Cara turned her head...
No, it was someone else who turned to search for the origins of that smell. It was someone else who realized vampires were coming. Cara was experiencing this through someone else’s well-tuned senses.
Ten claws and a set of extremely sharp fangs simultaneously altered her appearance. Shuddering with distaste, she set out toward the trees, not half as scared as she should have been when the fate of so many was at stake. Her teeth chattered. Her heartbeats soared.
This isn’t me, Cara chanted inwardly, trying hard to remember that.
Focusing on the area beside an old dirt road where the trees were thickest, she put a hand to her chest, barely able to perceive the sting of the grooves her claws were digging. The word No! shattered the silence into a million pieces that left a bad taste in her mouth. Enemies were coming, and not just the vampires.
The dark thing inside her stirred, recognized what those odors meant. She felt the cold spiral of that spirit’s ascent.
Cara clenched her teeth as if that could keep the sprit trapped inside. Again, though, it was Rosalind who did the teeth clenching. This was Rosalind’s picture. Rosalind’s answer to Cara’s request to view the past. Cara was merely getting a ringside seat at the show.
Cara shook her head to deny what was happening. Rosalind did the same as the dark spirit began to seep through her pores, turning her hands and arms a glossy shade of black. The spirit forced Rosalind to open her mouth. A cry escaped as the Banshee took over with a terrible swiftness, and the wail went on and on, shaking the ground and the leaves in the trees. But this wail wasn’t for her.
The first batch of bloodsuckers appeared in the field to her left. They wore rags, and those rags were bloody. Their gaunt faces were the color of dry bones. Black eyes sank into endlessly deep sockets. Their stink preceded them like a stale wind.
There had to be at least forty hungry, angry, soulless ghouls. And she alone would meet them. She was ready, and she waited for the crush that was to come. These monsters had hurt her lover, and she would make them pay for that.
Beside her, there was a sudden flash of white, as if the storm she had expected had come to ground in the form of a dazzling streak of lightning. That luminous streak sailed by her on two long legs, white hair and skin glowing like moonlight, and issuing growls that were as fierce as anything she had ever heard.
Colton had come. Ghost. Werewolf. Lover.
Her mate would fight by her side.
The white-furred werewolf tore through the vampires like a battering ram. Black blood and ash flew as he hacked his way through them with his claws active and jaws like a steel trap.
Rosalind ran toward him with her claws slashing and her legs moving to the rhythm of her heartbeats. She took one vampire down with a slice to its scrawny neck and another soon after that. A third bloodsucker tried its hardest to avoid her claws and her wrath and didn’t succeed. Colton had cleared a path through the fang-snapping horde by circling to her right.
It wasn’t until she reached Colton that she heard the sound of oncoming cars and realized what that meant.
The Landau pack had arrived.
More help had come.
The brush of a hand against her throat catapulted Rosalind into yet another shape, and her claws disappeared. With her fangs, she did more damage to the parasites now turning toward the group of Weres who were running toward them. Without a full moon to guide their ancient DNA, none of them could shape-shift into their strongest forms, but that didn’t stop them. Ten werewolves joined the fight with silver-bladed knives and carved wooden stakes. Guns would have been easier, of course, but the sound would have carried.
More vampires went down. The scene, gray with a continuous flurry of ash, seemed surreal. Rosalind knew that Banshees didn’t wail for the undead, and that vampires had no souls to call to death’s door, but none of the Weres had fallen tonight, and still the dark spirit’s cry again pushed upward through her to escape through her parted lips.
Blue sparks accompanied the ear-shattering wail. Hearing it, the handful of vampires left standing stopped fighting. In the periphery came the rustling sounds of demons gathering as if they had been invited to a party. Those sounds closed in.
The werewolves cut down the vampires, taking advantage of the suddenness of their frozen state. If they sensed demon presence, they didn’t let on. Each dusted vampire was a point in their favor on the road to victory.
The pale faces of another enemy now formed a large circle around the fighting field, shining like small fires in the dark and reflecting the flames from which they had sprung.
When the werewolves stopped to acknowledge the newcomers, the fact that the worst was yet to come was reflected in the expressions of all the Landau pack.
And yet no one moved.
The demons stayed back.
Because the Banshee’s wail hadn’t been meant for any member of the pack. It had been meant for her.
That realization was the impetus for another shape-shift. As it began, all eyes turned to her. Waves of anxiousness ruffled through the crowd, affecting Weres and demons alike as they tracked her next transformation.
Her skin again became a glossy black before quickly fading to ivory. Her hair, now waist length, hung over half of her face like a shiny black curtain. Something wet trickled down her chin, and black blood stained the fist she raised to catch it.
Banshee.
But the transformation didn’t stop there.
Her skin began to dry out. The ivory smoothness became yellowed and cracked as her shoulders hunched forward. From each of the grooves in her chest that she had made with her claws came tiny licks of red-orange flame. As her insides overheated, she blinked through eyes able to see right through the skin of the werewolves around her.
Demon.
Colton was there beside her, seemingly unafraid of this latest incarnation that even Rosalind feared. She was to die. The Banshee had wailed for her...but which incarnation had the Banshee perceived and chosen to call to death’s door?
Was it going to be her, as Rosalind Kirk, or the hell spawn that had taken her over? Could the Banshee separate one soul from among so many facets of herself?
The thought that prevailed as she waited to find out was that she might never see Colton again. And in spite of that, she had to make sure he lived.
She lifted an arm and uttered a sound that brought the circle of surrounding demons forward. The reptilian creatures that owed fealty to hell came to her like moths to the flame, hustling forward without realizing they were going to be slaughtered and that she was not really a demon, after all. She just looked like one.
Spurred into action by the gruesome sight, the Weres attacked with force. Mesmerized as they were, the demons didn’t know what hit them. And the Banshee, the dark and brutal entity she carried around, wailed again as the last vestiges of the demon in Rosalind died with them.
Within the chaos of bodies dropping and werewolves growling with humanlike throats, Colton was there, again in his human form, and he was speaking to her.
“One more shape-shift” was his request.
Rosalind saw the form of this shift in his mind, and what he wanted from her now. He desired to see her in her own skin. He wanted to look into her eyes. When he reached out to her, she didn’t back away.
Her gaze drifted to the werewolves who had fought so bravely. Dylan Landau was there, and beside him his mate, Dana Delmonico. There were others she recognized and couldn’t name. All standing. Not looking too bad after their valiant fight.
When Colton took her hand, the next changes began. Glancing down, she saw that her hands and arms were again becoming thin and pale, and that there were no claws. Her lips closed easily because her fangs were gone. No bloodstain remained on her fist. Rosalind Kirk was back to face her lover. But her hair was no longer a deep midnight bla
ck. The tendrils covering her shoulders were snowy white—an exact match for Colton’s hair.
She had taken on the ghost wolf’s whiteness. They were now both ghosts of a sort, and would be feared by the Weres who had come to their aid...though those wolves would never have admitted it. They were Lycans whose systems had been compromised by fate, and by so many other things that lay beyond their control. For them, there was no going back. There was no normal, and never had been.
She and Colton would not find life easy after this night. The Landau pack had seen some of her many variations and would always be afraid of her, or at the very least, wary.
“We will go away,” Colton said to appease her fears. “Away from staring eyes and the need to think of ourselves as freaks. We’ll go someplace where in the future the monsters won’t bother our friends. Do you know of such a place?”
Cara, stunned by all this, nodded along as Rosalind whispered in reply, “Home.”
* * *
Cara staggered backward as the images she had seen and shared dissolved. She gaped at the spot where Rosalind and Colton had made that pledge.
Some of sickness that had been growing inside her eased, though not all of it was so easily dislodged by what she had just witnessed. Seeing her parents in action drilled deeper into her the fact of how different they had become and how dangerous they were. It was those differences, and the need to feel free, that had taken her parents away from Miami.
And she was like them.
Rafe, her beautiful lover whom she craved with every fiber of her being, would be alpha of the Landau pack someday...while she would always be eyed with distrust if she were to stay.
“You know,” a voice said in her ear. Rafe’s voice—deep, masculine and loaded with concern. “The worst trait I can think of is avoidance of a problem that can be solved over time. I don’t believe there’s a shape-shift for that.”
Chapter 30
Cara was shaking. Rafe tightened his grip on her hand, not sure if he should gather her in his arms. There were hints of wildness in her wide-legged stance. Her eyes were glazed. Close enough to whisper to her, he hoped his voice might bring her fully back from wherever she had gone, and that she would believe every word he said.
“You know...the worst trait I can think of is avoidance of a problem that can be solved over time. I don’t believe there’s a shape-shift for that.”
She didn’t immediately respond. She didn’t seem to see him. Rafe’s heart rate sped as he searched for cracks in Cara’s demeanor that might provide him with insight on what was happening to her. He had to admit to being shocked by the way she had looked minutes before. There was an added pressure in his chest over the way she looked now. But Cara hadn’t gone anywhere. Only her mind had.
Her face had drained of color. Her black hair lay flat against her slender body, hugging her curves. She seemed frailer, thinner. Inside his hand, her fingers curled into a fist.
“Come back to me,” he whispered to her with the realization that Cara was not only the epitome of the concept of wild, but that she always would be. There was no way to tame her inner beasts.
“If you take me, you take it all,” she had messaged to him, which now seemed to have been a long time ago.
Born to wildness, and reared on its taste, Cara would always be an enigma who kept her problems, like her Banshee, trapped inside. Who knew what she had seen out here? He hadn’t been able to share that, but there was no doubt this had been a very real experience for her. Proof of that was in the rapid loop of expressions her face had undergone and the quakes that continued to rock her. Whatever she had seen had taken a toll.
She must have once again been taken over by Rosalind for a time. Cara had spoken to him of partaking in her mother’s memories, but she hadn’t confessed to actually becoming part of those memories. However, he knew that was what was happening. Hell, she had jumped from that window.
Her mother’s memories had to be what Cara had found here, and what she had been searching for. Was it done now? Was her search for the past over?
Could they move on?
As for Rosalind...he didn’t have to know what had transpired here in order to understand what Cara’s mother had done in this place, and which monsters had been present at the time. That too was part of the legend and mystique of the Kirk-Killions.
Werewolves had fought vampires and demons in this field, and had survived. Cara’s mother had called them forth and then dealt with the problem they presented.
And now, Cara was so pale and distant.
“I’m here,” he said, hoping to get through to her.
Rafe couldn’t tear his attention from her for even a quick glance at his mother, who stood by the car. It was highly possibly that his mother had also taken part in that past skirmish. His father as well. This was another example of the tie binding Cara’s parents and the Landau pack. They had fought together on more than one occasion, and in Fairview’s front yard they had carved out a victory that had chased the monsters off Miami’s streets for a very long time.
Like her mother, Cara—his lover, the she-wolf he had sealed himself to—was also an enticement for monsters. But his pack could handle that. He could handle that. If this was his future, then okay. He was all in.
I just want you...
“Think of what kind of a help you can be here,” he said. “You can give us a bird’s-eye view of anyone or anything intending to ring the doorbell. Housing a Banshee can allow us to see our own futures, if the spirit is willing to show us. Your talents can save lives here, and not just ours.”
He had so much more to say. So many things to tell Cara.
“Maybe losing some freedom will be a sacrifice on your part, but I’m willing to help in any way that I can. I will be beside you.”
No. Damn it, that wasn’t what he wanted to tell her. Was this the time and the place for him to relay the rest? That for better or worse, they were a team forever?
“You are not alone, Cara. I think you know that.”
She didn’t meet his eyes. Her skin was almost transparent.
“What was once here is over and long gone. It’s time to go. It’s not safe to remain.”
Heaven only knew what could happen if the vampires seeking her found them here in the open with no backup, and with Cara in a semi-catatonic state. He and his mother could put up a good fight if it came to that, but would Cara snap out of her stupor?
Cara leaned forward as if suddenly lulled by his voice. Her long lashes fluttered, creating shadows that contrasted with her skin. She took a big breath, and when her eyes reopened, they were once again a clear, vibrant green.
For now, her inner battle, whatever that had been, had been won.
He reached out to steady her, wanting desperately to kiss her trembling lips. God, how he wanted that. But this wasn’t the right moment to indulge his feelings, so he laced their fingers together to reinforce their bond, determined to get through to her and to fix the fallout from a bad situation.
“In finding what you sought, does that make things better or clearer to you? Does it change things here in the present for you or for us?”
She blinked slowly as if finally wakening to the world around her. With another deep breath and in a wavering tone, Cara said, “It changes everything.”
She could have meant what she said, though Rafe didn’t believe it. Cara was still seeing things through a different lens and was being suffocated by what she had found.
Rafe’s soul ached for her and the burden she carried. Hell, what was the life span of a spirit, anyway? Would it have a hold on Cara forever, or until she found a way to pass that spirit along to somebody else?
Was there a way for her to get rid of the Banshee and keep the promises her family had made so long ago?
“Cara, look at me.”
Her eyes traveled upward with
an agonizing slowness. They were haunted eyes, and thoughtful.
“Nothing changes. Do you hear me? Nothing,” Rafe said.
His mother had moved up to stand behind him. Cara turned her gaze that way.
“We all have something that tries to drag us down now and then,” his mother said. “The strength of our character is what defines us. You were born with that kind of strength, and that’s what will move us forward from here.”
“You were here, so you know how this goes,” Cara observed.
“Yes,” his mother conceded.
“Why did you offer to host someone like me?”
“Because of promises that were made a long time ago, and the necessary fulfillment of them.”
“What promises?” Cara asked.
Rafe sensed some discomfort in his mother’s reluctance to answer Cara’s question, which made it imperative for him that she did. He said, “Yes. What promises?”
His mother finally replied, “That our packs would join forces again when the time arose for such a necessity.”
Rafe swore under his breath. “You’re talking about the return of those vampires?”
“Yes,” his mother said. “Among other things.”
Rafe turned that over in his mind. Bringing Cara here was some kind of payback for the aid the Landau pack had given to Rosalind and Colton a long time ago? Their daughter had been sent to Miami in order to flush the monsters out when and if they resurfaced in this city?
If that was true...
If that was true, Rafe thought with an appraising glance at his mother, then someone here had known about the return of the vampires and had not provided that information to the rest of the pack.
He zeroed in on his mother’s practiced cop face, which seldom gave anything away, as the final piece of that idea struck him.
Someone who had known about that old promise had called it in, and Colton and Rosalind had sent their secret weapon in the war with monsters. Their only offspring. Their only daughter.
Cara.
* * *
The Black Wolf Page 21
