Immortal Wolf

by Bonnie Vanak

  Gathering all her courage, Emily spoke. “I just wanted to join you for one meal, I can eat from a separate plate and destroy it after so I won’t contaminate it, or you can even give me the leftovers you don’t want…”

  Her voice trailed off as the entire pack, her family, turned their heads. The repulsed looks echoed Bridget’s. Urien pushed back from the table.

  “Get out,” he said tightly. “You are forbidden here.”

  Some tiny bit of stubbornness remained, gluing her feet to the floor. She held her chin high, surveying them with what she hoped was a scornful glance.

  “Fine,” she said with dignity. “I’m not hungry.”

  Gathering the tatters of her shredded pride, Emily left, hoping they couldn’t hear her protesting stomach. She did not run until she was certain the pack could not see her through the farmhouse windows.

  Her footsteps made crunching sounds as she ran along the grand drive leading to her cottage. On the front porch of Raphael’s cottage, the Kallan watched her.

  Emily jerked to a halt, her heart thudding like a war drums. Her nostrils flared, catching his scent. Spices and an earthy, masculine scent flooded her senses.

  She swallowed hard. She didn’t dare trust him. She had trusted her own people to understand, to work with her, and they had turned their backs in her greatest need. But she had been alone for too long to reach out to anyone, even the one who was supposed to save her.

  Emily started to pass, but his deep, commanding voice called out. “Emily, come here.”

  For a moment she hesitated, then she inhaled again, dragging in a lungful of his scent. It beckoned to her like an elixir, made her dizzy with sharp, sudden need.

  Almost against her will, Emily found herself mounting the steps to his cabin. Raphael sat in one of the pine rockers. The chiseled edge of his profile showed in sharp relief.

  She chose to stand by the railing, as far from him as possible without leaving the porch.

  “Why do you keep running away to the woods?”

  Her shoulders lifted in an attempt at insouciance. “I like the forest.”

  “So do I. It holds an aura of mystery, strength and power. Especially these woods.” He cocked his head at her. “One of my favorite poems is about the woods. Robert Frost wrote it.”

  “Robert Frost,” she realized. A Kallan who read poetry like she did?

  “He was like you, in a way. He cherished the earth. You feel more at home in the forest, don’t you?”

  Emily fell silent, not knowing what to say.

  Finally, he looked at her. His expression was blank, but she read steely resolve in his dark gaze. “I know this was a shock to you, as much as it was to me. But from now on, no more running from me.”

  “Who are you to order me?”

  “Your draicaron. Your bonded mate. You can’t run away from that fact, Emily.” He leaned back in the rocker, his boots tipped upward. “I had a talk with your Alpha—”

  “My Alpha.”

  Bitterness tinged her tone. Raphael gave her a thoughtful look and leaned forward, hands on his knees. She found herself staring at his long, powerful limbs encased in the blue jeans. Everything about the Kallan radiated power, control and pure male strength.

  “I told Urien I want proof that the prophecies demand your sacrifice and that I will not go forward with the execution unless I have that proof.”

  She felt her shoulders release the tension she’d been holding. No one since her father had talked to her with this much forwardness and blunt honesty. Raphael did not mince words or make her fate sound glorious. It was an execution, and she was glad he stated it thusly. It softened her a little toward him.

  Just a little.

  Raphael slung an arm over the back of the rocker. “Did your aunt Helen ever mention to you where she hid the sacred texts?”

  Like a deer spotting a predator, Emily froze. Motionless she stood, hoping she had not heard him correctly. How could he have known?

  “Emily.”

  A statement, demanding answers. Emily lifted her gaze to his. “What concern is it of yours?”

  “It is of great concern of mine, because it concerns you.”

  Deep inside, she wanted to trust him. She’d walked alone for a long time, shunned by her own people. But she did not dare. Once she had trusted her people, and they turned on her. Her life was at stake, and it was better to forge ahead on her own.

  A gentle but insistent prodding touched her mind. Raphael.

  Emily, talk to me. It’s my duty to help you. Do you know anything of the ancient texts your aunt Helen hid?

  Deliberately, she erected a mental barricade. It almost came as naturally as breathing.

  Raphael quirked a dark brow. “Emily, what do you know of the ancient texts?”

  Persistent. She lowered her guard for a mere instant and touched his mind. Feelings of concern, anger directed at Urien, resentment? And barely restrained sexual need.

  Swallowing hard, she withdrew, slamming the door shut like a woman taking a peek into a dark, forbidden room.

  “It doesn’t work that way, Emily. You can’t prod my thoughts and then shut me out. Now, tell me, what do you know of the texts?”

  His voice was soft, yet steely. She moistened her mouth. “Why do you want them?”

  “They’ll have answers. Answers I need and will tell me if you are destined to die or if all that Urien says is a crock of camian dung.”

  “Camian?”

  “Bayou alligator.” Determination flared on his handsome face as he leaned forward. “I’ll do whatever it takes to find the texts.”

  She fisted her hands in her lap. “I have the texts. They’re safe. Urien doesn’t know I have them, and I want it to stay that way.”

  His mouth relaxed. “Good. Now all we need to do is translate them.”

  “When did this become we?”

  “The moment I discovered you’re my draicara, and even before then. I take my charges as Kallan very seriously. Now, tell me what is needed to translate them.”

  Panic surged through her veins. She needed more time to find answers by herself. If Raphael discovered she had translated the first part of the passage, he might see it as a sign she was meant to die. She shivered.

  “Let’s go inside. You’re cold,” he said abruptly.

  The inside of his cottage was as large as hers, but for the heavy, masculine pine furniture. The small kitchen had a table beneath a window. On the fireplace mantel was a collection of baskets containing pinecones. She peered through the opened bedroom doorway. The king-size bed had a hand-carved pine headboard and a sienna and forest-green quilt. She wondered if he even knew what color sienna was.

  “Red.” His tone deepened with languid sensuality. “Like your hair, sunset over the bayou, chere.”

  Raphael descended with grace onto the long leather couch, slinging an arm across the back. Leather creaked as he shifted his weight, planting one booted foot upon the square coffee table. “Come here, little one. I’m not so dangereux.”

  The slow, sensual slur of his voice sent a shiver of desire coursing through her. “Stop reading my mind.”

  “Stop evading my question. Sit.” He patted a space next to him.

  She ignored the invitation and stood by the fireplace. Her family had shunned her. Her entire world stood on the threshold of collapse. How could she trust him, a stranger who came to execute her, with her very life?

  Guarding her mind, and steeling herself against the piercing pain of abandonment, she faced him. “You want answers. I’ll tell you then. What is needed to translate them is none of your concern, Kallan. The texts are parchment, sacred and can only be translated by a select few like myself. I won’t let you see them. It would be a violation.”

  She pivoted to storm out of the room, but not before catching the dark look in his eyes.

  It would be a violation. Dog. Mongrel. Mixed-blood. He could hear all the slurs.

  Raphael gripped the sofa’s armrest
so hard his fingers began to purple. First Urien, now his own draicara, deemed him unworthy to read the texts. His mixed blood sent him spiraling downward in their esteem as if he’d slid down a chute.

  Straight into the trash heap of what purebloods like the Burkes considered impures. Raphael inhaled a deep breath.

  His own draicara refused his help.

  Not that he could read them anyway. He lacked knowledge of the Old Language, all because of his Cajun birth. He was considered impure. Mixed-blood.

  Mongrel.

  A distant memory surged. He tried pushing it down, but it surfaced with relentless force. He’d been in town, ambling through the French Quarter, enjoying the fresh air and looking to purchase fresh peaches, which he adored. As he rounded a corner toward the market, a group of purebloods spotted him. They knew who he was. What he was.

  The names they called him weren’t as bad as what they had done….

  He had never again eaten a peach.

  Though the marks were long gone, he absently rubbed his neck out of habit. Raphael scowled and stopped. He stood, pushing aside old, hurtful wrongs. He was no longer that weakling of ten, but a grown male with enormous powers and a draicara who needed his help.

  Even if she thought he was incapable of providing it. He smiled grimly.

  You’ll see, chere. One way or another, I will aid you, like it or not.

  The purifying sage was ready. The berries she’d picked sat in a plain wood bowl, as Helen had taught her. Emily lit the sage and waved it over the ancient parchment on the table, focusing her energy toward the words. She tried to clear her mind, center herself amid the turbulent chaos of her thoughts.

  She set down the sage, letting the smoke fill the room, and picked up the berries with a trembling hand. Emily stared at the parchment.

  The words were pure gibberish. Her hand shook violently as she took a stone mortar and crushed the berries into a pulpy mixture.

  Scooping her fingers into the mixture, she gently smeared it over the parchment. Emily blew on the crushed berries, then wiped them away.

  She stared at the words. Hope filled her as they began to form before her eyes in the Old Language. She blinked eagerly, her finger tracing the passage.

  “Destiny demands that the Destroyer will execute the Chosen One….”

  Her mouth went dry as her heart raced in sudden panic and dread. Emily blinked hard.

  The words faded.

  “No, please, no,” she cried out. Emily blinked again, but nothing appeared.

  Tears filled her eyes. She slammed a fist down on the table, rattling the bowl holding the berries.

  For so long, she’d tried to be brave, held all her emotions at bay. Now they poured out like a river breaking a dam.

  The lone passage stated it in grim, ancient writing.

  Raphael, the Destroyer, would execute her.

  She was going to die at his hand.

  Chapter 4

  T he heavy knock at the front door catapulted Emily out of her self-misery. She took in several calming breaths, inhaled the sage to cleanse her emotions.

  Her draicaron must not see how upset she was. He’d question what she’d found and could use it against her to fulfill his duty. She dried her eyes, threw a cloth over her work and went to answer the door.

  In his black leather jacket, jeans and black T-shirt, Raphael stood outside.

  His stance was powerful, obstinate, and reminded her of her favorite towering oak. No wind, rain or the worst storm would fell it. Strong, sturdy and impenetrable. She could not run from him, or hide. He would find her.

  Destroy her.

  Emily clamped a barricade over her thoughts but couldn’t stop shivering inside with fear.

  “You’re not shutting me out, Emily. It won’t work.”

  She opened the door and stood aside as he walked into her living room. Raphael folded his arms across his broad chest. “My duties as Kallan require you to know about the Other Realm. I’ve decided to delay those lessons in favor of working with you to decipher the texts. If you will work with me.”

  “Come in. Sit down.” She motioned toward the floral couch. She could not meet his gaze. Instead, she studied his feet, clad in tough leather boots. “I have a question.”

  “Go on.” His tone was guarded.

  “How many Draicon have you terminated as Kallan?”

  He gave a heavy intake of breath. “Too many.”

  “Did any go willingly?”

  Raphael headed for her largest chair. His big, powerful body seemed to suck up all the space in her tiny living room. “Some did. Some asked me to end it for them. Elders, who could not cross and were suffering.”

  “And those who did not wish to go? Did you teach them about the Other Realm as well?”

  She raised her gaze to see him drag a hand through his silky, thick hair. “They were much harder. I gave them the basic lessons and then allowed them to spend the rest of their time conducting last requests, under strict supervision, of course.”

  “But you still killed them. What was it like? Did it hurt, because they did not want to go?”

  She couldn’t help the small note of worry.

  “My Scian has a magick anesthetic. It never hurts,” he said quietly.

  Emily stared at the dagger intended to end her life. “Why are you doing this? Why did you become Kallan, even with all the power, if your only purpose is to kill our people?”

  Raphael folded his arms across his chest. “It is my duty and responsibility to terminate the lives of our people who need the solace of death, or deserve it.”

  “And me? Do I deserve to die?” she blurted out.

  His onyx gaze softened. “I doubt it. Which is why I need you willing to work with me to discover why your pack says you do. My duty is clear. It’s not easy, and I will find answers first.”

  She nodded, seeing it from his point of view.

  “Let’s start with some basic questions.” He gestured to the sofa. She sat.

  “Tell me about your father, and how he died.”

  She related the details, and what happened with Helen, as well. Emotion clogged her throat as she relayed how she’d returned to find Helen lying on the ground. In their protective covering of heavy gloves, Emily fisted her hands, trying desperately to contain her feelings.

  “They didn’t even bury her in the earth she loved with the rest of our pack. She was so alone. They were too afraid her body, contaminated by my touch, would contaminate the ground. So they made a marker for her but they burned her body. I saw the smoke, but they wouldn’t let me near. So much smoke. I waited until it was dark, and then I took her ashes and I buried them in the earth.”

  Suddenly her voice broke. Emily buried her head in her hands, her stomach twisted in knots as she bit back a sob.

  She heard the chair creak, the soft tread of footsteps, and felt a warm body next to hers. Astonished shock rippled through her as Raphael slid a muscled arm about her shoulders. No one had dared to be this close since the goddess had cursed her with the touch of death. The comfort of his gesture and his inclination to draw near instead of away cracked the dam of her emotions. She longed to sink against his strong body and release everything she’d felt.

  “Em,” he said softly. “How much you’ve suffered.”

  His gentle compassion unraveled all her control. Tears sprang to her eyes, blurring her vision, but she jerked away, shuffling to the couch’s far end.

  “D-d-don’t touch me,” she choked out. “It’s t-too dangerous. You’ll get hurt.”

  Raphael headed for the kitchen and returned with a napkin. He held it out to her. She snatched it from his hands, careful not to allow any contact between them, and murmured thanks as she dried her eyes.

  “Emily, I doubt you can hurt me,” he said gently. “But until the time is right and you learn to trust me, let’s take it one step at a time. Now, would you like to show me where you and Helen were working when she died? I need to see something.”
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br />   The napkin crumbled in her hands. “It’s just a garden.”

  “Yes, but I can sense energy patterns in the way a person died. I want to see Helen’s.”

  Despite her misery, fascination stole over her. “Such a dark power to have,” she marveled. “None of my people can do that.”

  A shadow crossed her draicaron’s face. “Yes, very dark.”

  They walked outside through the forest until they reached an open meadow. Granite river rocks wreathed a small circular garden, once a lovely backdrop to the blue misty mountains ringing the valley. Emily hung back, studying the flowers, now dying from the approaching winter. Once snapdragons, petunias and pansies grew here in a colorful riot.

  Since Helen’s death, she hadn’t the heart to return.

  “We used to like gardening here. She took me here the day she died. She told me where the texts were, and she was going to tell me something else.” Emily frowned, searching her memory. “I had the feeling it was very important, something about the pack.”

  She sensed Raphael’s preternatural stillness. “Did she give you any clues before she died?”

  “Just one thing. She said things were not always as they seemed, and destructive powers were not always meant to destroy good.” Emily walked to the plantings where she and Helen had worked. “It was here. We were planting the pansies, the violet ones. They were her favorite.”

  He squatted by the garden’s edge, touching the earth. Emily swallowed hard as she watched the muscles bulge in his long limbs. Raphael shrugged out of his leather jacket and dropped it on the ground. His shoulders were as broad as a doorway. Biceps bulged as he stretched his arms toward the earth. Closing his eyes, he sifted through the dirt. The tiny gold dagger earring swung from his left ear in the slight breeze.

  Awestruck, she observed him seeming to hum with power, iridescent sparks shimmering about him. Unlike her magick, it turned dark and shadowy, as if shrouded by a dark fog. A shiver skated down her spine.