Immortal Wolf

by Bonnie Vanak

  According to her studies, no other Kallans had performed magick like this. They had done their duties, and retired to their cottages to study the ancient texts, living a scholarly life. This Kallan had powers she had never heard of before, and it awed her with the implications.

  Raphael seemed as if he could destroy life as she could, only not with a single touch, but with a single thought.

  “Do you read anything?” she asked.

  He stood, brushing dirt from his hands. “The earth has been recently turned and it’s difficult to gauge. Have you gardened here since her death?”

  “I never came back.”

  “Something has.” He jammed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “An animal, perhaps. I detect raccoon scent.”

  “We have plenty of wild animals. I used to like watching them here.”

  “In the flower garden?” He quirked an eyebrow.

  Her shoulders lifted in a delicate shrug. “It’s nature. Deer usually come here, but I like growing plants, so I cultivated another garden especially for them. Now they leave it alone.”

  “You plant a garden for prey?” He sounded incredulous, his expression so outraged she laughed.

  Emily stopped, surprised by the sound. “I haven’t done that in a while.”

  “I’d like to hear about it.”

  His tender voice sent a funny flutter to her belly. Emily sidestepped the issue and gestured to the flowers. “It was my idea. Out of respect for the animals, who also gave their lives for our food.” Her face fell as depression slid over her. “When I was still allowed in the pack, and allowed to contribute to farming game.”

  His expression softened. “It was a good idea. You have a natural touch with the earth and should be proud of it.”

  She shrugged. “I keep this garden for the butterflies. Peonies, asters, petunias, goldenrod, Queen Anne’s lace, black-eyed Susans.” Her lower lip wobbled tremulously. “Helen was fond of the black-eyed Susans. She used to pick them each morning and put them on the breakfast table in winter. They cheered her.”

  His gaze sharpened. “Flowers in the winter? Very odd. Or hearty flowers.”

  Emily swallowed hard, wondering if he suspected her gift. To distract him, she pointed to a nearby viceroy butterfly, its orange-and-black markings contrasting sharply to its perch on the dying pink petunia.

  Extending her arm, she beckoned to the insect, hoping it would land on her finger. “They like to come to me.”

  “I don’t blame them,” he murmured.

  Raphael stared at her with a hot intensity, so burning she felt as if he’d stripped her bare. Flushed, she turned away, feeling the flare of heat between them. The feeling was refreshingly new and made her feel tingly inside. Raphael didn’t avoid looking at her as her pack did, or shun her as if she were diseased. How odd, and yet wonderful she felt uniquely free with him.

  If only the feeling could last.

  Raphael’s insides knotted with hard sexual need as he studied her carefree expression. In her bare feet, her perfect little toes peeking from beneath the hem of the ugly brown dress, her body finally relaxed and color flushing her cheeks, she was lovely. Tendrils of curling hair escaped its ever-present restrictive bun. He jammed his hands into his jeans pockets, overcome with the urge to touch her hair, to release it from its confines and let it spill past her shoulders. An image flashed over him. Emily, her long hair spilled over his pillow, her face flushed with sexual arousal as he mounted her, her whimpers of pleasure echoing in his ears as he slowly thrust deep inside her welcoming heat….

  He silently cursed in Cajun and stepped back, not wanting to alarm her with the intensity of his arousal. He was dealing with a female who had seldom interacted with another male outside her pack, and certainly not one as virile or vital as he was.

  No, the Burke pack males all seemed pale imitations of Draicon.

  That’s what purebloods are, he thought in savage resentment. Yet his adopted brother Damian was a pureblood. Damian, the strong, vibrantly powerful male bore no resemblance to their pedigree.

  It made no sense.

  The butterfly fluttered near him, dancing in the air. Raphael studied it as Emily reached out. But it flitted away from her gloved hand, gently waving its wings. A shadow crossed her face, but she quickly recovered.

  “It doesn’t like my gloves. Hold out your hand and it will land on it. The butterflies are very tame.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I’m not a butterfly sort.” But he did as she asked, only because the sadness on her face twisted his heart. He wanted to make her smile. Laugh again.

  Raphael held out his hand. The viceroy landed delicately on his hand. A smile touched his mouth.

  “Back home, I used to do this with the zirondelle, the dragonfly, in the bayou,” he told her.

  The insect was lovely, its wings gently fanning the air. It bent its head to his finger as if searching for nectar. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain.

  Incredulity came over him as he stared at the crimson droplets welling on his skin. “It bit me,” he marveled. “Son of a…bit me.”

  Emily stared at his hand. “They don’t bite. How can it?”

  He stared at the creature and saw a tiny mouth, with rows of sharp teeth. The butterfly started to fly away.

  “Emily, stand back,” he warned. He approached the winged insect with stealth, wolf stalking prey. “It isn’t a butterfly.” He pounced, capturing the creature in his hands. It struggled to free itself, tiny jaws snapping at his hands. Grimly he hung on, opened his palm and held it by one wing.

  The jaws kept snapping. Raphael whipped his head about, looking to see if it were a clone and the original nearby.

  “What are you doing?” Emily cried out.

  “What I always do with the enemy,” he muttered. With his fist, he crushed it, feeling it die. A small scream echoed in his head. Emily’s scream, a keening wail lacing him with sorrow.

  Raphael opened his fist, and gray ash spilled to the ground. His gaze met hers. Emily trembled, her gloved hands pressed to her rosebud mouth.

  “You killed it, how could it be the enemy, it was just—”

  “A Morph, Emily. The enemy. Trust me.”

  The way she stared at him twisted his heart. A heavy weight sat on his chest. She stared as the others did, with a mix of horror and respect. His mate, who was supposed to be the one closest to him, looked at him as if he were the grim reaper.

  “Morph, Emily. I don’t know how it got on this land, past your pack’s safeguards, but obviously the shields are thinning out and need reinforcing.”

  Or something far worse was at work. He gentled his tone, tried to make her see he was not the monster she imagined.

  “Trust me, Emily, it was a Morph.”

  “Trust you. How can I?” she whispered, backing away from him. “You’re supposed to be my mate, the one who saves me. How can you be the one who will kill me instead like you just did with the butterfly?”

  When she fled for the safety of the woods, he did not immediately follow. Instead he brought his injured finger to his face, the bite already healed. If only the breach between them could be as easily healed.

  Raphael rubbed his chin. He had to find her. Every instinct screamed at him to bring her closer, bond with her and save her. Even while his duty as Kallan was grimly clear.

  He put on his jacket, waited a few minutes, scanning the territory, looking for more Morphs. Finally he hiked through the forest, following her delicate scent trail. Navigating the faint trail, he smelled fresh water and heard the ceaseless sweep of current rushing over rocks.

  In a small meadow, a soft carpet of verdant grasses led to rocks guarding a raging river. The scent of pine and pure water and cleansing air filled his lungs. Raphael stopped, dragged in a deep breath. The scent was intoxicating to his wild wolf side, even more alluring mingled with the delicate fragrance of the female sitting on a rock, watching the water gush past.

  Emily.

  He
approached, deliberately making noise. She did not turn around but tilted her head to one side.

  “I knew you were coming here. I could sense you.”

  Delight at her awareness of him twined with caution. He carefully sat down on a rock a few feet away, studying the crystal-clear stream.

  She rested her cheek on her bent knees. “It was truly a Morph, the butterfly?”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you, Em. I only wanted to keep you safe. I don’t know how it slipped past the safeguards Urien put on the pack lands, but it did.” Unable to keep from touching her, he rested a hand on the small of her back and began slowly stroking. “Don’t run from me again. You’re safer with me, until I can find out what’s happening here.”

  Silence draped between them for a few moments. He drank it in with her scent, listening to a crow call overhead. A cool breeze danced against his face, and Raphael suppressed a shiver, but Emily glanced at him. Amusement danced in her eyes.

  “You are not accustomed to our climate. I sense you are cold.”

  “Not as cold as I imagine I’d be in winter,” he quipped. “But it’s very peaceful and lovely here.”

  Emily picked up a stone and tossed it into the water. “This is my private place. Urien and the others don’t come here, ever. I feel safe here.”

  “You feel safe even with me?” he challenged.

  She stole another shy glance at him. “You don’t look threatening now.”

  “It’s because I’m too cold to feel threatening. I’m a warm-blooded wolf.” He tipped back his head and released a low, mournful howl.

  It worked. She giggled, and the tension between them broke. “Are you saying you’re domesticated? I can’t see it.”

  “Moi?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Non, chere, I’m a wild wolf?”

  “Very wild.” She turned to face him, an impish gleam in her eyes. “Unlike that metal horse you ride, which is very tame.”

  Raphael drew back in pretended shock. “Are you calling my Harley domesticated?”

  “It answers to your command and does your bidding like a real horse, so yes, I do.”

  He put a hand over his heart. “I am highly insulted you would call my Harley tame.”

  The giggle he’d coaxed from her made his spirits soar. Perhaps there was middle ground where they could reach out to each other.

  “I have never seen such a machine,” she admitted. “We have automobiles we use only for convenience, and they are practical and not pretty.” She looked up at him from her incredibly long golden lashes. “Harley is pretty with its black and red and silver coloring.”

  He grinned. “She forgives you then, for calling her tame.”

  “She? His name is Harley.”

  “Her full name is Harley-Davidson Heritage Softail. All vehicles are called ‘she.’” He picked up a rock, skipped it across a tranquil pool in the stream. “Probably because they are so touchy in the morning when you try to start their engines.”

  “We are not.”

  He laughed. “I’m teasing. It has nothing to do with starting their engines. It has to do with their temperaments.” He reached over, tweaked a red curl escaping her tight bun. “Especially the red ones. Red’s my favorite color.”

  She saw his expression and smiled. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “That’s what my mother always told me.”

  Emily hugged her knees. “Was it your mother who encouraged you to become the Kallan? Or your father?”

  The familiar tightness squeezed his chest. “Neither. It was a decision I made on my own.”

  He turned his thoughts away from the painful past and surveyed the land. “This is a good place,” he said quietly, tracing the black striations in a nearby rock. “It’s of the earth and radiates with power. There are ancient, strong safeguards in place.”

  He rested his palm firmly on the rock and frowned, feeling the granite sing to him in muted harmony. “It’s an ancient magick, of the earth but not of it. Something much stronger, and pure.”

  From the source itself, he almost said, but stopped as he caught the worried look of sudden concern on her face.

  “Then I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, hugging her knees tighter. “Since I’m contaminated. That’s what Urien calls me. Cursed, and my blood contaminates the pack because of my curse.”

  “You are not contaminated, and Urien is quick to judge and condemn. He is not a true leader. An Alpha guards and protects all in his pack.”

  “Maybe I deserved to be abandoned by them.”

  The brokenness in her voice twisted his heart. Raphael reached for her, but she inched backward, watching him warily. A heavy sigh fled him. When would she learn to stop evading him? They didn’t have much time. He reached out, taking her chin in a firm but gentle grip, forcing her to regard him.

  “Emily, we must talk. Now. Not tomorrow, or later. Let’s get this settled for once and for all.”

  His words struck a chord of dread. Emily felt herself want to shrink inside her own skin. That commanding tone brooked obedience. Would he broach the topic she kept wanting to avoid?

  Her own death.

  Yet his touch was soothing as he slid his thumb over the underside of her jaw. Emily’s heart beat faster.

  “You’ve suffered a terrible blow—no, two terrible blows. Finding out you were cursed, which I still wonder if it is true, and being abandoned by your pack.”

  She blinked, wary of his motivation.

  “I’m being straight with you, chere.” Raphael’s mouth thinned to a tight slash before he spoke again. “I don’t trust anyone in your pack, especially Bridget and Urien. We need to find out the truth about why you are cursed, if you are cursed, and why destiny has ruled you should die.”

  When his hand dropped, she felt herself hungering for the contact between them again. Emily felt bereft but inched away, sternly reminding herself of Raphael’s true purpose. “Why don’t you trust them?”

  “I have my reasons,” he said darkly. “We’ll figure it out on our own. No one else. But you have to trust me, work with me on this. Forget about Raphael the Kallan and Emily the Cursed.” He drew closer, and for once she did not back away. His chocolate-brown eyes were shining with determination.

  He was her draicaron. He wanted her to forget all she’d been told, all they had been taught to believe, and step away from the traditions that had guided her for twenty-two years.

  Risk.

  She had little to risk. But could she trust him? She’d walked alone, not trusting her pack, loathing her solitary lifestyle, but adjusting out of necessity. Now Raphael wanted her to bond with him emotionally and go beyond her borders.

  The idea terrified her. Dying terrified her more.

  She needed assurances. “How can we do this?”

  “I don’t know how, but we’ll find a way, if you will trust me,” he told her quietly.

  She wriggled her feet, studying them. “I need help,” she finally admitted. “I’m really not used to this, being alone and not part of the pack. I just want to belong again, and fit in.” She frowned at her bare toes. “Once I used to do everything with my family. Urien and Bridget even took me into town as a treat. I haven’t been to town in over a year. I remember the last time I went, I saw a woman with a chain around her ankle. It looked odd, but I liked the jewelry. We’re forbidden to wear any because it’s of the human world. And her toes, they were so pretty.”

  “So are yours. You have lovely toes.”

  His gentle tone lowered her natural defenses. “Hers were painted.”

  “Paint yours, then.”

  Surprise flashed through her. “No female in my pack has ever does such a thing. It’s artificial, and we are of the earth. If I want to be like them, I have to look like them.”

  “You can still embrace the earth and paint your toes. Do you want to be like them? Why would you want to fit into a pack that has treated you so badly?” he challenged.

  The question caught her off guard. She’d ne
ver known anything else. Yet at times she loathed the boring, itchy dress made from natural fibers, wished she could wear her hair differently, wondered what it would feel like to wear a gold chain around her ankle.

  Wondered what it would feel like to dance in the meadow, her hair flowing out unbound, and not care who saw and what they thought.

  “I suppose I want to be accepted and belong. Doesn’t everyone? It’s in our blood to run with the pack.”

  “Not when your pack is nothing more than a herd of sheep. Do you wish to be a sheep?” Raphael turned his dark, intense gaze on her as he swiveled, placing one hand behind him and one on her knee. Heat spread through her at the sizzling contact between them.

  “I’m a wolf, not a sheep.”

  “I meant a metaphorical sheep, someone who doesn’t express her individuality and blends in with the crowd. Why can’t you express yourself and how you feel, and act as you wish, not as you were expected?”

  She studied the tiny gold earring dangling from his left ear. Raphael was such a Draicon. “You certainly stand out from the crowd. Have you always?”

  He glanced down at his jeans with an amused smile. “No. It wasn’t until I reached fifty that I realized I didn’t want to merely run with the pack anymore. I was always trying to be someone I wasn’t.”

  “What?”

  His expression shuttered. “Someone I could never be,” he said tightly, removing his hand from her knee. He stared out to the rushing water.

  Briefly she touched his mind, saw a flickering of images like a movie her father had taken her to see once. Older, sophisticated pureblood French Draicon in New Orleans. A young Raphael, about her age, listening to the same music they enjoyed, dressing carefully to imitate them, combing his short hair exactly like them, wearing shiny loafers with pennies.

  Then a flash of Raphael being pushed into the street, one of them took a bucket and dumped it over him…taunting laughter…

  The image shut off as quickly. Raphael did not look at her, but his jaw tautened.

  Alarm and brief pity surged through her. What had he suffered? The powerful Kallan, treated as an inferior. She’d never considered it. Emily brought her hand forward to touch his arm, offer comfort, remembered, and drew it back. Instinct warned her that his pride would shun such a gesture. Her gentle heart ached for him. How well she knew what it was like to walk alone and have others reject her.