The Covert Wolf (16 page)

Matt had a home and a loving, bossy family.

Sienna wondered if she could ever have the same. Because right now, she wasn’t certain where she fit in.

Anywhere.

A hot shower helped cleanse Sienna’s confused emotions.

Sienna felt hopeful for the first time in years. Last night’s dream indicated her long-buried memories were awakening.

But once she returned to the Fae, Matt would erase her memory of these past few days.

The Robichaux males were downstairs, discussing how pyro demons could have gained access to their powerfully warded land. She wanted to join their tight group. Show them there was nothing to distrust about a mixed breed. Prove she didn’t have anything to do with the bomb. Maybe she could help them discover how it was planted.

A twist of gray Spanish moss lay on the pine bureau. She picked it up, cradling it in her palms. It had covered the bomb and Matt had taken it to try to track the demon down, though it proved fruitless.

It was time to try testing her full powers. The Fae could glean memories from the earth, using the energy the land emitted. From an early age, her aunt had taught her how to “read” an aura. “Anyone can do it,” Chloe had insisted. “We Fae are more centered with the earth, so it comes more naturally to us.”

Sienna closed her eyes, seeing the booby trap as she had in her nightmare. Feeling the crisp edges of the fallen moss, smelling the dank earthiness of the bayou.

The ugly demon planting it, eager to wreak havoc. Only this time, the murky swamp was a clear, mirrored lake, the sky overhead a sullen winter gray. Icy cold stung her bare skin as she watched the demon laugh.

The scenery felt familiar, looked familiar.

Study the enemy. Get to know him as intimately as you know yourself. What drives him?

Matt’s words echoed through her mind. Remembering the mottled gray flesh of the demon who’d tried burning them in the witch’s house, she concentrated.

Sand in her lungs, burning sand. So many tiny granules. Once she’d been powerful and feared. Now, a dry dust of herself. No one remembered her, no one cared. She was dust on the wind, part of the rocky, pebbled earth that blew red against the sun.

Hungry, so hungry, craving fear, needing it to feed. Even though her throat was parched, she managed to take form. The form was wizened, barely enough to take shape and blend. But she blended, dredging up every last droplet of energy to mingle with those who hated and killed. The killing was good; it felt wonderful, feeding on the blood and fear.

Stronger now. Hatred boiled inside her, driven to hurt and score flesh, burn those who’d imprisoned her, the paranorms who thought they were invincible. She was the invincible one. Track the SEAL to his home ground. She felt a mix of rage and cold, lethal purpose. And then, as she sped through the air on a warm wind, she felt herself being stopped by a cold, invisible barrier, like a giant hand. Magick. The land was shielded. Frustration glowed inside her, feeding the rage as she bounced along the magick wall.

Near the swamp, she sensed a weakness where magick of the Draicon flowed into the dark, natural magick of the murky bayou. Natural magick. Natural…like smoke.

There.

A low, harsh cackle, like the screech of a banshee on the night wind, came from her throat. She would burn, and burn….

Sienna’s eyes flew open. She gulped air, shivering at the nasty images swirling in her mind. Talk about getting into form…this kind of pure concentration, absorbing the mindset of the enemy, was dangerous. But here in the attic room, with the bright blue-and-white quilt covering the bed and the sprigged rose wallpaper reflecting the sunshine flooding the room, it didn’t feel real.

Excitement surged. She knew what had happened. Sharing it with the Robichauxs would surely help defray suspicion from her. Sienna didn’t know why she felt this was important, but she was going with her instincts.

She walked down the staircase, feeling hungry, starving almost. The hunger was almost a living thing, demanding and growling.

Her muscles felt weaker as well as she clambered down the steps.

Hearing the sounds of laughter and deep male drawls, she brightened. Wait until she told them what she’d learned. No, maybe it could wait until after breakfast. She was starving.

The hunger intensified. Her fingers itched, burned a little.

Power flowed through her, hot, dark and sweet, magick that stank of sulfur and yet tasted delicious in her mouth. A little scared, she hit the landing, holding her hands out.

Horror arrowed through her. The once-elegant fingers with their neatly pared nails, were long and spindly. Blood raced through her veins, hot and pulsing with magick.

This isn’t me,
she thought desperately.
What have I done?

At the landing, she saw a mirror next to a bright red umbrella stand. Sienna raced to it, staring in dumbstruck astonishment.

A grimace stretched the red slash of a mouth. Her nostrils were flat holes, her skin gray and sickly. Burning crimson replaced the forest green of eyes that once sparkled. Now those eyes burned with hate.

Ugliness settled in her body, creeping through her like sludge, thick and vicious and nasty.

Someone help me. Please.

No Fae magick could fix this glamour. It had sunk its claws into her skin, refused to leave. She needed real power. Draicon magick.

Matt.

Sienna crept down the hallway, peeked into the living room. Matt’s family sat in comfortable armchairs or sprawled on the carpet, talking and laughing loudly. All but Matt. He stood alone by the window, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. In a room filled with family, he stood alone. Solitary. His indifferent manner was a suit of armor, but beneath, she glimpsed a sense of bleakness.

He was part of them, yet not one of them.

The urge to kill, watch him burn, became overwhelming. With every ounce of strength, Sienna fought it.

I am Seelie Sidhe Fae.

But the rage burned deep inside. Ashamed, terrified, she raced into the living room.

“Matt,” she cried out. “Help me.”

Then a guttural grunt fled her lips.

Cindy glanced up. She screamed, grabbing her children, covering them with her body.

Sienna stretched out her hands in a plea. They glowed red, the tips flaming bright like lit matches.

Her quick reflexes helped her dodge the energy bolt Gabriel suddenly tossed. The males pushed to their feet, shifting into wolves. Teeth bared, growling, they advanced. All but Matt, who’d turned from the window.

Kill them now. Make them suffer. Make them scream.

No. Never.

“Stop it, guys,” Matt said quietly, the tone of a man accustomed to command. “It’s not a pyro demon. There’s no way a pyro demon would ask me for help.”

He held a hand out, keeping the snarling wolves at bay, and looked deep into her eyes.

“Sienna?”

A low cackle tore from her throat, a screech of nails over glass. The wolves whined in pain, but kept advancing as the women fled with the children.

“Sienna. Change back for me.” Urgency laced Matt’s voice. “They can’t see anyone but a pyro demon. C’mon, little pixie, you can do it.”

His voice was deep and soothing, a rope of sanity. Sienna grabbled for that rope, trying to recover who she was, what she was.

You don’t even know what the hell you are,
a nasty voice echoed.
Maybe you are truly a demon.

“You’re half Draicon. Look at the wolves. They’re part of you, Sienna. Part of the Draicon deep inside. Shift into wolf. You can do it.”

Uncertainty held her back, but she dropped her glowing fingers, the talons sharp as razor wire and glowing hot.

Footsteps, hard and fast. She glanced up, felt her blood race with terror. Raphael, the immortal Draicon Kallan. Death dealer. Remembering how he’d blasted the defunct bomb with a single hand wave, she shrank back. The cold expression told her he wanted to do the same with her. But he held his ground. Raphael glanced at Matt.

“She’s not a pyro demon.”

“Yet she terrified our women.” Raphael’s voice was soft, laced with threat.

“Back off, Rafe.” Matt gave the order as if the immortal wasn’t a powerful being who could kill with a single glance. But the Kallan stepped back, his cold gaze never leaving Sienna.

Matt gave her a gentle smile. “Sienna. Trust me. Look at me. Part of you is just like me, wolf. Feel the wildness of nature, the scent of the earth, the joy of bounding over forest and field. You can do it.”

Taking a tentative step toward him, she hung on to his words as he kept talking. The wolves backed off, their wary gazes trained on her.

Slowly, the fragrance of freshly cut grass and the feel of a cool mountain breeze against her skin overrode the stench of sulfur and the acrid hatred. Sienna closed her eyes, seeing her forest home, a quiet lake, hearing the joyful howls of pack.

When her eyes opened, she stood on four paws, tail lowered, the scents of Draicon flooding her nostrils. Matt crouched down, stroked her head.

“I knew you could do it. That’s my pixie.”

Willing her exhausted body to change, she took on human form, clothing herself. On all fours, her face cupped by Matt’s gentle hand, his blue eyes filled with concern.

The other males shifted back, their expressions furious, their concern for the women in the kitchen, protecting the children.

“I’m sorry,” she told them, her voice hoarse, her throat dry. “I don’t know what happened.”

Silence thick and piercing, quivering in the air. Finally Raphael, the immortal, spoke.

“It’s best you leave, Sienna. Now.”

The curt dismissal shouldn’t have cut so deeply, but she felt it like a slash against her chilled skin.

“I’ll make the arrangements.” Matt looked resolute.

Sienna struggled to her feet. He gripped her arms, his calloused fingers gentle.

“I’m sorry, Matt.” Étienne looked uneasy. “But I won’t risk Cindy and the kids.”

He shot his brother-in-law a fierce look. “She’s not dangerous.”

The Draicon wolves lined up against them, like a firing squad. His family. She’d done this, put a barrier between them.

“I can find a place on my own. A hotel room, until we leave New Orleans,” she began.

“We’ll leave together.” A firm statement, his glare directed at the men. “Better look after the women.”

When the men had gone into the kitchen, Sienna exhaled. The pall of sheer anger hung in the air, clogging her throat, squeezing air from her lungs.

Matt looked down at her, his expression softened.

“I never meant to come between you and your family.”

He trailed a finger down her cheek. “Forget about it. Now I don’t have to suffer their nagging anymore.”

“I don’t know what happened. I was upstairs, thinking about the demon we’d faced in the witch’s house. Trying to get into his mind. You know, trying to see his motives, what he wanted when he’d fled his sand prison. Next thing I knew…”

Stretching out her hands, seeing the pink flesh, she shivered. “I never intended to become one. That’s not the type of glamour I ever want to assume.”

“A very realistic glamour. Enough to convince several powerful male Draicon, including a demon hunter.” Matt stroked her bare arms, sending a different heat surging through her body. A welcoming heat, like a fire burning merrily in a hearth.

Not the cold, dead hatred conjured by the demon whose form she’d assumed.

She collapsed onto the sofa. Matt disappeared into the adjoining kitchen, returned with a glass filled with water. Grateful, she gulped it, relishing the liquid easing her parched throat.

“This proves you’re really Sienna. The preferred drink of pyro demons is gasoline, or flaming apricot brandy as an after-dinner cocktail.”

The light teasing didn’t lift the chill from her shaking shoulders. The glass rattled against the wood coffee table as she set it down.

“What am I, Matt? Fae can glamour and I’m the best, but not like this. Not…” She gulped down a breath. “Not something evil. When I walked into the living room, I saw the children and all I felt was…need. I wanted to hurt them. I couldn’t help it. My fingers itched to shoot flames at them.”

Settling beside her, he cupped her cheek. His palm was warm and rough against her icy skin.

“You’re Sienna McClare. Half Draicon, half Fae. A woman of extraordinary ability who would hurt herself before laying a hand on an innocent. Especially a child.”

“Then explain what happened, because everyone in that kitchen is thinking I’m dangerous.”

“What do you think happened?”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know! All I know is I felt consumed by the images I conjured. It wasn’t a mere glamour, but as if I were possessed by what I desired to understand.”

Matt gave her a steady look. “Possessed. Like an actress so consumed by her role, she becomes the character she portrays.”

Sienna sank against an embroidered cushion. “Exactly.”

“But you became wolf. Because deep down, it’s the heart of you. A part you’ve refused to acknowledge and pushed aside. It’s your safe zone, Sienna.”

The blue of his gaze was warm and understanding.

She didn’t want to be wolf. Not a creature with fangs that tore and killed. A kaleidoscope of violent images flashed through her mind, colors swirling, inky dark blood pooling on the ground, thick and viscous. Nothing natural, only a brutal malevolence that sought to maim and kill.

“I know how the demon gained access to your land.” She glanced at the portrait of the proud wolf over the fireplace mantel. “That’s what I was rushing to tell everyone.”

Matt looked interested. “Go on.”

“I concentrated, saw the form of the demon, and dove into his mind.” Digging into her jeans pocket, she withdrew a few crumbles of the dead moss. “This is the moss you took from the bomb site to try to track the demon. I used the moss to connect to his thoughts. His memories. Connecting with the residual energy, something the Fae taught me. But this…”

Troubled, she tossed down the moss. “I turned into a demon, Matt. Not glamour. It didn’t feel like glamour. It felt real. Why is that? What’s happening to me?”