Chapter 1

Present Day, England

D esperation bordering on the edge of insanity filled Emma McGovern as the wolves’ howling broke through the stillness of the early evening. She stood at the window, looking out onto the bleak countryside, the raucous baying bringing a tremble to her fingers and a burning sensation to the scars along her cheek. Phantom pains, she’d been told, but that didn’t make them hurt less, or make the memories any less vivid.
“They’re back, Lucia,” Emma said without turning to look at the woman who was bending into the oven and basting the roast. The rich aroma of tender pork and glazed vegetables wafted through the kitchen but couldn’t warm the chill in Emma’s bones, nor mask the underlying scent of fear.
Lucia closed the oven with a sharp thud, then turned and opened a cabinet next to the stove and pulled out an antique tin. She removed the lid and took out a brooch fashioned with dried heather and gardenias. “Here, put this on,” she said.
“It’s beautiful,” Emma murmured, then lifted the brooch to her nose and breathed deeply. Instantly, she pulled away, her face twisting in revulsion. “Eww. What is it?”
“Fish oil. It will protect you from the beasts. Now put it on and wear it, at least until the night of the Equinox has passed,” Lucia insisted, and returned the tin to the cabinet.
Reluctantly, Emma pinned the brooch to her lace-trimmed top, knowing deep down that nothing would protect her from the beasts. Her destiny was catching up with her. “It will never end, will it, Lucia? Every year I think, this year will be different, but then the wolves come back.” She stepped over to the window, watching, waiting for the inevitable.
Lucia shook her head. “I will find a way to break the curse. Gypsy magic created it, gypsy magic can destroy it. In the meantime, you must take precautions.”
“I know.” Emma gave her a half-hearted smile. “You don’t have to worry on that front. Love isn’t in the cards for me.” Emma took a sip from her tea, and quickly averted her gaze. She didn’t need a curse to keep love from her doorstep. Even if she could find love out here in the middle of nowhere, love would take one look at the scars on her face, turn and run.
Lucia’s voice softened. “You can still have companionship, Emma. Friendship and a deep mutual caring are very important in any relationship. But you’ll never find even that if you don’t ever leave the house. Take a chance. Venture into the village. Meet people.”
“So I can have what Mum and Dad had?”
“Exactly.”
How could Emma explain that she wanted more than a half-hearted relationship based on mutual interests? She wanted…she blew out a sigh. She wanted what she couldn’t have. A deep passion and a forever kind of love.
“Have you seen Angel?” she asked. “That stubborn dog hasn’t come to my calls.”
“No.” Lucia’s voice filled with concern as she moved to stand beside her at the window. “Has she been gone all day?”
Emma nodded, the worry gnawing at her. “She’s usually back by now. She’d better come home soon, before—”
“I’ll find her,” Lucia assured her, patted her on the arm, then walked back to the stove and opened the oven door. She put on her mitts, and took the roast out of the oven.
Part of Emma knew it was foolish to worry. Angel often ran off in the late afternoon. The silly dog would catch a scent of some rabbit or squirrel, and off she would go, chasing it through the countryside. Always before, she’d come home by dark. Tonight wouldn’t be any different, she thought, trying to reassure herself as the sun sank below the horizon.
Only, before now, the dog had always returned when she’d called for her. The scars set deep in her cheek burned. She touched them, rubbing gently.
“Is the pain getting worse?” Lucia asked, the worry back in her eyes.
Emma nodded. “It always does this time of year.” And not because of the cooler days and nights, as Dr. Callahan liked to say, but because it marked the return of the Equinox, of the wolves, of hopelessness.
“I’ll make the salve,” Lucia muttered. “In the meantime, take this tray up to your father, but don’t let him see your fear.” She ladled a hefty serving of potatoes and carrots onto a plate.
Emma pulled her fingers from the jagged edges of the scar tissue. “I know. Dr. Callahan told me to keep him calm. I won’t upset him.” She took the tray, and walked upstairs to her father’s room. For a moment, she stood outside his door, trying to compose herself. She didn’t want him worrying about her. Not now, not when his heart was so weak.
She took a deep breath, then walked in with the tray holding his dinner and medications balanced in her hands. “Ready for supper, Dad?”
“Emma,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he smiled at her. “Have you been avoiding me?”
“Don’t be silly. Why would I be avoiding my favorite dad?”
“Oh, do you have another dad I don’t know about?”
She grinned and placed the tray on his lap. “Lucia’s made pork roast with carrots and new potatoes. She’s really outdone herself tonight.”
“You should have brought a tray for yourself and eaten with me,” he said, and gave a small pout.
“I should have, you’re right,” she agreed, reluctant to tell him she couldn’t eat. How could she, with her stomach all tied up in knots? She busied herself turning up his light to chase the shadows back into the room’s deep corners, then sat in the Queen Anne chair next to the bed.
He took a bite of the meat and chewed thoughtfully. “The Cadre called again today.”
Emma stilled as her heart tensed in her chest. “And you talked with them?”
“They were very persuasive.”
“I’m sure they were last time, too, and look how that turned out. Mum is dead.” The bitterness in her voice almost choked her. The Cadre, an organization that for centuries had protected people from evil, had promised to protect her mother against the curse plaguing their family. Instead the agent they’d sent had ignited the flames that killed them both.
She would have continued railing about the injustice of losing her mum when she was so young, and how she blamed the Cadre for it, but the sadness filling her father’s face made her stop. “I’m sorry.” She hated to see him looking so lost and vulnerable.
His gray-blue eyes caught hers. “It’s not good for us to be living out here all alone. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you, too.”
She forced a conciliatory smile. “That’s why nothing will.”
“I think we should take them up on their offer and move to St. Yve Manor. We can start a new life there. You can meet people, go to school, make friends.”
A ripple of fear shimmered through her heart at the thought. “Wolvesrain is our home. I—”
“This isn’t a home,” he insisted. “It’s a foxhole where we’ve both been hiding for far too long.”
Emma stood and walked toward the window that faced the long drive stretching in front of the house. She heard him set down his knife and fork and push away the tray.
“I love you, Emma, but we both know I’m not going to live much longer. I need to see you settled before I go. The Cadre can help you.”
“I can’t leave,” she said, her voice breaking. She hated to hear him talk this way. She wanted to appease him, but they’d tried before. She left once when he’d sent her to boarding school. Nightmares had plagued her sleep, but worse were the days when she’d been tormented by the taunts of the other students, because she was different and didn’t fit in, because of her face.
Rage, forever simmering below the surface, surged within her. “I can’t go through that again. Not to mention the curse. I’m better off here away from—”
“Don’t even say it. There is no curse. I’ve told you time and time again. What happened to you and your mother was a horrible tragedy. Not a curse.”
She turned and faced him. “Wolves attacked us, Daddy. Without provocation. Wolves that aren’t even supposed to exist in England. And now they’re back, can’t you hear them?”
“Did you call Animal welfare? The RSPCA?”
“Of course! They say there are no wolves. They can’t find them. Nor any sign of them. They think I’m insane—the poor daft woman who’s spent too much time locked up in her old crumbling manor.” Her hands clenched into fists at her side.
“I’m sorry for that, but that doesn’t mean there’s a curse, it just means they’re not very good at their jobs.”
“They’re right! There are no wolves. They’re demons, called by some jilted gypsy two hundred years ago to rain terror down on our family.”
“Don’t you hear how ridiculous you sound? This family is not cursed. Now I don’t want to hear any more about it, is that clear?” Her father’s face flushed as he said the words, and he started to cough and wheeze.
Emma sucked in a breath and rushed forward. “Daddy?” She knew better than to upset him. She grabbed a glass off the bedside table and filled it with water, then handed it to him.
He took the glass, then waved her away as he took a long drink. “I’m okay, really.”
Relieved, she dropped into the chair next to the bed. She knew better than to bring it up. But she was the one who’d seen her mother die. She was the one who’d heard her last words. Don’t ever succumb to love, Emma. Promise me.
The howling started again, creating a nasty racket. Emma blinked back the burning in her eyes and the bitterness in her throat. She stood and once more returned to the window. “They’ve been coming closer and closer to the house lately,” she whispered, as a rash of shivers puckered her skin, prickling the three deep gashes cut through her face.
A figure on horseback moved out from behind a cluster of trees and looked up at the house. Her breath caught in her throat and she quickly stepped back from the window.
“I know you’re afraid,” her father said. “It’s almost the Equinox. As soon as that bloody night passes, they’ll leave again. They always do. And then things can get back to normal.”
“Yes. Normal,” she murmured.
“Until then, just to be safe—”
“I know. I won’t leave the house.” She couldn’t even if she wanted to, even if she did have somewhere to go.
“Enjoy your supper, Dad.” She turned on the television to the evening news and left the room. She wasn’t up to a long visit with him, not tonight.
“Emma?” he said, stopping her.
She turned back. “When he comes, don’t turn the Cadre agent away.”
She closed her eyes, and tamped down on her growing frustration, then nodded. She might have to invite him in, but that didn’t mean she had to talk with him.

Damien Hancock’s heart skipped a beat as the woman stepped up to the window. She peered through the glass, looking at him as if she could see him, her blue eyes melting in loneliness. For a moment, he stared at her, moved by her loveliness, by her need. And then she was gone.
He shook off the strange feeling and looked around him, wondering why his brother would have come back here. This was where they’d lost their families, their lives, their humanity. He would have been happy never to have stepped foot near Wolvesrain again. The sooner he found his brother, the sooner he could leave. He reached with his senses, searching for Nicholai’s distinct aura, but found nothing.
He’d kept track of his brother’s comings and goings through the years. He knew the choices he’d made, the demons he’d fought and fed off. But he’d never looked for him, never wanted to see for himself the monster the Cadre had said Nicholai had become.
Until now.
Damien was tired of hiding, of burying his head in the sand. It was time he faced the truth of who his brother was, what he was. Maybe then he could discover a little something about himself, and what he wanted to do now that he’d cut his ties with the Cadre.
A deer stepped out from behind a bush and froze. The forest was full of the sounds he recalled from his youth, the smell of the beast, the deep dank richness of the earth. How could he be here and not remember the way it used to be?
He looked at the old manor house, with its dark oaks winding their limbs toward the dusty windows. The rotting shingles, the rusted iron. Nothing of its former grandeur. The thought pleased him. He’d like nothing better than to see Wolvesrain burn to the ground.
Before he could think on it further, the deer scampered off, and the large black stallion tramped the ground beneath its feet. He clucked his tongue and the horse moved slowly forward. It hadn’t gone more than ten yards when it stopped and backed up nervously, its ears twitching, the scent of fear rolling off it in thick waves.
Then he heard the sounds of something racing toward him. The horse neighed in alarm, its ears flattening, its nostrils flaring. It rose up on its hind legs, almost knocking Damien to the ground.
“All right, boy. All right,” he cajoled.
The horse reared again, its heart pounding against its ribcage beneath Damien’s tensed thighs. He turned the horse around, leaned forward, and kicked it into movement, tightening his calves, sending the horse away from Wolvesrain.
As they reached the cover of the trees once more, he turned back, looking toward the manor house. Wolves were racing toward them, their eyes gleaming red in the distance. He counted four, too many even for his superior strength.
Asmos’s demon wolves here for the woman in the window. Here to fulfill a gypsy curse. And then he knew why his brother was here. He was targeting the demon. His sights were set high this time. Too high.
The leather strap that had kept Damien’s hair bound at his nape loosened, and long strands of black hair fell free as the horse’s muscles moved taut and strong beneath him. He turned away from Wolvesrain and rode deeper into the forest as night cloaked him in darkness
He urged his horse faster, racing through the forest, searching for the presence that had teased him since he first arrived back in this part of England.
His brother, Nicholai.
In the distance a faint glow peeked through the trees, growing brighter as he approached the clearing. His pulse raced quicker, his body heat rising. He could smell the blood of the forest animals scurrying away from him, could hear it pulsing through the horse’s strong body beneath him.
But it was the village beckoning in the distance, not a clan of demon-feeding vampires. A good ten minutes later, Damien slowed the horse to a trot, then a walk. The poor beast was drenched with sweat and fear. Damien opened his mind, searching the area around him for the wolves. They were nowhere around. Neither was Nicholai.

Emma started down the back staircase, but hesitated as a familiar scent wafted on the air. Slowly, she continued down the stairs, her hand grasping hold of the rail while her mind groped for the source of the scent.
“Lucia?” she called, and stopped on the bottom step as her heart kicked up a nervous beat. Her gaze locked on to the panel door to the cellar that, when closed, was set flush into the far wall of the kitchen. Only now it was cracked open. Anxiety squeezed her heart.
She lifted a leaden foot and stepped to the kitchen floor. She supposed she’d known the door was there, set so well into the woodwork that one had to look closely in order to see the seams, but it had been so long since she’d actually thought on it, since she’d seen it open. Dread’s icy fingers skittered up her spine.
She couldn’t take her gaze off the door, and yet, her eyes ached from staring at it, from knowing that at any moment the door would swing open wider and she’d be able to see into the darkness beyond.
Her heart pounded so hard her chest hurt. She rubbed the area between her breasts, trying to soothe the ache as a dull roar thundered in her ears. She stepped closer. She didn’t want to see what was down there. What she wanted was to turn and run, to put as much distance between herself and the cellar as she possibly could.
Instead, she moved toward the door that led into the rear yard. She reached for the glass knob, as the familiar scent still drifted through her mind. Buried memories teased her, threatening to come to the surface.
She’d opened the cellar door before. Vaguely, she remembered steps that shifted and groaned beneath her feet. She recalled this same overly sweet scent, and the darkness, a deep, inky black that ate up every speck of light. She hadn’t even been able to see her fingers in front of her. And something else had been down there, something that hovered just out of reach.
Why couldn’t she remember? She glanced back at the cellar door. Why was she so afraid, so certain that if she went down there again, she wouldn’t come back? What had happened down there? She thought harder, letting her mind drift back down those stairs.
She remembered smoke rising from candles, from incense. She remembered shadows shifting on the wall, and something moving across the floor. Something dark and oozing. Blood. High-pitched screams reverberated through her mind. A child’s screams. Her screams.
Fear, thick and pulsing, stole her breath.
Run, Emma.
She yanked open the back door and ran out into the night away from her memories, away from that sickly sweet scent. She stopped halfway across the yard, and leaned against a tree, her fingers digging into the hard bark. A cool breeze caressed her face, lifting her hair, and soothing her fevered skin. The moon was full, lighting the yard, casting a silvery glow on the forest’s tall trees. Beckoning her forward.
Her eyes drifted shut. Images whirled through her mind. Blood…rivers of it, rushing across the floor, seeping into the cracks in the stones, flowing toward her, covering her feet. She gasped and opened her eyes. Something moved, coming toward her. A blur raced across the corner of her vision.
“Angel,” she called her dog, her voice sounding pathetically weak. But she knew better. She knew what was out there. She heard the panting, loud and rasping, too loud for her sweet little Angel. She turned and saw what her mind would never let her forget—gleaming wolf eyes flashing red in the wan light. Her heart stopped.
A scream gurgled in her throat. She knew she should run, but she couldn’t make herself move.
“Emma!” Lucia cried from behind her. She grabbed Emma’s arm, yanking her back across the yard and into the kitchen then slammed and locked the door behind them. “You can’t go out there. You know that!” Lucia’s eyes were wild with fear, as her strong fingers dug painfully into Emma’s shoulders. “What were you doing out there? You can’t do that again.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” Emma said and tried to twist free. “I just had to get away.” She looked past Lucia at the opened cellar door.
Lucia let go and took a quick step back, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to control her breathing.
Emma rubbed the sting out of her shoulders. “I was just calling Angel,” she lied, and scrubbed her face with her hands. “I’m fine. I’m okay. I won’t do it again.”
Lucia nodded, and visibly tried to calm herself.
“Really,” Emma insisted and forced herself to smile. “I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful.” She shook a brittle laugh loose from her chest, but before she could chase away the last vestiges of fear, a loud crash hit the side of the house, shaking the room, rattling the glass.
Lucia gasped. Emma jumped back as a large gray wolf peered through the window.
The first to react, Lucia ran toward it, waving her arms above her head. “Get out of here!” she cried.
Emma stood frozen to the spot as the wolf’s eyes locked on hers. The beast opened its mouth and crinkled its nose, baring long, vicious fangs, its mouth lifting in a snarl.
“He’s come for me,” Emma said softly.
“Get away,” Lucia screamed, grabbing a broom from the corner and swinging it at the window.
The wolf stared for another long moment, then turned and walked away.
Emma collapsed into a chair and rubbed at the scars burning like liquid fire in her flesh. “Maybe Dad is right. Maybe we should get out of here.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Lucia said, her voice hardening as her eyes filled with distress. “They won’t let us.”
Behind her, the door to the cellar yawned open, and, as Emma peered into the darkness beyond, a cold certainty seeped through her bones that Lucia was right. They couldn’t leave. The wolves wouldn’t let them. She had no choice. No hope. She was… cursed.

Thanks girls

love ya

Chapter 2


D amien Hancock’s blood rushed through his system toward his center. His teeth sharpened. He was filled to bursting with need—for food, for sex. And not necessarily in that order. He groaned as he smelled the sweet perfume of Anna, the cleaning girl, as she worked in the rooms upstairs. The throbbing in his groin intensified.
He heard the faint heartbeat of a rodent hidden behind the wall and his stomach turned with an intense need to feed.
There were several bags of bovine blood chilled in the room where he slept, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of them. He wanted warm blood. Fresh blood. Human blood? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, focusing on steadying himself, his fingers stroking the crystal in his pocket.
He took the amber-colored quartz out of his pocket and stared into its center, using his power to slow his heartbeat to a steady rhythm, to will his muscles to relax. His thirst mellowed. He walked toward the fridge, opened the door and tore open a bag of blood and drank greedily, then closed his eyes and deepened his breathing.
As a long-time member of the Cadre, he’d learned how to hone his self-discipline and use his power to strengthen his control. Only through self-denial and years of training had he become sufficiently worthy to be an adept—a master of the occult, a demon hunter. Someone worthy of capturing demons and returning them to the Cadre for interrogation, then, if warranted, for deportation to the demon realm.
It was because of his work to become an adept that he’d never touched a drop of human blood. That denial made him stronger, made him pure of heart and able to battle those who weren’t and win. But that didn’t make him crave the blood any less.
His phone rang, chiming through the walls and sending dread straight to his gut. He walked back down the corridor and into a sealed room, closing and locking the door behind him. Only one person had this number, only one person who’d bother to call. He stepped up to a videophone and pushed the button. “Hello, Nica.”
Nica Burrows, Communications Director at the Cadre, had been giving him his assignments for a long time and, as much as he might try, refused to let him gracefully fade away. The woman was tenacious, and annoyed the hell out of him.
“Hello, Damien. How are you faring?”
“Well, thank you,” he lied. He always lied to the Cadre now. No reason to bare his soul to them. They were all about what was best for the Cadre, and to hell with what was best for him or anyone else. Which was exactly why he’d cut his ties with them, if only they would leave them cut.
“Is that blood on your chin?” she asked.
Once again he was reminded why he hated modern technology. “Sorry, pet. Just had breakfast.”
No expression entered her picture-perfect face. She might as well have been a wax doll—all ash-blond hair, glassy blue eyes and porcelain skin. He couldn’t even recall her scent, probably because the blood that ran through her veins was ice-cold.
“We’re picking up strange readings at Wolvesrain,” Nica said. “Since you’re back in England, and you’re familiar with the area, with Wolvesrain, we thought you might be interested in helping us with this one small matter.”
He smiled, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Small matter? There is nothing small about Asmos.”
She arched one perfect brow. “Yes, and it is close to the Equinox. But the readings are stronger than usual. Something is happening out there. The demon wolves are back, and they’re stronger than before. You used to live there, Damien, before.”
“You mean when I was human?”
“You knew the McGovern ancestor, Amelia, who was cursed by the gypsy,” she continued.
“True.” He wouldn’t deny it. Camilla had been part of his clan. He knew she was powerful, he just had no idea she would have been able to call on a demon and start a chain of events that was still causing him trouble to this day.
“The McGoverns are scared. They need our help. With you right there, who better to end this? Who better than you to be there to send Asmos back where he came from?”
She had a point. It would be almost like starting over. And wasn’t that exactly what he wanted? A fresh start? To answer to no one but himself? To set out on a journey to learn the true purpose of why he was here?
“Just bring Emma to us where she’ll be safe. Then you can pick up the demon containment stones to use on Asmos. It’s what you’ve been trained for. It’s what you’re good at.”
“And you trust me with his capture? Come on, Nica. Why call me? Why should I care? Why should I ever want to capture another demon again after what happened last time?” After his complete failure?
Nica closed her eyes and when she opened them again, the glassy indifference was gone, replaced by the watery, brittle sheen of pain. “Because we can’t risk losing another agent to this demon. This time we need someone special, Damien. Someone like you.”
“And what makes me so special?” he asked, trying not to choke on the bitterness filling his mouth. “It wasn’t that long ago that I was persona non grata at St. Yve.”
“We know you’ll be able fight the curse where others have failed.”
“Why? Because human blood doesn’t pump through my heart? You think that will make me immune to the curse? Immune to the pull toward the McGovern girl?” He thought of the woman he’d seen standing in the window. How lovely she was, how lonely. Just thinking of her standing there started a fire in his belly he was certain wouldn’t be easily put out. No, his lack of human blood didn’t make him immune to her or the curse. “Maybe it’s because you think the girl could never love someone like me.”
“No, Damien,” she said quickly, too quickly. “The point is, even if the worst happens and you succumb to that pull and Emma does fall in love with you, if she does become a vessel for Asmos as her mother did, you will still be able to stop her. She won’t be able to kill you as easily as her mother killed Charles Lausen.”
Then he remembered, and his mouth went dry. “Charles Lausen was your father, wasn’t he?”
She stared at him, her gaze once again turning hard and cold—the chink in her armor sealed.
“If you won’t do it for us, do it for Emma McGovern.”
He almost laughed out loud. “Emma is the last in Amelia’s line, isn’t she? Once she’s gone, the Cadre will have nothing left to worry about. The curse will be complete.”
“She’s been marked by the wolves. She has been selected to be the next vessel for Asmos. If he wins, if he possesses her, who knows the damage he could do?”
“Sorry, pet. Not playing this time.”
“Please, Damien. At least go to Wolvesrain. Meet the McGoverns, scope out the situation for yourself, then make your decision. All we’re asking you to do is to deliver the girl to St. Yve.”
“No, you’re asking me to go back to Wolvesrain.” Back to the place where he’d been reborn. That night, a large clan of vampires had converged on the area, looking for Asmos, looking for Camilla. This particular band of vampires were demon hunters, feeding on possessed victims and familiars, growing stronger with each sip of the demon’s essence.
He and his brother had survived that night, to become demon hunters themselves. Damien, however, hunted for the Cadre, while Nicholai did it for the rush, the power, the surge of strength.
“Damien, what concerns us right now is the readings of vampires in the area.” Nica’s mouth tightened. “We think they’re after Asmos’s essence. They’re after the wolves, and if they find out about Emma, she won’t stand a chance. We’re sending a containment team. This family has been through hell. How many more people have to die because of this demon?”
Damien sighed and ran tense fingers through his hair. Did he really have any choice? Could he in good conscience turn his back on this one? No, it hit too close to home. He’d spent a good portion of his youth in the forest outside Wolvesrain. He knew the players. Worse, he knew the game. “All right. I’ll do it, Nica, but I’m doing it my way.”
“Which means?”
“Hold off on the vampire containment team until I get the lay of the land.”
“You think you know who they are?” she asked.
“Perhaps.” He disconnected the line and turned away before she could see the concern in his eyes. Vampires who drank demon blood were relentless and brutal, and lived on the edge of madness. Unfortunately, he already knew who the leader of this particular pack was.
Who said you could never go home?

Damien revved the engine, tearing up the road in his top-of-the-line black Mercedes CLK55 convertible. He loved to crank this baby up and fly through the countryside with the night wind whipping through his long hair. He turned the bend and flew down the long gravel road flanked on either side by old beech trees, and let out a raucous roar. There were few things left in his life that could fill his chest to bursting with absolute joy. One of the downfalls of immortality—everything just becomes so damned mundane.
Beyond the trees, the old forest encroached like soldiers waiting to reclaim their land. He pulled to a quick stop on the cobblestone drive circling in front of Wolvesrain. Impressive in its Gothic Revival architecture, the house, built in the eighteenth century, was several stories of light stone with peaked towers on each wing.
Back when he was young, it had been the most extraordinary estate in the area. The Earl of Wolvesrain generated fear and respect across the shire, while Amelia, his daughter, had been every man’s dream.
At that time, Damien had looked upon Wolvesrain with longing and envy. Now, as he took in the rot and decay, all he felt was disgust. He would do as the Cadre asked. He would check out the situation, and determine how much of a threat Asmos really was. Then, he would seek out these vampires, and find out where they’d come from, what they were after, and hope they weren’t here for the demon essence. Or the McGovern girl.
As he stepped out of the car, he couldn’t help but notice the disrepair of the old house, the crumbling stone, the decaying wood. One of the carriage lights flanking the steps was out, the other barely shone through the dirtied, thick glass. “The old man must be turning over in his grave,” he muttered, and chuckled.
A difficult man, the Earl hadn’t thought much of the gypsies, and had enjoyed running them off his land with his vicious dogs and cruel threats. One night in particular, when it had been pouring, the children in the camp had been crying from lack of sleep and not much food at supper to fill their swollen bellies, and still the old man had set his dogs on them. His peals of laughter had echoed through the night.
And Nica thought he should care what happened to Wolvesrain and the Earl’s descendents? He swallowed a bitter laugh. This place could burn to the ground and he’d bring out the marshmallows for a toasting. He didn’t owe Nica or the Cadre anything.
So why was he here? The question mocked him. Was it only because of his own kind? Or was it Asmos? Did he want answers from the vampires? Or did he miss the thrill of the hunt, the exhilaration of the capture? Or was he just hoping to find some kind of meaning for his miserable life?
He looked up at the old house, and the forest beyond. This was where it had all started. Where a young gypsy lost her heart, and called up a powerful, primitive demon. Then the vampires had come, wanting a piece of Camilla and her demon, and all hell had broken loose.
Damien’s parents had found him lying in the carnage of their camp and had whisked him to the Cadre, hoping for a magical cure to the vampire’s bite. Of course, there hadn’t been one. And while he might have been reborn that night, his two younger sisters had been viciously mutilated, and his brother? Left to join their maker’s clan.
Damien moved toward the house, then stopped as the bushes rustled behind him. It was then that he became aware of the peculiar absence of sounds around him. He reached with his vampire senses, searching for the soft playful tread of deer, or the quick furtive movements of rabbits, but there were none. No animals as far as his mind could touch.
A forest empty of life? Asmos must be near. Damien stared into the night, grasping with his heightened senses, searching for the demon wolves, easily seeing through the dark, but there was nothing. And yet a faint odor circled him—burning brimstone. The air thickened and chilled, moving tangibly across his skin. He stilled.
A lone gray wolf stepped out from behind a tree, its eyes glowing a vibrant red. Then another moved to his right, and yet another to his left. He knew without looking there’d be one more behind him. They stared at him, and he wondered if there was any of the wolf left in them, if they remembered him from a time when both he and Camilla were young and filled with foolish human dreams.
But he knew better. Camilla’s pets had become vessels for Asmos to enter the mortal realm and fulfill the wishes of a heartbroken gypsy by carrying out a centuries-old curse one last time. One by one the wolves sat, lifted their noses to the sky and howled homage to their master, Asmos, the demon of wrath.
Soundlessly, Damien stepped past them, walking toward the house and up the stone front steps. He lifted the brass knocker on what appeared to be a massive, impenetrable front door and let it fall. Deep ragged scratches marred the wood in several places. Claw marks.
A gypsy woman opened the door and Damien almost laughed out loud at the irony, at what the old Earl would be thinking of that one! Her midnight-black eyes filled with fear and grew large in her face as she stared at him. Did she know what he was?
“What do you want?” she asked, and pulled the door close to her, blocking his view of the inside of the house.
“Damien Hancock,” he said, and offered his hand. “The Cadre sent me to see Miss Emma McGovern.”
The woman’s lips parted slightly as surprise and indecision warred across her face. She ignored his outstretched hand, and reluctantly stepped back, inviting him in. He shrugged and walked past her, taking in the majesty of the grand marble-floored foyer. He’d always wondered what the inside of this house looked like. She gestured for him to go into the great room, then turned and left without speaking a word.
Surreptitiously, he watched her go. A gypsy who dabbled in the arts—he could tell by the scent of sage and a hint of honeysuckle drifting from her clothing. She had appeared to know instantly what he was, and still she’d invited him in. Interesting.
He entered a circular room with pale-blue silk-covered walls lined with paintings and aged photographs of past inhabitants—an impressive monument to Wolvesrain Manor. A large painting of a woman atop a beautiful snow-white horse commanded the room. Amelia.
She, like her father, had been mean-spirited and nasty to the entire gypsy camp. How he’d hated them both. Perhaps it was poetic justice that she should have survived Camilla’s wrath to produce a long lineage of tortured heirs burdened by a curse.
And Nica thought he should care.
He stifled a bitter laugh. He’d be curious to see if the current lady of the household was as self-centered and cold-hearted as Amelia had been. He recalled the way Amelia used to sneer down her nose at him and his friends, believing her lily-white porcelain skin to be too good for them. She thought the gypsy’s olive shade was…what was the word she used? Oh, yes—hideous.
Giving a little torment back to the current lady of the house might be worth his trouble. He grinned and continued his perusal, stopping to study a painting of the Earl. In this one he looked much older than Damien remembered, and a tad bit sickly.
He heard a movement in the corridor and turned toward the sound of swishing silk skirts and the shuffle of soft satin slippers. A woman stepped into the doorway, graced in layer upon layer of light-green chiffon. His breath caught. Darkness hovered around the furthermost edge of his vision. His chest constricted, palms dampened.
Isn’t she ravishing? Look at the fire burning in the eyes, the soft ruby dewiness of her lips—a peach ripe for the picking. Take a bite, Damien.
“Beautiful,” he agreed, watching the woman sashay into the room, her flaxen hair piled high on her head, a few tendrils escaping to curl down the long column of her exquisite throat. Fire burned in his belly, and he had an overwhelming urge to kiss that throat, to run his tongue gently across her beautiful skin, then sink his teeth deep into her flesh, filling his mouth with her sweet, warm blood.
He licked his lips and felt his fangs descend. Yes, he could almost taste her.
“Mr. Hancock? Are you all right?” A soft voice broke through the cloud in his mind, interrupting his delicious thoughts.
Stunned, he turned to the side and placed a hand over his mouth and pretended to cough until his teeth moved back to their rightful place. His stomach turned. Where had these thoughts—these desires—come from? He’d known the curse would try and draw him toward her, but could Camilla’s curse really be this strong? He sucked in a deep breath and steadied himself.
“Mr. Hancock?” Miss McGovern said again, her lilting voice warm and gentle like the caress of butterfly wings upon his cheek. He turned back and looked at her face—her flawless skin, her cherry lips ready for the tasting, her sky-blue eyes fresh and wide-open like the morning horizon beckoning a new day. “Are you all right? You’re as white as a ghost.” She reached her hand toward his.
He took it in his own and stared down at creamy white skin and marveled at the gentleness of her touch, the silky feel of her skin against his. His blood quickened. No, he answered in his mind, not a ghost, but a vampire. A beast who would love to take just a small sip.
“I’m fine,” he choked. “Emma McGovern?” He had to get hold of himself. He felt as if he had no control of his thoughts, of his senses, of his actions. He took another deep breath. Nonsense. He was Damien. Adept. Master of the occult. He’d trained for many years, honing his focus, his control. He would not fall victim to a foolish gypsy girl’s curse.
“Yes.” Miss McGovern looked at him quizzically, and with concern widening her beautiful eyes. “Welcome to Wolvesrain.”
“Thank you,” he muttered, and cleared his throat as he tried to grasp hold of the powerful sensations coursing through him. He forced a smile to put her at ease.
She turned and he noticed with a mind-wrenching jolt that she wasn’t wearing a gown, as he’d first thought, but blue jeans. Nor was her long golden hair piled up on her head, but instead it hung loose. In fact, she kept her head tilted so it hung in front of one side of her face, covering…something.
What kind of magic could alter his perceptions so completely? As he looked closer, a wave of dizziness swept over him, and the twinkling of laughter whispered through his mind. Asmos, a Daemon Incultus, more primitive and powerful than anything he had ever run across. No wonder the Cadre had sent him. Charles Lausen hadn’t stood a chance against a demon curse this strong.
Damien only hoped he did.

Chapter 3


“L ucia,” Emma called, her sing-song voice echoing through the room. “Mr. Hancock needs some hot tea and biscuits.”
The gypsy seemed to appear from nowhere to glower at him. Apparently, she’d been hovering. Annoyance surged through Damien, tensing his shoulders and, for a second, he imagined following her into the kitchen and taking a deep bite off that old gypsy neck.
Horrified by the thought, he slipped his hand into his pocket and wrapped it around the crystal, rubbing his thumb over the sharpest point, and focused on finding his center, his strength. He’d never once tasted human blood. That decision to remain pure, to fight his urges and focus on enhancing his power of control had made him what he was—a master adept, and the best demon hunter the Cadre had.
But he no longer worked for the Cadre, and he’d never faced a force as strong as this curse. He didn’t know how much worse these feelings could get. All he knew was that if he didn’t wrestle some control over his urges, this family could add him to their list of things to worry about.
“Please sit,” Emma said, and gestured to the settee in the middle of the room.
He nodded, and moved toward the couch. The lightheadedness wouldn’t cease, nor the play on his perceptions, and the deep need in his gut. He inhaled, closing his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. Just when he thought he had himself under control, the scent of lavender swirled through his mind.
It’s the blood, Damien. You need the blood. Her blood.
He opened his eyes and Emma was staring at him, a look of worry lining her beautiful face. She looked so fragile, so vulnerable, a fierce need to protect her swept through him as easily as a fire burning across a dry field.
He started to assure her that he was fine, that she would be okay, that he was there to help her, but then his gaze dropped to the lace of her blouse gently brushing against her throat. A small vein hidden beneath her delicate skin pulsed. He yearned to touch it with the tip of his tongue, to taste her soft, supple skin. He shifted closer, his breath going shallow.
Lucia walked quickly into the room, carrying a large tray of tea and biscuits, and dropped it on the walnut table in front of them with a bang. She poured the tea and thrust a cup at him.
“Thank you,” he murmured, then brought the cup to his lips, and gave her a twisted smile over the rim. She huffed indignantly, then turned away. The woman was too aware for her own good.
“So, how does the Cadre think they can help us this time?” Emma asked, as she sipped her tea.
They can’t. He bit down on his immediate response. He paused, trying to refocus, but suddenly didn’t care. He stared at her, willing her to turn and look at him. He yearned to lose himself once more in those incredible cornflower-blue eyes.
She continued to sip her tea, which kept her from having to turn fully to look at him. In fact, she’d hardly looked at him at all. What was she hiding beneath all that hair? He watched the light glimmer and bounce off the shiny strands, and for the first time in many years, felt the thrill of the unknown pump through his veins. This house was full of mysteries, of excitement, of danger.
Think how that long, silky hair would feel brushing against your bare skin, so soft, so gentle.
Yes. A part of him welcomed the unbidden thoughts as he watched the movement of those long, blond strands and suddenly he yearned to touch them, to reach over and brush her hair off her face. To run it through his fingers and wrap it behind the curve of her ear, baring her neck to his gentle touch. Just thinking of the things he wanted to do to her, and wanted her to do to him, made him stiffen beneath the supple leather of his pants. He shifted, trying to find comfort.
“The last time the Cadre sent someone to Wolvesrain to ‘help,’ it didn’t turn out so well,” she added, her voice hardening.
“I’ve heard,” he said, shifting again. “They think I’m…different.”
“Are you?” She straightened and looked in his eyes. Fear emanated from her, so strong he could almost taste it. And something else. Anger.
He breathed deep, sucking it in. “You don’t have to be afraid.” He could take care of her. Protect her. Angry red marks peeked out from beneath her hair. “May I?” he asked, and slowly reached toward her.
She stiffened as he gently lifted her hair back from her face.
Anger took root and spread within him as he took in the three deep gashes marring her beautiful skin. But even the anger didn’t diminish his need to touch her, and to have her touch him. “What happened?” he rasped, and clenched a fist at his side.
“Wolf attack, when I was a child.”
He thought of the scratches on the door and cringed, knowing they would come for her again, knowing the wolves were outside now, waiting. And she was so vulnerable.
Protect her, Damien. You’re all she has.
He stood and turned away from her, fighting the voice he knew was Asmos. Fighting the desire to pull her into his arms and make love to her, to chase away her fear. Knowing that was exactly what the demon wanted.
He turned back to face her. “The Cadre would like you to come with me to St. Yve. You will be protected there, and even better, they can show you how to protect yourself.”
“Protect myself from what?” she asked, her eyes probing his. The howling started again. She shuddered, then stood and approached the French doors.
“They’re not just wolves,” he said, absently, trying desperately to focus on the situation, on what he needed to say to convince her. But her fear was almost palpable, almost audible as it rushed through her blood.
Intoxicating, isn’t it, Damien? Think how fast her blood is pumping through her veins. So sweet. Just one sip, what would it hurt? If you did it right, she won’t even know. In fact, she’ll enjoy it.
Just one taste? Damien’s sharpened fangs descended. He stepped behind her, his hand brushing her shoulder. He leaned close, breathing deeply of her sweet lavender scent. Her skin was so soft, so delicate.
“Emma, you look tired,” Lucia said, as she walked into the room. “Go upstairs, take a hot bath, and call it a night. I’ll look after your dad and—” she gestured toward Damien with a look of disgust twisting her face “—him.”
Damien stepped back and turned toward the hearth. Had he really almost bitten her? Two hundred and fifty years without once sipping human blood, and he’d almost succumbed after less than thirty minutes in this house? Camilla’s curse, Asmos’s machinations, were proving too powerful, even for him.
“Mr. Hancock?” Emma started.
“Damien, please,” he responded, turning back to her. As he looked into her cornflower-blue eyes, he was once again struck by her beauty, by the soft, gentle way she spoke and moved. Hunger coiled within him.
“It’s late, and I haven’t offered you anything to eat—”
Look how her skin glows in the soft light, look at her lips, so plump, so ripe.
Oh, yes. His gaze fixed on the soft rhythm of her pulse, clearly evident beneath her luminescent skin. His teeth ached.
“Are you hungry?”
Starved. He shook his head. “Sorry?”
“Can I offer you some supper?”
“No.” He took a step back. “Thank you. I’ve already eaten.” He had to get hold of himself. For the first time, he wasn’t sure if he could control this…bloodlust.
He’d always thought he’d had an understanding of the term, but he’d been wrong. Now he knew. “I understand that you don’t want to leave your home, but St. Yve really would be a better place for you right now.” For both of them. He couldn’t stay here any longer than she could.
Her jaw stiffened and she pulled back, once again retreating behind her hair. “How would you or the Cadre know what would be better for me?”
He stepped forward and grasped hold of her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Trust me. I know more than you can imagine.”
She gasped, and jerked away from his touch.
“I think you should leave,” Lucia demanded.
“I’m sorry.” He moved away from Emma, annoyed that he even cared what the wolves had done to her. What Asmos had planned for her next. She was the Earl’s blood. Amelia’s blood!
Can’t you hear it rushing through her delicate veins?
Damien stiffened, nervousness bunching his muscles. He had to get out of this house. He was the last person the Cadre should have sent to help her. He felt the curse too strongly, felt Asmos as if he were in the room, his essence swirling around him, thick as smoke—black, evil smoke that filled his lungs and infected his thoughts.
“You don’t know anything about me,” Emma insisted. “How could you? We’ve never even met before.”
He spun round, feeling almost desperate to get her out of this house. “I know you’re afraid to go out those front doors. You live in constant fear, fear of the people in the city, and fear of the wolves in the forest. Living your life in hiding is no way to live. It’s time for you to make a stand. Come with me.”

Emma stared at him. How could he know how she felt? How could he know anything about her after having just met her? Afraid that somehow it was all clear in her eyes, she turned away from him and walked once again toward the French doors. A wolf stepped up to the glass and stared at her. She jumped back, muffling a small cry.
Damien touched her shoulder. She turned and looked up into his steel-blue eyes, and saw they had softened. “It’s okay. I’m here to help.”
Was it possible? She wanted to believe him, wanted to grasp on to some kind of hope. “Can the Cadre really help us?”
“Don’t believe him, Emma,” Lucia whispered, her warning reverberating through Emma’s mind. Her father asked her to let him in, she had, she was polite. But that didn’t mean she had to leave with him. And although he seemed to know a great deal about her, what did she know about him?
She stole a glance at him as he stood in front of the stone hearth, his black hair brushed back off his face, his bright-blue gaze staring at her through dark-rimmed eyes. Thick eyebrows and a strong jawline betrayed strength of character, but it was his deep stare that affected her most. He looked at her as if he knew her, as if he’d always known her.
Emma approached the table, picked up the tea service and handed it to Lucia. She would not go up to bed. She would stay here and discover as much about this man as she could, because he was right about one thing, she had a decision to make. “Don’t worry, Lucia, I can handle this.”
Lucia started to protest, then stopped as Emma narrowed her eyes. Lucia stiffened her shoulders and left the room. Emma turned back to Damien. His head was tilted as if hearing something, and concern lined his face.
“You can’t stay here,” he said. “At some point, you’re going to have to trust someone to help you. You can’t fight Asmos on your own.”
“Who’s Asmos?”
“The demon who lives in the wolves. The demon who’s come to claim you.”
She stared at him, unable for a second to comprehend what he was saying. A demon? Fear, cold and sharp, pierced her heart. “But, I thought the curse was about love?”
“Asmos is the demon who will fulfill the curse. He will tempt you to fall in love, whispering in your mind, heightening your awareness, until you feel you will go mad if you don’t feel love’s touch.”
His voice dripped across her senses, even as his words shocked her. What if what he said were true? How could she fight it? How could she protect herself from a demon? But the questions, the fears and doubts, faded as Damien’s spicy scent filled her.
Without thought, her gaze dropped to his full lips and she couldn’t help wondering, what would they taste like? How would they feel brushed up against hers?
Do it, Emma. Touch him. Kiss him. He’s the one you’ve been waiting for. The love you’ve always wanted, but have never had.
She tried to push the thoughts from her mind, but her head was spinning. Suddenly she wanted him to touch her. She stepped closer to him, even as her mind, her voice found protest. “I can’t leave. My father—”
That’s it, Emma. Never leave. Stay here with him. He’s been waiting for you, too.
Damien took her hand in his, and she knew as soon as she felt his touch that the voice was right, they were meant to be together. They’d been waiting so long, and now they’d finally found each other.
“You can leave. We’ll take your father with us,” his voice was soothing, a balm for her aching lonely heart. She listened to him as he whispered through her mind, but she didn’t really hear what he was saying. How could she, when his fingers touched her hand, moving softly over her skin, making her feel as if she’d never been touched before?
She looked down at his long, strong fingers. His skin was smooth, his grasp confident. His voice filled her like thick sweet honey fresh from the hive while his mere presence set her body quivering, as if every nerve ending was exposed.
She looked up and searched his eyes for any sign of what he was feeling. Was he feeling this connection between them? Or was revulsion all he felt when looking at her marred face? But what she saw surprised her—admiration, honesty and desire.
He thinks you’re beautiful, Emma.
Was it possible? His gaze drew her in, pulling her toward him. There was no escape. Her pulse raced and warmth flushed her skin. She imagined what it would be like to touch his raven-black hair, to run her fingers across the darkened stubble along his jawline. What kind of spell had he cast over her? No, not a spell, a curse…a gypsy curse.
Don’t ever succumb to love, Emma. Promise me. Her mother’s pleading words filled her mind. She’d made the promise, but she’d never imagined desire’s pull would be so strong. So extreme. And even now, staring into this stranger’s feral gaze, she could see the gypsy blood coursing though him, could feel it drawing her in.
She looked down at the floor. She would not give in. She couldn’t.
Go on, Emma. He wants you. Can’t you see it? Feel it? The urgent voice grew louder in her mind, kindling an excitement she’d only dreamed of. Telling her exactly what she wanted to hear, and then she knew it wasn’t a voice at all. It couldn’t be. It was her wishful thinking. She’d finally gone mad. The alternative? A demon thirsting for her soul.
She pulled free and turned from him. No. She couldn’t give in to it now. She was stronger than that, stronger than the evil plaguing her—this demon. This Asmos. She had to be, or surely she would fall victim to the curse herself, and then, like her mother and her mother’s mother before her, she would die.
“Why should I trust you?” she asked, her voice breaking because she wanted to trust him. She wanted to believe in him, in hope that there was a way out of this nightmare.
“Because you have no other choice. You’re alone out here. And if you don’t listen to me, if you don’t come with me to St. Yve, you will not survive the Equinox.”
Defiance crept through her. “I’ve survived the last twenty-five Equinoxes, what makes this one so different? How do I know you’re not trying to scare me?”
“You don’t need me for that. You’re scared enough on your own.”
He was dead-on about that, but she wasn’t about to admit it to him.
He walked toward the windows. She turned and saw his head once more cocked at the weird angle.
“What is it? Do you hear something?”
He stiffened then turned to her, his blue eyes hardening. “Lock your doors and windows tonight, and don’t let anyone else in the house.”
“Why, what is it?” she demanded, her nerves already coiled into a tight spring. She didn’t need any more surprises. Not tonight.
“I’m not sure,” he muttered, and stared out into the darkness. Something about his posture, about the set of his jaw, set her imagination working overtime. “Get a good night’s sleep, and think on what I’ve said. Let your father know we’ll be leaving for St. Yve tomorrow evening.”
She almost choked. Just like that? Did she have any choice in the matter at all? “I take it you’ll be staying then?”
“If that’s all right with you?”
She almost snorted. No, it wasn’t all right with her. Nothing about any of this was all right with her. The wolves started howling again, sounding much closer than she cared for. She jumped, then hugged herself. All right, she supposed she was glad he was there. Just a little. “Thank you,” she said, stiffly. “I’ll appreciate having a protector in the house.”
As she said the words something shifted in his eyes, making her wonder if perhaps she’d made a mistake. What if Lucia had been right all along? What if the Cadre couldn’t be trusted?
She turned toward the staircase. It didn’t matter what any of them thought. She had no choice but to trust him. There were no other avenues open to her, no one else who believed she needed help.
No one alive who had ever looked at her the way he did. As if she was worth something. As if she was… beautiful.