To her surprise, Damian pulled back. His eyes darkened, and he was panting as if running a marathon. He rested his forehead against hers.

"Why did you stop?" she asked.

"You're afraid. I can smell your fear," he said abruptly.

More surprises. She thought Draicon were a.s.ses who took what they wanted, regardless of others' feelings. And someone proud as Damian would do as he pleased.

"I need to go," she whispered, torn between wanting to stay and leaving.

"No. It's dangerous out there." He took her palm and pressed a kiss into it. "If anything happens to you like what happened to Renee...I won't let it happen."

He seemed determined to protect her and this felt so confusing. Damian towered over her like a mighty oak shading a tiny sapling. Her gaze dropped to his biceps and smooth, tanned skin. Remembering his naked body moving slowly over hers as they'd made love, she blushed. Jamie dragged her gaze up to his face. His eyes looked haunted.

"Why should you care what happens to me?"

"You're pack now, Jamie. Mine. I always protect my own." He ran a thumb across her cheek. "Next time we'll take it at your pace. I won't push you."

She hesitated, staring at the cords and veins standing out in relief as they mapped his neck. Wondering what he tasted like if she bit his collarbone, ran her tongue along his shoulder. Salty or sweet? The rigid barriers inside her lowered for a minute. No one really gave a d.a.m.n about her. Her cousins would dance for joy if a meteor dropped on her skull. She knew a few people who might be upset if something happened, but not...

Devastated.

She ran her hands up his arms, feeling the tense muscles, the power. Suddenly having this big, bad wolf watch over her made her feel erotic and wanting. Jamie tugged out his shirt, slid her hands up his flat, ribbed abdomen, feeling him quiver beneath her touch.

"Push all you want." She purred.

His eyes darkened. Damian took her mouth in another drugging kiss. His hips pushed against hers. Jamie slid her hands around his back, squeezed his a.s.s and rubbed herself against him, desperate to relieve the throbbing between her legs.

"I have to taste you," he muttered against her mouth. His hands fumbled with the gray sweatpants. He tugged them past her hips, slid them down her thighs.

Shame flushed her face as he stared at her white granny panties. But then he hooked his fingers around the waistband, shimmied them down. She realized he didn't care. His purpose was to get them off. Now.

As if watching from someone else's body, she saw her clothing bunch around her ankles. Moisture seeped out of her as she realized what he intended.

"Mine," he said roughly, standing upright again. "No other male will dare touch you and you will not want them. You're mine."

His hands caressed her hips. Damian nuzzled her neck, gave it a slow lick. Pain, sharp and brief, laced her as he nipped her skin. His tongue caressed the wound, replacing pain with erotic pleasure.

"My scent on you, chere. Your scent on me," he said hoa.r.s.ely.

Dropping to his knees, he slid his hands inside her thighs. Drew them apart and put his mouth on her.

Shocked pleasure shot through her. Jamie threw her head back, put out her hands to protest. Instead she grabbed his hair to anchor legs threatening to collapse. His tongue caressed her, lapped her, sliding between her sensitive folds.

Then he stroked the one place aching for his touch. Quick, powerful flicks that drew her taut, made her quiver and moan as she clutched fistfuls of his hair, gasping until she threatened to fall apart, building the sweet tension higher and higher.

With a shrill shriek, she came. Jamie convulsed, crying out his name. Tremors spilled through her. Damian stopped, cupped her bare bottom and stood. She sagged against him, still trembling, her hands sliding weakly down to clutch his waist.

"Remember, Jamie, I'm the only one," he whispered, gently rubbing the pad of one thumb over her kiss-swollen mouth. "The only one you want."

He slid up her clothing. Dazed with languid pleasure, she remained speechless.

The intensity in his gaze deepened. "You're mine, Jamie. You belong to me. There's nowhere you can run, nowhere to hide that I will not find you. I can track your scent a mile away. If another male dares to touch you, I'll shatter his bones."

His expression said what he did not. You want nothing between us but skin. Soon, I'll have you under me and be inside you as deep as I can go.

Her feminine core throbbed in response. Jamie put a hand to her trembling mouth and staggered to a chair. s.e.x with Damian was dangerous. Involvement. Risking her heart with an unpredictable Draicon who turned her boneless with s.e.xual need and made her forget common sense. Keeping him at a distance was wise. Maybe a whole football field would suffice.

She would go meet Paul at Jackson Square. Just as a.s.surance that she didn't need Damian. She didn't need anyone.

Through hooded eyes, he regarded her. "As soon as Adam and Ricky arrive, I'm leaving, but I'll return soon. Stay here. If you dare to leave, I'll find you. I'll always find you, Jamie."

The h.e.l.l you will, she silently vowed.

Hands jammed into his pockets, Damian walked around his city, gathering information. He raked each building with his hard gaze. Two men strolling along with hurricanes in hand gave him a wide berth.

He visited a few favorite haunts, eating rare steak and drinking beer, spilling it on his shirt to cloak his scent. The vampires running the bars gave disturbing information. Even they were worried. Morphs hid themselves among the population and successfully disguised themselves. They sprang from lonely, angry, single male Draicon populating the city, who murdered close relatives to gain power.

His thoughts drifted to Jamie. Lone, angry Jamie, who insisted she didn't need anyone. How could he coax her into mating with him and leading his pack females when she preferred to be alone? Was the darkness inside her controlling her every move? He told Jamie to trust him, but h.e.l.l, could he trust her? She'd tried to kill him, but he doubted she'd try again. No, this time she'd merely leave him.

If she found the book, she'd run away again. He felt it in his bones.

His only solution was to ensure she didn't have the chance.

His steps were sure and quick as he made several detours. As he walked down a deserted side street, Damian stopped.

Instinct slapped him. Someone was following him. Someone without a scent, except for a very faint fragrance of perfume. He whirled.

They came out of the shadows. He counted eight, no, ten. Young men and some women. "Draicon," they whispered.

d.a.m.n. How had he been so foolish to let them get the jump on him? How could they track him so easily?

Muscles tensed, he prepared to fight as they rushed forward.

How easy it was to fool these wolves.

With one eye on the game she played, Jamie kept aware of the two werewolves guarding her. Ricky, with a day beard and shoulder-length blond hair, was parked on a chair as he worked on a laptop. Absorbed in a book, Adam sat on the couch. Ordinary, with light brown hair, dark eyes framed by oval gla.s.ses and well-shaped features. Dressed in jeans, a turtleneck and black leather jacket, he looked like a cross between a college professor and a h.e.l.l's Angel.

As Jamie manipulated Celyndra to attack a horde of Orcs, she kept an eye on both werewolves. They weren't looking. Abandoning the game, she opened her BlackBerry Pearl and text-messaged Paul, arranging to meet at 4:00 p.m. at Jackson Square.

She logged off the game and looked at the wall clock. "I'm tired of beating up Orcs. I'm taking a break downstairs to work on some coding."

"I'll go with you." Ricky went to shut off his laptop.

"No bother. You're busy and the signal is wobbly downstairs. I'll just be in the courtyard."

Heading downstairs and into the courtyard, she dragged the lounge chair beneath a banana tree. She sat down, unpacked her laptop. Sure enough, Adam appeared on the upstairs porch. She waved and pretended to settle back.

After a minute, she glanced up. He was gone.

Quickly she went to the western door and fished a key from beneath the mat. The house had been subdivided into apartments Mark rented out during Mardi Gras. She'd made good use of one after his death, storing all manner of items that might come in handy someday.

Like now.

Minutes later she emerged from the back apartment toting a life-size CPR dummy. She unlaced her sneakers, removed them and her white socks, and put them on the dummy's feet, then placed it in the lounge chair with the laptop in its lap.

"Have a nice time, Annie," she told the mannequin.

The banana tree's sprawling branches hid all but the dummy's legs from the upstairs window. Unless they came down to check on her, they'd never know.

"Who's the real dummy, Draicon?" she whispered, slipping into her sandals.

Ten against one was very bad odds. The Morphs shape-shifted to their normal form. Hunched over, they had long, greasy hair, black eyes, yellowed fangs and sharp talons. One hissed at him, saliva dripping from its thin mouth. Antic.i.p.ating a Damian sandwich for lunch. Not likely.

"Beg for your life, Draicon," it rasped.

"I never beg. Ever," he said pleasantly, and leaped forward.

Ten minutes into the fight, he was totally bemused. These Morphs fought like such wusses his patience was grinding down.

He'd killed one, but injuries to the others were superficial. Each time one charged, it attacked from a different angle. But instead of aiming for his heart, they merely raked him with their talons. Drawing blood, they'd howl with triumph, then retreat backward.

Enough. Bored and irritated, Damian focused on the tallest male and started for him. Daggers at the ready, he charged.

One Morph shape-shifted into a wasp and flew at his face. Caught off guard, Damian staggered, swatted at the little b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

It stung him on the cheek. He winced, smacked it. Flicked it off even as the sting began to puff up like an inflated balloon.

d.a.m.n allergies. He directed healing thoughts at the sting. The swelling went down. Damian went to charge his enemies again.

But instead of fighting, the Morphs ran away. Took off as if he were the devil himself, coming to drag them back to h.e.l.l.

They vanished into an alleyway. Damian leaned over, wiping blood off his chin.

Morphs never ran. They relished the kill, and fed off the victim's terror. If they managed to terrorize a Draicon, the power rush trebled.

His mind calculated the possibilities. They had fought like a pack of wild dogs, launching at him and then retreating, looking for his weak spot as if to...

Test him. See how much power he held.

Like animals rushing up to test an electrically charged fence, they had attacked from all angles, looking for a weak side. Then retreated. To fight again later?

Why not finish him now?

"Because they want me to find the book first," he mused aloud. "Then kill me. And next time there won't be only ten."

Twenty. Or thirty. Or maybe even a hundred.

The city was in trouble. Big trouble. And he and his mate were in the thick of it.

He headed toward Raphael's house on Esplanade. Raphael wasn't home, but the keys to his Harley were on a peg inside the garage. Damian snagged them. His hand trembled as he brushed it up against the concrete wall.

Memories poured into him like smoke. Blood, screams. Terror. He shuddered, fought them off.

Damian took a gleaming black helmet, started the bike and roared off to inspect the city on wheels. He headed toward Jackson Square, stopped by the light by Cafe du Monde. Then caught a familiar, intoxicating scent.

Jamie walked past with a tall, young male. Ordinary, college age. Damian's fury bloomed, the scent sharp and heady.

The male put his hand on her shoulder as they paused to cross Dumaine Street. His blood froze as Damian saw the talons emerge.

Morph.

Jamie remained blissfully unaware she was walking to her death. They crossed the street, headed up the steps leading toward the Moon Walk. Damian roared toward her, but they cleared the tracks just as the gates came down. He sat, trapped by the train as it lumbered past.

Beneath the black leather jacket, his skin grew cold as he thought of how easily the Morph could take her down. Rip her to shreds, leaving nothing but blood...

A bloodied stuffed animal, under the bed. His sister hadn't a d.a.m.n chance.

Had to get to Jamie. Now.

When the last railroad tanker finally cleared the crossing, he roared past the tracks, parked the bike at the foot of the steps. And ran like h.e.l.l, praying he wasn't too late.

Soft, slow jazz drifted from the saxophone played by a street musician. A cool river breeze rustled tree leaves in a nearby planter. Jamie walked on Moon Walk with Paul, following the redbrick pavement toward the direction of the French Market and the charred wharfs destroyed during Katrina.

Paul was tall and wore jeans too baggy for his long legs, and an olive T-shirt far too big for his thin chest. He had chestnut curls and deep blue eyes. He was a Level 60 in World of Warcraft, and liked eating Fritos while he designed Web pages for corporations. But he acted far different in real life than in cybers.p.a.ce.

Distant, almost cold.

She tried to make small talk with him about everything they'd chatted about online, but he made one-syllable answers.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Instinct hummed like a live tension wire. Her sneakers shuffled along the red brick. Jamie glanced around. Unease p.r.i.c.ked her spine. A single living soul was yet to be seen. She ground to a halt, went to turn around. "I'd better go."

He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, looked hurt. "Don't you want to see my e-book reader?"

The load roar of a motorcycle drew her attention away. She glanced at the biker shutting off the engine and pulling a black helmet off. He stalked toward her direction like a predator.

Paul's eyes narrowed. "Who's that?" he demanded.

"My elderly uncle Damian," Jamie said weakly.

"Elderly uncle?"

"He's older than he looks."

Wearing a black T-shirt, leather jacket, faded jeans and scuffed biker boots, the Draicon climbed the stairs and headed for them. Jamie sighed. "I'd better..."

She stared at the hand Paul held out. Talons extended from his fingertips. Jamie trembled, blinked hard and looked up.

"Jamie. Don't you know...never trust strangers."