Nervousness made Mystic stumble as they moved into the woods seeking a place that would grant them some privacy. Hawk and Roman steadied her automatically. Their hands on her arms sent a shock of heated need through her. Their touch intensified the fullness between her legs as blood pooled in her sex. The rub of her jeans and panties against her swollen folds made each step part of an erotic journey.

Anxiousness filled her when they came to a spot that looked as if it had been made for what they intended. It was a place of deep shadow and thin rays of sun, a place that smelled of nature’s own hidden magic.

Mystic’s stomach tightened. She took a step backward though her body and the Angelini magic protested her sudden reservation and her worry that she’d made a mistake in suggesting this, that it might yet end in bloodshed and death, in a guilt she’d carry with her for the rest of her life.

Roman took his shirt off and spread it on the ground. Hawk did the same.

Her heart sped up at the sight of them standing side by side. Together they were like day and night, Roman’s skin warmed and golden for a life begun under a shapeshifter’s sun, Hawk’s darkened for hunting in the light of the moon.

Mystic licked her lips in a nervous gesture that brought their sharp focus to her mouth. Part of her wanted to turn and run, to escape, but the other part wanted to be captured and mounted.

She took another step backward. She wasn’t sure she could go through with letting them both have her.

Hawk fought his instincts to pounce and force his mate into submission, then fuck her until her whimpers turned into howls of ecstasy and her fear turned into searing, insatiable desire. Every cell in his body knew she was his. But the kiss she’d shared with the other Were, the cop, was burned into his memory. Witnessing it made him realize he still needed to proceed cautiously with Mystic.

He’d seen how she responded to Christian. The wolf inside had howled at the sight of her softening in her other mate’s arms, soaking up his confidence and reassurance. The man had protested the knowledge Mystic and Christian were already deeply bonded.

He couldn’t risk she’d find him too rough by comparison, too primitive. Yet deep inside the wolf dreamed of the day when Mystic would wear fur and he could take her in a way that had nothing to do with emotion and everything to do with creation.

Hawk’s hand went to his jeans-covered erection. Mystic’s gaze followed, sending a roar of blood to a cock already close to exploding. When she didn’t look away he unzipped the fly before kicking off his shoes and stripping.

He let her see what she did to him and thrilled in the way her nostrils flared and her pupils dilated. His cock bobbed in greeting when he took a step forward.

“Come to me,” he ordered. The wolf was willing to keep chasing her as it had been doing since the first moment it saw her, but the man wanted her to admit she was attracted to him.

His cock head beaded with arousal when she licked her lips nervously and took another step backward. A low growl sounded deep in his chest as Roman’s clothing fell to the ground and her attention shifted to the other man’s cock.

Roman could barely think of anything but getting Mystic out of her clothes. He wanted to explore her body with his hands and mouth. He fantasized about pinning her wrists to the ground while his cock tunneled in and out of her. He could almost taste her cries of pleasure as she locked him deep inside her channel and orgasmed repeatedly.

For centuries he’d taken human women to his bed. He’d preferred them tall and blonde and well endowed, interchangeable, their conversation nonexistent or non-important. No more. None of them warranted even a footnote in the centuries-old text of his life. Against Mystic’s dark, exotic looks, they were pale ghosts of what a woman should be.

Mystic. Her name prowled through his heart and soul. It coursed through his veins and commanded his cock.

The lion’s growl answered Hawk’s wolf’s challenge.

Both of their beasts remained willing to fight to the death in order to claim this Angelini female. But when Mystic retreated again, fear and worry in her eyes, it was the men who pushed past their animal instincts and stepped forward in silent truce. Without needing to speak they both knew there’d be no winner if they continued to allow the most primitive parts of themselves to rule.

“We’ll be good from now on,” Roman teased, his fingertips settling lightly on Mystic’s spine and stopping her from moving further away from them.

Mystic shivered at Roman’s double meaning. Her gaze went to Hawk’s face when he took her hand and urged her forward, back to the spot where their shirts were spread out on the ground.

“It will be okay, Mystic,” Hawk whispered.

The husky sound of his voice curled in her womb and shredded her resistance. She didn’t protest when his free hand made quick work of unbuttoning her shirt.

His palm slipped under the parted fabric to cover her hard, tight nipple. A moan escaped and her face flushed with heat and a little embarrassment at yielding so easily, but there was no fighting the need for their touch.

Roman’s free hand stroked over her belly in a caress that made her clamp her legs together. He laughed, a wonderful, satisfied sound.

Mystic turned her head and met his eyes. He leaned in and covered her lips with his. His tongue stroked into her mouth, offering seduction instead of domination, the kiss so mesmerizing she barely noticed when Hawk stripped her of her clothing.

Her fear faded under the soft glow of the moon. It didn’t subside completely, but the panicked horror dissipated and flowed away on a spring breeze. Silver opened her fist to look at The Mark.

It was in the form of a circle though it contained smooth sections as well as patterned ones. A rippling line made her think of water. A jagged one made her think of mountain ranges. A spiked section was repeated in the very center of the circle. It made her think of flames and she wondered if that’s why her palm had burned when The Mark appeared.

Why? Why me?

She spent only a second on the question because she already knew there was no answer. Witches, warlocks, sorcerers, nulls, even among themselves they couldn’t agree on what The Mark meant and why it appeared.

A noise in the woods brought her head up. Crackling leaves and rustling branches had her standing upright again.

The odor hit her first, a second before she saw the feral yellow eyes. Wild boar, maybe, or a fey creature out for some fun, or perhaps even a sorcerer using the pig to hunt her.

She took a cautious step backward and the boar lowered its head. Even though it was almost completely shrouded in the darkness of the forest, its tusks gleamed yellow and wicked.

Silver continued backing away slowly. Surreptitiously she looked for an escape route. A shiver of surprise slid down her spine when the wind rustled, parting the dense undergrowth and revealing a path. She slipped onto it just as the boar’s massive head was captured in the moon glow of the small clearing.

Instinct shouted at her to hurry, to run. And she listened.

* * * * *

Wraith’s body tightened in anticipation. She’d been closer than either of them imagined. As soon as they’d cast their spell they’d known that instead of waiting days for her to come to them, she’d be there before even a single star faded from the sky.

He glanced at Tynan and saw the same tension and need written on his brother’s face. He wasn’t sure if they were feeding off each other’s desire in the same way their magic had been stronger when merged, or whether the reality of the woman’s existence had them both hard and anxious, hungry to make her theirs.

Tonight was fated. Wraith believed it deeply, totally. There was no other explanation. He and Tynan were meant to share this woman and in doing so, bring harmony and prosperity to the southern borderlands.

His cock throbbed as spell magic rippled past him on the breeze, arriving ahead of the female and opening the path for her even as the same path was being closed behind her. Beside him Tynan shifted position. Their shoulders touched in an unplanned gesture of unity just as undergrowth parted and tree branches bent to reveal her.

Exquisite. Enchanting. Wraith’s breath caught in his throat and remained lodged there until he saw her storm-colored eyes flash with fear. He reached for her at the same time Tynan did. He saw her intention to turn and flee and the horror in her face when she realized the woods had closed around her, trapping her.

“Forgive me for trespassing. I’m being chased and seek only to remain safe until the Turning Ceremony,” she said, holding her hands out in an instinctive gesture to ward off an attack.

Shock rippled through Wraith when he saw the mark on her hand. She was elfling—On the Cusp of Change. That she was here in these woods, afraid of them and speaking of the witches’ ceremony meant she’d been raised human and was unaware of her heritage, unaware of the elven magic building inside her until it could be triggered by a spell.

“We intend you no harm,” Tynan said, remaining still though he wanted to rush in and enfold her in his arms. Elfling. He needed no other proof she was created for the purpose of restoring harmony.

Matings between humans and elves were rare and half elf offspring were never knowingly left among humans. If a casual coupling resulted in a child, the newborn was stolen by their elf parent and raised in the enclaves until the mark appeared and the spell cast to trigger The Changing.

That the elfling in front of them thought she was human meant she was pure of affiliations and political aspirations despite the Fire Clan symbol in the center of the circular mark. She was On the Cusp of Change and would be wholly theirs once she became elf.

“You are safe with us,” Tynan said, unable to stop from taking a small step closer, from lifting his hand and pressing his palm against one of hers.

Heat streaked straight to his cock and made him gasp. It wasn’t the magic of the Fire Clan that caused his reaction, but the first touch of flesh to flesh.

“You are safe with us,” he repeated. “I’m Tynan Carved From Stone and this is my brother, Wraith In Shadows.”

His penis jerked when she wet her lips. His testicles pulled tight against his body when Wraith’s palm covered the elfling mark on her left one.

She trembled, just a little, as the last of her fear faded. “My name is Silver, Silver Delacroix.”

“Come inside. Take shelter and stay the night with us.”

“I’m not elf,” Silver said. She couldn’t imagine they’d mistake her for one and yet the way they were both looking at her and the offer of their names instead of a curse made her wonder.

A coil of heated need formed in her belly with Tynan’s quick smile. A wash of arousal escaped her slit when Wraith said, “Then come inside and pay the penalty for trespassing on elven lands. Tynan and I will make sure you find pleasure in the payment of it.”

As if afraid she might bolt, their hands slid to her wrists and encircled them, lightly restraining her even as they stepped forward. Their nearness was overwhelming, intoxicating to her senses. Elven beauty was unparalleled and these men were chiseled perfection.

Her thoughts swirled. Images of having them as lovers tumbled through her mind quicksilver-fast as desire coursed through her bloodstream, tightening her nipples and swelling her cunt lips in its wake. Disbelief rose to temper the heat of need. Elves might enjoy the lustful, nearly worshipful way humans looked at them, they might see it as their due, but she’d never known an elf to either invite or compel a human into their bed.

Her gaze dropped. Doubt fell away when she saw the thick, identical erections pressing against the front of their pants.

Even if she hadn’t been rendered null by The Mark, she was no match for them. They could easily enchant her with a spell. But as she stroked their cocks with her eyes and watched them grow fuller behind the concealing cloth, she knew they wouldn’t need to.

His mate didn’t look the slightest bit sorry she’d snuck out of his bed, escaped his house, and made him spend his time, energy and patience searching for her. And yet his cock didn’t care. It felt as though it would claw its way out of his trousers if he wasn’t fast enough in getting rid of the barrier separating it from Sophie’s cunt.

“Let’s go,” Severn growled, knowing it was the wrong thing to say but unable to keep himself from saying it.

Sophie inhaled sharply. Her body reacted to his words despite what her mind supposedly wanted. An eyebrow arched in response but heat raced through her nipples at the way his face went taut at her silent refusal to jump up and do his bidding.

Heartmate he might be-not exactly the one she would have asked for, but the one she’d apparently ended up with all the same-and she was willing to accept some of the responsibility for what had happened between them, but he had some things to learn too.

“You might as well sit down and stop acting like a fire-breathing dragon,” Sophie said and nearly jumped out of her skin when glass shattered at the kitchen counter.

She turned in her chair and saw Aislinn picking large pieces of a fancy mug out of the sink. “You need help?”
Aislinn hesitated for only an instant. “Severn’s coffee is ready. Why don’t you get another mug and pour him a cup while I deal with this.”

Sophie rose and moved over to the coffeepot. A bolt of panic hit her when Aislinn finished at the sink then left the room with the shattered remains of the cup, as though somehow they warranted a trip to the outside garbage can rather than a hasty drop into the kitchen trash.

Severn followed Sophie to the counter and used it to trap his mate. His palms settled on the smooth ceramic surface so his arms rested against her sides. His chest touched her back. His cock ended up in a torturous heaven, pressed against her buttocks and separated from its home by her thin sundress and his summer trousers.

“You learned who I was and so you ran?” he asked, deciding to take a different tack with her now that he was close enough to feel her heat and smell her arousal.

He’d purposely left her underwear behind when he’d carried her to his car the previous night. Now he thought about what he’d find if he lifted her dress.

His nose told him she would be slick and wet and swollen. His imagination saw her without panties, available for him as she should be.

Sophie shivered. She only barely managed to keep herself from moaning and leaning over the counter. A fantasy of begging him to lift her dress and pierce her with his cock flickered through her thoughts. He’s your heartmate, Sophie. Of course you couldn’t resist him, Aislinn had said but this went way beyond anything she’d ever expected or experienced.

“I ran because you drugged me or…something…then took me to your house without asking my permission and then I learned who you really are.”

His mouth found her neck. This time she couldn’t restrain her whimper.

“You belong to me, Sophie Marie Alexander.” His voice had a sharp edge to it. “You belong in my house, in my bed.”

“I know you’re used to getting what you want and ordering your little kingdom of employees around, but a night of sex, Severn Makar Damek, does not give you ownership rights over me.”

A low growl sounded in his chest. Sophie tensed. She had only a second to worry that she’d pushed him too far before his hand was at the front of her sundress and jerking the heartmate necklace into view. “Do you deny what the heartstone says? You are my mate, Sophie. Mine! You knew it last night before accepting my invitation to dinner. You knew it when you invited me into the apartment. You knew it when I shoved my cock in you.”

He pressed closer and the heat of his erection seared through their clothing and sent a flood of arousal to Sophie’s inner thighs. He was outraged male and rippling masculine power, yet his aggression fed desire and not fear.

She wanted to turn in his arms and press her lips to his in appeasement. She wanted to whimper and plead and feel him inside her. But she fought the urge to give in without first finding a safer middle ground on which to begin a relationship. She needed to be sure she could really handle his dominance without losing herself.

“I know the necklace responded to you,” she admitted, keeping her voice low and steady, proud of herself for sounding so calm. “I know the crystal is supposed to come to life and glow when I’m around my perfect mate. But that doesn’t mean I have to accept the man. And it certainly doesn’t mean I belong to him like a piece of property.”

Fire threatened to erupt from most of the orifices in Severn’s body, but in particular from his mouth and cock. By The Great Shared Ancestor, his mate was trying his patience. If she weren’t very, very careful, she’d soon feel the erotic edge of his temper. He already longed to fuck her so thoroughly she couldn’t rise from his bed. It took no effort at all to add the fantasy of punishing her first then tying her wrists and ankles so she lay spread-eagled on his sheets.

He had claimed her. He had coupled with her as a male dragon takes not just a willing human female, but a chosen mate. He had injected his serum into her. Her body was even now adapting, changing so she could one day bear his young.

His cock ached. It was already engorged. The rings beneath the head of his penis were exposed and the brush of his trousers against them was excruciating. Yet she dared to pretend she had the option of refusing him!

“Let’s go, Sophie,” he growled again, close to pulling her skirt up and mounting her in the half-elf’s kitchen.

Sophie closed her eyes against the need rippling through her. In another second she’d lean further over the counter and pull her dress up herself. “I’ll leave with you on one condition,” she said, somehow managing to force the words from a body that was in meltdown. “We don’t go to your house. We go to my apartment.”

Severn’s nostrils flared but his instant denial died before it could take the form of a bellowed, No. The rational part of his mind quickly overrode dragon instinct. Yes. He would let Sophie take him to her lair. Doing so would serve several purposes. She would feel more comfortable there and it would allow him time to more thoroughly mate with her before they returned to his home and faced his dragon mother and Audriss.

“Agreed,” he said. His mouth went to Sophie’s neck. His hands moved around to cup her breasts and massage their firm, pouty tips. The heat of his aggravation became a fiery burn of satisfaction as she responded to his touch and melted in his arms. “Will it anger you if I carry you to the limo?” he purred against her skin.

“I can walk. But you need to stop touching me.”

The breathless quality of her voice made Severn’s cock jerk in warning. His teeth gripped her neck lightly and he couldn’t stop himself from pressing his erection more tightly to her buttocks. His. She was his and he would never allow her to escape again.

Even in times of famine and drought, when the rains didn’t come and the tribe members died along the long-horned cattle and the goats and the camels, when the desert swept in and reclaimed the land at the base of the forbidden mountains—even in those times, the girl children of the Azzura clan were offered food and water first.

They were protected and guarded, watched over as they grew to womanhood. Their skin was kept smooth and free of hair except for eyebrows and eyelashes above sky-blue eyes, except for the golden tresses which flowed like silken sunshine to below their knees and even to their ankles.

The last few years had been good and the tribe had prospered. Now the time had come to take the jewelry and hides and livestock to the far mountains and to the sea beyond. But in order to gain the wealth offered by those distant cities and ports, to use the riches to attract husbands and wives so new blood would be added, the tribe had to trek across the desert. They would need to avoid the Djinn, the spirits who hated all mankind, who killed with shifting sand and violent sandstorms. Who could sometimes be distracted, appeased by a gift—by the sacrifice of one of the Azzura.

The tent village was broken down in preparation for the trip. The camels loaded, save for a single camel and a single structure where seven women waited.

The tribal elders gathered around a fire under a sky containing both the setting sun and rising moon. Their deeply tanned faces were wrinkled, somber, their fingers gnarled by age and hard work.

They passed a cup made from an ancient skull, drank the bitter, dark brew it contained and felt the liquid burn through them. When the cup was empty, they danced as the younger men pounded on drums made of animal hides stretched across frames of bone. They danced until they were lightheaded, until they felt the god’s presence. Only then did the drums cease and the eldest of them pick up the carved pieces of wood and cast them into the fire. His voice lifted in praise to the god for interceding when six of the tokens disappeared in hungry flame while the seventh lay smoldering on a bed of ash. It was a clear sign telling them which of the Azzura was to be offered to the Djinn so the rest of the tribe might travel through the desert safely.

Can I really accept this? Can I really share Clay with another man? Do I want to?

For the thousandth time since The Revelation, the diamond in Jessica’s engagement ring made a trip around her finger. She couldn’t seem to stop doing that, twisting it around and around, circling back to those same three questions. And every time she did, the ache in her heart burned its way to her eyes.

Outside the tiny diner with its black-and-white tile floor and jukebox, a flash of lightning was followed by a crack of thunder. Dried leaves whipped down the street and old-fashioned wooden signs jerked against the chains holding them in place.

Hohoq. Population…three? And that was assuming someone was manning the general store across the street where Clay was. Her throat tightened and she pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling.

Usually she’d be with him, especially in a place like this, one that seemed apart from the rest of the world. They’d be holding hands as they traveled down store aisles full of interesting knick-knacks and old things, not garish offerings like those sold in tourist traps, but touchstones, something tangible to carry home along with memories, something that’d be treasured rather than relegated to the trash.

She glanced at the gray-haired Native American couple working in the kitchen area behind a counter lined with red-vinyl barstools. They were in their seventies or eighties and obviously in love. They had what she’d thought she’d found with Clay.

The burn in her throat and eyes intensified. Until Clay, she hadn’t realized how lonely she was. Before Clay, she’d never let another man close enough to believe it when he said I love you, or say it back and mean it with every fiber of her being.

It doesn’t have to be over. The ring made another trip around her finger.

The old woman left her place behind the counter, the light catching on the shiny red, white, yellow and blue stones set in a multitude of thin silver bracelets. Dark eyes held warmth and a smile offered encouragement. “Your man will be here in a minute.”

Jessica’s gaze dropped to the engagement ring. Is he really my man? Will he be if we become a threesome instead of a twosome?

A comforting hand squeezed her shoulder. “Things have a way of working out if you let them.”

Jessica blinked away tears and swallowed against the burn in her throat. “Am I that obvious?”

“I’ve heard many a tale of troubles with the opposite sex while serving hamburgers and chocolate shakes. Here comes your man now. By the look of him I’d say a well-done double cheeseburger. And you’re a grilled cheese with tomatoes and you both want fries.”

Some of the ache eased. “No tomatoes on the grilled cheese, otherwise it’s perfect.”

Clay entered the diner along with a gust of wind. His eyes instantly sought and met hers and despite The Revelation, her heart swelled the way it always did and took over her chest.

With his blond hair and blue eyes, his chiseled-to-perfection face and fit body, he could have been a cover model. Instead he was an outdoorsman.

Before him, she’d never been adventurous in or out of the bedroom. Because of him, she’d done things she once wouldn’t have imagined. Hang gliding, whitewater rafting, mountain climbing—though they were baby hills compared to some of the ones he’d scaled.

He loved the outdoors. When he wasn’t putting together group trips, mainly for companies who wanted their executives to bond, he’d often be arranging trips for groups of friends who wanted adventure instead of total relaxation when they vacationed.

He was a man’s man, and a woman’s fantasy. He was hers—or at least he had been before The Revelation. And now… Now she didn’t know.

He tugged off his jacket and slid onto the seat across from her. “Did you already order?”

“Not the drinks.”

The elderly woman smiled at Jessica and cocked her head. “Diet coke for you. Bottled water for your man, though I’d recommend drinking what the house serves. You won’t find purer water than what we’ve got in Hohoq.”

Clay laughed and Jessica’s heart turned over. He could be intense and serious when he was on the job and people’s lives depended on it, but he was quick to laugh and to make others laugh with him. It was one of the things about him that she loved.

Her eyes watered and she looked away, twisting her ring and not wanting him to see what a mess she was. Since she’d said yes and he’d slipped the ring on her finger, he’d asked every day if she’d decided on a date to get married. Not that it would change their day-to-day lives. They already lived together. But marriage meant something to them both, even if so many marriages ended in divorce.

Their wedding would be a small affair, an outdoor event with their closest friends—his outnumbering hers ten to one—though many of his had become hers. His family would be there. She wasn’t sure if she’d invite hers, wasn’t sure anymore if she’d have to make that decision.

Maybe deep down she’d known she didn’t satisfy him completely. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t committed to a date. Maybe deep down she’d sensed the truth. He was enough for her, but she wasn’t enough for him.

Pain returned in waves, sealing her throat. She concentrated on breathing, on the simple mechanics of inhaling and exhaling. She didn’t want to lose him. But either way she would, either completely or to another man.

How could she have been with him and not picked up on the fact that he was attracted to other men? What if later he decided he was mostly gay instead of bi?

His hand covered hers where it rested on the tabletop. She sucked in a deep breath and tried to ignore the burn in her chest and throat and eyes.

“We can call the trip off, Jess,” he said, his voice husky. “We can turn around and go back to the apartment. We can see where we stand from there. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have.”

She wiped the tears away. Everything inside her said they’d be over if they went back to their everyday life now.

I don’t want this to be over. She didn’t know if she could share him with another man. She didn’t know if she could share herself with another man, but she did know she didn’t want them to be over.

Covering his hand with hers, she met blue eyes that held pain and love and the same desire to stay together. “Let’s keep going, okay?”

“Okay.”

Their food arrived and she pulled her hand away from his, ducked her head and concentrated on eating.

The ache in Clay’s heart grew with every minute of silence. She’d have loved the general store. Any other day and the two of them would have gone there together, then come here, stopping to pump a couple of quarters into the jukebox before grabbing their seats.

She’d be pointing out interesting things, walking one of the carved animals—no way she’d have left the general store without buying one of them—across the table and up his arm. They’d be talking, not that they couldn’t do silence. They could. They did. But not this kind of silence.

His guts had become churning water in a rock-filled stretch of icy river. He didn’t have a clue what he was going to do if she couldn’t handle this. He didn’t know how he could let her go when she was his world.

He hadn’t been with anyone else since he’d entered a bookstore and fallen in love—or at least deeply in lust—with the soft-spoken blonde who was reading to a group of kids in the children’s section.

She was the woman he wanted to marry, to have kids with, to grow old with. He’d known it that day and that sureness about being with her hadn’t changed.

Hearing her say I do and getting a wedding band on her finger was his first goal in the morning and his last goal at night.

Plenty of his friends had told him that he was whacked for wanting the vows and the Mr. and Mrs. but not one of them didn’t get why he wanted Jess. She was beautiful. Centerfold beautiful. Cock-grabbing beautiful. Beautiful enough that as a kid her mother had forced her into competing in pageants. Beautiful enough that if pageants were her thing, Jess’d be winning. But it wasn’t her beauty that had him hooked.

She could take care of herself but he’d discovered that he wanted to take care of her. She could be tough when she needed to be, but she wasn’t afraid to be utterly, submissively feminine.

Fuck. Maybe they could fix this in bed. Maybe he should find out if there was a hotel in this seven-building town and take Jess there. He could reassure her with his body that he loved and desired her. Hell, not only loved and desired, but desperately needed her in his life.

He rubbed his chest but the tightness didn’t ease. Need was too tame a word when it came to Jessica. He craved her like an addict looking for the next fix.

He could be whitewater rafting on rough water and he’d get hard thinking about the way she yielded and went submissive. More than once he’d been rock climbing and gotten a boner he could have used as a chisel from thinking about how she accepted the rougher aspects of his sexuality—not that he’d ever, ever hurt her.

Yeah right, asshole. Look at her and tell yourself she’s a happy camper.

He stabbed a fry into a pool of catsup. Inhaled, exhaled, tried to loosen the tightness in his chest and rid himself of the fear that had been threatening to suffocate him since coming out while he was driving.

Christ! Could he have done something more stupid?

He glanced up from his plate to find her looking out the window. Jesus, he couldn’t stand to see her like this. It was killing him one agonizing minute at a time.

He rubbed his palm over her engagement ring. At least she hadn’t hurled it back at him. She hadn’t screamed or cursed or called him names. Not that he would have blamed her, though if she had he probably would have wrecked the car.

The tightness in his chest became a blockage in his throat, preventing him from breathing. What if she was thinking that this was it? That they’d have one last week of hot, no-holds-barred sex and then say goodbye when they got home?

He couldn’t let that happen. Somehow he had to make this right.

He’d have proposed on the first date, that’s how sure he was that she was the right woman for him. But she was more cautious, a little less quick to grab for the brass ring than he was, so he’d taken the time she needed.

Hell, he needed to be honest with himself. He’d been testing himself with the wait even if a rogue, selfish part of him wished they’d already been married before he’d had his come to Jesus moment of illumination.

But when he’d finally popped the question he’d been convinced that he was mainly hetero. Yeah, he noticed guys and sometimes he fantasized, but mostly he wanted Jess.

The last group trip he’d led ripped that false sense of security away like it was toilet paper. He’d been tempted, tempted to the point where only his ironclad rule to never get involved with paying clients had kept him from doing something stupid.

His heart thundered like it was caught in an avalanche and a chill swept over him. He’d come so close to trashing a future with Jess. If he betrayed her with either a man or a woman, she would never forgive him. He’d be out of her life permanently.

It’d been a wake-up call, not only for the present but for the future. Imagining what might happen down the road made him break out in a cold sweat during the day and thrash with nightmares when he slept.

It was easy to envision a situation where she was home with their kids and he was on a trip where there were guys who weren’t clients. It would happen in a weak moment, maybe after the rush of conquering some span of water or mountain or maybe because he’d gone years without being with another man.

Christ, he would lose everything that mattered to him. Everything. Her. Their kids. His self-respect. Everything.

If he could see a shrink and get cured or take a pill and bingo, no more urge for gay sex, he’d do it for Jess. He’d give up that part of himself. But one, those options weren’t available. And two, she’d never ask it of him anyway.
Jessica had no problem with someone being gay or bi. Hell, that’s what had led to his confession in the car.

He’d intended to wait until they’d gotten to the cabin. He’d imagined himself telling her after they’d made love in front of a roaring fire. But then she’d told him about a book she was thinking of writing, a teen coming out story and he’d come out.

He swallowed hard. Seeing her hurt was tearing him up.

Somehow he had to convince her they could work this out. He didn’t want an open marriage where they both screwed whoever caught their interest. It’d kill him to be with her and wonder if she’d been with someone else earlier in the day, worry that she was falling in love with someone else and would decide that guy could satisfy her completely.

There’d been a time in his life when he’d been quick to fuck anyone who caught his eye. But even before he’d met Jess, he’d slowed down on the casual sex. Not that he’d been a saint, but deep down he was already waiting for the right person—the right woman. He’d never pictured himself setting up house with another guy. He’d never thought much about what it would mean to be bi and married.

The truth was, he’d never been one to over-plan the future. Yeah, he was meticulous about the adventure trips, lives were on the line. But when it came to the big picture of his personal life, he trusted that he’d see the brass ring and be ready to grab it when it came along.

He’d seen Jessica and known she was the one. Now he had to hang on to her. A threesome could work.

They’d get married. Eventually they’d meet someone and his friend Patrick could perform a ceremony if vows in front of friends and family turned out to be important to their third.

Clay rubbed his palm over the engagement ring, the warmth of her hand sinking into his. The wedding band was on the dresser at home, a reminder along with the question he always asked first thing in the morning, You picked a date?

His brother didn’t get it. Bring up how much he wanted to get married and Carter always said, What’s with you? Shacking up is the way to go. Look at Mom and Dad. Think how miserable it would have been if one of them had felt trapped and couldn’t leave for a while.

Yeah. And every time that’d happened, there’d always been the fear that this time, the one who’d left wouldn’t come home.

Clay took his hand off hers so he could shovel the food faster. Forget a hotel room. He’d screwed up by rushing things but he’d have a week alone with Jess to make it right.

Outside the wind gusted harder than when he’d fought his way over from the general store. They’d be better off if they could get ahead of the storm and get to the cabin before the dirt roads leading to it got slick and the danger of mudslides increased.

He finished the last of his burger and fries. Jess polished off her grilled cheese.

Ache spasmed through his heart at her ducked head, at the goodbye he read in her curved shoulders. “Ready?”

“As soon as I stop by the ladies room.”

They both stood. He wanted to pull her into his arms. He didn’t. Nothing he could say or do here could make this right.

The tightness in his chest increased with each step she took away from him. He couldn’t lose her. But maybe either way he was destined—

No. He refused to believe that they weren’t meant to be together.

He left a tip tucked under the plate then went to the counter where their waitress stood behind an old-fashioned cash register. She took the money he offered and gave him change. “Things have a way of working out. Let the Thunderbird into your lives and you will find happiness.”

“Thanks.” Not that he had a clue what she meant by the Thunderbird or that her words of encouragement eased the ache splintering his heart.

Jessica returned. He opened the diner door for her, opened the car door for her. At least she still wore her engagement ring, at least she still wanted to go to the cabin.

They drove away from Hohoq under a sky that continued to darken with gray and black clouds. Thunder pealed in short bursts, moving closer. When they turned off the main road, rain pelted the car, pounding against metal like tiny fists.

In the intimacy created by the storm, Jessica placed her hand on his thigh and whispered, “I love you.”

His throat burned beneath his jaw. He covered her hand with his, rubbed his thumb over the engagement ring. “I love you too. I don’t want to lose you, Jess. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The hand on his thigh slid upward and cupped his erection. He managed a shaky laugh and prayed this wasn’t the beginning of her saying goodbye. “He loves you too. He thinks about you constantly.”

She didn’t laugh. She didn’t make an appreciative comment about his cock the way she usually did when he professed its love.

The burn in his throat moved into his eyes. He struggled for something else to say, something that would turn back the clock so things were normal between them, but there was nothing he could say. There was no going back.

The dirt road steepened though they’d stop well before the snow line. He rubbed his thumb over her fingers and the ring, watched for the turn that would take them to the cabin.

“How many have there been?” she asked, her voice so soft he wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t fixated on her.

“Male lovers?”

“Yes.”

“Do you really want a number, Jess?” He didn’t think she did. Except for at the beginning of their relationship, when they’d needed to assure themselves they were sexually safe, they’d left previous partners in the past.

She closed her fingers into a fist beneath his hand. “No. I guess what I want to know is if you ever loved any of them.”

“Not like I love you. But you’re the first woman I’ve ever really loved. The rest were either crushes or fun fucks.”

He glanced at her face but couldn’t read her eyes. “I’m done with casual, Jess.”

She stayed quiet for a long time before finally saying, “Somebody could get hurt.”

Her voice held the fear that she was the one who would get hurt and his heart wanted to pledge that he’d never let that happen, but how could he make that promise when he’d already hurt her by telling her he was bi? His hand tightened on hers, acknowledging the truth. His throat locked.

Jessica forced her fingers to unclench on Clay’s erection. Could she really give herself to another man for him? Could she really share him with that other man?

She wasn’t turned off by the idea of gay sex and would probably be turned on watching it if she loved the men involved. She’d had fantasies of being with two men at once, but that was fantasy, and there was no possibility of heartbreak and loss in fantasy.

She wanted Clay to say he’d always love her and nothing would change that. She wanted him to promise a threesome would lead only to incredible pleasure and not to unbearable pain. But he couldn’t guarantee those things. No one could.

Even for him, she didn’t know if she could handle this, but she asked, “How would we find a third person?”

“Jess…” His hand nudged hers up and down on his erection. “I’ve been so torn up over telling you…” his voice broke. “I’ve been so worried about losing you that I haven’t gotten past the part where I convince you to keep wearing the engagement ring.”

“I’m not sure I can go through with it.”

Tears glittered against her cheeks and Clay’s throat clogged. He didn’t have the courage to ask her if she was talking about the threesome, or their getting married.

“Maybe just knowing you accept the need will be enough to keep it manageable. I’d rather cut my dick off than hurt you.”

She sniffled and gave a tiny laugh. “I’d rather you not do that. It’s one of your best parts and most redeeming features.”

Some of the ache in his heart eased at being on familiar ground. His throat cleared and he arched his hips to press his cock into her cupped hand. “He’s a big fan of yours too.”

Jessica gave Clay’s erection a little squeeze, ready to push The Revelation out of her thoughts for a little while. “He can show me how big a fan he is when we get to the cabin.”

“He’ll do that.”

They reached a turnoff guarded by totem poles. In the stormy grayness the poles looked surreal. The pounding of rain became ancient drums. The wind became the power of the Thunderbirds perched on top of the poles, their wings outstretched as they claimed everything they could see.

“They’re beautiful,” she said. “Like towering guards serving the earth and wind and water.”

“Yeah, they are. We can hike back tomorrow and get a closer look. This turn leads to the local sheriff’s house. The next one will take us to our cabin.”

The drumbeats became so real that she gave in and asked, “Do you hear them?”

He glanced at the totem poles. The faces of badgers and bears and foxes and birds of prey were carved into the wood beneath the thunderbirds. “What? The birds or the animals?”

“Drums beating.”

He laughed and flashed a smile that had her heart tripping over itself. “Love your imagination, babe.”

Harder winds buffeted the car. Clay took his hand off hers and put it on the steering wheel.

Five miles later the fury of the storm arrived. It was magnificent in its violence, like something alive and primal.

The windshield wipers swiped frantically at water. The car edged forward at a crawl. A flash of lightning streaked across the sky. A crack of thunder splintered the air right on top of them.

Jessica flinched. A rumbling vibration shook the car.

She grabbed the edge of the seat. Clay hit the gas and they jolted forward.

An instant later something slammed into the rear of the car.

She screamed as they spun, heart climbing into her throat as they plunged off the road and careened down the steep incline toward a line of trees.

There was time for a gasp. An instant of blindness as violent impact exploded the airbags.

Shock held her in place for a second. And then she could think.

She turned toward Clay, slumped in this seat and not moving, and a sob choked off breath. Oh god, let him be okay! Please let him be okay!

The driver side window was a spider-web of cracks where he’d hit it. She jerked out of the seatbelt and harness, forced herself to fight the swelling panic.

He’s breathing. At least he’s breathing. That’s a good sign.

With shaking hands, she gently explored his skull. There was a knot already forming on the side of his head. But nothing felt broken and there was only a little blood on the side of his face.

He moaned and the sound lanced into her. His eyes flickered open and she glimpsed uneven pupils before his lids drifted shut. She thought concussion but her stomach churned.

She swallowed, and swallowed again, trying to keep the grilled cheese and fries down. There could be other injuries, injuries she couldn’t see.

His hand twitched as though he intended to reach for his seatbelt. “Jess?” It came out slurred.

She covered his hand with hers. “I’m right here.”

With her other hand, she grabbed her purse and retrieved her cellphone. There was no signal.

Clay opened his eyes. “Jess?”

His voice was still slurred and confused. His pupils looked more uneven and his breathing… Was it shallower? More labored?

He could be bleeding internally. A lung could be punctured. Things inside him could be broken.

She didn’t want to leave him alone with a concussion. But if she didn’t, and there were other injuries, it could get worse, so much worse.

She needed to climb to the road and see if she could get a signal. And if she couldn’t then she’d need to leave him long enough to get to the sheriff’s house.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She knocked them away. I have to do this.

“Clay?”

He didn’t answer. Her heart stretched up her throat and banged in her ears.

She jostled him gently, afraid he’d slipped into a coma. “Clay?”

He stirred. Eyelids flickered. Lips parted and finally, slowly, moved. His voice was too faint to hear but she read the words. Love you.

Eyes stinging she grabbed her jacket and put it on, pulled the hood up though there was a lull in the rain.

“I’m getting help,” she said, pressing a kiss to his forward.

She got out of the car. No bars.

Zipping the cellphone into her jacket pocket, she glanced at Clay. Please, please be okay when I get back.

She climbed, sending small rocks and miniature landslides downward with her hands and knees and feet. Reaching the road, Clay wasn’t visible, but the boulder that must have hit the car and sent them spinning off the road had smashed into several pines, uprooting one and breaking another in two before ripping into a third.

She shivered. If the rock hadn’t hit the rear of the car, if it’d struck the driver’s side door…

Lucky. They’d been lucky. They just needed a little more luck.

She pulled out her cellphone. There was no coverage.

That means I go to plan B.

She couldn’t allow herself to think what failure might mean. She would find help. Clay would be okay.

She took a deep breath and ran in the direction of the turnoff to the sheriff’s house. Each of her heartbeats was a plea. And every slap of her tennis shoes against the muddy, rocky road sounded that same plea.

Let me find help.

Let me find help.

Let me find help.

Her lungs burned and her sides ached by the time she reached the totem poles. Passing between them, she had the eerie impression that the land itself was aware of her presence. And with that feeling came a fleeting sensation that in another life she’d known when Thunderbirds flew and had lived in a world where spirit guides existed.

Goose bumps rose on her arms. Clay’s imagined voice said, Love your imagination, babe, and she swallowed against the added burn in her throat.

She stopped to catch her breath. Doubled over, hands on her thighs.

“Please let him be okay. Please let me find help,” she whispered and a sudden strong wind surged past her, as if catching her pleas and then carrying them swirling upward in a funnel cloud of leaves and dirt.

She pulled her phone from the jacket pocket. A single bar. And it was getting darker faster.

Swallowing against a rush of panic she pushed herself back into a fast run. She had to keep going. That’s all she could do.

The rain returned in a fierce downpour. It drove against her back as if she was the storm’s target.

Lightning flashed with increasing frequency. Thunder obliterated the pounding of her own heart.

A cluster of dark clouds twisted and roiled and hurried across the sky in a beautiful, powerful display. She ducked her head, the wind against her back felt like a hurrying hand.

Her thoughts returned repeatedly to Clay. She imagined him drowsy but okay. She imagined him slipping into a coma. She imagined him bleeding internally, the blood pooling, turning into something life-threatening and killing him before she could get back with help.

She passed a stand of junipers and their scent was Christmas with Clay.

Rain and tears nearly blinded her. The storm deafened her. A white car with a bronze five-pointed star overlaid with the word Sheriff swung around the curve in front of her and her heart soared. Help. She’d found help.

The car braked, sliding into a stop and a Native American man emerged from the cruiser wearing a brown slicker with the Sheriff’s Department logo. Her exhale was part sob. Relief nearly sent her to her knees.

Savant saw the flash of white as the snow leopard left its hiding place in a charge. He cursed, stumbled in his hurry to get away from the water’s edge, but it was too late. The leopard was in the air, its magnificent body stretched out, its razor-sharp claws gleaming in the sunlight.

Savant cursed again as the cat hit him, its weight and speed carrying them both backward and over the bank. There was only time enough to cast a quick spell to cushion his landing. And then the erotic, shimmering energy of Sunder washed over Savant and nearly had him coming in his trousers.

“My turn to be on top,” Sunder said, his voice a purr.

Savant looked at the exotic face above his and was momentarily lost in the gray-green eyes which had first captured him so many years ago. He’d thought he might gain a familiar when he rescued the snow leopard on that dock. Instead he had gained so much more.

“I need to get undressed,” Savant said, the cold water soaking into his clothing but doing nothing to cool the heat raging through him.

Sunder’s hips moved and Savant groaned as their cocks rubbed against each other. Sunder’s naked, his own shielded by too much fabric.

“I need to get undressed,” Savant repeated, but couldn’t stop himself from spearing his fingers through Sunder’s hair and guiding the other man’s lips to his, anxious for the feel of Sunder’s cat-rough tongue.

“You were lost in your plants again,” Sunder growled, licking across the seam of Savant’s mouth and making him moan. “You left yourself vulnerable and now I have you at my mercy.”

Savant managed a laugh despite the throbbing of his cock. It was an often-played game between them. “I was safe enough. I’m still safe enough.”

Sunder licked across the seam of Savant’s lips again. “You’re easy prey.”

“So make a meal of me,” Savant said, parting his lips and meeting Sunder’s tongue with his own as his hips bucked upward, grinding their cocks together.

Sunder grunted and deepened the kiss, his thighs forcing Savant’s apart. His hands grasped Savant’s wrists and pinned them to the bed of the shallow stream.

Wild heat rushed through Sunder, ferocious and savage. The animal instinct to exert dominance over another male was only barely tempered by the human desire to love.

It was not common for his kind to take same-sex lovers. But even nearly dead, Sunder had been drawn to Savant from the first moment he saw him. Savant’s scent had called to him, had coated his leopard’s tongue and stirred a different kind of hunger. That Savant had rescued him in his leopard form, had nursed him back to health, then transported him to a safe place and offered him freedom without knowing what Sunder truly was, had cemented their bond more surely than the blood-spell making them warlock and familiar.

Sunder made a soft sound of contentment. His tongue met Savant’s, rubbed and stroked and tasted and twined. The need to dominate was momentarily under control as he enjoyed the slide of his cock against Savant’s soft trousers, enjoyed the way Savant moaned underneath him, met his kisses and yielded.

He wouldn’t be able to play for long. He was too aroused. The edginess he’d felt since first encountering the woman’s scent, the frustration he’d experienced when he’d been unable to follow it to its source had sharpened and made him aggressive.

Marisa Lacoste doubled over as pain sliced through her sides.

Run.

Keep running!

She sucked in air. She just needed a minute, then she’d get moving.

Stupid! She’d been so stupid. So unaware. So naïve.

If she hadn’t returned to camp earlier than expected… If she hadn’t overheard them deciding to find her and kill her now, when the storm would work to their advantage…

She tried to quiet her breathing so she’d be able to hear them. Tried to force herself to breathe through her nose, her throat and lungs already aching from gasping cold mountain air.

How could Ethan be involved in this? And for money. He knew the most important thing to her was her art. It was all she’d cared about since she was old enough to hold a crayon.

A rumble sounded in the distance. Thunder to go with the darkening sky and gathering gray clouds.

Tears wet her face. She brushed them away impatiently. Tears wouldn’t do any good.

Maybe later. When she found her way off the mountain. When she flagged down a car or found a call box. When she got back to the last town they’d stopped in. Hohoq—so small it wasn’t on the map.

They’d eaten at a tiny home-style diner there and anyone who’d seen them together would testify they’d been in great spirits. A man and two women. Enjoying themselves the way people do when they’re on vacation. Laughing. Teasing. Probably in the area for rock climbing or hiking, or just to camp.

She and Ethan resembled each other so closely with their black hair and blue eyes that they were obviously related. Not that Kaitlyn wouldn’t have drawn her share of appreciative glances with her blonde, fashion-model looks.

Fresh pain ricocheted in Marisa’s chest. They’d played her so well. Not just for the last couple of days, but for months.

The beautiful tabletop books with pictures of the Cascades. Talking her into taking a rock-climbing class. All done so this trip wouldn’t seem out of character and her accidental death wouldn’t seem suspicious.

Stupid! She’d been so thrilled to be included!

But now, looking back, she understood how she’d set this in motion. She’d been so proud to realize that slowly, over the years, she’d begun living only on the proceeds from the sales of her paintings. She’d been so excited by the idea of putting the money she’d inherited from their father, the money her brother had been managing, into a scholarship fund so other artists could make it as she had.

Was any of the money left? Had Ethan been embezzling it all along? Or only since Kaitlyn came into the picture?

Marisa pushed thoughts of her brother and Kaitlyn aside. Forced herself to straighten. The air around her was getting colder and the sky darker.

A different fear gripped her. Its fingers icy dread.

Lost, her skin slick with sweat from running, exposed to the elements overnight with nothing more than the clothing she was wearing, she could as easily die from hypothermia as from a staged fall while rock climbing.

It’d be easy for them to claim she’d gotten lost while she was hiking. Gotten so absorbed in her surroundings, in the beauty and colors she’d try to pull into her art later, that she hadn’t been paying attention to where she was going. They’d say she had panicked and run when she finally realized she didn’t know where she was or how to get back to camp.

Anyone who’d ever seen her when she became immersed in her work would testify that she could go days without answering the phone or opening the mail, would barely remember to eat. It wouldn’t take any great leap of imagination to believe she’d gotten lost.

Marisa shivered. The sweat chilled underneath her shirt and jeans.

They’d still want to find her body. They’d want to make sure she hadn’t overheard them or guessed their plans and used her art supplies to leave a note.

The breeze picked up, bringing the scent of rain. Thunder rumbled, louder, closer, confirmation that a storm was on its way and would turn the mountain and time into deadly enemies.

She wouldn’t last the night if her clothing got wet. She knew it with a certainty that came from being a news addict, not an experienced camper.

She would give every penny she had just to spot smoke curling upward from a cabin somewhere in front of her or below in the canyon. But there was nothing. No indication anyone lived in the area despite the No Trespassing signs and the beautifully crafted totem poles capped with ferocious thunderbirds that she’d passed earlier.

Another rumble sounded, not thunder but an off-road motorcycle. Her heart pounded faster, harder. Adrenaline and terror dulled the pain in her lungs and sides and thighs.

They knew she was missing. They knew she was running.

There was a grove of pine and cedar ahead but she wasn’t sure she could get to it before being seen. And if she did, the trees and undergrowth might slow her down and trap her instead of offering her shelter and protection.

The rumble of the motorcycle grew louder. She left the wide dirt path. Everything inside her screamed that she needed to get out of sight. Now. Now.

She reached the canyon edge. Her heart surged into her throat. She swallowed, trying to force its throbbing beat downward.

I can do this. I have to do this.

She went over the edge. Scrambled over rock, grabbing with her hands and trying to gain purchase with her feet while pebbles tumbled like the beginning of a rock slide.

All she needed to do was find a place where she could cling safely until the bike had passed and then passed again, returning to camp.

The bike drew near. Its engine roared, echoed in the canyon.

Hurry! Hurry! Just a little bit further and she’d be out of sight.

The rock under her hands and feet gave.

An involuntary scream escaped and sliced through the canyon.

She hurtled downward. Clawed at the canyon side, each wild grab dislodging more rock and earth.

There was a desperate awareness of speed and motion, of being momentarily airborne.

She landed hard on an outcropping. Pain screamed through her. Legs, ribs, arms. Broken. So many things broken.

She turned her head and vomited as debris struck her face and arms and torso before bouncing and continuing the journey downward.

The sound of the slide faded and only the purr of an engine remained. Fighting to remain conscious, Marisa saw the motorcycle stop far above her. The rider slid the helmet off to get a better view—or maybe Kaitlyn needed to reveal herself to make her victory more satisfying.

For long moments she looked down at where Marisa lay, and then with a wave, she put the helmet on and drove away.

Tears streamed from Marisa’s eyes. There was nothing left but pain. Emotional. Physical.

Bleeding, killing wounds inflicted to heart and soul.

Breaking, tearing wounds done to bone and flesh.

She faded in and out of consciousness. Aware on some level of the blackening sky, the rapidly approaching storm, the feel of cold rain pelting her exposed skin. The wetness of her clothes, their sodden mass a heavy weight on a frame barely able to sustain life.

The thunder was directly overhead now, a violent, crashing symphony.

Lightning flashed, flickering brilliance against Marisa’s eyelids.

She forced her eyes open, knowing she was dying and yet choosing to see the beauty around her. The magnificence of the storm. Far more powerful and real than anything she’d ever been able to capture in her art—though sometimes she came close, and those were the paintings she treasured.

Jagged streaks illuminated the sky. Thunder crashed like the clap of cymbals at a song’s crescendo.

Above her a thunderbird formed and hovered. His powerful wings beat the air with such force that clouds swirled around and under him. The bright colors of his feathers reflected off gray rock, painting it red and white with splashes of yellow and blue. His beak opened in a soundless scream and lightning sparked from coal black eyes.

She was hallucinating but she embraced the hallucination. A small laugh of sheer joy came. The wind caught the sound of her pleasure and carried it away as she felt herself floating upward, toward the thunderbird.

The great bird turned its eyes on her and swooped. Its dive scattered the clouds and drove Marisa’s awareness back to her body. To pain and cold. And finally—nothingness.

Even braced for the sight of Lyan, Draigon could not suppress the flash of anger he felt when he saw the Vesti emerge from the portal building. What had started out as childhood animosity had intensified, solidified over time and it did not help that Lyan’s feelings mirrored his own, that Lyan bristled and glowered as soon as they were within speaking distance, causing Adan to jump in as he was often required to do, to say, “This is not the way to forge peace between our peoples.”

As it always did, it took several seconds for Adan’s words to penetrate, to break the staring contest that was habit when Draigon and Lyan encountered each other. But when it was done, Draigon turned his attention to Krista and felt his breath catch in his throat at her fragile beauty. She was delicate and exquisite. Soft and golden. Completely desirable.

He glanced at Adan. “I come to greet your new bond-mate and to tell her that soon her friend will join her on Belizair. The scientists have determined that the human female, Savannah, has the Fallon gene marker that matches mine.”

“To harm one of the Vesti is to declare war on all of us, Draigon,” Lyan said, drawing Draigon’s gaze and causing fresh anger to rush through him, Lyan’s words a confirmation that he knew his cousin had already mated with Savannah.

“There will be no war. In true Vesti fashion, your cousin took what did not belong to him, but my mate would be dead if he had not been there to interfere. For that reason and that reason alone, I will accept him as a co-mate.”

Draigon once again forced his attention away from Lyan and back to Krista, this time leaning forward and pressing his lips to Krista’s, a taunt to Lyan and yet a sharing with Adan. As Jeqon had said, Adan’s happiness and possessiveness of his bond-mate was easy to see.

When the kiss ended Draigon turned and strode past them, toward the portal, his steps light and hurried. He had reconciled himself to taking a human mate though he had never been drawn to any female other than those of his race, and the thought of a female with no wings had been a leaden weight in his chest. But the instant he saw Krista he understood why some of the Fallon had been fascinated by the women on Earth, why he had not seen any of the other human females brought back to Winseka. Their mates had yet to let them out of bed!

Draigon’s heart quickened and his cock grew hard in anticipation. Where before he had been resigned, now he was anxious to get to the task of securing his mate and bringing her home, breeding her so that his line would continue.

He entered the transport chamber, glad he had been granted permission to jump from the portal exit to where Kye and Savannah were, otherwise he would have been forced to endure endless Earth-hours using their primitive means of transportation.

Draigon grimaced. By all accounts, Earth was a backwater of a planet and he did not intend to remain there for long. He would secure his mate and return before the third sun rose and set on Belizair.

The stones in the chamber pulsed in a sequence of light and color and Draigon braced himself as the Ylan crystals in his wristbands pulled on the energy around them, preparing for the transmutation that preceded transport. The air becoming charged, and then before he could take a breath, he was on Earth.

He paused long enough to change into the clothing stored in a room adjacent to the transport chamber, then he used the Ylan stones to both hide his wings and to transport him to Kye’s location. And for a moment Draigon could only stare in amazed disbelief at the sight before him.

I would stand and greet you properly but as you can see, I am tied up right now, Kye said, his amused voice jerking Draigon’s attention from the sight of a bound Vesti warrior lying on the ground to the human standing over him.

As if sensing his presence, Savannah turned toward Draigon and lust poured into him even as the breath was forced from his chest. He moved forward with only one thought, to claim his mate.

Holy fuck! Where had he come from! Savannah wondered as she scrambled for the rifle leaning against a tree and jerked the rope at the same time so the knot hogtying Kye’s wrists to his ankles like a calf in a rodeo event would pull free.

Whoever Mr. Red was, he was coming toward them fast. And though he wasn’t armed, he looked deadly enough without a weapon. She grabbed the rifle just as he got to where Kye had rolled over and was now sitting, freeing himself from the rope.

“Stop right there,” Savannah said, chambering a round and pointing the rifle at the center of the stranger’s chest, watching as his gaze dropped to the weapon, his face reflecting surprise, and then amusement. But he did as she commanded, not taking his eyes off her even when Kye rose to his feet.

“This is Draigon d’Amato,” Kye said. “He means you no harm.”

Savannah’s eyes narrowed, not liking the way Kye’s body radiated tension. Not liking the way he’d phrased his comment. She didn’t lower the rifle.

“He might not mean me any harm, but what about you?”

Kye forced himself to relax, but by the stars, it was hard! When he had first seen Draigon he had assumed the Amato was now working for the Council scientists. He had assumed Draigon was to guard Savannah while he returned to San Francisco and spoke with Jeqon. But Draigon’s reaction to the sight of Savannah, his telepathically delivered announcement that he was her mate by Council law had very nearly devastated Kye. Of all the Amato who could have been matched with Savannah…to have it be this one…a man long at odds with his cousin Lyan.

Surely our mate does not intend to discharge that primitive weapon into my chest, Draigon said, sending hope flooding into Kye, disbelief. His thoughts caught on a single word-our mate.

You have accepted me as your co-mate? he asked, saying to Savannah, “He means me no harm, either. I was expecting a third to join us. Though I had not intended to be caught in the position Draigon found me in.”

She lowered the rifle, suspicion still radiating from her, filling Kye with both pride and amusement. Did Jeqon tell you she has been trained to serve as a policewoman among the humans? Be warned, she is intelligent and observant. Very little gets by her. He paused, daring to ask the yet unanswered question again. You have accepted me as your co-mate?

Yes. The answer was a hostile growl but for the moment Kye was filled with relief and gratitude. Even happiness. Until Draigon said, Leave us.

The command was enough to bring the Vesti desire to hoard a mate roaring to life, burning through Kye’s veins with the same heat of the mating fever. He stiffened. Torn between the primitive urge to fight Draigon for possession of Savannah and the knowledge that he must share her with the flame-haired Amato.

Kye took a deep breath and forced a calm he did not truly feel into his body. He concentrated on the lessons he had learned in dealing with the Council members who looked on him with hostility and suspicion. It would serve no purpose to antagonize Draigon, though Kye had no intention of being a lesser mate to Savannah. For the moment diplomacy rather than challenge was necessary. I cannot leave. She must go to town in order to report to her captain. It would be safer for her if both of us were there to see to her protection.

Draigon’s face tightened. Every cell in his body announced his desire to be alone with Savannah. But finally he gave a slight nod and some of the tension drained from both of them.

Savannah watched the play of emotions over Kye’s face and through his body. There was something going on between the two men–not sexually. But something–the air was practically vibrating around them.

The long hair and the bands on Draigon’s wrists said he was from the same place as Kye. And between the conversation she’d had with Kye over breakfast and him saying, “I was expecting a third to join us,” it would be logical to think…

Savannah grinned. Now that she didn’t have to worry about defending herself and Kye, she could salivate over Draigon’s hard-muscled body. Could even undress him mentally and imagine herself in bed with him.

Damn, close the paddock gate before the stud could escape!

“Where is she?” Domino growled, whirling as his grandmother entered the travel trailer.

“Gone.”

“I can see that.” He flashed his fangs. “The Believers are hunting her.”

Helki laughed. “What kind of a mate would she be for you if she couldn’t take care of herself against mere humans?”

Obsidian eyes gleamed with menace. “I have no mate.”

“The cards say otherwise.”

Helki nodded toward the bed, to what remained of Dakotah’s possessions, left there when the dresser and desk had been emptied. A tarot deck was set apart from the rest. Three cards were laid out on the blood-red comforter.

The past, the present, the future.

Death. Strength. The Emperor.

A fourth and fifth card lay on the trailer floor.

The Empress. The World.

They’d tumbled there when he’d handled Dakotah’s things, wishing he had the ability to pick up images from them, or some hint of her whereabouts. He scooped the two cards up and dropped them onto the comforter. “I don’t have time for this foolishness.”

His grandmother shrugged and stepped away from the door, putting herself closer to him and also leaving the exit clear. “Then go.”

Domino snarled. She knew how close he was to turning. He could read it in her eyes, but she tested him anyway.

“I could force you to tell me what I want to know,” he said, obsidian eyes meeting equally dark ones.

She reached up and smoothed calloused fingertips over his cheek. “So like your grandfather. Perhaps that’s why I’ve always loved you best. Accept my words. Accept your destiny. Both lead to Dakotah. The wolves have already made their choice.”

Domino scowled, bested by his mother’s mother. A woman who had managed to raise Sarael, a stolen kadine, without discovery. A woman who’d seen through the veil of his kind and peered into their world when her daughter, his mother, had been claimed and converted by his father.

“I don’t want a mate.”

Helki cackled. “Neither did your father that night he came to the carnival hunting enemies and was ensnared by my Giselle. What a chase she gave him! What a chase she still gives him!”

Domino grimaced, preferring not to be reminded of The Heat that surrounded his parents. His mother would probably get pregnant soon with another generation of sons, followed by more, two or three sons every quarter of a century for as long as she and his father were reproductively fertile.

“Have your say then,” Domino grumbled.

Helki stroked her calloused fingertips over his cheek again. Her expression turned serious. “I wouldn’t have you spend the future alone, Domino, dependent on the herbs to control The Hunger.” She grimaced with distaste. “Nor would I see you go to the padralls and have them create a kadine for you. You know I abhor the practice of raising a female who is given no freedom to choose her mate, who is allowed no sense of who she really is, and whose very existence is centered around becoming the perfect mate. Accept what the cards say, what the wolf has already told you.”

She stepped closer to the bed. He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets when she separated the third card of those lined up on the comforter and added it to the two he’d brushed against earlier and knocked to the floor. She positioned them in the shape of a V—The Emperor and The Empress connected to each other by The World.

“You see it?” Helki asked him, but he refused to be drawn into her game.

“I see nothing but deepening dusk and growing darkness.”

Helki cackled and tapped The Emperor. “Oh, he is a stubborn one! Forceful and dominating. But what a protector he can be, and a provider for those he cares about.”

Her finger moved to the corner of The Empress. “An interesting card for your mate. She wouldn’t see herself in it, but it contains her. Her life has been one of famine and drought instead of abundance. It’s been marked by harsh choices and betrayal, but her soul hasn’t been tarnished and her secret heart yearns for a man to prove that all men aren’t like those who have come before him.”

Her fingertips touched the comforter, underscoring The World. “The circle is complete. Two separate journeys now become one. The path will lead to pleasure and fulfillment, and produce the next generation of sons, soldiers to follow in their father’s footsteps.” She cackled. “And to be as challenging for their father as he was to his own! You’ll find your mate and those chasing her in the woods between here and the campground.”

Cable tried to work up some concern at the prospect of being lectured by the higher-ups in his order, including his father, and possibly being reduced to errand boy for a while—but couldn’t. Hard to care about that when the rest of his life was about to crash and burn, when things were coming to an end with Fane.

The fingers of future heartbreak reached back and jabbed him. Yeah, he’d get over the agony eventually. It was getting through it that he had to manage first.

He shouldn’t have gotten involved with Fane to begin with.

But I did.

And now Fane’s Transformation from dhampir to vampire was approaching. Cable had been around enough dhampirs to recognize it—even if he wanted to ignore it and pretend it wasn’t so close.

He could sense the restlessness in Fane. The Hunger. The Heat.

Fane had become aggressive in bed, insatiable, dangerous. Multiple times he’d avoided being bitten only because Fane was underneath him, tethered or with his face pressed to the mattress to maintain control.

Heated need shivered through Cable and his hardened cock licked across his abs. He wanted Fane’s fangs to pierce his throat, dreamed of the ecstasy of being taken while Fane fed, of taking Fane while being bitten.

It was madness. The consequences were serious for a padrall who became obsessed with that particular high. Nothing was as addictive as a vampire’s bite when the one being bitten was allowed to experience it without the fog of enthrallment.

There were brothels where padralls who’d succumbed to the lure and the addiction were kept to service vampires and dhampirs who preferred their prey aware. The fallen padralls were never trusted again because of what they might do if they found themselves repudiated or replaced. A large number of them committed suicide once their looks had faded and they were no longer favored by the men who visited the brothels.

He’d avoided Fane’s bite not just because of the possible consequences but because it would make him desire Fane more desperately.

What a dumb fuck. He should have stuck to women.

Cable closed his eyes and tilted his head back, wished the hot water could pound the desire for Fane out of him. He needed to put some distance between them. He needed to walk away from the relationship before Fane came to him and asked him to arrange for the creation of a kadine.

He hated that vampire practice. But who else would Fane trust with such an important undertaking?

And undertaking the task…

That would be a living hell, a hell that could extend for decades unless one of the women who were little more than breeders was selected.

Pain shredded Cable’s heart. Fuck.

Would Fane expect the two of them to stay lovers until Fane claimed his bride and sexually bonded with her as he turned her into his kadine? And then what? Stick around, helping them raise their children, aging quickly while they aged over centuries?

That was not going to be his future! He wanted no part of it. No part of any of it.

He hated the entire concept of creating future brides, these days using artificial insemination or in vitro fertilization, and then raising those girls to be the perfect match for the vampire who’d made the arrangement with the espandral order.

If he could abolish it, he would. But he’d never be powerful enough to change the practice. And he’d never be able to escape the padrall system.

His family and all the others had prospered and gained power with each generation, but their livelihood and survival were irrevocably tied to the vampire race. There was no breaking the bonds forged so long ago that there was no written record of it. Betrayal—on any level—was a death sentence.

So where did that leave him? If he could go back in time, he’d still say yes to Fane that first time, and the second, and the third.

He took his shaft in hand and Fane’s image was immediately there. Broad shouldered, chest and biceps and thighs muscled in the way of a major league baseball player, hair the same shade of brown as his own, growing lighter in the summer and darker in the winter. A mouth that knew how to deliver pleasure. A cock—

Cable moaned, pumped his hand up and down on his shaft. Fuck, he was horny.

The bathroom door opened and he knew without looking that Fane stood watching him through the glass shower stall door. He should turn his back, or smarter still, get out of the room and out of the house.

But he didn’t.