Draicon: Enemy Lover Part 17

Nothing was as important as family and pack. Family was everything. He filled his head with images of this instead, his undying need to keep his people safe, including her. He felt a flutter of disappointment from her as she slipped out of his mind.

Irritated, he narrowed his eyes. "I have a pack to lead. They're my responsibility, just as you are. My joie de vivre is not losing any more of my people."

Jamie sagged against the staircase, her color blanching. She'd expended too much energy. But her voice was filled with spirit and pa.s.sion.

"You think everyone is out to get your people. Maybe fate steered me to infect you with that disease and make you so sick because for the first time, you were lost. You were helpless and couldn't beat it, if not for Nicolas healing you. Sometimes you need to give up everything to get back your life."

Her accusations stung worse than the wasps. Damian glared at her. "I never give up."

"You never take risks, either. Life is about challenge and adventure, not just danger and hurt." She took a deep breath. "I know all about how life can spin you around like a crazy carnival ride until you just want to scream, but it doesn't stop. So you have to hang on for the moment, and then when it slows and you're finally able to get off, laugh and find your joy again because if you don't you'll end up like I was."

Her voice dropped to the barest whisper. "In the shadows, alive but really dead, like I was with the Morphs."

He was silent for a moment, then spoke in a deep, weary voice. "Sometimes there is nothing but shadows."

"What happened, Damian? What happened to you that you forgot how to live?"

Annie died. I held her body in my arms and realized the d.a.m.n consequences of my actions, my neglect.

Damian gave her a long, cool look. "I've lived, Jamie. I've lived through attacks on my people, through watching people I've known, even loved, turn evil and seeing blood and violence and death. I've done so for eighty years so don't lecture me about living."

He stiffened as she drew near. Jamie took his hand, running her fingers over his knuckles. "Oh, Damian," she said softly. "That's life. But that isn't living."

His eyes closed, and a shudder went through him as she gently stroked. He wanted to crush her against him, kiss her senseless then lower her to the floor and put his mouth on her.

Make her come, again and again. Then finally open his trousers and free his erection, and mount her. Making her his at last.

"It's my life. It suits me fine," he said tightly.

"Of course you're too old to change." Challenge shone in her gray eyes.

"I'm not that old," he muttered.

"Prove it. Come out with me tonight. We'll hit bars, whatever hits your fancy and mine. Be spontaneous."

He placed his palm over hers, covering her hand as if trapping a winged insect. "You're not going out."

"Are you saying you, the big bad wolf who would give his life for his people, can't protect me from the dangers of Bourbon Street?"

Caught. And but good. Challenging him like this, daring him. Her hand still entrapped, she lifted both of his to her lips, gave his right knuckles a long, slow lick. He stifled a moan, feeling his groin tighten.

"Come on, Damian," she purred in a sultry tone. "Let's go out and live for the moment."

"After dinner. We're all eating together tonight. As a family."

He didn't miss her wary look. It shifted into a sultry pout. "Please, just you and me? I just want us to go out on the town."

Jamie ran a hand up his arm, her touch igniting him inside. Warmth nudged aside intense s.e.xual heat, layering it with a deeper, more tender affection. He savored her touch.

"You truly want this?"

She nodded.

Damian sang a Cajun tune softly as he sc.r.a.ped the heavy beard off his cheeks. Steam misted the air from the shower. With a towel about his waist, he stared pensively into the mirror. Full moon approaching. He could shave every hour and still sport dark bristle an hour later.

Sensing a presence, he turned and saw Jamie gawking through the open doorway. Her fascinated gaze dropped from the hair covering his chest, down to the towel tied tightly about his midsection. A knowing smile touched his mouth as he toyed with the knot.

"Get dressed, Jamie."

"I don't need to get dressed up for Bourbon Street."

"Fine. I'll go like this."

He pulled the towel free. She gasped and scampered away as it dropped to the floor. His soft laughter followed as she ran into the bedroom.

Twenty minutes later, he joined her downstairs. Her knee-length red dress billowed out with her graceful pivot. The neckline was V-shaped, with long sleeves. She clutched a small red purse covered with sequins, her gray hands covered with smart lacy black gloves. Breath caught in his throat.

"You're lovely," he managed to say.

"You look very handsome," she said, sounding shy.

Damian grinned, rolling his shoulders beneath the black Armani jacket. He held out his arm in a courtly gesture. "Shall we?"

As they walked on the sidewalk, he tried to relax. If this would make Jamie happy, and help her learn to trust him, he'd do it.

When they reached Ursuline and Royal, Jamie paused. A group huddled together before the Ursuline Convent. The soft glow of a flickering lantern illuminated their fascinated expressions.

"Vampire tour," she realized. "Let's tag along. I love these things. People have the strangest reactions sometimes to the stories." She squeezed his arm playfully. "Some even believe in ghosts."

"Flakes," he muttered.

They eased behind the group of about fifteen people. Enthralled with the tour guide's hushed narration, no one noticed them. The guide was explaining the local legend. "When the convent was a school, girls from France arrived with large, mysterious trunks. It was later thought vampires were transported in those trunks."

"Vampires from France, traveling in cheap trunks. Everyone knows vampires wouldn't be caught dead in anything but Gucci," Damian muttered.

"Hush, I'm trying to hear," she whispered.

"I'm trying to make a spontaneous joke," he whispered back.

An adorable half smile lit her face. He dissolved into pure longing, wanting nothing more than to kiss her. Grimly he thought of the ugliest Morph to pare down his l.u.s.t.

The tour guide gestured to the dormer windows. "And the girls, it's said, became vampires after the trunks were stored in the attic. The nuns closed it off, and never allowed anyone up there, fearing to unleash the evil inside...."

Damian gave a low, deep growl. A woman clutched her companion's arm and shrieked. "Did you hear that? Wolves!"

Damian grinned. Jamie was right. This was fun.

"Sometimes they say if the shutters are open on the dormer windows, someone will die."

He released a long, musical howl. The group screamed and bolted, nearly plowing down the confused tour guide. Clutching her lantern, she scurried after them.

Jamie laughed. Doubled over, chortling laughter. Damian watched her, and felt something bubble up from deep inside.

Laughter rolled out of him, a ribbon of pure amus.e.m.e.nt. They leaned against the convent wall, holding their stomachs.

"Today's the first day I've heard you really laugh," he observed suddenly.

"The is the first time I heard you really laugh, too."

They studied each other with delighted smiles, like naughty children discovering new mischief. "Come on, let's do something adventurous for a thrill," she dared him.

He pondered the risk. "Aren't you afraid of taking chances?"

"If I let that hold me back from everything there is out there, I'll never live." A shadow chased over her face. "And knowing I might die makes it even more important."

She threw her head back and stared at the sky, exposing the lovely line of her slender throat. "It's like my longing for magick. You were born with magick, you probably take it for granted. Snap your fingers and create this beautiful, amazing ball of light. I've wanted that all my life."

Drawing closer, he backed her up until she was pressed flat against the wall. Damian bracketed her with his arms. "Why, Jamie? Why does it mean so much?"

Her lower lip wobbled tremulously. "I suppose...after losing so much, I thought if I had magick, I would feel special for once, and not helpless anymore."

She swallowed. "Do you know what it feels like to watch everything in your life slide away and there's not a d.a.m.n thing you can do to stop it?"

"I do," he said quietly and slid his palm into hers. They strolled, talking of his family, growing up in a Cajun household on the bayou. He asked her pointed, intelligent questions about her computer work and building Web sites.

He took her to Acme Oyster House where they downed sh.e.l.lfish and Tabasco.

Now as they walked down Bourbon Street, his gaze scanned the street. His body tense, ready to leap forward and defend his mate, he barely noticed Jamie's heavy sigh. She stopped and gave him a look beneath her long, dark lashes.

"Damian, not everyone is the enemy."

He turned and lifted her chin with the tip of one finger. His gaze bored into hers, commanding her attention. "Yes. Not everyone is the enemy. And neither am I, ma pet.i.te. When will you trust me?"

Contact between them sizzled. The sensuality of her full, rosy lips would tempt a monk. "Will you, then? Trust me?"

"Maybe. If you'll let go and relax."

"I can let go of everything. Except you," he said softly, drawing her into his arms.

Jamie's mouth parted. Damian couldn't resist. He kissed her. Her mouth tasted like sweet honey, and he wanted more. A tiny sigh of surrender wafted from her. He fisted his hand in her hair and took more. Ravaging her mouth, his tongue plundering and conquering. Jamie clutched the lapels of his jacket. Her tiny, excited whimpers threatened to loosen the wild beast.

But part of him sensed her reluctance, her mind battling with her body's eagerness.

Damian drew away, touched her cheek gently. This wasn't merely the prelude to s.e.x. He'd had s.e.x with more females than he could remember. Hot, hard, fast s.e.x to relieve his body's needs; s.e.x to replenish energy lost performing magick; tender, gentle s.e.x if the woman liked it slow. This was something deeper, as if he'd tasted all her longings, fears and the tiny hope fluttering inside her.

He would do anything for her, including leash his own desperate need. Drawing his arm firmly about Jamie, he smiled down at her.

"Where to now?"

She licked her kiss-swollen lips, looking a little dazed as if being kissed well and hard on Bourbon Street were a new experience. Well, he had plenty of others to share. And he'd enjoy teaching her every single one.

They headed inside a jazz bar blaring out good tunes. Damian signaled for a bartender, looked at Jamie expectantly.

"Chocolate martini."

Interesting. He ordered one and a draft beer. They leaned against a wall, sipping and listening. The music was good, slow and sultry. He found his shoulders easing, the tension fleeing. To his shock he realized he was enjoying himself.

Jamie was right. He did need to relax, let go and have fun.

There was nothing wrong with it. Damian glanced at Jamie, his interest shifting.

The heady scent of her teased his nostrils. Light from a wall sconce showed her soft profile. Her high, refined cheekbones, the lush, full mouth and pert, stubborn thrust of her chin. She was a fascinating contrast, tensile steel strength, layered with vulnerability.

Jamie licked chocolate off the gla.s.s, her tongue tracing the overflow. Damian stared at each delicate whorl, the slow strokes. Mon Dieu, what she could do to him with that perfect mouth of hers...

He needed her in his arms. Soft, seductive jazz music began. Damian turned to Jamie, taking their drinks and setting them on the bar. He held out a hand.

"Dance with me."

Chapter 12.

T he command was a husky whisper. His palm was warm, his fingers long with neatly pared nails, the fingertips callused. Jamie slid into his arms, barely clearing his chin. She rested her cheek against his broad shoulder. Damian's body heat radiated through the silk shirt. Beard stubble shadowed his jaw. He'd shaved. She knew because she'd seen him do so. But now he clearly looked...

A little wilder. Jamie swallowed hard. His scent invaded her senses. Would he surrender to instinct and finally claim her? The power in his muscled body warned her how strong he was. What would stop him from taking her? She couldn't.

Damian stopped, looked down at her.

"Hey," he said softly. "Remember what I said? I will never force you. You have nothing to fear from me."

"Except you stepping on my toes," she replied lightly.

He laughed and slipped his arms about her midsection, hard against his body. Jamie felt her feet leave the ground. She glanced down in amus.e.m.e.nt as he set her down.

"So much for that fear."

There were many layers to this Draicon, like an oyster building a protective flesh and hiding a beautiful, rare pearl. She was peeling them away slowly. It scared her, because the more she peeled, the more iridescent and glowing the pearl became. He was strong, fiercely loyal, courageous and would knock out his own teeth before harming her.

All things that scared the holy h.e.l.l out of her. She didn't want a pearl. Her own agenda was set in stone. Literally. Damian was necessary to finding the book, and once she cured herself, she'd be gone. No ties, no regrets, no heartache as if she'd run away from the one person who could reach past her loneliness and pull her free.

Damian held her with practiced ease, his steps light as he guided her. Jamie felt his body's wiry, tensile strength. The tailored clothing hid the steely male within.