Chapter 17.

"Y ou really shouldn't have done that."

The deep male voice sounded accusing. Jamie struggled to open eyes that felt glued shut. Her body was dead weight, arms and legs felt as if lead pumped through her veins. She tried to raise her head, but it took too much effort.

She sagged backward, surprised at the softness beneath her. Bed. She was lying with a pillow under her head. Vaguely she remembered waking up, Damian wiping soot from her face, Damian taking her into the shower and washing her tenderly.

Damian laying her in bed as she fainted again.

"I'm sorry. I'm really-G.o.d you have no idea how sorry I am."

With tremendous effort, she opened her eyes. Damian stood by her bed, hands on hips, legs splayed apart. Alexandre faced him. Two vivid blue eyes stared out of a face still blackened with smoke, making him look almost comical, if not for the misery etched there.

Damian hugged his brother. Alexandre looked as if he fought off tears. He pulled back.

"Dai, there has to be an answer, some other way. Your father wouldn't have just left it there to be buried.... We can save her, I have to believe that...."

"It'll be okay. Go on, clean up. You look like something the caimon dragged through the bayou." He clapped a hand on his shoulder.

Jamie watched Alexandre leave. Damian turned. "Ah, good, you're awake." The bed sagged beneath his weight. He stroked her forehead. "Better now? No more faiblesse? Fainting?"

"I won't faint again. Promise."

"That's my girl," he said softly, leaning down to brush his lips against hers.

"What happened?"

"We're at your house. Everyone's staying here but Etienne, Cindy and the kids. They returned to Paw Paw's."

He kissed her again. Damian stroked his tongue along her bottom lip, nipped playfully. But his actions contrasted sharply to the weighty sorrow leaking from him like invisible tears.

She reached up, struggling with all her might to cup his face. Damian closed his eyes, turned toward her touch, taking her hands and kissing them.

"No regrets, mon amour. None. I needed to do what I did. I don't want to have my life end with regrets," she told him.

Something dark and fierce flashed in his green eyes. "You're not going to die. We'll find another way."

Sadness pulled her, but she managed a smile. "Can you ask Raphael to come here for me? I need to talk with him."

He touched her hand. "Anything." Then he looked down and his eyes widened. Shock.

Jamie glanced down and cried out. "Oh G.o.d, my hands!"

Her fingers were stiff, unable to bend, hard as rock.

"It's spreading, fast." Damian drew her into his arms. "We have to find a way, we won't give up."

"I won't," she whispered back.

But she suspected it was already too late.

She dozed lightly, feeling the strong, solid body beside her. Damian lay on her bed in wolf form. He told her before shifting he could guard her better this way. Head between paws, he eyed the door. When it did open, Damian lifted his muzzle, growled.

"Easy," Raphael soothed. He held up his hands. "It's me, t'frere. Just wanted to visit your Jamie here. Can you give us a minute?"

Her head felt like her brains were sloshing as she struggled to sit. Grayness covered her arms. How much time did she have?

"Damian, remember? I asked him to come."

He whined a little, licked her stone hand. With a baleful look for Raphael, he jumped off the bed and trotted out the door. In the hallway he paused, growled deep at his brother, then loped off.

Raphael shut the door, leaned against it. Jamie fell on the bed, her hands useless and unfeeling. "He's hurting, badly. I can feel his pain."

"I know."

The Kallan's voice was almost gentle. He sat on her bed. "What do you want, little sister?"

Sister, family. Courage filled her. "You're the Kallan, the Draicon who can kill another without any consequence or retribution. I ask you a favor now." Her gaze met his. "I want you to end it for me now."

No emotion shone in those dark eyes, smooth and ageless as the bayou.

"Soon, before I can't talk. Before I fully turn to stone."

"Why?" Raphael asked quietly.

Jamie struggled to speak. "I saw, when you examined me. I know what awaits."

He remained silent.

"It scares me...but I think I can deal. No choice, right?" She gave a nervous laugh. "What I can't deal with is having him see me, like that. Alive but dead. Not moving, not able to speak. It will tear him apart. Worse than death. I'll suffer, but for him it will be...agony."

She waited, breath heaving in little ragged strips. Staring at his dagger, wondering if he'd do it. End it all now. Spare his brother.

"How much do you love him, little sister?"

The answer came without hesitation. "More than my own life."

Raphael locked gazes with hers. Gone was the watchful suspicion. Respect replaced it. "Lche pas la patate, chere," he murmured.

As she c.o.c.ked her head at him, he added, "It's an old Cajun expression. It means don't give up. So don't you. You never know."

"Know what?"

"When little miracles can happen," he said softly. Then he grabbed her face, pulled her forward and kissed her hard.

It felt like kissing a hot blast of air, suctioning off her oxygen. Not arousing in the slightest, just shocking, fusing contact. Speechless, Jamie struggled, whimpering for breath. Raphael released her just as quickly.

A volley of loud French followed, words sounding like curses. Damian stood in the doorway in human form, his glare triggered at Raphael. He bunched his fists.

"I did it just to p.i.s.s you off so you'd stop moping," Raphael told his brother. "Don't worry, I'm out of your hair. Taking Gabe and Alex to Bourbon. Alex needs a drink."

He angled a dark smile at Jamie as he left the bedroom. "Later, little sister."

Damian growled at him, went to Jamie and pulled her against him, his lips fused to hers. A kiss of ownership and claiming, eradicating thought, reason. The wolf marking his territory. She rested her cheek against his palm.

"How much time do I have left?" Her voice sound like gravel to her ears.

His fingers trailed over her cheek. "Not sure. A few days maybe, if you don't use any more magick." He raised his head, looking bleak, lost. "My magick...won't help anymore."

"Take me downstairs, Damian. I want to feel the sun against my face. Before I can't feel anymore."

Lifting her gently, he carried her to the courtyard, placed her in the comfortable chaise longue. Damian's hand shook as he caressed her cheek.

Then he seemed to gather his strength. "There has to be a way. Father wouldn't leave the book where it might be buried."

"Not without telling someone else." A burst of strength filled her as she sat up. It all fit. "Damian, the clue, the Natchez...planted after your father's death. There must be another wolf painting. There has to be. Why would someone plant a new clue if the book was buried under concrete? Maybe that person rescued it."

"And the painting we found was a diversion." He stood up, jamming a hand through his hair, wild excitement dawning in his eyes. "Another wolf painting. I think I know, Dieu, I hope it's so. I'm going for a walk by the square."

Jackson Square was bustling with tourists, carriages and artists. Damian raced through the crowds, his heart beating wildly. The artist, surely he was still here...had to be....

"The loup garou will never fais do-do in the bayou, mon frere."

He whirled. The same artist who'd said the very same thing his first day back. Damian's heart beat faster. He took a hard look at the painting.

The wolf, by a cabin in the bayou. A proud gray wolf with Alpha markings like his own, jade eyes...His father.

Damian dragged in a deep breath, forcing himself to remember a childhood he'd tried hard to forget. Good times, laughter, friends gathering around, distant kin...French accents. His father's friend, who painted beautiful pictures.

The artist slowly turned, removed his sungla.s.ses. His eyes showed no movement. Damian leaned closer.

"Mon Dieu. Jordan?" He grasped the man's upper arms very gently. "C'est vrai, you didn't die. C'est moi. Damian, Damian Marcel. Andre's oldest."

The man shook with emotion, hugged him. Damian kissed both his cheeks and stared at the man closest to his own father. "What happened to your eyes?"

"Morphs blinded me," Jordan said brokenly. "I was the only one who survived their attack. I had to survive, to keep the secret safe for you. The other pack members had told me you were dead. I refused to believe them. I looked everywhere for you, and couldn't find you. But I never gave up hope."

"The pack drove me away that day to the bayou to die. They banished me. You weren't there." Damian stated a fact, no accusation in his tone.

Jordan put a hand to his face. "I'm sorry. Your father charged me to get the Book of Magick if anything should ever happen to him, and keep it safe for you. I was in town doing that and thought you were safe with the pack."

"First Renee, and now you, alive. Mon Dieu."

"Renee is alive?"

Damian clenched his jaw. "Was. She had disguised her scent all these years and remained in hiding. But the Morphs killed her recently, because she knew about the antique shop, the first clue to finding the book."

"Oh." The Draicon looked visibly shaken. "So much horror and sadness after the Morphs attacked. But I never lost hope you were alive somehow. You, of the whole pack, had to survive. You are strong and your father's son. I waited and waited, not trusting anyone. The Morphs learned to cloak scents and I did not dare trust even your scent alone. I kept asking strangers whose scent seemed familiar. I kept hoping you would return and recognize the painting and remember the words your father always said to you."

"The wolf will never sleep in the bayou, my brother," Damian repeated, then he smiled. "The one who works hard never sleeps. Father always told me that."

Emotion welled up in his throat. He glanced at the painting. "It's in the bayou, non?"

"Not exactly." Jordan got to his feet. "We need somewhere safe. Take me there. Now."

Jamie couldn't bring herself to hope as Damian introduced her to his father's friend and set the painting on the nearby table. She watched as Jordan stepped back.

"Touch it, mon frere. Touch the painting and say the words," Jordan told him.

Damian closed his eyes, laid a hand on the painting and said the ancient words in the Draicon tongue his father taught him long ago. Iridescent sparks filled the air as the rough surface of the oil painting shifted, turning to...

Red leather. A thick volume, bigger than the New York City phone book. The Book of Magick.

Jamie gasped with wonder. Awe and respect etched Damian's face as he read the contents, flipped through the pages. He frowned.

"I see the heading for the spell, but there's no text below it."

A horrible suspicion came to her. "It's an evil spell and requires either darkness or lack of emotions to decipher the words. Bring it to me. I can read it."

He laid the book very gently in her lap. Jamie blinked, hard.

The dark Morph magick still inside her enabled her to see what Damian could not. Her blood froze. Shock filled her.

"What is it? Tell me so we can heal you."

His expression was desperate. Love poured through her, chasing away a little of the fear. Love. She loved him. And now it was too late.

"We're going to need Raphael and his dagger."

"The sacred Scian?"

For the goodbye ritual. Jamie nodded, and summoned all her strength to seize his wrist. "Kiss me," she whispered.

He replaced the book on the table, and obliged her, his mouth warm and trembling. Jordan hovered in the background, looking thoughtful.

Someone knocked at the gate. Damian went to open it.

"Hey, man, Rafe sent us, said you needed help with something. Is Jamie okay?"

Adam and Ricky walked into the courtyard. Jordan whipped his head around, a snarl curving his upper lip. The Draicon with his well-developed sense of smell scented what Damian could not. What Jamie finally could detect.