Enemy Lover. Bonnie Vanak

she’s not human.”

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

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

      “I hope so. By the way, I need you to dispose of a body. Ma Petite Voodoo Maison. Morphs got to her.”

      Blood drained from Raphael’s face. “Renee?”

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

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

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

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

      “Again,” the voice insisted.

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

      “What is that?” she croaked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Stronger. Better. Perplexed. “Why did you do that?”

      Damian squeezed her palm. “Chère, don’t you understand? I’m trying to save you.”

      “Why? I tried to kill you. I’m not the kind of mate you want.”

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

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

      I have to survive. And if he’s the means, then I’ll think about the other stuff later. Like I always have. “I need to see Mama Renee. She has lots of experience with potions. She’ll have answers.”

      Damian exchanged glances with someone standing silently in the doorway. A strip of pure white hair streaked through the man’s shoulder-length dark hair. About four inches taller than Damian, he had the face of an angel and dressed like a biker. Jamie blinked in vague recognition. She’d seen him somewhere before. “Who are you?"

      Introducing her, Damian explained Raphael was his brother. Oh God. Memories ate her guts like a horde of angry ants. Jamie swallowed hard. One of the Draicon who’d joined Damian in killing Mark. Tearing her brother to pieces, as he screamed …

      “Another Draicon? How many stray dogs are there in this city?” Jamie shot out.

      Raphael’s mouth thinned to a tight slash. He didn’t appear to like her any more than she liked him.

      “Dai, I’m headed out. Call me if you need me.” Raphael gave her a hard look and left.

      The Draicon slammed the door behind him. Jamie set down the glass and pushed off the couch, relieved to find her limbs functioning normally.

      “Where are you going?” Damian demanded.

      “Mama Renee’s, just a few doors down. Maybe she can … What?"

      Damian stood and went to her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

      “Stay here, Jamie. There’s something you should know….”

      Through her thin T-shirt, she felt his hands’ warmth. Jamie resisted the urge to collapse and absorb his strength. It had been so long since she’d leaned on anyone. The only person she could trust was herself.

      But damn, just for once, it would be nice to have someone truly on her side.

      “If you don’t know enough, then I have to find someone who does,” she muttered.

      A loud buzz warned someone was at the front gate. Shrugging off his hands, Jamie trounced downstairs, Damian following close behind. A man in a rumpled black suit with a tired face stood outside. “I’m Detective Robert Ryan. Do you know the woman who lives two doors down, a Mrs. Renee St. Clair?"

      “Renee’s a good friend.”

      “I’m sorry to tell you this, but … we believe Mrs. St. Clair has been killed.”

      Her heart raced as she shrank back. “There’s some mistake.”

      “Perhaps,” the detective said evenly. “Does she have any relatives living in the city?"

      “She has a daughter in North Carolina, and her son was killed in a car wreck a while back.”

      “Could you come with us and identify the body, Miss Walsh?”

      I can’t, she thought with sickening dread. But she had to see for herself. Had to know … that the one woman she felt friendship with was gone. It simply couldn’t be real.

      Jamie nodded. Damian took her elbow and gave the detective a hard look. “Just a minute. I’m going with her and we need to lock up.”

      He pulled her inside the gate, out of earshot. “Renee was not here with you. Understand? Otherwise you’re a suspect.”

      Her stomach twisted in knots. They left the house, following the detective. Police cars crammed the narrow street, blue and red lights bouncing off the buildings, yellow tape being unfurled and plastered across a perimeter of the sidewalk. All stuff she’d seen countless times on television crime shows.

      Only this time it was real. Too real.

      The familiar interior of the voodoo shop looked normal, though a horrid, coppery stench filled the air. Her instincts knew the smell. Blood and violence. Cops milled about, dusting the shelves with black fingerprint powder, taking photos.

      “She’s back here.” The detective walked toward the back room.

      She pulled free of Damian and went to a yellow plastic sheet covering something on the floor. Detective Ryan’s face remained expressionless.

      “Ready?”

      Jamie drew in a deep breath and nodded, barely feeling Damian’s strong hands on her shoulders. The cop pulled back the sheet to show a face.

      A face she knew and didn’t. Lips pulled back into a silent scream, warm brown eyes dulled and glazed with horror.

      A strangled moan arose in her throat. Jamie jerked her head forward. “It’s her, but how …” She had to know, even though she knew what