Immortal Wolf - By Bonnie Vanak Page 0,10

where to sprinkle the spice. His body heated with erotic conjecture, Emily on the table like a feast for his hunger…

He stood, the rocker banging against the wall. “Come, Emily. I hate eating alone.”

As he walked down the stairs, heading for her, she froze. “Stay away from me, Kallan. Just stay away.”

Then she fled into the gathering shadows like a frightened deer.

Raphael sighed, ran a hand through his hair. This time he’d not let her go. He jumped off the porch and inhaled. Easy enough to find.

Tracking her delicious scent, he followed her into the woods.

Emily drew closer to the oak tree and the vine of sacred mistletoe twining around the strong limbs. Though the moonlight tonight would be too dim, she must pick the berries.

She needed answers from the sacred texts her aunt Helen once guarded.

Six months ago, Helen had taken her to the garden alone, telling her she had to share a confidence about the pack. Helen, keeper of the sacred texts, had told her where they were hidden. “If anything happens, Emily, find and decipher them. They will provide the answers you need.”

Helen asked if she could still restore life and pointed to a dying rose. Emily had removed the thin glove covering her hand and pricked her thumb on a thorn. Four drops of her blood caused the petals to unfurl and renewed their crimson blush. Helen had become extremely emotional.

“I knew it, Emily. You have the gift of life within you still. There is something I must tell you. You need to know the truth about your gift.”

To her horror, Helen had touched her hand. Her uncovered hand. Emily had screamed as her aunt dropped to the ground. Terrified, Emily ran off to tell Urien, who ordered her confined to her cottage. An hour later, Urien grimly told Emily that Helen was dead from her single touch.

He’d banished her for good that day.

The texts were a last hope. Ever since she was informed of her impending death, she’d poured over them, desperate to translate the prophecies foretelling her death. If she were to die to save her race, then she wanted proof. Helen said the texts would provide all the answers. But to discern the words, she needed to be calm and unemotional.

Impossible. The only alternative was smearing ripe mistletoe berries over the parchment. The berries would make the words clear to her, even if she became too upset.

Footsteps crunched the leafy undergrowth. Emily went still, like a deer scenting the enemy. He approached with deliberate announcement of his presence.

She fled.

“Emily, come out. Stop playing games. Sooner or later, we must talk.”

The deep, husky voice sounded familiar. No, it was this Kallan. He played games with her, trying to coax her to his side. Raphael possessed powerful magick. He could disguise his voice, making it sound familiar, and loved to encourage a transition to welcome death with open arms like a lover.

Emily squeezed her eyes shut, clapped her hands over her ears to shut away the deep, sensual tones of that voice, as soothing as an old friend. She had no friends.

I am alone.

Maybe this time she’d finally work up the courage to escape. Leave the property she seldom left since her birth. Flee into the night.

Driven by instinct, Emily cut back into the sheltering woods. Her bare feet, accustomed to the rough undergrowth, raced over the covering of dead leaves and twigs. Behind her she heard Raphael call her name.

Call all you want. You’ll be talking to air, peabrain.

Thinking of the mighty Kallan as a peabrain gave her small comfort. Emily continued on through her beloved forest, exiting into a sloped meadow. Dewy grass sloshed beneath her feet as she ran.

The property’s edge was within reach. Freedom. Emily ground to a halt, instinctively knowing the boundary. She stared at the dirt separating the Burke’s land from the outside world.

Her gaze whipped over to the crest of hill before her. Beyond the property lay freedom. If she worked up the courage, she could escape. Flee her fate.

Her overprotective father and Urien rarely allowed her to venture outside their territory, warning of great dangers. Morphs with talons ready to shred delicate skin to ribbons. Their fangs were long and yellowed, their greed for Draicon flesh very great.

Her heart raced with fear.

If she fled, where would she go? What if her touch killed humans as well? Emily’s heart wrenched at the thought of taking another innocent life.

Something moved in the darkening shadows. Shapes. Restless, pacing back and