The Empath. Bonnie Vanak

passed. Or was it hours? A familiar scent approached noiselessly. Moonlight gilded a pair of polished brown boots. Naked and vulnerable, he sat up to face his leader.

      “You look like crap,” Damian observed. The soft New Orleans drawl he’d acquired from a childhood in the bayou accented his words. “They came for you again because you were protecting us. Why do you insist on staying when you know you’re banished?”

      Nicolas made no reply. He knew Damian had smelled the death, heard the screams. He had sensed what happened.

      “Nicolas … one day one will kill you. If you stay,” Damian said gently.

      “I won’t abandon you, Dai. You need me. The pack needs me.” He grated out the words, locking gazes with the older male.

      As Damian’s beta, Nicolas was responsible for carrying out the leader’s orders. He was the pack’s best hunter. When the pack had been in danger of being eliminated by the Morphs, Nicolas had stepped in and taught them the best way to destroy the enemy. He had studied the Morphs’ weak spots and succeeded in destroying hundreds. Nicolas, the killing machine.

      He knew nothing else.

      Pale green eyes observed him silently. Damian waved his hands. A covered metal plate materialized on the ground before Nicolas. Nicolas sprang forward as Damian winced.

      “Dammit, you shouldn’t be doing this. Not in your condition. Don’t waste your energy.”

      His leader offered a rueful smile, dragged in a breath. Sweat glistened on his brow. With the flair of a gourmet chef, Damian whipped off the plate’s cover.

      “Voila. I knew you needed food. Or sex.” The pack leader regarded Nicolas with a level look. “But you know the rules.”

      No sex with pack females. Not for Nicolas, the banished. What irony. Damian often joked about Nicolas’s “harem,” the unmated, sexually experienced pack females eager to copulate with him. After a Morph fight, he’d pace before those presenting themselves to him. Dark eyes brooding, his muscular body tense and aggressive, he’d select one for the night. Then he’d claim her, using her sexual heat to restore his lost energy.

      Now no pack female could touch him.

      Salivating, Nicolas eyed the bloodied, raw meat. He shot a worried glance at Damian’s pale face, the flash of pain in his green eyes.

      “Wolf it down,” Damian advised, a half smile touching his mouth at the old joke.

      His hunger a live, writhing need, Nicolas hesitated. Trying to disguise his weakness before his leader, he couldn’t hold back his howling need for energy. Damian delicately turned his back. Grateful, Nicolas abandoned any pretense. Picking up the elk steak with his hands, he ripped into the meat. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he then replaced the cover. It clanged against the metal plate.

      “Thank you,” Nicolas managed to say.

      Stronger now, he used his magick to cover his nudity with jeans, a black T-shirt and boots. Damian turned. He sat on his haunches, silent.

      “Dai, you’re getting worse.” The matter-of-fact statement cloaked his concern.

      “I have time.” Damian’s cocky grin seemed forced. “Two months, maybe, at the rate my body is deteriorating….” He shrugged, glancing away.

      Two months and Damian would be dead? After the agony, the cancerlike disease racking his body with pain ate its way through his internal organs. Nicolas clenched his fists. Dammit. He had to find Maggie. Fast.

      “Dai …” His throat closed with emotion. Nicolas clamped a lid on his feelings and arranged a blank look on his face.

      Damian seemed to understand, for he waved a hand, dismissing the topic. Never one to complain, more concerned about the pack.

      “Tell me about Margaret.” The name slipped out in a soft slur. Mah-gah-rhett. “You made contact with her again. I can tell by your tears. Her emotions are yours, Nicolas. She was crying.” His sharp green gaze focused on dried tears streaking Nicolas’s cheeks.

      Nicolas scrubbed his face with a clenched fist. “The dog is dying.” Always the dog, as Maggie sought a logical solution to a problem caused by something not logical in the human world. Then, in private, the tears would flow, because she could not heal the animal she loved.

      “Ah. Her pet. Difficult.”

      “A friend. Not a pet. She can’t cure Misha. She’s trying to find the mutation in the cells. The Morphs infected the dog.”

      Damian rubbed the back of his neck absently. “A test of Margaret’s powers to draw her out. They’ve found her.”

      Nicolas drew in another breath, feeling his lungs expand with clean, pure air. The dog had been Maggie’s constant companion for five years. Serving as canine nurse, she also helped her calm the animals she treated.

      Now Misha was dying, succumbing to a new disease that baffled Maggie.

      The very same disease eating away at Damian’s insides.

      He felt an ache reverberate down to his very soul, his spirit crying out to be with hers. He threw back his head, feeling the beast emerge, the wolf howling to be released, and allowed to run. To avoid the pain. Find a dark place and seek comfort.

      He could not, just as he could not sever the tie between himself and Maggie.

      “She’s unaware of her true identity.” Nicolas stated it as fact. “I discovered that much by mind-bonding with her. Something happened when her parents died, and she blocked out all prior memories. She thinks she’s mortal, not Draicon. Convincing her will be difficult.”

      “You know your duty, Nicolas. You must mate with her soon and bring her home. Before the Morphs destroy her.”

      Damian stood, leaning his six-foot-tall body against a tree. Beneath the casual air lurked coiled tension, power. Ready to spring into action, if necessary. Their leader never released his guard. Or trusted easily, outside of his pack.

      “I know. I know the risks.” To him and to Maggie. “But if it means saving you …”

      “Forget me.” Damian made a slashing gesture. “It’s too late. But if she can heal our people when the Morphs infect them, that’s all that matters.”

      “I’ll get her here in time,” Nicolas said fiercely. “Don’t doubt it. Trust me.”

      Emotion flared in Damian’s eyes. “It’s not good for you to face this alone. You need our people.”

      Nicolas lifted his head, regarding him calmly. “You know that’s impossible. They blame me for what happened to Jamie. As they should. When I get Maggie, then I’ll return. Until then …”

      The casual lift of his shoulders hid his pain. For the good of the pack, Damian had banished him. Maggie was his way back to acceptance, back to the warmth and comfort of his family.

      Maggie was much more. Maggie was the weapon destined to vanquish Kane. Her healing touch could cure the dying Damian.

      “Do it,” Damian said softly. “Make her yours.” He watched Nicolas stand, and went to embrace him in the usual brotherly fashion, then pulled back.

      “I can’t touch you,” he said thickly.

      “I know,” Nicolas agreed. His scent would mark Damian, whose word was law, but the pack would question. Whisper. Worry.

      “May the moon spirit guide and protect you on your journey,” his leader said in the formal blessing. “Stay safe, stay strong.”

      A thick lump rose in his throat. “Up yours,” Nicolas said cheerfully, hiding his emotions.

      Damian flashed another half grin. More pain knifed through Nicolas as he watched his friend slip into the woods, heading back home.

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