never to do it again.”
“Megan is right. Using power holds you accountable for your magick.”
Gabriel sucked in a deep breath. “When you get older, you’ll understand the difference between doing it for the right reasons or just to be a bully. You’ll learn to shut out others’ thoughts, too, so you can have peace.”
How he wished he could experience such peace. Hadn’t, not since Amelia and Simone had died.
“You didn’t do it, Mr. Gabriel. You didn’t kill her.”
“What?”
“Amelia. You said you killed her, but I felt what you felt.” Jillian shook her head. “You’re not like the bad men who hurt Shadows.”
A fist of guilt and alarm squeezed his throat. “What bad men, Jilly?”
“The men on the island who wanted to hurt Megan. The fisherman on the boat who hit her, and wanted to do the same things the bad men wanted.” She looked confused. “I didn’t understand. Why did they want to take her clothes off?”
His wolf silently howled in protective rage. Gabriel forced it down. Going hog wild on his emotions wouldn’t help her now. He mustered all his control and turned to look Jillian in the eye.
“There are bad men who do things like that, little one. They aren’t nice and you need to stay away from them. There is a blackness inside their hearts and their spirits.”
For a moment they sat in silence on the steps, staring at the gathering storm clouds. Sandpipers and seagulls flew toward the mainland. Jillian looked worried.
“Is it going to be a bad storm, Mr. Gabriel?” she whispered.
He gave her a reassuring smile. “Call me Gabriel. No Mister. Naw, we’ll just see a bit of wind and rain. I can feel it in my bones. You’ll be safe.”
She chatted about the storms she’d experienced on her island. Gabriel listened, paying attention the way few adults did. He liked kids. He’d always been good with his brother Etienne’s four children … and Alex’s Amelia. He’d longed for children, but didn’t dare procreate with his bad genes. Gabriel’s chest felt hollow. Never would he want a son or daughter to endure the shame and aversion he had known in childhood.
“What’s this?”
Fascination stole over her face as she stared at the blue-inked scrolling on his left bicep. She traced it with a finger.
“You got marked, too. Did it hurt like cousin Megan’s?”
The attention span of the young.
“It’s a tattoo, Jilly. My brother Indigo put it there for me. It means ‘fierce one’ in the Old Language of our ancestors.”
“It’s pretty. Megan’s mark is just numbers. She cried after it was done. She tried not to let us hear, but I knew she was crying.”
“Numbers? Where?”
“On the back of her neck, like female Shadow Wolves get when they turn twenty-one.”
So now they were inking all Shadows to keep track of them? His gorge rose. Wolf growled to the surface, driven by the urge to protect and defend his Megan.
His?
The notion stunned him. Megan Moraine was a Shadow Wolf who needed escorting to a safe house. Yet his emotions were that of a bonded male for his draicara.
Jillian sighed. “I guess they’ll give me one when I get older, too.”
Her practical tone sent chills through him. Gabriel took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
He started to say no.
Words died on his tongue, a promise he wanted to give her, but couldn’t. She looked so trusting, his heart twisted. Once he’d made the same promise to another child, and failed. He couldn’t promise anything to children. Not anymore.
He enlisted her help in picking up his tools. Gabriel let Jillian proudly carry the hammer and screwdriver while he took the canvas tool bag.
When they reached the guest house, Megan was sitting on a deck chair. Her legs were tucked beneath her as she combed her hair, gazing at the whitecaps crashing against the barnacle-riddled seawall.
She began to sing. The purity of her voice reminded him of sunrise over the bayou. It soothed him, brought the beast to a standstill. His entire body tingled with the desire to draw close, sit at her feet and let her voice wash over him in a cleansing flood. Music was his balm, a necessity to tame his wolf.
Then Jennifer burst out of the house, a tiny, pink-clad whirlwind waving a small conch shell. Megan held the seashell to her ear.
Gabriel stared. Not classically pretty, Megan had an exotic, Fey beauty. Her cheeks were stained pink by the rising breeze, long hair wreathing her heart-shaped face. Her mouth was cherry-red and moist. A blue T-shirt molded to firm, round breasts.
The unabashed laughter in her sea-blue eyes lured him like a sailor to a siren’s deadly song. Megan laughed, the sound pure enjoyment.
All his senses focused on her, his hands shaking with longing. He wanted a piece of that honest happiness, if only for a fleeting moment. Not the joking front he showed to disguise his real emotions. Gabriel yearned for something as simple as the joy of sharing a seashell’s whispers.
He hadn’t experienced that since … when?
Since Amelia died three years ago. When his niece died, a light of innocence in his life had winked out. His niece had adored him, and she’d known exactly what he was. And still, she wasn’t afraid of him.
Jillian set down the hammer and screwdriver and scampered up the steps. A shrill of laughter echoed through the air as she held the seashell to her ear. He felt as if he’d invaded a special and private moment between Megan and her cousins. A lead weight settled on his chest as he went to stash his tools in the shed.
The incoming storm sent a vibrating hum through his tensed body. Wolf howled to release the pent-up emotions. Gabriel glanced backward. Megan and the twins could not see him.
Sand stung his cheeks. He relished the wind slapping his face.
The hell with it. No longer able to hold back his internal storm, Gabriel shape-shifted.
Gabriel was running wild.
Megan’s heart thundered in her chest as she watched a large gray wolf race back and forth on the beach. The wolf’s raw power and dark intensity sent a chill down her spine. Larger than most, muscles rippled under the lupine’s gray fur.
He could break her spine with one lunge. She wrapped her arms around herself, sinking back into the cover of the mangroves.
She’d come to the beach to tell him about the silver-haired man blowing up the bridge in hopes he’d mention where the inflatable boats were stashed.
Megan peered around the mangroves, her palms growing cold and sweaty. What
