"Makes sense. Can't have omnipotent beings running amok."

A reluctant smile cracked his dry lips. Damian sipped more wine. "The Draicon became wolf shape-shifters, to be closer to the earth's environment. Our missing half, or the genetic descendant, still walks on earth. This is why we constantly search for our mate, so when we join our bodies together, and hearts and emotions, we become one. In the mating lock during s.e.x, we exchange thoughts, emotions and magick, each absorbing the other's powers. But some were too impatient and greedy. They craved power. And found by killing that which is most sacred, blood kin, they could become any animal or human form. Evil gave them power, but they must feed off the fear of dying victims for nutrition."

Blood drained from her face as Jamie hugged herself. "They wanted me to teach them battle maneuvers. I taught them what I knew from the games I played. Sometimes I was afraid of becoming one of them, nothing in me but the stench of rot and death."

Worry stabbed him. Damian set down his gla.s.s, leaned his forearms on his opened thighs. "Jamie, you survived it. You're too strong to let them win."

"And you're too strong to let the sad energy in this house and its memories do the same."

Fl.u.s.tered, he reeled back. Talk about a verbal one-two punch. He realized just how clever his draicara was, manipulating him into concern for her, then switching it back to him. Damian tightened his lips. His past, oh no, they were not going there. End of conversation.

He finished his wine, wiped his mouth. "You presume too much. It's my private business, so stay out."

An odd look shifted over her face. "It's not possible. Because this house is screaming with memories and pain. And I sense you're screaming inside most of all."

Damian started as Jamie came over to sit on the wide armrest of his chair. He breathed in her fresh scent of youth and energy. d.a.m.n, he needed her, more than he dared to admit. But he wouldn't let her get close. Couldn't let her slide under his skin, make him weak. Weakness and pity were for fools who let their guard down. When he let his guard down, people died. Never again.

She slid her hands on his thick shoulders and squeezed gently. Jamie had never approached him, touched him like this.

"You're too tense. Let me care for you," she murmured.

No one did. He saw to everyone else's needs. They looked to him for leadership, guidance and protection. They looked to him to do everything. Damian, the invincible Super Wolf who did it all.

Muscles in his shoulders stiffened and relaxed as she kneaded, her fingers finding the knots and working them out. The ma.s.sage soothed, and stirred his blood. Damian's head fell back as his body became caught in a helpless grip of animalistic pleasure. He quivered as she rubbed behind his neck, his body responding instantly with growing arousal. Jamie stopped.

"Is it too hard?"

"Getting there."

Jamie looked at his lap. She reached down and with absolute gentleness, kissed him on the mouth while her hand slipped between his opened thighs.

And stroked.

Damian went hot all over, blood surging thickly in his veins. He let her kiss him, her tongue licking at his, her teeth playfully nipping his bottom lip. Let her take charge. Her show. Jamie's innocent, awkward caresses fueled his arousal like gasoline on a smoldering fire. His c.o.c.k ached, strained against the tight jeans, wanting out, wanting inside her, wanting...

With a low snarl, he pushed her hand away, broke the kiss.

He shot out of his seat, had her sitting there and her jeans off in a minute. He growled at the white cotton panties, wanting them gone. Fingers curled, claws grew from the tips replacing his nails. He hooked them under the fabric, taking enormous care not to touch her skin, and ripped. Cloth shredded. Damian reached down and snagged her underwear with his teeth, tossing the panties aside. His nostrils flared, catching her scent. She was aroused, wanting.

His goal achieved, the claws retracted. Damian slid his hands along the inside of her thighs, opening them, and then reached for his zipper to free himself. The urge to mate lashed him, eradicating all but need and instinct....

Until he realized she was trembling.

Damian paused, hands resting on her slender, pale legs. He'd forgotten. She was inexperienced, not used to his kind, h.e.l.l, any male's pa.s.sion. He looked up, seeing her gunmetal-gray eyes widen.

"Slow," he whispered. "My bad. We'll do this nice and slow."

A small smile curved her mouth, whether from his usage of her lingo or relief at his mood change, he didn't know. He pressed a soft kiss inside her thigh. Her skin tasted like ripe berries.

Jamie shifted, a radiant blush racing over her face like sunrise.

"What do you want, chere? Do you want me...here?" He skimmed a hand up her leg, near her center.

"Yes." Her voice was throaty, a bare whisper. "Please."

Her hips lifted and surged up, an ancient instinctive plea. He smiled.

His head dropped between her opened thighs. Very gently he spread her feminine flesh with his fingers, marveling at the moist pearl pinkness, her secret beauty.

"Ah, d.a.m.n, you are perfection," he purred, leaning closer, catching another heady whiff of her scent.

He buried his head between her legs and began tonguing her. Slow slides, loving her taste, the rich sweetness of her mixed with tangy spice. She slid down, moaning, clutching fistfuls of his hair. Sweet pain grabbed him as she held on, pulling.

Damian swirled his tongue, harder and faster.

She climaxed violently, her body bucking off the chair.

He gently stayed with her through her convulsions, kissing her softly. Then he reached for his zipper. Beneath his jeans, his c.o.c.k strained, his b.a.l.l.s ached. He needed to be inside her, bad, so bad he shook as he clasped the zipper. Her breath came in ragged pants, but apprehension shone in her eyes.

Apprehension because of him.

Damian cursed softly in French, reached for her panties, realized they were lying in strips on the Oriental rug. He grabbed them with a rueful look, stuffed them into his pocket until he could dispose of them discreetly.

Jamie stared at him. "Why, what are you..."

Leaning over her, he put a finger over her lips. "Hush. This was for you." He smiled at her. "Ah, for me, as well. I enjoyed it, very much."

The rosy flush of arousal darkened. Jamie pushed her hair out of her face and stood. She went to turn around as if hunting for her underwear and stopped.

"Close your eyes," she muttered. "I don't want you to see my b.u.t.t."

His eyebrows arched. He'd already seen her naked, flat on her back when he'd taken her virginity after they'd first met. Strain showed in her clenched hands. Damian turned his back as she shimmied into her jeans. The zipper rasped and he pivoted.

Only to find her looking down, shuffling her feet. Jamie's hands were on her lower back.

She was ashamed. What had happened to her?

Chapter 9.

P eople packed the Laffite bar. With a hand at the small of her back, Damian guided Jamie to an empty table in view of the bar. His touch sent a shiver through her, knowing what happened earlier. Knowing where his mouth had been, the crazy pleasure he'd selflessly given her...

Moisture gushed between her legs. Oh yeah, she had it bad. This afternoon wasn't enough. More, her hormones growled.

Damian looked down at her, nostrils flaring. A soft smile touched his mouth. He pulled out a chair for her.

"What do you want?" he asked.

You, on top of me, with all that male strength.... A blush raced across her cheeks. "Uh, whatever domestic beer they have on tap."

He returned with two filled plastic cups, handed her one. Damian sat, his keen gaze scanning their surroundings. Always alert, on guard. Intense. Arousal faded, nudged aside by sadness. His family had been slaughtered. He alone survived. What kind of ghosts haunted him?

Jamie knew the feeling. She reached over, laced her fingers with his. He didn't realize it, but his secret forged a small connection. She didn't want it, but it was there.

I understand.

Damian looked up, a smile erasing the deadly warrior look. His thumb made little circles on her skin, making her nerves flare with sensual awareness. As if he sensed it, and knew it wasn't the right time, he slid his hand out.

People crowded the bar, their laughter and talk filling the s.p.a.ce around them. She remembered wanting to come here for her birthday, but Mark had been too busy. Last year he'd forgotten it was her birthday.

Jamie had quietly let it pa.s.s, rea.s.suring herself her brother was an important man with much more on his mind than her birthday. Birthday celebrations were for children. So what if she'd never had a cake, with pink icing, candles and lots of people singing to her? Did it matter? Such silly dreams were for others, not her.

A lump rose in her throat. Ruthlessly she swallowed it down.

Damian scanned their surroundings. "Stay here. I'll be back."

She watched him walk the room's perimeter, staring at the exposed brick as if studying the centuries-old setting. To the casual observer, he resembled a fascinated bystander examining history. He was searching for the next clue hidden on the brick.

Loud laughter from the bar drew her attention. A slightly overweight man in a red polo shirt talked with a pretty brunette. His loud, obnoxious remarks about animals rankled her nerves. Her thermostat shot up to boiling.

Jamie stared at the man's beer, wishing she could dump it over that smug grin.

Barely had she entertained the thought when the gla.s.s slid toward him. Jamie gasped. She rubbed a sore spot blooming on her temples and stared. Beer drinker went to grab it, swiped at empty air. The brunette laughed.

She stared at the beer mug, silently willing it to tip. Seeing it splash all over him, cooling his jets.

A small thunk of gla.s.s. .h.i.tting wood followed.

The man jumped to his feet, sputtering. "What gives?"

The gla.s.s lay on the bar, a yellow lake of foam spilling over the side. A small pounding began in her temples. Jamie swallowed convulsively. She had done that.

A college-age male approached, plastic cup in hand. He was tall, with a bristling crew cut, designer jeans, a polo shirt and loafers. Fraternity boy. c.r.a.ppa Kappa Zappa. She rolled her eyes. He took Damian's empty seat. The smell of vodka clung to him like wet paint.

Jamie gave him an even look.

"Hey there, pretty lady, all alone? Whadda yah having?" He nodded at her gla.s.s.

"Peace and quiet until you came along." She leaned forward, gave him a pointed look. "And if you're going to ask my sign next, it's Do Not Disturb."

But he appeared unaffected by her chill. Vodka Breath leaned forward until his knee nearly touched hers. "You're very lovely, very s.p.u.n.ky, just the type I like," he said, and it seemed a small growl rumbled in his chest.

Before her astonished gaze he suddenly rose three feet off the ground. Behind him, Damian lifted the chair, spilled the man out like wet laundry. Jamie snickered as the man glared, vodka soaking the front of his preppy shirt. At Damian's level stare and bristling aggression, Vodka Breath scrambled away.

Righting the chair, Damian turned it around and straddled it. "Any more like that and let me know, I'll take care of them, d'accord?"

But she was too intrigued by what she'd just accomplished to pay much attention. How did she tip that beer from all the way over here?

Damian gave her a long, thoughtful look. It appears you have your own magick.

His soft, deep voice inside her head shocked her speechless. Communicating telepathically? A satisfied smile touched his sensual mouth. He reached for her hand, entwined his long fingers with hers.

You're my draicara. It's normal for us to talk like this. I've been waiting for this moment, Jamie. It means you are finally opening up to me and the dark magick inside you is fading, for now.

Damian invading her mind. Power energized her. Jamie felt as if she'd sucked down a wagonload of caffeine, yet this wasn't accompanied by the troubled guilt when she'd acquired dark magick. This felt different. Natural. Yet instinct said Damian's magick wasn't the cause, but a catalyst. Impossible. She had no natural powers.

Jamie pushed aside a fleeting sorrow that she'd again borrowed someone else's magick. Lowering her voice, she asked him about the clue he'd found.

He answered in that odd mind link, his voice sounding inside her head as clearly as if words came from his lips.

I found the words scratched on the brick-"Natchez boat water revolution = mark on bust of French failure." It must be the next clue.

What does it mean?

Think of it. The Natchez is a paddle-wheel boat, and displaces water with...

It makes no sense. The Natchez was built long after your father's death.

Each revolution of the paddle wheel, she finished. So the number of revolutions of the paddle wheel is the same as the mark on a French failure? Jamie frowned. Who could the French failure be?

Napoleon. My father always lectured how ego was his greatest downfall, Damian replied in their mind link.

His eyes widened. Someone else put the clue there.

Someone else knew where the book was hidden. Yet why had that person left a clue? And why hadn't that person simply taken the book for himself?

"Let's get out of here," Damian said aloud.

They pa.s.sed tables of patrons laughing and talking. A few glanced up, nodded at Damian with a respectful look.

"Friends of yours? Draicon?" she asked outside.

"Vampires. They like the nightlife." He winked at her.

"Why is this happening to me? Why now?" Jamie scuffed her sneakers along the cracked sidewalk. "Maybe I came into this power because I just turned twenty-one?"

Damian stopped and turned. "What do you mean, you're twenty-one? You're twenty-five. And your birthday isn't for another two months. Rafe looked up your driver's license and-"

"Oh, that. It's fake. Mark changed a few things around after I came to live with him. He had a way of sneaking into the system and shuffling records. Said I'd be a legal adult much sooner and come into our parents' inheritance, so then our uncle couldn't touch me."

"Your birthday is today?"