by Bonnie Vanak
Panic flared in her eyes, then she glanced away. “A female, a forbidden birth, some years ago. Emily. Liam sired her on another outside the pack. Urien accepted her because Liam is his dearest brother and we needed a little one. But now Urien regrets not banishing Liam for the pack’s good.”
“You told me she was an elder who was glad to cross.” Raphael’s dismay grew. “Why did you lie?”
“It is hard for us. Emily was our hope. And now to have to sacrifice her for the good of the pack? It breaks our hearts.”
“Where is her father?”
Her expression went blank. “Dead a year ago. Emily killed him. Accidentally, when she touched him.”
Her own father? Pity surged through him, along with mounting suspicion. “What happened?”
“Emily had dreamed the goddess Aibelle appeared to her and said the power of life and death was within her. The next day, Emily asked her father and me what Aibelle meant. She grabbed her father’s hand, squeezed it. Liam gasped and dropped to the floor. I told Emily to fetch Urien from the fields, but it was too late. By the time he returned, Liam was dead from Emily’s touch. She is the one foretold by the prophecies to bring an end to our people.”
Bridget wrung her hands. “You must understand how difficult this is. Urien loves Emily, but she killed Liam, and then six months later his sister, Helen. We must follow the ancient prophecies and dispatch Emily before the curse spreads. The fate of the entire Draicon race rests with you, Kallan. How many more of our people must die?”
Raphael’s heart sank. “What about these ancient prophecies? I want to see them for myself.”
Not that he could read them. Any knowledge he had of the Old Language he’d memorized when he became Kallan.
“It is forbidden for those outside our pack to read them, those who are not pure of the blood.”
Her voice was soft and the tone apologetic, but if Bridget had spat in his face, she couldn’t have insulted him more. Raphael gave her a long, cool look and they resumed the tour.
When they reached the upstairs bedrooms, Bridget opened a door to a lavish suite. “This is your room. We hope you like it.”
“Where does Emily sleep?”
After some hesitation, she said Emily lived in a cottage in the woods. There were several cottages in the forest, but after Emily killed her father, everyone else moved to the farmhouse. No one wanted to be near her.
“Emily is too dangerous,” she insisted. “It’s best this way. Emily likes living in the woods.”
Did she? He wondered if it were Emily’s choice or if they forced her into it.
Raphael closed the suite door and leaned against it. He gave Bridget his most intimidating look.
“I want to stay in the cottage next to Emily.”
Bridget started to protest. He remained silent. Finally, she sighed. “I’ll see to it. But, be careful. She’s dangerous.”
“I’ll deal with it.” Raphael stared her down. “Now take me to my quarters.”
Raphael. The powerful, mighty warrior who would kill her was named Raphael. They said he was swift, merciful and gave the person a dignified end.
His dagger was honed with magick from the Old Ones.
Those subjected to an ending by his sword were even accorded dignified names. The transitions. They transitioned to the Other Realm, with Raphael the Kallan aiding their journey.
Noises had drawn her to the cottage next door. Emily stood now behind a pine tree, peering into the living-room window as she watched Raphael stretch his long body.
Fascination stole over her. Smooth tanned flesh flexed over strong biceps. Emily ducked out of sight as he turned.
Footsteps sounded inside. She peeked again. Raphael tugged his black T-shirt over his head and off. Now he stood at the bathroom door. Certainly the view was admirable. She felt a tingle rush through her body as she gazed at his body.
His fingers reached for the front of his black leather pants. Coloring, she ducked down again. When she lifted her head, sounds of the shower began.
Curiosity overwhelmed her. Emily crept around to the cottage’s side. The bathrooms were designed to let in natural light and give the feeling of being outdoors while in the shower. A wall of glass looked out to a curtain of pine trees. Sneaking between the glass and the pines, she watched.
In the glassed shower, Raphael stood beneath the twin jets, his back to her. Damp, ragged black hair hung in strands to his wide shoulders. Smooth, golden flesh covered his muscled backside, and his bottom…
Emily stared at the rounded firmness of his buttocks. When he turned around, she released a startled gasp. Her shocked gaze roamed from the dark hair on his firm chest to the rippling muscles on his abdomen, down to the thick hair at his groin and the…
Her gaze whipped back up to his other end to find two dark eyes regarding her with amusement.
Emily squeaked, fleeing into the safety of her forest.
Emily was curious to see him. Well, she’d gotten a good look at him. More than an eyeful, Raphael thought with a grin.
But would she spend the next three weeks running away?
He dried off, dressed and went onto the porch. Sitting on a wood rocker, he listened to the peaceful cheep of tree frogs, the distant lowing of a cow left in a pasture. Twilight draped shadows over the stretch of grass marching down the gentle slope toward the forest.
What kind of life was it for Emily when her entire pack feared even the tread of her steps on the stairs?
Something about his charge bothered him. Not her absence. That was normal. But the feelings she evoked in him, powerful and overwhelmingly sexual. He’d never felt like this before around a transition.
His feelings were equally intense regarding her pack. Something was off, especially Bridget. He couldn’t gauge them, probably because of their pure blood and lineage.
Old resentments flared, but he set them aside. He leaned back in the rocking chair. Raphael closed his eyes, scenting a delicate aroma of lavender and female. The fragrance heated his blood and he gripped the rocking chair’s armrests to steel himself against sudden arousal.
“Emily, come out. I’m Raphael, the Kallan. I know you’re there, watching me. I’d like to meet you. Don’t be afraid.”
Silence filled the air. Then a strong, sweet voice spoke into the gathering darkness.
“Afraid? You’re the one who should be afraid, Raphael Robichaux.”
Her voice deepened with a slight menace. “Very afraid. Because I carry death with me wherever I go. And my hands, judging from the way they are itching right now, tell me you are next.”
Something tugged at his conscience. Her voice with its slight Southern accent seemed familiar. Emotions crowded him. Most overwhelming was a deep feeling of utter sorrow, as if part of his very soul were to die.
It was his distress at her youth and growing anger at her pack’s deception that marred his perception. Nothing more. Raphael dismissed his inner feelings. Emotions were dangerous and clouded his judgment.
He opened his eyes, staring at the sunlit dappled oaks and maples. “Good. Then come forward. If you wish me harm, then have the courage to show yourself.”
“Why should I? I’ve already seen you,” the reply came, followed by a small sniff.
Delight filled him at her snappy attitude. “Seen a lot of me, have you? Let’s look at each other face-to-face and not through the bathroom window.”
Her gasp made his grin widen.
Movement snapped his attention to the left. Raphael half closed his eyes, waiting.
A figure emerged from the woods. His senses sprang to alert. The approaching female walked with quiet grace. Light from the porch showed hair the color of an angry sunset drawn up tight in a bun like the other Burke females. Damn.
Young. Much younger than his 105 years. Barely a decade past her first change into wolf. Much more disturbing was the wild cascade of emotions tumbling through him. Fascination. Thrill. And a reckless feeling of intense arousal.
Raphael closed his eyes, shutting out his initial reaction. Emotions are dangerous.
He drank her in through his other senses. A small smile touched his mouth. Despite the myriad of feelings pushing at him, he could read her spirit. Defiant and not willing. He faced a big fight.
She would not go gentle into that good night, but kicking and screaming. And part of him relished her anger. After all the times he’d dispatched his own kind, he wanted someone to fight him. Someone to tell him to piss off, instead of beg for death with dull, pain-glazed eyes.
The air around him shifted. A chill dropped over him as if winter breathed hard and fast across his body. Raphael suppressed a shiver. His warm Cajun blood howled at the icy blast.
It emitted from her.
Death lingered in her, but not her own. Her touch killed.
Waiting, he reached out to assess her. She smelled absolutely delicious—strong and very alive. He tasted the cold fury in the chill she threw off. Yet he burned with desire as he sensed her drawing nearer.
Raphael waited, rocked and remained silent.
“You can’t be the Kallan. You’re much too young.”
The accusation made him smile. Opening his eyes, he studied her approach, graceful as a wood nymph. The last rays of sunlight glinted her hair, making it look as brilliant as the setting sun.
“So are you. I was told by your Alpha you’re elderly.” He didn’t hide his anger. Raphael sat straight, his thighs splayed, hands on knees as he regarded her.
“I’m twenty-two.” She hesitated, and her voice seemed sad, oddly familiar. “I feel as if I am an ancient.”
A frown touched his mouth as he scrutinized her appearance. “Have we met?”
She laughed, the sound like gurgling water cascading over stones. “Doubtful. You’d remember me, for I don’t shake hands. Ever.”
Emily held up her hands, displaying thick, ugly mustard-yellow gloves. They were a grim reminder of the lethal threat she carried.
“I could kill you with a single touch,” she said, her dulcet voice contrasting with the ugliness of her words.
“I doubt it. Come, sit beside me. It’s a lovely evening.” He patted the empty rocker next to him.
She narrowed her eyes as if he invited her to sit on a pile of rattlers. “Sit and do what? Talk about the weather?”
“If you wish. I want to get to know you better, Emily Burke.”
Gloved hands went to her rounded hips. Emily stared him down. “I know your purpose. You’re here to execute me. Don’t waste your breath on flowery prose or eloquent speeches about how lovely the Other Realm is, and how I will be at peace or this nonsense about getting to know me better. Let’s get one thing straight, Kallan. You’re my enemy. Period. We’ll never be friends. Period.”
We will be lovers.
His thought materialized out of nowhere. It startled him, and as he studied her, it became very appealing. His body responded to the idea, imagining removing the pins from her hair, releasing it to spill in a cascade down to her waist. Emily naked as he feathered tiny kisses over her pale skin, enjoying her whimpers of excited pleasure as he fastened his mouth over a reddening nipple and then nudged her legs open and settled his hips between them…
Merde! What the hell was wrong with him? She’s your transition, imbecile! He’d been thinking of her as if she were his alone. He had a draicara, Erin, and he was lusting for a female he must dispatch.
Raphael dragged in a deep breath, disturbed at his traitorous thoughts. What sort of Kallan was he? Viciously he wished Emily were a 1,200-year-old male, with warts and bowed legs, eager to end it all. Not this vision of springtime beauty, as ethereal and lovely as a delicate blossom.
“Hello?” The vision waved her gloved hands before him. “You deaf? Did you get my message? I can kill you.”
“You can’t kill me,” he noted calmly, glad to see all emotion fled his voice. “I’m immortal.”
“But you’re not immune to pain. I can make you suffer.”
Probably more than you know. Again the thought flashed before him, filled with heavy sorrow.
Her smile turned nasty. “Have you felt your body weaken and your magick leaking from your body? That’s what I do, Raphael. And that is what I will do to you if you dare to come near me and preach about the afterworld or dying for my people.”
The inflection of her speech told him all he needed to know. She bluffed. Beneath the nasty words and threats was a dark thread of pure fear. Not for herself, but him.
For all living things she might harm.
Raphael smiled gently.
“I don’t know any speeches. I don’t preach. But I do like to eat, and I’m sure at some point you do as well. Will you join me for dinner?”
“As your guest or the main course?”
Raphael threw back his head and laughed, delighted with her spunk. “Depends. Sprinkled with a few Cajun spices, you might do.”
And I know exactly where to sprinkle the spice. His body heated with erotic conjecture, Emily on the table like a feast for his hunger…
He stood, the rocker banging against the wall. “Come, Emily. I hate eating alone.”
As he walked down the stairs, heading for her, she froze. “Stay away from me, Kallan. Just stay away.”
Then she fled into the gathering shadows like a frightened deer.
Raphael sighed, ran a hand through his hair. This time he’d not let her go. He jumped off the porch and inhaled. Easy enough to find.
Tracking her delicious scent, he followed her into the woods.
Emily drew closer to the oak tree and the vine of sacred mistletoe twining around the strong limbs. Though the moonlight tonight would be too dim, she must pick the berries.
She needed answers from the sacred texts her aunt Helen once guarded.
Six months ago, Helen had taken her to the garden alone, telling her she had to share a confidence about the pack. Helen, keeper of the sacred texts, had told her where they were hidden. “If anything happens, Emily, find and decipher them. They will provide the answers you need.”
Helen asked if she could still restore life and pointed to a dying rose. Emily had removed the thin glove covering her hand and pricked her thumb on a thorn. Four drops of her blood caused the petals to unfurl and renewed their crimson blush. Helen had become extremely emotional.
“I knew it, Emily. You have the gift of life within you still. There is something I must tell you. You need to know the truth about your gift.”
To her horror, Helen had touched her hand. Her uncovered hand. Emily had screamed as her aunt dropped to the ground. Terrified, Emily ran off to tell Urien, who ordered her confined to her cottage. An hour later, Urien grimly told Emily that Helen was dead from her single touch.
He’d banished her for good that day.
The texts were a last hope. Ever since she was informed of her impending death, she’d poured over them, desperate to translate the prophecies foretelling her death. If she were to die to save her race, then she wanted proof. Helen said the texts would provide all the answers. But to discern the words, she needed to be calm and unemotional.
Impossible. The only alternative was smearing ripe mistletoe berries over the parchment. The berries would make the words clear to her, even if she became too upset.
Footsteps crunched the leafy undergrowth. Emily went still, like a deer scenting the enemy. He approached with deliberate announcement of his presence.
She fled.
“Emily, come out. Stop playing games. Sooner or later, we must talk.
”
The deep, husky voice sounded familiar. No, it was this Kallan. He played games with her, trying to coax her to his side. Raphael possessed powerful magick. He could disguise his voice, making it sound familiar, and loved to encourage a transition to welcome death with open arms like a lover.
Emily squeezed her eyes shut, clapped her hands over her ears to shut away the deep, sensual tones of that voice, as soothing as an old friend. She had no friends.
I am alone.
Maybe this time she’d finally work up the courage to escape. Leave the property she seldom left since her birth. Flee into the night.
Driven by instinct, Emily cut back into the sheltering woods. Her bare feet, accustomed to the rough undergrowth, raced over the covering of dead leaves and twigs. Behind her she heard Raphael call her name.
Call all you want. You’ll be talking to air, peabrain.
Thinking of the mighty Kallan as a peabrain gave her small comfort. Emily continued on through her beloved forest, exiting into a sloped meadow. Dewy grass sloshed beneath her feet as she ran.
The property’s edge was within reach. Freedom. Emily ground to a halt, instinctively knowing the boundary. She stared at the dirt separating the Burke’s land from the outside world.
Her gaze whipped over to the crest of hill before her. Beyond the property lay freedom. If she worked up the courage, she could escape. Flee her fate.
Her overprotective father and Urien rarely allowed her to venture outside their territory, warning of great dangers. Morphs with talons ready to shred delicate skin to ribbons. Their fangs were long and yellowed, their greed for Draicon flesh very great.
Her heart raced with fear.
If she fled, where would she go? What if her touch killed humans as well? Emily’s heart wrenched at the thought of taking another innocent life.
Something moved in the darkening shadows. Shapes. Restless, pacing back and forth as if caged. Nothing but a band of coyotes. Urien had been wrong. The outside world presented little danger. Not compared to the larger, taller threat silently stalking her.
She stepped onto the roadway.
A stench like feces and rotting garbage filled her nostrils. Terror squeezed her heart like a strong fist. Emily recognized the forms as they came closer to the property’s edge. Close enough for her to smell their hot, fetid breath. Close enough for her to see the flash of black in their eyes.
