Part 21 (1/2)

Damian glanced down at his parcel with a frown.

”Someone selling art across from Jackson Square painted a wolf in a bayou. But it can't be the right painting, because this one is an antique. Alex confirmed it,” he mused aloud. ”Then again, it is New Orleans. Bayous and werewolves are common as crayfish.”

She said nothing, refusing to talk with him since the fight yesterday. Jamie didn't want his tenderness, the caring or his people. If she joined with them, she'd only end up being hurt again because they'd reject her just as her uncle and brother had when she failed to meet their expectations.

Better to be alone and never know the love and warmth of family than lose something she'd secretly longed for all her life.

”Learn to let go, Damian. Because you can't hold on to me.” Jamie pulled away from his loose clasp.

”I told you, chere, you're my mate, pack. Pack sticks together and I will never let you go. You need me, and us.”

In minutes, they approached Pirate's Alley. Shrouded by shadows, it looked uncomfortably menacing. Damian went to enter. Jamie balked. Something wasn't right. A very faint foulness polluted the air.

He looked at her. ”What is it?”

Don't go down there. Ridiculous. Just an alley.

”Nothing. Let's go.”

When they were halfway through, a child stepped out of the shadows. The little girl clutched a stuffed animal marred with a rusty stain. Jamie's stomach gave a sickening twist.

Damian ground to an abrupt halt. Horror etched his face in frozen shock.

”Damian?” The child's voice was sweet. But underneath was a grating ugliness, like teeth gnas.h.i.+ng and whirring. Didn't he hear it?

A clatter sounded as the painting fell to the pavement from Damian's loosened grip. The stark anguish shadowing his eyes. .h.i.t her like a baseball bat to the knees. This was someone he knew. Someone he cared about...

”Damian? You left me and they came, they killed Mommy and Daddy and Ritchie and Pierre. They found me. I tried so hard to hide and I was calling for you. Why didn't you hear me? Damian, you promised to protect me, you promised! They dragged me out and they hurt me, and I kept screaming for you and you never came!”

Shocked, Jamie watched Damian step forward. ”Annie. Please, I'm so sorry. I ran, I ran hard and fast but I couldn't reach you-”

”I died because of you!”

Steel threaded through that tone. Jamie blinked hard at the little girl. Summoned the darkness still nestling deep inside. She gasped.

Instead of a little girl stood a gnarled figure with yellowed fangs, talons glistening in the moonlight and greasy hair. Morph.

Jamie tugged at his arm. ”Damian, it's a Morph tricking you!”

He wrenched free of her grasp.

”Damian, if you truly love me, help me. Come here, I need you,” the apparition begged.

He took another step forward. The Morph gave a sickening smile. It raised a hand, and a sharp dagger appeared.

Using their telepathic link, she entered Damian's mind. But the howling pain screaming there lashed her with such violence, she cried out. Jamie tried one attempt to soothe him. Her weak efforts felt like holding back a tsunami using a bucket.

She escaped his mind.

G.o.d, she had to do something now, or he'd walk straight to his death and let the thing stab him, probably welcome it because she knew the pain he faced now, a pain so screeching and agonizing anything to vanquish it would be blessed relief. Even death.

He walked toward the Morph. Damian couldn't see the rows of sharp, pointed yellow teeth, the saliva dripping from its crooked slash of a red mouth.

It was drooling, antic.i.p.ating a Damian meal. A powerful Alpha, whose agonizing death would feed it energy for months.

Jamie planted herself in front of Damian. She took his face into her hands, forcing him to confront her. Her touch seemed to shake him free a little of the spell.

”Look at me, Damian. Me. Not her. Can't you trust me?”

At the word trust, his gaze snapped to hers. The dark torment in his eyes slowly faded.

”Look hard at her, Damian. She's dead, Annie's dead. She loved you, Damian. Annie would never hurt you like this.”

He peered around her shoulder. Confusion and doubts twisted his face. Damian hesitated. The Morph twisted the stuffed animal, claws making a dull ripping sound on the fabric. It whimpered.

”Damian, please, I need you. It's so dark, so cold where I am. Come play with me, I'm so lonely. Please, Damian, if you love me, come to me and I'll forgive you.”

Those three last words sounded like a thunderclap. It snapped something inside him. Damian wrenched free. Jamie made a grab for him, and failed. G.o.d, the pain he had, what he suffered, the horror...The images circled in her head until everything before her went blurry and the lump clawing up her throat took hold.

Something wet trickled down her cheeks. Jamie reached out, grasped his jacket sleeve like a lifeline. Miracle of miracles, he turned and saw her face.

”Oh, Damian, what did they do to you? My wonderful, brave warrior, it's not your fault. Annie's dead. Please, listen to me because I'm so scared right now and I need you to see this thing for what it is. It's a killer. I need you to trust me now.”

”Jamie,” he said hoa.r.s.ely. He reached up, touched a tear hovering on her chin. ”Oh, Jamie. You're crying.”

”For you,” she whispered.

Then he turned, pus.h.i.+ng her behind him in a protective stance. Damian waved his hands. Two steel daggers materialized in his palms.

”I see Annie only, but I trust Jamie. You're not my sister. Want to play? I play rough.”

The Morph roared. It raced forward, dagger outstretched. Damian snarled and charged. An outraged howl split the air as his dagger sank into the creature's chest. It collapsed, dissolved into gray ash.

Trembling, she hugged herself as the daggers vanished and he ran back to her. He cupped her face and gently kissed away her tears.

Damian crushed her against him, tunneling his fingers through her hair. Fat raindrops fell, running in rivulets down their faces. ”She's dead, buried and never coming back. Ever,” he said brokenly.

Jamie stroked his head. They clung to each other. Then Damian lifted his face, the familiar, watchful look back.

”Allons. Let's go to your house. It's closer.”

Soaked and s.h.i.+vering, they arrived at her house. Damian put the painting on the kitchen table, then joined her in the bedroom as they stripped off their wet clothing. Jamie shrugged into a sweats.h.i.+rt and sweatpants. She fetched a terry-cloth robe that had been Mark's, and returned to the bedroom.

He stood there, head hanging down, his muscled body quaking. Gently she draped the robe over his shoulders. Damian belted it on and sat.

”Jamie, I need to tell you something.”