Black Heart Loa (37 page)

“You’re a man-stupid idiot,” McKenna said, her brows slashed down over her dark, fierce eyes. “But do what ye need to, luv. We’ll take care o’ things here. Ye just come back safe.”

Surprised by her words, Layne bent and kissed her forehead. “Thanks, buttercup.”

“Aye, and I’m sure I’ll sodding regret this,” she muttered.

Layne carried Kallie to the back door and followed Belladonna to her car. For a split second, he thought he saw a canine-shaped shadow disappear behind the Dump-ster and he moved a little faster, his heart drumming against his ribs.

He didn’t breathe easy until he had Kallie and himself in Belladonna’s car with Kallie reclining in the front passenger seat this time and himself folded into the back. The dark-haired hoodoo stirred and murmured something he couldn’t quite catch, but didn’t wake up. Since her face remained relaxed and peaceful, Layne had a gut feeling that Kallie was okay—despite the Baron’s actions.

“Where we headed?” he asked as Belladonna started up the Dodge Dart.

She glanced tenderly at her unconscious friend. “Bayou Cocodrie.”

K
allie was pretty damned
sure they were being followed.

Ever since they had left Belladonna’s car parked on a gravel back road a few miles outside of Gibson and had hiked into the rain-wet woods, following the dark and tree-lined banks of the bayou, Kallie had caught glimpses of stealthy movement from the corners of her eyes. Imagined she heard the soft pad of paws beneath every gust of wind rattling through the trees and palmetto bushes.

She wrapped her fingers tighter around the hilt of the knife she’d borrowed from Layne after he and Bell had told her about Gabrielle’s godson when she’d awakened—with little memory of her encounter with the Baron other than pain and ice and a haunting sense of emptiness—about forty miles outside Bayou Cyprés Noir.

A chill crawled up Kallie’s spine.
Demon wolf.
She’d first heard the legend of Devlin Daniels a couple of years after she’d come to live with her
tante.

If a person be evil or wicked or just plain bad and leave misery and grief in deir wake, den one night, de demon wolf will come for dem and he’ll rip deir black hearts from outta
deir chests. He be de voice of dark retribution, him. Now, be good and eat yo’ peas, girl.

Since when does not eating
peas
equal dark retribution, huh?

Mebbe de peas
don’t,
but yo’ sass certainly qualifies. Now
tais-toi,
you, and eat.

But Kallie had never believed the story to be true or that the legend himself would turn out to be the godson of a mambo she’d met only a couple of days before.

Wind whipped through the trees and Kallie’s hair, rustling leaves, fluttering Spanish moss, and rippling across the bayou’s dark surface. Tree branches creaked. She smelled impending rain mixed in with the odors of moss and mud and decaying vegetation.

Layne walked just ahead of her and Belladonna on the spongy, rain-saturated trail, his dreads knotted behind him and out of the way, his posture alert, coiled for action. His wary gaze scanned the shadows.

“You sure we’re going the right way, Shug?” Belladonna asked in hushed tones.

Her question nudged at the knot of anxiety lodged in Kallie’s chest, amplified the countdown timer ticking away at the back of her mind. “Ain’t sure, no,” she finally replied. “Just following my intuition. What does
your
intuition say?”

“That your intuition is right. It’s also telling me I should’ve broken in these boots before going on a long slog through a swamp. How far have we gone? Five, ten miles? My feet are
killing
me.”

“One mile, Bell. Maybe two. And what the hell are you doing in new boots?”

“Breaking them in, apparently,” Belladonna said with a sigh.

Kallie glanced at her friend. Belladonna clutched a borrowed knife in her right hand and held it half lifted, Norman Bates style. “What method of knife fighting you planning to use there, Bell?” she teased.

“A reliable method known as shriek-slash-and-run.”

“Might save time if you skip the shriek and go straight to the slash.”

“The shriek is essential, Shug. It stuns the attacker, making the slash much more effective.”

“Less chatter, ladies,” Layne said in a low voice. “Trying to listen for the approach of fanged death here.”

“Right. Sorry,” Belladonna whispered.

A sudden fork of lightning split the sky and bleached the land bone white. In that brief, stark-still frame, Kallie thought she saw distant rooflines through the trees. A hunter’s encampment or a hidden village?

But just as the night returned and thunder grumbled low, Kallie’s heart leapt into her throat when she spotted a sleek canine shape with gleaming eyes weaving among the oaks and willows and cypress, before disappearing into the underbrush.

She knew Layne had seen it too when he slipped his Glock from the pocket of his leather jacket and carefully chambered a round. “Keep close,” he murmured.

“Hey,” Belladonna whispered. “I think I see lights.” She pointed to a spot up the trail and across the bayou with her knife. “Over there. Look. There must be a bridge.”

Grabbing Belladonna’s arm, Kallie maneuvered her quietly protesting friend—
What the hell?
—around to her other side, placing herself between Belladonna and the night-drenched trees.

And whatever they hid from view.

Not for the first time, Kallie wished she could lay down a protection trick. But Belladonna was right—she saw the soft and steady glow of faraway light, like a lamp illuminating a window, through swaying branches. Hope curled through her. Maybe it
was
Jackson’s fairy-fable Le Nique.

From within the wooded darkness looming beside them, a twig snapped with a sharp crack. A very
deliberate
sound. Layne stopped and swiveled in one fluid motion, swinging the Glock up in a two-handed grip.

Then, as lightning blazed across the sky, the demon wolf made its move.

So did Layne.

He squeezed off two rounds just as the dark, wolfish shape bulleted out from beneath a broad-leaved palmetto and launched itself at the nomad. The shots rolled like thunder through the night.

Kallie caught a blurred glimpse of black fur, bared and glistening fangs, and glowing silver eyes. Then the wolf hit Layne with a solid, bone-rattling impact, knocking them both to the ground, and a desperate determination burned through her.

It’s me he wants. Me he’ll chase down. He’ll ignore Layne and Bell. All I hafta do is run. Two people have already died for me. I refuse to let anyone else.

Kallie whirled, adrenaline speeding her reflexes, fine-tuning her senses, and shoved Belladonna aside just as the mambo-in-training rushed up, knife in hand, to help Layne. Belladonna stumbled, then slipped on the wet grass and fell, sliding down the bank toward the water, shock blanking her face.

Sorry, Bell.

As Kallie pivoted back around, her heart skipped a beat
when she saw Layne throw both arms up to protect his throat from the wolf’s darting, snapping muzzle. Stepping forward, she punched her blade between the
loup-garou
’s ribs. “Let him be, you goddamned
fi’ de garce
!” she yelled. “You want me, then you gotta goddamned catch me.”

With a savage snarl, the demon wolf leapt off of Layne, silver eyes lit with a devilish flame and fixed on her. Kallie spun and raced into the woods. Behind her, she heard Layne screaming, “No! Kallie! NO!”

She ran, dodging tree trunks and ducking under low branches, trying to avoid ankle-snagging vines and ankle-breaking rodent holes. Lightning flared, revealing her surroundings for a split second, then plunging her into darkness once more.

She ran, lungs burning, heart pounding, aware of the demon wolf loping behind her. Nipping at her heels. Remembering his breathtaking speed, she wondered why he was just playing with her, why he didn’t bring her down.

Spanish moss caressed her cheek as she pelted beneath a thick, twisted oak branch, and the dream she’d had just before she’d awakened snuggled up against Layne’s warmth poured into her mind.

She finds herself running through a night-blanketed forest, cold mud squelching between the toes of her bare feet, gray fingers of Spanish moss whispering soft against her face as she ducks beneath oak branches.

A cry cuts through the air, a horse’s terrified scream. Kallie’s heart drums against her ribs. Ahead, she hears the thunder of hooves trampling the earth, behind she detects the stealthy and measured tread of a predator.

She’s caught between—racing toward one and fleeing the other.

And uncertain which is worse.

Maybe it was time to stop running altogether and make a stand.

A side-stitch knifed Kallie’s ribs and she gasped. Besides, maybe the damned wolf wasn’t tiring of this game, but
she
sure as hell was. Slowing her frantic pace, she came to a stumbling halt, one hand pressed against her aching side. She bent over, panting, her borrowed and bloodied blade still clutched in her hand.

I
really
need to jog more. Of course, that might not matter pretty soon.

The demon wolf padded to a stop several yards from Kallie. He stared at her with intent silver eyes—a hunter’s implacable regard—and she smelled smoky fur, wolf musk, and the coppery tang of blood.

“I know your name, Devlin Daniels, and I know your godmother,” Kallie said, straightening. “I also know it was the Baron who put you on my trail. All I ask is that you leave my friends and family in peace and give me the time to find my cousin. He’s—”

Her words jammed up in her throat and her eyes widened when the wolf’s fur began to ripple, to pour
inward
. Odd cracking and popping sounds percolated through the air—like someone snapping kindling for a campfire or splitting open walnuts—as the wolf’s body rearranged itself with a fast and flowing grace.

Kallie blinked. The wolf had Changed into a crouching man.

A very nude man, one with a sculpted and lean-muscled build and wild good looks. Long, tangled black hair tumbled past his shoulders. Scars white with age furrowed both pecs. Blood smeared his side—her knife. Black claws curved
from his long fingers. And he regarded her with lambent eyes the color of ashes—still the hunter’s implacable stare.

He rose from the leaf- and vine-cluttered ground with a natural fluidity, unself-conscious of his nudity, and Kallie’s gaze drifted helplessly south. She felt her pulse pick up speed as she realized that he would’ve done very well in the wet boxers contest—might’ve even given Layne some real competition.

Dear God. I’m as bad as Belladonna.

Hearing a low growl, Kallie jerked her gaze up and met Devlin’s intent and somewhat amused regard. She lifted her chin, cheeks flaming.

“I know yo’ name too, Kallie Rivière,” Devlin said in a low voice. “And
ma marraine
told me dat you be an innocent, no matter what de Baron say, and dat you ain’t to be harmed, but protected instead.”

“And what did the Baron say?”

“Dat you be responsible for de failure of de wards, for de coming hurricane—among udder t’ings.” Devlin padded forward, closing the distance between them. “He commanded me to bring you down.”

A chill touched Kallie’s spine, goosebumping her skin. “And is that what you’re going to do?” She smelled him, a deeply earthy aroma—musk and blood and vetiver grass, masculine.

“Not yet. Not until I get de truth. See if you be de evil t’ing dat de Baron claims you to be or not.”

“What if I am?” Kallie asked, heart drumming. She wondered if he was as fast in human form as he was on four paws. But remembering how quickly he’d Changed, she knew she wouldn’t outrun him for long.

“Den I eat yo’ heart.”

Kallie swallowed hard. “And how do you find the truth?”

“I gotta look inside.” Devlin tapped one black claw against his temple, then against his scarred chest above his heart. “It be de only way.”

“But what if you can’t find the truth? What if it’s hidden even from me?”

“You know de answer to dat, you. Heart. Eaten.”

Kallie curled her fingers around her blade, but she never got a chance to use it, let alone lift it. Before she even realized he’d moved, Devlin stood behind her, both steel-muscled arms locked across her chest—one just above her breasts, the other beneath. The claws of one hand raked into the skin above her heart. Blood oozed hot into her cleavage.

Pulse thundering in her ears, Kallie struggled to bring up the knife, to twist free, but her body refused to move. The blade dropped from her nerveless fingers. She felt a strange pressure behind her eyes, in her mind. Panic capered through her. Her mouth dried.

“It be all right,” Devlin whispered into her ear. “Just relax, you. Dat’s just me holding yo’ mind and body still so you don’t hurt yo’self while I look inside for de truth. Dis way I can see everyt’ing. Ain’t no hiding.”

Kallie tried to close her eyes, but couldn’t. The pressure in her mind built and built until, at last, everything faded away in a soft gray haze.

Layne stumbled forward, nearly
falling into what looked like a thorned blackberry bush when Belladonna crashed into him after his sudden stop, then bounced away like a flipper-smacked pinball.

“Oof! Nomad, what the hell?”

“We’ve got company, cupcake.”

Layne studied the man who’d stepped out from among the Spanish-moss-draped cypress and into his path. He wore a white tee and jeans and stood taller than Layne by a couple of inches, with a well-muscled and powerful build. Tawny hair and beard. Empty hands. And his body language was as motionless as that of a hunting dog on point. His nostrils flared.

Looks like he’s trying to catch our scent.
The hair prickled on the back of Layne’s neck as a very real possibility occurred to him—especially given the way the man’s eyes held captured light.