to terrible forces. The book could destroy you for good.”
“I wasn’t a victim, but a willing participant.”
The woman gently touched her wrist. “A victim, honey. The Morphs knew you were vulnerable. No matter how you argue the point, they took advantage of your weakness.”
Jamie bristled. “Not weak. Never. Thanks, Mama Renee. I can manage on my own.”
A cryptic expression touched the woman’s face. “Jamie, remember. Even good can come of darkness. The Draicon leader seeks you, and his kind need your healing power.”
The words made no sense. She didn’t heal, but destroy. Nothing made sense anymore.
The woman offered a sad smile. “And all Draicon are not evil.”
Jamie’s chest felt tight with emotion as she went with Renee into the main storefront. The little brass bell tinkled merrily behind her as she left.
Feeling lost, she headed for the Pedestrian Mall. Just another average day in the Quarter …
Jamie shrank back, her heart beating double time at the figure stalking toward her. Not Damian, the lean, chiseled face she remembered so well, but another, with cruel, twisted features, wispy hair and black, soulless eyes.
The Morph ambled along, its sallow, shrunken and hunched figure looking like a living nightmare. Couldn’t anyone see it? Run, you fools!
Jamie blinked hard. Instead of a Morph, she saw a middle-aged man in khaki shorts, his slight paunch covered by a flowered shirt.
I’m losing my damn mind.
Dragging in a lungful of air, she forced herself to relax. No Morphs stalked the streets. Only people, out for a good time. And one lone werewolf named … Damian.
Jamie froze in shocked fear.
Wind ruffled his short, dark hair. His elegant good looks made him stand out in the crowd like a sleek sports car among sedate sedans. He prowled with lithe grace toward her, his muscled body moving like a well-honed machine. Oblivious to the crowd, the artists, everything.
Everything but her. His hard green gaze riveted to her like a laser beam. Jamie’s heart raced.
Instinct urged flight. She turned, pushed past the crowd. Fast, faster, as she raced beneath the balconies of the Pontalba Apartments, feeling his breath on her like a warm caress of air.
A hand latched onto her upper arm, jerked her to a stop. Jamie gulped, panic racing through her veins, his muscled chest pressing against her as he herded her out of the crowd’s way against the brick building. Damian swung her into a faded doorway. Intensity radiated in his gaze.
“Jamie, ah, finally, I found you,” he said softly, her name rolling off his tongue in his whiskey-smooth accent.
“Let me go, Draicon. Let me go, now.”
She struggled against his steely grip. A hysterical sob rose in her throat. He was going to punish her for trying to assassinate him. Damian crowded her against the doorway, his legs pinning her against the wood. Trapped.
As she opened her mouth to scream for help, he pulled her against his hard body.
His lips descended on hers, cutting off her cry with a kiss.
Chapter 2
His kiss shocked Jamie into immobility. It was gentle, barely a brushing of lips. Damian raised his head, his expression softened. Hysteria fled as he cupped her face with his warm hands.
“Don’t scream, chère. I promise, I won’t hurt you, ma petite.”
With a mere touch, he extinguished her panic. Damn it, what was this? Draicon magick?
“I’m not going to hurt you, Jamie. That’s the last thing I want. I want to help you.” His expression grew fierce and intent. “But first … damn …"
He kissed her again.
Jamie sagged in his arms. Feeling the current sparking between them as it had on that night when they’d first met. Her head fell back as he cradled her neck in his palm. Her hands slid up around his neck, feeling rock-hard muscle beneath warm skin. Jamie hung on for dear life like a drowning woman. Tasting him as his tongue boldly invaded her mouth, flicked against hers. Challenging him in return, her tongue tangling in a duet of hot desire and lost passion. It felt as magical and crazy and uncontrollable as when he’d first taken her.
This wasn’t real. Or right. Or anything, but the moment, the succulent taste of him in her mouth, claiming it with each firm thrust of his tongue.
Jamie clutched fistfuls of his shirt, drawing him closer. Only then did Damian break the kiss. A low groan rumbled from him as he stepped back, never losing his grip on her. Intent burned in his gaze.
Alarmed and dismayed, Jamie licked her lips. I just kissed my brother’s murderer. The Draicon I tried to kill.
Damian laid a palm against her cheek. “Hush,” he murmured. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Then lift that damn spell of yours.” Jamie stopped moving, stricken by the calming feel of his touch. She stared at him, taking in his strong, square chin, straight nose and high cheekbones. Classical good looks. And a werewolf lurking inside.
She had tried to kill him in New Mexico, but Nicolas, his beta, had healed Damian. And then Damian had cast a binding spell, prohibiting her from doing magick. The dark powers Kane, the Morph leader, had bestowed on her had vanished. Damian had said it was because the Morphs wouldn’t want her without her powers.
But he lied. She knew it.
She then had escaped, but he’d found her. No matter. She would escape him once more.
“I can’t. The magick in you is dark. Until I can erase it, the spell remains.”
“I’ll find a way around it. I can defeat you, Draicon.”
A shadow crossed his face. “There are things you must know, Jamie. You’re in danger. You need my help.”
“Your help? I’d rather kiss a Morph. At least they gave me power.”
He gave her a pensive look. “What did Kane do to give you magick?"
“I had sex with him,” she taunted.
Now that full mouth flattened into a thin slash. He looked dangerous and edgy. Leaning closer, he seemed to nuzzle her neck. No, he was sniffing her, like a wolf scenting a rabbit. Damian drew back. Male satisfaction gleamed in his eyes.
“You didn’t. I can’t smell him on you. You haven’t been with another male since me.”
Her chin rose. “I could. Probably someone would trade me sex for a way to release your binding spell.”
A dark look draped his features. Damian offered a thin smile, but his green eyes spoke volumes. Rage and male possessiveness.
