Youre pack now, Jamie. Mine. I always protect my own.
Damian ran a thumb across her cheek. Next time well take it at your pace. I wont push you. She ran her hands up his arms, feeling the tense muscles, the power. Suddenly having this big, bad wolf watch over her made her feel erotic and wanting. Jamie tugged out his shirt and slid her hands up his flat abdomen, feeling him quiver beneath her touch.
Push all you want, she told him.
His eyes darkened. Damian took her mouth in another drugging kiss. His hips pushed against hers.
Mine, he said roughly. No other male will dare touch you and you will not want them. Youre mine.
Dear Reader,
What do you do when the woman who tried to kill you turns out to be your destined mate?
If youre Damian Marcel, alpha-werewolf pack leader and ruthless hunter, you pursue her to New Orleans to make her your own.
Jamie Walsh is on the run from Damian, for she thinks hes the Draicon werewolf who murdered her brother. Damian is determined to get her to trust him and surrender to the bond they share. When they discover Jamie is infected with a spell thats turning her to stone, they work together to find a missing book of magick. Only the book has a cure for the stone spell, and if the evil Morphs find it first, they will use it to destroy all Draicon.
As they race against time to find the book while warding off attacks from the Morphs, Damian and Jamie progress from enemies to lovers. When Jamie discovers a profound power lies within her, she must turn to Damian for help in harnessing the magick shes longed for all her life.
Id like to think Damian and Jamies story reflects the determination and grit of New Orleans. Like the citys residents, they are survivors who struggle to heal from past tragedies and begin anew. And, like New Orleans, their magick endures even through the darkest times.
I hope you enjoy Damian and Jamies story of courage, strength and how two strong-willed individuals learn to set aside the past to forge new beginnings formed from love and understanding.
Happy reading!
Bonnie Vanak
Enemy Lover
Bonnie Vanak
www.millsandboon.co.uk
MILLS & BOON
Before you start reading, why not sign up?
Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!
SIGN ME UP!
Or simply visit
signup.millsandboon.co.uk
Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.
About the Author
BONNIE VANAK fell in love with romance novels during childhood. While cleaning a hall closet, she discovered her mothers cache of paperbacks and began reading. Thus began a passion for romance and a lifelong dislike of housework. After years of newspaper reporting, Bonnie became a writer for a major international charity, which has taken her to countries such as Haiti and Guatemala to write about famine, disease and other issues affecting the poor. When the emotional strain of her job demanded a diversion, she turned to writing romance novels. Bonnie lives in Florida with her husband and two dogs, and happily writes books amid an ever-growing population of dust bunnies. She loves to hear from readers. Visit her website at www.bonnievanak.com, or e-mail her at bonnievanak@aol.com.
For the uber guild NOOBS GONE WILD.
Thanks, guys, for all your help with computer
games and for being so riotously funny.
Adam Billdacat Persac,
Michael Pachomius Bailey,
Drew Furiousmage Richardson,
Carlos Malandro Plata and
Jerry Demonslayr Stetler.
Chapter 1
Once the prey, now he was the predator, Damian Marcel thought as he hunted through New Orleans for the woman whod tried to kill him. His destined mate, the only female he could impregnate. Jamie Walsh. His draicara.
The scent of fresh river water hit like a hard slap. Damian lifted his nose to the wind, and drank in the smell of the Mississippi. His Draicon senses tasted the water, licked it with a slow, lingering caress. At last, home again.
Twin feelings of joy and deep sorrow pierced him. Home no longer. This place wasnt home. Not anymore. It was a damn tomb, sucking him under, making him scream as he tried to claw his way out.
Damian tried to concentrate on the physical terrain, opening himself up to everything, resisting the instinct to shape-shift into his more powerful wolf form. New Orleans was known for the supernatural, but a werewolf prowling through the bustling French Quarter might scare a few tourists. He gave a mirthless smile.
Another, sharper scent pricked. Honeysuckle and warm woman. His nostrils flared, trying to catch the elusive fragrance. His fingers reached up, traced the air as if stroking a females soft skin.
Jamie, he murmured. Jamie, chère. You can run, but you cant hide. I will find you.
He cursed in French as her scent faded. Somewhere in this thicket of narrow alleys, colorful shops and hard-grained nightclubs, she hid from him.
Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he ignored the chattering tourists snapping pictures. Across from Jackson Square beneath a shady tree, a thin-shouldered painter dabbled color on a canvas, shifting his weight on a lopsided folding chair. On a park bench, a man in a white shirt and faded khaki shorts played mournful notes on a banjo, accompanied by a saxophone player. The music reflected Damians pensive mood.
New Orleans still struggled to recover after Hurricane Katrina, but the Quarter crawled on, pumping music, booze and flavor into the city. And magick, which had been bred into his blood and bones. Good magick, Draicon magick.
Black magick. Morph magick.
Damian grimaced. Morphs, former Draicon who turned evil by murdering a relative, could shape-shift into any animal. They killed ruthlessly and absorbed the terrified victims dying energy. Jamie had joined with the Morphs to gain magick, but Damian stripped her of power by casting a binding spell. Hed let her escape him in New Mexico, knowing she needed time alone and he could easily track her down. Little danger existed after hed killed Kane, the Morph leader, a week ago. Anguish had filled Jamies voice.
Ill break your spell, Damian. Youll never have me, shed vowed.
His chest felt hollow with sharp regret even as his desire for her made him restless. Petite Jamie with her pixieish, heart-shaped face, delicate, translucent skin and huge, expressive gray eyes. Her soft, warm lips pliant beneath the hard press of his own.
The airs mild chill braced him. He strode along the sidewalk, his sharp gaze roving over the crowd. Sunshine beat down on the red-necked tourists, glinted off the faded brass of the players sax. As he passed the painter, the artist regarded him with a mournful gaze. His words stopped Damian short.
Have you heard the call of the wolf?
Startled, Damian whirled. He studied the touch of gray at the mans temples and the faded, almost ragged clothes splattered with splashes of gray and black paint. The hollowed cheeks and the thin blade of a nose looked pale and wan in the brilliant sunlight. Not a very successful artist, for the man looked thin as a ghost.
A wolf, sir? Damian asked.
The man turned, his large dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. The loup garou will never fais do-do in the bayou, mon frère. Have a look. Interesting, non?
The werewolf will never sleep in the bayou, my brother. Instantly on guard, Damian glanced at the painting. Near a wood cabin, a wolf howled at a full moon. A distant memory nagged at him. He glanced at the mans gaunt face, but couldnt place him. For a moment he felt dim hope. A former member of his old pack? Could one have survived?
Mon frère? The one who works hard never sleeps. Please, take a look, the man begged.
Hope died. Everyone in his former pack was long dead. He couldnt afford to indulge in memories or hed lose his focus. The living Jamie was his priority. The man had heard his accent and tried to strike up a camaraderie just to sell a painting. No Draicon from his pack would ever resort to begging. This man was just another starving artist hawking his wares.
A familiar, haunting smell suddenly drew away Damians attention. The scent was fresh, straight from his boyhood.
You must have quite an imagination, Damian murmured. Excuse me.
He scanned the area. His gaze landed upon a wizened elderly man hauling a large red bucket over to a small wood table. The man set the bucket down. For a minute, something dark flashed in the vendors rheumy eyes. Then it vanished.
Crayfish, the hawker yelled. Fresh crayfish! Drawn to the sight, Damian strode toward him.
The slate-gray crayfish wriggled in the bucket, claws snapping in a bid for freedom. Damians mouth watered. Memories flooded him; memories of wading through the clear creek, picking up the crustaceans for a tasty afternoon snack. Suddenly his stomach grumbled. He needed energy from raw food. Fishing out money from his wallet, he paid the man, who dropped the crayfish into a plastic bag.
Fresh is best, the vendor advised. All the flavors in the shell.
Damian nodded. I know.
Clutching the bag, he climbed the steps and headed for the Moon Walk, a stretch of pavement bordering the Mississippi. Damian watched a barge slowly labor upriver as he leaned against a tree growing in a square planter. No one was around. He opened the bag, and one after another he devoured the batch. Finally he reached for the last crayfish. A little bigger, it did not writhe and struggle, but remained oddly still. Perhaps it wasnt as fresh.
Damian raised it to his lips, and recoiled. The crayfish opened its mouth and hissed. Draicon, it whispered.
Alarmed, he dropped the shellfish. A Morph. It began shape-shifting and multiplying even before it fell to the pavement. Damian fisted his hands, waiting to see what form it would take.
An explosion of crayfish followed. Some scrambled away. Lightning-quick reflexes kicked in as Damian pounced, killing them. Damn, where was the host?
Hearing a snicker, he whirled, but not before burning pain lanced his side. Better than his back, where the dagger nearly landed. The Morph rushed by. Human, the form requiring the least energy to maintain.
Damian waved his hands. Daggers appeared in his palms. The creature lunged. Releasing an angry hiss, the Morph lashed at his chest with the knife. He sidestepped, twisted. He calculated, swift on his feet as he judged the creatures abilities. Quick, but he was faster, and more alert.
Then the Morph grinned a sickly, yellow-toothed smile. Too late, Draicon. Your draicara is dying. Your spell failed to work.
Startled, he drew back. The Morph seized the advantage and swiped at him. Damian recovered as the Morph started to change. Talons grew from its fingers and fangs replaced the yellowed teeth. Exerted from the fight, it began to shift much more slowly than normal.
Not so fast. In another animal form, the Morph would be harder to kill.
He kicked out, knocking the Morph to its knees. Damian dropped his knives as he jumped atop the Morph, then slammed its hand against the pavement, knocking aside its dagger.
As humans, they were easier to hurt. Damian pressed hard against the third vertebra of the back of Morphs neck, exerting enough pressure to cause excruciating pain. Pain used up their precious energy and prevented them from shifting.
Tell me, you gutless coward. Why didnt my spell work?"
The Morph squealed but said nothing. More pressure. The creature moaned. Stop, stop, it pleaded. Spittle ran down the side of its mouth. Damian smiled grimly. Talk.
It slowed the dark magick, not stopped. Her blood thickening. The Morph twisted, trying to break free.
With a low growl, Damian clamped down on the creature and dug his thumb deeper. Moans came from his enemy. Okay, please, just stop, stop the pain, it begged. Dark magick inside her, turning her to stone. Living stone, alive but dead.
Shock seized Damian, loosening his hold. The Morph tried to escape the punishing grip. Damian seized its arm and twisted it backward. Details. Now. Or Ill break every bone in your body and youll wish you remained my meal, Damian threatened.
The Morph sucked in a breath. The porphyry spell rarely used. We c-cant absorb the victims dying energy. Gave her dark magick, and the more magick she used, the f-faster it worked. In weeks, sh-shell be encased in stone. Dead but a-livedamn, that hurts!"
His mind raced. You can undo it, he said, twisting harder.
N-no, the Morph wailed. Cant no counter spell. Only the ancient Book of Magick.
He sprang up to release his victim, grabbed his daggers. Time to end this.
The Morph recovered and staggered to its feet. Snarling, it sprang forward, features twisted with hatred. No pity. Damian twirled the daggers and threw. They hit home, straight in the creatures heart.
Acid blood spurted. Damian didnt flinch, only watched the Morph collapse. Grimacing, he rolled the body into the Mississippi, watching it disintegrate into gray ash before it slid into the water.
Dragging in a deep breath, Damian muted pain from his injuries. His magick was powerful and the wounds slowly scabbed over. He waved a hand, replacing his ruined Versace shirt, silk trousers and leather loafers with faded jeans, a black T-shirt and scuffed biker boots. Anonymous New Orleans garb.
The Morphs words rang of truth. Damian felt a sickening jolt to his stomach. Hed heard ancient tales of the porphyry spell. Victims exhibited lethargic tendencies at first. They ate anything to give them energy, especially sugar. Just as quickly as they ingested the food, it passed out of their systems. They cried sweet tears, their blood
Their blood turned sluggish, their skin gray, their internal organs eventually to granite. It was an agonizing end.