Vaewolf: Hearts of Darkness, #3

Chapter One

Day of the Demons

DRIZZLE. HEAT. STEAM.

The scent? Pine, cypress, swamp, and something else...feline?

Jackson snapped his attention in the direction of the pungent scent of a large cat.

Male. Jaguar. Not far ahead. He sent the message mentally to his pack.

His sharp night vision took in the trees, the shrubs—all enhanced with a cast of blue haze. The fallacy about animals seeing in black and white or shades of gray was just that...a fallacy. In the form of the wolf, he saw in all muted colors, but blood red was the strongest color he could identify. So blindingly bright, the color of blood stood out from the rest in the darkest circumstances. And the scent? How could he describe the power in the scent of blood?

Not only could he smell it and see the color from great distances, he could all but taste the blood in his mouth. Rich, metallic, delicious.

He saw more than most—was more than most. Lycan and vampire. Hybrid. The first true hybrid ever born to survive.

Yeah, a fucking miracle. The term alone made him shudder—the responsibility and expectation daunting, the adoration unjustified. But born vampires lost the ability to reproduce after his father. Niccolai Xenos had been the last born vampire sired three thousand years earlier by the God Zeus on an unknown Titan female. Some of the Titans, believed to be the first vampires, were destined to protect humans, the source of the blood that kept them immortal.

Abigail Whelan was the daughter of an alpha Lycan born from the Goddess Leto’s line. Jackson’s mother and his father, a demi-god, had been a true love match, and the life mates remained bound to each other until she died in childbirth. Jackson’s infant sister didn’t survive, and neither had Niccolai—at least not completely. Nearly insane with grief, he went to ground, leaving Jackson with his surrogate—the only vampire Niccolai ever sired: Dylan Macgregor.

The prophecies had foretold Jackson’s birth, and when fully engaged, he was living proof the scrolls stated the truth about his potential. But success came with great effort.

He sniffed the air again and smelled trouble. "Demons." Circling so he was up wind, he maintained a safe distance from his quarry.

Bad movies tried to name his kind many things, but Jackson was different. He’d been born not turned. What he became no one had yet conceived, nor named. But to those he was destined to lead, he truly was what the prophecy called Vaewolf.

As the first-born vampire in over a thousand years, Jackson would inherit the charge of leading all the lore soon. And when he did, he’d make changes.

New world—new rules!

Chapter Two

Packing

CAITLIN DONOVAN, FRESH from the shower wrapped a towel around her hair, packed away the last of her personal belongings, and crossed to the bedroom.

The report she’d read earlier, preoccupied her thoughts. She took her makeup bag over to the open suitcase, dropped it in, and accidently knocked over an empty water bottle. Suddenly with clearer vision, she studied the condition of the room.

Sometime during the last, strenuous round of lovemaking, Dylan had torn off her clothes and together they’d knocked the rest of the stuff off the antique bedside table. She glanced around the cluttered room and wondered what the hell happened to the trashcan. She finally spotted the wicker basket on its side on the other side of the room. Wadded papers and tissues were scattered all around.

Caitlin righted it, and, along with the rest of the scattered trash, dropped the empty water bottle in the basket. Now, she said with her hands on her hips. Where did he throw my underwear?

She crawled, naked on hands and knees, across the scarred hardwood floor, picking up her clothes as she went. Along with her FBI ID and gun, she discovered her missing bra beneath the corner of the bed. The rest of the tattered silk and lace of her fragile lingerie lie strewn in pieces by the side of the bed. Unless she planned to go commando, she’d need to find another pair.

Once she confirmed there was nothing more under the bed, she replaced the tattered underwear and a fresh shirt from her over-night bag, then finished dressing. Except for her bag, most of her personal belongings were already packed and ready to take back from her temporary quarters at the B&B to the estate. Her new home. She took a deep breath and grinned. Pleasure filled the void she acquired ever since she lost her family.

Their home. Hers and Dylan’s.

She placed the gun and the badge inside her briefcase on top of the roll-top desk. Carrying the badge and gun was more than an old habit. Once she completed an appropriate medical leave—although it was completely unnecessary since her new regenerative abilities healed her quickly—she planned to return to work part time as Dylan’s partner—a psychic consultant. Her position as an FBI profiler would be invaluable to the lore community’s ongoing investigation into the maulings and deaths in the adjoining Parrish. And her consultant position would give her access to official files they desperately needed.

She picked up the last report from Detective Delavega off the nightstand and scanned it one more time before storing it in her briefcase. Ramon reported more rogue jaguar shifters hiding in the bayou, and worse, they’d found sympathetic allies in the demons who slipped through the portal undetected before the lore group she belonged to managed to close it.

What did their presence nearby mean? After being shot—uh, actually killed—she wasn’t prepared to take on anything besides her life mate. The additional medical leave gave her time to adjust to her death and rebirth, time to explore her new abilities... She smiled. Time to enjoy her mate, Dylan Macgregor, fully, at last.

A small ache of longing centered in her chest, and she suddenly felt Dylan enter her thoughts.

Lass, I’m paying for the wine now and already picked up the takeout for you.

She squeezed her eyes shut, allowing her emotions to engulf her thoughts so he’d see how his thoughtful attention pleased her. A hint of sexual desire escaped and accompanied the thought, then a lightning strike of sexual hunger hit her from out of nowhere. His or hers? She wondered. Her stomach growled and she refocused.

Hurry, I’m starving.

Dylan’s quiet chuckle touched her mind like down on the wind.

You are insatiable... The words came from the man standing behind her—his familiar heady scent was stronger and more appealing to her than the Thai food in his hand. Dylan’s breath brushed her neck, and for the moment, all thoughts of food vanished.

Mmm...

You ready to eat? he asked.

Right. Food. Seconds before she’d been thinking of food, now all she could think about was stripping Dylan naked and getting her hands on his body...again. She forced herself to concentrate on dinner, and that wasn’t easy with his hard body pressed against her back, the long hard length of his erection teasing her ass.

She turned in his arms and confronted him. How do you do that?

Do what? Flip emotional switches in your head or turn your insides to mush? The broad hard line of his Celtic jaw clenched, but his eyes twinkled playfully.

Why, you...arrogant— She couldn’t contain her giggle.

Dylan scooped her up, tossed her over his muscled shoulder, and spun her around before putting her down.

Aye, cocky, too where you’re concerned. He wiggled his eyebrows in fun.

Don’t push me. She gripped his shirt in her fists and narrowed her eyes at him ready to tease him in return. I’m not into submissive cra—

He kissed her silent, until she couldn’t breathe enough to speak, then Dylan pulled away and said, You have me at your mercy. Because you love me as I love you, lass, our need flares at the thought of the other. I consider myself a right lucky bastard.

Just remember that.

How could she not be touched by his rugged emotional admission? He destroyed every wall she erected. Running her hand slowly down the side of his face, she gently moved her thumb across his lips, brought her fingers into a light fist, and paused. She gripped his shoulder and stood on tip toe to kiss him lightly to soften her words. She’d been on her own after her brother’s death and wasn’t ready to allow even the likes of Dylan Macgregor to know how vulnerable loving him made her feel.

The serious line of his full lips lifted into a slow smile when her stomach growled. He bent to kiss the tip of her nose and turned her around. Let’s get you properly fed, then you can make me live up to my arrogance in service to you.

Certain she would enjoy doing just that, Caitlin followed him over to the tiny kitchen area of the cottage tugging on his hair. Why do I think it’s no hardship?

Perhaps, yer reading my thoughts, lass. He shot her an image of him pleasuring her and driving his name like a prayer from her lips. Are you peeking inside my head?

As if she could. His thoughts were maddeningly difficult to get at if he blocked her...and totally evocative when he dropped those image bombs on her.

I meant to ask, Caitlin said changing the subject. Face flushed and heat rising, she cocked a hip against the counter while he opened the brown bag. How’d you get from the restaurant here so quickly? You couldn’t have traced that fast.

I materialized. He handed her the Thai food, and she pushed it to the side of the counter and reached for a plate.

Here. She handed him the wine bottle. Open this first, please. I could use a good, mellow Bordeaux right now. Maybe it would help settle her scattered thoughts.

Questions. She had a few for him, and she needed real answers before his presence distracted her more than it already did. The abilities and life she faced as a newly made vampire were somewhat daunting, and there was so much to learn.

After Caitlin took the plate from the cabinet, she paused, staring blankly as she wondered. She knew about tracing, but she’d never heard the term linked with materializing before. She’d yet to master tracing, the ability of vampires to move at top speed, but Dylan assured her he’d teach her when she completed going through the last phase of her transition.

Metamorphosis, the final phase, would blend her own DNA with the DNA in the vampire blood she’d been given during her initial change. Apparently, if there were any hidden sneaking genes about in her chromosomes, she’d find out about them then.

Is materializing what Simone does? The succubus could fade into particles, meld into the shadows, and even move through solid objects.

Somewhat. When vampires materialize, it’s called sifting. You can only do it if you know where you’re going. Since I’ve been here before, I locked onto your thoughts. Then poof!

Nice trick. Caitlin grinned, suppressing the urge to giggle at the idea of a man his size poofing anywhere.

He rummaged around, opening one drawer after another. Where’s the wine opener?

In here. She opened the correct drawer and pointed.

He hesitated, turning toward her when her body touched his. He’d been preoccupied, concentrating on getting the wine opened. Now the slight contact was enough to send her internal temperature blazing, and the heat in his eyes told her the arousal felt the same for him.

Can you teach me how? She shook off the desire.

‘Tis nothing to open a wine bottle with these new gadgets. He held it up and the cork opened with a soft pop.

Not that... She snorted. He was so sexy and adorable when he was lost in thought. She reached around Dylan to take down the wine glasses from the cabinet in front of him. ...teach me to sift.

At first, he seemed confused. He looked at the wine bottle and the opener, then his mind touched hers, and his eyes darkened with desire. That look she recognized, and it sent a sexual thrill zinging through her like a lightning bolt charging through a mid-summer night sky.

Will I ever get enough of this man? Her heart beat in rhythm to his and warmth flooded through her.

It may take a few hundred years, he said as he lowered his head and tipped her chin up so she had to meet his gaze.

A few hundred years? She breathed a disappointed sigh and didn’t move as he took the wine glasses from her hands. Her insides fluttered at his nearness. The counter looked sturdy enough. Maybe not. It would hold her, but never his massive size.

A few hundred years of this need? Could she last that long, constantly aching for him immediately after they’d made love and hungering right after they’d fed from each other? Satisfaction and need, a never-ending cycle?

Aye. It’s an ability that comes with age...

Ability? What? An ability can end this love? This desire? Maybe that wasn’t such a great ability.

Suddenly, she stopped to retrace the conversation. They couldn’t be talking about the same thing at all. Her emotions were all over the place. Her inability to think clearly turned her mind into swamp fog, thick and murky.

Dylan paused, then stopped what he was doing to peer down at her. She slammed the door to her rambling thoughts.

What’s the matter, lass? He put down the filled wine glasses and dragged her into his embrace. She felt immediately better as he pressed the frown from her forehead with the tip of one finger. What brought on this wrinkle of concern?

This longing. This need. Like you said, I’m insatiable. I don’t know how I can last hundreds of years—

Not the longing. Dylan released a restrained snicker. "You asked me about sifting. The longing will always exist between us, but you won’t experience the desperate, frustrating need once we’ve bonded."

O-oh. Oh, right. Good. Relief flooded her emotions.

Soon, you’ll be able to control this lust. Can’t say as I’ll be happy at the prospect. I’ve enjoyed being your sex slave. He wiggled those eyebrows again, teasing her with a smug grin, and added, But, thank the gods, our desire for one another will never go away.

Dylan, why not share this with me mentally the way you shared the knowledge of your past? If we can share thoughts, I don’t know why you keep shutting me out.

The pain of being separated from him mentally spilled from her mind as the words popped out of her mouth. Oh hell! No filter. Where had her ability to control her thoughts gone? Damn! A psychics worst nightmare—the inability to control her thoughts.

Caitlin’s mind moved at light speed, from one thought to another. Scattered. Random. Something was wrong. Something was different.

Everything is happening too quickly.

I’m sorry, lass. Blocking is an old habit, one I learned as a child, and a habit I kept for safety reasons. Don’t be offended if I’m not completely open at all times. I’m not used to having anyone share my thoughts. His expression turned serious, and he pointed at her. For your own safety, you should practice blocking others’ thoughts and yours, more effectively.

Dylan? Lately, I seem to be having a difficult time sorting my thoughts let alone blocking.

That demon got into your head once, and I don’t want a repeat of that incident.

You think I do? She clutched her chest where the bullet entered.

No. Of course not. I only meant there are demons and rogue jaguars out there we haven’t tracked down, yet.

The idea sent a shiver up her spine. Getting shot is the hard way of learning the lesson. Add losing control of her senses, even if only for the time being, she needed to keep her thoughts locked up tightly. Don’t remind me, when I’m feeling so vulnerable. Do you think it’s the onset of stasis?

Aye, it could be. You may be starting early since we are supplementing your feedings with my blood.

Is it going to cause a problem?

I don’t think so. But I did go through early stasis with Niccolai’s blood in my system.

Caitlin piled the Thai food from the box onto a plate for herself then joined him. My dinner is ready. She pointed across the room and with a tilt of her head, she indicated the little breakfast nook. Why don’t you have a seat over there, and I’ll join you in a minute?

Not offering him anything because most food didn’t appeal to Dylan anymore, not unless it was a steak, warm and bloody, along with a very old scotch. How long would it be before she lost her taste for food? His blood tasted better to her every day, and his regular nourishment of choice was warm blood...straight from her.

Dylan carried her drink and his to the tiny table by the French doors overlooking the garden, and waited.

Chapter Three

Attack on the Pack

JACKSON PAUSED NOT taking a breath when the scream of a large cat rang out through the quiet night.

Jaguar.

More than likely a rogue in this area. Jackson believed the demons were making more and using them to bolster their forces. He and Dylan weren’t sure his pack could stop them without outside help.

If not, he’d call up a few of the other packs or get Dylan to conscript a few other members of the lore living out in their Parrish.

With the increased number of unexplained killings, lately, his usual skepticism filled him with doubt about immediately ridding the area of the demons or rogues. Everyone sensed the demons were here even though the portal had been sealed. And none of them had any idea how many they were going to have to deal with when the attack came.

Convinced the attack would come, Jackson paused to sniff the air.

Wolf. Fear.

Demon.

And he smelled the rogue jaguars nearby, too.

Then the sound of a wolf’s cry—high pitched, in pain, rang through the bayou.

The night chatter stopped, and the sounds of battle urged Jackson on.

His heartbeat picked up, but he slowed his breathing to conserve his strength. The change was upon him. He howled once for the others behind him and, not waiting, ran in the direction of his pack mate.

Turning mid-stride, shifting from wolf to something more, something larger, he moved through the swamp past the snakes and gators and panthers...and yet in this new form, his speed was unmatched by any land animal.

His vision encompassed everything before him, even in the thick underbrush, not because the light from the full moon penetrated the dense canopy of trees above him, but because he was vaewolf.

He stopped short of the battle, stood upright to his full height, and entered the clearing where one of his pack was outnumbered and wounded. Jackson’s sheer size and formidable power was evidence enough he was the son of a demi-god. As a man, he stood over six-foot-five, and carried almost three hundred pounds of pure muscle on his frame. As the vaewolf, he was even larger.

Covered with ebony black hair, the wolf shifter within him was evident. Where the appearance of the Werewolf took over in size and bone structure, he still was more human than animal. His vampire nature gave him an added advantage over the rest of his makeup. Brains—intellect he could use while in animal form.

All demi-god characteristics—smart, powerful, fast, and deadly.

He noted the disbelief on the demons’ faces and watched the jaguars back up at his appearance. The rogues didn’t stand a chance against him, and they knew it.

Demons were cocky, another story. His experience with them had been limited until recently, and now wasn’t the time for him to hesitate.

Surprise—he launched himself at the demon holding his pack member hostage, and removed Jude from his clutches. He relocated the wolf out of danger before planning his attack on the creature with the sixteen-foot wing span—wings covered with taloned claws which caused wounds to fester from the toxin within them. Jackson had his own arsenal of claws, not as many, but just as lethal, and beneath his black fur was a hide as rugged as armor.

Always up for a good fight, he looked forward to this chance to test his abilities. But although he was immortal, he didn’t enjoy the pain a fight like this could cause—or the down time from the wounds. Injuries from demon toxin would mean weeks or even months of recuperation, and after seeing what these demons were doing, gathering forces and infiltrating his territory, Jackson couldn’t afford time away from his on-going training. Tonight, he needed to finish this, cleanly and quickly, while avoiding those talons.

Behind him, the sound of Jude’s groan, sounded way too human, but Jackson didn’t dare take his attention from the group readying to attack.

One demon? He could take him and stand against a few of the jaguars. Take them all? Probably, and handle the damage he’d sustain, yes. But he’d need help from the pack to save Jude and get him the medical care he needed.

From the sounds coming from Jude, he was beginning his human shift. Big mistake. The bleeding wouldn’t stop if he returned to his human form. He had greater stamina as the wolf. The one hope Jude had of surviving his wounds was to remain in wolf form.

Jackson needed help, and from the look of things...he needed it soon.

He risked glancing over his shoulder once more to check on Jude, who was in half transition, before he focused on the circle of cats closing in on them.

Then immediately Jackson attacked, going straight for the closest demon. Avoiding the wings, Jackson drove his fist into the demon’s chest and ripped out his heart so quickly his opponent took a moment to look down at his heart before he collapsed.

Jude groaned, but Jackson couldn’t take the time to worry about his pack member’s injuries, not with the remaining demon and six rogue jaguars descending on them.

He’d need to hold them off as long as possible, alone. He could do that. The rest of his wolf pack wasn’t far behind. But could they get there in time? The downside was Jude couldn’t wait.

Jackson growled at the jaguars trying to circle him, and then let loose with a distinctive howl that filled the night. The pack heard him and returned the howl. They were already following his scent through the swamp. The intermittent returning howls sounded closer, and relief shot through him.

His pack. His family.

The jaguars instinctively dropped back into the trees becoming shadows in the night. The remaining demon let out a sound Jackson took for a sarcastic laugh. Then the big, bull-horned creature spoke, saying something in whatever language demons used—demonish—one language Jackson didn’t speak, but the gist of the statement had been clear enough.

This isn’t over. We will meet again.

Damn straight they would. Jackson snarled, and the demon nodded backing up. He moved closer to the tree line, finally disappearing into the forest along with the rogue jaguars.

Jackson didn’t move until he heard the first of his pack approach. He’d considered going after the jaguars then considered Jude’s condition. He bent down and shook the injured man.

Jude shift damn it. He bit into his own wrist, took some of his blood, and wiped it over Jude’s lips, hoping he’d last until he completed the shift back to wolf. Several seconds passed without Jude reacting, then his tongue flicked out from between his teeth, and he licked the blood from his lips. A low growl rumbled through his chest.

Once the blood strengthened Jude, Jackson released a long sigh of relief.

Although the wolf shift started slowly and seemed to take forever, Jude was his fanged and golden furred self by the time the rest of the pack arrived. A few members of the pack gave him a sniff or two to make certain he was okay, then they stood around him in a show of protection. Jude’s littermate, Kade, nudged his brother a few times for encouragement, while several other wolves circled the perimeter making certain no further attack threatened.

As soon as the man returned fully to wolf form, the bleeding from his wounds slowed to a trickle, then Jackson nudged him in the direction of home. Jude, weak but alive, standing on wobbly legs, took a few steps, and the rest followed, walking close by for support.

Jackson took the rear, remaining in vaewolf form until they crossed into St. Loupe Parrish, home to his pack of Weres. Someday he’d lead all the packs and the vampires as well. Destined to be the future leader of the Lore, all the supernatural beings formerly under his father’s domain, Jackson wondered how he would learn how to handle all the responsibility alone, especially now, when he had to deal with the local rogue elements. He’d sworn to protect the humans in his Parrish as well as the rest when the time came—and, like it or not, it appeared time was running out.

Less than a year—he didn’t have much time left for training. Daily, he was forced to prove himself, because as Dylan Macgregor once told him, Trust is earned not given.

Chapter Four

Les Toile B&B

DYLAN LOOKED COMFORTABLE sitting at the table, sipping his wine. Caitlin was going to miss the charming cottage. It had become a haven for her. When the FBI assigned her to the team in New Orleans, she didn’t find the government-approved hotel to her liking. The woman in guest services befriended her and gave her a friend’s name. The friend, who happened to be a local witch, owned this B&B. In retrospect, Caitlin sometimes thought there was something weird about how the whole deal went down so smoothly. But things happen for a reason. Since she wanted distance between herself and the local FBI team, the quaint B&B nestled in the quieter section of the French Quarter seemed perfect. Why not immerse herself in the ambiance? The sights, scents, and sounds of the city had called to her from the first moment.

Now she wondered