“You’re pack now, Jamie. Mine. I always protect my own.”

Damian ran a thumb across her cheek. “Next time we’ll take it at your pace. I won’t push you.” She ran her hands up his arms, feeling the tense muscles, the power. Suddenly having this big, bad wolf watch over her made her feel erotic and wanting. Jamie tugged out his shirt and slid her hands up his flat abdomen, feeling him quiver beneath her touch.

“Push all you want,” she told him.

His eyes darkened. Damian took her mouth in another drugging kiss. His hips pushed against hers.

“Mine,” he said roughly. “No other male will dare touch you and you will not want them. You’re mine.”

Dear Reader,

What do you do when the woman who tried to kill you turns out to be your destined mate?

If you’re Damian Marcel, alpha-werewolf pack leader and ruthless hunter, you pursue her to New Orleans to make her your own.

Jamie Walsh is on the run from Damian, for she thinks he’s the Draicon werewolf who murdered her brother. Damian is determined to get her to trust him and surrender to the bond they share. When they discover Jamie is infected with a spell that’s turning her to stone, they work together to find a missing book of magick. Only the book has a cure for the stone spell, and if the evil Morphs find it first, they will use it to destroy all Draicon.

As they race against time to find the book while warding off attacks from the Morphs, Damian and Jamie progress from enemies to lovers. When Jamie discovers a profound power lies within her, she must turn to Damian for help in harnessing the magick she’s longed for all her life.

I’d like to think Damian and Jamie’s story reflects the determination and grit of New Orleans. Like the city’s residents, they are survivors who struggle to heal from past tragedies and begin anew. And, like New Orleans, their magick endures even through the darkest times.

I hope you enjoy Damian and Jamie’s story of courage, strength and how two strong-willed individuals learn to set aside the past to forge new beginnings formed from love and understanding.

Happy reading!

Bonnie Vanak

Enemy Lover

Bonnie Vanak

www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author

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 of housework. After years of newspaper reporting, Bonnie became a writer for a major international charity, which has taken her to 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 website at www.bonnievanak.com, or e-mail her at bonnievanak@aol.com.

For the uber guild “NOOBS GONE WILD.”

Thanks, guys, for all your help with computer

games and for being so riotously funny.

Adam “Billdacat” Persac,

Michael “Pachomius” Bailey,

Drew “Furiousmage” Richardson,

Carlos “Malandro” Plata and

Jerry “Demonslayr” Stetler.

Chapter 1

Once the prey, now he was the predator, Damian Marcel thought as he hunted through New Orleans for the woman who’d tried to kill him. His destined mate, the only female he could impregnate. Jamie Walsh. His draicara.

The scent of fresh river water hit like a hard slap. Damian lifted his nose to the wind, and drank in the smell of the Mississippi. His Draicon senses tasted the water, licked it with a slow, lingering caress. At last, home again.

Twin feelings of joy and deep sorrow pierced him. Home no longer. This place wasn’t home. Not anymore. It was a damn tomb, sucking him under, making him scream as he tried to claw his way out.

Damian tried to concentrate on the physical terrain, opening himself up to everything, resisting the instinct to shape-shift into his more powerful wolf form. New Orleans was known for the supernatural, but a werewolf prowling through the bustling French Quarter might scare a few tourists. He gave a mirthless smile.

Another, sharper scent pricked. Honeysuckle and warm woman. His nostrils flared, trying to catch the elusive fragrance. His fingers reached up, traced the air as if stroking a female’s soft skin.

“Jamie,” he murmured. “Jamie, chère. You can run, but you can’t hide. I will find you.”

He cursed in French as her scent faded. Somewhere in this thicket of narrow alleys, colorful shops and hard-grained nightclubs, she hid from him.

Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he ignored the chattering tourists snapping pictures. Across from Jackson Square beneath a shady tree, a thin-shouldered painter dabbled color on a canvas, shifting his weight on a lopsided folding chair. On a park bench, a man in a white shirt and faded khaki shorts played mournful notes on a banjo, accompanied by a saxophone player. The music reflected Damian’s pensive mood.

New Orleans still struggled to recover after Hurricane Katrina, but the Quarter crawled on, pumping music, booze and flavor into the city. And magick, which had been bred into his blood and bones. Good magick, Draicon magick.

Black magick. Morph magick.

Damian grimaced. Morphs, former Draicon who turned evil by murdering a relative, could shape-shift into any animal. They killed ruthlessly and absorbed the terrified victim’s dying energy. Jamie had joined with the Morphs to gain magick, but Damian stripped her of power by casting a binding spell. He’d let her escape him in New Mexico, knowing she needed time alone and he could easily track her down. Little danger existed after he’d killed Kane, the Morph leader, a week ago. Anguish had filled Jamie’s voice.

“I’ll break your spell, Damian. You’ll never have me,” she’d vowed.

His chest felt hollow with sharp regret even as his desire for her made him restless. Petite Jamie with her pixieish, heart-shaped face, delicate, translucent skin and huge, expressive gray eyes. Her soft, warm lips pliant beneath the hard press of his own.

The air’s mild chill braced him. He strode along the sidewalk, his sharp gaze roving over the crowd. Sunshine beat down on the red-necked tourists, glinted off the faded brass of the player’s sax. As he passed the painter, the artist regarded him with a mournful gaze. His words stopped Damian short.

“Have you heard the call of the wolf?”

Startled, Damian whirled. He studied the touch of gray at the man’s temples and the faded, almost ragged clothes splattered with splashes of gray and black paint. The hollowed cheeks and the thin blade of a nose looked pale and wan in the brilliant sunlight. Not a very successful artist, for the man looked thin as a ghost.

“A wolf, sir?” Damian asked.

The man turned, his large dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. “The loup garou will never fais do-do in the bayou, mon frère. Have a look. Interesting, non?”

The werewolf will never sleep in the bayou, my brother. Instantly on guard, Damian glanced at the painting. Near a wood cabin, a wolf howled at a full moon. A distant memory nagged at him. He glanced at the man’s gaunt face, but couldn’t place him. For a moment he felt dim hope. A former member of his old pack? Could one have survived?

“Mon frère? The one who works hard never sleeps. Please, take a look,” the man begged.

Hope died. Everyone in his former pack was long dead. He couldn’t afford to indulge in memories or he’d lose his focus. The living Jamie was his priority. The man had heard his accent and tried to strike up a camaraderie just to sell a painting. No Draicon from his pack would ever resort to begging. This man was just another starving artist hawking his wares.

A familiar, haunting smell suddenly drew away Damian’s attention. The scent was fresh, straight from his boyhood.

“You must have quite an imagination,” Damian murmured. “Excuse me.”

He scanned the area. His gaze landed upon a wizened elderly man hauling a large red bucket over to a small wood table. The man set the bucket down. For a minute, something dark flashed in the vendor’s rheumy eyes. Then it vanished.

“Crayfish,” the hawker yelled. “Fresh crayfish!” Drawn to the sight, Damian strode toward him.

The slate-gray crayfish wriggled in the bucket, claws snapping in a bid for freedom. Damian’s mouth watered. Memories flooded him; memories of wading through the clear creek, picking up the crustaceans for a tasty afternoon snack. Suddenly his stomach grumbled. He needed energy from raw food. Fishing out money from his wallet, he paid the man, who dropped the crayfish into a plastic bag.

“Fresh is best,” the vendor advised. “All the flavor’s in the shell.”

Damian nodded. “I know.”

Clutching the bag, he climbed the steps and headed for the Moon Walk, a stretch of pavement bordering the Mississippi. Damian watched a barge slowly labor upriver as he leaned against a tree growing in a square planter. No one was around. He opened the bag, and one after another he devoured the batch. Finally he reached for the last crayfish. A little bigger, it did not writhe and struggle, but remained oddly still. Perhaps it wasn’t as fresh.

Damian raised it to his lips, and recoiled. The crayfish opened its mouth and hissed. “Draicon,” it whispered.

Alarmed, he dropped the shellfish. A Morph. It began shape-shifting and multiplying even before it fell to the pavement. Damian fisted his hands, waiting to see what form it would take.

An explosion of crayfish followed. Some scrambled away. Lightning-quick reflexes kicked in as Damian pounced, killing them. Damn, where was the host?

Hearing a snicker, he whirled, but not before burning pain lanced his side. Better than his back, where the dagger nearly landed. The Morph rushed by. Human, the form requiring the least energy to maintain.

Damian waved his hands. Daggers appeared in his palms. The creature lunged. Releasing an angry hiss, the Morph lashed at his chest with the knife. He sidestepped, twisted. He calculated, swift on his feet as he judged the creature’s abilities. Quick, but he was faster, and more alert.

Then the Morph grinned a sickly, yellow-toothed smile. “Too late, Draicon. Your draicara is dying. Your spell failed to work.”

Startled, he drew back. The Morph seized the advantage and swiped at him. Damian recovered as the Morph started to change. Talons grew from its fingers and fangs replaced the yellowed teeth. Exerted from the fight, it began to shift much more slowly than normal.

Not so fast. In another animal form, the Morph would be harder to kill.

He kicked out, knocking the Morph to its knees. Damian dropped his knives as he jumped atop the Morph, then slammed its hand against the pavement, knocking aside its dagger.

As humans, they were easier to hurt. Damian pressed hard against the third vertebra of the back of Morph’s neck, exerting enough pressure to cause excruciating pain. Pain used up their precious energy and prevented them from shifting.

“Tell me, you gutless coward. Why didn’t my spell work?"

The Morph squealed but said nothing. More pressure. The creature moaned. “Stop, stop,” it pleaded. Spittle ran down the side of its mouth. Damian smiled grimly. “Talk.”

“It slowed the dark magick, not stopped. Her blood … thickening.” The Morph twisted, trying to break free.

With a low growl, Damian clamped down on the creature and dug his thumb deeper. Moans came from his enemy. “Okay, please, just stop, stop the pain,” it begged. “Dark magick inside her, turning her … to stone. Living stone, alive but dead.”

Shock seized Damian, loosening his hold. The Morph tried to escape the punishing grip. Damian seized its arm and twisted it backward. “Details. Now. Or I’ll break every bone in your body and you’ll wish you remained my meal,” Damian threatened.

The Morph sucked in a breath. “The porphyry spell … rarely used. We c-can’t absorb the victim’s dying energy. Gave her dark magick, and the more magick she used, the f-faster it worked. In weeks, sh-she’ll be encased in stone. Dead but a-live—damn, that hurts!"

His mind raced. “You can undo it,” he said, twisting harder.

“N-no,” the Morph wailed. “Can’t … no counter spell. Only the ancient Book of Magick.”

He sprang up to release his victim, grabbed his daggers. Time to end this.

The Morph recovered and staggered to its feet. Snarling, it sprang forward, features twisted with hatred. No pity. Damian twirled the daggers and threw. They hit home, straight in the creature’s heart.

Acid blood spurted. Damian didn’t flinch, only watched the Morph collapse. Grimacing, he rolled the body into the Mississippi, watching it disintegrate into gray ash before it slid into the water.

Dragging in a deep breath, Damian muted pain from his injuries. His magick was powerful and the wounds slowly scabbed over. He waved a hand, replacing his ruined Versace shirt, silk trousers and leather loafers with faded jeans, a black T-shirt and scuffed biker boots. Anonymous New Orleans garb.

The Morph’s words rang of truth. Damian felt a sickening jolt to his stomach. He’d heard ancient tales of the porphyry spell. Victims exhibited lethargic tendencies at first. They ate anything to give them energy, especially sugar. Just as quickly as they ingested the food, it passed out of their systems. They cried sweet tears, their blood …

Their blood turned sluggish, their skin gray, their internal organs eventually to granite. It was an agonizing end.

“Merde,” he said softly.

Damian raced back to where he’d bought the crayfish, searching for the vendor. The man had vanished. Hot anger spilled through him. He’d been tricked. The seller must have been a Morph.

Jamie … dying. And Morphs openly roaming the city? What the hell was going on?

Were they everywhere, cloaked as humans? Bad news. Even his powerful Draicon senses couldn’t detect them like that.

He lifted his nose and inhaled, trying to track the vendor’s scent, when a teasing smell drifted toward him, floating on the wind. Honeysuckle and warm female skin. Jamie.

Instinct kicked into high gear. He had to find her. In weeks, she’d be dead. No, worse. Frozen into stone, a living hell.

Whirling, he dragged air into his lungs. Stronger now, there, coming from the south? He shouldered aside a tour group enjoying the banjo player’s music.

The lost Book of Magick had a cure. Containing white and dark magick, the ten-thousand-year-old text held ancient secrets. Damian’s father had hidden it from the Morphs. Every seventy years one spell must be used to keep the magick active.

If Damian didn’t find the book in the next three weeks, the spells would vanish forever.

If he didn’t find the book soon, Jamie would suffer an excruciating end.

I promise I will save you, my beloved draicara, even to my last dying breath.

Wolf senses on alert, he followed Jamie’s scent.

How much could someone lose? Jamie Walsh wondered. Plenty.

So many had died before. Her parents. Her brother. Now, her magick.

She felt numb. Dead inside. Gray, her flame extinguished. Her world. Gone.

Jamie leaned against a broken lamppost to catch her breath. A bone-numbing wind penetrated through her thin Textually Active T-shirt. The walk to the grocery store had never tired her. She set down the plastic bag, rubbed her hands against her faded jeans. Lead weights dragged at her feet. No one to lean on. No one to help. She was alone.

A knot squeezed her stomach. Alone was good. She could survive the odds better on her own. She didn’t need anyone.

A familiar scent teased her senses. Fresh lake water and warm, sensual spices. The enemy. Damian.

Adrenaline pumped energy into her tired body. Jamie’s gaze whipped around. But only tourists wended their way down the street in the bright, sharp afternoon. Wary of exposure, she turned toward home.

Her brother Mark’s original French Quarter house near Jackson Square looked innocuous from the outside with its forest-green walls. Jamie unlocked the gate, slipped inside and bolted it. She hurried through the dark corridor, reaching the inner courtyard with a relieved sigh. Dumping the groceries on a wrought-iron table, she sank onto a chair.

Centuries-old walls surrounded her, a safe exposed-brick cocoon. Little could penetrate her refuge, except perhaps Damian. A cold chill snaked down her spine. Draicon were ruthless. What would Damian do if he caught her? Would he exact punishment?

You did try to kill him.

What did he want?

The answer came back in a rush of remembering. Sex. It came back to sex, and mating.

Arousal rasped against fear as she thought of Damian, his large body heavy with muscle. He’d taken her virginity, now he wanted her as his mate. He would hunt her down and never stop until he caught her. Brought her to his bed, pushed his hard, heavy body against her, nudged his hips between her bare thighs and claimed her once more in the most primitive way.

The space between her legs felt tender, wet and ready.

Her brain pushed aside desire and concentrated on self-preservation.

Right now she was a fortress with broken defenses, open to storming by Damian. Damian, who wanted her body, would claim her spirit, as well, drag her back to his dangerous pack of vicious werewolves as his mate. She had no weapon but her wits. A plastic sword against an invading army of sharp, lethal steel.

After trudging upstairs and putting away the groceries, she went to a battered desk cluttered with cables, software, parts and cell phones. Jamie retrieved a new laptop and an aircard and stuffed it into her backpack. She headed for the Petite Maison Voodoo Shop. Mama Renee knew about the secret underworld of magick beings like the Draicon, just like Mark had.

A small brass bell tinkled over the door as Jamie entered. An altar devoted to Marie Laveau sat off to the side, candles burning steadily to honor the long-dead voodoo priestess. Jamie advanced to the back and rapped on the closed door.

Mama Renee opened the door. “Chère,” she cried, throwing her arms about Jamie. Jamie hugged her back.

“I brought you a gift. I bought a wireless PC card and put you on my cellular service so you can e-mail your granddaughter. It’s time you joined the information age. You’re two decades behind.”

The old joke brought a smile even as Renee shuddered at the laptop and the slim card Jamie thrust at her. The woman set them down as gingerly as handling a spider and ushered her into the kitchen where she plied Jamie with homemade herbal tea. A large black cat wound around her legs. Giving the silky fur a reassuring stroke, Jamie smiled as Archimedes purred.

“He’s looking fat and healthy now,” she observed, a little sad as she remembered how she and Mark had found him, skin and bones, living on the porch of a house wrecked by Hurricane Katrina.

The woman’s gaze sharpened. “You and your brother worked hard to rescue stranded animals and find them good homes. If not for you, they’d have died. He was a remarkable person, loving and with a good heart, as you are. The world suffered a great loss when he died.”

Desperate, aching loneliness filled her. Mark rescued her from a hellish childhood. He was all she had. And you killed him, Damian. You murdered my brother.

A lump clogged her throat. Her own heart wasn’t good, but pitch-black. What kind of woman tried to kill her lover?

Renee searched her face. “Something’s happened. I see the darkness in your beautiful eyes. But there is still light there, struggling to free itself.”

Stricken, Jamie explained everything. She clutched Renee’s hand. “Do you have anything, a potion, a gris-gris, that can remove Damian’s binding spell?"

Renee gently turned Jamie’s palm over and studied it. A frown dented her brow as her gaze widened. She shook her head. “Honey, there is no magick to counteract it. You need the source. It’s more powerful magick than I can summon.”

“I have to get my magick back. I must.”

She didn’t mean to sound hysterical. Jamie reached for the cracked sugar bowl. She dumped several teaspoons into the china cup and drank.

“Jamie, how many times have I warned you to avoid magick? It’s dangerous, and not for you, chère. Look at what dark magick did to you.”

“But it was the only magick I had. Now it’s gone.” Jamie set down her cup, hugging herself. “I feel so … lost and alone. Like I’ve been trying to find myself, and when I had that power, I finally felt comfortable in my own skin, even though I detested how I’d gained it. Every time I felt guilty, I’d use my powers and remind myself of the benefit. I didn’t have to rely on anyone. I had magick.”

Misery seeped through her. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I just want to find my way again. I don’t fit in with anyone.”

“And the Morphs made you feel like one of them, is that what you wanted?"

Jamie shuddered, remembering the stench of evil seeping into her spirit. “I know they used me, and I hated what they were doing. But the power, oh, Renee, you have no idea! For the very first time, I felt normal. Even if revenge, and evil, was the only way. And now I’m lost again.”

The woman sighed. “Revenge brings only darkness. Why would you want revenge on Damian? Why did you try to kill him?"

Jamie bit her lip. Mama Renee was the only woman she’d ever trusted. Perhaps it was time to confide in someone.

“I want you to swear on your life you will not repeat what I say. No one knows.”

The older woman looked startled, but nodded.

“I saw him kill my brother.”

Shock widened Renee’s eyes. “Non, chère, the papers said muggers attacked Mark. The police only identified him because …"

“They found his wallet nearby with his ID in it. His b-body … was burned to ashes.” Jamie dragged in a deep breath. “Six months ago, I was in a bar on Bourbon waiting for Mark when I met Damian. He was … compelling. It was odd, the chemistry. He told me he was a Draicon, a werewolf. Mark arrived. He got angry when he saw Damian. I could tell they didn’t like each other. Mark told me to go home, but Damian had slipped a note into my purse with his room number.”

A wry smile touched Renee’s mouth. “Let me guess. You’re young, enthralled and you went to him.”

Jamie nodded. A hot flush filled her face. Her first time, her shyness, his commanding sensuality. His powerful body mounting hers. The wild, uninhibited feeling … their naked bodies straining against each other. The odd feeling that it had been more than sex.

“Damian said he’d teach me magick. I went to the hotel the next day to make him deliver on his promise, but he’d checked out. I felt so used. I went home and Mark was furious. He guessed what happened and ordered me not to leave the house. Draicon were evil werewolves and he would make Damian pay.”

Never had she seen her brother so angry, so concerned about her. For the first time he truly cared. And Damian killed him.

“And how did Mark know about the Draicon?” Renee asked.

Shrugging, Jamie stared at the shelves of herbs lining the wall. “Mark knew secrets about the magick world. He was my only family and I trusted him.

“That night, Mark needed help coaxing out a stray dog from this building he’d just bought. Said he would meet me there. He told me to wear new clothing he’d sprayed with this chemical compound to hide my scent so Damian couldn’t find me. I was inside the building searching for the dog when I heard motorcycles in the alley. I peered outside and I saw … I saw … Mark. He was facing Damian and these five bikers, all tall and dressed in leather …"

Emotion squeezed her throat. “I heard Damian say, ‘That’s him, Mark Walsh. Kill him.’ Th-the bikers undressed and turned into wolves. I saw Damian shape-shift into this huge wolf and … Mark screamed … Damian, he was … he was …” She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the snarls, muscled wolves, the awful sounds her brother made as he died.

“I fainted. When I woke, I went into the alley. There was nothing but gray ash.” Jamie gulped down a breath. “I reported Mark missing and the police told me a witness saw Mark killed by muggers. Then I just ran, because I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Oh, Jamie,” the woman said softly. Opening her arms in invitation, she beckoned to her.

Oh, she wanted to! Wanted to let the older woman give her comfort she’d needed since Mark’s death. But Jamie didn’t dare remove the layer of steel she’d erected to shelter her from the uncaring world.

She shook her head. “I stayed in hotels, afraid to go home, afraid Damian would find me. A few days later, I met his friend. Nicolas was supposed to keep me safe until Damian arrived. I told Nicolas I’d go with him if he taught me magick.”

A grim smile replaced grief. “He did. And I used it to find the Morphs, gain magick and try to kill Damian. They used my blood to make a lethal disease and I infected him with a kiss.”

Anguish touched Renee’s expression. “You’ve suffered a horrible loss. But why would Damian order your brother killed? Perhaps you don’t know the full story.”

Jamie bristled. “He probably knew Mark was going to go after him for seducing me. I saw my own brother ripped to pieces. Draicon are merciless killers.”

The cries still echoed in her mind. The terrible screams of pain and tearing sounds …

Renee gently reached for her palm. “Jamie, you’ve had a rough life for one so young. You’re special, different and you suffered for it. It’s time you let go, and learned not everyone is the enemy. Sometimes the ones you think you can trust least are the ones you should trust most. They are your real family.”

Shifting in her chair, Jamie felt the rub of old scars against her lower back. Heard the mocking sneers from her cousins, felt the burning sting on her flesh …

Shame flared inside her. Relatives were highly overrated. “You’re more family than anyone else.” All I have left. “So there’s nothing you have to give me a smidgen of my old powers back?"

“Nothing.” Wisdom shone in Renee’s dark gaze. “What is holding you bound is ancient Draicon magick. If Damian did this, he did it to protect you.”

“I need an ancient Draicon spell to remove it. The Book of Magick.”

Renee looked troubled. “Such texts are meant to lie undisturbed, for they are too dangerous even in the hands of the wisest, most skilled sorceress.”

She wasn’t wise or skilled. But desperate.

“Promise me if you find the book, you will turn it over to the Draicon,” Renee begged. “You’ve already become a victim to terrible forces. The book could destroy you for good.”

“I wasn’t a victim, but a willing participant.”

The woman gently touched her wrist. “A victim, honey. The Morphs knew you were vulnerable. No matter how you argue the point, they took advantage of your weakness.”

Jamie bristled. “Not weak. Never. Thanks, Mama Renee. I can manage on my own.”

A cryptic expression touched the woman’s face. “Jamie, remember. Even good can come of darkness. The Draicon leader seeks you, and his kind need your healing power.”

The words made no sense. She didn’t heal, but destroy. Nothing made sense anymore.

The woman offered a sad smile. “And all Draicon are not evil.”

Jamie’s chest felt tight with emotion as she went with Renee into the main storefront. The little brass bell tinkled merrily behind her as she left.

Feeling lost, she headed for the Pedestrian Mall. Just another average day in the Quarter …

Jamie shrank back, her heart beating double time at the figure stalking toward her. Not Damian, the lean, chiseled face she remembered so well, but another, with cruel, twisted features, wispy hair and black, soulless eyes.

The Morph ambled along, its sallow, shrunken and hunched figure looking like a living nightmare. Couldn’t anyone see it? Run, you fools!

Jamie blinked hard. Instead of a Morph, she saw a middle-aged man in khaki shorts, his slight paunch covered by a flowered shirt.

I’m losing my damn mind.

Dragging in a lungful of air, she forced herself to relax. No Morphs stalked the streets. Only people, out for a good time. And one lone werewolf named … Damian.

Jamie froze in shocked fear.

Wind ruffled his short, dark hair. His elegant good looks made him stand out in the crowd like a sleek sports car among sedate sedans. He prowled with lithe grace toward her, his muscled body moving like a well-honed machine. Oblivious to the crowd, the artists, everything.

Everything but her. His hard green gaze riveted to her like a laser beam. Jamie’s heart raced.

Instinct urged flight. She turned, pushed past the crowd. Fast, faster, as she raced beneath the balconies of the Pontalba Apartments, feeling his breath on her like a warm caress of air.

A hand latched onto her upper arm, jerked her to a stop. Jamie gulped, panic racing through her veins, his muscled chest pressing against her as he herded her out of the crowd’s way against the brick building. Damian swung her into a faded doorway. Intensity radiated in his gaze.

“Jamie, ah, finally, I found you,” he said softly, her name rolling off his tongue in his whiskey-smooth accent.

“Let me go, Draicon. Let me go, now.”

She struggled against his steely grip. A hysterical sob rose in her throat. He was going to punish her for trying to assassinate him. Damian crowded her against the doorway, his legs pinning her against the wood. Trapped.

As she opened her mouth to scream for help, he pulled her against his hard body.

His lips descended on hers, cutting off her cry with a kiss.

Chapter 2

His kiss shocked Jamie into immobility. It was gentle, barely a brushing of lips. Damian raised his head, his expression softened. Hysteria fled as he cupped her face with his warm hands.

“Don’t scream, chère. I promise, I won’t hurt you, ma petite.”

With a mere touch, he extinguished her panic. Damn it, what was this? Draicon magick?

“I’m not going to hurt you, Jamie. That’s the last thing I want. I want to help you.” His expression grew fierce and intent. “But first … damn …"

He kissed her again.

Jamie sagged in his arms. Feeling the current sparking between them as it had on that night when they’d first met. Her head fell back as he cradled her neck in his palm. Her hands slid up around his neck, feeling rock-hard muscle beneath warm skin. Jamie hung on for dear life like a drowning woman. Tasting him as his tongue boldly invaded her mouth, flicked against hers. Challenging him in return, her tongue tangling in a duet of hot desire and lost passion. It felt as magical and crazy and uncontrollable as when he’d first taken her.

This wasn’t real. Or right. Or anything, but the moment, the succulent taste of him in her mouth, claiming it with each firm thrust of his tongue.

Jamie clutched fistfuls of his shirt, drawing him closer. Only then did Damian break the kiss. A low groan rumbled from him as he stepped back, never losing his grip on her. Intent burned in his gaze.

Alarmed and dismayed, Jamie licked her lips. I just kissed my brother’s murderer. The Draicon I tried to kill.

Damian laid a palm against her cheek. “Hush,” he murmured. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Then lift that damn spell of yours.” Jamie stopped moving, stricken by the calming feel of his touch. She stared at him, taking in his strong, square chin, straight nose and high cheekbones. Classical good looks. And a werewolf lurking inside.

She had tried to kill him in New Mexico, but Nicolas, his beta, had healed Damian. And then Damian had cast a binding spell, prohibiting her from doing magick. The dark powers Kane, the Morph leader, had bestowed on her had vanished. Damian had said it was because the Morphs wouldn’t want her without her powers.

But he lied. She knew it.

She then had escaped, but he’d found her. No matter. She would escape him once more.

“I can’t. The magick in you is dark. Until I can erase it, the spell remains.”

“I’ll find a way around it. I can defeat you, Draicon.”

A shadow crossed his face. “There are things you must know, Jamie. You’re in danger. You need my help.”

“Your help? I’d rather kiss a Morph. At least they gave me power.”

He gave her a pensive look. “What did Kane do to give you magick?"

“I had sex with him,” she taunted.

Now that full mouth flattened into a thin slash. He looked dangerous and edgy. Leaning closer, he seemed to nuzzle her neck. No, he was sniffing her, like a wolf scenting a rabbit. Damian drew back. Male satisfaction gleamed in his eyes.

“You didn’t. I can’t smell him on you. You haven’t been with another male since me.”

Her chin rose. “I could. Probably someone would trade me sex for a way to release your binding spell.”

A dark look draped his features. Damian offered a thin smile, but his green eyes spoke volumes. Rage and male possessiveness.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Jamie. Your body is worth much more. And if you try it, I’ll find the male and make him regret he ever laid eyes on you.” He paused, his strokes against her neck gentle compared to the murderous fury flashing in his eyes. “I’ll rip him apart. Slowly.”

White canines flashed in his dark smile … the teeth elongating as if he were shape-shifting. Jamie tilted her chin up, refusing to show fear.

“And me? What would you do with me?”

Damian’s expression shifted. The intensity of his look was strong enough to melt steel.

“What I’d do with you? I’d rip off your clothing and I’d put my mouth all over your body and make you come until you screamed for mercy. There’d never be another male for you, ever, because every time you’d try to get close to another I’d be there, my scent in your nostrils, my taste in your mouth and the feel of my cock inside you.”

He released her neck and gave her nose a light, almost affectionate tap. “Understand?"

Jamie moistened her kiss-swollen mouth. A deep, primitive urge rose at the way he stared at her lips. His muscles locked as his pupils got larger, nearly overriding the jade-green irises. Damian might have some odd sexual hold over her, but damn, she had the same over him. She had the odd feeling if she had the courage, she could wield a much greater power. But her lack of experience and inner terror of Damian’s power held her back.

“I get it. You stripped my powers to punish me. Fine. Let’s deal. I’ll make up for it if you get rid of this damn spell. If you don’t, I’ll find another way. Like a hidden book of magick, Draicon.”

Damian lightly trailed long fingertips over her cheek. “My name is Damian, not Draicon.” His voice suddenly softened. Was there a note of regret there? She couldn’t tell. “There’s no need to make up for anything, Jamie. The binding spell is there for your own protection. Trust me, it’s best.”

“I know what’s best for me. I don’t need you or anyone else.”

Torment flashed in his eyes, then he closed them. Bemused, she stared at the long sweep of dark lashes against his tanned cheeks. Damian opened his eyes, the emotion gone. “Walk with me. We need to talk. It’s urgent.”

She didn’t want to, but the warm palm he cupped on her elbow suggested otherwise. Damian began steering her toward the river.

“Let me go. I don’t trust you.”

He stopped, giving her a solemn look. “I haven’t given you good reason to trust me, either. But we must talk. We’ll go to Café du Monde. Very public, so if you feel threatened, there’s people around and you can scream for help. Okay?"

The devil offered her an irresistibly sweet deal. Hunger pulled with the image of a crisp beignet coated with layers of glistening powdered sugar.

People crowded the green-and-white-striped canopied café. Damian guided her to a quiet table outside. He pulled a chair out for her.

Torn between wanting to flee and hunger, Jamie sat. Damian took the seat beside her, so close his leg touched hers. She shuffled over; he followed. He seemed determined to stay close. Damian frowned as he examined her dejected expression. Reaching over, he cupped her chin, lifted it to his scrutinizing gaze.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Relax. It will get better. The world hasn’t collapsed.”

My world has, she wanted to say, feeling her throat constrict. Instead she offered a brave shrug that hid her emotions.

Damian gave her a long, thoughtful look. He didn’t question her further, but released his grip and gave their order to a tired-looking waitress. Barely had she left when Jamie ripped a paper napkin out of the holder and spread it over on the tabletop. She shook the glass sugar container over the napkin, then unscrewed it, dumping out the contents onto the napkin.

His green eyes widened as she dug into the snowy mountain with her spoon and gulped down mouthfuls. “Easy,” he murmured.

Ignoring him, she continued eating. The rush kicked in, giving her a flood of energy. The spoon clattered to the table. The scarred tabletop resembled a white powder explosion. Damian looked deeply troubled.

“Wow, I knew sugar was supposed to give you a rush. I’ve been so tired lately.” She wiped her fingers with a fresh napkin.

His dark, heavy brows drew together. “Jamie, why did you ask the Morphs to grant you the power of flight when there were other powers you could have received?"

“I didn’t. Kane infected me with dark magick and told me it would shift to whatever natural form I desired.”

Damian’s gaze riveted to a fly landing near the sugar on the table. With amazing speed, his palm smacked down, killed the insect. She gave him a bemused look.

“Just a fly,” he mused, flicking it away. “But you can’t be certain. Not here.”

The waitress brought over plates of beignets and steaming cups of coffee. Behind horn-rimmed glasses, her eyes widened at the empty sugar container. “Are you guys nuts? I just filled that,” the woman snapped.

His eyes narrowed. “Then get another.”

Jamie sank back, watching as he sipped his black coffee. “You wanted to talk, so talk. Then I’m gone.”

Jade-green eyes met hers. “How long have you been eating like this, Jamie?"

“Since I dropped Weight Watchers. Any more questions? Are we done?"

“Jamie, how long have you eaten sugar like this?”

Obstinate Draicon. Jamie frowned, bemused at her bizarre behavior. “Today … I guess.”

“You’re certain this is the first craving you’ve had?” His voice sounded thick.

Jamie nodded and glanced at her coffee. She stared into the blackness. Black, like her soul had been. Once she would have done anything to hurt Damian. Now the desire for revenge fled, leaving only emptiness. Something inside remained as dark as the beings she’d lived among.

“Why are you here, Draicon?” she whispered. “To make me pay for what I did to you?"

His expression was blank, but he stroked her hand with his fingers as if he couldn’t bear not to touch her. “I told you, Jamie, my name is Damian. I’m here to keep you safe.”

Doubtful. He wanted something more. She could feel it.

“But, since you’ve broached the topic, why did you try to kill me? Most women don’t kill their lovers when they walk out.”

His voice was absolutely gentle, yet his laser green gaze demanded answers. Jamie plucked out a napkin and began twisting it into the shape of a small bird.

“I’m not most women.”

“There’s something more, isn’t there? What?”

Trust no one. Jamie dodged the truth.

“You lied to me, Draicon. At least with the Morphs, I knew what they were. Dark, powerful …"

“Evil.”

“But not two-faced. I played along. I thought you, what you did … after we … that night …” She struggled with the words. “I went back the next day to find you and you were gone. You broke your promise to teach me magick.”

The napkin twisted in her hands. Words hung unspoken between them.

He clasped her hands in his. The simple touch felt soothing. She stared down at his long, elegant fingers. Hands that crushed, killed.

“I left you a note, telling you where to meet me later.”

“There was no note.” Jamie wrenched free.

Damian’s mouth tightened. “Your … brother probably got to it first. I had to leave. I needed to get rid of a very large problem threatening you. I sent Nicolas, my best warrior, to find and guard you. I was going to teach you magick, but this other matter was more urgent. Now, answer my question. Why did you try to kill me, Jamie?"

“Why did you ground me?” she challenged. “This nonsense about me being your mate is a lie.”

“It’s not. You are my draicara, my destined mate, which makes no sense because you’re human and I’m an Alpha Draicon. We don’t bond with human women.” Damian looked grim.

“I’m human, so I can’t be your mate? Fine. We’re done here. Sorry I tried to kill you. Have a nice life.”

She pushed back from the table. He hooked an ankle around the chair leg. Jamie stared at his thigh muscles bunching beneath faded denim as he dragged her chair forward. Such power … She quivered, remembering his legs nestled inside hers, the soft hair rubbing against her skin as he thrust inside her.

Her startled gaze lifted to meet his. Damian gave a knowing smile. Little wrinkles fanned out from the corners of his eyes. He touched her hand, frowned.

“I can’t read you, even when we touch. Tell me, how did Kane infect you? Did he say anything?"

She glanced away, her stomach knotting. “Kane bit me. Like the bite of the loup garou. And he mumbled some words in a strange language.”

It had hurt, a lot. And more than the pain and the ecstasy of knowing she had power at last was an underlying shroud of evil. Jamie shivered.

“He was reciting a spell. The magick of a purebred Alpha may help.” He gave her a steady look. “My magick, Jamie.”

“So if you bite me, it will counter everything inside me? No thanks. One bite is bad enough.”

“There are other ways,” he said softly. “Much more enjoyable. I can make it very enjoyable.”

The meaning became clear in his heated gaze. Jamie drew back.

“Never again. I’m not having sex with you and what we had was just sex. Biology.” Afraid to look at him, lest she see a reflection of her own hidden desire.

“It wasn’t and will never be just sex between us, chère. You know it and I do, as well. It’s something neither of us can ignore. But I promise, I will never leave you again.”

Damian stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “What was it like, Jamie? When the darkness came over you?"

Against her better judgment, she slid her fingers up to lace with his. He looked startled. His smile chased the dark shadows beneath his eyes. Just as quickly, it vanished. She raised her gaze, saw his curiosity and worry.

He’d probably never known the gut-wrenching grief, fear and desperation caused by losing everything he cared about. Thinking nothing, not even pure evil, could be as bad. Then finding out what happened before was a spin on a slow carousel compared to the rocketing slide into an oily blackness so deep her soul was a tiny light winking in the vast, empty space.

Her voice rasped like a nail file when she finally spoke.

“It was like being sucked into a black depth, feeling evil invade every single pore. Trapped beneath this vile quicksand. No light, no hope, no way out, nothing but the sounds of your own screams echoing back at you,” she whispered.

Damian squeezed her fingers, his jaw tensing. For a moment, turmoil flashed in his eyes as if he’d had a taste of that particular darkness. Then it vanished.

“Care for anything else?”

Their grumpy waitress was back. She looked edgy, fidgety. Probably the end of her shift.

“Hello? Like I said, need anything else?”

Damian barely cast her a cursory glance. “Give me the check and leave us alone.”

The woman dropped a slip of paper. As she glanced at their linked hands, her mouth drew back in a disapproving sneer. Lips pulled back, revealing …

Yellowed, razor-sharp teeth, like a crocodile’s.

Startled, Jamie blinked. No, just teeth stained from nicotine. The waitress cast another censuring look as she walked off.

What was this?

Trembling, she withdrew her hand, trying to conceal her reaction. She fished into her pocket and threw a fistful of bills on the table.

“My treat. It’s getting late. I need to get home.” But her legs felt wobbly. “Why am I feeling like this?” she said, rubbing her legs.

“I know why.” He glanced around and then reached for her hand. His touch was absolutely gentle. “Jamie, it’s very bad. When Kane infected you, he poisoned you.”

Disbelief filled her. His green eyes looked serious, his mouth tightened to a slash. “He infected you with his bite, and the porphyry spell. The more dark magick you used, the faster it worked. The reason you feel so lethargic is …"

He dragged in a deep breath. “Your body is turning to stone. The craving for sugar is the first symptom. You’re eating for quick energy, but it won’t last.”

Sharp, intense silence dripped between them. The crowd chattering, clinking china, the clopping of horses’ hooves on the street and the roar of traffic were the only sounds. Then she laughed.

“Mark told me you were a liar, but he never said Draicon were great spinners of fantasy.”

Anger darkened Damian’s eyes. “Your brother was the liar, little one. A dangerous liar. I know it must have been agonizing and terrifying when you lost him … and that’s why you ran away.”

You killed him, she wanted to scream. Jamie bit her lip. She traced a small pattern in the sugar on the table. “Did you hear how he died?"

“I know how he died. He wasn’t who you think he was, Jamie. When you’re ready, I’ll tell you what I know. I know it hurts to lose a family member.”

“You have no idea,” she whispered.

A shadow crossed his face. “I do, more than you realize.” Damian’s green gaze roved around the room. His jaw tightened. “We need to leave. Now. I feel it. You’re not safe here. You need to go home and rest.”

Rest. The thought sounded lovely. Jamie got to her feet. Dismay filled her as Damian joined her.

“I’m coming with you. Consider me your guest.” He offered her a roguish smile, filled with dark promise. Smooth, cool sheets, warm bodies curling next to each other as they tangled together in passion …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jamie gasped.

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

He was dead.

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

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

“Y-you killed him,” she whispered.

“Watch,” Damian said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When wolves fly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her breath was hitching in little gasps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pure, sweet confectioner’s sugar.

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

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

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

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

Forever.

Chapter 3

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

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

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

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

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

Shortly after, the screams echoed in his mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Blink,” he ordered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morphs detested the good luck talismans. Still …

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

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

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

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

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

“Follow me.”

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

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

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

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

“Runs a voodoo shop in town. Good people.

Why?”

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

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

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

“Want me to come over?” Raphael asked.

“Hold on a minute,” Damian told him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where?”

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

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

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

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

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

Damian slid into the opposite seat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bastards,” he muttered.

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

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

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

“What happened to your father’s friend?”

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

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

“A killer.”

“Pretty?”

“She tried to kill me.”

Raphael stared. Damian explained.

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

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

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

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

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

“Let it go, Rafe. I can handle her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damian, easy, easy.”

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

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

“So tell me. Is she really dying?”

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

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

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

“It’s war,” his friend agreed.

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

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

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

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

“What can I do, then?” Rafe asked.

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

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

Damian left, glanced around the busy sidewalk. His priorities were clear. Get Jamie to trust him and find the book. He’d go back to her, she was probably hungry …

Fresh fruit. Natural fructose might help. He stopped at a small grocery store and purchased peaches.

He retuned to her house, headed upstairs with the bag. Jamie sat on the couch as she typed on a laptop. Damian nearly dropped the fruit. Elongated purple elfin ears stuck comically out of either side of her head.

She glanced up as he set the peaches down on the coffee table. A question in his eyes, Damian sat beside her and playfully tweaked an ear.

“I’m a warrior Night Elf,” she said, yawning. “I’m too tired to wear the rest of the outfit. Cosplay makes me feel better. It’s comforting.”

“I thought women liked dressing in old T-shirts and sweats to get comfortable.”

Her mouth turned down. “When I cosplay, I am Celyndra, my elf. She’s a tough fighter, courageous and doesn’t fear much.”

“Ah, she’s your alter ego,” he said softly in understanding. A frown puckered his forehead. “Such an imagination. Where did you get the idea?"

She grinned at his expression. “Haven’t you ever heard of WoW?"

“Wow?”

“World of Warcraft. My avatar is a female Night Elf warrior. Some who were in my alliance used to meet at the square Saturday nights to hang out and cosplay.”

Jamie’s grin deepened. “Don’t tell me you never heard of cosplay, either. Everyone knows what it is. What are you, a hundred?"

“Eighty,” he muttered, feeling as old as an ancient mage. Merlin, maybe.

“Eighty! You look like you’re in your twenties. No wonder you don’t know what anything is.”

“I know what hanging out is,” he said defensively.

“Cosplay is costume play. You dress as a character from a book or game and role play. World of Warcraft is an online video game. You pick a character and fight battles. It’s a lot more complicated than that, but …"

“Battles?” he echoed. Damian narrowed his eyes. “You learned to fight and organize an army? This skill you taught the Morphs came from a game?"

“I did learn some skill from it. But that’s nothing compared to some guys I know. Former marines, army guys. Friends.”

Raphael’s pack had checked out all her friends in New Orleans. Jamie had few. A terrible suspicion seized him.

“Guys you know from where?”

“Online. I met them on MyPlace.”

Alarms screeched in his head. Jamie was involved in a dangerous world he knew nothing about. “You have a MyPlace page?"

Damian’s glance fell to her opened laptop. He picked it up, rapidly surfed through it. He found her page. Jamie Walsh, in lavender, with beautiful illustrations of fairies in the background. If he weren’t so furious, he’d admire the intricate artwork and the delicate simplicity of the winged creatures. Damian scrolled down, shocked at the personal details. She liked fantasy books, alternative music, designed web pages and was a self-professed geek.

People she’d like to meet. “Anyone with real magick because I need magick in my life,” she’d written. The sentence sounded a little wistful. He scrolled down to her friends. Her top friends were former military types. But … Damian zipped through the last friends she’d acquired. Names like Wolfeater, Draiconhater.

Online predators. Morphs. “You’re an open target with this, Jamie.”

“It’s my page. My friends are there.”

“Friends? Will they come to your aid if you need them? Not these bastards. They used you, Jamie. You don’t need friends. You’re my mate and you have a pack, my pack and my family here, as well. They’re much more important. Family will always be there when you need help.” Reining in his emotions, Damian kept his face expressionless.

“Delete it,” he ordered.

“No. And I don’t need your pack. I do just fine on my own. Go to hell.” Defiance flashed in her gray eyes.

Damian stared at her as his hands slowly crushed the laptop, splintering it in half. Her jaw dropped as the crumbled pieces fell to the floor. A strangled squeak arose from her throat.

“You won’t do that again. Try defying me and I’ll break every single computer you have. Your enemies, and mine, on that page. Who do you think infected you with this spell? You’re turning to stone, Jamie. From the inside out.”

“Kane had no reason for it,” she protested, but her voice shook considerably.

“You’re my draicara, my mate. Reason enough. He used you to try to kill me. He used a safeguard, as well. A slow-working spell to eliminate you.”

“All I wanted was to learn magick,” she said, looking crestfallen. “It’s something I wanted my whole life. Is that so wrong?"

Damian cupped her chin in one strong hand. “Then look, little one. Look and learn. I will teach you magick. Good magick.”

Releasing her, he waved his hand, summoning a ball of white light. Iridescent sparks glimmered from it. It hovered in the air, danced as Damian created patterns with his palm. Jamie gasped in delight. A wide smile touched her face. Damn, he’d do anything to keep her looking like that. Happy. Young. Carefree.

She leaned forward to study the orb, her slender arm stretching out. Her expression turned to awed wonder as she touched the ball with one finger. The light flashed, turned gray, then black. Before his astounded eyes, it shriveled, then vanished.

“Oh! Oh … I killed it,” she whispered.

Her mouth wobbled precariously. Jamie seemed to shrink inside herself. Moving closer to her, he clasped her hand in his. Cold, so damn cold. Like blue ice.

“It’s not you. It’s what’s inside of you,” he said very gently. “When the dark magick is gone, the light won’t vanish from your touch.”

A tremulous smile touched her mouth. “I wish I could believe you.”

I wish you would, as well. He picked up the bag of peaches. “Eat. You need your strength.” Damian frowned as he glanced around. “When did Renee leave? I asked her to stay with you.”

“Said she had to get back to the shop.” Jamie dug into the bag and withdrew a peach. “Thanks. I’m so hungry, I could eat an orchard.”

She brightened, a smile touching her pixie face. The sight lifted his own spirits. He steeled against the temptation to kiss her again. “Why did Renee go back?"

Jamie went into the kitchen. Her voice trailed out to the living room. “You should know. She said you’d called, asked her to bring another gris-gris to the house.”

Damian went utterly still, the hair on the nape of his neck rising. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move from here,” he ordered.

A horrible suspicion crested over him. He raced out of the house. Sprinting down the street, he reached the voodoo shop.

The door was ajar. Cautiously he stepped inside. The scent slammed into him with the force of a hurricane. Blood. Death. Lacing through it was the faint scent of honeysuckle.

A black cat greeted him, mewling pitifully. Damian crossed the room, started for the back and ground to a halt. Anguish spilled through him like acid.

“Oh, damn. Damn, I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Mama Renee lay in the corner, her eyes wide open in terror. Blood splashed over the pretty flowered dress, splattered the walls.

Someone had torn her heart out. Morphs. They reserved the right to lick up each last drop of fear.

Grief and rage twined together. Damian closed his eyes. Renee had been a last connection to his parents. How many more of his people must die, sliced down by evil? His parents, brothers and sister. Members of his pack back in New Mexico. How could he ever hope to stop this and protect those who looked to him to keep them safe?

He pushed aside sorrow. Grief was for later.

The stench of death made him gag. Damian murmured the ancient Draicon blessing for a departed soul. He spotted the altar to the voodoo priestess, Marie Laveau.

Darkness had extinguished the candles.

The police would question, snoop around. Couldn’t risk them finding out about his world. He needed a motive. A hate crime, and robbery. Damian withdrew all the money from the cash register and stuffed it into his pocket to later burn. He left the drawer open. He glanced around, found a permanent marker and scrawled on the wall.

DEVIL WORSHIPPER.

The mewling at his legs grew louder. The cat held the scent of an ordinary feline. Picking it up, he studied the animal. “You already used one of your nine lives. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

Tucking the cat in his arms, he looked around. Waving his hand, he dispelled all evidence of his fingerprints. The cops would question Jamie, though, and …

Jamie. He’d left her alone.

Damian tore down the street, frantic with fear for his draicara. He unlocked the gate, banged it shut behind him. Releasing the cat, he took the stairs two at a time.

She was sitting on the couch. His knees went weak with relief.

Then he took a closer look. Terror shaded her expression as she stared at her hand. Seeing him,

Jamie thrust out her palm at him. It trembled violently.

“Damian, look at me. Look at me. Oh God, what’s wrong with me? I can’t bleed. I can’t bleed!"

Shock filled him as he looked at her hand. A knife and fruit slices lay on the coffee table. She’d been cutting a peach. Then the knife had slipped and hurt her.

Peaches scented the air, but he smelled no coppery scent of blood. A shallow laceration on her palm showed no crimson. Instead, a sluggish gray matter leaked out.

Gray, like granite.

She was turning to stone before his horrified eyes.

Chapter 4

I’m dying. It couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real.

Jamie thrust out her wrist at the Draicon she hated, the Draicon who’d warned her this was happening. A hysterical whisper bubbled up.

“Don’t let me die.”

It was her punishment. In trying to kill Damian, she’d succeeded in killing herself. It didn’t hurt. Painless, just this sluggish lethargy as if her limbs were turning to stone. She wanted to feel something, not this horrid draining as if she were already dead.

In her computer world, Celyndra possessed incredible strength and health. Jamie regenerated fast in cyberspace. Now, her body failed.

Damian sank down onto the couch. He seized her wrist, bound it with gauze on the table. Two strong arms pulled her to him. He muttered something she couldn’t understand, brushed her hair back. Jamie caught a glimpse of long canine teeth descending. Sharp. Dangerous.

Damian bent his head, nuzzled her neck as if kissing her skin.

He bit her.

Sizzling pain screeched along her nerves. Her scream was cut short by a slow, almost erotic scrape as his tongue traced the wound. Strength fled as she collapsed, sagging like a rag doll.

Damn you, Draicon, I was already dying, she thought fuzzily before darkness claimed her.

She mustn’t die. No. Not again. He couldn’t watch her die, lose her like he’d lost his family, little Annie …

He’d acted on instinct. Knowing his bite infused her with good magick. Knowing it would save her.

Very gently Damian cradled her as she fell limp. Her pallor grayish, her hysteria abated. He felt her forehead. Cold but no longer icy. He waited a minute, frantic with worry, then checked her wound. Watery crimson leaked out. Blood.

Relief filled him, so intense he shook. Damian licked her laceration with his healing saliva. He fetched a blanket from the bedroom, covered Jamie to keep her body temperature warm. He punched a number on his cell phone and explained what happened.

When Raphael arrived, Damian’s duffel bag slung over his shoulder and carrying a paper sack, Damian led him upstairs. Rafe dumped the items and gently picked up Jamie’s wrist. “The spell starts working from the inside out on the extremities, then spreads to the vital organs, clogging the blood supply. The fingernails and hair usually turn gray before it gets to this point. Mon Dieu, I’ve never heard of it accelerating this fast. When did she get bit?"

“Kane infected her six weeks ago. Why is it spreading like this? She’s human and it shouldn’t affect her as much.”

A frown puckered Raphael’s forehead as he put down Jamie’s hand. “Humans. She’s your draicara. No Alpha Draicon ever had a human mate. Maybe she’s not human.”

Stunned, Damian sank onto the couch. He held Jamie’s hand, reassured at the warmth spreading through it, the pulse beating slow but steadily. “For now, we have to assume she’s human. What else can I give her?"

Raphael dumped the bag on the kitchen table. “I called Paw Paw and got the recipe for a potion. Should help for a while.”

“I hope so. By the way, I need you to dispose of a body. Ma Petite Voodoo Maison. Morphs got to her.”

Blood drained from Raphael’s face. “Renee?”

His brother raced down the stairs. When Raphael returned, he looked grim. “Too late. There’s people in front of the shop. She’s been found.”

Worry riddled him. He pushed it aside, concentrating on Jamie. She came first.

Someone pressed a cup to her lips. “Drink,” the deep voice commanded. “It will help you, Jamie.”

Still confused, her mind muzzy, she opened her mouth and obeyed. The liquid smelled coppery and tasted faintly of something salty, warm and rich. She gagged and glanced down at the cup. Red liquid sloshed inside.

“Again,” the voice insisted.

Jamie shook her head, but instead of the exhaustion she’d felt, energy poured through her. Real energy, as if she were awakening from a spell.

“What is that?” she croaked.

“A magick potion with herbs and spices and nothing that will harm you.”

Her mind processed the information. A potion aiding her. A fierce desire surfaced to live, to fight whatever had crippled her.

The cup was put to her mouth again. Jamie grabbed the glass and drank, resisting the reflexive instinct to gag.

More energy filled her. Wary of pushing it, she slowly sat up, flexed her fingers. Jamie stared at the now-healed cut on her hand.

Seeing the question in her eyes, Damian nodded. “You bleed red now, Jamie. I bit you to infuse you with my magick, but it’s not permanent. For now, it will help. The tired feeling you had should be gone. It was the spell.”

A shiver snaked down her spine. “How long will I feel better?”

“Without more magick, a week, perhaps, maybe a little longer. I’m not certain. I don’t have experience with this.”

He took her palm, stroked it. “How are you feeling?”

Stronger. Better. Perplexed. “Why did you do that?”

Damian squeezed her palm. “Chère, don’t you understand? I’m trying to save you.”

“Why? I tried to kill you. I’m not the kind of mate you want.”

“Want has nothing to do with it. Call it biology. Laws of the pack. You need me, and I need you.” His fingers trailed over her palm.

Damn, this was mighty confusing. His brusque statement contrasted with the gentle stroke of his fingers across her chilled skin. It broke down the black-and-white areas into patches of gray. She didn’t like gray. Black-and-white was much easier, like computer coding.

I have to survive. And if he’s the means, then I’ll think about the other stuff later. Like I always have. “I need to see Mama Renee. She has lots of experience with potions. She’ll have answers.”

Damian exchanged glances with someone standing silently in the doorway. A strip of pure white hair streaked through the man’s shoulder-length dark hair. About four inches taller than Damian, he had the face of an angel and dressed like a biker. Jamie blinked in vague recognition. She’d seen him somewhere before. “Who are you?"

Introducing her, Damian explained Raphael was his brother. Oh God. Memories ate her guts like a horde of angry ants. Jamie swallowed hard. One of the Draicon who’d joined Damian in killing Mark. Tearing her brother to pieces, as he screamed …

“Another Draicon? How many stray dogs are there in this city?” Jamie shot out.

Raphael’s mouth thinned to a tight slash. He didn’t appear to like her any more than she liked him.

“Dai, I’m headed out. Call me if you need me.” Raphael gave her a hard look and left.

The Draicon slammed the door behind him. Jamie set down the glass and pushed off the couch, relieved to find her limbs functioning normally.

“Where are you going?” Damian demanded.

“Mama Renee’s, just a few doors down. Maybe she can … What?"

Damian stood and went to her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Stay here, Jamie. There’s something you should know….”

Through her thin T-shirt, she felt his hands’ warmth. Jamie resisted the urge to collapse and absorb his strength. It had been so long since she’d leaned on anyone. The only person she could trust was herself.

But damn, just for once, it would be nice to have someone truly on her side.

“If you don’t know enough, then I have to find someone who does,” she muttered.

A loud buzz warned someone was at the front gate. Shrugging off his hands, Jamie trounced downstairs, Damian following close behind. A man in a rumpled black suit with a tired face stood outside. “I’m Detective Robert Ryan. Do you know the woman who lives two doors down, a Mrs. Renee St. Clair?"

“Renee’s a good friend.”

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but … we believe Mrs. St. Clair has been killed.”

Her heart raced as she shrank back. “There’s some mistake.”

“Perhaps,” the detective said evenly. “Does she have any relatives living in the city?"

“She has a daughter in North Carolina, and her son was killed in a car wreck a while back.”

“Could you come with us and identify the body, Miss Walsh?”

I can’t, she thought with sickening dread. But she had to see for herself. Had to know … that the one woman she felt friendship with was gone. It simply couldn’t be real.

Jamie nodded. Damian took her elbow and gave the detective a hard look. “Just a minute. I’m going with her and we need to lock up.”

He pulled her inside the gate, out of earshot. “Renee was not here with you. Understand? Otherwise you’re a suspect.”

Her stomach twisted in knots. They left the house, following the detective. Police cars crammed the narrow street, blue and red lights bouncing off the buildings, yellow tape being unfurled and plastered across a perimeter of the sidewalk. All stuff she’d seen countless times on television crime shows.

Only this time it was real. Too real.

The familiar interior of the voodoo shop looked normal, though a horrid, coppery stench filled the air. Her instincts knew the smell. Blood and violence. Cops milled about, dusting the shelves with black fingerprint powder, taking photos.

“She’s back here.” The detective walked toward the back room.

She pulled free of Damian and went to a yellow plastic sheet covering something on the floor. Detective Ryan’s face remained expressionless.

“Ready?”

Jamie drew in a deep breath and nodded, barely feeling Damian’s strong hands on her shoulders. The cop pulled back the sheet to show a face.

A face she knew and didn’t. Lips pulled back into a silent scream, warm brown eyes dulled and glazed with horror.

A strangled moan arose in her throat. Jamie jerked her head forward. “It’s her, but how …” She had to know, even though she knew what she would find would be horrible.

Trembling fingers clutched the sheet’s edge, ripped it from the startled detective’s grip. Jamie pulled the sheet back with a vicious yank, exposing the body. Dark bruises ringed Renee’s neck. Blood splattered the pretty flowered dress and a ragged hole showed where … Her heart. Her big, generous heart. Gone.

Jamie gagged, clapped a hand over her mouth. Oh God, her friend … died in pain, horribly. A boulder the size of Louisiana compressed her chest. Her bottom lip wobbled precariously as the burning rose in her throat.

Her parents. Mark. Would the streak of deaths ever end? Maybe the Grim Reaper was only a happy camper when he kept slaughtering everyone in her life.

She ignored the tightness in her throat. No grief. She tried to speak past the cotton dryness in her mouth. Damian put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed gently. His fingers trailed over her nape, stroking in soothing motions as if he tried calming her.

“Wh-who could have done this?”

“Someone with a great deal of strength.” The cop swept her with an even gaze. She guessed his thoughts. Small, slender hands, barely enough strength to rip open a cereal-box top.

But who did possess such strength? Draicon did.

“When did you last see her, Miss Walsh?”

Menace and anger rolled from Damian in thick, violent waves. He gave the cop a look cool enough to freeze burning coal. “She’s not up to answering questions now.”

“It’s okay,” she told Damian, then looked at the detective. “This morning, we had tea, and then she got customers.”

Each question tossed at her she answered steadily, her mind sharpening, her emotions dulled. Her mind raced. Who could want Renee dead? The woman had no enemies, nothing much of value to steal … The laptop. Jamie’s gaze darted over to the side table where Renee had last placed it. Gone.

“May I go into the back rooms, Detective? She was a good friend and I can tell you if anything is missing.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ryan said.

In the kitchen, the shiny new blue notebook sat on the table with a wireless Internet card tucked into the slot. Black fingerprint powder covered the surface.

“Nice notebook.” Ryan gestured to it. “Odd the killer took only the cash from the register and not this. She used it to send an e-mail to her granddaughter today.”

A chill fell over Jamie. She glanced up at Damian’s stoic expression.

“Maybe the killer didn’t want it tracked back to him,” Jamie said softly. She glanced around.

“Where is Renee’s cat?”

Ryan frowned. “We found no cat.” Archimedes must have escaped. He was a survivor, and probably out roaming the streets. The least of her worries now.

“Detective, is her diamond pendant missing? She loved it and it should be in her jewelry box upstairs. I’ll stay here. I’m feeling faint.”

Jamie slipped into the chair before the laptop, burying her face in her hands. No lie, for she was feeling sick. She waited until he left the kitchen, then lifted her head.

Damian leaned over the table. “I need to get you out of here.”

“No, wait, I have to check this out.” She glanced around. “Make sure no one comes in here, ‘kay?"

She powered up the laptop, scanned the files. An e-mail to Renee’s grandchild, just as the detective had said. Jamie pulled up the browsing history. Erased, of course. No matter.

She went into DOS and typed a program she’d written. A long list of Internet addresses scrolled down. Shocked dismay filled her as Jamie stared at the screen.

“What?”

“The computer,” she said dully. “Renee never touched it. Her fingerprints are all over it, but she didn’t use it. She didn’t know how to use the Internet. And these sites, they list antique shops in the French Quarter.”

“Antique shops?”

Jamie caught the note of alarm. Warm breath feathered against her cheek as Damian leaned over her and studied the screen. He muttered something in French. Jamie shut off the machine.

Damian waved his hand. “I just erased your fingerprints. Let’s go. I’ll tell the police you’re ill.”

Outside she gulped down lungfuls of fresh air, but Damian didn’t let her stop until they reached her house and were safely inside the gate. As Jamie sat in the courtyard, a small black cat darted out of the bushes.

“Archimedes!” Joy filled her as she went to pick him up.

The cat turned his back on her and sat by a dying potted palm. Jamie frowned. Not like him to be so unfriendly.

“I brought him back here for you.” Damian sighed.

“What is it? Tell me,” she demanded.

He ran a palm over the brick wall as if to assure himself the safeguards were still in place. “That’s why they killed her. She knew about the antique shop.”

“What shop?”

“The first clue to where the Book of Magick is hidden. It would be in my grandfather’s old house, which is now an antique shop.” He paced, his hands squeezed into fists.

“Renee knew my grandfather’s house held the first clue. My father adored games. He told me that when he hid the book, he planted clues all over the Vieux Carre and the first one was in my grandfather’s house. The Morphs must have gotten it out of her. Not the location. Just that it’s an antique shop now.”

“Renee couldn’t know where the book was hidden. She didn’t even know who you are. And even if she did, why would the Morphs murder her?"

Damian’s fingers relaxed as he stopped to regard her. “She did, Jamie. Renee knew my family well. She was a Draicon. That’s why they killed her—to ingest her energy and give them power. The dying fear of a Draicon is much more powerful than a human’s death fears.”

She sagged into the chair. Impossible. Draicon were evil. Uncaring, brutish werewolves, not sweet, motherly psychics.

“Years ago, Draicon here were outnumbered by Morphs and went into hiding. Renee was among them. I couldn’t tell because I didn’t recognize her scent. Renee used a chemical compound to disguise her scent from the Morphs. Very clever. Whoever did this must have realized her identity and her association with my family.”

Or tortured it out of her. It was too fantastic. Her emotions raced between heartbreaking grief and utter betrayal. “But her grandchild is human. She showed me pictures!”

“Draicon. The parents are from a pack in North Carolina.”

Even her friend had been the enemy. Jamie tried sorting it out. As she had with first her parents’ deaths and then Mark’s, she shoved grief into a dark corner. First came survival.

“I have to find the book. It contains a spell to remove the dark magick, and counteract the spell infecting you. The Morphs know where to start looking now and they won’t stop until they find it.”

Damian leaned against the wall, crossing his powerful arms across his chest. “I hate leaving you here to search for the book, but I have little choice. I’ll send Raphael’s guys to guard you.”

The hell with that. Damian would find the book and her solution to lifting the binding spell crippling her powers. He would wield it over her, always dominating her with his magick, and she’d be trapped. His, forever.

She gripped the chair’s armrests. Damian was the key to finding what she desperately needed. Trusting him was impossible, but for now, she had to join forces with him.

“I’m not staying here. I’m coming with you.”

“The hell you are.”

“The hell I am. My life is tied up in the book. Do you think I’ll sit here and wait? I’m not the waiting sort.”

“Listen to me,” he said quietly. “You made choices before, wrong choices, and lived as you pleased. Not anymore. You will do as I say, Jamie. Period.”

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