Untouched (8 page)

Kerry looked up just as the bedroom door clicked shut. He’d left her alone just like she’d wanted, but now she had the overwhelming urge to call him back. Kerry let out a sound of self-loathing and frustration at her erratic emotions. She dropped the clothing into her suitcase and shoved it to the other side of the enormous bed, leaving her ample room to curl up in the soft, white bedding. She crawled into the dark cocoon of the covers. Her mind and body were exhausted from the day’s developments, and all she wanted to do was sleep.

Her thoughts wandered to the fox from her dreams and her visions. She longed for the sense of peace that always seemed to accompany it. She saw the gorgeous animal in her dream when she touched Dante. Maybe the huge red fox represented him in her dreams? She had to admit, he was pretty damn foxy in the flesh. Kerry smiled, yawned deeply, and struggled to find the path back to that dream. As she drifted to sleep Dante’s voice rang in her mind.
Sleep
tight, princess
.

“Don’t call me princess,” she mumbled as the dream realm captured her and carried her away.

The Punisher walked down the dark cobblestone road, paying no attention to the occasional drunken revelers stumbling through the street. New Orleans, even outside of Bourbon Street, had drunks on almost every corner. The Punisher brushed past them with barely a glance in their direction. After several blocks, the desired destination, a tiny voodoo shop, appeared at the edge of the French Quarter.

The Punisher pulled open the old creaking door, and a bell tinkled loudly, alerting the shopkeeper of a new arrival. The Punisher stood silently in the midst of the shop, hands stuffed tightly in the pockets of the long trench coat. The shelves along the walls were lined with hundreds of colorful bottles, candles, statuettes, and crystals—each item tagged and holding the promise of love, money, or power.

Within a few moments, a tall, thin woman emerged from a curtained doorway. Her dark ebony skin stood out in contrast to the white robes she wore. She had a multicolored scarf wrapped around her hair, and long dreadlocks stuck out in various places. She smiled brightly, and her violet eyes twinkled with something that resembled mischief.

“Hello,
cher
.” Her voice sounded different. She wasn’t Cajun. She had an accent from the islands. “What can I do for ya, darlin’?”

Their customer stood silently for a moment, hoping the memorized words were correct. “From Bourbon to Royal the drinks are sweet, and only the foolish wander down those streets.”

The woman smiled, flashing large white teeth. She reminded the Punisher of a shark. Wordlessly, she pulled back the curtain and gestured for the Punisher to follow. Once in the tiny room she pushed a panel on the back wall, and a hidden door revealed itself. The woman nodded silently and motioned for her patron to go through the door.

A cold, damp stone room lay beyond the doorway, empty except for an old black man that sat at a wooden table. On either side were shelves. Each held one glass bottle.

The old man gestured to the chair across from him.

“Sit down, my friend.” His voice sounded raspy and matched his crusty appearance. “What do you want from Beaumont?”

The Punisher eyed the old man, whose eyes were clouded completely white. He was probably blind. His wizened arthritic hands were wrapped around an ancient ceramic coffee mug, and his clothes seemed as old and worn as he did.

“I have been told you have a binding spell.”

The old man laughed. It was a dry sound, like fall leaves blowing along the sidewalk. “What, or who, do you wish to bind? Vampire? Shifter? Werewolf? There are many unique creatures that walk this earth.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “But you already know that, don’t you?” He laughed again, and the old wooden chair creaked in protest.

“A shifter.” The words came out harsher than intended and echoed in the cavernous room, but that only served to elicit a bigger smile from Beaumont.

“Of course.” Without looking, he reached behind him, grabbed the bottle from the second shelf, and held it out to the Punisher.

The smooth glass container, no larger than a perfume bottle, looked cool and smooth. The power held inside made the Punisher’s heart pound with anticipation.

“Sprinkle this on the shifter, and you suspend all of their abilities for one moon’s cycle. Get your shifter to ingest in a drink or their food this, and they will be bound in their animal form for all eternity.”

The Punisher reached out for the magical powder, but Beaumont snatched it back. Interesting. Perhaps the old man wasn’t as blind as he let on, the sneaky old bastard.

“There is the matter of payment.” Beaumont’s smile had faded. He uncurled his other hand, waiting for his money.

The Punisher took out a huge wad of cash and placed it firmly in his gnarled hand. Beaumont moved quickly and grabbed the Punisher by the wrist. He pulled his customer closer and lowered his voice to hushed tones.

“Remember,” he cautioned. “All magic has a price. Use this dark magic, and be prepared to receive its opposite.”

The Punisher tugged hard and got free of the old man’s surprisingly strong grip. Leaving the room quickly with the expensive purchase tucked safely away, the Punisher uttered one last thing. “Don’t worry about me, old man. That will mean good magic will come my way, and that sounds fine to me.”

Dante stared at the address on the paper and couldn’t squash the sense of dread that continued to gnaw at him. He knew this property because it was the same address Malcolm had given him before they left. It was owned by a member of the Vasullus Family, Joseph Vasullus. They were the only human family, other than the Caedo, who knew about his people. The Vasullus worked with the Amoveo for centuries to help keep their existence a secret. Two members of the Vasullus family even served on the Council with a representative from each of the ten clans. Knowing the house was owned by a Vasullus should’ve made him feel better. However, it had exactly the opposite effect.

The revelation of the Purist Movement had changed everything. The Purists considered the hybrids an abomination of their race, and his father said there were others that felt as strongly as he did. The scar in Dante’s chest burned at the memory of his father’s betrayal, and he rubbed at it absentmindedly. He’d even been willing to sacrifice his own son when he’d gotten in the way. If there were Amoveo willing to kill their own people to keep the race pure, then there could easily be Vasullus who felt the same way.

Dante stared intently at the address on the paper. What were the odds that Kerry’s shoot would just happen to be switched to a property owned by a Vasullus family member? Dante scoffed audibly and tossed the paper onto the table in front of him. He didn’t believe in coincidences. This entire situation reeked of trouble, and it looked like he was going to need some help.

There were only a select few he could trust. Malcolm and Samantha were obviously at the top of his list, but he certainly didn’t want to ruin their newlywed bliss with what could be a dangerous situation for Sam as well. Richard, their prince, was aware of the Purists, but Salinda was pregnant, and Dante didn’t want to take him away from his wife at such a delicate time.

Only two other Amoveo could be trusted with the safety of his mate: Steven and William. Not only were they his two best friends since childhood, but they had also been enlisted to help Malcolm when Sam was at risk. Aside from Richard, Samantha, and Malcolm, they were the only two Amoveo who knew of the Purist threat and of his father’s betrayal. They all agreed that was the only way to sniff out the other traitors in the Purist sect. They didn’t know who else could be trusted.

Dante sat up in the chair, closed his eyes, and reached out to Kerry’s mind. The soothing rhythm of sleep pulsed around her. He smiled, and his tense muscles relaxed. He needed to be sure she was sleeping soundly before he called to his friends. The last thing he needed was Kerry walking out to find two strange men in the living room of her suite.

Satisfied that she would remain sleeping for a while, he withdrew from her mind and refocused his attention on creating a mental link with Steven and William. He established the link much more quickly than he ever had before. Connecting with Kerry had increased the strength of his abilities significantly.

Within minutes the air in the room thickened, and electricity crackled briefly as his two friends materialized before him. Dante opened his eyes and stood to greet his friends. Steven’s friendly face immediately cracked with a huge smile, and William nodded curtly in his usual formal manner. The two men couldn’t have been more different.

Steven, a member of the Coyote Clan, was open and friendly. His shaggy, sandy blond hair was as rumpled as his Rolling Stones T-shirt and ripped jeans. Steven’s open and accessible demeanor worked well for him as a healer.

William was stuffy and Old World. His long blond hair, streaked with brown, was pulled back in a low ponytail. His slicked back hair matched the fitted pinstripe suit he almost always wore. William was a member of the Falcon Clan, specifically, the Gyrfalcon Clan. Dante always thought William had been born at the wrong time. He reminded him much more of the elders, not a man in his twenties. The Eagle and Falcon Clan members had a certain air about them.

“Thank you for coming,” Dante said, keeping his voice low. He shook hands with both men and nodded toward Kerry’s bedroom door. “She’s asleep, so we should keep our voices down. Please have a seat.”

William sat stiffly in the oversized chair, and Steven flopped himself easily into the corner of the couch. Dante stood. Too wound up to sit, he began to pace the room as he relayed his concerns to the two men. They listened intently as Dante explained who and what Kerry was. When he was finally finished he stood silently in front of them, watching and waiting for their reactions. As he expected, William’s face remained serious, while Steven let out a low whistle.

“Another hybrid?” Steven’s eyebrows knitted together. “I don’t get it? Why didn’t we pick up on that when we were at the beach watching out for Samantha? I saw Kerry then, but I didn’t pick that up. Did you, Willie?”

Dante stifled a chuckle at the look on William’s face. He hated being called Willie, and Steven always did it just to get a rise out of him. He had since they were kids.

William shot him a look through narrowed eyes. “No. I did not,” he said in a voice laden with irritation. He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. William hated being wrong. Dante was tempted to let him squirm but decided to let him off the hook.

“She’s a powerful psychic, William. She has built and maintained an incredibly strong shield around herself.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t even think she knows she’s doing it, but it’s been very effective in keeping her hidden all these years.”

“That must be one hell of a shield.” Steven leaned forward and rested his elbows on his wide spread legs. “She’s in pictures all over the world. I can’t believe none of us picked up on it.”

“Especially you, Dante.” William nodded toward him. “If she’s really your mate,” he said offhandedly.

Dante’s eyes shifted and flared brightly. His gaze landed harshly on William. “She
is
my mate.” His voice stayed just barely above a whisper. “You would do well to remember that.”

William cocked his head and raised one eyebrow. “I am merely suggesting that it seems odd you didn’t recognize her as your mate when you saw her pictures,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Really, Dante, do get a hold of yourself.” He sniffed.

Dante breathed deeply and willed his eyes back to their human state. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stalked over to the window, embarrassed for losing his temper like that. They were here to help him, and he was snapping at them like some moody teenager. William had touched a nerve because he was absolutely right. Dante hadn’t known her from her pictures. It wasn’t until he saw her in the flesh that he knew who and what she was.

“Wait a minute,” Steven said. “What about the dream realm? Didn’t you see her there?”

“No.” Dante shook his head and turned back to face the two men. “I could feel her there, but I could never see her. It was, as you can imagine, incredibly frustrating. I didn’t figure it out until I saw her with Samantha that day on the beach,” he said quietly. “I recognized her energy signature. It was the same as the one that has haunted my dreams.”

His mouth set in a grim line as he looked at both of the men who were nodding solemnly. They understood his frustration better than anyone. Neither had found their mates yet, and since they were approaching thirty, their time was running out. If too much time passed without finding their mates, they’d lose their abilities and would slowly die. It was a lonely, torturous, and painful demise that Dante wouldn’t wish on anyone.

“William, I’ll need you to keep watch from the air. The house is out on the bayou in a pretty remote area. If anything—and I mean anything—seems out of whack, you tell me, and I’m getting her out of there.” Dante crossed over to them slowly, hoping that they would be willing to help. “So, can I count on your help for the next few days?”

William nodded his acceptance, and the muscles in Dante’s neck immediately loosened. He then turned his attention to Steven. “I would feel especially grateful to have one of our best healers nearby.”