by Bonnie Vanak
He was seriously hurt. Dying maybe. Maggie fought for control of her emotions. She picked up one abandoned dagger. The crocodile turned, smacking her with its massive tail.
Toppling to the ground, Maggie dove into a roll as Nicolas had taught her. She sprang up.
Rushing forward, she grabbed the croc’s tail and flipped it over. Maggie jumped on its chest, pinning it down.
The dagger sank into the soft underbelly and into the heart. Black blood spurted. Maggie cried out as the acidic fluid splashed over her face, her chest and hands. It burned. She grimly fought down the pain, continued twisting the knife.
The crocodile emitted an unearthly scream, writhed and shape-shifted before her horrified eyes. Soulless eyes, thin stringy hair, a walking nightmare.
Then it finally lay still. Rolling off the Morph, Maggie watched warily as it disintegrated into gray ash.
Staggering to her feet, she watched her burns turn pink, then fade entirely. Her healing powers grew stronger each day.
“Brava,” Nicolas said softly.
Maggie’s mouth fell open as he stood. Nicolas casually stood. The ragged tears in his arm had vanished.
He had her healing abilities now. She’d totally forgotten. He hadn’t. Instead, he used the attack to provoke her into killing.
The realization burned worse than the Morph’s blood.
“You…faked it!”
“On purpose.” Nicolas regarded her through his hooded gaze.
“How could you? Are you that careless that you’d let that thing kill you? Or me?”
“There was no danger,” he said calmly. “I smelled the scout long before the deer appeared in the meadow. I know them, Maggie. I knew one would appear tonight. I’d never let you come to harm.”
“Why the hell did you do it?” She was shouting now, her emotions boiling over.
“To prove to yourself you could kill the enemy, Maggie. You did. You said you couldn’t. You were wrong.”
“Bastard,” she whispered. “I thought you were dying. I thought you needed me.”
His expression remained blank. “I can take care of myself.”
“Obviously. So you don’t need me. You have my empath powers now, Nicolas. You can go back to New Mexico without me. In fact, you can go straight to hell.”
———
Nicolas had always prided himself on his intelligence and ability to reason. He’d never thought of himself as an idiot. Until now.
Maggie had run off. Acres of undeveloped land and forest gave her plenty of territory to roam. Searching for her, he prowled the woods. Thin strands of Spanish moss dripped from live oak branches overhead. Green lichen stamped the thin trunks of Australian pine trees. The smell of fresh earth swam in his nostrils. He picked up her scent, which zigged and zagged all over the woods.
He’d assumed killing a Morph to protect him would awaken her killing instincts. It backfired. Cursing, he’d spent the night looking for her. The morph scout would be followed by a horde by early morning. If he didn’t find Maggie…
Swallowing hard, he pushed aside the thought. Nicolas reached out mentally to her. No answer. Emotions stripped him bare. Again he tried, opening himself up to his mate.
Nothing.
Fear for Maggie clawed up his spine. He’d never felt this spiraling, out-of-control feeling before. Emotions were dangerous. They made strong warriors weak, exposed vulnerabilities, clouded clear thinking. He couldn’t afford the luxury of emotions, or falling in love.
Nicolas ground to a halt. Love? He choked back a self-dep-recating laugh. He, the Draicon determined never to grow close to another, who guarded himself from involvement, had done the unthinkable. He’d fallen in love with his mate.
How stupid of him to assume he’d mate with her and keep himself separate. He couldn’t afford to fall in love. Anyone close to Nicolas became a target for his enemies to use.
His jaw tightened. Nicolas continued loping through the woods. Maggie could be used against him if his feelings were discovered. Silently he vowed to keep them hidden and secret.
At all costs, Maggie must be kept safe. Even at the price he might pay—losing her.
He’d wanted to turn her into a killer to save the pack. Hooray for Nicolas. And did he once ever consider her feelings?
Nicolas rubbed his tattoo again. He thought he was doing the best thing for the pack, but what of Maggie? He was forcing her to turn into something she loathed and feared.
Just like something you loathe and fear?
The treacherous thought chased itself around in his head. Nicolas groaned. So desperate had he been to shut her out, and leash his growing feelings for her, he’d failed to consider her needs.
No longer. As soon as he found her, she’d come first. If he found her.
I must.
Dawn crept through the thick foliage, spearing the pines with thin light. Nicolas rubbed his tattoo, frustrated and scared. He had to find her. Images of Maggie ripped apart by Morphs haunted him.
Beside a scrawny pine, he sank to his knees. Nicolas closed his eyes, tried reaching out to his mate again. This time he poured all his emotions into the call.
A faint answer raised his hopes.
Nicolas opened himself up, listening with all his heart.
Dread filled him at Maggie’s pitiful cry.
She had returned to the cottage, looking for him. And now the Morphs were coming in her direction.
Wolf ran faster than his human form. Nicolas stripped and shifted. He bounded toward the cottage, inwardly sending her reassurances. Fear drove him onward.
He could only hope he wasn’t too late to save her.
———
They were coming.
Maggie whipped her head about. Nowhere to hide. Oh, God. The sounds of thousands of teeth whirring and chomping increased, mocking the gentle chimes of a church’s bell in the distance.
Angry at Nicolas, frightened at her violent tendencies, she’d run off and spent the night wandering the woods in her wolf form. Running, until she’d found an abandoned barn. Then she’d changed back, and cried herself to sleep.
When she awoke, Maggie realized how foolish she’d acted. Running away solved no problems. She’d spent her whole life running and hiding.
She’d hide no more.
Upon her return to the cottage, she showered, dressed and went outside to look for her mate. Ready to answer his call, she turned to the forest.
And heard the sound, like a buzz saw through the yellow green meadow.
The Morphs were heading straight for her. She sent out a mental cry for help to Nicolas, then searched around. No time to flee. They’d find her.
The screeching sound trebled. Closer still. Too late to head for the road.
Maggie, the pine trees. Roll in the mud to mask your scent then climb the tree.
Nicolas’s voice, laced with urgency, sounded in her mind. She darted around the house’s side. Dropping to the muddy ground, Maggie did a fireman’s roll, coating her body with thick wet earth.
She slapped mud on her hands, covered her face and then reached for the low branches. Her hands shook. Her muddied sneakers missed the first branch, sending her tumbling back to the earth.
Hurry, caira. Hurry. Stay calm. Climb. Steady. I’m here with you.
Maggie gulped down a calming breath and listened to Nicolas’s soothing reassurances echoing in her head. She grabbed the first branch, using the sticky sap to gain a foothold. Up she climbed, her heart thundering, her hands shaking so badly she barely could grip the next branch. Up, up, never looking down, until reaching the top.
Perched on a sturdy limb, she hugged the trunk. Dared to look down.
Maggie bit back a shocked gasp.
Lines of crouching creatures marched through the meadow. They ploughed through the grass, leaving brown stubble in their wake. Sharp teeth gnashed, whirred, clicked. If they reached her, they’d cut her to ribbons.
Oh, Nicolas, I’m so scared.
Hang on, baby. I’ll be there in a minute. I’m close now.
Horror crawled up her spine. No! If you arrive now, they’ll see you! They’ll kill you. Stay away.
No, Maggie, I’m coming….
Stay away or I’ll jump. I swear it. I won’t sit in this tree, safe, and watch you die for nothing. Stay!
Silence. Maggie bit her lip so hard she nearly drew blood.
A large red bull ant crawled up the trunk, paused near her hand. Maggie didn’t dare move. Her leg muscles cramped. She remained still, blending with the tree, letting the sap and mud absorb her scent. The ant crawled onto her hand. She bit back a scream. Not a Morph. Just an ant. Just an ant.
The ant inspected her hand, marched up her wrist, explored the reddish-brown mud coating her arm. Maggie flinched.
Pincers bit down, through the mud. She winced, but did not move. The ant continued biting. Maggie ignored it, stared as the whirring mass of things advanced. On four spindly limbs they crawled, their naked bodies covered with sallow, saffron skin. Their male genitals hung grotesquely large between their legs. Eyes were pitch-black and soulless. But their teeth were yellow, razor sharp and triangular. Maggie stuffed a fist into her mouth. What kind of things were these?
Then they stood on two legs and she nearly lost her grip and tumbled to the ground.
This was the natural form of the Morph.
Noses lifted to the air, they sniffed, then like a stream, poured inside the house.
As if scenting the danger, the bull ant released its grip. It scurried away from Maggie, away from her arm and down the trunk.
One creature came outside. It approached the tree and tapped long talons against it. Maggie held her breath.
It pounded the trunk. Branches shook. The Morph glanced up. Maggie didn’t dare swallow. She only hoped the thick coating of mud disguised her.
Apparently satisfied, the Morph stepped back. She peered down, saw it watching the ant crawling down the tree trunk. A long tongue snaked out of the Morph’s mouth. Pop! The ant vanished, the tongue receded.
The Morph licked its large, greasy lips. Nausea rose in Maggie’s throat. She fought it down as the Morph vanished into the cottage.
Then a long, eerie howl split the air.
Maggie craned her neck to see.
A large gray wolf stood near the cottage. It loped toward the tree. Jump, Maggie, jump!
She trusted. Maggie climbed down, jumped the last five feet. Pain exploded in her leg then just as quickly faded. She ran for Nicolas.
Morphs poured out of the cottage, shifting into wolves as they ran. They were gunning for him, a pack of wolves with fangs showing. Their hatred scented the air.
Shifting into his human form as he ran, Nicolas raced toward her. Naked, he tackled her to the ground. He covered her body with his own as the wolves attacked.
She struggled to be free as they fell upon him. He did not wince or even flinch, but bore their blows. Growls and snarls filled the air. She shut her eyes, terrified for her mate. The metallic smell of fresh blood mixed with the scent of mud. Tears clogged her throat.
A distant shout sounded. Maggie strained to hear.
Hush, caira. Lie still.
Maggie obeyed, bewildered as she heard the wolves whine, then their paws padded over the soft ground. They were leaving.
After a few agonizing minutes, Nicolas rose off her. She gave a startled cry as she examined the bloody gouges lining his back. They had clawed at Nicolas trying to get her. But he’d shielded her with his body.
As she watched, the claw marks faded, then vanished. Nicolas regarded her with a worried look. “Are you all right, caira?”
Maggie touched his unshaven cheek. “I’m sorry for running off,” she whispered. “I was just so angry. Confused.”
He closed his eyes as he leaned into her caress. “It’s my fault. I’m the one who’s sorry. I pushed you into something you don’t want. Forgive me.”
Nicolas drew his arms about her in a savage embrace. She pressed against his trembling body. “Let’s start over, Nicolas. Both of us. Go to New Mexico, let me meet the pack. And put an end to this. There has to be a way out that doesn’t involve violence. I’ll find one. I know I can.”
“I trust you,” he muttered into her hair. “I don’t want to lose you again.”
She raised her head, deeply troubled. The Morphs had taken off, silently vanishing like mist. The leaden sky promised rain today, and a damp breeze stirred the trees.
By all rights, Nicolas should be dead. If they wanted to kill her, why hadn’t they killed him?
“I don’t understand.” She wiped mud off her face as she peered at her grim-faced lover. “Why didn’t they kill you?”
Nicolas said nothing. But the determined set of his jaw warned her he still harbored secrets. And he didn’t wish to share them with her. She remembered what Baylor had said, and shivered.
What exactly did his mysterious tattoo symbolize? Who was Nicolas, really?
Chapter 13
On the way to Atlanta’s Hartfield International Airport, Nicolas made a quick stop. Maggie went to a medical supply store and purchased medical supplies, protective suits and sterile gloves. She was determined to treat the disease killing off the Draicon as a scientist, as well as a healer.
The flight to Albuquerque proved uneventful. When they arrived, Nicolas rented a car and drove north. They stopped at a grocery store and bought supplies, then headed to his ranch a few miles away from the pack’s lodgings in the Pinyon Valley. Here they’d spend one precious day alone before joining the pack. Maggie fretted that the pack needed her, but Nicolas had stayed her protests with soft assurances.
He needed her more. His stark confession ended her protests.
The home had plush pinewood love seats and easy chairs with Southwest prints. A heavy pine coffee table and a rag rug were set before a river rock fireplace. Two brass reading lamps with aspen, leaf-designed lampshades sat beside the easy chairs. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the valley below. The bedroom had a pine four-poster as big as her truck, a stone fireplace and a door leading out to a small porch.
Pine and cinnamon scented the air. The fragrant scent combined with the heavy masculine furniture and the small touches of whimsy, such as stuffed bears tucked into the corners, made the cabin feel like home. Maggie looked around with interest.
“It’s mine,” he said, setting down her bags. “Thirty good acres of prime land. The nearest neighbor is five miles away. I bought this years ago as a private retreat. Lots of wildlife, fox, deer, rabbits and it’s far away enough from civilization for me.”
They ate a light dinner Nicolas cooked. Perched on a bar stool at the center island, she watched him whip eggs into an omelet, add freshly grated cheddar cheese, onions and peppers. They toasted each other with glasses of pinot noir. Over the rim of his crystal, Nicolas gave her a crooked, endearing grin, reminding her of when they’d first met at the bar in Florida.
Conversation consisted of equally light talk. Nicolas’s face lit up as he talked about home and how he longed to make the ranch a real home again someday.
“Lots of open space, fresh air. A good place to raise children,” he said softly, his hand sliding over hers.
They finished dinner and spent time before the fire making long, slow leisurely love. Nicolas loved her with a quiet intensity, as he knew this was their last time together before returning to the Draicon. Flames crackled in the fireplace as he kissed her naked body, his lips trailing warmth. The fur rug beneath her felt soft and warm, contrasting sharply to the hard male body settling over hers.
The next morning, light snow danced around in the wind. Grayish light showed through the windows. Maggie snuggled deeper under the goose-down quilt as Nicolas raised his head.
He watched dawn’s graying light touch her sleeping face. Dark lashes feathered her rosy cheeks. Fresh air, time alone with him had removed the strain and stress from her features. His trembling hand reached up to gently sweep he
r silky curls away from one cheek.
His feelings threatened to spill over. Nicolas threw up a mental wall, not daring to share himself mentally with her. Pain rolled through him. He had to teach her to fend for herself, reassure himself that she could survive among the pack on her own…if he were gone. Nicolas rolled over and hugged Maggie to his side, feeling an almost devastating sense of complete loss.
He couldn’t lose her. Not now. “Maggie,” he whispered, caressing her hair. “My beautiful Maggie.”
Her eyes fluttered open, and he drowned in their sea-blue depths. Nicolas drew her close as Maggie nuzzled his neck. She curled against him, sharing her body heat. She was warm and soft, silky female flesh yielding against him. Cold air whistled through the slightly opened window. She splayed her fingers over his chest, making him shudder with renewed desire.
Reality would come soon enough. Too soon.
———
Pinyon Valley, home to the Draicon. Years ago the pack had moved here, fleeing the comfortable heights of Colorado’s Rockies for the quietness of northern New Mexico. Nicolas explained that the pack had once moved every forty years to keep mortal suspicions at bay since the Draicon aged slowly. Now they moved to keep their children safe from the Morphs.
Grayish sagebrush, dense forests of pinyon, ponderosa pine and juniper grew on the foothills and valleys. The plains seemed barren and the mountain slopes thick with brilliant golden aspen. The grasslands and meadows were sparsely populated but for ranches peppering the seemingly endless valley. Rising above the foothills were majestic mountains wooded with thick trees.
Hidden on a mountainside cloaked with thick firs and aspens, the large pinewood hunting lodge now served as the Draicon’s main quarters. Most pack members lived separately, but when Damian fell ill, the pack moved as a unit into the lodge. They needed the closeness of each other when their leader lay dying.
Nicolas drove the Ford Escape rental up a dirt road. Birds called to each other in the trees. Clouds scuttled overhead, driven by a light wind. Maggie rolled down her window to inhale the fresh, pine-scented air. Memories tugged. Good memories.
