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The Wolven
Deborah LeBlanc


When danger and temptation collide, the world of the Keepers may never be the same… Someone – or something – is murdering the members of Danyon’s werewolf pack. As Alpha, punishing the murderous entity is his responsibility. But to stop the slayings he has to accept help from the most unlikely source – a wickedly sensual mortal woman. As the Keeper of the werewolves, it’s Shauna’s duty to guard and protect the packs.Yet working by Danyon’s side to stop an unknown killer – and trying to deny the potency of their illicit attraction – poses a threat to her heart unlike any she’s ever known, a threat that could be the death of her…THE KEEPERS: Three powerful sisters,caught between duty and desire…












She drove him mad with desire, and he had to struggle to resist it …

Even if Shauna was interested in him, nothing could ever come of it.

She was human.

He was a wolven, and an alpha at that. That was a vast chasm to overcome. Danyon knew that those differences would never allow her to fully understand the depth of his true nature, even if she was his Keeper.

Still holding on to her arms, he suddenly became aware of the feel of her skin beneath his palms.

Soft … silky … warm. Very warm.

Danyon felt his pulse quicken and his nostrils flare.

At that moment, he should have felt guilty. Two of his werewolves were dead. He’d just wiped their blood from his hands.

But Danyon felt no guilt.

There was no room for it. At that moment, every one of his senses was on high alert. Each excruciatingly aware of her.

And it left him ravenous.




About the Author


Award-winning and bestselling author DEBORAH LEBLANC is a business owner, a licensed death-scene investigator and an active member of two national paranormal investigation teams. She’s the president of the Horror Writers Association, Mystery Writers of America’s Southwest chapter and the Writers’ Guild of Acadiana. Deborah is also the creator of the LeBlanc Literacy Challenge, an annual national campaign designed to encourage more people to read, and Literacy, Inc., a non-profit organization with a mission to fight illiteracy in America’s teens. For more information go to www.deborahleblanc.com and www.literacyinc.com.




Dear Reader,

Of all the books I’ve written over the years, this one had to be the most fun and adventurous. I had a blast diving into the world of vamps, shifters and werewolves, a world where anything and everything is possible—including great sex! That the story took place in New Orleans, a city whose heartbeat is part of my own, was a lagniappe, a gift, of the highest order. The crème de la crème of the entire project, however, was working with Heather Graham and Alexandra Sokoloff. Both are brilliant, hardworking and funny ladies. It’s impossible not to have fun writing with those two. I’m truly grateful to have had the opportunity to work with them.

And I’m grateful to you, dear reader, and honoured that you chose to spend a little time with me here. Life is short and minutes are precious. The fact that you shared a few with me does not go unnoticed. And I’m equally honoured that you chose this book over the thousands available to you. Because of you, I’m able to continue a tradition I’ve loved for a lifetime—storytelling. Thank you for that gift.

Best,

Deborah




Deborah

LeBlanc

The Wolven





















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)








For Dad—I miss you terribly.




Chapter 1


A thin pink line across light brown flesh.

She’d cut herself … again.

Shauna MacDonald looked up from the palm she’d been reading and into the wide, bright eyes of its owner, Lurnell Franklin. Lurnell was a large Creole woman in her mid-thirties with an affinity for spandex and a rocksolid determination to be married before she hit forty. She visited A Little Bit of Magic, the mystic shop Shauna owned with her sisters, Fiona and Caitlin, at least twice a week for a palm reading. For some reason Shauna still didn’t understand, Lurnell had zeroed in on her. Fiona was very gifted at reading tea leaves, and Caitlin was exceptionally intuitive when it came to Tarot cards, but Lurnell would have nothing to do with either of them. She always sought out Shauna for a reading, then would argue adamantly that the marriage line, which didn’t exist on the side of her palm, just below the pinky of her right hand, was certain to appear any day. Even if she had to produce it herself.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Lurnell said, tapping a three-inch, hot-pink fingernail on the reading table. “It’s like I been sayin’, right? I know you was thinkin’ I was crazy, but this big girl here, she knows what she’s talkin’ about. You feelin’ me? You hearin’ what I’m sayin’?”

Shauna eyed her.

Lurnell waggled her head. “Oh, uh-uh. Don’t you be givin’ me eyes.” She kissed the palm of her left hand and held it up. “Look here. I swear, hand to God. All I did was wake up this mornin’, and there that line was, all pretty and pink.”

Shauna took hold of Lurnell’s right hand and turned it pinky side up. “That’s a cut, and you know it. And you know it because you put it there. You can’t make a marriage line, Lurnell. It’s either there or it’s not.”

Lurnell cocked her head, narrowed her eyes. “You sayin’ I’m lyin’ about it being for real?”

“Yep.”

Shauna let go of Lurnell’s hand, sat back and folded her arms across her chest.



Lurnell mimicked the pose. “And what makes you so sure, Ms. Big Drawers? You don’t have no second sight. You just a reader, and look at you actin’ like you all that, tellin’ me I’m lyin’.”

“Because you are. Just like you did the last two times you tried pulling this stunt. Look, just because you don’t have a marriage line doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world. Time changes things, and palms change with it, so if you’ve gotta cut something, cut yourself some slack, will you? If you keep cutting your hand like that, you’re going to wind up with a bad infection.”

Lurnell tsked loudly and unfolded her arms. “Who taught you palm readin’ anyways, girl? You don’t know nothin’.”

Shauna grinned. She couldn’t help it. Lurnell always brought the same banter to the table, and she enjoyed swatting it back. “Well, if I don’t know anything, how come you keep asking me for a reading?”

Pursing her lips, Lurnell turned sideways in her chair. Shauna knew from experience that this was her way of regrouping, thinking of a good comeback. Normally she would have pounced on the opportunity and thrown out a one-liner just to fluster Lurnell, but a sudden uneasiness settled over her.

An intuitive whisper.

She sat silent, keeping her facial expression neutral while she listened for her inner voice, waiting for it to identify the source of the unrest.

The only thing that came to her was the scent of cinnamon wafting through the air.

King cake.

Her oldest sister, Fiona, was a firm believer in lagniappe, giving their customers a little extra treat with their purchases. It was usually something to eat, like pastry samples, homemade cookies, or pralines. With Mardi Gras only three weeks away, it didn’t surprise her that Fiona had chosen to share the holiday’s traditional cake.

Evidently catching wind of the scent, as well, Lurnell jumped to her feet before Shauna had a chance to push away from the reading table. “Whoa, that be smellin’ good. It’s okay if I go get some, right?”

“Of course.” Shauna got up, and the uneasiness rose with her. Since she couldn’t find a rationale for it, she mentally pushed the feeling aside. Whatever was meant to be revealed by the intuitive whisper would come in due course, that much she knew. She simply had to wait it out.

Lurnell patted her stomach, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Girl, I do love king cake. Hey, you got some of that lemon drink? You know, like the kind y’all had last week?”

“You mean lemon-snap tea?”



“Yeah, there you go.” Lurnell slapped her hands together. “I think I’m gonna have some of that, too. That’d be good with king, right?”

“We’re out of the lemon-snap, but I can hook you up with a cup of green tea if you’d like.”

Lurnell frowned. “Ain’t green tea the one’s got all them anti-oxidations in it? You know, that stuff that cleans out all your potty pipes.”

“Yep, it has antioxidants, but that’s a good thing. Keeps you healthy.” Shauna grinned. “Don’t worry about your pipes.”

“Girl, you bes’ be right.” Lurnell flapped a hand, signaling Shauna to lead the way out of the room and be quick about it. She evidently feared a rush on the king cake and didn’t want to miss out. “You know there ain’t nobody in Sistah’s but me. What I’m gonna do if a customer needs somethin’? I can’t just s’cuse myself and go to the commode, not with the crazy people they got today. Uh-uh. I’d be back in the bathroom and they’d be out front, helpin’ themselves to all my stuff, robbin’ me blind.”

Lurnell was the sole proprietor of Sistah’s, a mystic shop located on the corner of St. Ann and Rampart, which bordered the north end of the French Quarter. Like most of the tourist shops in the Quarter, it was tightly sandwiched between other shops that sold various baubles, beads, and T-shirts. Sistah’s carried similar items to those in A Little Bit of Magic—crystals, scented candles, herbs, and oils—but it served a different clientele, primarily those who dabbled in voodoo. Although Lurnell didn’t claim to practice voodoo, her specialty items easily led people to believe otherwise. Seven-day spell candles that promised to reverse a curse, remove a hex, or bring wealth and love in abundance. And incense oils that supposedly cured everything from toothaches to temper tantrums, headaches to hemorrhoids. The shop did relatively well considering the neighborhood that surrounded it and the fact that a major competitor—Papa Gris Gris’ Voodoo Shop—was located only three doors down. It was no secret that Lurnell and Papa Gris Gris didn’t play well together. In fact, they’d been enemies for years.

Shauna led Lurnell into the heart of the store, where she spotted Fiona placing slices of king cake onto a platter near the register. Caitlin was at the opposite end of the shop, talking to an elderly woman who had an exceptionally long, hooked nose. Quite a few customers were wandering about, each stopping occasionally to examine a wall display, an item on a shelf, or something showcased in a curio cabinet.

Business had been brisk all day, which came as no surprise, given that Mardi Gras was just around the corner. The parades and balls weren’t scheduled to start for another two weeks, but that didn’t matter to the diehard partiers who made their annual pilgrimage to New Orleans. Most of them came early so they wouldn’t miss one of the main local events known as Nuit du Dommage. Literally translated, it meant Night of Damage, and the parties associated with it certainly lived up to its name. It was a pre-Mardi Gras free-for-all, and it was only three days away.

Dommage and Mardi Gras were always great for business, but both drove Shauna crazy. The streets and sidewalks stayed jammed with so many people it was hard to walk and breathe at the same time. Even worse was the noise. Drunken voices shouting, singing, laughing, talking, and all of them tumbling over hawking, squawking strip-joint barkers and a melange of blaring music—jazz, blues, rock ‘n’ roll—that poured out of the bars in the Quarter. Because Shauna’s hearing was so acute, all that noise at such a high volume pained her considerably. It felt like an endless number of needles jabbing into her eardrums.

Still carrying a sense of uneasiness, Shauna mingled with a few customers, making herself available in case anyone needed help.

Lurnell had already shoved her way to the front counter and was hovering over the platter of cake. Fiona stood not far away, ringing up another customer at the register. Lurnell must have viewed Fiona’s preoccupation as a grand opportunity because she slipped two pieces of king cake into her oversized purse. She was reaching for a third when Shauna saw Fiona turn toward her. Judging from the small smile dancing on her sister’s lips, Fiona had not been oblivious to the heist. Still, she smiled more broadly, walked over to Lurnell and offered her another piece of cake. Always the gracious hostess.

Not for the first time, Shauna wished she was more like her sister.

Being the caboose on a train of three sisters wasn’t always easy. More often than not, Shauna felt like the odd woman out. Fiona was tall and slender, with long, thick hair the color of gold, her eyes a perfect cornflower blue. Caitlin had the same slender build but stood five-nine, a bit taller than Fiona. Her long hair was a darker shade of blonde, which matched beautifully with her magnificent silver-gray eyes. At five-eight, Shauna had height, like her sisters. She also had the same build. Her hair, which she kept pulled up in a ponytail most of the time, was more auburn than blonde, however, and she thought her eyes were a boring shade of green.

To Shauna, Fiona and Caitlin were the epitome of femininity. The way they walked, talked. Even their closets held proof of it. Both were filled with silky dresses, pastel skirts, and elegant blouses. Shauna’s, on the other hand, held mostly jeans and T-shirts. She did own a couple of skirts, but she kept them tucked away for dress-up emergencies.

Besides height and build, Shauna shared another similarity with her sisters. She was a Keeper, responsible for maintaining harmony and balance between the humans and the three main underworld subcultures—vampires, shape-shifters, and werewolves—that lived in and around the city. Shauna watched over the werewolves, Fiona the vampires, and Caitlin the shape-shifters.

Their parents, Jen and Ewan MacDonald, had been unique Keepers, each born with the power to maintain all three subcultures. When they combined their powers, it had created a seemingly indestructible wall of protection around the city.

Or so Shauna had thought.

She had been fifteen when they died. A savage war had broken out between the subcultures, and the power her parents had to call upon to block the warring parties had cost them their lives. No Keeper, no matter how strong, could release that much power and survive. That had been ten years ago.

Shauna and her sisters didn’t possess tri-power the way their parents had. Instead, each of them possessed the power of the clan they were responsible for. Shauna couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have all three. The weight of responsibility associated with that much power must have been monstrous. Although she was still young and learning, always learning how to be a better Keeper, the load she carried felt heavy enough.

“Hey, you okay?”

Shauna started, surprised to hear Caitlin’s voice be hind her. She turned, offered her sister a small smile. “Yeah, fine.”

Caitlin studied her face for a moment, as if assessing the truth of the response. “You were pretty zoned out there for a while.”

“Daydreaming, that’s all.”

Before Caitlin had a chance to respond, a heavyset man wearing Bermuda shorts appeared seemingly out of nowhere and pushed his way into her personal space. “Are you her?”

“Excuse me?” Caitlin said.

“Are you the one who reads Tarot cards? The lady working the register over there said her sister, Caitlin, read cards, then she pointed this way. I wasn’t sure which one of you she meant, though.”

“She meant me,” Caitlin said, then directed him to the reading room. “If you’ll wait for me in there, I’ll only be a minute.” She waited until the man waddled away, then turned to Shauna. “See the couple standing over by the herbs?”

Shauna glanced in that direction, saw a young man and woman, both with spiked, multi-colored hair. They swayed slightly on their feet as they pointed to different bags of herbs and giggled. “They look wasted.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. They were asking for help a minute ago. Tend to them while I do that guy’s reading, will you?” With that, Caitlin headed for the reading room before Shauna could protest.

Shauna let out a heavy sigh. She had a sneaking suspicion that the help the couple wanted wouldn’t involve questions about the healing properties of certain herbs. More than likely they would want to know if the store carried pulverized bats’ wings or hogs’ hooves, or some other nonsensical item that someone had told them they needed to cast a certain spell. Normally, no matter how spaced out they were, Shauna would have taken the time to give them the 411 on herbs and try steering them away from the stupid cliff. But she wasn’t up for it today.

The unrest that had swooped down on her earlier was turning into a case of the jitters. She felt agitated, on edge. Maybe it had something to do with the mingling energies from all the people in the store. All those energies swirling right alongside her intuitive whisper might have tilted her off-center. Whatever the case, she was in no shape to steer anyone in any direction right now. If the couple wanted bat wings, she would simply send them to Sistah’s. Lurnell would be more than happy to sell the couple a half ounce of ground up seaweed or Spanish Moss, all the while swearing it was pulverized bats’ wings that had been harvested back in the eighteenth century in Transylvania.

As Shauna headed toward the couple she tried tuning into the center of her mind, to the only truly quiet place she knew. She had discovered that place as a child, when her keen sense of hearing wound up collecting too much data from too many directions and over-stimulated her. Fiona had been the one to teach her how to find that special place. How to close her eyes and focus on the small dot of light that always appeared behind her eyelids. Her sister had told her that the light was her center, and that if she concentrated hard enough, that light would always lead her back to a balanced, peaceful place.

For the most part, Fiona had been right. Over time, Shauna even figured out that she didn’t have to close her eyes to find that light. All she had to do was let her mind’s eye find it, focus on it, and bring her back to center. That certainly made things easier when she was walking through a crowded mall or heading toward a stoned, spike-haired couple.

Shauna’s mind had just latched on to that dot of light when a strange sound caught her attention and stopped her dead in her tracks.

It was an odd, low sound. So low that even with her sensitive ears she wondered how she’d heard it at all, with so many people talking in the shop, Lurnell’s voice booming above them all, noise pouring in from the street.

She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrated on the sound. It grew louder and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She’d never heard anything quite like it before.

Not quite a moan …

A distant wail …

No. More like an elongated … howl.

The moment Shauna thought “howl,” her intuitive whisper became a shouting banshee. What she heard was keening. Someone in the throes of such grief, their physical body couldn’t contain it.

It was the wail of death.

A plea to the universe.

A howl of mourning.

And it was coming from one of her weres …




Chapter 2


So much blood.

Facial features distorted. Almost unrecognizable.

And the eyes—dull with death, yet imprinted with a final, indescribable emotion. A concoction of panic, fear, surprise, horror. The kind of look that might haunt a living man who’d seen it forever.

Danyon Stone was no stranger to death. Being alpha of the Wolven pack that lived along the East Bank in New Orleans, he’d witnessed the fallout from territorial battles that occasionally took place between his weres and those from other packs in surrounding parishes. When weres fought to the death over territory, or over a mate, the evidence from those fights generally looked the



same. Clothing ripped to shreds, gouged flesh, puncture wounds, and blood. Sometimes a lot of it. But this death was far from common.

The victim was Simon Filk, a young were from Danyon’s pack. Simon had been bright and loyal, eager to learn anything his leader was willing to teach him. Although Simon hadn’t known it, Danyon had been training him for a leadership position. He’d had big plans for him. Now, seeing the young were lying dead at the foot of the levee, Danyon wished he had told Simon.

In fact, he wished a lot of things right now. He wished he had someone around to explain what the hell he was looking at.

Heavy cable had been wound about Simon’s chest and feet, binding his arms to his sides and his ankles together. Another cable had been wrapped around his neck. His clothes were only tatters of cloth strewn about his body, and he was soaked in blood. What left Danyon gaping and boggled, however, was that Simon remained in were-state—except for his claws and fangs, all of which had been ripped from his body.

How in the hell is this possible?

Different breeds of werewolves carried certain traits, particularly when it came to the triggers that caused their transformation from human to werewolf and vice versa. Some breeds mutated at will, others only in the face of a full moon. The wolven were different in that their transformation usually occurred when they reached an intense emotional state, be it anger, fear, even sexual arousal. As a wolven matured and learned to control the range of his or her emotions, the mutation trigger became more controllable, the transformation more a matter of will. The same controlling factors existed when it came to reverting back to human form, only reversed, the transformation occurring when the heightened emotion was abated, satiated, or controlled. The only time this didn’t apply was at the time of death. Without any exception that Danyon was aware of, the moment a wolven’s heart stopped beating, no matter the manner of death, he assumed human form. The fact that Simon was dead but remained in were-state was incomprehensible to him.

“Who would do such a horrible thing to Simon?” Andrea Doucet cried.

“Ain’t no way it was a who, girl,” Paul Mire, who was standing beside her, said. “It had to be a what to mess him up that bad. Look how that poor boy’s tore up. Thing I can’t figure, though, is how come he ain’t changed? Why’s that, Danyon, huh? Why’s Simon stuck like that? How come he didn’t change back?”

Wondering the same in spades, Danyon glanced over at his two weres. He had been so taken aback by Simon’s condition that he’d forgotten Andrea and Paul were even there. The two of them had stumbled across the body while walking home from Roosters, a small bar and grill where they both worked, waiting tables.

Danyon shook his head, indicating he had no answer. The truth was he feared if he opened his mouth right then, the anger roiling inside him would take charge and force a transformation that would demand vengeance. He had to keep a clear head. He might not have answers now, but he was determined to find them or die trying. Right now, his weres were frightened, and, as their leader, he had to take charge and keep his emotions in check. If he didn’t, his entire pack might get skittish, and then he’d have an even bigger problem on his hands.

He turned to Andrea. Her eyes were swollen from crying, her square, chubby face blotchy. “I need you to go to the Quarter and find Andy Saville. You know who I’m talking about, right?”

“Man, anybody’s ever gone to Jumani’s Bar knows Andy,” Paul said, unfolding his arms. “That bugger’s gotta be the biggest bouncer in the state of Louisiana. All he’s gotta do is look sideways at a drunk, and they pee their pants they’re so scared.”

Sniffling, Andrea gave an adamant nod of agree ment.

This wasn’t the first time Danyon had heard Andy’s reputation preceding him. He was indeed the largest were in the East Bank pack, and the only one Danyon trusted implicitly. No matter the situation, he could count on Andy to watch his back, keep his mouth shut, not ask questions, and follow orders to the letter. If ever those attributes were needed, it was now.

“Go to Jumani’s first,” Danyon said. “I don’t think Andy’s on shift until later, but he usually goes in early. If he isn’t there, Joe, the owner, will know where to find him. Tell Andy I need his SUV. Let him know where I am, but don’t say a word about Simon still being in were-state. Got that?”

“Y-Yes, but wh-what do I say if he asks me why you need his SUV?”

“He won’t, not if you say I’m the one asking for it. Tell him to bring a couple tarps, a hacksaw, a pair of wirecut—”

“No … wait … I can’t remember all of that.” Andrea wrung her hands. “I’m gonna forget something, I just know it!”

Danyon patted her arm gently. “Okay, never mind, it’s okay. Think you can remember just the tarp?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Perfect. All you have to do is tell Andy to bring two big tarps. Then tell—”

“B-But what a-about the other stuff? All the other things you wanted?” she asked.

“Just tell him I said that the job is messy, it’ll be dark, and metal is involved. If you can remember to tell him that, Andy will know what to bring. Can you do that?”

“Wait, you mean we’re gonna leave him here ‘til dark?” Paul asked. He was pacing now, a short tight path between two trees. “We just gonna let the flies start collectin’ on his eyes and stuff?”

Andrea let out a loud sob and covered her face with her hands.

Danyon shot Paul a look.

“What? What’d I say?”

“Do you have to be so graphic?” Danyon aimed his chin at Andrea, hoping Paul caught the message. She’s upset, numb-nuts, so cool it.

Evidently catching the gist of Danyon’s meaning, Paul looked down at his feet. “I was only askin’ is all,” he mumbled.

“No, we’re not going to leave him here until dark.” Danyon walked to the opposite side of the road, then pushed his way through the thicket until he found a patch heavy with bramble and foliage. “We’re going to leave him here, where no one can see his body.”

Andrea slowly slid her hands away from her face, peered in Danyon’s direction. “Is … will … are you sure Simon’s going to be okay in there?”

“Really,” Paul said. “Like there’s no snakes or rats or stuff like that in there, huh?”



“S-Snakes?” Andrea’s face drained of color.

“Shut up, Paul!” Danyon warned.

Paul’s mouth fell open in surprise. Then he snapped it shut, pouted, and folded his arms across his chest.

Ignoring him, Danyon walked back over to Andrea. “Don’t worry, honey, Simon will be fine here. I promise. Do you remember what you have to tell Andy?”

“Tarp—messy—dark—metal,” Andrea said, ticking the items off her fingers.

“Good girl.” Danyon gave her a reassuring smile.

“What about me?” Paul asked. “I can remember to tell Andy stuff.”

“You’re staying with me. I need help moving the body.”

“Whoa, no way!” Paul took two quick steps backward. “Andy’ll help you. W-Wait for Andy.”

Having already positioned himself at the head of the body, Danyon glared at him. “Simon’s been out here too long as it is. Somebody might drive or walk by here any minute. He has to be moved now, so suck it up. Come over here and take hold of his feet.”

“You mean, like actually touch him? No effin’ way!”

A low growl rumbled at the back of Danyon’s throat. He allowed it to rise in volume to make sure Paul heard it. “I said, take hold of his feet.”

Paul ran a shaking hand through his shoulder-length hair. “Yeah, o-okay, but … I—I don’t know if I can touch him. I—I mean, look at all that blood. What if … what if I, like, throw up or something? Maybe we—”

The sound of moving brush grabbed Danyon’s attention, and he held up a hand to silence Paul. He cocked an ear to the sound.

Someone … something … running toward them.

Danyon lifted his head, sniffed, caught the scent of panic—fury—a male were. Instantly, the muscles in his body began to ripple, burn—preparing for the change, instinctively engineered for fight or flight. For Danyon, though, it always meant fight. Flight simply wasn’t in an alpha’s DNA. No way anyone or anything was going to take them by surprise.

Andrea must have picked up on the sound, as well, because she let out a loud gasp, then cried out, “They’re coming!” She suddenly dropped into a squat and covered her head with her arms. “We’re going to die just like Simon! They’re coming to kill us, too!”

“Who? Where—what?” Paul spun about. First left, then right, then left again, trying to look everywhere at once. “Someone’s … coming? Where?”

Danyon sniffed the air again, wanting to get a handle on how quickly the runner was closing in.

“We’d better go then, right?” Paul said. He hurried over to Andrea and grabbed her by the arm. “Danyon, let’s go, okay? I don’t wanna … I mean, Simon was a good guy and everything, but I … I don’t wanna wind up like him. Let’s just go, okay?”

“Wait,” Danyon commanded. The runner was closing in fast, his scent stronger … much stronger now.

It was one of his weres.

No sooner did the realization strike Danyon than Ian Sykes thundered out of the brush. He was in mid-transformation from were to human, panting, gasping, until he pulled up short on two legs right in front of Danyon.

“She’s dead!” Ian cried, frantically searching Danyon’s face as if all the answers to life hid there. “They killed her—somebody killed her!”

Danyon felt a burning sensation in the center of his chest. It was the fire. The key to every wolven. Their light … their life force … their core. Just as the earth fed upon the fiery core that gave it life, they drank from the lava pool within each of them. It was sustenance that strengthened body, mind and spirit, and heightened all five senses. It bubbled higher and higher in Danyon’s chest.

Another death.

Another life snuffed out on his watch.

“Who?” Danyon asked, then immediately regretted asking the question. He already knew the answer.



There was only one person whose death would affect Ian this way.

“Nicole,” Ian said, his voice sharp with incredulity.

Andrea gasped. “Oh, no, not Nicky! Please … it can’t be her, Ian. She can’t be dead!” She put a hand to her mouth, sobbing uncontrollably now.

Ian nodded slowly, his eyes lost to a scene that belonged to another time and place. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “They … they found her body between two pilings off Barataria. Sh-she was a-all messed up … bad. Lotta blood.” His focus reconnected with Danyon. “She’s dead. She’s really dead.”

Ian Sykes and Nicole Bergeron had been a couple since they were pups. You never saw one without the other. They’d been inseparable.

“Why?” Ian asked. “Wh-Why would anyone want to hurt her? She was …” As Ian struggled to find the words to express his horror and the magnitude of his disbelief, he suddenly did a double-take and gawked. He’d spotted Simon.

Ian looked up at Danyon, back down at Simon, back to Danyon. “Just like N-Nicky … just l-like that. They killed her … just like that, Danyon.”

“Did she change back?” Paul asked quietly. As though fearing the answer, he crossed his arms and tucked a hand under each armpit. He rocked nervously from side to side. “Did she? Or … or did she, uh … stay stuck, like Simon?”

Ian covered his face with his hands, dropped to his knees. “She … she’s still were. I—I don’t understand it. My girl’s still—” Sobbing, he dropped his hands, then threw his head back and let out a wail, then a mournful howl so loud and long, Danyon felt it in his soul.

At that moment it would have been easier for Danyon to climb Mount Everest with only one leg than to control the fury growing inside him. Two of his weres were dead. Both stripped of their claws and fangs, the two things that protected them, fed them.

His fury was certainly justifiable. But Danyon knew if he allowed it to manifest, he would be under its control. Raw vengeance would consume him. Even now, struggling to keep himself together, he wanted to rip through something, anything. If he allowed the fury to take over, he would lose clarity, the ability to wisely discern. For Simon and Nicole’s sake, for the safety of the entire pack, he couldn’t let that happen. Justice would never be served that way. In fact, it wasn’t being served now. Not by him standing here, getting angrier by the minute. He needed answers to questions that seemed too improbable to pose.

Who or what was powerful enough to hold down a were, restrain it, then tear out its claws and fangs?



Why on earth had the murderer chosen Nicole and Simon? Neither would have purposely harmed a soul.

There was only one person Danyon knew who might have some answers or at least be able to lead him in the right direction to find answers. August Gaudin.

August was the master elder of all the were packs in the South. Every alpha reported to August and was responsible to him. He was a wise, fair leader, and everyone respected him immensely.

This situation was so out of the ordinary, though, that even August might not have answers. Whatever the case, Danyon had to find the elder right away and let him know about the deaths—and not only because it was his duty. He had to report and make himself accountable to August, before the rage took over.

Before he wound up being a murderer instead of finding one.




Chapter 3


Trying to act normal with all her senses on high alert, was like trying to shove an elephant into a linen closet.

Hopeless.

Shauna felt certain a were was in trouble, but she wasn’t sure what to do about it. She had no idea who the were might be or what kind of trouble he or she might be in. Intuition was usually a given for a Keeper, but she hated when it didn’t provide enough details for follow through.

She had to do something besides pace, though. For her own sanity and to reassure Fiona, who kept looking over at her every couple of minutes from behind the register.

Fortunately, Caitlin had been too busy to notice how fidgety she’d gotten. Unfortunately, her sister’s heavy workload came from picking up Shauna’s slack. She had managed to help the spike-haired couple Caitlin had directed her to earlier. Thankfully they hadn’t asked about pulverized bats’ wings or hogs’ hooves, as Shauna had suspected. They’d wanted gum mastic and dried anise, the first to snort, the second to smoke. All because a friend swore both gave quite the buzz. She’d been slightly abrupt with a response, stating that if they considered death a buzz, then they should go for it. That had certainly sobered them up.

Once she was rid of them, Shauna had tried helping another customer or two, but she’d been unable to concentrate on their questions long enough to answer them. She felt useless.

That horrible, mournful keening sound haunted her. It wasn’t as loud as it was earlier, but it was still there. No less distressing, so painful to hear. Stabbing her repeatedly in the heart. It seemed to call to her. Beg for her …

She considered talking to Fiona about it. Since she was the oldest and the most experienced Keeper, Fiona might be able to tell her what she should do, if anything, about what she heard. Then Shauna reconsidered. The wolvens were her responsibility, and if she was so certain it was a wolven’s cry, she wanted—needed—to handle it on her own. Just because she was the youngest didn’t mean she always had to run to her big sister for help. If she was ever to fully understand and trust her instincts, she had to work through them. Right now, though, instinct was telling her to get the hell off her butt and do something. She just wasn’t quite sure what that ‘something’ should be.

As if hearing her thoughts, and it wouldn’t have surprised Shauna if she had, Fiona signaled her over. Shauna reluctantly headed her way. If her sister asked her what was wrong, she couldn’t lie to her, no matter how badly she wanted to work things out on her own.

Just before she reached the counter, two middle-aged women dressed in expensive linen suits walked up to the register, wanting to check out. Shauna offered a silent thank-you to the universe for the reprieve.

“Hey, where the baby at?” Lurnell asked, while chewing on yet another piece of king cake. She hadn’t moved from her spot at the counter, the one nearest the cake platter. The baby she referred to was the pink, plastic, one-inch doll always hidden in a king cake. Tradition had it that a year’s worth of good luck and fortune belonged to whoever found the doll in their piece of cake. To keep that luck rolling, that person had to buy another king cake and share it with friends and family.

“If you didn’t find it,” Shauna said, “there must not have been one.”

“Girl, you crazy. You know they all got babies.”



“Well, if it did, you would have found it, since you ate most of the cake.”

“Huh?” Lurnell glanced down at the platter … of crumbs. “Uhh …” She dusted the crumbs off her hands. “Yeah, guess you right. Probably had a machine broke down to the cake fact’ry or somethin’. They bes’ hurry up and fix that. People gettin’ kings with no babies like that, they ain’t gonna know what to do. It could get nasty.”

“Excuse me …” One of the women Shauna had seen standing near the register a moment ago now stood beside her. She held up a hand, pinky and forefinger slightly extended as if preparing for high tea. “I could not help overhearing your conversation, and my curiosity simply got the best of me. Would you please explain what a baby has to do with a cake?”

Lurnell snorted. “You ain’t from here, huh?”

High tea became a small, dismissive wave. “Heavens, no. I’m from the Valley.”

“Where that’s at, the Valley? Out by Shreveport?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “It’s in California, dear. San Fernando, to be exact.”

Lurnell’s educational background might not have been extensive, but she didn’t need a Harvard degree to know she’d been talked down to. Her nostrils flared, the first sign that Mount Lurnell was about to blow.

Fiona must have realized the same thing because she suddenly appeared, holding a small, pink, plastic doll. “Look what I found,” she said. “Probably fell out of the cake when I was slicing it.” She smiled, then handed it to Lurnell. “You’re the one standing closest to the platter, so I think you should have it.”

“For real? Me?” Lurnell said, eyes wide as she took the doll. Her notion to teach Ms. High Tea a few manners had obviously taken a backseat to more important matters.

Lurnell held the plastic luck charm up for everyone to see. “Look here, y’all. I got me the baby!”

A handful of customers applauded, and Lurnell did a little jig and a booty-bump.

As Lurnell carried on about the luck coming her way, which, of course, included getting the man of her dreams, Fiona tapped Shauna on the shoulder. “You okay?” she whispered.

Relieved her sister hadn’t asked what was wrong, Shauna said truthfully, “Just antsy.”

“Too much noise?”

Shauna nodded. That was the truth, as well. That constant keening rising and falling in volume was upsetting her. She knew Fiona meant the noise in the shop, but who was she to split hairs?

“I know we’re busy,” Shauna said, “and I feel like a heel for asking, but would you mind if I went out for a while?”



“Not at all.” Fiona gave Shauna’s shoulders a little rub.

“You don’t think Caitlin will care?”

“Why would she?”

“Because she’d be stuck doing work I should be doing.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. I planned on closing early anyway.”

“Early? Why, when we’re so busy?”

“Keeno’s, you know, the place in Lake Charles where we get our herbs, essential oils, specialty soaps, stuff like that? They can’t get a delivery here until next week, and we can’t wait that long. I was thinking maybe we’d take a ride out there and pick up the order ourselves. The way I see it, we either lose a partial day’s business today or lose a lot of it the rest of the week because we’re out of stock. Besides, we can use the breather before all hell breaks loose this weekend anyway.”

Really feeling guilty now, Shauna said, “I can just go out for a short walk, then come back and watch the shop, if you and Caitlin want to drive out there.”

Fiona smiled. “I said we could use the breather. All of us. That doesn’t mean you have to come with us to Lake Charles, though.”

Shauna held back a sigh of relief. “Won’t you need help when you get out there? You know, loading—”



“Will you stop worrying? Go, take a walk. Better yet, go for a run. I know how much you love running. It might help burn off—”

“My word! What is that?”

Shauna and Fiona turned in unison.

High Tea was pointing at the large display window at the front of the shop, her expression sour, as if she’d just bitten into a persimmon. Shauna didn’t see what was so appalling until she looked through the window with the eyes of a tourist. Then it became obvious.

An extremely thin woman, wearing faded red Daisy Dukes, a dirty, pink T-shirt and black stilettos, was pacing the sidewalk in front of the shop. Her stringy brown hair had been corralled into a crooked ponytail, and she held two lit cigarettes, one in each hand. She puffed on one then the other in rapid succession, all the while talking to herself.

“You allow homeless people to stand in front of your store that way?” High Tea asked. “Don’t the police do anything to keep them off the street?”

Now Shauna wanted to teach the woman a few manners herself. “And where do you suggest the police take them? Their high-rise on the back forty?”

Fiona tugged on the back of Shauna’s T-shirt, her signal to back off.

Shauna caught the message but couldn’t help adding, “For all we know, that woman might not even be homeless. Maybe she’s—”

“Nah, that ain’t homeless,” Lurnell said, making her way to the window. “That’s trash.”

“Don’t say that,” Shauna said. “Maybe she’s just down on her luck. That doesn’t make her trash.”

Lurnell batted a hand at her. “Girl, they trash if they out runnin’ a line of blow while they babies at home alone with no food and in stinky diapers. Oh, yeah, that’s trash. That be a whole damn trash truck if you ask me.”

“You know her?” Shauna asked.

“She ain’t like my friend or nothin’, but, yeah, I know her. She works in one of them bars over at the ca sino. They call her Mattress Mattie, ’cause she always spread in’ them skinny legs so she can make that green. She got two babies—two, you hearin’ me? And what you think she be doin’ with that little extra somethin’ she makin’ on the side?”

“Buying drugs,” High Tea said, her tone definitive.

“See that?” Lurnell said. “Even Miss Thing got the set up, and she ain’t even from around here.”

High Tea beamed as if she’d just won a prize.

Lurnell tapped on the window, apparently to get Mattie’s attention. The woman kept pacing, smoking, talking to herself.



“Yeah, she hurtin’ right now. Needin’ some blow. Bet she out there waitin’ for her dealer.”

High Tea gasped. “You allow them to deal drugs out there?”

“Of course not,” Fiona said sharply. “We can’t control what people do on the street, though. Did you see a drug deal take place in front of this shop? If you did, please tell me because I obviously missed it.”

With a haughty lift of her chin, High Tea tsked. “Well, if I owned this establishment, I would—”

“Now what you think that piece of shrimp bait’s doin’ out there?” Lurnell said, planting a fist on a hip. “That boy is trouble all by his ownself.”

Mattie had company now. She was talking to Banjo Marks, a young vampire who came from an old bayou family. Shauna knew he was homeless and a junkie. The guy eagerly swallowed, snorted, or injected, anything and everything he got his hands on. His weekly regimen consisted of LSD, pot, crystal-meth and cocaine. Whatever he scored in between those primers, Banjo considered lagniappe. He was tall and lanky, and had thin, scraggly blond hair that hung in greasy strands down to the middle of his back. Most of the time he smelled like wet, soured towels.

As if life hadn’t piled enough on Banjo’s plate, he didn’t fit the standard vampire profile, even for this area. He ate and drank like a human. Shauna didn’t know if the years of drug use had caused him to mutate, which in turn allowed him to digest food, or if he was the byproduct of an accidental cross-breeding. Either way, it was strange to see. He came to the shop often, always looking for a handout. And Fiona, being the Keeper of the vampires and the kind-hearted mother hen that she was, never failed to give him food and something warm or cool to drink, whichever the weather dictated.

As for Shauna, she never liked being around Banjo, and it had nothing to do with his drug use or smell. He had a high-pitched voice and an odd, twittering laugh that sounded like a hyena mating with a screeching macaw. It sawed on her last nerve.

Mattie and Banjo were yelling now, standing almost nose to nose. Although Shauna could easily hear their conversation, both were so hyped up that most of it came across as gibberish.

“—today, asshole, you said today!” Mattie jabbed Banjo’s shoulder with a finger. “You said—I been waitin’ … Where’s at? Where?”

As Mattie poked at Banjo, he shuffled left a few steps, then turned about and moved up one step in the other direction, as if he were square-dancing alone. Then came that horrid, twittering laugh.

“Swear, swear to Gawd, gonna be here,” he gibbered. “Little problem, gonna be here, though. Yeah, you gonna see—fresh, fresh, fresh. Gonna come, swear to Gawd.”

Mattie shoved him, and Banjo stumbled backwards, his arms pin-wheeling for balance. She trapped him against a nearby light pole, jabbing a finger at his chest this time. “You—shit … sonofawhore! You promised, you motherf—”

The twittering laugh—that God-awful twittering laugh …

Their fight grew so intense people crossed the street to avoid them.

“Enough’s enough,” Shauna said, and headed for the door. She really didn’t care if they pulled each other’s hair out. What she’d had enough of was Banjo’s laughter.

“Shauna wait,” Fiona said. “I’ll call—”

“Yeah, you best hold up, girl,” Lurnell called after her.

Shauna glanced back at her, then returned her attention to the street in time to see Mattie throw a punch at Banjo’s face. To her surprise, he ducked in time to avoid getting hit. Instead of his face, Mattie’s fist connected with the light pole—and dented it.

Shauna gaped. Every light pole in the city was constructed of heavy metal due to the narrow streets, heavy traffic and drivers with little to no peripheral vision. No way a skinny woman with bad aim would be able to do that much damage.

“Whoa! You see that?” Lurnell said.

Just then the keening sound that had kept Shauna on edge for the last couple of hours grew in volume. Within seconds, it was all she heard. She saw Lurnell’s mouth moving but heard no words.

Only that pained, mournful cry … loud and long.

It sank deep into Shauna’s chest—threatened to yank out her heart.

She had to find the source.

No doubt in her mind … something was happening … had happened … would happen. No doubt in her mind, it was bad.

All of it very, very bad.

He ran.

Hard, fast …

Breathless …

Mindless.

It was all Danyon knew to do.

Act on instinct.

After Andrea left to find Andy, he and Paul had moved Simon’s body into the thicket. He’d ordered Paul to stay put and keep watch. If anyone came into the area, he was to steer them away from the thicket, by any means necessary. Paul, who’d puked his guts out the entire time they moved Simon, had all but burst into tears, not wanting to be left alone with a dead body.

With no other choice but to leave him in a sniveling heap, Danyon had followed Ian to a set of pilings off Barataria Boulevard, where he’d found Nicole’s body.

Ian had been right. She was in the same condition as Simon. Clothes tattered and strewn about, lying in a pool of her own blood, bound about the chest and ankles, and in full were-state, claws and fangs ripped away. There was one difference between the deaths, however. Unlike Simon, heavy cable hadn’t been used to restrain Nicole. Only thin, silver wire.

The pain from the silver alone would have been excruciating. It had burned through Nicole’s fur and flesh, then lodged itself in bone. Definitely enough to keep her restrained all by itself.

Danyon hadn’t had the opportunity to examine Simon fully yet, but he suspected that, initially, the same silver wire had been used to incapacitate him. Since he was bigger and stronger than Nicole, the cable would have been necessary to keep him securely restrained while they removed his claws and fangs. Nicole, on the other hand, was petite. Even when fully transformed into were-state, she had been no bigger than a six-month-old German Shepherd pup.



Seeing the young female were stuffed between two pilings had been bad enough, but what really got to Danyon was her fur. She was double-coated, covered with beautiful light brown fur streaked with different shades of gold and white. She literally sparkled when she ran through the sunlight. Seeing that beautiful coat covered with blood, the deep-set eyes once filled with innocence and ease now frozen in terror, had been his undoing. Rage overtook him, and he transformed almost instantaneously.

Fortunately, part of his brain had remained rational, reminding him that he had to tell August Gaudin, the leader of all the were packs in the South, about the deaths. That human thought battled with his feral nature as he ran toward the city, toward the French Quarter, where he would find August. That thought was the only thing that kept Danyon from hunting anything breathing just so he could slaughter it.

Running helped him push past the pain of what he’d witnessed.

By the time he reached Orleans Avenue, which was six blocks north of the Quarter, he had calmed enough to return to human form. His clothes were nearly nonexistent, since he all but doubled in size as a wolf, so he’d had to dodge in and out of alleyways and behind buildings to avoid being seen.

He’d gone straight home, which was the entire fifth floor of La Maison Pierre, a five-storey hotel he owned on the south side of Ursulines. Once there, he’d slipped through the back entrance, took a private elevator to the top floor then quickly changed into slacks and a button-down shirt.

Now he headed for Canal Street and August’s office complex. He kept his walk brisk, his head down, watching his shoes as a maelstrom of questions blew through his mind.

Why would anyone want to kill Simon and Nicole? Neither one would ever have harmed a soul.

Is someone targeting my pack, or were Simon and Nicole simply in the wrong place at the wrong time?

The biggest question that plagued him, though, was who or what had been able to capture them. It would certainly have taken more than one human to keep Simon under control once he transformed into were-form, even if they had subdued him with silver before wrapping him in cable. In human form, Simon had been six foot one and weighed at least a hundred-seventy-five pounds. As a wolf, he towered over seven feet, and just the additional flesh and muscle mass added another seventy-five pounds or more to his weight. No, it would have taken more than an entire army of men to hold Simon down.

Another thought crossed Danyon’s mind, and it nearly stopped him cold. Both death scenes had been covered with blood, but aside from Simon and Nicole being declawed and defanged, he hadn’t noticed any other major injuries. No gunshot wounds to the body or head. No blunt force trauma. He hadn’t examined either close enough to check for stab wounds, which he planned to do when he met up with Andy later, but aside from that possibility, what had actually killed his two weres?

Danyon was still deep in thought when a woman suddenly appeared in his line of sight, only inches away from his face. Instinctively, he reached out and took hold of her upper arms to minimize the collision.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I …” The sight of her fiery green eyes sent a jolt of recognition through him. It was Shauna MacDonald.

He’d met her a few times at the bi-annual council meetings, when the underworld subcultures in New Orleans and the surrounding area met to discuss communal issues. He knew Shauna owned A Little Bit of Magic, the mystic shop on Royal, along with her sisters, Fiona and Caitlin. And he knew all three were Keepers.

Every time he saw Shauna, her beauty captured his attention to the point of distraction. She was tall and slender, her long, strawberry blonde hair usually up in a ponytail. Her skin, although fair, had a healthy glow. Only a dead man wouldn’t take notice of her.

Even more problematic for Danyon was Shauna’s scent. It was a pheromonal tidal wave of passion, femininity and latent sexuality. It drove him mad with desire, and he had to struggle to resist it.

Shauna, on the other hand, appeared to have little or no interest in him at all. Whenever they were in the same room, she refused to make eye contact with him and usually kept her end of the conversation brief, clipped, as though being around him irritated her, and she couldn’t wait to get away.

It was just as well.

Even if Shauna were interested in him, nothing could ever come of it.

She was human.

He was a wolven, and an alpha at that. That was a vast chasm to overcome. Danyon knew those differences would always keep her from fully understanding the depth of his true nature, even if she was his Keeper.

Still holding on to her arms, Danyon suddenly became keenly aware of the feel of her skin under his palms. Soft … silky … warm. Very warm.

He felt his pulse quicken, his nostrils flare.

He should have felt guilty right then. Two of his weres were dead. He’d just wiped their blood from his hands.

But he felt no guilt.

There was no room for it. Not now. For every one of Danyon’s senses was on high alert. Each one excruciatingly aware of her.

And the effect left him ravenous.




Chapter 4


Shauna pulled out of Danyon’s grasp more abruptly than she’d intended. She’d been lost in thought, not paying attention to where she was going and had nearly collided into him. It had taken a couple of seconds for her to blink all six foot four of him into focus, but once she did, recognition was instantaneous. That didn’t surprise her. Danyon was not a man easily forgotten. That exceptionally broad chest, sharp facial features and strong chin … his eyes, the color of honey still on the comb. His thick black hair, a little longer than shoulder-length, was combed back, away from his face. He smelled of soap and testosterone at full throttle. Shauna had never allowed herself to get this close to him before, and had it not been for this accidental encounter, probably never would have.

And all for good reason.

Her mind turned into a puddle of goo every time she was around Danyon. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she would start fidgeting, like a nervous school girl, something she never did. His extraordinary good looks, sharp intellect and wit, and the smoldering sexuality that seemed to ooze out of him when he moved, made her heart beat too fast. She kept her distance to maintain control of her mind and her body, something she would never admit to another soul.

As a Keeper, Shauna had a lot of expectations to live up to. Being the youngest Keeper made things even tougher, because it came with its own set of challenges. She always felt she had to prove her competency twice as much as her two sisters. And in order to do that, she had to keep her mind and body strong and focused. She couldn’t afford to appear vulnerable. Especially to a wolven. Even one as breathtaking as Danyon.

“Something’s happened,” Shauna said, hearing her words come out as a statement rather than the question she’d intended.

Danyon nodded, his eyes wary, quickly scanning both sides of the street. In profile, his hair glistened with a blue-black sheen.



Shauna’s heart quickened. She had to force herself not to take a step back.

“What did you hear?” he asked.

Shauna looked up at him questioningly.

“I mean who told you? What did they tell you?”

She glanced away from the intensity of his stare. “No one told me anything.”

“Then how did you know?”

“That there was trouble?”

He tilted his head, and his gaze intensified.

How was she supposed to explain what she’d heard in the shop? That weird keening she’d instinctively known was a cry for help? Or that she’d heard it over a shop filled with tourists, city noise pouring in from the street and Mattie and Banjo’s fight? How was she to explain that without sounding like a kook?

Shauna opted for the direct route. “I heard it,” she said.

“Heard what?” He frowned, evidently confused.

She chewed her bottom lip a moment. “I’m not really sure. It felt … it sounded like a wolven in trouble. I was going to August’s to find out if he knew anything.”

“I’m headed there myself.” Danyon didn’t appear surprised in the least by what she’d said.

“What do you know? Anything?”



His face hardened. “Unfortunately, yes. Two of my weres are dead.”

Stunned, this time Shauna did take a step back. “Who? When?”

“Simon Filk and Nicole Bergeron. Not sure when they were killed, but both were found a couple of hours—”

“Wait. They were killed? As in murdered?” Shauna’s head reeled. The name Simon Filk rang a bell, but she couldn’t place a face with the name. Nicole, on the other hand, she knew. Nicole and her boyfriend, Ian, came to A Little Bit of Magic often, especially the tea and coffee kiosk. She even remembered their usual order: bayberry tea and pecan scones.

“It appears so, yes. Two other weres from my pack were headed home from work when they found Simon at the foot of the levee near River Road. Ian found Nicole. She’d been shoved between two pilings off Barataria.”

“God … poor Ian. The guy must be—”

“Devastated. And even that’s an understatement.”

Shauna shook her head in disbelief. “But murdered? How … ? You’re sure?”

Danyon gave her what sounded like a condensed version of what he knew so far and what he’d seen. As she listened, Shauna felt her stomach roll over, her knees weaken. By the time he finished, though, she was so angry, she could have tortured and killed the murderer bare-handed. She was also furious with Danyon.

“I can’t believe you moved the bodies,” she said.

“What do you mean you can’t believe it?”

“You should have alerted someone first,” Shauna fumed. “The police, August, me. You might have destroyed vital evidence.”

Danyon’s eyes darkened. “And what do you think would have happened if a human, or anyone else for that matter, had come across them the way Andrea and Paul did? They were in were-state, Shauna. What did you want me to do, just leave them there? Maybe throw a tarp over the bodies?”

“Don’t be crass.” Shauna shoved a hand in the back pocket of her jeans. “When did you plan on telling me about this? Next week? Next month?”

“When did you suddenly become my mother?”

“I’m the Keeper of the wolvens! I have every right to know what’s going on at all times.”

Danyon stood tall, jabbed a thumb to his chest. “And I’m the alpha of the East Bank pack. Those were my weres! I’m responsible for them, and I can take care of my own.”

Shauna leaned toward him. “But I’m their Keeper. And, in case you’ve forgotten, yours, as well.”



“What does that have to do with anything? Simon and Nicole are dead. Just what is there to keep … Keeper?”

She snapped her head back as though slapped.

Regret flickered in his eyes, but it went away as quickly as it arrived.

“May I remind you, Mr. Stone,” Shauna said through gritted teeth, “it’s my responsibility to keep peace between the wolven, the other races, and the humans in this city. By not telling me, you put everyone in danger. When word of this gets out, too much or too little information can end up open to interpretation. Have you forgotten about the cemetery murders six months ago, or what happened when the walk-ins tried taking over the city three months after that? In both cases, vampires suspected the shape-shifters, shifters pointed at the weres, everybody pointed at everybody else. If Fiona hadn’t taken charge of her vampires during the cemetery murders and Caitlin her shifters in the walk-in disaster, we might have had another war on our hands. The same kind of war that killed our parents.”

By that time, Shauna’s anger had grown to such a fever pitch, she stepped closer, pushed against him. “Look, you might be the big dog on campus when it comes to the East Bank pack, but—”

“Big dog? Now who’s being crass?”

“But I am the Keeper of the wolven in this city. Moving those bodies was poor judgment on your part. The police should have been notified immediately.”

Danyon’s expression went cold. “How many times do I have to tell you? Simon and Nicole were in were-state. What sense would it have made to involve humans when we spend half our time hiding our true identities from them so they don’t destroy us? None, period. I was not going to take the chance that Simon or Nicole would be seen in that condition.”

“You didn’t have to involve a human,” Shauna said. “You could have called Jagger DeFarge. You know perfectly well he’s a homicide detective.”

“A homicide detective and a vampire.”

“Which only means he’d be more sensitive to the situation. He’s part of the underworld. He knows what has to be protected.”

Danyon looked away for a second, and Shauna could have sworn she heard a low growl rumble from his throat. “We are wolven!” he declared. “We don’t want a vampire involved in our business. I don’t need DeFarge’s help, nor do I need you questioning my actions. Nicole and Simon were my responsibility. I will find their murderers. And believe me, there will be justice.”

“And as their Keeper, I will be involved, whether you like it or not!” Realizing her voice had gotten a little too loud, Shauna glanced about, making sure their conversation was still private.

This time there was no mistaking the low growl emanating from Danyon. Without another word, he whipped around and headed down the street, his long legs quickly widening the distance between them.

Furious that he’d so abruptly dismissed her, Shauna hurriedly back-tracked a block. She planned to detour to a side street that led to the rear of August’s office complex and beat Danyon there.

She walked fast, talking herself out of breaking into a full run. This was starting to feel ridiculous, as if she were one of the last two children left in a game of musical chairs, and only one chair remained. She’d always hated that game.

Okay, so she might she have gotten a little exuberant—upset, even—because she hadn’t been contacted when Simon and Nicole were discovered. Still, that was no excuse for Danyon to get so huffy. She probably could have handled things more diplomatically, but he didn’t have to go storming off as if she’d peed in his Cheerios, for heaven’s sake.

If she really wanted to be honest with herself, though, the buck stopped with her. She had a temper and knew it. It’s what made it too easy for her to run off at the mouth. Along with that, Danyon gave her mush-brain.



Not the man’s fault, but she was living proof that temper and mush-brain made for a bad combination. Any man, wolven or not, would have gotten upset by the way she’d handled the situation. Her responsibility as a Keeper was to help keep peace between the subcultures and humans in New Orleans. The way she’d confronted Danyon had been anything but peaceful.

Shauna slowed her pace.

This wasn’t a game of musical chairs. And it wasn’t about her or Danyon or her attraction to him.

It was about Simon and Nicole, about finding their murderer.

It was about justice.




Chapter 5


When Shauna finally reached the main lobby of August’s office complex, Danyon had already arrived. He was standing alongside Rita Quinn, August’s executive assistant, near the entrance to the hallway that led to August’s maze of offices. As always, the middle-aged were looked immaculate. She wore a lavender pencil skirt and a white silk blouse, and her light brown hair had been rolled into a perfect French twist. Elegant and tasteful, just like everything in August’s life.

When Rita spotted Shauna, she smiled warmly.

Danyon barely looked her way.

“How wonderful to see you, Ms. MacDonald,” Rita said. “Your timing is perfect, as always. I was about to lead Mr. Stone to the conference room. Mr. Gaudin is expecting both of you.”

“He is?” Puzzled, Shauna glanced over at Danyon, wondering if he’d somehow managed to call ahead and let August know they were coming.

As if reading her thoughts, he shrugged, indicating he had no idea how August knew.

“Of course,” Rita said, then motioned for them to follow her. “Mr. Gaudin is already in the conference room. He’s on a call at the moment, but he insisted I bring both of you to him the moment you arrived.”

They followed Rita down a long, wide hallway, a runner of plush beige carpet stretching along the oak-wood floor.

Shauna felt a little awkward walking beside Danyon. She’d acted like a child earlier and was embarrassed about it. Figuring the adult thing to do was probably apologize, she sneaked a peek at him out of the corner of her eye to get a handle on his mood. He was stern-faced, eyes locked forward. As far as he was concerned, she might as well have been in another parish.

Maybe later for that apology.

Maybe.

Rita led them to a set of heavy double doors, then opened one and motioned them inside. The room held a mahogany conference table, massive and oval and surrounded by twelve leather wing-back chairs. In the south corner of the room, near the back, stood a standard-size mahogany desk. August stood beside it, phone to his ear. He nodded an acknowledgment when he saw them.

“Make certain it is taken care of immediately,” he said to whoever was on the other end of the line, then he turned slightly, listening intently.

Even in profile, the elder was a formidable figure. He was shorter than Danyon, although not by much. His silvery-white, shoulder-length hair was a testament to his age, but his stature, the breadth and depth of his chest and shoulders, and his large strong hands appeared to be in direct opposition, for they were appropriate to a much younger man. August’s presence radiated a quiet confidence and wisdom, but when called for, he elicited fear just as easily. He was an attorney by trade and had been elected to the city commission, and also worked with the tourism board. Shauna had always been impressed by his accomplishments, but that wasn’t what bonded her to him.

August was the leader of all the werewolves throughout the South, and certainly the fact that she was Keeper of the werewolves in this city had something to do with the kinship they shared. But the connection between them ran much deeper than that.

August had fought alongside her parents in their struggle to avert the great war between the races, and when they died, he immediately took Fiona, Caitlin and Shauna under his wing. He’d raised them as his own. Taught them what it meant to be Keepers. Made sure they were well educated, well fed, loved and protected. He was like a grandfather to Shauna, and each time he looked at her with those gentle, powder blue eyes she felt unconditionally loved. They might not have been bio logically connected, but sharing DNA never assured anyone of love.

As soon as August hung up the phone, Shauna walked over and gave him a hug. He returned it warmly.

“Would anyone care for something to drink?” Rita asked, still standing at the threshold of the room.

“No, thank you,” Shauna said.

Danyon, who was standing at the far end of the conference table, shook his head. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

“That will be all, Rita,” August said.

Rita nodded and quietly backed out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

August put an arm around Shauna’s shoulder and led her to the table. After pulling out a chair for her, he motioned to Danyon. “Please, make yourself com fort able.”

When everyone was seated, Shauna asked, “Rita said you were expecting us, August. How did you know we were coming?”



“Simple logic,” August said, “I heard about the deaths half an hour ago.”

“From whom?” Danyon asked.

“Rayo Black, one of the bartenders at Jumani’s. Apparently he was working when Andrea went into the bar looking for Andy Saville. Rayo saw how upset she was and offered her a drink to calm her nerves. He claimed after Andrea downed a couple, she began to cry and told him about the dead weres. He called me immediately. Since the weres were from Danyon’s pack, and since you, Shauna, are their Keeper, it was only logical that the two of you would come to me.”

August sighed deeply, propped his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “Details, please,” he said to Danyon. “Tell me.”

For the next forty minutes Danyon relayed the details of how Simon and Nicole were discovered, who had found them, and the condition of their bodies when found. He also told August about his decision to hide the bodies so passersby wouldn’t stumble on them, and that he’d summoned Andy Saville to help with the transfer after dark.

Hearing it all again, Shauna’s anger sparked anew. She still couldn’t believe someone had actually killed the young weres. The emotions hammering her must have been minuscule in comparison to August’s, though. As he listened to Danyon, the elder’s eyes went from powder blue to cobalt. His lips drew into a thin, tight line. Shauna noticed his neck muscles ripple; then, like a wave in motion, that ripple traveled across his chin and up to his cheeks. He was fighting transformation.

Ever since Shauna was a child, she’d known August to be master over his human form and his werewolf identity. Not once had she ever seen his emotions overtake him and the transformation occur spontaneously. He had always been in control. It was understandable that August would be upset about the were deaths, but for the news to have this great an effect on him, there had to be more going on in his head than processing what he’d just heard.

Danyon leaned across the table. “I plan on examining the bodies more closely before they’re returned to their families. Something—”

“Have them taken to my lake house in LaPlace,” August said sharply. “I want to see them for myself. Do you remember how to get there?”

“Of course.”

“Wasn’t that house damaged during Hurricane Katrina?” Shauna asked.

“Yes, but it’s been renovated, and I had a large workshop built beside it. Forty by forty, plenty of fluorescent lighting. Andy can bring Nicole and Simon there. I’ll take care of notifying the families, as well. Although I’d be surprised if news hasn’t already reached them by now.” August turned to Danyon. “You were about to say more before I interrupted. Please continue.”

“Just that something occurred to me when I was on my way here.”

“Yes?”

“Well, Nicole and Simon had obvious wounds from being declawed and defanged, but I didn’t notice anything that specifically pointed to the cause of death. No gunshot wound or blunt force trauma. There was a lot of blood, but I don’t believe either of them bled out. The silver wire used on Nicole—and I suspect on Simon, as well—definitely did some damage. Burned right through fur, flesh and muscle. But as torturous as that sounds, I don’t believe that’s what caused Nicole’s death. Simon’s either. They may have been stabbed, but I won’t know that for sure until I examine the bodies. But, August, the bigger question is how is it possible that both remained in were-state after they died? I’ve never witnessed that before. Never even heard it was possible. Have you?”

August bowed his head, pushed away from the table and slowly got to his feet. He walked over to an occasional table that stood against a far wall beneath a six-foot painting of St. Louis Cathedral. On the table sat a crystal pitcher filled with ice water and surrounded by six crystal tumblers. August filled one of the tumblers with water, lifted it to his lips and drank slowly until it was drained.

Shauna had never seen August act this way, and it frightened her.

After setting the empty glass back on the occasional table, August turned toward them. His face had gone from grave to gray. “Yes, I have witnessed the phenomenon before.”

He walked back to the head of the conference table, but instead of sitting, he paced slowly back and forth, like a lecturer preparing to give a speech. When August finally spoke, his voice was low and distant, the voice of a man pulling up a memory that he would prefer not disinter. “I witnessed the kind of death you mentioned nearly six decades ago. I was in Romania at the time. A group of local weres had captured a rogue were—a wolven, as it happened—who’d been responsible for the mutilation and deaths of three human children. He was brought before the were-council, and it didn’t take long for them to pronouce him guilty and sentence him to death. I concurred with the council’s decision, of course, as did the magistrate who was serving at the time. But the magistrate wanted the rogue’s execution to be as severe as his crime.”

August took a deep breath, stopped pacing, and faced them. “He had the rogue bound in silver and steel, then beaten relentlessly while the silver burned through his flesh. Of course that intense pain created the emotional state that was needed to force his transformation. As soon as the transformation was complete, he was stripped of his claws and fangs.”

“I don’t understand,” Shauna said. “How did that serve as an execution? Did he bleed to death?”

“No. The manner of death was far worse. You see, there is a metaphysical power inherent to a werewolf’s claws and fangs. That power is so potent that when they are torn abruptly from the body, the were undergoes a molecular restructuring.”

“How so?” Danyon asked.

“The cells of the body begin to pressurize, which automatically seals the body in were-state,” August explained. “The cells continue to pressurize until the body mimics a pressure cooker, except without a release valve. Eventually the pressure becomes so great that the were’s heart literally bursts.”

Shauna slumped in her chair, overwhelmed by the thought of such a horrible death. She glanced over at Danyon. He was sitting ramrod straight, hands on the table, his fingers laced together and white-knuckled. The expression on his face looked treacherous, hard and cold.

“Believe me,” August continued, “even back then, I



was no innocent regarding death. I had seen far too many die in battle. But I will never forget the sounds of agony that came from that rogue. It was, and still is, indescribable. It affected everyone who was there, every council member. Even the magistrate.” August looked over at the portrait of the cathedral, kept his gaze there. “That wolven screamed … pleaded. He cried for mercy so loudly … I didn’t think any being had the vocal capacity to produce such volume. And it would change from howls to human screams to … something …”

August turned to them, his eyes dull with sadness and regret. “The look of terror on that rogue’s face … if ever a being looked death square in the face, he did. That look remained on his face even after his heart burst, as though even death itself gave him no relief.”

Shauna leaned forward, put a fist to her mouth and slowly shook her head. She couldn’t imagine Nicole and Simon suffering that way.

August returned to his chair. He looked utterly drained.

They sat in silence, everyone seemingly at a loss for words.

Shauna’s mind played reruns of Nicole and Ian at the shop. The two laughing—talking—holding hands. Nicole’s smile, how it flashed in her eyes and lit up her face.



“Why them, August?” Shauna asked quietly. “I didn’t know Simon very well, but Nicole … she wasn’t a threat to anyone. Why them?”

The elder shook his head. “Chances are it had little or nothing to do with whether or not they were threats. My guess is that Simon and Nicole were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Random killings? In that manner? Then it would have to be someone who knew about the molecular restructuring. Still, why would they choose that manner of death? There are easier ways to kill a were. Are we dealing with a lunatic? Somebody who gets his kicks from seeing others suffer?”

“I don’t think it’s a lunatic or someone killing for recreation,” August said. “The metaphysical power in the claws and fangs can affect others, as well. Not just the victim. Because of its potency, it only has to be ingested by another being, and he or she becomes empowered with the same traits as a werewolf. Not transformation, but strength, speed, agility, heightened senses, even sexual prowess.”

Shauna spotted Danyon throwing a glance her way.

Then he cleared his throat and asked, “How would someone ingest claws and fangs?”

“By pulverizing them to fine powder,” August said. “The killer may be doing this simply for profit.”



“A drug dealer?” Shauna asked.

“In essence, yes,” August said. “The one advantage we have is that the metaphysical power is not common knowledge. It’s usually kept within the council. So it is possible that the killer may only be someone hunting trinkets, the way a trapper collects bear claws and alligator teeth, then sells them as jewelry. We can only hope that is the case. If not, if we are dealing with someone who understands the power involved, then the death count will grow astronomically. Once this person, this … being, realizes the financial potential, there will be no stopping him. Needless to say, it is crucial that the information I have shared with you not leave this room.”

“It won’t.” Danyon got to his feet, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I’ll find whoever’s responsible for Nicole and Simon’s death. The reason for the killings doesn’t matter. The murderer will be stopped, and if I have your permission, he’ll be stopped by any means necessary.”

August nodded. “You have my permission. But understand this, Danyon. If it is as I fear, more murders will follow so quickly, all the alphas in this territory combined may not be able to stop it.”

A shiver ran up Shauna’s spine, and she prayed it wasn’t another intuitive whisper. But somewhere deep in her heart, she suspected her prayers would be futile. For August’s words rang far too true.




Chapter 6


“There’s no need for you to come,” Danyon said to Shauna, for what seemed like the fiftieth time since they’d left August’s office.

“And I said I am coming,” she said—again.

As if he’d expected anything different.

August had advised Shauna against going to the murder site, saying that there was no reason for her to subject herself to such gruesomeness. But she’d dug her heels in, refusing to be deterred. “I’m their Keeper,” she’d said. “And if I’m to fully understand what’s going on, I have to see it firsthand.”

Unfortunately, August hadn’t ordered Shauna to stay away as Danyon had hoped. And so far, every form of persuasion he’d tried to keep her from coming had failed.

Danyon had traveled to August’s office on foot, and he’d planned to return to Simon and Nicole the same way, especially after he heard August’s accounting of the rogue were’s execution so many years ago. Danyon hadn’t been able to shake the mental images that had formed, images of how Simon and Nicole must have suffered before they died. He needed to run to clear his head. As a human, running was therapeutic for him. As a were, it was his one saving grace when he was on emotional overload. The last thing he needed to deal with right now was a fainting female.

Regardless of how attractive she was.

Even if they took shortcuts through alleyways and cemeteries, it was still three miles from August’s to River Road. Walking that distance would take too long, but Danyon refused to give the stubborn strawberry blonde the satisfaction of riding in a cab. Besides, he didn’t want any cab driver, human or otherwise, even close to the sites. He had to make sure word about the deaths didn’t get out until it was absolutely necessary.

Frustrated, but having no other option except to tolerate her tagging along, Danyon had started their journey off with a brisk walk, then quickly cranked it up to a jog. Finally, he warned Shauna that he had to move faster, and if she planned to follow, she had to either keep up or be left behind. With that, he’d sped off in a full run.

They were already two miles into the run, and Shauna had kept pace with him every step of the way. Danyon couldn’t help but be impressed by her stamina. She wasn’t even breathing hard. Her reflexes remained sharp. If he cut hard to the right, she was immediately at his side. If he veered left without notice, she matched the move instantly and without effort.

Three quarters of a mile from the levees, Shauna suddenly pulled up short. “I hear a motor. Sounds like a car engine idling.”

As though her words sharpened his own hearing, Danyon’s ears suddenly perked to the sound. He glanced over at her, curious as to how she’d heard anything. They were still a decent distance from River Road. Close enough to hear a revving engine, maybe, but an idling one? No way.

“I’m sure it’s Saville,” Danyon said. “I sent Andrea to find him and have him bring back supplies and his SUV, so we can move the bodies.”

Under normal circumstances, Danyon would have contacted the coroner about the deaths, then the coroner would have dispatched one of his assistants to make the pickup. But normal meant Simon and Nicole would have been in human form. The fact that they remained in were-state called for a different strategy.

They reached River Road before Danyon had a chance to ask how she’d heard the idling engine, so he tucked the question away for later. As he’d suspected, Andy’s black SUV was parked on the side of the road facing the levee.

Andy got out of the SUV as soon as he spotted them. He was taller than Danyon and twice his weight and bulk. His skin was the color of slate, and his thick black hair was braided in multiple rows, each braid hanging down to the middle of his back.

“What you got, boss?” Andy asked.

“A nasty clean up,” Danyon said. “And I need you to keep quiet about it.”

“Zipped lip, boss, you know me.” Andy looked over at Shauna, and Danyon saw from his expression that he thought her being there was a huge mistake. Although Danyon agreed, he had to respect the fact that she was their Keeper.

Andy gave her a short nod. “Ms. MacDonald.”

Shauna returned the greeting. “Andy.”

“Where’s Andrea?” Danyon asked him.

“The kid was bad off. Really upset. So I told her to stay put, have a drink to calm herself down.”

“Good call. Did you bring the tarps?”



“You know it. Andrea told me you said messy, and metal, too, so I brought wire cutters, a hacksaw, gloves, stuff like that. Oh, yeah, and flashlights.” Andy leaned into the open driver’s window of the SUV and pulled out two Maglites.

“Perfect.” Danyon grabbed both, turned one of them on and aimed it at the thicket about three hundred feet away. “Get one of the tarps and meet us over there.”

Andy nodded and headed for the back of the SUV.

“Ready or not,” Danyon said to Shauna, then signaled for her to follow.

“Where’s Paul?” she asked.

“He’s supposed to be keeping watch over there.”

When they got halfway to the thicket, Paul came running out of the shadows. “Man, am I glad to see—” He did a double take when he saw Shauna, looked back at Danyon. “I thought you didn’t want us to tell nobody?”

Shauna jumped in before he had a chance to answer. “You know I’m the wolvens’ Keeper, Paul,” she said. “It’s important that I be involved in this.”

“Uh … okay.”

Grateful that they didn’t have to explain further, Danyon asked Paul, “Any problems?”

“Just that you took too long. Other than that, nothin’.”

“Good.” Danyon held a flashlight out to Paul. “Hang on to this. When we get back there, I’ll need you to aim the light where I tell you. I want to—”

“When we get back where?” Paul asked, frowning.

“To Simon. I want to take a closer look at his body, make sure we’re not missing any—”

“Whoa!” Paul jumped back as if the flashlight was ready to strike out and bite. “Why … why you gotta do that? They’re gonna do all the examin’ over at the morgue, right?”

“Not with Simon in that condition they’re not,” Danyon said. “We can’t let anyone see him that way.”

“But somebody’s gonna start asking where Simon’s at anyway,” Paul said, pacing a short, two-step path. “Somebody’s gotta eventually see him.”

“Word will get out to the wolven soon enough, but nobody else needs to know right now. We take care of our own, remember? I’ll make sure Simon’s well taken care of, don’t worry.”

Paul whimpered and paced faster, almost spinning in place. “Danyon, I—I know … I know we need to take care of him. I know we gotta, but I can’t do it. I’m—I’m—I been sittin’ here like you said. I been doin’ good, so don’t make me, okay? D-Don’t make me hold the light. P-Please, I can’t—don’t make me hold the light.”

“I’ll do it,” Shauna said. She held a hand out to Danyon. “I’ll help with the flashlight and whatever else you need help with. Looks like Paul’s been through enough today. Maybe he should go home.”

“Yeah, like she said.” Paul gave an enthusiastic nod. “I should go home. Like now, okay?”

“You really don’t want to see this,” Danyon said to Shauna. “Trust me, it’s far from pleasant.”

“If I wanted pleasant, you think I’d be here?” Her hand still extended, she wiggled her fingers. “I’m doing it, so you might as well hand over the light.”

The determination on her face told Danyon any further discussion would be futile. He sighed, then signaled to Paul that it was okay for him to leave. The young were didn’t have to be told twice. He was gone in a nanosecond, obviously scared Danyon might change his mind.

“You sure about this?” Danyon held a flashlight out to Shauna.

She took it from him. “Positive. Now where’s Simon?”

He aimed his flashlight to the right. There was no missing the small arc of blood near the edge of the thicket. “There.”

“Got the tarp, boss,” Andy said, coming up behind them. “Where you want it?”

Danyon redirected the beam of light. “Stretch it out on that patch of grass. We’ll lay the body on it once we get it out of the thicket.”




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