Immortal Wolf

by Bonnie Vanak

  Silence draped between them, broken only by the growl of her empty stomach. Emily blushed.

  Raphael studied her. “When did you last hunt? You’re constantly hungry because you lack protein.”

  “I can’t shift into wolf,” she protested.

  “That will change. You will again. One of my duties as your draicaron is to provide for you,” he said quietly. “I’ll find food for you.”

  Pleasure rippled through her. He made her feel cherished. She hugged her knees, guarding her feelings.

  She must not allow herself to become close to Raphael—or forget who he was.

  Emily studied him curiously as he stood, waved a hand, dispensing of his clothing, and shifted into a large gray wolf. Raphael leapt down onto a large, flat boulder in the stream. He studied the racing water, saw a fat rainbow trout swimming against the current. He put his nose in the water and shook his muzzle.

  An expletive rang out in their telepathic link. Emily giggled.

  “I told you the water is cold.”

  I can handle it, he told her in their mind link. I may be warm-blooded, but I am not domesticated.

  Sending her this message, he sprang into the water and seized the trout with his jaws. She heard his inner howl and laughed.

  Merde, that water is cold! My nose is about to fall off.

  That would truly make you stand out from the crowd, she teased.

  Yellow eyes glared at her, then he leapt back onto the rock and bounded up on the bank, the fish in his mouth. He dropped the dead catch at her feet, wagged his tail and cocked his head. Dinner is served, ma belle.

  Emily burst into another fit of laughter.

  What is it?

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t eat fish,” she told him, giggling.

  You don’t…but you didn’t…

  “I thought it would be funny to see you brave the cold water.”

  Raphael shifted back, clothing himself in jeans, black long-sleeved shirt and leather jacket and boots. His dark brown hair was wet. “Funny?” He cocked a finger at her. “Come here. You owe me for that.”

  She shook her head, laughing still, and sprinted off. He took chase, delighting in the thrill of the hunt, the scent of her invigorating him, arousing him. She was quick, but no match for his tremendous speed and determination. He caught her by the bend of the creek, capturing her in his arms as she shrieked with laughter. Caged by his arms, she wriggled.

  “Let me go,” she demanded with a smile.

  “Never,” he said softly, and kissed her.

  The electric shock of his warm, wet mouth touching hers sent a jolt shuddering through her. The kiss wasn’t as fierce and melding as his first, born of desperation. This was like the soft touch of a butterfly wing. Intrigued, she pressed closer, wanting more. Her mouth became pliant and warm beneath the hard press of his lips. Resistance faded. He smelled like pine forest and clean male, cinnamon spice. Her body felt heavy with wanting as Raphael murmured against her mouth.

  “Emily,” he breathed.

  He deepened the kiss, supped at her mouth, teasing her lips with his tongue. He tasted her as if she were an exquisite banquet, a rare feast. She moaned into his mouth as he lowered her to the cool, soft grass, covering her body with his own. Hard male strength pinned her to the ground, but his mouth was moving over hers. Open for me, he murmured into her mind. Let me inside.

  Her lips instinctively parted, and his tongue slipped inside. He stroked the moist cavern of her mouth, nipped playfully at her lower lip. Emily wriggled beneath him, the empty space between her legs growing moist and throbbing. She wanted to wind her hands around his neck.

  Her hands.

  She writhed, turning her mouth to one side, and broke the kiss. “Stop it,” she said sharply.

  Raphael stopped and rolled off. Freed, she sprang up, heat flushing her face. She’d almost touched him. Her stomach twisted into knots.

  Hugging herself, she walked away from him, and following the river’s course, Raphael accompanied her. As if he sensed her confusion and wanted to put her at ease once more, he talked about the river and the difference between the clear water and the dark waters of the bayou he called home. Gradually she relaxed.

  Raphael pointed to the river when she stopped. “Ever go swimming?”

  “There are too many rapids.”

  “Looks nice and cool. In the bayou, we go swimming with the alligators and the snakes.” He offered a cocky, charming grin.

  She gave a little sigh. “I don’t know how to swim. Father never taught me. I think he was overprotective, afraid I’d get into trouble.”

  He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Most parents teach their children to swim, so in case they fall in, they can care for themselves until someone rescues them. What about your mother?”

  “I never knew my mother. She gave birth to me but left us shortly after.”

  “Odd,” he mused. “I can’t imagine a woman leaving her beloved child. It must have been very difficult for her.”

  Emily felt a small desolation. “He never told me why, just that she couldn’t stay with us. He told me that she loved me, but if she did, why would she leave me?”

  “Maybe she felt she would not fit in with your pack. Emily, your mother wasn’t pack, was she? She was an outsider,” he pointed out gently. “All the rest are barren. You are the only youngling, and have been for a long while. Your father had an affair outside the pack.”

  “You’re probably right. Especially if my mother was of mixed blood, and not a purebred, my pack wouldn’t welcome her,” she mused.

  Raphael was silent, staring at the water. She tried to touch his mind but instead found a wall of granite.

  Distress filled her. She had probably hurt him with her words. He was of mixed blood.

  So upset was she at unintentionally insulting him that she moved closer to the edge, not realizing how close.

  “Emily, watch it,” Raphael warned.

  The words barely fled his mouth when she slipped on a loose rock and lost her footing. A scream tore from her throat as she tumbled down the bank, straight into the roiling river.

  Chapter 5

  R aphael waved his hand, dispensing his clothing, and shifted. He plunged into the fast-moving current as wolf, swimming with the current. In his human form, he was a strong swimmer, but he couldn’t risk the shock of the cold water slowing him for one minute.

  Emily was swept downstream, and he had to reach her before she drowned.

  Raphael lowered all his mental barriers, called out to her using their mind link. Emily, where are you?

  A terrified scream rang in his head. He swam faster, paddling with the current, and saw her red head bobbing up and down. Still alive, still managing the wicked torrent. He allowed himself a flash of relief when he saw she wasn’t fighting the current but letting herself drift with it. Still, she could not swim.

  Raphael reached out with his mind as he treaded water in her direction.

  Good girl. Keep letting the current take you, keep your head above water. Use your arms and legs and piston them, like you’re making circles.

  Suddenly they rounded a curve and came to a small raging waterfall. Raphael’s heart stopped as he saw her head bob and then vanish beneath the water.

  He swam to her faster, feeling her screams inside his head. Damn it, where was she, how long was she down?

  Emily, put your hands over your head. Keep it from getting hit.

  He finally reached her and dove beneath the lacy white froth. Paddling toward her, using all his strength, his front paws touched solid flesh. Emily. Raphael shifted instantly, his arms lacing about her midsection. He pulled her free.

  They surfaced, Emily limp in his arms. Not breathing. Terror stabbed him. She’d been down at least three to four minutes. Enough time for brain damage.

  With one arm hooked about her waist, he used his other in long, powerful strokes to steer them toward a calmer pool near the shore. He dragged her halfway out of the
water, and as he start chest compressions, she choked and coughed up water. Her breathing hitched, but her eyes remained closed.

  Raphael rubbed her chest, her arms, trying to warm her. “Em, wake up, little one, wake. Em, chere, talk to me.”

  She coughed, opened her eyes, and began shivering. Relief flooded him, made his limbs weaken. “Say something, chere.”

  Her blue lips moved. “What is chere?” she croaked.

  Raphael sat back on his haunches and laughed weakly. He cupped her face in his hands. “It’s an endearment in Cajun French, meaning sweetheart.”

  He went to grab her hands, chafe them into warmth, but she jerked away.

  “N-no, don’t touch me, y-you’ll get hurt.”

  He couldn’t, but he wasn’t about to argue, so instead he started to drag her entirely out of the water.

  Suddenly she screamed and her body jerked.

  “Something’s got hold of my foot,” she cried out. “Ow, it hurts, Raphael, it hurts.”

  The calm pool suddenly boiled and frothed, as if millions of fish appeared. Blood began streaking through the crystal-clear pool. Emily’s blood.

  Raphael pulled hard, yanking her free of the water, up onto shore. He stared in horror at her bare right foot.

  Dozens of tiny bites bled, her flesh looking shredded. He uttered a curse and whipped his head from the water to her foot. Knowing she needed healing, knowing whatever was in the water must be killed.

  He was the Destroyer, a killer.

  He could not use his blood. It was forbidden. Yet as the thought surged through him, the bites vanished, replaced by smooth, pale flesh.

  He turned his gaze to the water. Shock slammed into him. The reddened water, turned crimson by Emily’s blood, was filled with dead fish.

  After covering Emily with his jacket, he gave her a quick kiss.

  “Warm yourself. I’m going in.”

  As she made a feeble protest, he dove into the deep pool. The fish, all Morph clones, vanished into clouds of gray ash. But he spotted the original, his senses detecting it as if had laid a scent trail. Raphael dove deeper, and his hands closed around it. Sharp teeth weakly closed around his fingers. He kicked for the surface.

  Fish in hand, he emerged. He treaded water and studied the mouth gaping open and closed, showing rows of pointed teeth.

  Piranha. They did not live in cold water, but the cold had not killed this one.

  Even as he studied it, the fish died.

  With a muttered curse he flung the fish into the air, directed a thought of pure energy. The piranha incinerated instantly and exploded into ash.

  How had these Morphs bypassed the safeguards on the Burke land? Emily killed with her hands. Everything she touched died. Yet these fish died from ingesting her blood as if it were too potent for them. As if it were too powerful for evil.

  He swam back to Emily lying on the shore. Very gently he cradled her in his arms. “Let’s get you home, and warm.”

  Despite the wet clothing, she no longer shivered. Raphael cast a backward glance at the dead fish.

  Why had they died?

  Much later that night. Emily stood at the foot of a sturdy, aged oak tree. Above her head, a cluster of berries hung temptingly out of reach. She’d have to climb to reach the mistletoe plant.

  Raphael had been solicitous and caring, lighting a fire in her fireplace and covering her with a warm blanket. After a while, she’d asked to be alone. His tenderness only made her miserable, knowing it would not last.

  The incident with the fish had bothered her. Clearly they were Morphs, but why had they died? Raphael had questioned her, but she evaded him. She couldn’t tell him about the gift of her blood giving life. If he knew about her powers, as her pack had, would he also see her as an abomination? She shuddered, remembering what happened to her grandfather.

  What Urien had done afterward.

  Raphael must not know more of her secrets. Distance between them was best. How could she allow herself to grow close to him? He was too different, too much a proud figure who stood out from the pack. A Draicon who rode a metal monster, wore hide of the cow and went without a pack.

  Even though her own pack had rejected her, she longed to belong. For too long she’d been alone. Family was all she knew. Even her family was better than being alone.

  After drying off, and making a small meal of leftover scraps, she’d tried to read more of the texts, but the mixture had sat out too long. She needed fresh berries, and her emotions were far too strong to decipher the words.

  Translating the entire prophecy would give her answers.

  With tremendous reluctance, she removed her gloves to gain better purchase on the tree. In her bare feet, she began to make her way up the tree. Bark scraped her arms, but she did not slow down. When she reached the limb holding the nearly ripe berries, she inched farther out.

  Harvesting the berries was a delicate business. It had to be done by moonlight and the sprig cut with a golden knife, her hands purified by saying the sacred words, or the berries would become contaminated.

  This was the last sprig on the tree. If she lost these, she’d have to look off the property for others.

  Wrapping her legs around the limb, she lay lengthwise, her arms free. In her dress pocket was a small gold knife used for ceremonies. The berries must be cut by her bare hands. She closed her eyes, stretched out her hands and uttered a prayer to the goddess Aibelle and then reached for the knife. So close, so very close…

  “What the hell are you doing up there?”

  The deep male voice startled her. Emily yelped and lost her precarious grip. Raphael’s alarmed shout filled the air with her scream as the dagger slipped from her hands. Her arms flailed instinctively, and she fell. Air rushed by as she pinwheeled her arms, trying desperately to slow her descent.

  Two strong arms caught her as if she weighed no more than the berries. Emily gasped as Raphael held her. Silver moonlight dappled his face, accenting his wry expression.

  “I came out for a walk in the moonlight. I didn’t expect to catch a falling star.”

  His tone was gentle, teasing. Emily’s heart pounded harder in a different way as she stared at him, her arms dangling loosely. Dark bristles shadowed his square jaw, and his smile was reassuring. Then his expression shifted, turned more intense.

  “What does one do with a gift fallen from the night sky?” he mused.

  She felt odd, yearning, her body sweetly tense as the blood surged in her veins. His grip on her was secure, and she felt no fear, only sudden desire.

  He gave her no further opportunity to contemplate as he lowered his mouth to hers. Emily’s lips parted under the leisurely pressure of his. She felt his tongue slip past, seek hers. Emboldened, she touched his and began a delicate dance.

  Very gently he lowered her to the damp grass, his arms secure around her. Raphael half covered her, never breaking the kiss, his mouth sipping at hers.

  The aching between her legs intensified. She wasn’t experienced, didn’t know what she wanted, only that her skin felt feverish, her body felt pleasure and she wanted more. More of him, more of his delicious taste. Emily nipped his lower lip, then sucked on his tongue.

  A low growl rippled from his chest as he tightened his grip and deepened the kiss. Emily sighed into his mouth. She raised her hands, eager to touch him, wind her hands around the strong muscles of his neck…

  Her hands.

  She would hurt him.

  A shriek sounded into his mouth as she writhed and struggled to be free, realizing the danger of their embrace. Raphael tore his mouth from hers with a surprised look. He rolled off her as she bounded to her feet, rubbing her hands, her limbs weak and quivering.

  “Stay away from me,” she warned, holding out her bare hands.

  “All right, easy now,” he said softly. “But don’t be afraid, Em. I won’t hurt you.”

  It’s you who will get hurt, came the fleeting thought. She shoved a quivering hand through her long
hair and glanced upward.

  “Why were you in the tree?” He asked the question as calmly as if they hadn’t been involved a minute ago.

  Emily inhaled a deep breath. Raphael had a tendency to make her forget all sense, sweep away the present and all its concerns as if the world didn’t exist.

  Her world, her very dangerous, dark world. She grabbled for her gloves, donned them swiftly.

  “I had to cut the mistletoe to translate the ancient texts, and it has to be done by moonlight, because the light during the day—”

  “Is too intense.” Raphael nodded. His gaze fell downward at the gold knife she had dropped. “And it must be done with a solid gold knife.”

  Surprised, she studied him, the formerly relaxed stance now taut with alertness. He craned his neck and stared upward. “I can’t have you falling out of the tree again.”

  Dumbfounded, she watched him climb upward, as agile as if he’d been born to it. Emily forgot to breathe as he reached the limb and shimmied out. Raphael waved his hand and the Sacred Scian appeared in his palm.

  Sense returned. He would cut the berries, but he didn’t know the sacred words. Everything must be perfect, and Raphael in his good intentions…

  Would ruin everything.

  “Stop it, stop it, don’t touch them,” she cried out, running to the tree trunk.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got it under control.”

  Using his left hand to cling to the limb, he sawed at the sprig of mistletoe with his left, using the golden dagger.

  “No, no, wait, no, you’ll ruin it!”

  But he had already cut the leafy bough of berries. Raphael replaced his dagger and wrapped both hands around the limb, his body dangling fifteen feet in the air.

  “Get back,” he ordered.

  She staggered back, her heart in her throat, misery choking her as he dropped and landed on his feet as if jumping off a small rock. Raphael made a formal little bow and presented the sprig to her with a flourish. “Your berries.”