Untouched Page 25

  I think of you as I try to sleep each night and wonder if you will have her gift. I try to find you in the dream realm, but I seem to be walking there less and less with each passing day.

  If you do someday discover your heritage, and by some miracle you have an Amoveo mate who finds you, please be wary. We suspect the corruption goes all the way to the Council, possibly even to The Prince himself.

  You should take comfort in knowing that you are not alone. There are other hybrid children. There are rumors that some of them even know who and what they are, but they are being raised in secret and away from our people. I continue to hope that you may find the others like yourself… or that they will find you.

  I love you my darling daughter, and I will carry you in my heart, my Amoveo heart, for the rest of my days.

  Your Father—Joseph

  Tears dripped heavily on the timeworn paper in her shaking hands. Kerry wiped at her wet face as Dante’s strong arms wrapped tightly around her waist, and the fox image burst into her mind. He murmured soft musings in her ear and placed a warm kiss on her neck. She clutched his arms against her and held him close, allowing herself to be swallowed by the honeyed warmth of his touch. He rocked her slowly, but said nothing.

  “I wish I could’ve known them.” Her voice shook, and she let out a shaky breath. “He died to save us, Dante.”

  “I know.” He sighed.

  “There are others like Samantha and I, Dante. That night, Pasha mentioned that there were others who had mated with humans, and my father confirmed it in his letter.” She shuddered and leaned even further into his embrace. “We have to find them before the Purists do,” she pleaded. “Promise me we’ll find them. I know how lonely I was, how out of place. I hate the idea of others out there suffering like that. I was so lonely and in so much pain.” She sighed softly and smiled. “At least until you found me.”

  Gently, he turned her around to face him and tilted her chin up, forcing her to look into his glowing amber eyes. She studied his handsome face and wanted to commit every line, every curve, to memory. His warm eyes, the ones that filled with passion almost every time he looked at her, flared brightly in the dark night. His strong forehead and high cheekbones came together to create an incredibly beautiful man. Her man. Her mate. Her heart fluttered in her chest and literally took her breath away. She’d almost lost him, and she still hadn’t told him that she loved him. She still hadn’t said those three little words out loud.

  “We’ll find them,” he whispered and placed a featherlight kiss on the tip of her nose. “I promise. Who knows? Maybe they’ll find us.”

  Kerry stilled. “Do you think what he said was true? That there are hybrids out there who know what they are?”

  “Maybe,” Dante said softly. “At this point, nothing would surprise me. All I know is that I’m grateful we found each other.”

  Dante ran his strong hands along her arms and down the curve of her hips. She shivered from the exquisite effect of his touch. Her glowing yellow eyes looked up at him from under thick black lashes as her tongue darted out and moistened her lips. She knew her energy levels had quickened and felt him adjust his body in response. He pulled her even tighter into the shelter of his arms.

  Kerry rested her cheek on his shoulder and curled her arms around the broad expanse of his back. She adored the feel of his muscles as they rippled beneath her fingers. His heart beat strongly in time with hers, and their energies mingled deliciously through the air.

  Dante stroked her hair down the length of her back and held her close. “Your father sacrificed everything for you from the day you were born because he loved you, Kerry. I know how he feels, princess.”

  Her heart skipped a beat, and she pulled back to look him in the eyes. “Me too,” she whispered. Silence stretched between them with several beats of their hearts. “I love you, Dante.”

  That lopsided smile she’d grown to adore cracked his handsome face. “I know,” he said in the most infuriatingly calm manner.

  Kerry slapped his arm and laughed out loud. “You big Neanderthal!”

  He laughed with her and took her face delicately in his strong hands. “I love you, Kerry. I’ve loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you that day at the beach.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and it left little trails of fire in its wake. “I will honor his memory by spending every day, every minute of my life, making you happy and keeping you safe. And I promise you,” he said as his voice dropped to a husky whisper, “we’ll find the others.”

  Kerry smiled as he placed a soft, warm kiss on her lips and moaned contentedly. She nuzzled his neck and pulled him close once again. Now, more than ever, she needed to be connected with him, with his touch.

  Music drifted in the breeze from the speakers strategically placed throughout the garden. Amy Petty’s song “Honey on the Skin” floated in the air around them, and they rocked slowly to the tantalizing melody. His wickedly seductive voice slid into her mind and around her heart. I told you we’d dance.

  Read on for a sneak peek at

  Untamed

  Next in The Amoveo Legend series

  By Sara Humphreys

  Coming November 2012

  from Sourcebooks Casablanca

  Why wouldn’t her legs go any faster? Her lungs burned with effort and sweat dripped down her back as she stumbled blindly through the fog laden woods. He was right behind her. Always. His energy signature rolled around her in the mists. Behind her. Above her. In front of her. He was everywhere.

  Powerful.

  Unrelenting.

  He seemed to surround her but still—she couldn’t see him.

  Layla’s breath came in heavy labored gasps and a bare branch caught in her long, curly red hair as she tripped over a log. She pulled the tangled strands away, swore softly and ducked behind the large trunk of giant old elm tree. Layla pressed herself up against it, praying he wouldn’t see her there. In response to her silent plea, the fog in the dream realm thickened and provided additional shelter from her relentless hunter.

  She’d been able to avoid him so far, but tonight it felt as if he was dreadfully close to finding her—and claiming her. His energy swamped her and stole from her lungs what little breath she had left. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that the tree and the fog would swallow her up. Could she do that? Could she control the environment of the dream that much? Just as she was about to try, an unfamiliar voice tumbled around her.

  Why do you run from me? The smooth, deep baritone flooded her mind and filled every ounce of her being in a shockingly intimate way. The sharp pang of desire zipped through her and made her breasts tingle. The sudden onslaught caught her off guard and had her head spinning.

  Layla froze.

  He’d never spoken to her before. She could barely hear him above the rapid pounding of her heart and wondered for a moment if she’d imagined it.

  You did not imagine it. His voice had become irritatingly calm. Please answer my question. Why do you run away from me? That distinctly male voice rumbled around her and through her. It reverberated in her chest just like the deep bass beat of one of her favorite songs. Why are you afraid of me? Amusement laced his voice and flickered around her in the fog.

  That did it. Now she was pissed. He was laughing at her? First he haunts her sleep every night for the past two weeks and now he’s making fun of her? Oh, hell no! Layla’s eyes snapped open and she expected to find him—whoever he was—standing right in front of her. However, she was met only with the thick fog she’d created.

  I’m not afraid of you. She placed her hands on her hips and looked around at the swirling mist. Layla tilted her chin defiantly. I just don’t want anything to do with you. So why don’t you piss off!

  Rich, deep laughter floated softly around her. You make it sound as if there is a choice in the matter.

  You bet your bossy ass there is. Layla shouted boldly into the gray abyss. I decide my fate. Me. Layla Nickelsen. She pointed at her chest with her
thumb. Me. Not you or anybody else.

  She waited. The beautiful sound of silence encircled her. Was he gone? She sharpened her focus and found him quickly. No. His energy still permeated the dream but had lessened somehow. He had backed off? Interesting.

  Layla stepped away from the tree and the fog ebbed back in response. She steadied her breathing as her heartbeat slowed to a more normal pace. A victorious look came over her face as she found herself gaining more control. She tucked her thick hair behind her ears and watched the familiar woods where she had grown up come slowly into focus. A satisfied smile curved her lips, she nodded her head and made a hoot of triumph. Fate can kiss my ass.

  The words had barely left her mouth when two strong arms slipped around her waist and pulled her against a very tall, hard and most definitely male body. Stunned and uncertain of what else he might do, Layla stayed completely still and glanced down to discover that her hands rested on two much larger ones. She could feel his heartbeat against her back as it thundered in his chest and thumped in perfect time with hers.

  He dipped his head and warm firm lips pressed an unexpectedly tender kiss along the edge of her ear. Luminous heat flashed through her with astonishing speed, making her breasts feel heavy, and sending a rush of heat between her legs. It took every ounce of self-control to keep from sinking back into his strong, seductive embrace. Her body’s swift reaction was positively mortifying. She shivered, bit her lower lip, and fought the urge to turn around and kiss him. Why and how could she be turned on like this? Layla stiffened with disgust at her lack of self-control and her body’s obvious attraction to his.

  You cannot outrun your destiny. His surprisingly seductive voice dipped low and his breath puffed tantalizingly along the exposed skin of her neck. She closed her eyes and tried to fight the erotic sensations but it was like trying to stop the tide as it ebbed and throbbed through her relentlessly. And for future reference, Firefly, the only one kissing your ass—or anything else on your beautiful body—will be me. He released her from the confines of his embrace and disappeared with the mist.

  The shrill ring of the motel’s wake-up call tore her from her sleep. Without even looking, Layla picked up the receiver and slammed it down harder than necessary. For the first time in a long time, she hadn’t wanted her dream to end. That was a switch. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and blew the bed-head hair out of her face. She looked around the cheap motel room and squinted at the sun that streamed so rudely into her room.

  “Why can’t the damn curtains ever close all the way in these places?” Her sleepy mumble echoed through the empty room. The memory of last night’s dream was still fresh and raw, which was painfully evident by the heat that continued to blaze over her skin. Layla flopped back down and threw her arm over her eyes. It looked like her bossy stalker was right. There was no escaping fate.

  “Shit.”

  ***

  Layla swung the old jeep into the driveway of Rosie’s farm and instantly felt safer. The tension headache that had been eating at her since she left New Orleans began to ease back, and she let out a long slow breath. The drive from New Orleans to Maryland had been relatively smooth but still seemed to take forever. She desperately wanted—no—needed to be home, now more than ever. The tires crunched along the winding dirt driveway as the old jeep bounced along and rattled her around, but she barely felt it. A huge smile cracked her freckled face the moment that the old farm house came into view. It looked exactly the same as it had all those years ago, when she had first seen it.

  Layla slowed the open air jeep to a halt at the bottom of the hill and pulled the hand brake. She grabbed the roll bar, stood up in the seat and closed her eyes. A gust of wind blew the stray strands of long red hair off her face as she took a deep breath and reveled in the crisp, sweet familiar scent of the farm. The cool fall air filled her nostrils and seemed to capsulize each individual smell, allowing her to pinpoint every one. The sweet smell of the hay and the freshly mowed grass mixed with a hint of manure from the stables. The combination of the weather and the smells instantly brought her back to the day she’d first arrived.

  The first twelve years of her life had been spent being bounced around between her mentally ill mother and various foster homes. She always tried to fit in, to keep her mouth shut, but sooner or later, she would let a secret slip. After that it was only a matter of time before the foster parents asked that she be relocated. Layla grimaced. The last home she was placed in had been particularly unpleasant.

  If it hadn’t been for an unexpected visit by a new social worker, she would likely have wound up dead. The horrid memories threatened to creep in and steal her serenity, but the wind brought a reprieve and the familiar scent of Rosie’s apple pie. She smiled and opened her big green eyes to gaze upon the only place that had ever really been home.

  Layla plopped her butt back into the beat up leather seat, released the brake and threw it into first gear. Woodbine farm was a safe haven for her, just as it had been for her foster brother and sister. No one and nothing could hurt her here. Not her mother, not the crazy people she photographed, and not her dream stalker. Driving up the gravel driveway all she could think was, thank God for Woodbine and thank God for Rosie.

  The jeep came to a shuddering stop in front of the house, and within seconds Rosie came lumbering through the screen door to greet her. She was a sight for sore eyes. Her salt and pepper braids hung all the way down to her waist and the plaid shirt and overalls were stained from gardening. With arms wide open and a huge grin on her well-tanned face, Rosie practically flew down the stairs. Layla barely had time to get out of the car before Rosie tackled her in a welcome home bear hug. Her big soft form enveloped Layla’s much smaller one with minimal effort.

  “Layla Nickelsen,” she bellowed into her ear and rocked her back and forth. “You are a sight for these old eyes.” She pulled back and eyed her at arm’s length. “What the hell have you been doing, girl? You are skin and bones! You’re swimmin’ in that damn jacket.”

  Leave it to Rosie to point out the obvious. Suddenly self-conscious, Layla pulled the big cargo jacket closed. She had always been thin but the sad fact was that lately she was downright skinny. Stress from the last job in New Orleans had really rattled her cage and nightmares haunted her sleep every night since then. The combination of bad dreams and stress had killed her appetite.

  She shrugged her slim shoulders, “Hey, I’ve been working like crazy. What can I tell ya?” Layla looked away quickly, and grabbed her duffle and camera bag out of the back of the jeep. She couldn’t look Rosie in the eye and lie to her. Never could. Why would time have changed that? The cold hard truth was that she might be almost thirty years old, but around Rosie she was always that little girl looking for a safe haven.

  For the first time, in a very long time—she was scared. Layla gritted her teeth and shut her eyes against the long-forgotten feeling. Years ago, she’d promised herself that she would never allow herself to be afraid again. Ever. Fear was a dangerous, weakening and self-defeating feeling. Monsters could smell fear and that’s how they picked their victims. Victims were weak and she would never be a victim—or victimized—ever again. She opened her eyes and let out a slow breath.

  She was home and she was safe.

  Rosie took Layla’s now quivering chin in her hand and forced her to make eye contact. Those familiar warm brown eyes softened and her voice dipped low. “You can’t lie to me, girl.”

  Layla nodded almost imperceptibly as the tender sound of Rosie’s voice threatened to push her over the edge. She swallowed hard and fought the pathetic urge to cry. No tears. She hadn’t cried once since she’d arrived at Woodbine and she wasn’t about to start now. No matter how freaked out she was there would be no more tears.

  “Everyone else may buy your tough girl routine, but I know better.” Rosie gave her cheek a pat. “Now, why don’t you come on inside and get settled in your old room. We’ll talk about whatever is botherin’ you over some pie
and coffee.”

  She winked and wrapped her arm around Layla’s shoulders, which immediately loosened the knots in her stomach.

  “Come on. Your brother should be back soon. You know that boy,” she sighed loudly and looked over her shoulder, “one whiff of my apple pie and he comes runnin’. Too bad he don’t come runnin’ like that when it’s time to muck out the barn,” she chuckled.

  Layla walked up the steps wrapped in the safe shelter of Rosie’s embrace. Even the familiar creak of the old steps helped to put her at ease. She threw a glance across the rolling fields and her gaze slid to the barn looking for any sign of her brother Raife. The horses grazed lazily and the chickens clucked loudly in the distance, but no sign of Raife. She smirked and shook her head. Raife loved the farm and had stayed on to run it, but what he really loved was to roam in the woods that surrounded it.

  She and Raife’s twin sister Tatiana used to tease him relentlessly about it. Raife and Tatiana were Rosie’s niece and nephew and had been raised on the farm since they were babies. For all intents and purposes they were her siblings—blood or not, they were the only family she ever knew. Once Layla arrived at the farm it didn’t take her long to realize that the universe had thrown them together for a reason. It turned out that they had a lot in common. They were all orphans, they were all damaged and they were all hybrids.

  ***

  That first forkful of cinnamon spiced apples and buttery crust burst in Layla’s mouth with explosive sweetness. Eyes closed, she savored the comforting flavors and made a shamelessly loud yummy noise of satisfaction. Rosie’s hearty laugh bounced through the country kitchen and she clapped her hands. That rich, familiar sound warmed Layla’s spirit as much as the steaming coffee warmed her body.

  She shrugged sheepishly and swallowed the mouthful of pie. “You still make the best apple pie on the planet, Rosie.” Layla sat back and wiped her mouth with the red checkered napkin from her lap. “Believe me. I’ve tried apple pie in every single town I’ve been to, all over the world, and none of them hold a candle to yours,” she said with a smile.