Immortal Wolf

Think of her, not yourself.

“Emily, let’s get back. You’re shivering,” he said in his gentlest tone.

Raphael shrugged out of his leather jacket and went to drape it about her slender shoulders. She jerked back as if he were a hot iron. “Don’t touch me!”

“I was only going to offer you this.”

“Then you’d have to destroy it after I wore it.” She backed away. “You’re supposed to be wise. Everything I touch is contaminated. My own people can’t stand being within ten feet of me. They won’t let me touch anything. Even the livestock. I can’t feed them, water them, care for them. I’m unclean.”

Raphael’s heart twisted.

“Stop looking at me like that. I hate pity. Damn you.”

With a swirl of skirts, she spun around and stormed off toward her cottage. Raphael gazed after her. He’d leave her alone for now. Come morning, they had work to do.

Once Emily had loved the dark. Now it brought only fear of the night and terrible dreams chasing her through sleep. Last night’s had been particularly gruesome. Long, yellowed fangs ready to sink into her flesh, eager to rip and tear.

Emily hooked a band of hair behind her ear. Before sleeping last night, she had managed to calm herself enough to decipher a snippet of the sacred texts.

“The Destroyer has been sent to kill her. The Chosen One surrenders herself to the Destroyer.” Two sentences having a vague interpretation. But what if she did surrender herself to the Destroyer? What then?

She had become too upset, and the words blurred to nothingness before her eyes.

Emily poured herself a cup of coffee, donned her gloves and took the cup outside to enjoy the morning air. Distress filled her as she spotted Raphael sitting on the rocker on her porch. In a dove-gray T-shirt, jeans and boots, his powerful body tensed, he stared into the woods.

“Why are you on my porch?” she demanded.

Silence met her. She tracked the line of his gaze and saw a small deer peacefully cropping dewy grass. “What are you looking at?”

“Prey.” His voice was low, intent.

His back to her, Raphael stood and tugged the shirt over his head. Muscles rippled beneath his smooth, tanned flesh. Her mouth went dry as she stared. He reached for the waistband of his jeans.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I’m going to hunt. I haven’t eaten deer in months.”

“There are no deer where you’re from?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Where I come from, we eat nutrias. Rodents bigger than small dogs. They look like mutant beavers.”

Fascination stole over her as she watched him shed his clothing slowly and carefully. Emily suspected he did it on purpose to get a reaction.

She reacted.

She had seen naked men when her pack males shapeshifted into wolves. But not this beautiful. His legs were long and sturdy, his bottom taut with muscle. His broad shoulders tapered down to a lean waist and hips. Fascinated, she studied the rippling muscles of his tanned flesh. An odd marking in blue ink decorated his strong left bicep—a dagger that had intricate runes like the Sacred Scian thrust through a heart.

Iridescent sparks started to shimmer around him, then faded. “Aren’t you joining me?”

A ripple of pleasure went through her. Her pack hadn’t invited her to run with them in years. Emily leaned back, sipping her coffee.

“I don’t hunt anymore.”

“Why?”

She fell silent, reluctant to tell him why. He seemed to struggle with a decision. His large shoulders slumped as he heaved a sigh. “Ah, it wouldn’t be much of a challenge. Like fishing with C-4 explosives.”

Raphael waved a hand, clothing himself again. Relief swept through her, and bemusement. Most others would ignore her and pursue their hunger.

“Your refrigerator should be fully stocked,” she said, setting down her coffee. The Sacred Scian hung in a sheath on his belt. Emily swallowed hard.

“It is, but I like the thrill of the hunt. I am, after all, a big, bad wolf.”

A charming grin touched his mouth, melting her a little. He seemed friendly. Open and willing to talk with her as if she were just an ordinary Draicon.

She wasn’t. Emily squeezed her hands.

“Why do you wear those clothes?”

He shrugged. “It’s what I like. I never follow other people’s style.”

“Style? I don’t know of style, but I do know it’s important to be like everyone else in the pack.”

“So that’s why you wear that sackcloth?” he drawled.

Emily fingered the shapeless dun dress with its long sleeves and coarse material. “It’s tradition. Our people embrace traditional clothing.”

She stared at the small gold dagger dangling from a loop pierced through his left ear. “Our males do not wear earrings. We wear no decorations upon our bodies.”

Raphael leaned against the railing. “The earring is more than a decoration.”

He tugged at his left ear and the tiny gold dagger dangling from it. In a flash, the golden blade on his belt vanished and appeared as a second dagger in the earring. “I keep the Sacred Scian close to me at all times. The earring gives me the freedom to walk armed into places where humans forbid weapons.” He flashed the charming grin again. “Much better than setting off metal detectors at airports.”

She felt her breath escape her as he tugged his ear again and the Scian reappeared on his belt. The sacred dagger, carried only by a Kallan, would end her life. He wore the blade as he wore his clothing, with a casual indifference that belied his role. Fear skittered through Emily. Other Kallans had been purebloods, with long robes and gray beards, and kept the Scian hidden. They revered their dress and the Scian, and ancient texts painted them as mystics. They chanted ritual words, worked spells and possessed great magick.

This Kallan was a warrior. Beneath the amused dark gaze lurked the intent of a true hunter. Raphael would not easily be fooled as she might have fooled the elderly Kallans.

“You’re so cavalier with the Scian. Why do you wear it on your trousers at all? The pureblood Kallans of the past always kept it guarded in a tortoiseshell box.”

Amusement fled his eyes, replaced by a flattened expression. Emily backed away, sensing the rising anger, the ruthlessness of purpose.

“I wear it how I wish. I’m not of your people, but I revere my role and my duties as Kallan as much as the Kallans of old. My Scian is a weapon and never leaves my sight. I’d say I’m much less cavalier with it than the old ones.” Raphael removed the blade, flipped it into the air and sheathed it.

“We’ve never had a Kallan who wasn’t a pureblood. You’re a mixed-blood, so different.”

His jaw tightened to flint. “There’s a first for everything. I worked hard to become Kallan and passed the test. That’s all your people need to know.”

Sunlight glinted off the dagger’s fine gold hilt. Emily hedged. If he were to kill her with the blade, then she wanted to see it closer. Touch the knife that would end it all. She stretched out her gloved hands. The covering would protect the blade from contamination.