Читать книгу Immortal Wolf - Bonnie Vanak - Страница 9

Once she restored life. Now she brought death with her touch.

Emily Burke brushed a tender hand across the cold marble gravestone. Beneath it lay Helen, her favorite aunt. Around the stone, daisies planted in loving care were withering and dying on their frail stems.

Never had she felt this forlorn. Not since she’d killed her father a year ago.

Sunlight dappled fading gold-and-red leaves on the canopy of trees. Stray beams drifted onto the small clearing in the deep woods. Here and there, rounded markers etched in the Old Language marked the places where family eternally rested. The Burke pack had ruled this section of eastern Tennessee for generations, living and dying on these same three hundred wooded acres.

If her people had their way, soon her gravestone would join the others. Then the curse haunting her would be broken at last.

A shiver skated down her spine as a cool breeze caressed her cheek. In a few days, the most revered of all Draicon, the Kallan, arrived to prepare her for the rite of trasna. The ritual passage to the Other Realm required formal meditation, farewells and anointing. Though fairly young, the Kallan was renowned. Females whispered of his legendary sexual prowess. Males lowered their heads in respect for his tremendous power.

Without the Kallan, her own pack would be forced to execute her.

Stretching out her hands, she studied the chamois men’s gloves that covered them. She pulled off the right glove and the thin latex sterile glove beneath it. Emily touched the gravestone again, relishing the feel of the hard surface, cool marble. Just to feel…anything.

I can touch you now, Helen.

A daisy plant drooped by the gravestone. Emily swallowed hard. She glanced around and picked up a sharp rock. A sharp swipe across her palm and she winced.

She held her bleeding palm over the plant. One, two, three, four drops of crimson, her life’s fluid, dripped onto the flower.

Emily allowed the cut to heal and watched the daisy with faint hope. The white petals unfurled and the lemon-yellow center glowed with health. Once more, she’d brought back life. The last descendant of the pureblood Draicon, she could restore life with her blood. Emily had healed many, including the animals of the forest who lay sick and dying.

Yet for a year, her touch now killed her own kind.

Oh, to be cursed with the touch of death and the blood of life. Why? Did the goddess curse her because Aibelle saw Emily as vain?

“What have I done?” she whispered. “Please, tell me how I can amend it. I did not abuse this gift I was given at birth. I only wanted to heal.”

A year ago in a dream, the goddess Aibelle mysteriously told her the balance of life and death was within Emily. And the next day, Emily had touched her father and…

Tiny crescent marks gouged her palm as she squeezed, her nails digging into tender flesh. Swallowing hard, she covered her hand. Both gloves had been purified in sage smoke and bathed in a rich mixture of spices and herbs before drying. No matter. Her hands killed her people.

She had killed her father after touching him. Killed her aunt Helen as well. Now she must pay the price, before her curse spread to other Draicon.

She had one hope. Recently, she’d telepathically found her dracairon, her destined mate. Amant. His deep, sexy voice in her mind didn’t hint of origin, and it sent a thrill through her. Worried he might have heard of Emily, the cursed one, she’d given her nickname of Erin. She imagined him as big, powerful and slightly threatening to anyone who dared to hurt her.

Even the Kallan, the Draicon who would execute her.

Amant was her knight, who would charge to her rescue. If Amant knew of her fate, he would do anything to save her. It was his duty. Instinct would drive him to risk all to keep her safe.

Emily closed her eyes and mentally reached out to call out to her white knight.

Help me.

Raphael Robichaux sped toward Bourbon Street on his Harley toward his favorite bar for one last prowl through his turf in New Orleans. Miles away, a female awaited him to deliver her to death. A quick death, but death nonetheless.

The big bike purred as wind whipped his ragged shoulder-length hair. Riding the Harley gave him the only true freedom he knew. But as Raphael neared Bourbon, a voice called out in pained insistence.

Kallan. Kallan. I have need of you.

Raphael turned the bike around, toward the weak, hopeful sigh. In a shadowed alleyway littered with paper bags and the stench of old vomit, a male sat against the exposed brick wall. Even as he slid off the Harley, Raphael knew it was an elder Draicon in great pain.

Yellowed, sharp fangs flashed in the alley. Morphs. Former Draicon who turned evil by killing a relative, they could shapeshift into any life-form. The pair licked the blood streaming down the elder’s temples, tasting death and the Draicon’s fear to gain energy.

One swiped at the helpless male, swiping bloody furrows across his chest. The elder gasped.

Raphael stood at the alley’s entrance. “Go pick on someone able to fight back.” Challenge rang out in his voice.

Growls greeted him as they backed away from their prey. The Morphs straightened. Energized by the elder’s terror, they shifted into rats, cloned themselves and then chewed on the elder’s arms and hands.

The elder screamed.

Absolute calmness came over Raphael. He never lost sight of the original two, their markings, their movements. He lifted his hands to create a veil of protection, much like an electronic fence, around the elder. Shocked by the pure magick, the rats squealed and dropped off, before turning on Raphael.

He was ready. Waving his hands, he divested himself of clothing and shifted into wolf.

Focusing on the original pair, he sprang forward to attack. They squealed and shifted into their true form. As they did, their clones vanished, denied the energy necessary to maintain them.

Just as quickly Raphael shifted back into his human form, clothed himself. Daggers materialized in his hands. He twirled, punched, acted. The two Morphs gave low howls and dropped to the ground. In a minute, they vanished into ashes.

Raphael went to the elder, who was holding his stomach as if trying to keep his guts stuffed inside. His mouth went dry as he scanned the Draicon’s injuries.

“Please, help me end this. I can’t…cross.” The elder, at least 1,500 years, wheezed. Pain radiated from him in great waves. “Just let me go.”

Raphael hedged, torn between wanting to give the honored elder solace and the agonizing decision to end it for him. But the male’s burning plea nudged him forward. It was time.

Closing his eyes, Raphael laid his hand on the other’s shoulder. Concentrated, pulling back to the Other Realm of peace and no pain. He uttered words in the ancient tongue.

His eyes flew open as he removed a short, golden dagger strapped always to his waist. The blade had a magick anesthetic. With a low murmur of sacred words, he stabbed the elder in the heart.

Death was swift, merciful and painless. Light faded from the Draicon’s gaze, but a small, serene smile rested on his thin lips. With reverence, Raphael closed the elder’s eyes. He wiped blood off his sacred Scian with a small cloth tucked into his back pocket. Then he replaced the dagger, fished out his cell phone and made a call.

Five minutes later, four of his former pack arrived. They wrapped the body in a long length of oriental carpet and discreetly carried it to the waiting truck to take the elder to the honored burial he deserved.

Raphael closed his eyes, wishing he didn’t feel so damn alone right now. As much of a rush killing the Morphs gave him, dispatching one of his own into the peace of the Other Realm made him feel empty. Dark inside.

He was the Destroyer, the bringer of death.

Bringing the solace of crossing over to the Other Realm was an honored vocation. Screw it. He was a damn death dealer. He was the Kallan, the only one who could terminate the life of a fellow Draicon without consequence.

Minutes later, he parked the bike in front of the Full Moon bar. Music poured down the street in an acoustic tidal wave; soft, cool jazz and hard, pounding rock. A few women lounging on the sidewalk and sipping hurricanes gave him the twice-over. Wind teased the pure white streak of hair at his temple, played with the gold dagger earring dangling from his left ear.

A collective female sigh, soft as a Mississippi River breeze, drifted toward him. He angled his famous half-smile at the staring threesome. “Evening, ladies,” he drawled.

Three in one night. Nothing new. Hard, fast female company, the bliss of quick, anonymous sex and the energy it brought pushed back the loneliness a little. The tallest had a lush figure, with enough flesh on all the right places he loved to caress. He adored females. Even human women, who were too frail to absorb the rough sex Draicon males sometimes relished.

But sex with anonymous strangers never touched the empty space inside him. Raphael gave the women a charming smile and walked away. Behind him, their murmurs of disappointment buzzed like mosquitoes in the bayou.

He headed toward the scratched wood bar and grabbed a mug of beer. Male and female Draicon nursing drinks stared. “That’s him,” he heard one female whisper. “The Kallan. They say he was appointed because he killed eighty Morphs in one day when they were about to slay a pack in California.”

Sometimes the story boasted over a hundred Morphs, and the pack of Draicon were from New England. It mattered not, for the legend shadowing him was far bigger than reality.

“He’s also the only mixed-blood ever to become Kallan. Who would have thought a Cajun mongrel could have entered the ranks,” a male murmured.

Raphael stiffened.

Too often he felt as if he were dancing atop a paper pedestal erected by his people. When would he fall off because his blood wasn’t pure enough? Only his family treated him normally.

He snorted. Normal? He was immortal. Normal wasn’t part of the package.

Being a Kallan required strength, physical prowess but most of all, emotional detachment tempered with compassion and spiritual purity. A Kallan did not relish dispatching his own people. He saw his role as a guide to the Other Realm, who prepared them for crossing over. Those transitions, even if they committed crimes against their own kind, were treated with dignity and compassion.

He had never dispatched a female before. Raphael hoped he’d have the strength and emotional detachment to execute the cursed Draicon.

Two of his brothers shouted a hearty hello. He was crossing the distance between them when a voice spoke in his head.

Amant? Are you there?

The whisper made him halt. It was her, the one he revered above all others. Raphael held up a hand in greeting to his brothers. He retreated to a solitary table.

Erin. I’m here, he reassured her.

Her voice sounded shaky, as if she tried disguising her fear. But something deeply worried her.

I thought I’d lost you. You haven’t spoken to me since yesterday.

Hush, little one, he soothed. I’m right here, as I have been. What troubles you, chere?

I just missed you, that’s all.

I missed you, too, he admitted, pulling out a chair and propping one booted foot upon it.

One month ago, he had been preparing crayfish for the family barbecue when he’d heard her. His draicara seeking him out. Raphael had gone still at the sweet purity of her voice, the low melodic tones. He’d felt bathed in serenity and yet sharpened by sexual need.

It was the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced, and yet she’d spoken but one sentence.

Since then, they’d talked nearly each day. He wisely did not press her and allowed her to seek him out. He’d called himself the nickname bestowed on him by his brothers—Amant, the French word for “lover.” He didn’t want to frighten her or have her overcome with awe at the legendary Raphael, the most feared and respected Draicon.

Where are you now? What are you doing? Erin asked.

In a bar. Talking to you.

He leaned forward, placing both feet on the floor. What’s wrong, Erin? You sound sad. Are you alone?

A tiny sigh went through him like an arrow. Where I am, I am always alone.

Where was her pack? Her Alpha?

I must go. It isn’t safe here. I have to go someplace safe.

He picked up her anxiety, like little hairs brushing against the nape of his neck. Raphael frowned, wishing he could see her. Your people—are they near? Do you feel threatened?

It’s just some males from my pack walking nearby. I can’t let them see me.

His hackles rose at the suggestion of someone daring to touch his draicara. Automatically, he flexed his muscles, his protective instincts rising. If they try anything with you, they will pay.

Don’t worry. They won’t come near me.

They’d better not. You’re mine and mine alone, he couldn’t help rumbling.

She gave a light laugh, as sweet and airy as a songbird. I can take care of myself. Trust me. I have for a while now.

It’s my job to take care of you.

Her voice deepened. You’re so good to me, even if you aren’t here. I cherish our times together these past weeks. When can I see you?

Raphael blocked away thoughts of the task awaiting him. Soon. I have an assignment, then I will come to you.

Promise? Despair punctuated her voice. Troubled, he sent her waves of reassurance, soothing images of forest and glen, the deep quiet of the green woods. He felt her tension ease.

How I wish you could kiss me now. Kiss me and tell me all is well.

Her admission sent waves of erotic heat through him. He would kiss her, inch by sweet inch. His body tightened with need. He wondered what she looked like and wished she would allow him to see her reflection in a mirror.

I am eager for us to meet. I can’t wait to touch you, he admitted in a husky, sensual whisper.

No!

Her distress screamed in his mind. Raphael frowned and speculated. Even if she were a virgin and scared of her first time, such fear wasn’t normal.

Has someone hurt you? He didn’t mean to make his voice so sharp, and softened his tone. Tell me, so I may help you, chere.

I will be fine. Her wistfulness gave his heart a twist.

Let me help you. I’m your dracairon. It’s my duty to care for you, and see to all your needs, be they large or small.

You sound as if I’m an invalid who needs assistance getting out of bed, came the tart reply.

Raphael gave a small, amused laugh. It might come to that. He blocked the thought from her of the sexy image of Erin lying languid and flushed in bed, dazed by the pleasure he’d given her. Of course not. But I am your mate, and it grieves me to know you are in such distress. Tell me what you need.

You. She went silent a few heartbeats and added, Do you want me?

Her deep, sultry voice sent lust spiraling through him. Raphael gripped the chair’s armrests. Want her? You have no idea how badly I want you. Mentally he sent her an image of an enormous bed, two bodies tangled together between rumbled silk sheets. All that and much more, he said softly.

Oh! Oh. I didn’t realize, I’ve never…um…

Silent delight filled him at her charming, blushing innocence. Don’t worry, chere. It’s your first time, and I will be gentle. You have nothing to fear from me.

I’m not afraid of you. I could never be afraid of you.

Satisfaction poured through him. He would cherish her and be mindful of her innocence at their first joining. The ecstasy he’d deliver would erase any pain of taking her virginity. Raphael licked his lips, envisioning parting her soft thighs with his hands, lowering his mouth to her core and flicking his tongue…

There?! Shock vibrated through her voice. Raphael laughed softly.

There, and many other places. Trust me, you will enjoy it.

I wish I could touch you.

The absolute sorrow in her voice gave him pause. His heart twisted. Soon, he promised.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted two men strutting toward him. Both solid as linebackers. Deep frowns scored their faces. One sported a knife scar across his cheek. Trouble. At the bar, his oldest brother, Etienne, shot him a questioning look. Need help?

Raphael shook his head. Erin, pardon me for a moment, he told his draicara. He stood, stretching out to his full six feet, four inches.

“Gentlemen,” he offered.

“You’re the ugly bastard who screwed around with my woman last month,” Big and Scarred announced.

“Your ex,” he countered.

“We was gonna make up,” Scarred said. Glass shattered as he brought his beer bottle down on the table. He held the jagged edge out.

“I doubt it, judging from the bruises you left.” Raphael narrowed his eyes. “Women should be treated with courtesy and respect. All women. You need manners.” He felt power rising in him, the itch to slam this bastard into place.

“And you’re an ugly mongrel dog,” Scarred’s friend chimed in.

Violent anger rolled through him. He masked it. “Never call me a mongrel,” he said pleasantly.

Raphael coldcocked one with a fist and sent the other toppling to the floor with a bare shove. Beer splashed over the table as bottles toppled downward. His reflexes were so fast they’d had no time to blink.

He sat down again, placing a boot upon Scarred’s unconscious body.

My apologies, Erin. I had to take out the trash. Just a little business that took me away from your delightful company. Where were we?

What business?

Two men who didn’t like the looks of my face. He studied his knuckles. Not even a scratch.

Are you hurt? Sharp worry tinged her voice. Raphael felt unexpected wonderment fill him. No one ever worried about him fighting before. His family assumed that the Kallan could fight all battles. His friends knew he could.

You must be a very strong warrior.

I do what I must. He gave a little shrug, toed at the unconscious form on the floor.

You’re also quite modest. I can feel the humility radiating from you.

Again he laughed in delight. For the very first time, he wished he were not the Kallan and could speed to Erin’s side. His draicara had need of him, but his duties as Kallan came first.

Chere, tomorrow I must leave you. I cannot contact you. I have a duty to perform that requires absolute concentration.

For how long?

An eternity. Three weeks.

It’s all right. I understand. She gave a tiny sigh, sounding suspiciously like a muffled sob. Maybe…I will see you. In some other place. Someday.

Erin. He tried reaching for her, but she’d vanished like mist seeping through the bayou. Raphael sat back, slightly troubled. He didn’t like the sound of her goodbye.

It sounded almost like farewell.

He set aside his concerns. After, he’d find Erin and give her all she needed. For now he must focus on what lay ahead.

His brothers, Etienne and Gabriel, drifted over. They studied the two prone bodies at Raphael’s feet. “Couldn’t you have played outside?” Gabe asked.

“They didn’t want to share my sandbox.” He joined them at another table and signaled the waitress, who slapped a cold longneck on the table. Raphael tilted his head back and drank deeply.

Etienne turned a chair around, straddled it, leaning his long arms on the back. “When are you leaving?”

“As soon as I finish the next one.” He backhanded his mouth.

“What is it this time? Where?”

Raphael drummed his fingers on the table, overcome by a sudden chill. “A female.”

His brother’s mouth turned down. “Bad business. What happened?”

His mind sifted through the details with impartiality. “I’m told Emily is the cursed one, doomed by Aibelle the goddess. She was cursed a year ago by Aibelle with the death touch because of her vanity. All Draicon Emily now touches she kills. The ancient prophecies foretell Emily will bring about the end to our people if she is not sacrificed by midnight of the next full moon. If she isn’t, the curse shifts to the entire pack and beyond.”

Etienne whistled as Gabriel shook his head. “Seems unfair,” Gabe said. “Where is she?”

“They told me she’s ready, elderly and will be glad to cross. She’s in eastern Tennessee.” Raphael didn’t add he was relieved his victim was older. Bad enough she was female. Most he dispatched saw his services as a relief. In his forty years as Kallan, he’d only disposed of five very unwilling prisoners, who had killed innocents and were about to turn Morph.

Gabriel gave him a pensive look. “The Draicon in that area are the Burke pack. You’re not saying they’re…”

At Raphael’s brief nod, both Gabriel and Etienne’s eyes widened. “Whoa. Burke pack. Better mind yourself, Rafe. They’re very traditional and stick strictly to custom,” Etienne warned.

Like I don’t know it. The invitation with its fussy handwriting had arrived on crisp parchment (no e-mail for the Burke clan). The beer in his mouth soured. He swallowed hard.

“No cable for you, t’frere. No Internet, no Wii, nothing modern except the phone, basic utilities and cars. Keeper of the records of Draicon, the Burkes are direct, purebred descendants of our forefathers. Guardians of the Old Ways. Royalty.” Gabriel gave Raphael’s leather jacket a nod. “The last Kallan even dressed in ceremonial robes to please Urien, the Burke alpha. I heard Urien was upset you became Kallan because you’re not—”

“A pureblood like them? Like all the other Kallans before me?” Raphael’s fingers squeezed the beer bottle, cracking it. Foam oozed out of the sides.

Silence draped the air. Etienne exchanged uneasy glances with Gabriel.

Urien can kiss my leather-clad butt. Resentment filled him. The purebreds, always with their traditions, customs and superiority complex. They didn’t want a Kallan who was a renegade, a Cajun and a mongrel in their eyes. Tough. He was all they had.

“I’m not going there to make a fashion statement. Just to honor their request.”

Respect shone on his brothers’ faces. Gabe shook his head. “I don’t know how you do it, Rafe. I certainly couldn’t perform trasna on a female. I hope you find the strength.”

“You’d better hope, Gabe. You have a lot riding on this assignment.” Raphael set down the beer, his look grim as he studied his brother. “Just hope that she is older and ready to die. Because if she isn’t and I have a conflict on hand, remember the code? You’re the one whose life is forfeit. And there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.”

Gabriel removed a legal-size paper, a knife and a quill from his pocket and set them on the table.

“You don’t have to do this, Gabe.”

“If I don’t, then who will?”

The time-honored tradition bothered him, but he could not break it. Each time his services as Kallan were requested to terminate the life of another Draicon, he signed a binding contract. A male family member was required to sign as well, putting his life on the line as collateral should Raphael back out of the agreement.

The contract ensured Raphael would proceed with the execution or those requesting his services would kill his relative. No Kallan had ever reneged, and over time the document became more a formality than a reality.

Still, Raphael felt queasy over the idea of giving the Burke pack the authority to end Gabe’s life should he fail to dispatch Emily.

A nagging thought chased itself around in his head. He dismissed his worry. Discipline, not emotion, was needed for his upcoming duty. But this particular transition presented other challenges. The last time he’d had a brother sign a blood oath, Etienne had been unmated, and the transition was an elder longing for the peace of the Other Realm.

Never a female.

A very delicate, tough assignment.

Gabriel made perfect sense. Since Etienne had been mated, he was forbidden to sign a blood oath. Alexandre, who had lost his mate and daughter, had expressed a desire to join them and might even hinder the ritual of trasna in his eagerness to do so. Indigo and Damian, both adopted as blood brothers, were not related kin. Besides, Damian was mated now to Jamie and had a pack of his own. Indigo, well…

Purebloods considered Indigo an abomination because he was a Changling—half-vampire, half-Draicon. The Burke pack would ban him from offering his life.

Only Gabe remained.

His brother’s eyes, dark as his own, regarded him evenly. Gabe pointed to the paper. “I read over everything. Shall we?”

So be it. “Take the knife, cut your hand and sign your name in blood.”

Gabe picked up the sharp blade with a wry look. “Did I ever tell you I faint at the sight of blood, especially my own?”

“Faint after signing, monfrere. I might even catch you.”

With a slight wince, Gabe cut his hand and signed his name. Raphael stared at the crimson signature. A small dot of blood, like a tiny teardrop, stained the parchment.

“What’s wrong? My signature not legible?” Gabe joked.

Raphael made no reply, staring sightlessly out the window. The premonition was before him, dark and hovering like gray shadows. Blood staining his brother’s shirt. Gabriel lying still.

Death.

But for whom, he couldn’t say.