Was the shaman coming for her? Absurd! This was New York, nearly three thousand miles from Ebony Canyon. Though hawks were rare in New York City, that didn't mean she'd been followed. Dismissing the rush of fear, she hurled the pillow at the feathered intruder.
The bird rose gracefully to the ceiling, evading her shot, but the pillow struck the bookcase, and several dolls fell from the topmost shelf.
Porcelain heads ripped loose from their bodies and shattered. Arms and legs splintered. Rolling, the china broke into smaller pieces. An eye here, a nose there, a piece of an ear, a tiny finger . . . Fragile body parts littered the cherry-wood floor.
The sight made Lily's stomach lurch. Memories stirred; she pushed them back in a fit of rage. Practically flying herself, she waved her arms at the creature, shrieking at it to leave. One of her flailing hands closed briefly around a scaly leg. The bird teetered, sinking to the floor before it soared out the open balcony doors to roost on the railing. Lily slammed the doors shut on its raucous cries.
Had the creature left its foul droppings, or even a smelly feather that she'd have to flush away? Livid at the intrusion, Lily looked around.
Narrow streams of morning sun filtered through the slats of the shutters and cast muted striped shadows onto the flocked fleur-de-lis of the pale blue wallpaper, across the bland, accepting faces of the toys. Except for the china fragments on the floor, everything looked just the way it had before the bird arrived.
She turned away, strangely unable to look at the battered porcelain bodies. She'd clean them up later, before the maid came. But for now, she'd have her walk. Her parents would be up soon, preparing for the vacation Doris so "badly needed." By being out of the house when they left, she'd spare them all the discomfort of insincere farewells. No bothersome bird would interfere with her schedule.
With that decision, she went into her bathroom to cleanse herself of the encounter. Just as she turned the gilded faucets of the shower, she felt a malevolent presence. She shivered under the spray of warm water, supposing that since the day had started with an evil omen, she shouldn't be surprised.
Sebastian had found her. She didn't wonder how. Of all werewolves, his psychic powers were the most prodigious. He could discern another's thoughts across continents. I
She'd known he'd come eventually. He wouldn't leave such a flagrant violation of Lupine Law unpunished. And killing another werewolf was the most flagrant of them all.
The queasiness in her stomach returned as it often did when she thought of Jorje, but she dismissed it and blocked Sebastian's probe, feeling a not-unexpected quiver of anger as her connection with him snapped. Her new concern left no room for dwelling on the bird, and she searched for a way to protect herself. She had no desire to learn what Sebastian had in store for her, but she couldn't escape him. So she'd . . .
Have to kill him, she supposed. And she knew just the way to do that. After all, wasn't she a werewolf queen?
Was a queen, came the psychic response.
Am a queen, she responded hotly. Powers or not, I'm still a queen. Nothing can take that away. Then, with an irate burst of energy, she severed their connection a second time.
Yes, she would have to kill Sebastian. But for now, she'd finish her shower, dress carefully, and leave the house looking like the queen she was.
This time the response came from her own mind: Like the queen I used to be.
Whenever Lily rose early to stroll the depths of Central Park, she was filled with animal energy. The mild blow of the wind, the leaves drifting around her feet, the cool, fresh morning air renewed her ties to the feral world. This particular morning the feeling lasted longer than usual.
She was elated with the prospect of returning to an empty apartment and knowing she'd have it to herself for weeks. Or maybe the battle with the hawk had revived her hunter's spirit. Even Sebastian's appearance was invigorating. She'd been waiting for months. Now he was here and she could plan her next step.
She didn't spend much time pondering the reason. The morning was too clear, the solitude too refreshing.
She traveled alone for several hours, arms swinging, head held high, confident of her place in the world despite the feathered threat on her balcony and the furred one lurking in wait. The sun rose higher as she walked, filtering through the trees. Sounds grew nearer, more frequent.
As she turned a curve in the path, she met an approaching man—a bodybuilder type with limbs so pumped with muscles they strained his pants and shirt. Although she caught his lascivious leer, she gave him little notice as they passed.
Then she felt his lingering attention. Her hand-tailored jeans fit her flawlessly, and she could sense his eyes ogling the sway of her hips beneath the hem of her Dior jacket. She glanced over her shoulder and met the man's eyes. He stopped, then turned and strutted toward her, smiling cockily. Thinking she once could have eaten three of his kind for breakfast, she scowled regally and sent him a psychic warning: Back off, foolish omega.
His leering expression instantly transformed to fear. All swagger gone, he turned awkwardly and almost ran away.
Lily smiled. These foolish mortals hadn't the courtesy of the Lupine race. Not a single one of them dared treat another with such disrespect. Instantly, reality dawned. She couldn't have followed through on her mental threat. The man wasn't a lowly werewolf omega pup and she wasn't a powerful queen. He actually could have hurt her.
For twelve years she'd lived a life of power and invincibility, free from the fears and struggles of the human race. Now she was one of them again, vulnerable, in a world that had no place for her.
Her former burst of energy draining, Lily drifted to a bench and stared into a Chinese garden. The trouble with having once been a werewolf, she thought sadly, was that no one believed you. In fact they thought you were nuts. The Orientals might believe — and the primitive ones who dwelled in Ebony Canyon certainly did believe. But these cynical people of the West . . . ? No, not one of them believed.
When Doris and Vincent had come to the small-town Arizona hospital to reluctantly claim her, she'd been scratched, bruised, and hysterically babbling about lost powers, Dana and Morgan, and poor, poor Jorje. Her horrified parents had promptly swept her back to New York City. Pleading with the doctors to make her stop telling such outlandish and humiliating tales, they'd placed her in a discreet hospital catering to those whom they euphemistically labeled as "distressed."
The staff fed her drugs, told her she was hallucinating and clinging to her delusions as a defense against the horror of witnessing her friend's brutal death. She hadn't killed him. No one her size could have possibly broken a grown man's neck. This trauma, they further explained, had brought her emotionally barren childhood crashing down on her, making everyone around her seem like beasts. She was safe. No one was after her seeking revenge. Eventually Jorge's killer would be caught.
At first she denied it all. She was Queen Lily of the Lupine race, proud, invincible, ageless. Eventually, as the initial horror of her unwilling transformation back to human form waned, she realized the hospital would never release her if she clung to the truth. She stopped insisting and feigned a few sessions filled with weeping. Finally they let her go.
A sudden sound made Lily jump in alarm. She looked up and caught a flash of white. Her sight and hearing were extremely keen — a fact that had amazed the hospital staff — but even with this advantage she wasn't sure of what she'd seen. Not noticing any further movement, she soon became tired of looking and settled back on the bench to stare into the face of a smiling stone Buddha.
What was happening to her? No werewolf jumped at unexpected sounds or feared a posturing man. How would she deal with these insecurities and, even more important, what would she do with the rest of her life? Remain with Doris and Vincent, who could barely stand the sight of her? Go to work in some greasy fast-food restaurant and rent a cheap apartment with her meager earnings? And what of Sebastian? If she dropped her psychic guard she could feel him out
there. Lurking, waiting, in no hurry. Unhampered by the short years allotted humans, he basked in the luxury of knowing he'd get her eventually.
Unless she got him first.
Lily shifted on the bench, deciding to make a stop before she returned to the mercifully empty house. Few things could kill a werewolf, but holy water was one of them. She shuddered involuntarily at the idea of even touching the stuff, but knew she had to overcome this unseemly cowardice. Her future, her very life, depended upon it.
While she shored up her determination, people began walking past her. A group gathered by the Buddha, half listening to a tour guide. A couple meandered down the leafy path, hand in hand. Such ordinary lives they led. Pale and colorless, especially when compared to the glory of roaming the great cities and forests of the world, feared and fearless. Ordinary, so ordinary. Still, these fainthearted humans somehow managed, didn't they? Despite the threats around them, they laughed, held hands, and found some enjoyment in their meager existence.
Just then a small girl broke away from the group, whooping gleefully. Looking back mischievously at her pursuing mother, she pedaled her chubby little legs as fast as she could. What fun, her smiling little face said. What fun. She came straight toward Lily's outstretched feet.
Although Lily hastily pulled them back, she wasn't quick enough, and the girl tripped anyway. Lily caught her before she hit the ground and met a pair of impish eyes, a sparkling smile. Flooded with warmth, she smiled back, then handed the child to her apologetic and grateful mother.
The pair returned to the group, but the girl still had her attention on Lily and delivered several quick grins from behind her mother's legs.
Lily could hear the girl breathe, hear her smothered little titters over the drone of the guide's voice. But she couldn't hear the blood, she realized, that soft and constant thrumming through those tiny veins. Nor did she feel its irresistible lure.
Lost powers, just two among countless others. Many of them she missed — the freedom, the invincibility, the sheer vitality of such massive brute force. But not the hunger.
No, she didn't miss the hunger at all.
* * *
On another bench about a half mile away, Tony White Hawk honed his link with the hawk perched in the high branches of the tree above Lily's head. Seeing what it saw, hearing what it heard, Tony maintained the careful watch he'd kept on the she-wolf since she'd slipped from the apartment. When the child careened toward her, he'd flinched, thinking of the daughter he'd left in the safety of the canyon, painfully aware he was putting her and all the others at risk by bringing back the monster.
Of course those slender fingers bore no claws these days, nor did her smile reveal deadly fangs. But those tilted eyes still held the menace of the wolf, as the man who'd so unwisely tried to intimidate her quickly discovered.
Lily Angelica DeLaVega hadn't lost her fight. She wouldn't easily fall into his hands, and if he didn't soon master the shapeshifting skill Riva assured him would come when he needed it.
Don't just ride with the thought-form, she'd counseled during their last meeting before he left the canyon. Become it. Then, when it took him where he wanted to go, all he had to do was return to being himself.
Simple. Straight-forward.
Too simple.
Why couldn't the Dawn People's magic contain spells and rituals that worked without fail once they were learned? Why did they rely on the soul of the user? Becoming the hawk required incredible concentration, and whenever he thought he'd almost achieved it, he lost it all in a swirl of malice toward the she-wolf.
He'd flown into Lily's room that morning with intense concentration, sure he'd succeed this time. But the moment he'd seen her in that tiny top and skimpy bottom, her small curved body glowing with health, he thought only of Tajaya, who would never again dwell in such a womanly form.
Not only hadn't he shifted into human form, he'd tried to terrorize her. Not the shaman's way. Not even the warrior's way. Worse, she'd almost gotten the best of him. He thanked everything sacred that Riva hadn't seen his shame.
No, he hadn't needed to see her encounter with the man to know she still retained her fighting spirit.
A gentle trill from the hawk interrupted his reflections. Lily was on the move again. He melded his mind with his thought-form, sending it rising into the gray sky, and soon felt wings flex, the rise and fall of gentle air currents.
Although a product of Tony's mind, the hawk was real enough in every sense. Its beak and claws could shred both bark and skin with equal ease. Its cries resounded in the ears of men. Yet its winged body still felt as light and insubstantial as the puffy clouds above. Tony sank into its sway and rode the currents.
Below, he saw Lily detour off the street next to the park and hurry through the city, making several turns until she stopped at a house of worship. A Catholic cathedral, if Tony's memory served him. Soon she came out, lowering her head against a rising wind, her pockets bulging from something she must have gathered inside.
What could a church offer such a profane one? he wondered, dismissing the obvious answer. He glided after her, careful not to swoop too low as they approached the building where she lived with the indifferent ones who'd spawned her.
The wind blew in eddies along the curbs, tumbling leaves, tugging at the lapels of the she-wolf's lightweight jacket, rippling through strands of her silver-white hair. Not for the first time, Tony wondered how such a graceful, beautiful creature could be so evil.
His fury simmered again.
Below, Lily hesitated as if sensing his hatred. Pulling her jacket closer, she headed for the door of her gargoyle-infested dwelling, gave a tight little smile to the waiting doorman and ducked into the entry.
White Hawk sent the hawk to roost on the railing and waited. Another opportunity would arise. This time rancor wouldn't interfere with duty to the tribal council.
Still, despite this vow, he couldn't shake his conviction that the council had put their faith in the wrong man.
Chapter Two
Holy Water. Noxious to a werewolf's eyes and lungs. Fire to the skin. Fatal in large enough quantities. With trembling fingers, Lily opened one of the bottles she'd taken from the cathedral, chiding herself for her fearfulness. She was human now, the liquid should have no effect.
But still —
Smothering a tremulous gasp, she gingerly splashed a tiny drop on a finger. Cool. Wet. Only water. The gasp escaped as a relieved sigh.
She shifted on the velvet settee in the carpeted sitting area off her bedroom, then recorked the vial and put it back with the others in the pocket of her jacket. Now she had a weapon. She had no illusion that twelve bottles were enough to destroy Sebastian, but they would weaken him considerably, giving her an opportunity to drive a knife into his tender underbelly and wait for the blood to drain from his body.
Lily shuddered violently at the cruelly vivid picture the thought brought to mind. Sebastian had loved her, elevated her to heights she'd never dreamed of . . .
But no one loved her now. She had to take care of herself.
Her hands still unsteady, she stood up on equally unsteady legs, surveying her room. She hadn't realized how much she'd felt like a prisoner in these luxurious quarters. With Doris and Vincent gone, her mind was unburdened of their myriad and often conflicting thoughts, her keen ears were no longer assailed by their ceaseless noisy movements.
The maid had stopped by to say farewell and noticed the broken dolls on the floor, but Lily had told her to enjoy her rest, she'd clean up the mess herself. Though she'd always regarded the woman with a measure of sympathy for her frantic efforts to please Doris, she was grateful for the absence of swishing mops and feather dusters, of roaring vacuum cleaner.
For a time she would have some peace. She would rummage through the refrigerator for something to eat, maybe sit in the den, build a fire, watch soap operas or read an entertaining novel. But first she'd clean up the carnage left behind by the hawk.
C
arnage, she thought as she picked up a waste basket and walked toward the mess. What an odd word to describe what was essentially broken pottery. But as she picked up a porcelain arm streaked with dozens of tiny cracks, her body tensed with dread.
As if sensing her mood, the hawk cried outside the balcony doors, its wide wings silhouetted behind the open shutters. She shivered and in that moment Sebastian's merciless animosity pierced the block she'd erected against him. Hastily reconstructing the block, she flung the cracked china body part into the trash can. It hit the bottom with a sick, dull thud.
She shivered again. All she wanted was peace. But peace was hard to come by.
It was after midnight when Lily heard the sound at her balcony doors. She sprang upright beneath her blankets, groping for the bottle she'd set on her bedside table, then enclosed it in her hand and cautiously got up.
Pressing against the wall next to the doors, she opened the shutters slightly, leaning forward to peek through the slats at glaring streetlights, at shifting shadows broken by flashes of restless white.
The omnipresent hawk. Although she knew the bird couldn't possibly see her through the narrow slits, it nonetheless darted numerous baleful glances at the door as it strutted along the railing. Annoyed that the damned creature had interrupted her sleep, Lily moved away from the window and wandered into the bathroom, the vial still in her hand. Putting it on the counter, she bent to wash her sleepy eyes.
Sufficiently revived, she turned to reach for a towel. It magically appeared in her hand. Her eyes snapped open and she met another pair of eyes—deep arctic blue and framed by a face covered with silver white hair.
"Sebastian!"
"You seem unhappy to see me, dear one." With a toss of his silver mane, Sebastian formed his muzzle into a grotesque smile. "I, too, am unhappy. It pains me to find you in such undignified circumstances."
Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set Page 28