by Bonnie Vanak
Maggie awoke to a ravenous hunger obliterating everything else. It seized her by the throat like a living, writhing beast. Swinging her legs over the bed’s edge, she nearly tripped over Misha. The dog barked joyfully, wagged her tail. She barely registered the remarkable change. Hunger drove her like a lash.
Her gaze swept about the room, with its lace curtains, polished oak dresser and the mirrored closet doors. Vaguely she remembered Nicolas picking her up, carrying her to bed and curling his big body next to her chilled one.
Where was he?
As if she hadn’t eaten in days, her stomach ached. Maggie doubled over, whimpering in confusion. What was wrong with her?
She remembered the wild look in Nicolas’s eyes when he’d told her he had to eat fresh meat. Surely this had nothing to do with it. It was hunger, plain and simple.
She raced down the hallway, hooking into the kitchen, following the delicious smell of meat. Nicolas and Baylor sat at opposite ends of the island, regarding each other like enemies across a battlefield. Each ate thick cuts of sirloin that looked bloodred. They looked up.
She needed meat. Now. Meat, full-bodied, red meat. Not cooked. Baylor rose, came toward her with a plate that held a grilled steak big as a truck tire. She ignored it.
Desperately Maggie clawed through the fridge, scouring it, oblivious of her host watching. Oh, God, she had to eat. Now. Maggie found a package of fresh, raw hamburger. She ripped open the cellophane, scooped up handfuls of meat and gulped them down. Mouthful after mouthful she swallowed, relief replacing the hollow pain in her stomach, making this terrible, awful weakness go away, replenishing her strength, her energy.
Energy. Maggie paused, a handful of meat halfway to her mouth. She stared at the red, raw hamburger squeezed in her fist. Glancing up, she saw Baylor look at her with a frown. Understanding etched Nicolas’s features.
Maggie flung the meat far away from her. Hamburger scattered on the elegant, clean white tile, dotting it in red fragments.
“No,” she moaned. “This isn’t me. I’m not one of you.”
“You cannot deny it any longer, Maggie,” Nicolas’s soft, deep voice gently asserted. “You see, you are one of us. Not human, but wolf. Draicon. You used magick and need to replenish lost energy. It’s perfectly normal for us.”
It could not be. Not her, the veterinarian, the pragmatic healer who used her talents to ease others’ pain. Maggie, who swore never to harm another living creature, a wolf, who hunted and killed prey? She remembered the alluring call of the Everglades, the peaceful feeling she harbored there. Maggie went to the sink. Like Lady Macbeth, she scrubbed her hands over and over.
“I am not one of you,” she whispered desperately. “I will never be one of you.”
Baylor shot Nicolas an accusing look. “You didn’t tell her?”
Ignoring him, Nicolas took a paper towel and gently dried Maggie’s hands. He lifted her chin up with one hand. “You already are, caira. It was imprinted on you from the moment of your conception, just as your magick was to be my mate. You can’t deny the truth any longer.”
He wanted to make her into something she was not. Could not be, ever. Nicolas was violence, death, fighting. She was peace, living and letting live. His strength and power of will threatened everything she’d ever known. Everything she needed to survive in the moment.
Nicolas steered her over to the table and the steak she’d rejected. Stomach lurching, she stared at the food. “It’s your brain insisting that what just happened is repulsive, and not you. Stop thinking what you’ve trained yourself to believe. You have a need, you’re hungry. Fill it Maggie. It’s good sirloin. Baylor cooked it on the grill.”
Methodically she began cutting the meat into tiny pieces, and brought it to her mouth. Maggie began to eat as if she sat in a friend’s kitchen. Nicolas talked with Baylor as if all were normal. Normal? What the hell was normal anymore?
Button nose twitching, Misha trotted into the kitchen. Baylor sliced off a few pieces of steak, set them on a plate on the floor. The dog gobbled them down. Maggie ate more steak.
Nicolas watched her through hooded eyes.
“You don’t have to eat to replace lost energy after you use magick. Sex is another alternative,” he murmured, his intense gaze searing her with its heat.
Sex, the force driving her toward him. Maggie squeezed her thighs together, remembering the warmth of his hard body pressed against hers last night.
“We either have sex and absorb our partner’s sexual energy, or we must eat meat, preferably as raw as possible. Just as your parents did,” he continued.
Maggie cut off Nicolas’s words with a sharp wave. “Don’t talk about my parents. You know nothing about them.”
“But we do,” Baylor interjected. “Richard and Carla Sinclair. Two years after their formal mating, Carla gave birth to you. The Morphs had started to flush out and destroy the less powerful packs. Carla doubted Damian’s ability to protect you. When you were only six, they moved to Florida. They were terrified and wanted to live as low profile as possible.
“We didn’t know where they had taken you until recently, when Nicolas had mind-bonded with you. Then we did some research and found out your parents had been killed in a violent mugging when you were twelve.”
Baylor stopped, looking puzzled as Maggie pressed a hand to her temple. “Stop it, just stop it,” she whispered. “I don’t need or want to hear this. My family is my business.”
“But we are your family, Maggie. All of us. That’s what pack is,” Baylor protested.
Nicolas leaned forward. “Hasn’t it been lonely these past years since you were orphaned? Haven’t you longed to have the closeness of a family again? That’s pack, Maggie. That’s what you’ve been missing all this time.”
She toyed with her fork. Years of feeling alienated, trying to fit in, trying to find her niche. Even school and achieving a dream of becoming a vet didn’t fill the void. Perhaps Nicolas was right.
Despite her resolve to eat like a normal human, Maggie gobbled down the steak. She wiped her lips with the napkin. Nicolas stared at her mouth with the same hunger, causing her to consume the steak. A flush ignited her cheeks.
He picked up Misha, stroking her head, doing a thorough examination at the same time. Nicolas looked into her trusting brown eyes as Misha wagged her tail.
“She’s perfectly well. Healthy as a young pup.” He set the dog down.
“Then it’s true. You are the empath, Margaret. You must return to the pack and heal Damian.” Baylor looked excited.
Maggie frowned. “Damian?”
“Our pack leader. The Morphs—Jamie, specifically— infected him with the same disease Misha had. Do you remember Damian, Maggie? He was pack leader when you were little….”
Maggie pressed two fingers to her temple. “He must be very old.” All this talk of pack, family, as if she belonged…
“Damian’s older than I am,” Nicolas cut in smoothly. “He was eighty on his last birthday.”
Her head whipped up to see him regard her with a wry smile. “Our kind do not mature until we reach thirteen, like mortals, then we age slowly. Some of us—a very special few—mature before then and gain our powers of change and magick when we’re younger. Like you, Maggie.”
“I never changed into a wolf when I was younger,” she shot back, exasperated. “That’s ridiculous to even think….”
Stricken by a flickering memory, she halted in midsentence. Blood. Endless streams, running into the sidewalk. Screams, then silence. Loud cruel laughter as she sobbed, her fingers splayed over cloth turning crimson, her parents lying so still…then hands reaching out to take care of unfinished business…rough hands…a low growl rumbling from her throat…the odd sensation of red-hazed fury imagining fur and fangs ready to tear apart…
Her head snapped up. “Never,” she whispered.
Nicolas’s expression softened. He took her hand. His palm felt warm, calloused. Little dark hairs peppered the back of his hand. Hands cap
able of such gentleness, yet strong enough to kill. She had seen him do exactly that.
“Destroying them is the only way, Mags.”
“There must be another.” She sat back, pressed fingers to her temples. Information. She needed knowledge. “Tell me everything you know about the Morphs. Everything you’ve tried in eliminating them.”
Baylor threw Nicolas a look of grudging respect. “Nicolas taught us that they can be killed in our human form by stabbing them in the heart with daggers or by tearing the heart with our fangs when we change. The close-quarters combat makes them use all their defenses and drains their magick. Before that, we tried everything. You can’t shoot them from a distance—their magick deflects the bullets.”
Nicolas nodded. “They’re difficult to kill because they shift so quickly into any animal form. They can clone themselves to double, even triple, their numbers.”
A grim smile touched Baylor’s mouth. “We even tried insecticide once when they shifted into a swarm of bees. Didn’t work. Their magick is powerful because it’s dark.”
“But they weren’t always so powerful,” Maggie thought aloud.
“They were Draicon, wolf, like us.” Baylor shot Nicolas a look she didn’t understand. “To become Morph, a Draicon kills a relative such as a parent, or a member of their extended family, like an uncle. Then the Draicon absorbs their dying energy and turns into a Morph.”
“So they absorb energy just as Draicons do? Must they always kill to do so?”
Nicolas spoke up. “Not always. If they never shifted, they could survive simply by ingesting the energy of fresh meat just as we do. They need the more powerful energy emitted from dying victims to shape-shift constantly into other animal forms.”
“Why would a Draicon want to turn evil? What’s the attraction?”
Baylor shrugged. “Power over other life-forms. They crave it.”
Nicolas shook his head. His gaze grew distant and dreamy. “No, it’s not. They can ride the back of the wind as an eagle, race over the golden plains as a wolf, swim the deep seas as swiftly as a shark. The freedom to shift into many forms is what lures them, and the closeness of pack, just as it is for Draicon.”
“But they’re evil, and twisted, and will never be trusted,” Baylor said flatly. “Maggie, what else do you want to know about them?”
Evil had its weaknesses as well. Maggie thought of the angry, violent animals she’d gentled. Once Misha had been a snarling, scared puppy she’d rescued from abuse. Time, love and caring had turned her into a devoted companion. The Morphs were animals as well as magic beings. Maybe the same could work with them to defeat them.
Maggie explained to them how she’d worked with Misha. “Has a Morph ever rejected evil and returned to the pack as a Draicon? Is it possible?”
Baylor gave a derisive snort as Nicolas remained silent. “Once they become Morphs, they remain that way. They’ve committed the ultimate sin and killed a loved one. There’s no going back. And even if there were, you couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t change their minds and turn to evil again. It would be like living with a ticking time bomb.”
Nicolas made a sharp, cutting gesture. “Enough of this. Mags, you have to kill Morphs. Period. There is no other way. I’ve tangled with enough of them to know. They relish killing mortals, Draicon, other animals. They live off fear and panic. You have to be strong and know that, when you hunt them down and destroy them, you’re killing evil.”
“I can’t kill. I just can’t. I’ve spent my adult life saving animals, not destroying them.” She looked down at her hands, then at Nicolas. “Their blood is acid. How can you kill them in hand-to-hand combat? They bleed all over you.”
He shrugged. “Draicon heal. You push past the pain and just focus on the kill. Remember, they’re evil. You’re a doctor, Maggie. Think of them as germs that must be eradicated. They’re bacteria and you’re a white blood cell, surrounding the enemy and destroying them, no matter what your own personal cost.”
“You sound as if you talk from experience. Has it been at great personal cost to you, Nicolas? What happened? Why are you so focused on killing them? Have you ever tried reasoning with these Morphs? Maybe they’re not so different….”
His hard laugh sounded bitter. “What, Maggie? Talk them to death? Reason? They’re evil and the only way to save the pack is to kill them.”
“Maybe it’s the only way you know, Nicolas. And that’s why you stick to it,” she said quietly.
The same shuttered look came over him. “Enough questions. You’ll learn soon enough. You’re wolf, Maggie. You will destroy the Morphs just as I do. No more arguing. You can’t hide from your true nature anymore. Understand?”
Even Baylor looked uneasy at Nicolas’s quiet lash of command. She gathered her courage. “I’m not hiding, Nicolas. I have a good life. I heal animals and make people happy when their pets are cured. Can you say the same?”
She turned and left him standing there, but not before glimpsing a flash of loneliness in his dark eyes.
———
Maggie spent a restless night alone. Her wolf surfaced, howling to run with the waxing moon. At midnight, she’d awoken, nearly tripping over Nicolas when she stepped outside her bedroom. He lay asleep on the floor, as if protecting her. When she’d opened the door, he awoke with a start. The hunger in his gaze matched her own. Maggie had fought her sexual needs and run back to bed, shaky and unsettled.
She slept late, awakening to sunshine spearing the dark carpet. In the kitchen, Misha stood between Nicolas and Baylor like a referee as they balefully eyed one another. Nicolas turned toward her with a solemn look.
“Maggie, Baylor is leaving for New Mexico this afternoon. We’ll meet up with him and the pack in a week or so.” He drew in a deep breath. “He’s taking Misha.”
“No!”
“Misha is cured. There’s a possibility our people can make an antidote for the disease from her blood. Our scientists are skilled. They may save Damian.” His eyes closed and her heart turned over at the anguish tightening his expression. They opened again, filled with fierce resolve.
“Damian is dying, Maggie, just like Misha was. I know you can’t remember him and have no close ties to him as we do, but your pet may be able to work a miracle. I promise she’ll be well cared for, and not hurt.”
Panic engulfed her. How could she let the only real friend she’d known go?
“What if she’s not fully healed and I have to try again? This power of mine, I haven’t had the chance to analyze it, process it and see how it works. I must watch her for a few days.”
Nicolas cupped her face, refusing to allow her to jerk away, forcing contact between them as if it would bond them together. “Mags, Misha will be in excellent hands. We need to leave before the Morphs find us. What if the Morphs infect her all over again? Her system can’t take the shock. Trust me, sweetheart. It’s for the best. She’ll be safe with the pack, I promise.”
“She’s my dog. I’m a doctor of veterinary medicine and I can determine what she needs.”
“The Morphs have the capability to shift into any animal shape.” His dark gaze grew intense. “Do you understand? Any shape, Maggie. Including that of your own dog. The Morphs would shift into her form, and rip your throat out just as you’re holding her like you are now.”
Maggie’s heart dropped to her stomach. She glanced down at Misha’s big brown eyes, her little pink tongue lolling out. It wasn’t possible…then again, she’d seen the army ants, watched them grow and shift. And that creature in the swamp… A shudder racked her.
Knowing Misha was safe with the pack prevented the Morphs from using her form against her. He was right, but letting go of her companion felt like having her heart wrenched from her chest.
“Where are we going, Nicolas? Why can’t we leave with Baylor?”
Nicolas’s face remained impassive. Unlike her, he wasn’t easy to read when he wished to put on a poker face. “We’re driving to Atlanta, catching a f
light from there. You and I need to take a detour first, Maggie. There’s a cottage in north Florida that’s safe from the Morphs. It’s hidden, cloaked in magick. It can’t ward them off for good, but we’ll be safe there for a little while. We’ll stay there while I teach you to fight.”
Unreality washed over her. “Fight?”
“Embrace your true destiny, so the legend goes. You’re our pack’s empath, and you are wolf. And you have to learn to fight like one.”
I don’t fight. Or kill. Maggie started to say, then remembered how she’d leapt forward and joined the battle when the dragon targeted Misha. How she wished it were days ago and she were alone in her lab, with her research.
Her gaze darted to Misha, who was sniffing the floor for scraps. No. She wouldn’t give this up for anything, even her own peace of mind.
Nicolas rubbed her hand, his touch comforting. “You need to at least learn to defend yourself if you’re alone. I’ll teach you all I know about the Morphs, their weaknesses, strengths, how best to defeat them. And I can teach you how to control your change so your wolf won’t emerge when you least expect it.”
Logical. Sensible. She found no argument with his reasoning. Nicolas had proven his intentions when he’d fought the dragon for her. She found no threat emanating from him, only a simmering, banked intensity. Desire twined with a rising fear that if she surrendered to her feelings for him, he’d take her in a direction she had long ago resisted. A journey to something she’d quashed, a path she dreaded.
Though he was noble and brave and risked much to protect her, Nicolas was wrong for her. He embraced the world of magic, fought and killed. He was everything she feared. Everything she’d rejected long ago.
Maggie thought hard. So many changes in the past few days. She needed more time.
“I need another day, Nicolas. You said this house was safe, then I want to set up a temporary lab and study the effects of what happened when I healed Misha. Check her blood. And test mine, see if I can discover if there’s any unusual cell mitosis taking place since I started healing.”
A frown dented his forehead. She glanced at Baylor. “If you want a cure for Damian, it will be in my blood, not Misha’s, since mine contains the healing agent. I’ll arrange to ship vials of it to your people, and perhaps then they can produce a temporary antibody.”