Immortal Wolf

by Bonnie Vanak

  Be with me.

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

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

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

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

  Emily was ready now.

  Books by Bonnie Vanak

  Silhouette Nocturne

  The Empath #30

  Enemy Lover #51

  Immortal Wolf #74

  BONNIE VANAK

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

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

  BONNIE VANAK

  IMMORTAL WOLF

  Dear Reader,

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

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

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

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

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

  Bonnie Vanak

  For my chapter, Florida Romance Writers, thanks

  for all your support and being such a great team.

  And to Joan Hammond and Julie Sloane, who

  encouraged me from the very beginning. Also,

  special thanks to Meri Aigner for her knowledge

  of Harley-Davidson motorcycles, and my friend

  Maureen “Mo” Fries. You guys rock!

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Prologue

  O nce she restored life. Now she brought death with her touch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  I can touch you now, Helen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Even the Kallan, the Draicon who would execute her.

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

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

  Help me.

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

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

  Kallan. Kallan. I have need of you.

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

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

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

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

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

  The elder screamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  He was the Destroyer, the bringer of death.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Raphael stiffened.

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

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

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

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

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

  Amant? Are you there?

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

  Erin. I’m here, he reassured her.

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

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

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

  I just missed you, that’s all.

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

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

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

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

  Where are you now? What are you doi
ng? Erin asked.

  In a bar. Talking to you.

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

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

  Where was her pack? Her Alpha?

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

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

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

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

  Don’t worry. They won’t come near me.

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

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

  It’s my job to take care of you.

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

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

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

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