emotions and thoughts, called out to the one destined for her. He’d told her he’d be out of reach for a few weeks, but her need was urgent.

If Amant could not help her, no one could.

Raphael walked through the forest, deeply troubled. Faint energy emitted from the stone altar where Emily would be executed to end the curse. The sight had not bothered him, but he sensed something of tremendous importance had occurred there. Yet the altar held no tinge of death or sorrow. He could not make out the energy patterns.

Pity surged through him, banishing the earlier resentment. Emily thought he wasn’t as good as the other Kallans because of his mixed blood. Unworthy. Old memories flashed through him. Walking to town, to the Vieux Carre, from his simple bayou home to get supplies. Other, more pure Draicon taunting him, throwing stones and laughing.

Dog. Mongrel.

Would old prejudices against his Cajun blood never cease?

Raphael shoved aside the bitter past and concentrated on Emily. His transition came first. He must find her, get her to calm down again if they were to work together….

Amant?

The voice inside his head startled him. Raphael leaned against a tree, sighed. Erin, the time isn’t right….

Please, Amant. I’m sorry for intruding. I have such great need of you, otherwise I’d never have contacted you. Help me.

The terror in his draicara’s voice alarmed him, along with a horrible suspicion cresting over him. Raphael tried pushing back all the emotions crowding his mind, her panicked fear, his guilt that he could not attend to her needs.

If you can’t come to my side, tell me what I can do. You’re a great warrior, I sense this about you, a wise one who has fought many battles. He will hurt me. Please, just advise…

Who is threatening you? he demanded. Tell me and I will take my dagger and cut his heart out. I will ask my brothers, and they’ll come to your aid.

You cannot stop him. No one can. He is one who is great, powerful. I cannot stop him, stop this. A sob broke out, echoed in his mind like shattering glass.

Hush, all will be well, he whispered, deeply distressed at her sorrow. How could he do this, be the Kallan and be apart from her? Time and again assignments would take him from her side, and his mate would not be his first priority. Yet every instinct inside raged to rush to her side, attend to her needs.

But Emily came first now. He must attend to her before easing Erin’s fears.

For years, he quietly accepted that he’d never find his true mate, the missing half of his soul’s magick. Others fortunate enough to do so experienced joy and fulfillment. Raphael assumed like the other Kallan before him that it was not meant to be. His duties came first, and he found small comfort in that.

Now she’d finally sought him out and he rejoiced inside. But merde—ah, the timing. He needed all his concentration and energy directed toward Emily. His transition came first.

Erin, listen to me. Do you have a weapon nearby? A small sniffle and he could feel her pulling together all her strength. Good, he said silently, proud of her courage.

Yes, a small, sharp knife.

Take it and arm yourself. Don’t fear to use it on this male. Stab him, aim for the left quadrant of his upper chest. It will nick the heart and slow him, no matter how powerful this one is. Will you do this?

I can’t kill!

Hush, he soothed. You must protect yourself. It will incapacitate him. Now, get the knife.

Worry filled him as he waited. After a few minutes, he heard her in his mind. I have it. Are you certain this will work?

Yes. Where are you? Are you in a confined place, a house or building?

Is that dangerous?

Get out. Less chance of being cornered, Raphael told her.

Silence, and then he heard her speak. I’m outside, near some trees. I feel safest here.

Raphael shook his head. Now, do as I say. Find your family, your people, and stay with them. Even if the one threatening you is among them, he will not dare hurt you in their presence.

Oh, Amant, she whispered, and hiccupped through her tears as if she laughed. They’re the ones who summoned him here.

Raphael’s heart dropped to his stomach. The delicious smell of lavender and wildflowers suddenly wafted on the chilling breeze. He moved away from the tree and began walking toward the scent, keeping the line of communication open telepathically as he did so.

Where are you, Erin? he asked. Tell me.

Waiting for her answer, he prowled noiselessly through the brush, entering the forest, stepping carefully as his wolf would, avoiding detection.

I can’t talk. Panic threaded through her tone. Someone’s coming. I think…I think it’s him.

Abandoning stealth, he bolted through the forest, crashing through the undergrowth, his lungs working hard, his heart racing. Now the scent flooded his senses, a ribbon of hot desire pulling him forward in senseless need. He saw her now, backed up against an ancient oak, her body lush and tempting, her eyes wide in her fine-boned face.

Raphael cut off communication from Erin as abruptly as hanging up a phone receiver. He raced forward.

“Emily,” he breathed.

Drawn to the female shrinking back from him, he leapt forward, trapping her against the tree with his body. He must know for certain.

Raphael pulled her to him in a crushing kiss.

Even as her lips opened under the pressure of his, he knew.

Even as his blood sang hotly in his veins and his cock grew to stone at her aroused scent, he knew.

His body screamed no, the cry echoing in his mind. Raphael pulled back in abject shock and horror. No, not her, not this one….

Emily cried out, putting a gloved hand to her lips, blue eyes wide in her delicate face. Blue eyes turning rapidly to deep violet. “No! Oh, goddess, not you, it can’t be….”

His throat closed up. Raphael couldn’t speak, though he screamed inside his head.

Emily, the one he was to execute. No safe, anonymous stranger.

But Erin, his draicara, his mate. It wasn’t possible.

Barely had the thought crossed his mind when an eerie, high-pitched scream, like that of an ancient banshee, tore out of Emily’s throat. Raphael heard the snicking of the knife slashing through the air. Pain exploded in his chest as the blade sank deep.

He fell forward, landing face-first on the damp, welcoming earth.

Chapter 3

Emily had killed him.

The kitchen knife fell from her outstretched fingers. She stared in dawning shock, her heart racing. His kiss hadn’t been a mere fusing of mouths, but a drugging, intoxicating kiss that drew in her very soul. It was fulfillment of all the desperate hopes, dreams and sensual yearnings she’d felt since finding him through their mind link.

He’d kissed her into silence, his own sexual hunger twining with a sorrowful knowing.

Emily brought her hands up to her face.

Blood soaked the chamois gloves.

A scream lodged itself in her throat as her gaze dropped to Raphael lying on the ground. She had killed him, the Kallan, her draicaron.

Her executioner was also her destined mate, the male who was supposed to save her.

Her hands, hands that killed, now shook violently. A cool breeze touched her cheek, soft as a gentle caress. It fluttered the hem of her skirts. Emily dropped to her knees, reaching out to touch Raphael.

She jerked back, her mouth opening and closing. Fisting her hands, she pounded them against her thighs.

“No, no, no,” she croaked in a thin wail.

The pitch rose to a hysterical scream. She threw back her head and released her anguish to the sky. Emily struggled to rein in her emotions. Stretching out her hands, she thought quickly.

She could restore life with her blood.

Barely had the thought occurred when Raphael groaned and stirred. Blood no longer flowered on his shirt from the terrible wound she’d inflicted. Her gaze whipped to him, and she crab-crawled away as he sat up. His dark gaze regarded hers with a touch of wry humor.

“I see you paid attention to my advice. Good.” He touched the crimson stain on his chest.

Relief over his recovery turned into grieved anger. “How can you jest over something like this? How can you do this?”

How can you be the one who is to kill me when you are supposed to be my mate?

Regret darkened his gaze. “I didn’t want to frighten you any more than you already are.” His mouth twisted. “I wish you’d stop looking at me like that.”

“Like you are the Kallan?” she blurted out. “My mate?”

He stood, as whole and healthy as if being stabbed hadn’t affected him. “Emily,” he said softly. “Why did you tell me your name was Erin?”

“Why did you not tell me your true name?” she shot back.

“I didn’t want my draicara to be afraid of the Kallan. I wanted her, you, to come to know me for who I am.”

“My executioner,” she said brokenly.

His eyes closed as he shoved a hand through his tousled hair, pulling free bits of twig and leaves. “Let’s forget that for a moment. Tell me, Emily, why did you tell me your name was Erin?”

“Because it was my father’s nickname for me, my favorite name. I didn’t want you to know my real name. I was afraid—maybe you heard stories of Emily, the cursed one.” She struggled to her feet, training her gaze on him.

Bitterness mingled in his wry smile. “I see we both had good reason for withholding our real identities from each other.”

“But I should have recognized your voice, your accent.” Emily touched a nearby oak, feeling comfort and strength from connecting to the sturdy, strong tree.

“Perhaps we both were blinded to the truth, until we were forced to confront it together.” Raphael bent over, picked up the bloodied kitchen knife. A frown pierced his forehead.

“Stand back,” he ordered.

Mystified, she watched as he dropped the knife and held out his hands. A streak of white light blazed from his fingertips, heating the metal, turning the blood to white ash.

Raphael retrieved the knife, formally held it out to her, hilt side. “I believe this is yours.”

“Put it on the ground.” When he did, she took it, reluctant to even let their fingers brush. Emily set the knife on a small stump.

“Why did you incinerate your blood?”

His troubled gaze met hers. “I’m an immortal, and my blood contains powerful magick, powerful enough to restore life, or make other beings, evil ones, immortal as well. If I am injured, I must do my best to destroy any droplets. I must not allow anyone to use it for their own purpose.”

His blood as well? Faint hope filled her. “Power,” she breathed. “You can restore life through your blood?”

If he could, their mutual problem was solved. Raphael could execute her and then revive her with his blood. She shared the thought, sending it to him using the unique telepathic connection shared between destined mates.

For a whisper of a minute, their minds connected, merged. She saw deep sorrow in his thoughts, a heartrending grief.

“I am permitted that gift only once. I used it to save my sister-in-law, because I reasoned I would never find my draicara.” Raphael’s jaw tautened. “If I use it again, I will forfeit my own life, and the blood used to restore life will turn to poison in the person’s veins.”

For a moment, he looked away, his arms folding across his powerful chest. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

She knew Raphael was referring to her emotional state, which was rather precarious. His protective nature warmed her until she realized it was all futile. Emily touched the tree again for comfort.

“I’ll be fine.”

“There has to be a reason why this is happening. It makes no sense.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Come back to my cabin. I’ll get changed, make us breakfast and we can discuss it.”

Emily felt her defenses rise. She couldn’t dare trust him, the only Draicon she thought she could trust. The only Draicon who could save her would kill her.

She truly was all alone, and the thought sent her backing away with wariness.

“Find your own breakfast.”

“Emily. Come now, we can’t ignore the truth any longer. Eat with me, and let’s try to find answers together as to why this is happening.”

She could not answer. Emotion clogged her throat. Every cell cried out to take his outstretched hand, trust in his kind expression, go with him.

Self-preservation screamed against it. Emily shook her head.

“My touch kills, Kallan. Have you forgotten?”

She whirled around and darted back into the haven and security of her beloved forest.

No, I haven’t forgotten. I can never forget.

Raphael’s heart wrenched as he watched her slip away. He released a heavy sigh. He wanted to scream his anger and frustration. Debating on whether to follow, he inhaled her scent. Emily’s unique fragrance was as clear as if he’d marked her himself. Didn’t she realize he could track her through a forest filled with skunks and still find her? He resisted the instinct to give chase.

Instead, he roped in all his control and turned back toward his cabin. He needed energy, fast, from raw meat. The stab wound had nicked his heart, and even though it had healed, he felt drained.

Raphael suspected the deeper, more devastating emotional wound to his heart would take much longer to heal.

How could this happen? How could the one female he was to mate with, his other half, who contained the missing half of his magick, be the cursed one he had to kill? The rising sexual awareness of her and the desire riding him did not lessen. It made sense now, but he was helpless to control his body’s reaction around her.

Until he made Emily his in the flesh, his sexual need of her would grow stronger, making him nearly animalistic in his drive to mate and claim. He hadn’t wanted a mate. Always on the move, the race’s death dealer whom most feared, he kept to himself but for family. Raphael had few friends, and knew a mate couldn’t fit into his lifestyle.

He always suspected his would be a challenging mating at best if he ever found his draircara. He would have to soothe her fears and have a leisurely courtship to show her his gentler side. But this mating surpassed his darkest thoughts.

Anger rose up at her pack’s deception. Had they been truthful, he could have avoided this. Raphael returned to his cabin, fished through the refrigerator and drew out two steaks. He ate the raw meat standing up, feeling the energy revive him. Through the lacy curtains at the window, he could see the edge of the deep forest where Emily hid.

He finished eating, dropped the bones on a plate, wiped his mouth and reached out with his mind.

Emily, where are you? Come to me. Stop running away.

Silence. His jaw tightened. She needed time, both to process what had happened and what she had done. His read was that she was a gentle soul, who loathed and feared her gift to kill. Stabbing him in the heart had emotionally taxed her, along with the knowledge that he was her draicaron.

He would give her the necessary space she needed for now. In the meantime, Raphael tossed the bones into the garbage with a grim look.

He had a much bigger bone to pick over with the pack’s top dog.

Urien was friendly, invited him to join them for breakfast. When Raphael declined and confronted him about Emily, the leader stood his ground. “If I told you Emily was young and strong, not a weak elder, you would not have agreed to this sacrifice. And we could not bring ourselves to do it, but it must be done.”

Raphael locked his hard gaze to the other male’s. They sat in the expansive living room of the pack’s house. In his traditional clothing of the Old Ones, a dun-colored vest of broadcloth, trousers to match and a forest-green, long-sleeved shirt, the Burke pack Alpha looked as if he’d traveled backward in time. Raphael had chosen the seat opposite him, facing the door. Never with his back to newcomers. Always on guard.

Now he wished he had been more careful before accepting this assignment. He did not tell Urien about Emily being his dracaira. Every male protective instinct inside him warned against it. Information would be exchanged only if Raphael thought it had a chance of saving Emily.

“It’s not a sacrifice, but an execution. How do I know all you’re telling me about Emily is the truth?” Raphael’s mouth thinned as he glared at the other male.

“There are two gravestones in our cemetery that prove my words. What do you wish, Kallan? To see her actually dispatch another life?”

Beneath the bristling tension and aggressive words threaded an emotion Raphael could not identify. He sensed the male hid something. There was something else more ominous about Urien, but he couldn’t place it. Raphael reached out with all his Draicon senses, inhaled the older male’s scent.

He detected nothing but a slightly sweet fragrance. His gaze whipped over to the vases of fresh freesia and lilies on a polished round table.

If Emily was the cursed one, and her touch killed, there would be prophecies detailing her future. He leaned forward, his jaw tensed.

“I need proof, not of what she’s done, but of the ancient words. Let me see the prophecies.”

Urien relaxed and gave Raphael a pitying look. “I cannot. It is forbidden. Our ways are sacred and of the Old Ones, the purebloods. You, as a mixed-blood and a Cajun, are not allowed to see the sacred words. Besides, you could not interpret them, so they would be of little use.”

Hairs bristled on the nape of his neck. Not understand. Always the snobbery, the division so clearly demarking his pack from the purebloods.

Raphael kept his thoughts guarded and offered a slow, calculating smile. “Then I will call my brother, my adopted brother, to my side. Damian is a pureblood Alpha, a descendant of the French Marcel pack. He has the authority to decipher the sacred words.”

Alarm flashed in Urien’s blue gaze, then vanished. Raphael detected the slightest scent of fear. “It would do no good. Helen, my sister, was keeper of the texts, and she hid them well and did not tell us where before Emily killed her.”

How convenient. “Then if the texts are hidden, shouldn’t they be found?”

“They are of the earth and its powers and too frail to be brought into the light this time of year. It is best to wait until winter, when the sun’s light will not pierce them and perhaps fade the words.” Urien gave him another knowing look. “Of course you would not know these things, as you are unfamiliar with the Old Ways.”

He tired of Urien’s games. “I am familiar with the new ways and a technology called artificial lighting. I can unearth them at night and then Damian can read with artificial lighting that will have no effect, since the lighting is not from the earth.” Raphael watched Urien’s face pale. “If your people are reluctant to do it, I will. If I have to dig up holes in every square inch of your property, I will.”

“I am afraid your task is fruitless. Helen was a pureblood Draicon, and her powers from the earth itself. She would have cloaked the texts with so many safeguards only the most ancient and knowledgeable of our pack could safely find them.”

Doubt touched the male’s face as he surveyed Raphael. “Our pack, not a mixed-blood pack, that is. Our past Kallans have also been purebloods, elders who had great powers and could accomplish such a feat. I am not certain if your powers are sufficient enough to uncover Helen’s hiding place deep in the earth.”

Urien’s chiding tone grated on Raphael’s last nerve. “I assure you, my powers are more than sufficient.”

“Perhaps if I were to witness a test to be assured of this.”

He was not a circus performer who performed tricks at everyone else’s bidding, but if it erased the doubts in the Alpha male’s mind and helped Emily…

He hated sacrificing his pride but would do so this one time for his draicara’s sake. Swallowing his disquiet, Raphael stood, stretching his big, powerful body to its full height, emphasizing his larger, more muscled physique over Urien’s shorter, almost delicate body. Red wolf. Smaller, agile.

Pureblood, who possessed knowledge Raphael had been denied, simply due to his pack’s status in the Draicon hierarchy.

“What test did you have in mind? Uncover the earth with a wave of my hands? Singe the grass with a lightning bolt?” He gave his most intimidating stare, the one that froze the bravest Draicon in their tracks. Urien lowered his gaze. Still, Raphael wasn’t satisfied, but disgusted.

He’d never met an Alpha Draicon who could not stand his ground. Small wonder the male wasn’t willing to fight for Emily’s life but chose to execute her as if she were a bothersome burden. Alpha males were supposed to protect all their pack females. Damian, a powerful and pureblood Alpha male, would lay down his life for a member of his pack and would never meekly back away from a confrontation.

No one was willing to fight for Emily. His temper flared. “Let’s get this over with,” he snapped. Raphael jerked a thumb at the door. “Outside.”

In the pristine yard, with acres of meadow grass flowing down a gentle slope, he spotted a likely target. Raphael inhaled deeply, trying to get Urien’s scent. He smelled earth and forest. Urien was Draicon.

Raphael turned and saw a face staring down from the upstairs window. Soon, footsteps on the farmhouse steps alerted him that they weren’t alone. The other Burke pack members gathered behind Urien. Raphael turned and looked at their faces. They resembled a crowd eager for a spectacle, anticipation shining on their round, pale faces.

Let’s get this show over with, he thought in revulsion.

“There,” he said, jerking a thumb toward a large boulder.

Raphael stretched out his hands and summoned the energy. Rock exploded into a shower of granite chips and loud gasps sounded behind him. He walked over to a fragment no bigger than a dime and tossed it at Urien.

“I trust that will suffice,” he said with sarcasm.

“You are the Kallan. The Destroyer. You are permitted to search for the texts as you wish.” Urien bowed his head slightly, but then his gaze was alert and watchful as he lifted it once more. Cunning. “I give you permission to search all our land. However, if you do not sacrifice Emily, you will violate the terms of the contract and forfeit your own brother’s life.”

A flash of grief and anger touched him. Raphael fisted his hands. “I won’t violate any terms by obtaining proof that Emily is the cursed one foretold to bring about the end to all our race. All our race, purebloods and mixed. Know this, Urien. I will do what I must, but I will have the proof I need. I will not take an innocent’s life.”

As he started to leave them, he heard someone whisper, “This Kallan is not like the purebloods of old. He has much more destructive, dark power. He is the Destroyer.”

No emotion showed on his face as he whirled around and went toward his cabin, but inside, his stomach churned the contents of his last meal.

Emily spent much of the morning sitting by her father’s gravestone, searching within herself for answers.

“Papa, I wish you could hear me,” she whispered to the cold gravestone. “I’m no coward, but I’m scared and don’t know what to do anymore. If it’s best that I die to save the pack, so be it, but how can my death at Raphael’s hand solve anything?”

She didn’t know whom to trust. Yet her father always stressed that pack was family and family was everything. Right now, she needed comfort from a familiar routine. The pack always had a big family-style breakfast. Once they had welcomed her at the table with hugs and kisses. Emily longed to belong once more.

Maybe this time, now that they knew she would soon die, they wouldn’t shun her. The thought comforted her a little.

She stood and walked to the rambling farmhouse.

With a confident walk that disguised her inner trembling, she entered the house and stood at the doorway of the enormous dining groom. Her aunt, busy serving a platter of sausage, glanced up. Frozen horror stole over Bridget’s face.

Gathering all her courage, Emily spoke. “I just wanted to join you for one meal, I can eat from a separate plate and destroy it after so I won’t contaminate it, or you can even give me the leftovers you don’t want…”

Her voice trailed off as the entire pack, her family, turned their heads. The repulsed looks echoed Bridget’s. Urien pushed back from the table.

“Get out,” he said tightly. “You are forbidden here.”

Some tiny bit of stubbornness remained, gluing her feet to the floor. She held her chin high, surveying them with what she hoped was a scornful glance.

“Fine,” she said with dignity. “I’m not hungry.”

Gathering the tatters of her shredded pride, Emily left, hoping they couldn’t hear her protesting stomach. She did not run until she was certain the pack could not see her through the farmhouse windows.

Her footsteps made crunching sounds as she ran along the grand drive leading to her cottage. On the front porch of Raphael’s cottage, the Kallan watched her.

Emily jerked to a halt, her heart thudding like a war drums. Her nostrils flared, catching his scent. Spices and an earthy, masculine scent flooded her senses.

She swallowed hard. She didn’t dare trust him. She had trusted her own people to understand, to work with her, and they had turned their backs in her greatest need. But she had been alone for too long to reach out to anyone, even the one who was supposed to save her.

Emily started to pass, but his deep, commanding voice called out. “Emily, come here.”

For a moment she hesitated, then she inhaled again, dragging in a lungful of his scent. It beckoned to her like an elixir, made her dizzy with sharp, sudden need.

Almost against her will, Emily found herself mounting the steps to his cabin. Raphael sat in one of the pine rockers. The chiseled edge of his profile showed in sharp relief.

She chose to stand by the railing, as far from him as possible without leaving the porch.

“Why do you keep running away to the woods?”

Her shoulders lifted in an attempt at insouciance. “I like the forest.”

“So do I. It holds an aura of mystery, strength and power. Especially these woods.” He cocked his head at her. “One of my favorite poems is about the woods. Robert Frost wrote it.”

“Robert Frost,” she realized. A Kallan who read poetry like she did?

“He was like you, in a way. He cherished the earth. You feel more at home in the forest, don’t you?”

Emily fell silent, not knowing what to say.

Finally, he looked at her. His expression was blank, but she read steely resolve in his dark gaze. “I know this was a shock to you, as much as it was to me. But from now on, no more running from me.”

“Who are you to order me?”

“Your draicaron. Your bonded mate. You can’t run away from that fact, Emily.” He leaned back in the rocker, his boots tipped upward. “I had a talk with your Alpha—”

“My Alpha.”

Bitterness tinged her tone. Raphael gave her a thoughtful look and leaned forward, hands on his knees. She found herself staring at his long, powerful limbs encased in the blue jeans. Everything about the Kallan radiated power, control and pure male strength.

“I told Urien I want proof that the prophecies demand your sacrifice and that I will not go forward with the execution unless I have that proof.”

She felt her shoulders release the tension she’d been holding. No one since her father had talked to her with this much forwardness and blunt honesty. Raphael did not mince words or make her fate sound glorious. It was an execution, and she was glad he stated it thusly. It softened her a little toward him.

Just a little.

Raphael slung an arm over the back of the rocker. “Did your aunt Helen ever mention to you where she hid the sacred texts?”

Like a deer spotting a predator, Emily froze. Motionless she stood, hoping she had not heard him correctly. How could he have known?

“Emily.”

A statement, demanding answers. Emily lifted her gaze to his. “What concern is it of yours?”

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