“It’s enough to kill Jeremiah.” Heath folded his arms. “He only has one element.”
Cael said nothing, only watched Mary with a tortured expression. Alexandre laughed sardonically, nodding his head. “So you plan to kill the respected man who’s been trusted to relay information about us to the Elders,” he said sarcastically, pumping his fist in the air. “Great idea, men.”
“It is a great idea,” Sebastian said, his smile genuine. “When my old pack comes to rescue Sophia,” the mention of his sister wiped the grin from his face, “they’ll realize Jeremiah’s been helping the botos hurt women, one of our women. They’ll probably kill him, but if Raphael has to, there will be enough witnesses for Jeremiah’s crimes that even the Elders won’t fault Raphael.”
Raphael lifted Mary, cradling her against his chest. She was his, and he would take care of her. That meant death wasn’t an option.
When Jeremiah was dead, along with the botos, Raphael would tell her everything. He would never hide anything from her again. Mary was his mate; he wasn’t sure an immortal lifetime would be enough time with her, but it was a start.
Raphael looked around the room, meeting each of his friends’ eyes. “I was put here so soon after I was bitten,” he said slowly, awkwardly, “I never had elemental powers before. “Will you show me how me how to use them?”
Each of his packmates nodded, their determination mirroring Raphael’s. In that moment Raphael knew not only he, but also every one of them, would become much more than just exiles. There was hope for them all, and for the first time in his life Raphael couldn’t wait to see what was in store.
* * * *
Raphael tucked Mary into bed, pushing the heavy quilt so it covered just her legs. She always shoved it down during sleep, and he wanted her to stay comfortable. Her bandaged side was visible through the thin sheets; he ground his teeth, hoping the wound wouldn’t cause her any further pain. He didn’t expect her to wake for hours. The sun had just risen, and she wasn’t accustomed to rising this early.
He left her a note telling her he’d be at a bar on Bourbon Street if she wished to meet him. Hating to leave her behind, he hoped he’d see her soon. Raphael didn’t want to spend time apart from her. Rather, he wanted to lift her in the air and tell her they were mated, that they were connected by a bond so unbreakable their very lives were entwined.
Most of all, he was dying to tell her they might not have to be separated after all.
But he wouldn’t just yet. There was so much he couldn’t explain to her, and he abhorred it. His instincts rejected the idea of keeping his beautiful mate in the dark about anything, especially something so important, but there was no reason to tell her he was marked to be executed. Last night, Mary walked into a room full of feral werewolves for him. Raphael knew she’d fight Jeremiah for him, too, and he simply couldn’t allow it.
Jeremiah would behead Mary without batting an eye, as he’d recently proven through his involvement with the botos. If he said anything to her about his probable sentence, she would surely be killed.
The mere thought cemented Jeremiah’s own impending execution. Raphael brushed the pessimistic notion off, deciding he needed to focus on his elemental abilities. They were all that would stand in the way of death for Mary, Heath and himself, and he had a short amount time to learn before the full moon waned and all hell broke loose.
Heath drove Raphael and Cael to Pat O’Brien’s, where Sebastian and Alexandre met them. Raphael had never been inside the bar, but after glimpsing the plastic leprechauns looming by front entrance, the large, empty courtyard was a surprise, as well as its fountains ringed in fire. Alexandre, who was wearing a plastic green hat, brought him a tall red drink. “You’re going to need it, buddy,” he said, handing it over.
“Why aren’t there people here?” Raphael asked, ignoring the drink.
Sebastian, who’d just shaken hands with a retreating older man, said, “See those men in green? They’re not only here to bring us drinks. They’re keeping people out for the next few hours.”
Cael threw his glass into the fire, shrugging at Alex’s scandalized gasp.
“I would have drunk that!” Alex exclaimed, scowling.
Cael pointed to the flames, then looked at Raphael. “Can you affect it?”
Raphael willed the flames to spread toward Alex. They did, too quickly. Yelping, Alex had to jump back, spilling his own drink.
Cael only nodded, glancing at Sebastian, who shook his head. “We’re going to have to work on that,” he said. A hungry expression spread across his face. “Just so we’re clear, finding a mate releases our powers?”
Heath held up a hand. Curling black designs crept up his fingers, surrounding an eerily inked eye. He tossed a shot of something electric green into his mouth and shook his head violently, his lips twisting in a grimace. “You get them back because they change with the mating,” he said with a cough. “Both mates are more powerful because their powers are somewhat combined. It’s helpful, considering if one dies, the other will too.”
At that Raphael growled. He didn’t mind his life being tied to hers, but the notion that anything could extinguish the bright ray of hope that was Mary didn’t sit well with him.
Appearing satisfied with Raphael’s answer, Sebastian gestured toward the rest of the courtyard. “I know you can control air—thanks for that, buddy—but what about water and earth?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
Alex groaned, then stuffed his hands in a bed of planted flowers. “I miss my earth powers,” he said wistfully, running the soil through his fingers. “They were just so damn cool.”
Immediately, everyone except Raphael and Cael started talking at once, each defending their elemental power.
“You must be high,” Sebastian retorted, eyeing the fountain. “Fire is the most powerful element; everyone knows that.”
Heath snorted. “Water beats fire.” He mimicked dropping a microphone.
Alexandre argued with them, still lovingly holding the soil in his palm.
Raphael felt a stab of guilt. His packmates missed their powers. He hadn’t realized how proud of them they’d been, or how much they meant to his friends’ identities. He couldn’t mourn for abilities he’d never had to begin with, and only now did he understand what a gift that was. He’d never had something that integral taken away from him.
He hated flaunting his gifts, but if he failed to kill Jeremiah, both Mary and Heath would die. He would use his powers and his clan’s knowledge to protect Mary and the pack, hoping the other men would find their mates as well. Raphael would do everything in his power to help them, as they stood by him and Mary.
He didn’t want them to find mates only so they could gain back their powers. To Raphael, the abilities were a means to an end, a way to keep his woman. His friends were good men—they deserved to find their own happiness, joy that made even the strongest elemental powers seem minute in comparison.
The men were still arguing while Cael watched silently. His friend met his eyes and nodded toward Alexandre and his ball of soil. Raphael imagined it rising from his hand, hovering eye-level with Alex. A solid, hovering mass, it rose up to Alex’s chin before falling into pieces onto the concrete deck.
“That’s not what you do with earth,” Alex said, exasperated. He wiped his hands on his jeans and gestured for another drink, snapping his fingers impatiently. The waiter rolled his eyes, but turned to head for the bar. “With earth you can grow things, cause earthquakes. You just used air again. Grow me a flower,” he challenged.
Raphael looked at the soil, concentrating on a flower taking root, growing up above the soil and into the light, and was rewarded with…a miniature cactus. Alexandre roared with laughter, and even Cael cracked a smile.
“Good luck trying to impress Mary with that,” Alexandre gasped, still laughing. Raphael scowled, jerking water from the fountain and into the air. It hovered above Alexandre while his laughter died down. Suddenly Cael was on his knees, la
ughing, his eyes fixed on the water above Alexandre’s head.
Alex looked up and cursed. Raphael released his hold on the water, letting it all fall on Alexandre. Blond hair plastered to his head and neck, he spluttered, dumping out his now watered-down drink. “Screw you, guys.” He smiled despite his words.
While Alexandre shook the water from his hair, Heath said pensively, “So you’ve got all four of the elements. I never would have guessed.”
Sebastian nodded in agreement, stepping a few feet away from Alex, who was wringing out his shirt and flinging water everywhere. “I would’ve pegged you for an air type, not an Omni,” Sebastian said.
“Someone who controls more than three elements,” Heath supplied. He was more aware than anyone else of just how little exposure Raphael had to typical werewolves.
For the next few hours Raphael was inundated with information on all four elements. Cael warned him not to try and pick up anything heavier than a car for a few years, making Raphael wonder what exactly Cael had been throwing around before his exile. Cael had been the last to join the group, but he’d been in New Orleans long enough that he never had the chance to toss a car.
Sebastian told him fire couldn’t be contained—Raphael could make it grow, but not lessen, and he could suggest its movements, but never completely control it. He had the opposite effect on water. He could change its form to solid or vapor and back, and keep it precisely as he wanted it. The problem was, Raphael couldn’t throw it with force like Jeremiah. The icicles he threw at the brick wall barely cracked on impact, falling to the ground in defeat.
“Your adrenaline plays a part in it.” Heath considered the large, heavy glass in his hand. Without warning, he threw it at Raphael’s head. Raphael raised water from the fountain, forming an ice shield that shattered the glass inches before it reached his temple and cracked his skull.
Heath shrugged. “You’re okay with defense,” he said. “Air is still your greatest strength; you need to work on your water control.”
“He can’t grow for shit.” Alexandre grinned. “I thought you were from Serbia, Raphe. I didn’t realize you have cacti there.”
Raphael didn’t bother to correct the inebriated werewolf.
“He made a Venus flytrap-like thing once,” Heath said helpfully.
“It was a Nepenthes,” Alexandre corrected.
Raphael brought up about a bucket’s worth of water, raising an eyebrow. He couldn’t use it as a weapon yet, but he fully intended to douse Alexandre again. Mary’s voice drifted toward him, claiming all of his attention; he evaporated the water.
“Let me in!” she exclaimed from the front entrance. She was irritated; this clearly wasn’t the first time she’d asked.
“It’s a private, er, party inside,” one of the bouncers said. “Come back when we open tonight.”
“My boyfriend’s in there, and I want to see him!” she shouted.
Walking toward them, Raphael saw the man shake his head no. “Let her in,” he said from behind him. His tone left no room for argument. He wouldn’t keep Mary waiting any longer.
The men parted to let her pass, and Mary practically ran into his arms. A crease was still present on her cheek from sleep. She’d come straight to him, Raphael recognized proudly. After last night, she still wanted to see him. He released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.
Her familiar scent wrapped around him, grounding him. “Good morning, ülikena,” he said against her soft hair.
“Hey,” she whispered. She smiled up at him, wrenching his heart into her grasp. Mary looked over his shoulder, a puzzled furrow appearing on her brow. “Were you really throwing a party here?”
He was sure she was analyzing the broken glass littering the ground, the overturned tables and chairs, and the soil sprinkled everywhere from the fountain to the souvenir bar. Not to mention the table covered in the empty glasses from Alexandre and Sebastian’s drinks.
It wasn’t yet ten in the morning.
Raphael shook his head, aware of how strange the entire scenario looked. Ever-helpful, Alexandre saluted Mary with a hurricane—which Raphael had learned was the red drink—his plastic green hat sitting crooked on his head.
“There are things,” many things, “I need to speak with you about,” Raphael told her. He didn’t release his grip around her, brushed a kiss along her hairline. “But not yet. Trust me?”
Mary’s green gaze searched his face for a long moment. Raphael saw no indecision, only curiosity and hope. “When you can, you’ll tell me everything?” She punctuated her question with a light squeeze to his shoulder.
“Of course,” he answered. He wanted so badly to have that conversation with her, to tell her who she was to him, ask her if she would stay with him always. He wanted to see more of her favorite places, see what she would create from the supplies he’d brought her. He wanted to live, but he knew he would have to fight for it.
Hand in hand, they walked over to where the rest of the clan sat. All of his friends smiled at her, and Sebastian offered her a drink. As Mary settled between him and Cael, laughing at something Alexandre said, Raphael couldn’t help but think this was where she belonged—with him, with a clan prohibitum Raphael would make sure finally found justice.
* * * *
Wish wanted to send Mary flowers.
He flipped through the legal pad she’d written in, full of scribbled notes and absent-minded drawings intended to help him care for Molly. The pages would soon become frayed, he read through them so often.
Stopping on a page where Mary had drawn flames covering ornate curtains, he smiled at the pieces of burning fabric floating off into the air around an innocent-looking Molly. DO NOT ALLOW HER NEAR OPEN FLAMES was scrawled at the top of the page, along with a thought bubble coming from his daughter that read, PYROMANIAC IN TRAINING.
Along with Mary’s warnings, she’d also gifted him lists of the foods categorized by what she loves, what she’ll tolerate, and don’t even bother. He tried to feed Molly something from the latter list once and quickly decided questioning Mary was unwise.
Her notes had become his guide to his currently napping daughter, who fully expected him to know her quirks and nuances. It was worth its weight in gold, as was the woman who’d written it. Molly asked for Mary every day, and for the last couple of days Wish had hated disappointing her, telling her Mary would be away for a few more days. He hoped it wouldn’t be longer than that.
Molly asked for Natasha less often, surprising Wish. In fact, she’d only asked after her dead mother once, when a Barbie’s head fell from its body. The sight had made Wish’s blood boil, but he only told her that her mother was safe and living too far away for her to visit.
Natasha had been meticulous about everything in her life. For instance, she’d only seen Wish during certain hours of the night. She’d always placed her jewel-encrusted hairpins in that particular crisscrossing pattern she liked. Once she was pregnant, she had put herself on a meticulous diet suggested by her dietician, one specifically designed for an expecting woman living a high-stress lifestyle.
She’d never considered that Richard might be the father and had involved Wish in every way she could until his death.
Why hadn’t she been involved in Molly’s life? The only answer he could think of was maybe Natasha had been protecting the child, bringing her to Richard’s attention as little as possible.
He thought of the way Molly lived with abandon, dancing to the classical music he played for her with childlike joy. It worked, Natasha.
His phone rang loudly from across the room, scattering his thoughts. He wanted to kick himself for leaving the device on; he prayed the sound hadn’t woken Molly. Wish stalked across the open space that was his kitchen and living room and answered on the third ring.
“Do you need me to come in today?” Thérèse barked at him. She’d visited Molly the day before, quickly deeming his bungalow on Tchoupitoulas Street unfit for a child. Given a child had never before l
ived in the home, she was probably correct.
Apparently Molly liked to explore, which meant any cabinet that contained anything remotely dangerous for a four-year-old needed to be impossible for her to open.
Wish and his home were works in progress.
Wish suspected Thérèse would come whether he asked her to or not, and she’d also bring bubble wrap with her. “I think we’re all right—”
“That’s it, I’m coming over.” Thérèse hung up. Etiquette was not the woman’s forte.
His phone beeped, making him cringe and curse the technology. This time Mary texted him. Is Leila all right? She quickly added, She told me she was fine, but I want to make sure.
Wish responded that Leila was too immersed in studying for finals to be upset about much, which was true. He only hoped Molly would one day try as hard in school as Leila did.
Thanks! Mary answered. Give Molly a hug for me.
Wish told her to be safe, and set his phone aside.
After he graded six short essays for his Southern Fiction After 1850 class, which he’d successfully convinced Leila to sign up for next semester, she pushed through his door, bags full of books heavier than she was draping her arms. She was alone, a seldom occurrence considering Cael was currently living with them for added protection, and Alexandre followed her just about everywhere she went.
Wish helped her with her bags, slipping them from her elbows and shoulder and placing them on the counter. He didn’t move from his spot behind his stack of papers.
He steepled his fingers, considering how to ask her the question that had been bothering him since the moment he’d met her. There really was no tactful way to put it, he decided, but he had to know. More importantly, he needed to convince her to talk to Mary.
“Leila, how long have you been dead?” he asked, his voice consciously devoid of judgment.
She froze, her eyes widening. She raised her hands as if to refute his statement, but Wish moved to hover in front of her before she did. Leila took a breath, looked him in the eye, and signed, I’ve been dead for over three years.
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