CHAPTER ONE
Juliette knew something was wrong. She could feel it on the wind as it blew across the Atchafalaya Basin and onto her front porch. The sun had gone down two hours ago and the night creatures were starting to come out to hunt. Every noise that floated through the swamps was a familiar one, but there was something amiss about the night. She could feel it in her very soul. The owl hooted in the distance and the crickets still sang their mating song, but underneath the soundtrack that had been her life for the past six months there was a menacing vibration she couldn’t ignore.
She sat on her front porch, shotgun in her hands, a box of bullets next to her on the creaky old porch swing. Tonight could be the night she’d been dreading for half a year, the night when those who were hunting her finally found her and dragged her away, forcing her to bend to their will, at their command. She looked down at her wrists, at the marks that would never go away, proof she had been held hostage, tied down and forced to do things that made her crazy with regret.
She had hurt people. More than hurt them, she had destroyed them, pulling their souls from their bodies, turning them into walking shells, forcing them to do the bidding of those who hunted her. There was no real word for the devils that’d been chasing her, but she called them Les Damnes, the Damned. They were the ones who used those soulless humans to do their dirty work, to control the area around the Basin and even farther, making their way to New Orleans and to Baton Rouge, determined to run the entire state by the time they were finished.
Juliette had tried in vain to escape during the three months they’d held her, , lost in some unknown part of the state, kept in a dark cell until her powers were needed. They barely fed her, kept her in isolation as a slave until she could be of use. And then the true horror began as she was forced to lay her hands on those people and pull their life forces from their bodies. Even now as she clung to the shotgun, she remembered how it felt to drain them, to pull their essence away and leave them hollow. They were nothing more than zombies, moving sluggishly, ambling along, and doing exactly what they were told with no regard for life or limb.
When her keeper had been occupied with one particularly stubborn individual, she’d seen her moment for escape and taken it, moving blindly through the shadowed hallways, not sure if she would meet day or night on the outside, not sure if she would even make it that far. But she had to try, had to force her legs to move, to carry her away from that hell-hole. If she hadn’t been able to get out, she would’ve found a way to force them to kill her. Or she would have killed herself. But first, she’d had to try.
Her hand shook now as she remembered those few fevered hours when she had escaped. Her feet were raw and red from traveling over rocks, her legs were cut from the trees and limbs scraping against her, but she still pushed her way into the forest, using the night sky as her guide. She had always been told to head north, and she knew how to guide herself by the stars. Somewhere soon, she would find civilization. Somewhere soon, she would be free.
She would never forget the woman who had taken her in, had helped her heal, had honored her wishes to avoid a hospital, and made sure she was returned home. They would be looking for her, and they knew how badly she was injured. She had left a trail of blood behind. Breathing in the night air, she whispered a silent prayer to whichever god or goddess felt the urge to listen tonight. She prayed for her friend’s safety, for the kindness she’d been shown. And tonight, she prayed that whatever was prowling on the edges of the swamp would stay away from her.
The moon settled above the trees, and she could tell midnight was here. Her grand-mére had taught her that midnight was for banishing spells and for controlling evil and inflicting harm. Just before midnight was for healing and protection. However, she’d learned that evil knew no time, had no limit. It never mattered what time of day or night it was when her powers were needed. None of the damned seemed to care about tradition.
She waved a hand in front of her eyes, calling upon the night, conjuring up the sight she needed. The wind had stilled, but there was still a hint of the forbidden licking around at the edges of her swamp, honing in on the wards she had put around it. Something was trying to get in.
Her back stiffened and sweat began beading on her forehead and dripping down into her eyes.
“Let me see,” she whispered.
The vision hit her square in the chest, causing the gun to fall from her fingers and bounce onto the wooden porch. Luckily, it hadn’t fired, but it startled her just the same. She could see what was coming, and she’d never seen anything like it before.
It was a man, but not a man. He moved with catlike grace and his eyes reflected the moonlight. His face was covered with soft white fur, barely visible to the naked eye but very clear in her vision. His nose was flat and wide, his forehead elongated. He half crawled, half walked as he edged toward her boundaries.
Breathing in the night air, hoping to pull more of him into her, making the vision even clearer, she gasped, her mouth open wide, her throat dry. He was completely naked. Gloriously naked. Seeing him, even if he was a vision, sent heat straight to her core. There was something about him, about the combination of man and animal that called to her primitive self and unnerved her. And his eyes…his eyes looked just as pained as hers, just as fed up with the world.
He raised a hand in front of his face and she saw red. Blood. He was hurt. He stumbled now, falling against a tree. Bracing himself against it, he pushed away, trying to steady his gait, trying to move himself forward. He was less than a hundred yards from her when he collapsed.
