Vaewolf: Damn the Darkness: The Prophecy's Promise (Hearts of Darkness Book 3) (2 page)

Dylan paused, then stopped what he was doing to peer down at her. She slammed the door to her rambling thoughts.

“What’s the matter, lass?” He put down the filled wine glasses and dragged her into his embrace. She felt immediately better as he pressed the frown from her forehead with the tip of one finger. “What brought on this wrinkle of concern?”

“This longing. This need. Like you said, I’m insatiable. I don’t know how I can last hundreds of years—”

“Not the longing.” Dylan released a restrained snicker. “You asked me about
sifting
. The longing will always exist between us, but you won’t experience the desperate, frustrating need once we’ve bonded.”

“O-oh. Oh, right. Good.” Relief flooded her emotions.

“Soon, you’ll be able to control this lust. Can’t say as I’ll be happy at the prospect. I’ve enjoyed being your sex slave.” He wiggled those eyebrows again, teasing her with a smug grin, and added, “But, thank the gods, our desire for one another will never go away.”

“Dylan, why not share this with me mentally the way you shared the knowledge of your past? If we can share thoughts, I don’t know why you keep shutting me out.”

The pain of being separated from him mentally spilled from her mind as the words popped out of her mouth.
Oh hell!
No filter.
Where had her ability to control her thoughts gone?
Damn!
A psychics worst nightmare—the inability to control her thoughts.

Caitlin’s mind moved at light speed, from one thought to another. Scattered. Random. Something was wrong. Something was different.

“Everything is happening too quickly.”

“I’m sorry, lass. Blocking is an old habit, one I learned as a child, and a habit I kept for safety reasons. Don’t be offended if I’m not completely open at all times. I’m not used to having anyone share my thoughts.” His expression turned serious, and he pointed at her. “For your own safety, you should practice blocking others’ thoughts and yours, more effectively.”

“Dylan? Lately, I seem to be having a difficult time sorting my thoughts let alone blocking.”

“That demon got into your head once, and I don’t want a repeat of that incident.”

“You think I do?” She clutched her chest where the bullet entered.

“No. Of course not. I only meant there are demons and rogue jaguars out there we haven’t tracked down, yet.”

The idea sent a shiver up her spine. “Getting shot is the hard way of learning the lesson.” Add losing control of her senses, even if only for the time being, she needed to keep her thoughts locked up tightly. “Don’t remind me, when I’m feeling so vulnerable. Do you think it’s the onset of stasis?”

“Aye, it could be. You may be starting early since we are supplementing your feedings with my blood.”

“Is it going to cause a problem?”

“I don’t think so. But I did go through early stasis with Niccolai’s blood in my system.”

Caitlin piled the Thai food from the box onto a plate for herself then joined him. “My dinner is ready.” She pointed across the room and with a tilt of her head, she indicated the little breakfast nook. “Why don’t you have a seat over there, and I’ll join you in a minute?”

Not offering him anything because most food didn’t appeal to Dylan anymore, not unless it was a steak, warm and bloody, along with a very old scotch. How long would it be before she lost her taste for food? His blood tasted better to her every day, and his regular nourishment of choice was warm blood...straight from her.

Dylan carried her drink and his to the tiny table by the French doors overlooking the garden, and waited.

Chapter Three

Attack on the Pack

Jackson paused not taking a breath when the scream of a large cat rang out through the quiet night.

Jaguar.

More than likely a rogue in this area. Jackson believed the demons were making more and using them to bolster their forces. He and Dylan weren’t sure his pack could stop them without outside help.

If not, he’d call up a few of the other packs or get Dylan to conscript a few other members of the lore living out in their Parrish.

With the increased number of unexplained killings, lately, his usual skepticism filled him with doubt about immediately ridding the area of the demons or rogues. Everyone sensed the demons were here even though the portal had been sealed. And none of them had any idea how many they were going to have to deal with when the attack came.

Convinced the attack would come, Jackson paused to sniff the air.

Wolf. Fear.

Demon.

And he smelled the rogue jaguars nearby, too.

Then the sound of a wolf’s cry—high pitched, in pain, rang through the bayou.

The night chatter stopped, and the sounds of battle urged Jackson on.

His heartbeat picked up, but he slowed his breathing to conserve his strength. The change was upon him. He howled once for the others behind him and, not waiting, ran in the direction of his pack mate.

Turning mid-stride, shifting from wolf to something more, something larger, he moved through the swamp past the snakes and gators and panthers...and yet in this new form, his speed was unmatched by any land animal.

His vision encompassed everything before him, even in the thick underbrush, not because the light from the full moon penetrated the dense canopy of trees above him, but because he was
vaewolf.

He stopped short of the battle, stood upright to his full height, and entered the clearing where one of his pack was outnumbered and wounded. Jackson’s sheer size and formidable power was evidence enough he was the son of a demi-god. As a man, he stood over six-foot-five, and carried almost three hundred pounds of pure muscle on his frame. As the vaewolf, he was even larger.

Covered with ebony black hair, the wolf shifter within him was evident. Where the appearance of the Werewolf took over in size and bone structure, he still was more human than animal. His vampire nature gave him an added advantage over the rest of his makeup. Brains—intellect he could use while in animal form.

All demi-god characteristics—smart, powerful, fast, and deadly.

He noted the disbelief on the demons’ faces and watched the jaguars back up at his appearance. The rogues didn’t stand a chance against him, and they knew it.

Demons were cocky, another story. His experience with them had been limited until recently, and now wasn’t the time for him to hesitate.

Surprise—he launched himself at the demon holding his pack member hostage, and removed Jude from his clutches. He relocated the wolf out of danger before planning his attack on the creature with the sixteen-foot wing span—wings covered with taloned claws which caused wounds to fester from the toxin within them. Jackson had his own arsenal of claws, not as many, but just as lethal, and beneath his black fur was a hide as rugged as armor.

Always up for a good fight, he looked forward to this chance to test his abilities. But although he was immortal, he didn’t enjoy the pain a fight like this could cause—or the down time from the wounds. Injuries from demon toxin would mean weeks or even months of recuperation, and after seeing what these demons were doing, gathering forces and infiltrating his territory, Jackson couldn’t afford time away from his on-going training. Tonight, he needed to finish this, cleanly and quickly, while avoiding those talons.

Behind him, the sound of Jude’s groan, sounded way too human, but Jackson didn’t dare take his attention from the group readying to attack.

One demon? He could take him and stand against a few of the jaguars. Take them all? Probably, and handle the damage he’d sustain, yes. But he’d need help from the pack to save Jude and get him the medical care he needed.

From the sounds coming from Jude, he was beginning his human shift. Big mistake. The bleeding wouldn’t stop if he returned to his human form. He had greater stamina as the wolf. The one hope Jude had of surviving his wounds was to remain in wolf form.

Jackson needed help, and from the look of things...he needed it soon.

He risked glancing over his shoulder once more to check on Jude, who was in half transition, before he focused on the circle of cats closing in on them.

Then immediately Jackson attacked, going straight for the closest demon. Avoiding the wings, Jackson drove his fist into the demon’s chest and ripped out his heart so quickly his opponent took a moment to look down at his heart before he collapsed.

Jude groaned, but Jackson couldn’t take the time to worry about his pack member’s injuries, not with the remaining demon and six rogue jaguars descending on them.

He’d need to hold them off as long as possible, alone. He could do that. The rest of his wolf pack wasn’t far behind. But could they get there in time? The downside was Jude couldn’t wait.

Jackson growled at the jaguars trying to circle him, and then let loose with a distinctive howl that filled the night. The pack heard him and returned the howl. They were already following his scent through the swamp. The intermittent returning howls sounded closer, and relief shot through him.

His pack. His family.

The jaguars instinctively dropped back into the trees becoming shadows in the night. The remaining demon let out a sound Jackson took for a sarcastic laugh. Then the big, bull-horned creature spoke, saying something in whatever language demons used—demonish—one language Jackson didn’t speak, but the gist of the statement had been clear enough.

“This isn’t over. We will meet again.”

Damn straight they would. Jackson snarled, and the demon nodded backing up. He moved closer to the tree line, finally disappearing into the forest along with the rogue jaguars.

Jackson didn’t move until he heard the first of his pack approach. He’d considered going after the jaguars then considered Jude’s condition. He bent down and shook the injured man.

“Jude shift damn it.” He bit into his own wrist, took some of his blood, and wiped it over Jude’s lips, hoping he’d last until he completed the shift back to wolf. Several seconds passed without Jude reacting, then his tongue flicked out from between his teeth, and he licked the blood from his lips. A low growl rumbled through his chest.

Once the blood strengthened Jude, Jackson released a long sigh of relief.

Although the wolf shift started slowly and seemed to take forever, Jude was his fanged and golden furred self by the time the rest of the pack arrived. A few members of the pack gave him a sniff or two to make certain he was okay, then they stood around him in a show of protection. Jude’s littermate, Kade, nudged his brother a few times for encouragement, while several other wolves circled the perimeter making certain no further attack threatened.

As soon as the man returned fully to wolf form, the bleeding from his wounds slowed to a trickle, then Jackson nudged him in the direction of home. Jude, weak but alive, standing on wobbly legs, took a few steps, and the rest followed, walking close by for support.

Jackson took the rear, remaining in vaewolf form until they crossed into St. Loupe Parrish, home to his pack of Weres. Someday he’d lead all the packs and the vampires as well. Destined to be the future leader of the Lore, all the supernatural beings formerly under his father’s domain, Jackson wondered how he would learn how to handle all the responsibility alone, especially now, when he had to deal with the local rogue elements. He’d sworn to protect the humans in his Parrish as well as the rest when the time came—and, like it or not, it appeared time was running out.

Less than a year—he didn’t have much time left for training. Daily, he was forced to prove himself, because as Dylan Macgregor once told him, “Trust is earned not given.”

Chapter Four

Les Toile B&B

Dylan looked comfortable sitting at the table, sipping his wine. Caitlin was going to miss the charming cottage. It had become a haven for her. When the FBI assigned her to the team in New Orleans, she didn’t find the government-approved hotel to her liking. The woman in guest services befriended her and gave her a friend’s name. The friend, who happened to be a local “witch,” owned this B&B. In retrospect, Caitlin sometimes thought there was something weird about how the whole deal went down so smoothly. But things happen for a reason. Since she wanted distance between herself and the local FBI team, the quaint B&B nestled in the quieter section of the French Quarter seemed perfect. Why not immerse herself in the ambiance? The sights, scents, and sounds of the city had called to her from the first moment.

Now she wondered if everything fell into place too perfectly? Had she been set up? Or was it coincidence? Not entirely likely. Marie St. Claire, the owner, a self-proclaimed voodoo queen, explained she’d switched businesses when voodoo came into vogue and pushed out witchcraft in the present day city. Not that it wasn’t openly practiced. According to her, it always paid to have another salable commodity in high demand to balance against the lean times. Not bad business advice, Caitlin agreed. Voodoo, fortune telling, or witchcraft... What tourist could resist? Besides, she couldn’t argue with the entrepreneurial concepts of a gypsy-witch, voodoo, business woman. In any case, the spell the woman placed on the cottage actually worked. And, protected by the witch’s spell, Caitlin found a haven and relaxed here, safe from any paranormal elements—even Dylan if she wanted.