Be with me.
Run to me, Em. I will not turn away from you, I promise.
His mouth feathered over hers in a soft kiss. Emily closed her eyes, marveling in the firmness of his lips against hers. Raphaels hands held her steady as he deepened the kiss, his tongue coaxing her to open to him. She parted her lips and he slipped inside, tasting her, his tongue plunging and retreating, brushing the roof of her mouth, tracing every part of the moist cavern of her mouth. Emily sighed and shyly met his sensual advances. Breath escaped her as he lightly nipped her lower lip.
Raphael pulled away, his chest heaving, his eyes darker than the blackest night. Her own pulse beat frantically as she struggled to breathe, feeling the delicious flush of heat suffuse her entire body.
She knew now what it meant and knew what he wanted. He wanted to mate, but waited patiently for her.
Emily was ready now.
MILLS & BOON
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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 for housework.
After years of newspaper reporting, Bonnie became a writer for a major international charity, which has taken her to destitute 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 Web site at www.bonnievanak.com or e-mail her at bonnievanak@aol.com.
Bonnie Vanak
Immortal Wolf
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Dear Reader,
Come with me and dare to enter the dark, dangerous world of the Draicon werewolves.
Meet Raphael, the leather-clad, Harley-riding immortal Draicon. Hes a courageous fighter; a ferocious, yet tender lover; a loyal brother, and he will do anything to protect those under his care. Hes given up hope of ever finding his true mate. Until he meets Emilythe werewolf he must sacrifice for the survival of the entire Draicon race.
Everyone Emily touches with her hands she kills, or so she thinks. Her blood can restore life, yet the tenderhearted Emily doesnt dare reach out and embrace any other living creatures for fear of hurting them.
Emilys been abandoned by everyone she loves and lives in isolation. Now Raphael must convince her to trust him, the one she trusts least. Together they have to find answers to save Emilys lifeand prevent the spread of evil.
So if you happen to run into Raphael in the woods of eastern Tennessee, beware. Raphael is an immortal wolf who is extremely protective of those he loves!
Bonnie Vanak
For my chapter, Florida Romance Writers, thanks
for all your support and being such a great team.
And to Joan Hammond and Julie Sloane, who
encouraged me from the very beginning. Also,
special thanks to Meri Aigner for her knowledge
of Harley-Davidson motorcycles, and my friend
Maureen Mo Fries. You guys rock!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Prologue
Once she restored life. Now she brought death with her touch.
Emily Burke brushed a tender hand across the cold marble gravestone. Beneath it lay Helen, her favorite aunt. Around the stone, daisies planted in loving care were withering and dying on their frail stems.
Never had she felt this forlorn. Not since shed killed her father a year ago.
Sunlight dappled fading gold-and-red leaves on the canopy of trees. Stray beams drifted onto the small clearing in the deep woods. Here and there, rounded markers etched in the Old Language marked the places where family eternally rested. The Burke pack had ruled this section of eastern Tennessee for generations, living and dying on these same three hundred wooded acres.
If her people had their way, soon her gravestone would join the others. Then the curse haunting her would be broken at last.
A shiver skated down her spine as a cool breeze caressed her cheek. In a few days, the most revered of all Draicon, the Kallan, arrived to prepare her for the rite of trasna. The ritual passage to the Other Realm required formal meditation, farewells and anointing. Though fairly young, the Kallan was renowned. Females whispered of his legendary sexual prowess. Males lowered their heads in respect for his tremendous power.
Without the Kallan, her own pack would be forced to execute her.
Stretching out her hands, she studied the chamois mens gloves that covered them. She pulled off the right glove and the thin latex sterile glove beneath it. Emily touched the gravestone again, relishing the feel of the hard surface, cool marble. Just to feelanything.
I can touch you now, Helen.
A daisy plant drooped by the gravestone. Emily swallowed hard. She glanced around and picked up a sharp rock. A sharp swipe across her palm and she winced.
She held her bleeding palm over the plant. One, two, three, four drops of crimson, her lifes fluid, dripped onto the flower.
Emily allowed the cut to heal and watched the daisy with faint hope. The white petals unfurled and the lemon-yellow center glowed with health. Once more, shed brought back life. The last descendant of the pureblood Draicon, she could restore life with her blood. Emily had healed many, including the animals of the forest who lay sick and dying.
Yet for a year, her touch now killed her own kind.
Oh, to be cursed with the touch of death and the blood of life. Why? Did the goddess curse her because Aibelle saw Emily as vain?
What have I done? she whispered. Please, tell me how I can amend it. I did not abuse this gift I was given at birth. I only wanted to heal.
A year ago in a dream, the goddess Aibelle mysteriously told her the balance of life and death was within Emily. And the next day, Emily had touched her father and
Tiny crescent marks gouged her palm as she squeezed, her nails digging into tender flesh. Swallowing hard, she covered her hand. Both gloves had been purified in sage smoke and bathed in a rich mixture of spices and herbs before drying. No matter. Her hands killed her people.
She had killed her father after touching him. Killed her aunt Helen as well. Now she must pay the price, before her curse spread to other Draicon.
She had one hope. Recently, shed telepathically found her dracairon, her destined mate. Amant. His deep, sexy voice in her mind didnt hint of origin, and it sent a thrill through her. Worried he might have heard of Emily, the cursed one, shed given her nickname of Erin. She imagined him as big, powerful and slightly threatening to anyone who dared to hurt her.
Even the Kallan, the Draicon who would execute her.
Amant was her knight, who would charge to her rescue. If Amant knew of her fate, he would do anything to save her. It was his duty. Instinct would drive him to risk all to keep her safe.
Emily closed her eyes and mentally reached out to call out to her white knight.
Help me.
Raphael Robichaux sped toward Bourbon Street on his Harley toward his favorite bar for one last prowl through his turf in New Orleans. Miles away, a female awaited him to deliver her to death. A quick death, but death nonetheless.
The big bike purred as wind whipped his ragged shoulder-length hair. Riding the Harley gave him the only true freedom he knew. But as Raphael neared Bourbon, a voice called out in pained insistence.
Kallan. Kallan. I have need of you.
Raphael turned the bike around, toward the weak, hopeful sigh. In a shadowed alleyway littered with paper bags and the stench of old vomit, a male sat against the exposed brick wall. Even as he slid off the Harley, Raphael knew it was an elder Draicon in great pain.
Yellowed, sharp fangs flashed in the alley. Morphs. Former Draicon who turned evil by killing a relative, they could shapeshift into any life-form. The pair licked the blood streaming down the elders temples, tasting death and the Draicons fear to gain energy.
One swiped at the helpless male, swiping bloody furrows across his chest. The elder gasped.
Raphael stood at the alleys entrance. Go pick on someone able to fight back. Challenge rang out in his voice.
Growls greeted him as they backed away from their prey. The Morphs straightened. Energized by the elders terror, they shifted into rats, cloned themselves and then chewed on the elders arms and hands.
The elder screamed.
Absolute calmness came over Raphael. He never lost sight of the original two, their markings, their movements. He lifted his hands to create a veil of protection, much like an electronic fence, around the elder. Shocked by the pure magick, the rats squealed and dropped off, before turning on Raphael.
He was ready. Waving his hands, he divested himself of clothing and shifted into wolf.
Focusing on the original pair, he sprang forward to attack. They squealed and shifted into their true form. As they did, their clones vanished, denied the energy necessary to maintain them.
Just as quickly Raphael shifted back into his human form, clothed himself. Daggers materialized in his hands. He twirled, punched, acted. The two Morphs gave low howls and dropped to the ground. In a minute, they vanished into ashes.
Raphael went to the elder, who was holding his stomach as if trying to keep his guts stuffed inside. His mouth went dry as he scanned the Draicons injuries.
Please, help me end this. I cantcross. The elder, at least 1,500 years, wheezed. Pain radiated from him in great waves. Just let me go.
Raphael hedged, torn between wanting to give the honored elder solace and the agonizing decision to end it for him. But the males burning plea nudged him forward. It was time.
Closing his eyes, Raphael laid his hand on the others shoulder. Concentrated, pulling back to the Other Realm of peace and no pain. He uttered words in the ancient tongue.
His eyes flew open as he removed a short, golden dagger strapped always to his waist. The blade had a magick anesthetic. With a low murmur of sacred words, he stabbed the elder in the heart.
Death was swift, merciful and painless. Light faded from the Draicons gaze, but a small, serene smile rested on his thin lips. With reverence, Raphael closed the elders eyes. He wiped blood off his sacred Scian with a small cloth tucked into his back pocket. Then he replaced the dagger, fished out his cell phone and made a call.
Five minutes later, four of his former pack arrived. They wrapped the body in a long length of oriental carpet and discreetly carried it to the waiting truck to take the elder to the honored burial he deserved.
Raphael closed his eyes, wishing he didnt feel so damn alone right now. As much of a rush killing the Morphs gave him, dispatching one of his own into the peace of the Other Realm made him feel empty. Dark inside.
He was the Destroyer, the bringer of death.
Bringing the solace of crossing over to the Other Realm was an honored vocation. Screw it. He was a damn death dealer. He was the Kallan, the only one who could terminate the life of a fellow Draicon without consequence.
Minutes later, he parked the bike in front of the Full Moon bar. Music poured down the street in an acoustic tidal wave; soft, cool jazz and hard, pounding rock. A few women lounging on the sidewalk and sipping hurricanes gave him the twice-over. Wind teased the pure white streak of hair at his temple, played with the gold dagger earring dangling from his left ear.
A collective female sigh, soft as a Mississippi River breeze, drifted toward him. He angled his famous half-smile at the staring threesome. Evening, ladies, he drawled.
Three in one night. Nothing new. Hard, fast female company, the bliss of quick, anonymous sex and the energy it brought pushed back the loneliness a little. The tallest had a lush figure, with enough flesh on all the right places he loved to caress. He adored females. Even human women, who were too frail to absorb the rough sex Draicon males sometimes relished.
But sex with anonymous strangers never touched the empty space inside him. Raphael gave the women a charming smile and walked away. Behind him, their murmurs of disappointment buzzed like mosquitoes in the bayou.
He headed toward the scratched wood bar and grabbed a mug of beer. Male and female Draicon nursing drinks stared. Thats him, he heard one female whisper. The Kallan. They say he was appointed because he killed eighty Morphs in one day when they were about to slay a pack in California.
Sometimes the story boasted over a hundred Morphs, and the pack of Draicon were from New England. It mattered not, for the legend shadowing him was far bigger than reality.
Hes also the only mixed-blood ever to become Kallan. Who would have thought a Cajun mongrel could have entered the ranks, a male murmured.
Raphael stiffened.
Too often he felt as if he were dancing atop a paper pedestal erected by his people. When would he fall off because his blood wasnt pure enough? Only his family treated him normally.
He snorted. Normal? He was immortal. Normal wasnt part of the package.
Being a Kallan required strength, physical prowess but most of all, emotional detachment tempered with compassion and spiritual purity. A Kallan did not relish dispatching his own people. He saw his role as a guide to the Other Realm, who prepared them for crossing over. Those transitions, even if they committed crimes against their own kind, were treated with dignity and compassion.