Читать книгу Enemy Lover - Bonnie Vanak - Страница 9

Damian needed answers. His boyhood friend and adopted brother, Raphael Robichaux, could help. He whipped his cell phone out of his pocket, went to punch in Rafe’s number. His finger hovered above the keypad. Dialing for help. Help that never came for his family.

Oh merde, let’s not go there. But it came back, all in a roaring flood. The phone dropped from his numb fingers to the couch.

Twelve years old, delirious with the power of his first change. Determined to hunt in the bayou. His father had ordered him to remain home. It wasn’t safe. Morphs were on the hunt.

Damian wasn’t afraid. Hell, he could defeat Godzilla himself. Annie begged him to stay. “I’m scared, Damian. Please don’t leave me!”

He’d told his little sister she’d be fine, tucked her into bed with her favorite stuffed animal. Then escaped to the bayou and run with the night. Powerful. Draicon. Hunter. No Morph can harm me. Superwolf, mon ami.

Shortly after, the screams echoed in his mind.

Morphs had stormed into the mansion. Shifting back, his fear and grief scrambling his powers so he couldn’t summon clothing by magick, he’d run naked back to his house. He’d hammered his fists on neighbors’ doors, but they’d ignored his shouts for help. Cutting his feet on stones, praying he’d make it, his bloodied feet slipping on the pavement, his breath a hot, stabbing agony. The scent of death had poured into his nostrils when he’d bolted through the opened door. His father, on the floor, his body wrapped protectively about Damian’s pregnant mother. His brothers, dead. Annie, where was Annie?

He found her hiding beneath her bed. Blood splattered the stuffed dog still clutched in her thin arms. Horror and pain glazed her opened eyes. She was four years old. He’d held her broken body in his arms, rocking her and singing her favorite lullaby until he finally gathered strength to bury his family in the dark of night.

Dragging himself back to the present, Damian fisted his hands. Never again would he break the rules or abandon those under his protection. When he did, someone paid dearly.

The past was past. He had an adopted family now here in Louisiana, and back in New Mexico his own pack to rule. Soon, he would have his mate, as well. The cell went into his palm again. A loud buzz sounded. He pocketed the phone and headed downstairs, opening the grate that enabled a view of the street.

A petite, dark-skinned woman stood outside. “I’m Mama Renee, Jamie’s friend who runs the voodoo shop down the street,” she said in a soft slur. “You’re Damian.”

Startled, he narrowed his eyes. “Are you psychic?"

“But of course. May I come in? I have something for Jamie.”

The woman looked nonthreatening. Still … remembering his encounter with the crayfish, he studied her calm features.

“Blink,” he ordered.

She did without question. Dark brown eyes, soft and compassionate.

“You don’t remember me, do you? But of course, you were only five or so. I remember you. Your father, Andre, he was so proud of you. He called you loup petit.”

Shock reverberated through Damian. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the woman’s scent. Nothing but a faint fragrance of cologne or perfume.

“My family didn’t associate with many … people.” He stared at her.

“They only trusted a few. Will you please let me in? I need to see Jamie.”

Damian let her inside. Suspicion arose as he closed and locked the gate, then leaned against it. “What do you want?"

“I brought her something to make her feel better.” The woman fished a small cloth bag from a pocket in her dress. Damian inhaled the scent of herbs and spices. A gris-gris.

Morphs detested the good luck talismans. Still …

“You see everyone as the enemy. What must I do to prove I am a friend?” she asked softly.

Waving his hand, a dagger appeared in his palm. Renee did not look startled, only respectful.

“Cut yourself. I want to see if you bleed red.”

His voice was rough with hostility. The woman took the dagger, cut her hand and winced. She gave him back the blade.

A coppery scent of blood filled his nostrils. He jerked his head toward the stairs.

“Follow me.”

Senses on full alert, Damian took the stairs two at a time. He fetched a first-aid kit from the bathroom and returned. Renee put gauze over her wound.

“You don’t trust me, which is good. You’re very protective of her. She is in big trouble, mais oui?” Renee said.

Damian said nothing. He withdrew to the kitchen, out of earshot. He dialed Raphael’s number. His adopted brother answered on the first ring. Speaking rapidly in French, Damian told him what happened since his arrival.

“Do you know a psychic named Mama Renee?” he asked.

“Runs a voodoo shop in town. Good people.

Why?”

“She’s here. I can’t leave Jamie alone, but we need to talk. In private so she can’t hear us,” he said quietly. He wandered back into the living room, leaned against the wall.

“If you need to leave, I will watch her for you,” Renee offered.

With Renee’s apple-round cheeks, kind smile and ordinary flowered dress, she looked innocuous. Human, but still, humans were dangerous.

“Want me to come over?” Raphael asked.

“Hold on a minute,” Damian told him.

She held his gaze. “I was there at your birth.”

“T’me dis pas,” he said dryly, not believing a damn word.

“I do say,” she countered. Then she glanced around. Before his shocked eyes, she shifted into a wolf.

“Mon Dieu,” he muttered, watching her return to her human form. “You are family, non?”

“There are more of us than you know,” she said softly. Renee’s eyes grew sad. “My husband and son … they embraced the darkness. Your parents, they kept me safe. I am forever grateful and regret what happened to you as a bébé. Please, allow me to make amends now.”

He listened intently as she explained, everything making sense now. Renee laid a hand on his arm. “It’s all right. I’ll watch over her.”

Damian turned to the phone. “I’ll meet you.

Where?”

Raphael rattled off a place. Damian hung up, pocketed the cell.

He glanced at Renee. “Don’t let anyone in. When Jamie wakes up, don’t let her leave the house.”

“Go meet with your friend. Be careful. Terrible darkness has taken over the city.” The woman looked deeply troubled.

Though he trusted few outside his pack and his adopted family, and was frugal with his emotions, Damian hugged her. Renee looked startled, and then hugged him back. She patted his arm in a motherly gesture.

At the Chartes Street Café, his brother sat at a copper-topped table just inside the doorway. His gleaming Harley waited on the street, a shining chrome and metal horse.

Damian slid into the opposite seat.

“Watch our backs,” his brother cautioned, nodding toward the bustling street. He scrutinized Damian’s casual clothing. “Damian, ça va? Almost didn’t recognize you without your Versace socks, t’ frère.”

The endearment of “little brother” made Damian smile. “I’m trying to blend in.”

“You blend in like the wolf blends in the henhouse.”

Raphael signaled for a waitress and when she arrived, ordered seafood gumbo and water with lime.

“Just water.” Damian grimaced, thinking of the crayfish/Morph. He gave his brother a long, steady look. “Raphael.” He reached over and embraced his forearms.

The other Draicon squeezed back. His shoulder-length dark brown hair with its streak of pure white accompanied scuffed boots, faded jeans, black T-shirt and black leather jacket. A tiny gold sword earring hung from his left ear, and a day’s growth of dark beard shadowed his hard jaw. The ensemble contrasted with Raphael’s classically handsome face. It gave him an intense look, as if an angel had stumbled out of a Bourbon sex shop.

Damian leaned forward, serious. “How bad is it? How many?"

“Bad. Morphs are everywhere. Hard to get a count. Maybe fifty, or hundreds.”

“Dit moula vérité! Are you serious?” Damian sat back, stunned. “Why are they here?"

“We think it’s for the Book of Magick. It’s been hidden for seventy years, hasn’t it? If a spell isn’t used in the next couple of weeks, all the spells will vanish. Including the ones for evil the Morphs want, to make them more powerful.”

And the spell for curing Jamie would vanish, as well. Damian felt his insides clench at the thought. “If they get the book first …"

“They’ll use the bad magick to kill all Draicon. They’re killing machines now, here in town. And when they kill, the bodies they leave … They’re targeting the homeless. I’ve taught my guys to sniff the blood, find and destroy the bodies before the police arrive. We’ve gotten to most of them in time. We can’t risk cops poking into our world, our war.”

Damian felt his canines descend with the urge to hunt and destroy. A low growl rumbled from his chest. A passing waitress gave him a startled look. He offered a charming smile, which faded as she walked away.

“Bastards,” he muttered.

“Don’t fret, t’ frère. I took out a few. One dared to call me a dog. I showed him the unfriendly side of my blade before popping him.” The charming smile Raphael offered didn’t meet the hardness of his dark eyes.

Raphael was the Kallan, the only Draicon permitted to terminate the life of another Draicon, even a relative, without consequence. He had died and gone to the Other Realm and received the gift of immortality. Little scared him. Morphs who messed with Raphael lost.

Raphael’s gumbo arrived and he dug into it with zest. Damian sipped his water. “My father didn’t tell me where he hid it. Only said he entrusted a good friend with the secret until I was older. I wish our ancestors had never handed it down through my family, but it’s my responsibility.”

“What happened to your father’s friend?”

“Morphs killed Jordan when they killed all Father’s pack.” He stared at a droplet of water sliding down his glass like a tear. “The cure for Jamie is in the book.”

“So, tell me about your mate. We researched her. Her friends, her parents dying in that plane crash when she was five, the aunt and uncle who raised her. Hell, we even tracked down info about that bastard who imitated her brother. What’s she like?” Raphael asked.

“A killer.”

“Pretty?”

“She tried to kill me.”

Raphael stared. Damian explained.

Silverware rattled as Raphael slapped a palm on the table. “How the hell can you trust her? She deserves punishment.” His hand went to the dagger always tucked into his belt. “Remember our vow? You’re my blood brother.”

“And she’s my mate,” Damian said quietly.

“Then, t’ frère, you have a big problem. If you don’t bond with her, you’ll turn feral. But how can you mate with a human who wished you into a coffin?"

Damian leaned back, edgy and wanting. A male’s draicara pumped up all his testosterone, driving him to prove his strength and sexual prowess. In Alphas, the mating drive tripled, turning males wild and unpredictable. If he didn’t mate, he’d be dangerous even to his pack. Would they drive him away as his father’s people had?

He wanted only Jamie now, her scent, the taste of her skin, the feel of her soft, naked body beneath his. He couldn’t shake off his lust.

“Let it go, Rafe. I can handle her.”

“Then do it fast. Sounds like she’s running out of time. Sex can slow the porphyry cunja. If you trust her not to slam a knife in your back while you mount her.” Rafe’s jaw tightened.

Sex might be a solution. A Draicon’s cells, including blood and semen, contained magick. As a purebred Alpha, his magick was more powerful than other males'.

“Could I cure Jamie by infusing her with my magick when we have sex?"

Rafe raised his gaze to his. Damian tensed against the haunting sorrow swimming there.

“No. Your blood, or coming inside her, will only slow the spell. It can’t stop it.”

He stared at the big vein on Raphael’s neck, throbbing with life. His immortal brother whose blood contained immense energy and power. “Maybe …"

Rafe tensed and looked away. It was forbidden for Rafe, and he knew the consequences would be drastic.

“I have to find the book.” Damian ran a hand over his face. “But I can’t leave her alone. It’s too risky.”

“Then let me help. I’ll send Adam and Ricky. Keep watch. They’ll do anything to keep her from leaving.”

“Don’t you dare let another male near her.” Damian growled, his fingers digging into his napkin. Instinct urged him to stake a claim. Rip apart any male who glanced her way.

“Damian, easy, easy.”

Shreds of linen napkin lay on the table. Willing himself to calm, he retracted his claws.

Raphael’s wary look said it all. He dug into his gumbo, ate in silence. After a minute, Damian felt his control returning. His brother gave him a mild look.

“So tell me. Is she really dying?”

Raphael cursed in French after Damian told him. “My guys are yours. Take Adam and Ricky. Best warriors, can kick Morph ass from here to Houma. Or any of my other males. There’s twenty now, all show promise of being good fighters. Anything to help, t’ frère.”

Raphael had taken unmated male Draicon with no blood relations, taught them discipline and bonding and formed them into a pack to fight Morphs. Too many wild, frustrated males roved the streets. A grieving and angry Draicon without the close-knit society of a pack was dangerous.

“Merci,” he managed. “But I can’t risk a pack trailing me. Do your part. Find and kill Morphs, as many as you can.”

“It’s war,” his friend agreed.

Damian narrowed his gaze as his mouth flattened into a ruthless line. “Laissez les bons temps rouler.” Let the good times roll.

“Damian? This Jamie. She’d better not try anything

on you again. Mate or not. You’re blood, t’ frère.” Raphael removed a gold dagger from the sheath hanging on his jeans. Light played over the intricate runes carved into the sacred Scian. He flipped it into the air, catching it by the hilt. His eyes were stone-cold.

“My business, Rafe. Leave it be.” They locked stares, muscles quivering until Raphael sheathed the blade with a small nod.

“What can I do, then?” Rafe asked.

“Be available. I may need help. And fetch my stuff from the hotel, bring it over when I call.” A grim smile touched his mouth. “I’m moving in with her.”

“Later, then.” The other Draicon clasped his arm.

Damian left, glanced around the busy sidewalk. His priorities were clear. Get Jamie to trust him and find the book. He’d go back to her, she was probably hungry …

Fresh fruit. Natural fructose might help. He stopped at a small grocery store and purchased peaches.

He retuned to her house, headed upstairs with the bag. Jamie sat on the couch as she typed on a laptop. Damian nearly dropped the fruit. Elongated purple elfin ears stuck comically out of either side of her head.

She glanced up as he set the peaches down on the coffee table. A question in his eyes, Damian sat beside her and playfully tweaked an ear.

“I’m a warrior Night Elf,” she said, yawning. “I’m too tired to wear the rest of the outfit. Cosplay makes me feel better. It’s comforting.”

“I thought women liked dressing in old T-shirts and sweats to get comfortable.”

Her mouth turned down. “When I cosplay, I am Celyndra, my elf. She’s a tough fighter, courageous and doesn’t fear much.”

“Ah, she’s your alter ego,” he said softly in understanding. A frown puckered his forehead. “Such an imagination. Where did you get the idea?"

She grinned at his expression. “Haven’t you ever heard of WoW?"

“Wow?”

“World of Warcraft. My avatar is a female Night Elf warrior. Some who were in my alliance used to meet at the square Saturday nights to hang out and cosplay.”

Jamie’s grin deepened. “Don’t tell me you never heard of cosplay, either. Everyone knows what it is. What are you, a hundred?"

“Eighty,” he muttered, feeling as old as an ancient mage. Merlin, maybe.

“Eighty! You look like you’re in your twenties. No wonder you don’t know what anything is.”

“I know what hanging out is,” he said defensively.

“Cosplay is costume play. You dress as a character from a book or game and role play. World of Warcraft is an online video game. You pick a character and fight battles. It’s a lot more complicated than that, but …"

“Battles?” he echoed. Damian narrowed his eyes. “You learned to fight and organize an army? This skill you taught the Morphs came from a game?"

“I did learn some skill from it. But that’s nothing compared to some guys I know. Former marines, army guys. Friends.”

Raphael’s pack had checked out all her friends in New Orleans. Jamie had few. A terrible suspicion seized him.

“Guys you know from where?”

“Online. I met them on MyPlace.”

Alarms screeched in his head. Jamie was involved in a dangerous world he knew nothing about. “You have a MyPlace page?"

Damian’s glance fell to her opened laptop. He picked it up, rapidly surfed through it. He found her page. Jamie Walsh, in lavender, with beautiful illustrations of fairies in the background. If he weren’t so furious, he’d admire the intricate artwork and the delicate simplicity of the winged creatures. Damian scrolled down, shocked at the personal details. She liked fantasy books, alternative music, designed web pages and was a self-professed geek.

People she’d like to meet. “Anyone with real magick because I need magick in my life,” she’d written. The sentence sounded a little wistful. He scrolled down to her friends. Her top friends were former military types. But … Damian zipped through the last friends she’d acquired. Names like Wolfeater, Draiconhater.

Online predators. Morphs. “You’re an open target with this, Jamie.”

“It’s my page. My friends are there.”

“Friends? Will they come to your aid if you need them? Not these bastards. They used you, Jamie. You don’t need friends. You’re my mate and you have a pack, my pack and my family here, as well. They’re much more important. Family will always be there when you need help.” Reining in his emotions, Damian kept his face expressionless.

“Delete it,” he ordered.

“No. And I don’t need your pack. I do just fine on my own. Go to hell.” Defiance flashed in her gray eyes.

Damian stared at her as his hands slowly crushed the laptop, splintering it in half. Her jaw dropped as the crumbled pieces fell to the floor. A strangled squeak arose from her throat.

“You won’t do that again. Try defying me and I’ll break every single computer you have. Your enemies, and mine, on that page. Who do you think infected you with this spell? You’re turning to stone, Jamie. From the inside out.”

“Kane had no reason for it,” she protested, but her voice shook considerably.

“You’re my draicara, my mate. Reason enough. He used you to try to kill me. He used a safeguard, as well. A slow-working spell to eliminate you.”

“All I wanted was to learn magick,” she said, looking crestfallen. “It’s something I wanted my whole life. Is that so wrong?"

Damian cupped her chin in one strong hand. “Then look, little one. Look and learn. I will teach you magick. Good magick.”

Releasing her, he waved his hand, summoning a ball of white light. Iridescent sparks glimmered from it. It hovered in the air, danced as Damian created patterns with his palm. Jamie gasped in delight. A wide smile touched her face. Damn, he’d do anything to keep her looking like that. Happy. Young. Carefree.

She leaned forward to study the orb, her slender arm stretching out. Her expression turned to awed wonder as she touched the ball with one finger. The light flashed, turned gray, then black. Before his astounded eyes, it shriveled, then vanished.

“Oh! Oh … I killed it,” she whispered.

Her mouth wobbled precariously. Jamie seemed to shrink inside herself. Moving closer to her, he clasped her hand in his. Cold, so damn cold. Like blue ice.

“It’s not you. It’s what’s inside of you,” he said very gently. “When the dark magick is gone, the light won’t vanish from your touch.”

A tremulous smile touched her mouth. “I wish I could believe you.”

I wish you would, as well. He picked up the bag of peaches. “Eat. You need your strength.” Damian frowned as he glanced around. “When did Renee leave? I asked her to stay with you.”

“Said she had to get back to the shop.” Jamie dug into the bag and withdrew a peach. “Thanks. I’m so hungry, I could eat an orchard.”

She brightened, a smile touching her pixie face. The sight lifted his own spirits. He steeled against the temptation to kiss her again. “Why did Renee go back?"

Jamie went into the kitchen. Her voice trailed out to the living room. “You should know. She said you’d called, asked her to bring another gris-gris to the house.”

Damian went utterly still, the hair on the nape of his neck rising. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move from here,” he ordered.

A horrible suspicion crested over him. He raced out of the house. Sprinting down the street, he reached the voodoo shop.

The door was ajar. Cautiously he stepped inside. The scent slammed into him with the force of a hurricane. Blood. Death. Lacing through it was the faint scent of honeysuckle.

A black cat greeted him, mewling pitifully. Damian crossed the room, started for the back and ground to a halt. Anguish spilled through him like acid.

“Oh, damn. Damn, I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Mama Renee lay in the corner, her eyes wide open in terror. Blood splashed over the pretty flowered dress, splattered the walls.

Someone had torn her heart out. Morphs. They reserved the right to lick up each last drop of fear.

Grief and rage twined together. Damian closed his eyes. Renee had been a last connection to his parents. How many more of his people must die, sliced down by evil? His parents, brothers and sister. Members of his pack back in New Mexico. How could he ever hope to stop this and protect those who looked to him to keep them safe?

He pushed aside sorrow. Grief was for later.

The stench of death made him gag. Damian murmured the ancient Draicon blessing for a departed soul. He spotted the altar to the voodoo priestess, Marie Laveau.

Darkness had extinguished the candles.

The police would question, snoop around. Couldn’t risk them finding out about his world. He needed a motive. A hate crime, and robbery. Damian withdrew all the money from the cash register and stuffed it into his pocket to later burn. He left the drawer open. He glanced around, found a permanent marker and scrawled on the wall.

DEVIL WORSHIPPER.

The mewling at his legs grew louder. The cat held the scent of an ordinary feline. Picking it up, he studied the animal. “You already used one of your nine lives. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

Tucking the cat in his arms, he looked around. Waving his hand, he dispelled all evidence of his fingerprints. The cops would question Jamie, though, and …

Jamie. He’d left her alone.

Damian tore down the street, frantic with fear for his draicara. He unlocked the gate, banged it shut behind him. Releasing the cat, he took the stairs two at a time.

She was sitting on the couch. His knees went weak with relief.

Then he took a closer look. Terror shaded her expression as she stared at her hand. Seeing him,

Jamie thrust out her palm at him. It trembled violently.

“Damian, look at me. Look at me. Oh God, what’s wrong with me? I can’t bleed. I can’t bleed!"

Shock filled him as he looked at her hand. A knife and fruit slices lay on the coffee table. She’d been cutting a peach. Then the knife had slipped and hurt her.

Peaches scented the air, but he smelled no coppery scent of blood. A shallow laceration on her palm showed no crimson. Instead, a sluggish gray matter leaked out.

Gray, like granite.

She was turning to stone before his horrified eyes.