Immortal Wolf. Bonnie Vanak

as he heaved a sigh. “Ah, it wouldn’t be much of a challenge. Like fishing with C-4 explosives.”

      Raphael waved a hand, clothing himself again. Relief swept through her, and bemusement. Most others would ignore her and pursue their hunger.

      “Your refrigerator should be fully stocked,” she said, setting down her coffee. The Sacred Scian hung in a sheath on his belt. Emily swallowed hard.

      “It is, but I like the thrill of the hunt. I am, after all, a big, bad wolf.”

      A charming grin touched his mouth, melting her a little. He seemed friendly. Open and willing to talk with her as if she were just an ordinary Draicon.

      She wasn’t. Emily squeezed her hands.

      “Why do you wear those clothes?”

      He shrugged. “It’s what I like. I never follow other people’s style.”

      “Style? I don’t know of style, but I do know it’s important to be like everyone else in the pack.”

      “So that’s why you wear that sackcloth?” he drawled.

      Emily fingered the shapeless dun dress with its long sleeves and coarse material. “It’s tradition. Our people embrace traditional clothing.”

      She stared at the small gold dagger dangling from a loop pierced through his left ear. “Our males do not wear earrings. We wear no decorations upon our bodies.”

      Raphael leaned against the railing. “The earring is more than a decoration.”

      He tugged at his left ear and the tiny gold dagger dangling from it. In a flash, the golden blade on his belt vanished and appeared as a second dagger in the earring. “I keep the Sacred Scian close to me at all times. The earring gives me the freedom to walk armed into places where humans forbid weapons.” He flashed the charming grin again. “Much better than setting off metal detectors at airports.”

      She felt her breath escape her as he tugged his ear again and the Scian reappeared on his belt. The sacred dagger, carried only by a Kallan, would end her life. He wore the blade as he wore his clothing, with a casual indifference that belied his role. Fear skittered through Emily. Other Kallans had been purebloods, with long robes and gray beards, and kept the Scian hidden. They revered their dress and the Scian, and ancient texts painted them as mystics. They chanted ritual words, worked spells and possessed great magick.

      This Kallan was a warrior. Beneath the amused dark gaze lurked the intent of a true hunter. Raphael would not easily be fooled as she might have fooled the elderly Kallans.

      “You’re so cavalier with the Scian. Why do you wear it on your trousers at all? The pureblood Kallans of the past always kept it guarded in a tortoiseshell box.”

      Amusement fled his eyes, replaced by a flattened expression. Emily backed away, sensing the rising anger, the ruthlessness of purpose.

      “I wear it how I wish. I’m not of your people, but I revere my role and my duties as Kallan as much as the Kallans of old. My Scian is a weapon and never leaves my sight. I’d say I’m much less cavalier with it than the old ones.” Raphael removed the blade, flipped it into the air and sheathed it.

      “We’ve never had a Kallan who wasn’t a pureblood. You’re a mixed-blood, so different.”

      His jaw tightened to flint. “There’s a first for everything. I worked hard to become Kallan and passed the test. That’s all your people need to know.”

      Sunlight glinted off the dagger’s fine gold hilt. Emily hedged. If he were to kill her with the blade, then she wanted to see it closer. Touch the knife that would end it all. She stretched out her gloved hands. The covering would protect the blade from contamination.

      “May I see the Scian? I’ve never held one before.”

      “No.” His voice was curt.

      Hurt, she retreated to the end of the porch. Raphael stared out at the woods. “Come, Emily. Walk with me. It’s time to begin your lessons.”

      “I’m not a good pupil.” Anger roiled within her.

      “All transitions learn. It’s my job to teach you, to prepare you for your journey to the Other Realm.”

      “A journey I won’t easily take,” she whispered.

      His gaze softened. “Then let’s walk, a simple walk through the woods. Show me your woods, Emily.”

      Given no choice, for he seemed determined to shadow her, she headed for the forest, the Kallan giving her plenty of space. Leaves drifted lazily downward, brushed by a cool wind. Emily scuffed her bare feet in the thick padding of dead leaves, moss and grass as they entered the woods. The path she used was wide enough to admit two, but Raphael trailed behind her. Sunlight filtered through the tall oaks, pines and maples. The welcoming scent of forest and earth wrapped about her senses. She breathed deeply, smiling. Here was home, a sacred place where she felt most comfortable.

      “Do you always go barefoot?” he asked.

      It’s the only part of me I feel free to bare. “When I can.”

      When they approached the small glen, she tried to quickly pass, not wanting him to investigate. But Raphael halted.

      A frown creased his forehead as he gazed about. “This is a sacred place, with much ancient energy. I feel a heaviness in the air as well. It’s coming from over there.”

      She gazed in the direction of his pointing finger and her heart dropped.

      “No, you shouldn’t.”

      Raphael left, heading toward the direction where he’d pointed.

      “Don’t. It’s nothing you need to see,” she called after him.

      But as she raced forward, it was too late.

      Raphael entered the small space with its uncommon quiet. No songbirds chirped here, and though the trees were not as thick, the air seemed dense.

      He stood before the stone altar and touched the ancient rock with a solemn look.

      Emily fisted her gloved hands. He was here to kill her. She didn’t dare trust him or anyone else. Raphael was her executioner. No overtures of kindness, treating her with respect and talking with her and staving off the constant loneliness would change that.

      The stone altar served as a granite barricade between them. Raphael shifted, putting a hand on his hip.

      A stray beam of sunlight flashed off the solid gold dagger hilt at his waist. He caught her staring at the dagger.

      “Oh, Emily,” he said softly.

      With a strangled sob, she turned and ran blindly through the forest, away from the grim reminder of what was to come. Finally she reached the haven of her cottage. Emily squeezed her eyes shut and, with all her emotions and thoughts, called out to the one destined for her. He’d told her he’d be out of reach for a few weeks, but her need was urgent.

      If Amant could not help her, no one could.

      

      Raphael walked through the forest, deeply troubled. Faint energy emitted from the stone altar where Emily would be executed to end the curse. The sight had not bothered him, but he sensed something of tremendous importance had occurred there. Yet the altar held no tinge of death or sorrow. He could not make out the energy patterns.

      Pity surged through him, banishing the earlier resentment. Emily thought he wasn’t as good as the other Kallans because of his mixed blood. Unworthy. Old memories flashed through him. Walking to town, to the Vieux Carre, from his simple bayou home to get supplies. Other, more pure Draicon taunting him, throwing stones and laughing.

      Dog. Mongrel.

      Would old prejudices against his Cajun blood never cease?

      Raphael shoved aside the bitter past and concentrated on Emily. His transition