PROLOGUE
Max hadn’t visited that dark portion of his past for a very long time. Why now? Because of the life his mate carried? Or were the dangerous shadows of unfinished business reaching out from a swampy grave, a reminder of things he’d rather forget?
A rocking chair’s familiar creak. He tensed and twisted anxiously in the throes of his dream. Icy fingers of caution and loss clutched his chest as eyes darted behind closed lids. Unable to deny his desire to look again upon the worn elegance of his mother’s features, he faced his dread the way he’d addressed his life, with a cautious, reluctant need to know the truth . . . of who and what he was.
Shadows, like those long-ago secrets, hung thick, revealing little of the dark head bent over the child Marie Savorie held in arms both protective and comforting. Max wished she’d look up to feed time-starved memories, craving the gentle curve of her smile and loving warmth in her gaze. He settled for the steadying croon of a voice from the past.
“What is it, Max? Another bad dream? They can’t harm you.”
As much as he loved her, then and now, he’d never quite believed that assurance. Bad things existed beyond the rusty gate imprisoning his youthful curiosity within their overgrown yard for the first five years of his life. He knew because he was one of them, a child of the unnatural world. All he’d wanted was to find his place within it. But his mother had hidden that knowledge from him, just as she’d kept the outside away for as long as she could.
“Mama, what’s wrong with me?” that small voice sobbed.
The rocker continued to complain as she stroked the child’s black hair. Her tender gesture failed to calm either boy or the man he’d become.
“Nothing’s wrong with you, Max. You’re perfect. They just don’t understand, so they fear you. That’s why you must be careful to never let them see the truth.”
“What truth?” he’d pleaded. “Mama, tell me!”
Low and soft, Max repeated from where he watched, decades away, “Mama, tell me.”
She brushed a kiss across the top of the child’s flushed brow then slowly straightened, turning toward Max Savoie, a surreal voyeur from the future she’d never see. Her gaze swam with tears like liquid silver before flaring bright, then hot.
Then red.
“Max,” she crooned, “you’re just like me.”
CHAPTER ONE
New Orleans’s City Park huddled in late night shadows. A kaleidoscope of shifting patterns swept paver stones best traveled in daylight as wind disturbed the heavy web of moss swaddling ancient oaks like tattered shawls. The squeak of unoiled wheels punctuated the quiet as a lone figure pushed her wobbly cart of meager worldly goods along the poorly lit path. Shoulders hunched against the night’s damp chill. The cheap cloth of a coat unable to close over a belly swollen almost to term provided scant protection. Weariness dulled her awareness of the world around her. Of the threat coming up swiftly from behind.
An arm snaked about her neck, jerking her off balance. Contents spilled from the cart. Apples and oranges bounced and rolled into the bushes as a quick pop of knuckles to cheekbone stilled her fight.
“Careful now,” a low voice rumbled against her ear as useless struggles ended. “Wouldn’t want no harm to come to that bundle you be toting.”
“Please! Don’t hurt my baby!”
The fragile sound of her fear emboldened him to mock, “Don’t you go worrying none. That kid be worth more to my buyers than any future the likes a you’d give it.”
With a weak attempt to twist free, she cried, “W-what does that mean?”
“Just come along quietlike and don’t make me damage the goods. We gots somebody awaitin’, no questions asked, and I could use the payday.”
“Did you get that?”
Her voice had changed, suddenly low and crisp, and no longer speaking to him. Confusion wiped the smug smile from his face. In that instant of uncertainty, the female he restrained became anything but a victim, flinging her head back to bash his mouth and nose. Taking advantage of his tear-blind surprise, she twisted free, wrenching his arm up behind him and placing a kick to the back of one of his knees to drop him down upon them.
“Is that any way to treat a lady?” she snarled, snapping cuffs on her momentarily stunned assailant.
“Ceece? Everything okay?”
With a hand to the small of her back, Detective Charlotte Caissie turned to Alain Babineau as he jogged up, the earpiece he’d used to keep tabs