The Empath

by Bonnie Vanak

  “My father used to take me for long walks in this area,” she murmured, lifting her head to let the wind brush her curls.

  Nicolas glanced at her. “You’re remembering. Good. The pack may remember you, or may not. I’m uncertain as to what Baylor told them, so be on your guard.”

  She frowned. “Why does he detest you, Nicolas? He seems determined to bait you at every step.”

  Those broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I once had sex with his girlfriend, before they had a relationship. It was nothing more than sex after a fight with Morphs and I needed the energy. Probably he still resents it.”

  Doubts filled her. Baylor’s animosity simmered from more than mere jealousy. The Draicon harbored a strong sense of family and pack. She sensed it had more to do with that.

  The dirt road opened to a large, grassy meadow and a graveled drive. A split rail fence separated the property from the woods beyond. Nicolas parked in front of the enormous log building. Large floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the meadow. Though the immense house resembled a sumptuous vacation spot, she sensed it was fortified heavily, like a fortress.

  He climbed out, grabbed their bags. “Come on. No sense in delaying this. They’re waiting for us.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I can smell them,” he muttered.

  Nicolas pressed his palm over a flat scanner besides the large double doors. Nothing happened. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he tried again.

  “Dammit. They still have me locked out.”

  Not a very welcoming sign. Maggie gave her brightest smile. “It’s me, Nicolas. They’re unsure of what to expect. I am a stranger, for the most part.”

  Her loud knock sounded more confident than she felt. What felt like minutes later she heard a brisk tread on the floorboards inside and the slide of several locks.

  The door opened outward slowly.

  A friendly faced young woman stood on the threshold, holding out her hand. The welcoming smile on her face contrasted to the thick doors that barred them shut.

  “Hi. I’m Katia. You must be Maggie.”

  Before Maggie could respond, the other female stepped forward and enfolded her in a giant bear hug. Her strength surprised Maggie.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, and Nicolas is back. It’s awful. Just awful. Everything is falling apart,” Katia whispered.

  Then she rubbed at her brimming eyes, fostered a brave smile and gave Nicolas a brief, but affectionate hug. “Come on in. I’m giving you a bedroom upstairs. The sickroom is down in the basement. Damian’s room is on the third floor and isolated from the others.”

  Nicolas shot Maggie a questioning look as he picked up their luggage and entered the lodge. Katia was crumbling inside. How many others felt the same? Maggie’s compassion surfaced. She squeezed Nicolas’s hand after he set their bags down in the hallway. The pack needed them. She felt certain of it.

  They walked down the carpeted hallway into a large, open room flooded with natural light. In chairs, couches and sitting at several small tables around the room, sat dozens of ordinary-looking people.

  The pack.

  Everyone looked up at the same time.

  Nicolas kept a light, but proprietary grip on Maggie’s waist as she studied the people. One woman juggled a curlyhaired baby boy on her lap. The toddler laughed and pointed at Maggie with a welcoming smile. The mother bent her head, shushed him. A man with a bristling crew cut and sharp features came over, took the baby from her and sat beside the woman, his attitude protective.

  No welcoming smiles here, or even a friendly nod. She felt thrust into a crowd of hostile strangers. Looking at them all, imagining them changing into their wolf forms, she felt even more alienated. This was a family who bonded together, played together, raised their children in close proximity and hunted together as wolf. She was the outsider.

  They were different. She sensed it. The fine lines of beauty in the women, the hard edges of the men, doused her eagerness. Maggie felt as confused and alienated as she had when she’d been thrust into the cold, antiseptic world of foster care. She didn’t fit in.

  Even here, with Nicolas? He’d insisted this was her family, her pack, her home.

  Yet nothing felt familiar. Maggie steeled her spine, lifted her chin. No one would see how their brimming hostility hurt. No one.

  Sudden warmth crept into her mind. Images of hearth, family and home flooded her. Nicolas. She felt the reassurance of his steely arm around her waist. His confidence raised her own. Maggie lifted her chin, studying the crowd. The initial hostility seemed to ease, replaced by curious looks.

  A towheaded boy playing on the floor beside a leather easy chair tossed something. Maggie’s heart raced. A dog toy. Suddenly a brown shih tzu dashed from behind the chair, claws scraping the carpet. The dog ground to a halt. She turned toward Maggie, her tail beating the air. A bark of utter joy split the room’s dead silence.

  “Misha!” Maggie broke free of Nicolas, ran forward. Her dog scampered and bounded straight into her arms. Furious licks of her face greeted her, lapping the tears streaming down her cheeks.

  This alone was worth everything. She’d healed Misha. Maggie stroked the silky fur, marveling at her friend’s excellent health. Whatever feelings the pack harbored toward her, they’d taken excellent care of her dog.

  She looked up and saw something startling.

  The hostile gazes were not centered on her, but Nicolas. He stood proudly, shoulders straight, taking in the rancor lasered at him.

  She wasn’t the source of their suspicion. The pack members began leaving their seats and approaching.

  “Maggie, stand up. Let them get to know you,” Nicolas instructed.

  Maggie stood absolutely still as the others gathered near, eyeing her critically. Nicolas spoke soothing words into her mind. It’s all right. I’m here. She knew this process was essential to her gaining pack acceptance. They came to her, running their hands over her, sniffing. One lifted her hair and sniffed behind her ear. Another nuzzled the top of her head. The women especially looked her over. Not human, she reminded herself, forcing her hands to relax. This was Draicon, pack acceptance.

  One male did more than inhale her scent. He brazenly lifted her hand, kissed it in a courtly manner. Nicolas lifted his upper lip in silent warning. The male backed off, looked down.

  She saw Baylor enter the room, closing off another door. The urbane Draicon approached, flashing her a warm smile. It faded as he turned his gaze on Nicolas.

  “So you’re back,” he said flatly. “It’s good to see you, Margaret. Your blood has helped Damian. He’s still critically ill, but it bought him some time.”

  Relief smoothed Nicolas’s expression. Baylor went to Katia, pulled her against him. “As for you, Nicolas…”

  Katia laid a finger on his lips. “Please, stop. Now’s not the time.”

  “Rules are rules,” Baylor said, removing Katia’s hand. “Nicolas broke them. He was banished.”

  “I know the rules,” he said softly, his gaze never leaving the other male. “I helped implement them and followed them when I left the pack. The rules state my acceptance is conditional upon returning with the missing empath, Margaret. Don’t test me, Baylor.”

  Others looked at her with open interest. The male who had kissed her hand stared with bold aggression. “Legend says you are the one who will destroy our enemy, Kane, the Morph leader. Have you fought? Can you survive the wounds of a Morph or will they kill you?”

  “I’m tougher than you are,” she shot back, locking gazes until the male dropped his. Damn, they were aggressive. She smelled their underlying fear laced with deep worry. Baylor had been right. The pack was falling apart.

  Treading lightly was better than coming on strong. The Draicon wanted and needed reassurances. Maggie tried for a comforting, confident smile. “I’ve survived a Morph attack. Their blood burns, but my body heals too quickly.”

  Katia looked at her solemnly. “Baylor told us what
happened. You healed your dog. Can you heal our people of this disease? We have some who fell sick tending to Damian. They’re not as ill, but need your touch.”

  Her natural curiosity took over. “Only the ones tending him fell ill?” That meant the disease was transmitted by touch—only from species to species.

  “Yes. Jake and Caren, our two best scientists, took the blood you sent and tried making an antibody. They injected Damian with it, but it hasn’t healed him, only bought him some time. And it hasn’t healed the others.”

  A fat tear rolled down Katia’s cheek. “Now they’re sick as well. Everyone who’s come into contact with Damian is sick. Even Aurelia, who’s been nursing him.”

  Maggie became decisive. “It must be transmitted through contact, not airborne. I’ve brought gloves and HAZMAT suits. Burn all the clothing and linens Damian’s been in contact with. We can’t risk anyone else falling ill.”

  “And what about the ones who already are sick?”

  The hard edge in Nicolas’s voice warned of his worries for her. She touched his arm reassuringly. “I’ll do what I must. Damian is holding his own for now, but if the others aren’t cured, they’ll grow worse. I’ll heal them now, before they do.”

  “Maggie,” he said tightly.

  She turned and cupped his cheek. No words were needed between them, but she said them aloud so others would hear.

  “Nicolas, the pack needs you as much as they need me. There’s no real leadership here since Damian fell ill. The children are too thin. I can see food supplies are scarce. They need someone to lead them.”

  He closed his eyes, nodded. Then he opened his eyes, looking every inch what he had been. Fierce determination and quiet strength. Damian’s second, next to take over the pack. Nicolas squeezed her hand. “Go, do what you must.”

  Her mate fixed a baleful look on Baylor and the other males. “Gather a group together. You need to hunt fresh game.”

  Baylor started to speak and fell silent under Nicolas’s cold command. He turned and the other males began shuffling out of the room. Katia looked troubled, but smiled at Maggie and Nicolas. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

  She led them up a flight of wood steps to the second floor and down a long hallway. Windows lined the hall, giving an excellent view of the snow-dusted field surrounding the lodge.

  A vantage point, Maggie realized. Every window allowed them to see anyone approaching. The lodge was built more for protection than recreation.

  Opening a door at the hallway’s end, Katia gestured. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. Damian insisted you have some privacy. Everyone else is at the other end. I tried to make it as homey as possible. If you need anything, let me know. I’ll have the guys bring your luggage up.”

  Maggie gazed around the cream-colored bedroom. A royal-blue patchwork quilt covered the antique king-sized bed. A ceramic blue pitcher filled with autumn leaves stood on an antique maple dresser and rag rugs added color to the pine floor. Lamps fashioned from train lanterns sat on twin nightstands. The lace curtains at the window added a delicate touch. Yet she could not feel comfortable here, not with the animosity brimming like a summer storm.

  She preferred Nicolas’s abandoned ranch with its tattered white goose-down comforter on a bed as big as a football field and the grimy windows that overlooked the forest’s gentle slope leading down to the grassy meadows.

  Nicolas paced the bedroom like a caged animal. “I need to talk to Damian. Why don’t you settle in?”

  “Settle in, when there’s members of the pack who are ill? I’m heading downstairs.”

  As she turned to leave, he caught her arm. Something dark flickered in his caramel gaze. “Be careful in using your magick, caira. Even your powers may not be able to work on everyone. I smelled it in the air downstairs.”

  “Smelled what?”

  His mouth flattened. “Death.”

  The moment she hit the carpeted basement steps, it hit Maggie. Gagging, she pressed a hand over her nose. Nicolas had been right. Her eyes watered with sorrow. The stench of illness was the same she’d recognized in Misha. In her dog, she’d thought it cancer. Now she knew it for its true nature, the stench of despair and hopelessness.

  Following Katia, who was bedecked in a protective suit, Maggie climbed down to a large wood-paneled room. Twin beds arranged in dormitory style lined the room. At least a dozen females and some males lay in them.

  It was worse than she’d envisioned. Healing these Draicon would sap her strength. But she must.

  Flexing her hands, Maggie went from bed to bed as Katia explained the various stages of the disease. Most had the beginning stages. A few were moderate. She healed those who were least sick and worked her way through. She felt incredibly tired, and weak, but pushed on to the last, and worst, case.

  Aurelia, Damian’s nurse. The female Draicon moaned and tossed on her bed. Maggie felt tears well up at her suffering.

  “I have to go…Damian needs me.” Aurelia sat up, then moaned and fell back onto the bed.

  Her loyalty to the pack leader deeply touched Maggie.

  She looked down at the female Draicon curled into a tight ball. Compassion filled her. Maggie sat on the bed and gently laid her hands over Aurelia’s heart. Pain encompassed her. Waves of violent, red pain. Maggie bit her lip and plunged on. Concentrating, she saw ugly blackened cells made healthy and whole.

  Minutes later, she removed her hands. Her breath came in ragged gulps.

  Her hands had turned a mottled gray. Nausea welled up. Maggie staggered to an empty bed and collapsed upon it.

  This was harder than she’d ever imagined. But she’d healed the sick ones. All of them except Damian. She lacked the strength now to heal him.

  For now, he must wait.

  ———

  An hour later, a still-exhausted Maggie slipped into Damian’s third-floor room. It wasn’t hard to find. She followed his scent. Powerful, dominating, laced with the same sickness from downstairs.

  Slowly she opened the door, and stepped inside. On a king-sized bed, the Draicon leader dozed. The same grayish color tinted his skin. His thick black hair was cropped short, unlike Nicolas’s long locks. He had a strong, square face and a deceptively vulnerable mouth.

  She sensed nothing was vulnerable about this Draicon.

  Her hands lifted as if to heal but Maggie forced them down. She didn’t dare risk trying to heal him while she was this weak. He was far too ill.

  Drawing nearer, Maggie’s heart turned over at the thinness of his face, the lines of pain ravaging it in sleep. She sensed he masked the agony while awake so as to not alarm the pack.

  A noise at the window startled her. Maggie whipped around, but the door was too far away. The closet. She stepped inside, leaving the door ajar slightly and watched.

  The window slid open without noise. A diminutive woman climbed over the sill and stepped inside.

  A warm, calloused palm slid over Maggie’s mouth at the same time a steely arm jerked her backward. She gasped in surprise, then scented Nicolas.

  Why are you hiding in here? she mentally asked.

  Keeping watch over Damian. I picked up this one’s scent, knew she was heading here, he mentally spoke back.

  Bewildered, she started to question him further. Later, he whispered into her mind.

  They watched the elfin woman approach Damian’s bed. Her skin was pale as porcelain. Shoulder-length dark hair framed her thin face. She had a tilted nose, high, elegant cheekbones and looked no more than eighteen.

  Jamie, Nicolas spoke into her mind.

  This was Jamie, the terror that had ravaged the pack with her disease? The mortal woman who’d brought down Damian?

  Jamie stood by the bedside. Maggie tensed, ready to protect the Draicon leader with her own body if necessary. But Nicolas seemed relaxed and unafraid for Damian.

  The woman hung her head a moment. When she raised it, shock filled Maggie. A single large teardrop slid down Jamie’s translu
cent cheek.

  “Crying for me?”

  The soft New Orleans drawl made Maggie and Jamie gasp at the same time. Damian’s eyes were open, his gaze sharp. She wondered if he’d been sleeping all along.

  The mortal stepped back, scrubbing at her face. Hot blood suffused her face.

  “Me? Don’t be a fool. I came to see if you were dead yet.” Her sultry, mellifluous voice sharply contrasted the youthful look.

  “Disappointed? I’m quite alive, thank you for checking.” Amusement threaded Damian’s voice. Maggie didn’t understand.

  “Since you’re here, why not sit? Rest a bit.You look peaked.”

  He acted almost gentle and very unafraid of the woman who had stripped him of his strength and power.

  Jamie stared at him, her lower lip jutting out. A wary look came over her as she parked herself on the edge of Damian’s bed. She did look no more than a child, a confused, scared child. Maggie felt confused herself.

  “The Morphs know Nicolas is back with Margaret. I came to tell you. They’re planning to attack her the day after tomorrow. I heard Kane coordinating it. They’ll attack this lodge in a swarm of bees. It’s the fastest way to travel. They plan to infiltrate through the heating vents, then they’ll shift into wolves. Don’t care about the others, they only want to kill Margaret. Kane figures you’re dead already.”

  Maggie’s heart lurched. Nicolas gave her a comforting squeeze.

  “Thank you for telling me,” Damian said quietly. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Her slight shoulders lifted. “I don’t know. Maybe because I owe Nicolas one.”

  “How did you leave without them noticing?”

  “They don’t care much what I do anymore. I can come and go as I please.” Jamie toyed with a lock of her hair. “They’re not afraid of me leaving. Kane is certain I’ll stay.”

  “Are you certain you’ll stay? Why are you really here, Jamie?”

  Damian’s voice radiated command and demanded answers.

  “They told me…” Jamie looked troubled. “Kane told me who you really are and what I did…what it means. Who I am. It’s crap. Lies. They were just trying to torment me.”