Punished Read online

  After their conversation at the firehouse, Raphael and Alex rounded up Heath, who’d been prowling down Pirate’s Alley. After they caught him up on what they’d learned, he wanted to go with them to confront Richard, Mary’s boss. All three agreed not to tell Sebastian or Cael in case their involvement warranted a death sentence.

  It may not. Alex was convinced Richard wasn’t human; he said the man smelled like a water shapeshifter. Raphael thought their fate depended on what kind of creature he was, and whether the lupus dux felt especially merciful. If Raphael had the position in Jeremiah’s stead, he would have very little mercy. After all, lack of mercy had been what put them all in the clan prohibitum in the first place. An eye for an eye, he figured.

  As they neared the house, the screams stopped. It was Mary—he couldn’t have forgotten her voice if he wanted to. She’s in pain. Her screams may have been abnormal for a human, but they were laced with agony.

  He had to help her.

  A force pushed him back, as if two hands had beaten at his chest.

  Raphael swung blindly, but could make no impact. Closer to the house he saw Alex struggling. He heard Heath’s grunts behind him. The tang of blood rent through the air, but Raphael smelled no mortality; whoever was hurt wasn’t human. Alex may have been right about Richard. What does that make Mary?

  He took a deep breath. She was bleeding, and he couldn’t get to her. He roared before punching, kicking, and slicing with his claws. Bruises formed on his chest, but he gained no ground. He didn’t care. He kept fighting, blistering frustration blurring his thoughts.

  “If you’re protecting that house, stop.”

  Heath.

  Raphael glanced over his shoulder; Heath stopped struggling, but was breathing hard. “We’re trying to help someone inside, the woman who was screaming. Her name is Mary, and she’s a nanny to a little girl—”

  Like that, all of them were free. A tall, thin man floated in front of them. Raphael swore his hand trembled as he straightened his wire glasses. He was a haint, a ghost who could wreak havoc. Haints had tempers that rivaled a werewolf.

  “Save the girl and the child,” he said. His expression darkened. “Watch out for the owner of the house.”

  For a second time, they couldn’t move. “Promise me you’ll bring me the child,” he continued. He paused for a moment but shook his head, as if chasing off an unwanted thought.

  “No,” Raphael growled. He wasn’t going to give a child to a ghost.

  “Why?” Alexandre asked.

  The man drew a long-fingered hand through his dark hair. “I’m her father, and the man who lives here killed me before she was born.”

  Raphael sucked in a breath. Surprising himself, he said, “Follow us when we leave, and we’ll talk. You have my word.” Right now we need to focus on Mary.

  The ghost nodded, and they were free.

  Raphael tore across the lawn to the door. Locked. He didn’t bother to wrap his hand before he brought his fist through the glass and turned the lock.

  Shaking the blood off his hand, he turned to the parlor off the foyer, shouting for Heath and Alex to search the house. He heard Alex curse behind him before stomping away. Mary was sprawled, bleeding, on the carpet. An unmistakably dead man stared at the opposite wall from his place on the couch behind her, a blood-covered knife lying beside him. Bloody shoe prints hurried from the room. Three other men had been here, had escaped through a back or side door.

  Alex or Heath could worry about them, he reasoned.

  He sank to his knees beside Mary. She had shallow cuts on her right shoulder blade and cheek, but there was a much longer, deeper cut running up her thigh on the same side. A glance under her shirt confirmed bruises on her sides matching those on her arms. She was unconscious from blood loss, not shock. If she didn’t receive help soon, she wouldn’t survive this night.

  That thought didn’t sit well with him.

  Pale, bleeding, hair in tangles over her shoulders, she was the most beautiful woman Raphael had ever seen. She’s mine.

  He didn’t bother to contradict himself. She would be his, and her current condition was intolerable. Everyone who touched her would feel ten times the pain they inflicted upon her. He would ensure it.

  Seeing her hurt, helpless, wrenched something deep inside him. He gently covered her ears and released an anguished roar. Her ears had suffered enough today. Blood came away when he pulled his hands back.

  He took out his phone and dialed Cael, who answered on the fourth ring. “I need Aiyanna,” he said shortly. Cael growled. “A woman’s badly hurt.”

  Cael sighed. “Where are you?”

  Raphael told him the address. In response, Cael hung up.

  He’d agreed not to involve Cael or Sebastian, but they wouldn’t thank him for sacrificing this woman for them, and for whatever reason, Aiyanna only listened to Cael.

  Raphael ripped strips of fabric from his shirt and tightly wrapped Mary’s thigh. It slowed the blood, but not enough. Soon the fabric was soaked through.

  He moved to put her head on his thighs, spreading her hair out behind her. Finger-combing through the tangles, he did the only thing he could think of. He sang to her.

  Tule, tule, unekene, tule, uni, uksest sisse,

  astu sisse akenasta,

  kuku sisse korstenasta.

  Kuku lapse kulmu peale,

  lase lapse lau peale,

  jäe seisma silma peale.

  Raphael had always wanted to sing to someone he loved, always wished to touch someone gently and be touched tenderly in return. He’d grown up hearing mothers, fathers and siblings sing the lullaby, but never was it sung to him. His voice caught on a line; how he hated the circumstances they were in. As he gingerly smoothed the last tangle from her long hair, he told himself they would have those moments, beautiful moments. “Someday, I’ll brush your hair, if you’ll let me,” he promised her. “I’ll try to bring you enough joy you’ll forget about this night.”

  He continued to sing, ignoring Heath’s entrance to the parlor. Heath pulled out a plastic cellphone wedged in the couch cushions before he sat beside the dead man silently, picking up the knife as he scrolled through the phone.

  Alex came tearing into the room. A pretty, dark-haired young woman in a housekeeper’s uniform carried a sleeping child, following close on Alex’s heels. Upon entering the parlor the woman held the child closer, covered her eyes, and murmured in a strange dialect of French.

  “This is Molly—Mary’s her nanny,” Alex rasped. “I couldn’t find Leila; she’s gone.”

  Heath held up the phone. “Mary told her to leave.” He tossed the phone—Mary’s—to Alex. “Call her, make sure she’s okay.” Alex nodded and left.

  Raphael watched the others, but continued singing to Mary softly. Heath approached the woman with the child.

  “Will you watch her in the room across the hall?” Heath asked. “We don’t want Molly completely out of our sight, but there’s no reason for her to see this.”

  Nodding, still muttering under her breath, she held Molly close and left for the other parlor.

  “There were other men; they escaped,” Heath said.

  “I know,” Raphael murmured. The mere thought of them made him want to rage.

  “I can’t tell what they are—this one’s not human.”

  Raphael didn’t answer. He didn’t know either.

  The front door opened. Aiyanna hurried to Mary, concern darkening her expression. Cael followed her, taking in every detail of the lavish surroundings. He made toward the maid and Molly, speaking to the woman in her preferred language and lifting the child from her arms.

  Holding Molly, a grin broke across his face. Raphael was certain it was the first time he’d ever seen Cael smile.

  Aiyanna saw it too, warmth lighting up her eyes.

  It fizzled when she turned back to Mary. “What happened to her?”

  “I think that man stabbed her.” Raphael looked to the dead man. “But o
thers hurt her as well.”

  Aiyanna nodded, her black hair falling over Mary. She pressed a coffee-colored hand on Mary’s heart. “You hurt the other men, didn’t you?” she said soothingly. “She has no idea she’s a banshee, bless her heart.”

  So her screams killed the man.

  “You have the power to hurt them right back, you know,” Aiyanna continued, taking the makeshift bandage off Mary’s leg.

  Could she hear her?

  “They can never control you,” Aiyanna continued. “I’m sure they tried, that’s what botos do.”

  As she spoke, most of Mary’s bruises disappeared, the cut on her back healing completely. The gash on her leg knitted together partially, then stopped.

  “I’m out of energy now, honey,” she told Mary. “I got into some things earlier today, so I wasn’t completely charged. You’ll heal the rest of the way just fine.”

  Aiyanna’s voice had grown weaker, trembling at the end. Cael put Molly down and came into the parlor. “You okay?” he asked Aiyanna gruffly.

  “If I said no, would you kiss me?” Her voice was barely audible, even to were ears.

  “No,” Cael answered.

  Aiyanna sighed. “Figures,” Raphael thought he heard her whisper before she closed her eyes and lay back on the carpet next to Mary.

  Cael’s frown deepened.

  “Let her sleep it off,” Heath said. “Both of them.”

  “But not here,” Cael said. “The ones who escaped may come back for Mary, thinking she’ll be weakened or dead.”

  Raphael’s phone vibrated in his pocket. “They’re not coming here, but I know where they’ll be. Leon has a woman for them; they changed their minds, told him to bring her somewhere else.”

  “When?”

  “Now,” Raphael said gravely. “Our first priority should be getting Mary and Aiyanna somewhere safe. Then we’ll go after those men.”

  “Botos,” Cael murmured, his attention rapt on Aiyanna. “Sebastian should be here any minute.” He turned to Raphael. He should have known Cael would fill Sebastian in. “You and Heath should go after those men.”

  “We will. Where’s Alex?” Heath asked.

  “He left to find Leila,” Raphael answered. The man had bolted as soon as he received Mary’s phone.

  Heath paced the room. Cael kept his eyes on the woman he rejected on a near-daily basis.

  Raphael didn’t want to move, unless it was to settle Mary in his arms and bring her back to the firehouse. The thought of Cael or Sebastian carrying her made his claws sharpen.

  I need to concentrate on something else.

  Sebastian swept into the house, his dark auburn hair sticking up in spikes around his head. “I love being the last person invited to the party, guys. Really, I feel so appreciated, being your last resort and all.”

  Raphael ignored him and rose, gently lifting Mary in his arms. Cael did the same with Aiyanna.

  “Careful—her leg.” Raphael handed her over to Sebastian. The man didn’t say anything as he took her, his eyes hardening at the sight of the wound.

  It’s still too deep. It will scar, badly.

  “Take her to my room at the house,” he said. At Sebastian’s nod, he found the sleeping child and her maid. “Come,” he told her. The still-perturbed woman lifted Molly and followed, relaxing slightly when Cael fell into step beside her.

  Outside, the haint lowered from a hover at the sight of them, settling on his feet. There were ghostly tears in his eyes.

  It was Cael who approached him. “Can you hold her?”

  The man nodded, his mouth working but producing nothing. Cael frowned at him. “You may hold her, but you will stay with us. If you take that child away, I will find someone to end your undeath within the hour. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” He reached pale arms out for the girl.

  The maid hesitated. “Non! Mon Dieu, il est un fantôme,” she exclaimed.

  The ghost smiled at her. “Oui, cherie,” he said, “mais je suis son père, et je s’aime.” Yes, but I’m her father and I love her.

  “I’m Aloysius Sutherland,” the haint said, “but most people call me Wish. You should probably leave this place and never come back.” He looked at the men. “You too.”

  “Je m’appelle Thérèse,” she told him, still keeping Molly out of reach. “I want to check up on the child.” The strange woman spoke English with no accent, despite her preference for French. “I trust I’ll like what I find?” There was a threat in her voice, and in that moment, she was twice as intimidating as Cael had been.

  Wish only smiled. “Of course.”

  Thérèse cast an untrusting look at the men, but gave Molly to her father. If Raphael had any doubts of his sincerity, seeing the man hold his child for the first time washed them away. The ecstatic, anguished expression on his face revealed all. He gripped her like she was a priceless treasure.

  “Wait.” Again, Wish seemed to be engaged in an internal debate. “Did you see another woman inside? Her name is Natasha; she’s Molly’s mother.”

  “Elle est mort.” She is dead. With one last confused scowl at Wish, who’d become impossibly paler, Thérèse turned on her heel and sprinted away.

  “She’s weird, but really hot,” Sebastian offered. “Makes me wish I spoke Cheese-Eating Surrender Monkey.”

  Heath and Cael rolled their eyes. They all knew French, and most other languages. As immortal criminals, it was one of the few benefits of being a werewolf they were allowed to keep.

  “If we need backup we’ll let you know,” Raphael said to Sebastian and Cael. “Otherwise, keep them safe.” They would follow up with Thérèse regarding the dead woman, but that task could be done at a later time.

  The need to kill the men who’d hurt Mary was taking over his body. His muscles were tensed, ready. His teeth sharpened, eager to rip through muscle and bone.

  As their group broke apart, the women and child headed for a much safer place, Raphael’s heart warmed, taking the edge off his fury. Mary would be okay, and he was sure Alex would find her sister safe too. No harm would come to little Molly.

  He pulled out the machete he’d strapped to his thigh. No matter how long it took, he would take out those men, the botos, as Aiyanna called them. He would get to the bottom of their operation and eliminate it.

  Then he’d give Mary their heads.

  Chapter 4

  Spring 2012

  Mary had had a fantastic day. She’d been accepted into her dream graduate program to receive her Master of Fine Arts in painting from the Rhode Island School of Design. She’d sent along her portfolio on a lark, thinking that at the very least, she would have a letter from her dream school. She’d thought she would be framing a politely worded rejection letter, not a thick envelope filled with congratulations and dreams come true.

  At this point, she’d convinced herself that envelope emitted glitter and rainbows. Incidentally, those were two of her favorite things.

  She’d done it. All the haters who’d thought her art major was the same thing as “hopeful MRS degree” could suck it. She was getting her MFA, thank you very much. She spread more than a few bangles on her wrist, checking her shining nail polish, and straightened her pink minidress.

  She could be dedicated to her art and keep her vanity. After all, she had a date with Bradley, a Delta Kappa Epsilon she’d flirted with at their last couple of parties. Mary ran a brush through the long, white-blonde hair she shared with her mother and sister.

  At the thought of her sister, she texted a picture of herself making a kissy face to Leila. You’re gonna love college, sis, she wrote.

  Immediately, she received a message back: As long as I’m not living here. Home’s got REAL weird lately.

  Mary didn’t reply—she’d deal with that weirdness tomorrow. Tonight was all about positivity. After one last check in the mirror, she grabbed her purse and left her room in the sorority house, graciously receiving so many heartfelt congratulations on her art progr
am from her sisters, she made poor Bradley wait ten minutes longer than she’d planned.

  After leaving the restaurant—nice by Baton Rouge standards, but terrible compared to typical New Orleans fare—Bradley took her to the DKE house. She gracefully declined retreating to his room, betting she could beat him and his friends in a game of pool.

  With only the eight ball left for her to worry about and four stripes left for Bradley, he would soon owe her five dollars and his favorite DKE T-shirt. The only thing disrupting her fun was her phone. It was ringing, over and over again. She didn’t recognize the number, but it had a New Orleans area code. Finally, after the ringing sabotaged what could have been an incredible shot, Mary answered. “I think you have the wrong number.”

  “This is Brett, from the New Orleans police department. Are you Mary Newman?”

  The man’s firm voice made Mary gulp. Had she done something wrong? Sure, she’d helped spray paint the pair of lions in front of a certain fraternity house pink, and she’d been skinny-dipping without considering the repercussions more than a couple of times, but she’d never hurt anyone.

  Why did the police have to become involved, especially the New Orleans police, and not the officers working for the university?

  “Yes.” She held up a finger to the guys and walked through the house to the backyard. “This is she.”

  Brett’s voice softened. “Mary, I’m so sorry to tell you this, but your parents have died.”

  Mary sank to the ground. “Wh-what?”

  “We believe there was foul play involved, but we can’t tell you much more until we complete our investigation.”

  She couldn’t feel the tears streaming down her face, but she could feel the air leave her lungs and refuse to return. She couldn’t breathe. She would never breathe again. Mom and Dad are dead. “Leila?” she asked.

  “Your sister is fine,” the officer said. “She, uh, she doesn’t speak, does she?”

  “She does speak,” Mary snapped. She reined herself in. “You probably scared her,” she said more gently. Of course she’s scared.

  “Maybe when you get here you can help her talk to us. It’s imperative for the investigation that we speak to her. We have a sign language interpreter here, but she won’t talk to her either.”