Uncertain and confused, she shuffled the papers. Ever since Mark's death, she'd had a clear direction, a purpose fueled by grief and hatred. Now her world tipped upside down.

How could she have lived all those months with an impostor? She'd memorized everything about Mark in her efforts to please him. The cornflakes he liked for breakfast, how he sang while he paid the bills, the way he rose early in the morning to jog along the river...

How he started treating her after that day. His solicitous concern, when he'd never shown any previously. How he started leaving at night. The front door closing. Mark walking inside, the distinct coppery smell filling her nostrils. The tiny fear seizing her that Mark was different. And dismissing it. Because she really hadn't known her brother after all.

The very idea she'd blithely accepted a Morph as Mark stripped away all her confidence. He was her only family. Indifferent, tolerating her with sometimes amus.e.m.e.nt, sometimes boredom. Stricken, Jamie realized she was better off alone. She felt herself crumble into a thousand tiny, shattered pieces, jagged and sharp, cutting her insides. Damian kept insisting how important family was, how family was everything.

Not to her. Family meant indifferent, greedy b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who shape-shifted into cruel, horrible creatures.

The skin on her lower back began to itch, as if the long-ago mark placed there by her cousins was fresh. She glanced at Damian. Speculation shadowed his gaze. He was going to probe, ask questions, bring up the past.

No. She lifted her shoulders in a casual shrug. "Mark's gone now. No point in talking about this anymore."

"Why were you in that building so late, Jamie? Did Mark tell you to go there?"

At her nod, he swore softly. "The Morph had to get you out of your house because of the shield prohibiting anyone from performing dark magick. He took you there for a reason, chere. He was probably going to kill you."

Her chest felt hollow with panic. Jamie swallowed hard, recognizing the pure logic of his words. She'd trusted her brother, would do anything he said, had been desperate for his approval, h.e.l.l, anyone's approval, and...Why would he drag her out in the dead of night?

The line blurred between black and white, Damian the murderer and Mark the kindhearted. Her brother was a Morph. Damian killed it to save her skin. She'd lived with evil for months, never seeing it clearly. Not until she willingly embraced it herself.

The consequences of her actions slammed into her like a cannonball. Had she not acted impulsively, propelled by emotion to run away after Mark's death instead of stopping to question, she wouldn't be in this predicament. But she sought revenge, turned to evil and darkness, and now suffered from a spell threatening to turn her into stone, living but dead.

Panic and disbelief burned through her. Jamie stood, blinded by grief, rage and self-disgust. She bolted out of the room, racing through the hallway, out the back door. In the courtyard, she collapsed onto a chair, hung her head.

Tears did not come. Instead, she held herself, rocking back and forth. Heard the back door slam, sensed Damian draw near.

"Get away from me," she said dully. "Just go away. There's nothing good about me you could want. Just, please, let me go."

"I will never let you go. You're my life now." Damian drew up a chair, faced her. "You acted out of grief and loyalty, just as I would. I wish I had found you sooner, to spare you all this. Maybe if I had searched harder, wanted more, I could have."

All the blame rested with her, yet he blamed himself. Sorrow etched his expression. Stricken by his unguarded emotion and her own tumultuous feelings, Jamie examined her gray fingernails.

"I'm going to die, aren't I? Because of what I did, what I let happen to me."

A matter-of-fact statement, black-and-white. Damian's mouth thinned. "Not if we can help it. We'll find a way, I promise, we will find the book and a way out. But your powers...We have to discuss this, Jamie. You have extraordinary abilities, one reason you're probably my mate. But using these powers, they're expediting the spell."

"Then let's talk. Maybe your brothers know why this is happening to me."

Back inside, the brothers acted as if her outburst never happened. Jamie settled onto the couch, Damian beside her. His presence felt rea.s.suring, a st.u.r.dy rock in her windswept sea of emotions. She looked them all over.

"Okay, you have knowledge I don't. Can you tell me why I'm getting these abilities all of the sudden? I'm human."

Alexandre lounged in his chair, his eyes sharp, calculating. "Maybe not. You could be a throwback to the original race, before our kind divided in half to lessen our powers."

"Tell me something." Her gaze raked over all of them. "How did those Morphs track us last night? It seems like they're trailing Damian's every move."

Raphael frowned. "I've been thinking the same. My guys have tracked their every move on the computer and there's a pattern. Wherever Damian shows up, they're there. It's like you have a GPS chip implanted in you, t'frere."

"Or a Morph chip." Alexandre's sulky gaze landed on her.

Suspicion etched their expressions. She'd tried killing their brother, lived among evil. A likely target. "If it were me, I'd sense them. I could before ingesting Damian's magick. Now I can't tell what's a Morph anymore."

Briefly Damian explained about her ability to spot them.

"Maybe they have a sophisticated system in place. You do." She pointed at Raphael. "So why wouldn't they use technology? Or use yours against you?"

"Our system is hack-proof," Raphael said tightly.

"Nothing is hack-proof. But leave that for later. I want to show you something first."

Jamie went upstairs to her bedroom, fetched her laptop and went back. Sitting beside Damian, she powered up.

He glanced over her shoulder. "You're tracking down something," he guessed, frowning at the text on the screen. "Is this computer code?"

"Yeah. When I was on Renee's laptop, I made a mental note of the browsing history. There was one Web page that caught my eye, in addition to the sites listing antique shops. A MyPlace page."

She brought up the page. Against the black background were scrolling photos of music celebrities, video showing a popular rap star. The site belonged to someone called "Rocker 21 NOW." It resembled a typical page for a music-obsessed teen.

"This Web page is actually a means of communicating in code with others who know the key to the code." Jamie glanced at him. "Someone you know is tracking our moves. Someone is receiving covert direct orders. Someone familiar with computer technology."

Damian looked at her screen. "How can you tell?"

"Each Web page is written in computer code, like HTML or Java. Anyone familiar with programming can understand the code. But I checked this page's computer code and there is encrypted text, like a secret message-symbols I can't decipher. I think this is how the intruder is communicating, and giving directions on what to do next."

"d.a.m.n," Raphael said softly.

"Which means we have a spy." Alexandre withdrew a knife from a sheath at his waist. The blade reflected the hard edges of his sharp profile. His gaze flicked to her. "When we catch him, leave him...or her...to me. Whoever it is will pay."

Blood drained from her face as she stared at the knife and his fierce expression.

Damian lifted her chin with his fingers, his touch light and rea.s.suring. She breathed in his delicious scent, blocking out all else. "Jamie, pay no attention. I won't let anyone hurt you." He shot Alexandre a warning look.

The other Draicon sheathed the blade. The brothers bid them goodbye and left.

When the door shut, she breathed a little easier, shut off the laptop. Damian leaned back, his thighs spilling open, his arms splayed over the couch's back. He looked in control, s.e.xy as h.e.l.l and confident. But emotion flashed in his eyes as he gazed at her gray hair.

"Get dressed. We need to find the next clue. We'll pick up breakfast and coffee on the way."

Chapter 11.

T hey found the number of paddle-wheel revolutions on the Natchez, then returned to the house later that afternoon. When he gave her another mysterious c.o.c.ktail, she knew it was his blood, but drank it. Grayness fled her nails, but not her hair. Damian insisted on her resting. He had to leave for a while with his brother Etienne, but Etienne's wife, Cindy, and their children would be in the house. She'd be perfectly safe as nothing unwanted could get inside, Damian a.s.sured her.

Then he'd told her his family dined formally at seven. Jamie felt a yawning pit open in her stomach. Family dinners. No way.

She fell instantly asleep on the soft, acre-wide feather bed. What seemed like hours later, something tickled her nose.

Blinking, she slowly awakened, feeling more energetic. A small, delicate face came into focus. Lips were pursed and blowing air toward her.

"Ana, stop it. You're gonna wake her up and it's her naptime," warned a childish, somewhat stern voice.

"But she looks like fun and I wanna play."

Jamie sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"Now you've done it," the other scolded.

Cl.u.s.tered around her bed were four very curious children, including twins with blond hair hanging in ponytails.

"Hi. Welcoming committee? Or room service?"

Giggles spilled out of them. "I'm Ana," the angelic pixie piped up. "And you're Aunt Jamie, Uncle Damian's mate. I'm five. I just had a birthday with a cake with pink icing and lots of presents."

Jamie smiled. "I just had a birthday, too. I love cake with pink icing."

"Well, you can have some of mine 'cause Mama had leftmovers."

"Leftovers," the stern voice said. A male with thick brown hair, calm blue eyes and a steady look thrust out his hand. "I'm Michael. I'm eight and I'm the oldest. I told Ana not to bother you."

"It's all right," Jamie rea.s.sured him. She sat up, hugging her knees, studying the twins. "And you guys are? Sisters maybe?"

The girls giggled and introduced themselves. Sophie and Sandy were seven. They began chattering about the house, their move here, their sleeping quarters.

Ana. Damian's young sister had been named Annie. Her heart pounded. The little girl with her angelic, blond beauty and waifish air tugged at her. This Ana would never get hurt, she suspected. Uncle Damian would throw himself on a dagger before it happened. This Ana was what childhood was supposed to be, smiles, laughter, teasing and plenty of loving arms to hush and soothe when she skinned a knee.

A lump rose to her throat. Jamie hoped Ana would never know the darkness of her own childhood.

Damian walked through the front door, alarmed by the loud shouts and insistent thumping upstairs. He glanced up. Attached to the wall across the second-floor railing was a makeshift hoop made from what looked like aluminum foil. What the...

Jamie raced into view on the upstairs landing, chasing a blond little girl dribbling a basketball with both hands. Ana. Jamie picked up the child and then leaped over the railing.

He froze. His blood pressure plummeted.

"Ana," Etienne said hoa.r.s.ely. The groceries in his hands fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

Jamie grabbed the crystal chandelier. Fifteen feet above the floor, she dangled little Anna in one arm and held tight to her precarious perch with the other.

"Shoot," Jamie cried out.

Damian stared, sweat gathering on his brow. Ana went to toss an underhand throw. And then Jamie's hand slipped from the chandelier. Both he and Etienne shouted, ran and positioned themselves beneath the light fixture to catch them both.

Jamie floated toward the basketball hoop, lifting Ana, who dropped in the ball.

"Score," she cried as the ball banged onto the floor below.

Ana giggled. A deep, full-bodied, sultry gurgle of joy spilled out of Jamie, reminding him of rich red wine and smoke. Dumbstruck, he stared. Dear G.o.d, he'd never heard her laugh before.

Etienne's face blanched. He lifted his arms. "Ana," he said thickly. "Come to Daddy."

Damian's heart leaped to his throat as Jamie floated downward holding Etienne's daughter. "Let's do it again, Jamie!" Ana cried out as Jamie's feet touched the ground.

She released Ana. "Later. Your dad's looking a little white."

Etienne scooped the little girl into his arms. The look he shot Jamie as he marched away was cold enough to freeze hot coals. Damian braced his hands on his hips.

"What the h.e.l.l are you thinking?" he lashed out.

"I wasn't thinking, I was playing. The kids wanted some fun, so why not? It was fantastic."

"You could have dropped her. Did you think about that? She's my niece and I won't see anything happen to her. Understand? You're new to your magick and you could have slipped. d.a.m.n it, why are you so irresponsible?" He picked up her hands. Gray. Damian resisted the urge to shake sense into her.

"You will not practice magick again, Jamie. Every time you do you speed up the stone spell. My magick can't keep it at bay forever. Why do you keep risking it?"

"I've gone without magick for so long. If I am going to die, I want to at least experience life, and live," she said quietly.

"You're not going to die. I won't let it happen."

Jamie mopped her face with a corner of her sweatshirt, showing a patch of smooth ivory skin on her flat stomach. The glimpse of soft flesh raised his ire more, stirring his s.e.x.

She was uncontrollable, distant and his mate. Each day he got a little crazier from wanting her. When would she surrender to what they both craved and needed?

"And I'd cut out my own heart before ever letting anything happen to a child." She folded her arms across her chest, looking wounded.

"Ana is just a little girl. She might have been hurt."

Jamie ran a hand through her gray hair. "Damian, you act like you're five hundred, not eighty. Life's about risk. You can't put kids in a cage and keep them from every little b.u.mp and bruise. What about the young in your pack?"

"The children in my pack are seldom allowed outdoors. It's not safe. Our compound was constantly attacked by Morphs. I won't lose any more little ones. I refuse to let it happen."

"Don't you ever let them have fun, run around like kids?"

He went mute. Her gray eyes widened. "You don't. I bet you don't, either. Do you ever do anything just to relax?"

Stricken, he reeled back on his heels. With Morphs trying to wipe them off the planet, fun had become a foreign concept. He tried to remember when he last enjoyed himself. As a boy roaming the bayou, he liked collecting dragonflies in jelly jars, watching them beat their beautiful wings as they tried to escape their gla.s.s cages. Then he'd release them, the air stirring as they darted away, free once more.

Images popped into his head, dancing to Cajun music at the old cabin in the bayou, blowing off frustration among restless pack males with a hard game of football, cultivating the flowers in the garden with quiet pride as he watched them thrive and grow...fishing in the creek near his home.

Like a gentle breath, he felt Jamie enter his mind, share the scenes. Felt her examine them like books on shelves, marveling and putting each one down.

Once he enjoyed life. But now the music was silent. The laughter dimmed, the football abandoned in the field after Morphs attacked and killed during a game. Flowers drew bees that shifted into the enemy, fish could morph into poisonous water snakes, even the dragonflies could be death waiting to attack and eradicate those he loved.