"Cosplay is costume play. You dress as a character from a book or game and role play. World of Warcraft is an online video game. You pick a character and fight battles. It's a lot more complicated than that, but..."

"Battles?" he echoed. Damian narrowed his eyes. "You learned to fight and organize an army? This skill you taught the Morphs came from a game?"

"I did learn some skill from it. But that's nothing compared to some guys I know. Former marines, army guys. Friends."

Raphael's pack had checked out all her friends in New Orleans. Jamie had few. A terrible suspicion seized him.

"Guys you know from where?"

"Online. I met them on MyPlace."

Alarms screeched in his head. Jamie was involved in a dangerous world he knew nothing about. "You have a MyPlace page?"

Damian's glance fell to her opened laptop. He picked it up, rapidly surfed through it. He found her page. Jamie Walsh, in lavender, with beautiful ill.u.s.trations of fairies in the background. If he weren't so furious, he'd admire the intricate artwork and the delicate simplicity of the winged creatures. Damian scrolled down, shocked at the personal details. She liked fantasy books, alternative music, designed web pages and was a self-professed geek.

People she'd like to meet. "Anyone with real magick because I need magick in my life," she'd written. The sentence sounded a little wistful. He scrolled down to her friends. Her top friends were former military types. But...Damian zipped through the last friends she'd acquired. Names like Wolfeater, Draiconhater.

Online predators. Morphs. "You're an open target with this, Jamie."

"It's my page. My friends are there."

"Friends? Will they come to your aid if you need them? Not these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. They used you, Jamie. You don't need friends. You're my mate and you have a pack, my pack and my family here, as well. They're much more important. Family will always be there when you need help." Reining in his emotions, Damian kept his face expressionless.

"Delete it," he ordered.

"No. And I don't need your pack. I do just fine on my own. Go to h.e.l.l." Defiance flashed in her gray eyes.

Damian stared at her as his hands slowly crushed the laptop, splintering it in half. Her jaw dropped as the crumbled pieces fell to the floor. A strangled squeak arose from her throat.

"You won't do that again. Try defying me and I'll break every single computer you have. Your enemies, and mine, on that page. Who do you think infected you with this spell? You're turning to stone, Jamie. From the inside out."

"Kane had no reason for it," she protested, but her voice shook considerably.

"You're my draicara, my mate. Reason enough. He used you to try to kill me. He used a safeguard, as well. A slow-working spell to eliminate you."

"All I wanted was to learn magick," she said, looking crestfallen. "It's something I wanted my whole life. Is that so wrong?"

Damian cupped her chin in one strong hand. "Then look, little one. Look and learn. I will teach you magick. Good magick."

Releasing her, he waved his hand, summoning a ball of white light. Iridescent sparks glimmered from it. It hovered in the air, danced as Damian created patterns with his palm. Jamie gasped in delight. A wide smile touched her face. d.a.m.n, he'd do anything to keep her looking like that. Happy. Young. Carefree.

She leaned forward to study the orb, her slender arm stretching out. Her expression turned to awed wonder as she touched the ball with one finger. The light flashed, turned gray, then black. Before his astounded eyes, it shriveled, then vanished.

"Oh! Oh...I killed it," she whispered.

Her mouth wobbled precariously. Jamie seemed to shrink inside herself. Moving closer to her, he clasped her hand in his. Cold, so d.a.m.n cold. Like blue ice.

"It's not you. It's what's inside of you," he said very gently. "When the dark magick is gone, the light won't vanish from your touch."

A tremulous smile touched her mouth. "I wish I could believe you."

I wish you would, as well. He picked up the bag of peaches. "Eat. You need your strength." Damian frowned as he glanced around. "When did Renee leave? I asked her to stay with you."

"Said she had to get back to the shop." Jamie dug into the bag and withdrew a peach. "Thanks. I'm so hungry, I could eat an orchard."

She brightened, a smile touching her pixie face. The sight lifted his own spirits. He steeled against the temptation to kiss her again. "Why did Renee go back?"

Jamie went into the kitchen. Her voice trailed out to the living room. "You should know. She said you'd called, asked her to bring another gris-gris to the house."

Damian went utterly still, the hair on the nape of his neck rising. "I'll be right back. Don't move from here," he ordered.

A horrible suspicion crested over him. He raced out of the house. Sprinting down the street, he reached the voodoo shop.

The door was ajar. Cautiously he stepped inside. The scent slammed into him with the force of a hurricane. Blood. Death. Lacing through it was the faint scent of honeysuckle.

A black cat greeted him, mewling pitifully. Damian crossed the room, started for the back and ground to a halt. Anguish spilled through him like acid.

"Oh, d.a.m.n. d.a.m.n, I'm sorry," he said softly.

Mama Renee lay in the corner, her eyes wide open in terror. Blood splashed over the pretty flowered dress, splattered the walls.

Someone had torn her heart out. Morphs. They reserved the right to lick up each last drop of fear.

Grief and rage twined together. Damian closed his eyes. Renee had been a last connection to his parents. How many more of his people must die, sliced down by evil? His parents, brothers and sister. Members of his pack back in New Mexico. How could he ever hope to stop this and protect those who looked to him to keep them safe?

He pushed aside sorrow. Grief was for later.

The stench of death made him gag. Damian murmured the ancient Draicon blessing for a departed soul. He spotted the altar to the voodoo priestess, Marie Laveau.

Darkness had extinguished the candles.

The police would question, snoop around. Couldn't risk them finding out about his world. He needed a motive. A hate crime, and robbery. Damian withdrew all the money from the cash register and stuffed it into his pocket to later burn. He left the drawer open. He glanced around, found a permanent marker and scrawled on the wall.

DEVIL WORSHIPPER.

The mewling at his legs grew louder. The cat held the scent of an ordinary feline. Picking it up, he studied the animal. "You already used one of your nine lives. Let's get you somewhere safe."

Tucking the cat in his arms, he looked around. Waving his hand, he dispelled all evidence of his fingerprints. The cops would question Jamie, though, and...

Jamie. He'd left her alone.

Damian tore down the street, frantic with fear for his draicara. He unlocked the gate, banged it shut behind him. Releasing the cat, he took the stairs two at a time.

She was sitting on the couch. His knees went weak with relief.

Then he took a closer look. Terror shaded her expression as she stared at her hand. Seeing him, Jamie thrust out her palm at him. It trembled violently.

"Damian, look at me. Look at me. Oh G.o.d, what's wrong with me? I can't bleed. I can't bleed!"

Shock filled him as he looked at her hand. A knife and fruit slices lay on the coffee table. She'd been cutting a peach. Then the knife had slipped and hurt her.

Peaches scented the air, but he smelled no coppery scent of blood. A shallow laceration on her palm showed no crimson. Instead, a sluggish gray matter leaked out.

Gray, like granite.

She was turning to stone before his horrified eyes.

Chapter 4.

I' m dying. It couldn't be happening. It wasn't real. Couldn't be real.

Jamie thrust out her wrist at the Draicon she hated, the Draicon who'd warned her this was happening. A hysterical whisper bubbled up.

"Don't let me die."

It was her punishment. In trying to kill Damian, she'd succeeded in killing herself. It didn't hurt. Painless, just this sluggish lethargy as if her limbs were turning to stone. She wanted to feel something, not this horrid draining as if she were already dead.

In her computer world, Celyndra possessed incredible strength and health. Jamie regenerated fast in cybers.p.a.ce. Now, her body failed.

Damian sank down onto the couch. He seized her wrist, bound it with gauze on the table. Two strong arms pulled her to him. He muttered something she couldn't understand, brushed her hair back. Jamie caught a glimpse of long canine teeth descending. Sharp. Dangerous.

Damian bent his head, nuzzled her neck as if kissing her skin.

He bit her.

Sizzling pain screeched along her nerves. Her scream was cut short by a slow, almost erotic sc.r.a.pe as his tongue traced the wound. Strength fled as she collapsed, sagging like a rag doll.

d.a.m.n you, Draicon, I was already dying, she thought fuzzily before darkness claimed her.

She mustn't die. No. Not again. He couldn't watch her die, lose her like he'd lost his family, little Annie...

He'd acted on instinct. Knowing his bite infused her with good magick. Knowing it would save her.

Very gently Damian cradled her as she fell limp. Her pallor grayish, her hysteria abated. He felt her forehead. Cold but no longer icy. He waited a minute, frantic with worry, then checked her wound. Watery crimson leaked out. Blood.

Relief filled him, so intense he shook. Damian licked her laceration with his healing saliva. He fetched a blanket from the bedroom, covered Jamie to keep her body temperature warm. He punched a number on his cell phone and explained what happened.

When Raphael arrived, Damian's duffel bag slung over his shoulder and carrying a paper sack, Damian led him upstairs. Rafe dumped the items and gently picked up Jamie's wrist. "The spell starts working from the inside out on the extremities, then spreads to the vital organs, clogging the blood supply. The fingernails and hair usually turn gray before it gets to this point. Mon Dieu, I've never heard of it accelerating this fast. When did she get bit?"

"Kane infected her six weeks ago. Why is it spreading like this? She's human and it shouldn't affect her as much."

A frown puckered Raphael's forehead as he put down Jamie's hand. "Humans. She's your draicara. No Alpha Draicon ever had a human mate. Maybe she's not human."

Stunned, Damian sank onto the couch. He held Jamie's hand, rea.s.sured at the warmth spreading through it, the pulse beating slow but steadily. "For now, we have to a.s.sume she's human. What else can I give her?"

Raphael dumped the bag on the kitchen table. "I called Paw Paw and got the recipe for a potion. Should help for a while."

"I hope so. By the way, I need you to dispose of a body. Ma Pet.i.te Voodoo Maison. Morphs got to her."

Blood drained from Raphael's face. "Renee?"

His brother raced down the stairs. When Raphael returned, he looked grim. "Too late. There's people in front of the shop. She's been found."

Worry riddled him. He pushed it aside, concentrating on Jamie. She came first.

Someone pressed a cup to her lips. "Drink," the deep voice commanded. "It will help you, Jamie."

Still confused, her mind muzzy, she opened her mouth and obeyed. The liquid smelled coppery and tasted faintly of something salty, warm and rich. She gagged and glanced down at the cup. Red liquid sloshed inside.

"Again," the voice insisted.

Jamie shook her head, but instead of the exhaustion she'd felt, energy poured through her. Real energy, as if she were awakening from a spell.

"What is that?" she croaked.

"A magick potion with herbs and spices and nothing that will harm you."

Her mind processed the information. A potion aiding her. A fierce desire surfaced to live, to fight whatever had crippled her.

The cup was put to her mouth again. Jamie grabbed the gla.s.s and drank, resisting the reflexive instinct to gag.

More energy filled her. Wary of pushing it, she slowly sat up, flexed her fingers. Jamie stared at the now-healed cut on her hand.

Seeing the question in her eyes, Damian nodded. "You bleed red now, Jamie. I bit you to infuse you with my magick, but it's not permanent. For now, it will help. The tired feeling you had should be gone. It was the spell."

A shiver snaked down her spine. "How long will I feel better?"

"Without more magick, a week, perhaps, maybe a little longer. I'm not certain. I don't have experience with this."

He took her palm, stroked it. "How are you feeling?"

Stronger. Better. Perplexed. "Why did you do that?"

Damian squeezed her palm. "Chere, don't you understand? I'm trying to save you."

"Why? I tried to kill you. I'm not the kind of mate you want."

"Want has nothing to do with it. Call it biology. Laws of the pack. You need me, and I need you." His fingers trailed over her palm.

d.a.m.n, this was mighty confusing. His brusque statement contrasted with the gentle stroke of his fingers across her chilled skin. It broke down the black-and-white areas into patches of gray. She didn't like gray. Black-and-white was much easier, like computer coding.