Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set (38 page)

She swung open the doors, ready to inhale the morning air.
Before she could take a single step, the hawk gave a shrill cry and soared into
the room.

"Out, you filthy bird! Get out of my room!"

Grabbing a silk decorator pillow from her bed, she swung it
above her head and leaped up toward the flying hawk. One swing caught a
flapping wing and unbalanced it, giving her only brief satisfaction as she saw
it quickly regain control. Gliding to the topmost shelf of a bookcase, it
landed with a flutter of wings that sent a Neiman-Marcus teddy bear tumbling to
the floor.

"Get out!" Lily cried again, frustrated that the
loathsome creature was now well beyond her reach.

The hawk cocked its head, holding her in its gaze, and
squawked with such heavy malice that Lily felt as if she'd been punched in the
stomach. She stared up, recalling the night she'd worked so hard to forget. A
white hawk, screeching from the rim of a smoldering fire pit . . . A tall
shaman who had monitored her and Jorje's every action in Ebony Canyon.

Was the shaman coming for her? Absurd! This was New York,
nearly three thousand miles from Ebony Canyon. Though hawks were rare in New
York City, that didn't mean she'd been followed. Dismissing the rush of fear,
she hurled the pillow at the feathered intruder.

The bird rose gracefully to the ceiling, evading her shot,
but the pillow struck the bookcase, and several dolls fell from the topmost
shelf.

Porcelain heads ripped loose from their bodies and
shattered. Arms and legs splintered. Rolling, the china broke into smaller
pieces. An eye here, a nose there, a piece of an ear, a tiny finger . . .
Fragile body parts littered the cherry-wood floor.

The sight made Lily's stomach lurch. Memories stirred; she
pushed them back in a fit of rage. Practically flying herself, she waved her
arms at the creature, shrieking at it to leave. One of her flailing hands
closed briefly around a scaly leg. The bird teetered, sinking to the floor
before it soared out the open balcony doors to roost on the railing. Lily
slammed the doors shut on its raucous cries.

Had the creature left its foul droppings, or even a smelly
feather that she'd have to flush away? Livid at the intrusion, Lily looked
around.

Narrow streams of morning sun filtered through the slats of
the shutters and cast muted striped shadows onto the flocked fleur-de-lis of
the pale blue wallpaper, across the bland, accepting faces of the toys. Except
for the china fragments on the floor, everything looked just the way it had
before the bird arrived.

She turned away, strangely unable to look at the battered
porcelain bodies. She'd clean them up later, before the maid came. But for now,
she'd have her walk. Her parents would be up soon, preparing for the vacation
Doris so "badly needed." By being out of the house when they left,
she'd spare them all the discomfort of insincere farewells. No bothersome bird
would interfere with her schedule.

With that decision, she went into her bathroom to cleanse
herself of the encounter. Just as she turned the gilded faucets of the shower,
she felt a malevolent presence. She shivered under the spray of warm water,
supposing that since the day had started with an evil omen, she shouldn't be
surprised.

Sebastian had found her. She didn't wonder how. Of all
werewolves, his psychic powers were the most prodigious. He could discern
another's thoughts across continents. I

She'd known he'd come eventually. He wouldn't leave such a
flagrant violation of Lupine Law unpunished. And killing another werewolf was
the most flagrant of them all.

The queasiness in her stomach returned as it often did when
she thought of Jorje, but she dismissed it and blocked Sebastian's probe,
feeling a not-unexpected quiver of anger as her connection with him snapped.
Her new concern left no room for dwelling on the bird, and she searched for a
way to protect herself. She had no desire to learn what Sebastian had in store
for her, but she couldn't escape him. So she'd . . .

Have to kill him, she supposed. And she knew just the way to
do that. After all, wasn't she a werewolf queen?

Was a queen
, came the psychic response.

Am a queen
, she responded hotly.
Powers or not,
I'm still a queen. Nothing can take that away.
Then, with an irate burst of
energy, she severed their connection a second time.

Yes, she would have to kill Sebastian. But for now, she'd
finish her shower, dress carefully, and leave the house looking like the queen
she was.

This time the response came from her own mind:
 
Like the queen
I used to be
.

Whenever Lily rose early to stroll the depths of Central
Park, she was filled with animal energy. The mild blow of the wind, the leaves
drifting around her feet, the cool, fresh morning air renewed her ties to the
feral world. This particular morning the feeling lasted longer than usual.

She was elated with the prospect of returning to an empty
apartment and knowing she'd have it to herself for weeks. Or maybe the battle
with the hawk had revived her hunter's spirit. Even Sebastian's appearance was
invigorating. She'd been waiting for months. Now he was here and she could plan
her next step.

She didn't spend much time pondering the reason. The morning
was too clear, the solitude too refreshing.

She traveled alone for several hours, arms swinging, head
held high, confident of her place in the world despite the feathered threat on
her balcony and the furred one lurking in wait. The sun rose higher as she
walked, filtering through the trees. Sounds grew nearer, more frequent.

As she turned a curve in the path, she met an approaching
man—a bodybuilder type with limbs so pumped with muscles they strained his
pants and shirt. Although she caught his lascivious leer, she gave him little
notice as they passed.

Then she felt his lingering attention. Her hand-tailored
jeans fit her flawlessly, and she could sense his eyes ogling the sway of her
hips beneath the hem of her Dior jacket. She glanced over her shoulder and met
the man's eyes. He stopped, then turned and strutted toward her, smiling
cockily. Thinking she once could have eaten three of his kind for breakfast,
she scowled regally and sent him a psychic warning:
Back
off, foolish omega.

His leering expression instantly transformed to fear. All
swagger gone, he turned awkwardly and almost ran away.

Lily smiled. These foolish mortals hadn't the courtesy of
the Lupine race. Not a single one of them dared treat another with such
disrespect. Instantly, reality dawned. She couldn't have followed through on
her mental threat. The man wasn't a lowly werewolf omega pup and she wasn't a
powerful queen. He actually could have hurt her.

For twelve years she'd lived a life of power and
invincibility, free from the fears and struggles of the human race. Now she was
one of them again, vulnerable, in a world that had no place for her.

Her former burst of energy draining, Lily drifted to a bench
and stared into a Chinese garden. The trouble with having once been a werewolf,
she thought sadly, was that no one believed you. In fact they thought you were
nuts. The Orientals might believe — and the primitive ones who dwelled in Ebony
Canyon certainly did believe. But these cynical people of the West . . . ? No,
not one of them believed.

When Doris and Vincent had come to the small-town Arizona
hospital to reluctantly claim her, she'd been scratched, bruised, and
hysterically babbling about lost powers, Dana and Morgan, and poor, poor Jorje.
Her horrified parents had promptly swept her back to New York City. Pleading
with the doctors to make her stop telling such outlandish and humiliating
tales, they'd placed her in a discreet hospital catering to those whom they
euphemistically labeled as "distressed."

The staff fed her drugs, told her she was hallucinating and
clinging to her delusions as a defense against the horror of witnessing her
friend's brutal death. She hadn't killed him. No one her size could have
possibly broken a grown man's neck. This trauma, they further explained, had
brought her emotionally barren childhood crashing down on her, making everyone
around her seem like beasts. She was safe. No one was after her seeking
revenge. Eventually Jorge's killer would be caught.

At first she denied it all. She was Queen Lily of the Lupine
race, proud, invincible, ageless. Eventually, as the initial horror of her
unwilling transformation back to human form waned, she realized the hospital
would never release her if she clung to the truth. She stopped insisting and
feigned a few sessions filled with weeping. Finally they let her go.

A sudden sound made Lily jump in alarm. She looked up and
caught a flash of white. Her sight and hearing were extremely keen — a fact
that had amazed the hospital staff — but even with this advantage she wasn't
sure of what she'd seen. Not noticing any further movement, she soon became
tired of looking and settled back on the bench to stare into the face of a
smiling stone Buddha.

What was happening to her? No werewolf jumped at unexpected
sounds or feared a posturing man. How would she deal with these insecurities
and, even more important, what would she do with the rest of her life? Remain
with Doris and Vincent, who could barely stand the sight of her? Go to work in
some greasy fast-food restaurant and rent a cheap apartment with her meager
earnings? And what of Sebastian? If she dropped her psychic guard she could
feel him out there. Lurking, waiting, in no hurry. Unhampered by the short
years allotted humans, he basked in the luxury of knowing he'd get her
eventually.

Unless she got him first.

Lily shifted on the bench, deciding to make a stop before
she returned to the mercifully empty house. Few things could kill a werewolf,
but holy water was one of them. She shuddered involuntarily at the idea of even
touching the stuff, but knew she had to overcome this unseemly cowardice. Her
future, her very life, depended upon it.

While she shored up her determination, people began walking
past her. A group gathered by the Buddha, half listening to a tour guide. A
couple meandered down the leafy path, hand in hand. Such ordinary lives they
led. Pale and colorless, especially when compared to the glory of roaming the
great cities and forests of the world, feared and fearless. Ordinary, so
ordinary. Still, these fainthearted humans somehow managed, didn't they? Despite
the threats around them, they laughed, held hands, and found some enjoyment in
their meager existence.

Just then a small girl broke away from the group, whooping
gleefully. Looking back mischievously at her pursuing mother, she pedaled her
chubby little legs as fast as she could. What fun, her smiling little face
said. What fun. She came straight toward Lily's outstretched feet.

Although Lily hastily pulled them back, she wasn't quick
enough, and the girl tripped anyway. Lily caught her before she hit the ground
and met a pair of impish eyes, a sparkling smile. Flooded with warmth, she
smiled back, then handed the child to her apologetic and grateful mother.

The pair returned to the group, but the girl still had her
attention on Lily and delivered several quick grins from behind her mother's
legs.

Lily could hear the girl breathe, hear her smothered little
titters over the drone of the guide's voice. But she couldn't hear the blood,
she realized, that soft and constant thrumming through those tiny veins. Nor
did she feel its irresistible lure.

Lost powers, just two among countless others. Many of them
she missed — the freedom, the invincibility, the sheer vitality of such massive
brute force. But not the hunger.

No, she didn't miss the hunger at all.

* * *

On another bench about a half mile away, Tony White Hawk
honed his link with the hawk perched in the high branches of the tree above
Lily's head. Seeing what it saw, hearing what it heard, Tony maintained the
careful watch he'd kept on the she-wolf since she'd slipped from the apartment.
When the child careened toward her, he'd flinched, thinking of the daughter
he'd left in the safety of the canyon, painfully aware he was putting her and
all the others at risk by bringing back the monster.
 

Of course those slender fingers bore no claws these days,
nor did her smile reveal deadly fangs. But those tilted eyes still held the
menace of the wolf, as the man who'd so unwisely tried to intimidate her
quickly discovered.

Lily Angelica DeLaVega hadn't lost her fight. She wouldn't
easily fall into his hands, and if he didn't soon master the shapeshifting
skill Riva assured him would come when he needed it.

Don't just ride with the thought-form, she'd counseled
during their last meeting before he left the canyon. Become it. Then, when it
took him where he wanted to go, all he had to do was return to being himself.

Simple. Straight-forward.

Too simple.

Why couldn't the Dawn People's magic contain spells and
rituals that worked without fail once they were learned? Why did they rely on
the soul of the user? Becoming the hawk required incredible concentration, and
whenever he thought he'd almost achieved it, he lost it all in a swirl of
malice toward the she-wolf.

He'd flown into Lily's room that morning with intense concentration,
sure he'd succeed this time. But the moment he'd seen her in that tiny top and
skimpy bottom, her small curved body glowing with health, he thought only of
Tajaya, who would never again dwell in such a womanly form.

Not only hadn't he shifted into human form, he'd tried to
terrorize her. Not the shaman's way. Not even the warrior's way. Worse, she'd
almost gotten the best of him. He thanked everything sacred that Riva hadn't
seen his shame.