Black Heart Loa (38 page)

Might be
loup-garou.

The man’s gaze slid from Layne to the Glock in his hand to Belladonna, then back to Layne. “What y’all doing out here dis late?” he asked. “And shooting a gun, no less. Dis be private property, not an all-night shooting range. What you be shooting at?”

“A wolf,” Belladonna volunteered. “The demon wolf of the bayou in particular. He’s chasing down our friend.”

The man scowled, rubbed a hand over his beard. “You sure?” he asked, completely unfazed by talk of demon wolves. “Devlin Daniels be hunting
here
?”

And knowing the wolf’s name explained why.

“Yeah, we’re fucking sure,” Layne growled.

The man’s scowl deepened. “Dis ain’t his territory. He knows better too.”

“Sounds like a problem between the two of you,” Layne said. “Good luck working it out. Now, if you don’t mind, we need to continue—”

The man shook his head. “Like I said, dis be private
property. You both wait here. I’ll go after yo’ friend.” He half turned, then paused. “I hate to say it, but if Devlin Daniels be hunting yo’ friend, he probably already caught her.”

“That’s only because you don’t know Kallie.”

Sympathy flickered in the man’s eyes. “Y’all wait here,” he ordered. Then he turned and loped away into the darkness.

“You waiting?” Belladonna asked.

“Hell no.”

“Mmm-hmm. I didn’t think so. Me either.”

Layne trotted after the man, Belladonna running beside him.

The gray haze drifted
away like morning mist on a sunny day. Kallie blinked. She tasted copper on her tongue, while the earthy smell of vetiver filled her nostrils. She felt strong arms around her and thought of Layne, felt herself reclining against him. Imagined they were still snuggled warm together on the bed in her aunt’s botanica.

“I found de problem,” a voice said. A voice that, with its Cajun accent, definitely wasn’t Layne’s.

Kallie’s heart launched itself into her throat as she remembered who the voice belonged to.
Black wolf. Demon wolf. Man with tangled black hair. Devlin Daniels.
She shoved at his arms, nearly tumbling face-first onto the ground when he released her. She crawled away for several yards before rising to her knees and turning around.

He was, of course, still nude, but artfully posed. His long hair shadowed his face, but not his lambent eyes. He seemed to look into her. Knowing he’d been rifling through her mind, her memories, Kallie felt stripped
naked and vulnerable. Lifting her chin, she forced herself to meet his gaze.

“I found de problem,” Devlin repeated.

“The
loa,
” Kallie said as her heart slowed its frantic pace. “I know.”

Devlin shook his head. “De
loa
yo’
maman
planted inside you ain’t de original problem, but it be a
part
of de problem.”

Kallie frowned. “Original? You mean there’s more than one problem?”

“It be de black dust you took in from Doctor Heron. De hex you sucked down when you unzipped de man’s soul.”

Devlin’s words rocked Kallie like a high-pressure blast of cold water. Her thoughts flipped backward.

“Don’t do it, child,” her aunt says. “It ain’t yo’ place.”

The black dust coating St. Cyr’s soul ripples, then flows backward and down, back into Kallie’s waiting palm. The root doctor’s spirit unravels inch by inch, molecule by molecule, until the air is empty.

“De black dust captured de
loa,
” Devlin continued, “webbed her up like a fat fly in a spider web and it feeds on her power, using it to magnify its own. Dat be the cause of all de magical mishaps. And dat why you be a living hex, Kallie Rivière—a breathing jinx.”

“Bon Dieu,” Kallie whispered in horror, sitting back on her heels.
What the hell have I done?
“How do I fix it?
Can
I fix it?” Lightning strobed across the restless sky and she looked up, then added, “Before it’s too late?”

Devlin tilted his head as though listening to something she couldn’t quite hear and Kallie caught a glimpse of one delicately pointed ear. “Almost time to leave,” he
murmured, before focusing on her again. “When you reach Le Nique, ask for de
traiteur
and her
shuvano
mate. Den ask dem about de sacred fire. Dat be de only way you can fix what you done.”

Kallie’s heart gave a hard pulse. “Am I heading the right way?”

A smile touched Devlin’s lips. “
Oui.
You practically right on top of it.”

Eyes closing in relief, Kallie drew in a deep breath as hope unfolded within her. Maybe she wouldn’t need to give up her life to keep the hurricane from devouring all that she loved.

Warm and callused hands gripped her arms and pulled her to her feet. Devlin’s earthy odor swept over her. Her eyes flew open and she looked into his ash-colored gaze.

“Let go,” she growled.

She tried to jerk free, but the demon wolf wasn’t having it. A wild and primal fear fluttered up her spine. She imagined his claws ripping into her flesh. Tearing out her heart. Imagined him devouring it. She struggled to break free—twisting, kicking, knuckling punches.

But he simply held her at arm’s length and let her flail away like a tantruming child refusing to go to bed, until she wore herself out. “You done?” he asked when she went limp.

“For now,” Kallie panted.

Devlin pulled her close, then leaned in, his cheek next to hers, but not quite touching. He inhaled. “I’ve got yo’ scent,” he said, nostrils flaring. “I can find you anywhere. Anytime. Yo’ heart be mine, Kallie Rivière, hoodoo woman.”

Kallie wasn’t sure how he meant that, exactly—literally
or figuratively, but either prospect terrified her. Devlin released her, and she stumbled back a step as he dropped into a crouch and began to Change.

His transformation to wolf happened just as swiftly as his Change to human. Pops and cracks snapped into the air like sparks from a burning log as joints, tendons, and bones rearranged themselves, altered shape. Black fur covered flesh with a wind-ruffling-the-grass sound.

From within the shadowed darkness beneath the oaks and cypress, Kallie heard growls and snarls, then three wolves darted out of the trees to skirmish with the demon wolf. A few quick snapping feints, then Devlin whirled and raced off into the woods and the night. The other wolves chased after him, leaving Kallie alone.

Lightning strobed across the sky, chased by a ground-rattling boom of thunder.

Muscles trembling, she dropped to her knees on the soft leaf- and grass-padded ground and sucked in a shaky breath. “Shit,” she whispered, shoving her hands through her hair.

“You must be Kallie,” a man’s deep voice said from behind her. “Guess de nomad was right.”

Kallie spun around on her knees. A tall, tawny-haired man in a tight white T-shirt and jeans stood barefoot underneath an old oak. He studied her with a wild animal’s watchful and unwavering gaze. Like a wolf. Like Devlin.

Skin prickling, she jumped to her feet. “Layne. Where is he? Is he all right?”

The man shrugged. “He be fine, far as I know. He and de girl been following me. But dey t’ink I don’t know dat.” He paused, eying Kallie’s chest, nostrils flaring. “You be bleeding.”

Kallie glanced down. Four bloody scratches marred the top of her left breast. And stinging pain kicked in the second she realized Devlin had left his mark on her. “Shit.”

The thud of running feet pulled Kallie’s eyes up. Layne pelted out from beneath a willow’s moss-draped branches, Belladonna a couple of steps behind him. Relief washed across the nomad’s handsome face, then quickly vanished. A muscle in his jaw flexed and his blond brows slanted down over a furious glare. Belladonna folded her arms over her chest.

Uh-oh.

Layne stalked over to Kallie in two long-legged strides and grabbed her by the shoulders in a steel-fingered grip as though he intended to shake her. “Are you hurt?” he asked harshly.

“Just scratches.”

“What the
hell
were you thinking? You ever pull a stunt like that again, woman, I’m gonna put you over my knee and paddle your ass.”

Belladonna snorted. “Paddle her ass?
That’s
a punishment? Nomad, please.”

“Shut up, Bell,” Kallie and Layne said at the same time.

Layne’s grip shifted from Kallie’s shoulders, then he wrapped her up in a tight-muscled hug and pulled her against him. “You scared the crap outta me, sunshine.”

“Is that what I smell?” Kallie teased.

“No, that would be Belladonna.”

“Mmm-hmm. Laugh it up, road rider,” Belladonna purred. “You just went to the top of my payback-is-a-bitch list.”

Laughing, Kallie relaxed into Layne’s embrace, her cheek against his leather-jacketed chest. Listened to the hard beat of his heart. Tried to keep the moment, knowing it couldn’t last. Magic was still in flux and a hurricane raged only hours away.

When you reach Le Nique, ask for de
traiteur
and her
shuvano
mate. Den ask dem about de sacred fire.

Kallie reluctantly freed herself from Layne’s arms. “Hey,” she called to the man in the white T-shirt. “What’s your name?”

“René,” he replied.

“I need to find a place called Le Nique,” she said. “I’m looking for my cousin Jackson Bonaparte, and for a
traiteur
and her
shuvano.
”

René shook his head. “Can’t help you,
je regrette.
” He turned to walk away.

“Wait! I’m the reason the hurricane wards turned into magnets. The reason magic ain’t working right. And I desperately need the help of your
traiteur
and her mate.”

Kallie heard Belladonna’s breath catch in her throat.

René swiveled back around and regarded her for a long moment, then nodded. “Follow me.”

W
olves had followed their
slow progress down the bayou, melting in and out of the inky darkness beneath the palmettos and cypress and weeping willows as if pawed extensions of the night, their eyes luminous with storm light.

Kallie climbed out of the gently rocking pirogue and onto the weathered cypress dock connecting to stairs that led up to the raised cottage’s front porch. The cool scent of fresh mint from the cottage’s window boxes sweetened the air.

From what she’d seen of Le Nique from René’s boat, stone piers lifted each cottage and
cabane
a good six or eight feet above the ground. Plywood slabs already covered most windows in anticipation of Evelyn’s landfall.

Tree branches swayed and creaked in another gust of wind. Rain finally fell, dimpling the bayou’s dark surface. Wolves gathered, watching intently as Belladonna, then Layne, hopped from the pirogue and joined Kallie on the dock.

Layne gave Kallie’s shoulder a quick squeeze and she looked up at him. “Give me a minute,” he murmured,
then strode past her, stopping at the dock’s midway point. His cluster of knotted-back dreads hid most of the orange-tailed fox and other clan markings painted on the back of his rain-beaded leather jacket.

Lightning flared—one, twice, a double strike. Thunder rumbled.

Layne dropped down to one knee on the gray-planked dock and lowered his head respectfully beneath the lupine gaze of the
loups-garous,
his hands palms-out at his sides. “Fox clan,” he said, quietly identifying himself. “And we know about being hunted. We know about living Outside. Your secrets are safe.”

Kallie’s heart double-thumped against her chest as several wolves—gray and russet and black—stiff-legged over to him, fur spiked.

Layne inclined his head toward Kallie and Belladonna. “We’ve come seeking help. We ain’t here to cause trouble.”

Kallie held her breath, her fingernails biting into her palms as she watched the
loups-garous
circle Layne.

Layne remained still as the
loups-garous
checked him over, sniffing his dreads, his face, his body, nosing at his clothes. He looked up and made brief eye contact with each before dropping his gaze again. One nipped the back of Layne’s leather jacket, then tugged at it, a low growl vibrating into the air.

“You need to leave yo’ gun, Fox Clan,” René said, stepping onto the dock.

“Not a problem,” Layne replied in an easy drawl. “I’m gonna do just that.” Reaching for the Glock tucked into his jeans at the small of his back, he pulled the gun free, then rested it carefully on the weathered planks.

René bent and scooped it up. Slipped it into the front of his jeans. Layne rose to his feet and the wolf sentries escorted him to the base of the cypress stairs before loping away. He waited there for Kallie and Belladonna, shadows masking his face as he scanned the area, automatically searching for any threat, any danger—inbred nomad survival trait, Kallie realized.

Kallie released her breath in a relieved exhalation. “Goddamn.”

“Nomad’s lucky they didn’t pee on him or use him as a chew toy.”

Kallie laughed, then nodded. “You might be right.”

“I don’t know about you,” Belladonna said in a low voice as they went to join Layne at the foot of the stairs, “but it worries me that our guide hasn’t even said if Jackson’s actually here and, if he is, whether he’s okay or not.”

“Me too,” Kallie admitted. Doubt had settled in, like dark silt. What if she’d been wrong about Jackson being in Le Nique? What if Baron Samedi had lied about the
loup-garou
scent in the grave? And worst of all—what if she’d finally found her cousin, only to arrive too late? Her nails bit even deeper into her palms.

Kallie parked herself beside Layne. Gave him a measuring look, one he returned. “Did you know what you were doing?”

“Nope. Flying by the seat of my pants. Just felt like the right thing.”

“Then you’ve got good instincts. Even better, you
listen
to them.”

A lazy smile curled across Layne’s lips. “Thanks, sunshine, but I know several people who would disagree with you on that.”