Punished

by Samantha Stone

  Before he could tell Mary, Cael squatted beside them. He didn’t reach out to touch Mary’s neck, but Raphael could tell he wanted to. He nodded in approval; he didn’t want anyone else touching her, not until she regained all of her strength.

  “You won’t have to fight for Raphael anymore.” Cael crossed his legs like a child, as if he sat that way every day. He turned to Raphael. “Did you hear a word of the Elders’ decisions?”

  Raphael shot him a dry look and shook his head.

  Cael barked out a laugh. “They want to make you the new lupus dux for our clan.”

  “No.” In their eyes he was a criminal, not the leader the lupus dux was meant to be.

  “Cael’s not lying.” Nathaniel loomed over him, extending Raphael a hand. “Go on,” he pressed. “Mary can stand.”

  His warning coming back to Raphael, he obeyed, helping Mary to stand beside him. She squeezed his hand, wordlessly reassuring him.

  “You knew she wouldn’t die.”

  “Oh, she really died,” the Elder said ruefully, cutting a glance at Mary’s throat. “But once a powerful banshee dies as a mortal, he or she will be brought back immortal.”

  Nathaniel smiled. “You’re a lot harder to kill now, Mary.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, looking down at herself. Raphael understood her confusion. There had been no transformation; Mary looked no different than she did before Jeremiah killed her, except for the blood that marred her creamy skin.

  “You can only die by beheading,” Nathaniel said bluntly.

  Mary sucked in a breath, instinctively wrapping her hands around her neck. Raphael snarled at the Elder. “She’s had enough for this day,” he growled so low, only the other man and Cael could hear him.

  Nathaniel only chuckled good-naturedly, as if Raphael wasn’t alarmingly close to punching him so hard he’d forget the night and morning’s events. At the moment, Raphael cared nothing for his position; it was his respect for the man’s age that protected him.

  “Wish said the same thing,” Cael chimed in, holding up his phone. “He said he’d explain it all to you, Mary.”

  She nodded gratefully, but her tug at Raphael’s hand and the heat in her gaze when she looked at him said she wanted the same thing: to go somewhere they could be blessedly alone.

  They’d just found reprieve from death. Raphael wanted to whisk her off to their loft where, after some much-needed lovemaking, they could begin building a life together. He could feel how impatient Mary was to talk to him, to touch him with no outside eyes and ears nearby.

  “I think it’s a great idea to make Raphael the lupus dux,” Mary said cheerfully, pride lacing her voice.

  Again, Raphael rejected the notion. He shook his head; just to consider him for the position was ludicrous.

  “You’re free now,” Nathaniel said, not unkindly. “You and your mate have earned your freedom—you’re no longer bound to New Orleans. If you wish, you can go back to Estonia and join a pack there. I see how loyal you are to these men, but I’ve also witnessed the strength of your morals. If you choose to be their lupus dux, you won’t set them free until they’re safe to live in packs again, to interact with our youngest and weakest without risk.”

  Raphael listened to Nathaniel, but the mention of his homeland had him swinging Mary behind him so quickly she couldn’t protest. He scanned the crowd and after a moment, found who he was looking for on the other side of the pool, by the garden along the high wall. “Keep her here,” he said to Cael and Nathaniel.

  “Where are you going?” Mary called out behind him.

  He didn’t answer, feeling the elements collecting around him. Ice and heat caressed his skin at the same time as wind blew through him, strengthening him, the earth cracking the stone slabs beneath his feet.

  “Lighter,” he told Heath in a low voice as he passed his former packmate.

  Hans Ivar stood away from the rest of the group, so still he had surely gone unnoticed. He’d aged little since Raphael had seen him last; he still appeared to be in his fifties, with no gray frosting his short blond hair.

  As Raphael expected, Ivar held a loaded gun at his side. Even in the medieval ages, the man had had a knack for obtaining the latest weapons. This gun was no different: a silencer screwed onto the tip, he fully expected the machine could blow him to pieces.

  The second Ivar realized Raphael was watching him, stalking him like a predator, he shot his gun, stark fear in his blue eyes.

  No one would have heard had Ivar not hit a fountain, sending marble and water splashing.

  Raphael could feel both his packmates and Sophia’s coming up behind him, ready to fight. He held up a hand. “He’s mine,” he said. He wanted to be the one to stop this man, this monster that had ruined lives and fractured families.

  Today, he would end Ivar and pray those he’d hurt so many years ago would rest in peace. Raphael would never forget what he’d done to become a criminal, but he would no longer allow it to color his life.

  With the death of Hans Ivar, Raphael would finally start anew.

  He focused on the ground under Ivar; vines rose from the small patch of grass he was standing in, ripping the gun from his hands and rooting him to stand where he was. “You know what you did to those people,” Raphael said to the were he’d once considered his father.

  Using the flame from Heath’s Zippo, Raphael spread the fire into a sphere that would encompass Ivar. He gently guided it in the older man’s direction, but as if it had a sentient mind of its own, the flame engulfed him in seconds.

  Agonized screams tore through the morning air, the spreading flames only adding to the quickly rising temperature. Raphael turned and walked away, ignoring the questions thrown at him until he reached Mary, who looked from him to the flames with wide eyes.

  Raphael let the vines pull the man into the pool, putting out the fire before it rose above the confines of the wall. Ice grew in spider webs across the blue surface, locking Ivar underneath.

  “You’re going to explain that, right?” Mary asked, gesturing to the iced-over pool. “I’m sure you had a good reason, but you just barbequed someone. Maybe drowned him, too.”

  He told her everything, aware that everyone else heard his words. He told her how Ivar’s church had raised him, expecting him to follow their demands. He told them exactly which orders he’d followed and those he hadn’t, as well as the names of the men he’d executed.

  Raphael told her his greatest mistakes, baring his charred soul for her to see.

  When he was finished, Mary pulled him into a tight embrace, tears falling down her face. “You don’t deserve what you’ve put yourself through,” she said into his ear. “You were raised to be brainwashed, and even then you fought back. He was the monster to blame.” She pointed to the indistinguishable dark mass under the ice.

  “Are you sure about him?” a female Elder whispered to Nathaniel, watching Raphael as if he were a viper poised to strike. “He can’t burn one of our oldest alphas.”

  “Oh, yes I am,” Nathaniel answered, seeming pleased, “and I believe he just did.” He turned to Raphael. “Now you can be the alpha of Hans’ pack in Tallinn, if you wish.”

  Raphael shook his head. “I want to be the lupus dux for my pack here.” This was his home, these were his people.

  Nathaniel nodded. “If you live here with them, that would make you their alpha too.”

  Raphael turned to face his packmates. “Would you all be happy with this?” he asked, genuinely unsure of whether they would want an alpha.

  In answer, all four of them stood in front of Raphael, inclining their heads so far they bared the backs of their necks, a were symbol for loyalty and trust.

  That quickly, Raphael had gained his freedom and become the alpha of his pack. He met Heath’s eyes. “I’m evaluating you first,” he said solemnly. “You’ve been here the longest, and I have a feeling it’s been too long.”

  Hope flared in his friend’s eyes. Heath smiled. “I
’ll be on my best behavior,” he said with only a hint of sarcasm.

  “Just find a mate,” Sebastian said on a cough. Alexandre burst into laughter.

  Nathaniel lifted an eyebrow, but he said nothing.

  “I hate to be that person, but can we go home?” Mary’s voice was weak; she had been leaning more and more heavily against Raphael as they stood.

  More than a few weres gratefully groaned their agreement.

  On the street in front of the mansion people were standing outside their homes, bewildered expressions on their faces. Despite the early hour, children ran or rode bicycles down the street. Many of the adults were still in pajamas, simply lifting their faces to the sun.

  At sight of them, Mary stumbled, her enormous smile never leaving her face. “You did that,” she said, her eyes on a baby fiercely guarded by an English bulldog, her parents holding each other a meter away.

  Raphael picked her up in his arms. “We did this,” he said, simply breathing her in. He flat-out refused to put her down, even when they reached the car.

  He never wanted to let her go.

  Sebastian stopped his G-Wagon in front of their loft. Still holding Mary, Raphael stepped out of the car and nodded goodbye to his packmates. When he opened the door to the studio, rays of morning sunshine spilled in, drenching him and Mary. It was a new day in a new life, and he would spend every second of it that he could with the woman in his arms.

  “Let me down.”

  Raphael complied, steadying Mary where she stood. She put her hands on his shoulders and jumped up, straddling his waist, pressing her legs to his back. He felt himself hardening as she adjusted her long legs. “Better.” She sighed, smiling. She kissed him soundly, clutching him with one hand and caressing the nape of his neck with the other. “You can take me upstairs now,” she said after another kiss.

  Laughing, Raphael obeyed.

  “Are you going to shower with me?” she asked, stripping off her ruined clothes and throwing them in the trash. Her eyes were sparkling, her breasts tipped in tight points. Ripping his clothes off as quickly as he could, he followed her under the spray of warm water, anchoring his hand on the curve of her hip.

  “You’re going to change all your friends’ lives, you know.” Mary looked up at him from lathering a rag with soap. She handed it to him, and he took over rubbing the blood and dirt from her fair skin.

  Raphael had a feeling she was right. “I only hope it’s for the better,” he said, running his free hand over the dimples right above her pert bottom.

  She took the rag away from him, pinning him with a look so full of fierce love it took his breath away. “In time, in the correct way, you’re going to set them all free.”

  With no words that could express how he felt about the woman he lived for, he bent his head to claim her mouth in a deep kiss, the forgotten rag slapping into the shower floor. Becoming a good leader would take time, as would finding his packmates their freedom. Because of Mary, he had the time, the patience, and the will to do it all. This brave, gentle, beautiful woman had given him everything.

  Raphael would make her proud.

  Epilogue

  Three months later

  Waves licked Mary’s shins, the sun beaming brightly enough for her to feel it on her bare shoulders. She stood on the second sandbar in Pass Christian, Mississippi, watching Raphael swim even farther out into the gulf. His movements were graceful and rapid as he cut through the water, reveling in his immortality.

  Something about the beach brought forth pure joy in Raphael, something Mary hadn’t anticipated. As soon as he laid eyes on the water, she knew they would be coming back, and often. Luckily, when she mentioned the stilted house her parents used to own and had lovingly painted lime green was on the market, Sebastian bought it.

  Mary had been shocked by the purchase; Leila cried.

  In the few months since the botos had been eliminated from New Orleans, Mary and Raphael moved into the loft above the studio where Mary now painted every day. Her current project was for Sebastian and Full Moon Brewery. Considering his generosity, she made sure her designs would knock his socks off.

  Raphael constructed an office in the corner of her studio for his lupus dux duties, his desk already piled high with rules and regulations the Elders had sent him. When she’d asked how many rules he’d broken by killing Hans Ivar, he shot her a wry look and said, “At least fifty.”

  Mary was confident he regretted nothing.

  Leila had wanted to live with Wish until after her finals were finished, allowing her to be closer to Tulane’s campus—although Mary suspected he helped her study considering her final grades, which were even more fantastic than usual. As soon as her tests had passed, Leila shocked Mary by asking if she could move into a house a few blocks away from Wish’s. Her roommates were all speech-language pathology majors who knew sign language, but the real reason Mary was thrilled for her sister was because they invited her out, including her in everything they did.

  Now Leila was lying on a towel ashore, her hair pulled up so she could get an even tan. Mary had long ago accepted that tanning wasn’t in their genetic makeup, but apparently Leila still had hope. Molly and Wish were building sandcastles while Thérèse followed them around with Molly’s floppy pink hat and sunblock.

  A particularly vicious wave almost pushed Mary over, but the warm air around her pulled her up, steadying her until the water calmed. Even one hundred yards away, Raphael was watching out for her. It was one of the things she loved most about him: before anything else, he was a protector. Not only for her, but also for Leila, his pack, Wish and Molly.

  The truth was, Raphael would help anyone he could. He was already implementing a program for his pack to play after school sports with at-risk high school students. They claimed to go along with it because it would make the Elders look upon them more favorably, possibly reducing their sentences, but Mary knew they enjoyed their time with the boys, many of whom had been pressured to join gangs.

  Heath and Alexandre had taken care of that particular issue, and had broken no rules in the process.

  Raphael swam in a line straight for her, his powerful biceps rising above the waves, making Mary weak in the knees. Every day she loved him more, needed him more. Never once, even when they fought, did she doubt what he was to her: her mate, which she was convinced was short for soulmate.

  She touched the amethyst on her left ring finger, feeling so full of happiness she could burst.

  A minute later, he rose from the water, pushing his long dark hair from his face. As always, he reached his hand out for her. She wove her fingers through his while he slipped the thumb of his other hand under the bikini string at her hip. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured before he kissed her.

  She knew the truth: he was the beautiful one, inside and out.

  A few long minutes later—hands still linked—they waded to the shore.

  “It’s about time!” Wish called. “The sun’s about to go down. Want to head across the street with us?”

  Across the road from the beach was a small independent bookstore and coffee shop Wish adored. If he had his way, he’d have been there all day, poring over books about Cajun French and the Native American tribes that used to inhabit the area.

  “We’ll head over after we watch the sunset,” Mary answered, receiving a sweet smile from Raphael.

  They took the towel Leila abandoned, Raphael pulling Mary’s back to his front. As the sun dipped lower and lower, coloring the horizon shades of pink and orange so brilliant she could only dream to capture them in paint, Mary realized why this sunset meant so much to her.

  When the sun rises, Raphael will still be right here with me.

  The End

  Publisher’s Note

  Please help this author’s career by posting an honest review wherever you purchased this book.

  About Samantha Stone

  Samantha Stone is a twenty-something graduate student studying speech-language p
athology in Alabama. She’s proficient in French and Signing Exact English, and considers New Orleans the home of her heart. Most days you can find her doing speech-related research, chasing her creatures around New Orleans (in her head), or curled up with a good book. She drinks hot chocolate year-round.