by Bonnie Vanak
“Besides, Urien complained about your manner of dress, and now that I see you, I like it. But I would not like seeing the other, elderly Kallans in the leather trousers.” Emily leaned forward.
“Because they were more suited to their robes and their learning?”
“No, because their butts weren’t as nice and tight as yours.”
Heat spread from the base of his neck to his cheeks. Emily laughed. Merde, was he blushing? He hadn’t in years, not since that last time in Reno when a buxom, drunk brunette with the gleam in her eyes had grabbed his crotch in the casino lobby and commented…
Emily leaned forward with interest. “She said it was as big as a stallion’s?”
Raphael felt his face heat further, and Emily burst into laughter. He laughed, too, glad to see the sparkle return to her eyes, and see her dig into the steak.
He’d barely cut into his steak when the darkness caught his attention.
It began as a gray smoke, filtering through the air and cutting the chatter of the diners as if slicing through their vocal chords. Only he could see it. Only he watched it thicken and turn to onyx.
Only he knew what it was, and suddenly he was no longer hungry. Raphael set down his fork, a lump gathering in his throat. He hated this, but it was part of the gift of being Kallan.
Part of his own lonely curse.
Emily stopped eating and watched him. “Raphael, what’s wrong? Your eyes—you look so unbearably sad.”
The gentleness of her soft voice chased away a little of the chill settling deep into his bones. He took a deep breath, wishing he could evade her answer.
She deserved the truth about what he was, who he was and what he could see.
“Someone’s going to die,” he said quietly. “I sense it. Here. Now.”
He’d barely spoken when it happened.
The blue-haired woman who had berated Emily began gasping, then fell out of her seat onto the floor. Emily stared as other diners bolted out of their seats and raced to the woman’s side. Dread churned in Raphael’s stomach. He was forbidden to use his blood to aid both Draicon and human. The elderly woman faced the inevitable. Her heart had given up, and it was simply her time to go.
The darkness rose inside him, smothering him with weary knowledge. He felt death grasp the woman.
He could do nothing.
Emily looked up at him with a pleading look. His chest tightened as she whispered into his mind. Help her, please, Raphael.
“I can’t,” he told her thickly.
Emily slid out of the booth and pushed through the crowd to the woman. She knelt gracefully at the woman’s side. Raphael snapped at the milling crowd to get back. They obeyed the steely command in his voice. Alarm filled him as his draicara picked up the victim’s pale hand in her gloved one.
Emily wanted to save a life that could not be saved.
He had to shield her from view. The bolt of energy directed at an empty table started a small fire under his control, but it caused enough of a distraction to take away people’s attention from what Emily was doing.
What she was doing made him stagger back in shock.
Her focus unabated, she tugged off her gloves, grabbed the woman’s steak knife and cut her hand. Emily held her bleeding palm over the woman’s parted, blue lips and dripped four drops of blood into her mouth.
As the cut on Emily’s hand healed, the woman began to cough and then gulped in several breaths. Emily pulled back on her glove, avoiding his gaze. She gently murmured comforting words to the woman.
Raphael lowered the blaze to a flame easily put out by the manager, who came bearing a small extinguisher. He helped the woman sit as his intense gaze pierced Emily’s.
“Thank you, young lady,” she said, looking up at Emily. “I don’t know what to say. When I saw you earlier, I thought you were one of those criminal bikers who terrorize people, and here you are, saving me,” the woman said, sounding contrite and confused.
“If someone dresses a little different, it doesn’t mean we’re bad. It was just a little scare, ma’am, and you can thank my girlfriend for knowing CPR,” he murmured, using a deep, hypnotic tone to convince the woman that was exactly what Emily had done to her. “You’d better think about getting yourself checked over.”
The woman started to thank him as well. She hiccupped. Her careworn face flashed surprise. “Oh, my. I feel…odd. Rather like I’m inebriated.”
Emily hiccupped as well and looked abashed.
Oh, hell, he’d better make a hasty exit. Raphael stood, taking Emily firmly by the elbow. He threw several large bills on their table, more than enough for the bill and the tip, and escorted her downstairs and outside.
Not until they’d reached his bike did he stop. His draicara kept hiccupping, until he told her to hold her breath. When she did and finally stopped hiccupping, he gripped her shoulders lightly.
“Emily, how did you restore life to that woman?” he questioned in a low voice.
Color tinted her cheeks. She hastily avoided his gaze. Raphael reached over, cupped her chin, forcing it up. “Emily, answer me.”
“I can’t stand seeing anything suffer, an animal, or a person or even a cranky old woman,” she said in a low voice. “I had to save her. Because she wasn’t dead yet. And I knew I could.”
He grasped both of her wrists gently, turned them over so her hands were palms up. “Your blood gives life.”
“Four drops of my blood.” Her full lower lip wobbled tremulously. “I was granted the gift of life with my first change into wolf. I can restore life with four drops of my blood, representing the four seasons. But when I turned twenty-one, Aibelle cursed me with the death touch. It was during a dream, when the goddess came to me and said the power of life and death rested within me. My hands now kill as well.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He heard her audible swallow. “I was afraid you’d be like my people, and judge me as being proud, seeing this as another reason I shouldn’t live.”
“Hey,” he said softly. “I am not like them. I always investigate the facts. Did the goddess say why you were given the death touch?”
She wrinkled her brow as her gaze grew distant. “I couldn’t remember. But my aunt Bridget said I was cursed because of my pride and haughtiness.” Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. “It was after my first change into wolf that the pack started to avoid me, because I was different.”
It made no sense. Emily was no more proud and haughty than he was a sheep.
He longed to clasp her hands to comfort her, but instead he softened his expression. “Why did Bridget say you were vain?”
She studied her gloved hands. “I don’t know. I never abused the gift given to me. I tried doing the right thing, helping instead of hurting. I don’t know what I did wrong. I’ve tried translating the ancient texts to see if she was right, and I can’t.”
She bit her quivering lip. Raphael’s hackles rose. All his suspicions flooded to the surface. “So all you have to go on is the opinion of your aunt.”
“She wouldn’t lie to me. She was like my mother.”
Mothers could turn on their young. His thoughts raced around like a dog chasing its tail. What if the pack wanted to get rid of Emily, and this provided a perfect excuse? Get him to do the deed, and they would be rid of a perceived threat.
With such a tremendous gift to restore life, the pack might not value her ability but fear it. Packs sometimes turned on one of their own who didn’t conform, and a Draicon who displayed powers beyond their own could prove dangerous. Upset the balance.
He flashed back to when his own father told him to go live on his own. He was family, and would always be welcome, but he could no longer permanently live among them. It would prove too dangerous.
What if the Burkes tried the same with Emily, only they wanted her executed?
“Emily, did you ever use your gift of life to bring back one of our race?” he asked slowly.
Guilt shadowed h
er face. “Once. It was shortly after I turned fifteen. Usually the pack didn’t let me go on a hunt because I had a tendency to be softhearted, but I pleaded, and Father insisted, so Urien allowed me. He told me to stay at the rear. We brought down a deer. Michael, my grandfather, he was elderly and not as quick. The buck gouged him in the belly. He was weak and lacked the energy to heal. Tradition forbids us from using modern medical intervention. If one of us gets injured and doesn’t heal, we are supposed to let death claim us, as would be done in the wild. We thought we’d lose him, but I stole into his room and gave him my blood.”
At his stare, she looked defensive. “He was in so much pain. I couldn’t bear it, and Urien forbid us from giving him something that wasn’t of the earth to ease his suffering. I only wanted to help. He kept screaming and moaning.”
“He lived?”
“For a while. But after, Father told me Grandfather died a few days later.” She raised her troubled gaze to his. “I always wondered, I think—Urien may have killed him because he wasn’t supposed to live.”
Alarm filled him. Emily battled her own wolf nature to hunt and kill. Now he knew why she felt reluctant to shift.
He also knew why her pack would view her as a threat. She was a rule breaker after all, and she constituted a dangerous threat to a pack firmly embedded in tradition.
Worry shadowed her face. Raphael tossed her the helmet. “Put this on. We need to get back. Now. There’s something you must show me.”
“It sounds important.”
“It is,” he said grimly. “It very well could be the reason why your pack thinks you should die.”
Chapter 8
T hey stood before the maple tree Raphael had turned crimson. Emily held the kitchen knife in one gloveless hand. Her fingers were delicate and long, he noticed absently. Raphael rubbed his chin.
“Em, do it.”
With a tiny sigh, she sliced her palm, approached the maple and dripped four drops of blood on the bark. As the laceration healed, they watched the leaves turn green.
He marveled at her ability, even while it raised a flood of questions. Questions he’d ask later. If Emily were cursed, why did she have such a rare gift? “That’s how you grow the garden. Your blood brings life to all things dying.”
“And you will end it,” she said softly.
“Not if I can help it,” he said grimly. He ran a hand over the tree’s trunk. “Death is a part of life, and Urien may resent this, and you. He could perceive it as a threat.”
Her lovely mouth twisted with sudden pain as she jammed her glove back on. “Do you think my people hate me because of it?”
Raphael hedged, not wanting to upset her, but knowing she deserved the truth. “I suspect so. The gift you have could be seen as an abomination by your pack.”
“All I know is it made me stand out from them. I didn’t want it. I remember how it used to be growing up. And then I had my first change into wolf, received the gift of blood healing and everything was different.” Emily stared into the distance. “I started to want to heal injured animals, instead of pounce on them as meals.”
Raphael’s jaw tensed. “Most packs don’t embrace different. They’d see it as an intrusion, a potential threat. Which is why I need to see the ancient prophecies to confirm what Urien and Bridget tell me. I need to make sure they’re not contriving all this to get rid of you.”
Confusion swirled in her green eyes. He attempted to explain. “Your pack is traditional. The gift you possess is unusual. And, as Draicon, our wolf selves hunt and kill prey. We don’t heal animals. Tell me why you haven’t shifted in a year? Is it because you don’t want to kill?”
Emily bowed her head and he felt her inner sorrow. “Do you know what it’s like to be outcast, be different after everyone has loved you for so long? I remember the picnics we used to take, the explorations into the forest to gather herbs. Urien used to read our pack’s history to me each night, and Bridget would teach me how to cook with herbs. Then I became an oddity. I just wanted to belong and be like the rest of my pack. I thought if I never shifted, they would see I don’t want to kill, either as wolf or with my touch. Urien, the others, they said my touch always kills and I’m the very nature of a beast, without thought, only base instinct. So I thought if I never changed…”
Her voice drifted off. Compassion surged through him. He wanted to draw her into his arms, comfort and protect her. As he took a step forward, she backed away.
Raphael withdrew. “You thought if you didn’t shapeshift, it would prove you didn’t want to kill.”
At her nod, he rubbed his chin and sighed. “Chere, it proves nothing. Your pack still shuns you and all you’ve done is fight your own longings. It’s your, our nature, to be wolf. You cannot fight it.”
She lifted her gaze and he saw the fight in her eyes, the stubborn strength he relished. “I can.”
He held out his hand. “Then come with me and just run with the night. Let me teach you what it’s like to be wolf once more. Shift with me.”
Holding her hands before her, she studied the thick gloves.
Hoping to coax her, he slowly shucked off his clothing. Emily’s gaze widened with frank female appreciation as she studied his naked body. Raphael smiled, feeling the connection between them.
But her expression shifted into anxiety, so he swallowed a sigh.
“Come, Emily. I won’t lead you to harm. I’ll watch over you. Run with me.”
She hung back. “No. I don’t feel like it.” Emily turned away. “I’d rather be alone. Please. Just go away. You can’t understand, not you, not what you are. Who you are. I just can’t do this.”
Frustration filled him. She still distrusted, thought he could not help her. How the hell could he get her to open to him?
The door slammed as Emily returned to the cottage, the sound echoing through the still woods. Raphael growled. As Kallan, he was required to be level, calm and emotionless.
He’d never felt any of those since meeting Emily. She vexed and frustrated him. Drew him closer and then darted away like a hummingbird. Stirred him to sexual longings he’d never before experienced.
Running as wolf would release some of his pent-up frustration.
He eyed her cabin as she turned on the lights. Raphael paced around the exterior, lifting his hands and softly chanting. Iridescent sparks filled the air as the magick shield draped over the perimeter.
Assured she was safe now from Morphs, he needed to replenish his energy. Hunting would suffice. He began to pace, and then to run, shifting even as he loped forward, his body bulging and changing, fur replacing skin, fangs erupting in his mouth. Wolf replaced man, eager for the hunt, to sniff out fresh prey and howl with pleasure at freedom.
Raphael ran to the property’s edge and hesitated. He glanced backward at the lights shining from the farmhouse. The air was so still he could hear the insects dancing in the breeze.
He needed no boundaries.
He wondered why Morphs had invaded their property, broken through their shield. The Burkes were the purest blood, and had the strongest magick, so he was told. The shields should have held.
Forging ahead, he crossed the road to investigate the nearby forest.
The woods here were thick with oak and maple trees, and he scented rabbit, squirrel and raccoon. Yet these woods held a slight menace, laced with a darker scent, and the air was thicker.
Following the trail of a rabbit, he paced deeper into the woods. They were like the dark woods in fairy tales he’d read. He rounded a corner, half expecting the witch’s cottage from Hansel and Gretel to appear.
But in the tiny clearing wasn’t a witch. It was something worse.
A pack of about twenty wolves stood silently, watching him. Salvia dripped from their fangs as they snarled at him. As they blinked at him, yellow eyes turned soulless black. He instantly picked up their scent. Rotting garbage, decay.
Death. Morphs.
His hackles rose as he tensed and prepared to
fight. Thoughts raced through his mind like light images. With this much of the enemy so close to their lands, why hadn’t Urien sent the males to dispatch the enemy? Had their pack become so weakened and listless that they lacked the spine to protect the females?
Raphael knew he had to take them down now, before more breached the Burke lands and threatened Emily.
Slowly, he advanced toward the Morphs, assessing their strengths and weaknesses. There were only two. The others were clones, their scents weakened, unlike the originals. In human form, they had learned to disguise their scents, but not in wolf form.
They rushed him all at once. He thrilled at the challenge, his blood quickening as he took them on. Fangs and heavy muscles went to play as he fought, killed. He took them down and watched them die.
Almost all of them.
Raphael backed away, shaking his muzzle. Something was wrong, yet all his senses showed nothing. The enemy was dead.
He trotted out of the woods, glad the danger to Emily had been reduced, dismayed at the hunger still gnawing at him. As he picked up the scent of another rabbit, Raphael felt a sharp pinch in his hindquarters. He turned, nipping at the offender. Nothing but a bramble pricking him.
The rabbit bounded into view and he forgot all else. Hunger and instinct drove him as he gave chase. Yet he felt a curious draining feeling, and his normally rapid speed slowed.
The rabbit disappeared into the undergrowth.
Something was very wrong. Raphael stopped, alarmed at the intense itching in his hindquarters. He shifted back and stood. Damn it.
Not all the Morphs had died.
Even as he found it, on the back of his left thigh, it grew from the size of a quarter to a half dollar.
The tick/Morph began to grow as it bulged with his own blood. Draining him. Raphael cursed. If he didn’t get the whole thing, it could regenerate and keep feeding.
Alarm filled him as the tick expanded to the size of a baseball. Feasting on him, his immortal blood. The dizziness began. He staggered and leaned against an oak tree for support.
Grimly he set his jaw and concentrated, directing pure energy at his right hand and then at the intruder.