Dakotah's Reading

CHAPTER 1

It was time to leave. The tightness between Dakotah Flemming’s shoulder blades, the sensation of being watched, the faint whiff of wolf she’d smelled on several occasions—all of it was confirmation of what her instincts had been urging for days.

She needed to get moving. Tomorrow. Sooner if she could find Roy and get her cut of the ride receipts. Tonight if she could still catch a bus out of the small town where the carnival had stopped, setting up in the hopes of drawing from the people coming for the psychic fair.

Fuck. If she’d known about the psychic fair, she would have bolted from the last town.

Her stomach twisted, exposing the lie for what it was. She’d caught faint traces of wolf in that town too, but she’d stuck around anyway, just in case Sarael called, needing help.

Dakotah shivered. Vague images of the man Sarael had been running from pressing in on her. Whatever he was, he wasn’t human. He wasn’t wolf. His scent was cold and alien even though she’d been aware of the blood rushing through his veins and heard his heart beating with lethal menace.

Her nose wrinkled in a silent snarl of denial as her womb fluttered and desire rippled across her abdomen before settling in her pussy. A lingering reaction to the potent pheromones the man had used to subdue and enthrall her.

She had a vague impression of talking to him, of being led to her trailer, of knowing she was in the presence of a predator more deadly than anything she’d encountered before. A man whose presence had stirred the wolf inside her. It wanted a mate like the male who’d claimed Sarael.

Dakotah’s lips twisted. The wolf was mistaken in thinking that a mate would solve all their problems. The wolf hadn’t seen men like those she’d been forced to service. The wolf hadn’t been a part of her during those nightmare years. Hadn’t watched through her eyes or experienced things through her body.

The wolf hadn’t endured. Hadn’t loathed and reviled the men she’d struck with whips and paddles while they pleaded with her in little-boy voices, begging for more punishment. Begging her to do degrading things to them.

Disgust curled in Dakotah’s stomach. The wolf hadn’t seen men like the ones who’d populated her world before she died—not literally—though maybe it had been like that. Maybe she had died in those dark woods and been reborn into something straight out of a horror film. She couldn’t remember very much beyond escaping. Running. Bleeding. Hurting. The pain so intense that if she’d had the strength, she might have killed herself to end it.

Her hands balled into fists. Never. No matter how many men Victor Hale sent after her, she wouldn’t die without a fight.

The wolf stirred and she forced herself to relax. If she couldn’t get out of this town tonight, then she’d let it run. It might be a while before she could risk it again. She owed that part of herself a chance to escape from the deep cage it was forced to live in.

It had been a struggle at first—controlling the wolf, suppressing it, convincing it that only death would follow if its presence became known—especially to others who also had a second form. But a couple of chance encounters, fights that had left the wolf nearly savaged, lucky to escape, and it no longer believed that finding a pack was the answer.

Now the wolf moved deeper into the darkness of Dakotah’s soul when it scented others like itself. Now it tried to contain any trace of itself for fear of triggering an attack. And in return, Dakotah ceded control when the wolf’s form replaced her own, let it hunt deer and wallow in the kill, let it run free as long as it didn’t threaten innocent human life.

Yeah. If she couldn’t get out of this town tonight, she’d let the wolf run. It was cold enough outside that even horny teenage lovers would favor the backseat of a car over a blanket in the woods.

Dakotah looked around the small trailer that had been her home for the last year. A tin can on wheels. But a lump formed in her throat anyway, burning for a second until she swallowed it.

It’d been a good year. The safest she’d known in forever. Though the carnival still attracted its share of predators. Townies usually. Who thought the women would be easy.

But she’d managed to have some fun. To be around boys and men who were…decent. Around people who were decent.

She’d forgotten people could be like that. She’d forgotten that it didn’t always come down to either using or being used. Maybe she’d never known it to begin with.

But it was still time to move on. At least she could leave knowing Sarael was okay.

Dakotah reached for the black leather jacket hanging on a hook next to the door and heard the slow, unmistakable gait of Helki, the carnival’s ancient fortune-teller, drawing close to the trailer. She tensed. Bracing herself for the rattling of the door as the old woman stopped on the other side of it and knocked.

“You’re leaving,” Helki said when Dakotah opened the door and stepped back to allow the old woman to enter.

Dakotah shrugged, determined not to feed the fortune-teller any information. Even after a year of traveling with the carnival, of hearing Sarael’s tales of Helki’s tarot readings, of being around Sarael who actually believed in what the cards foretold—Dakotah remained skeptical. Not that truth couldn’t be found in the cards—but that it couldn’t be altered.

“You won’t find Roy tonight,” Helki said, her eyes dancing with mirth when Dakotah stiffened, giving away the fact that she’d been about to seek the carnival owner out.

“Where is he?”

Helki cackled, a sound she seemed to reserve for skeptics and fools. “He’s got a couple of lady friends in this town. He’ll be catting around all night and most of the morning.”

“Thanks for coming by and saving me the trouble of looking for him.” Dakotah shifted from one foot to the other before pressing forward, deciding it was better to get it over with than to play head games with the fortune-teller. “Is that all you wanted to tell me? Or did Sarael send a message?”

Helki’s face softened at the mention of Sarael, the child she’d raised when Sarael’s mother left her behind at the carnival. “No. Though you will see her sooner than you might think and be a part of her world for more years than you can imagine.”

A burst of warmth filled Dakotah’s heart, and for a moment she let herself believe, but then she ruthlessly pushed it aside. Sarael was already in Italy. And even if she did come back to the United States, there’d be no happy reunion. By tomorrow Dakotah would be gone. In another couple of days, she’d have a new name, a new identity, a new cell number. In a couple of days, Dakotah Flemming would no longer exist, though she had a feeling this name, this identity would be the hardest one she’d ever shed.

She’d adopted the name for the rugged wildness that could be found in the Dakotas. For the wolf. But over the last year, she felt as though she’d become Dakotah. It would bother her to… She shrugged the thought away. She couldn’t afford to become sentimental over a name.

“So you swung by to save me the trouble of looking for Roy? Thanks,” Dakotah said, her body tensing, her mind already guessing the reason behind Helki’s visit.

It was a strange tradition at this carnival. A reading by Helki before you were allowed to stay. A reading by Helki before you left—if you intended to leave on good terms. She didn’t plan on coming back. But the life she’d led had taught her it was smarter to leave doors open than to slam them shut. “You want to sit down?”

The skin around Helki’s dark eyes crinkled with amusement. She answered by taking a seat and pulling a velvet-wrapped deck of tarot cards from the pocket of her coat.

Without being told, Dakotah took the chair opposite the fortune-teller and accepted the deck. Keeping her mind free of all thoughts as she shuffled then cut and restacked the deck, before handing it back to Helki.

For a long moment the old woman held the deck, her eyes closed as though she was listening to a story only she could hear. Dakotah grimaced and shifted in her chair, a tightness forming in her chest despite her desire to ignore what was going on in front of her, to reject the possibility that the reading was significant for her.

Helki’s eyes snapped open and Dakotah’s pulse jumped in response. The fortune-teller’s knowing expression leaving Dakotah torn between amusement and irritation. But before she could think of anything to say, Helki placed three cards on the table between them. One after the other. The past. The present. The future.

Death.

Strength.

The Emperor.

Uneasiness moved through Dakotah, surprise. Wariness. But she forced herself to remain motionless, realizing in the instant she did so that it betrayed as much as movement would have.

Helki studied the cards, reaching out and laying her finger on the black-cloaked figure of Death, tracing over the scythe in his hands. “You have died and been reborn into a different person. It was a violent transition and death still stalks you in the form of a man who wants revenge.” Her fingers moved to the lion depicted in Strength. “Where others have become monsters as a result of the things you have experienced, you have gained from them, the blending of your will and intellect with the beast within making you stronger.” Helki’s eyes sought Dakotah’s and she gently tapped The Emperor. “The time will come when you will face the enemy who wants you dead, but you will not do so alone. Another change awaits you. This time at the hands of a man unlike any you have known before. A man who wants your life, not your death.”

Without another word, Helki gathered the cards and stood, leaving Dakotah to stare at the place where they’d been—the tarot images forever burned into her memory. She shivered despite the warmth of the trailer, longing coiling around in her chest, weaving through her heart, momentarily wrapping her in hope until she tossed it off.

Helki had guessed correctly about the past. Had somehow glimpsed the wolf underneath Dakotah’s skin and interpreted what it meant in the present. But the fortune-teller’s vision didn’t accurately reflect the future.

As much as the wolf might want a mate, Dakotah didn’t have any illusion that such a thing was possible. Lovers, yes—though not often and never for longer than it took to gain release. It was foolish to wish for more, to hope for more, to allow herself to believe the future held anything but running and surviving.

Domino Santori watched as the fortune-teller left the trailer and made her way back to her own home on wheels, pausing for a moment to look in his direction, as though sensing him in the darkest shadows of the night.

He grimaced like a small boy caught at mischief and could easily imagine the flash of amusement in Helki’s eyes, could very nearly hear her knowing cackle as she disappeared from view. No doubt she would share her thoughts tomorrow.

Within moments, the reason for his presence at the carnival emerged from the trailer Helki had just left. Dakotah.

Her scent reached him first, stirring his lust. Stirring the wolf’s lust.

Domino smiled when Dakota headed in the direction of the woods. He already knew them well. Not as a man. But as a wolf.

Anticipation roared through him. He had never run with a human who could shift into wolf form. Had never hunted with one. Never shared the night and the glory of chasing a deer or rabbit, killing it and feeding a hunger of the body and not The Hunger of his race.

He was dhampir. A soldier of the vampire race. A man born to protect his kind. He had the strengths of a vampire—the needs of one—and yet he could move about in the sun, feeding on the enemies he hunted, draining them of all life without sanction—at least until The Transformation, The Change occurred—turning him from dhampir to full vampire, a reproductively mature male who would have to deal with both The Hunger and The Heat.

He would lose his ability to move about in the sun in a human form, a price he was required to pay in order to secure the part of his alien heritage that would make him nearly impossible to kill, that extended his lifespan so it covered centuries instead of decades. He would gain the ability to change into mist and dissipate into the air, the vampire’s most effective self-defense mechanism, though unlike most vampires he would still have access to a physical shape—the wolf’s—should he need to be out in the sunlight.

It was a shape he enjoyed. A wildness he embraced. One free of the rules that usually governed him—with the exception of one. Neither the dhampir nor the wolf were allowed to attack humans who didn’t deserve to die.

He didn’t expect to encounter such a human tonight, not when the woods were cold and unwelcoming. A perfect place to run in his other form.

Domino’s cock pressed against his jeans, his balls grew heavy, aching to be free of the confining clothing. To hang between his legs in proud display in the presence of a female. In the presence of a potential mate, the wolf claimed, and the man laughed. He couldn’t imagine craving only one particular cunt when there was such a variety of pleasure to be had among mortal women. He couldn’t imagine finding a female whose mind interested him as much as her body, whose strength and courage he could admire, not for just a night but for the centuries that lay ahead for him.

Let others of his kind tie themselves to kadines—the human females created and raised for the purpose of being converted. Let others claim their brides and see them through the changes. Exchanging blood three times so the bodies of their mates were altered enough to enable them to bear a vampire’s young, though they weren’t fully vampire themselves.

It was a responsibility Domino didn’t want. A cleverly disguised trap that led to loss of freedom.

To take a kadine was to be sexually bonded to her for centuries. The connection so deep that her happiness would become his, her sorrow his. Her life his, because without his blood, and his blood alone, she would die.

It was the ultimate insurance against betrayal. The ultimate insurance against one vampire coveting the mate of another. A complex design woven into their cells by ancient, alien ancestors. Ancestors who’d ruthlessly done what was necessary to survive, to adapt, to ensure that they wouldn’t become extinct on the hostile, primitive world in which they found themselves.

Domino followed Dakotah as she moved deeper among the trees, each step a freeing of the wolf inside her. It amazed him how well she hid what she was. Fane had made no mention of it and he’d stationed himself at the carnival until Matteo Cabrelli had arrived from Italy in order to claim Sarael. Even Domino’s own wolf hadn’t been entirely certain until tonight. But as soon as she’d stepped from the trailer and bathed in the light of the moon, her focus on the woods—he’d known.

She stopped in a small clearing, a place that was little more than rocks and the half rotted trunk of a massive tree, lying on its side, a handful of its branches still reaching for the sky in silent supplication. Domino halted as well, making sure he was downwind of her, seeing a wariness in her body as she paused, searching the shadows as though she could feel him there, before relaxing and shedding her jacket, hanging it over a tree branch.

Her scent and clothed body alone had been enough to arouse him, but as the remainder of her clothing followed her jacket, his cock enlarged past the point he could continue to endure. With a silent groan he opened his jeans, taking himself in hand, unable to bear the thought of looking away from Dakotah even long enough to remove his own clothes.

She was magnificent. Stunning. Sleek lines and erotic curves. Dark nipples and dark hair between her thighs.

The wolf wanted to howl, to pounce. To feast on her scent and taste her. To mount her and thrust its penis into her hot, wet channel.

The man wanted the same.

When she moved out of sight again, slipping behind the fallen tree, Domino released his cock and quickly stripped. He crouched, tensing involuntarily, the remembered agony of his first change still present though the pain was no longer a part of each transformation.

When he stood again he was in wolf form, though no canis lupus would ever grow to be as massive as he was. Nor would their eyes be obsidian, as black as his coat.

She was wolf now too. The breeze informed him of that.

The majority of what human scent remained in the small clearing resided on the discarded clothing, with only a tiny hint lingering on fur—just enough so that one supernatural being would recognize another.

The wolf wanted to trot right over to her, to thrust its nose against her and wallow in the rich female smell. It wanted to explore her with its tongue. To chase and hunt with her before getting down to the business of covering her body and penetrating her, sending its cock into her wet heat in a frenzy of mating bliss.

But the man held back. Knowing it would be better to let Dakotah get deeper into the forest. To allow the wolf she kept suppressed to grow stronger before approaching her.

And so they ran together, separately at first, with the huge black wolf being careful to stay downwind of the smaller, lithe brown-gray female. But when a rabbit darted from a bush, its cotton tail a ball that instinct demanded be chased, Domino surged out of the shadows and into Dakotah’s awareness.

The female wolf whirled, bracing for an attack, but when the larger male charged past her, intent on the rabbit, his scent carrying the unmistakable whiff of a being who was more than wolf, she raced after him. The wolf’s will dominating despite the human soul struggling deep inside, trying to rise to the surface.

But the wolf would not yield. It recognized what the human did not. A mate.

There was no way the wolf was going to be denied. There was no way it was going to be pressed back into the cage it lived in—not until it had been mounted by the large male whose lush scent had sent it into heat, swelling its vulva and making its hormones rage.

She caught up to him easily, yipping in ecstasy, both of them plunging through thickets, immersed in the smell of dark woods and each other as they hunted together, the shared activity bonding them, their forms defining their behavior, so that when the hunt ended in a clearing without a kill, it was the female who approached the male, rubbing her body against his, offering him a chance to inhale her scent, to lick her—the escaped rabbit no longer of interest as they nuzzled and explored, growing more eager to mate with each passing moment.

It was a brief courtship, a hurried affair done before the humans could interfere. The female presenting herself to the male, bracing as he maneuvered into position, mounting her from the back and thrusting inside, his forelegs gripping her tightly as he rutted, the tip of his penis engorging until he could no longer slide in and out of her channel.

He dismounted then, his hind leg passing over her back as he turned to face the opposite direction, the wolf form allowing his penis to flex and twist as the swollen tip remained in her vagina. Ejaculating. The tie lasting until his testicles were empty of seed.