Scent of Danger @page { margin-bottom: 5.000000pt; margin-top: 5.000000pt; } Scent of Danger   by Autumn Dawn     SMASHWORDS EDITION   * * * * *     PUBLISHED BY: Autumn Dawn on Smashwords   Scent of Danger Copyright © 2011 by Autumn Dawn www.autumndawnbooks.com     All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.   This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. * * * * *   DEDICATION     To my family. See, the odd ones can turn out okay.   To those who are no longer with us. Keep an eye on them Lord until we meet again.         PROLOGUE   Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. White-barked birch and budding spruce whipped in the wild wind, groaned under the onslaught of frigid rain. Willows rustled in protest as massive trunks popped and groaned. Some fell under the force of the brewing storm. It was winter’s last gasp for control before relinquishing its seasonal reign. Nothing living moved. A violent flash of lightning split the night, illuminating a clearing on the side of one of the forested hills. In that instant of light, two men appeared. Thunder boomed. The tallest, a blond warrior with brilliant green eyes, lifted his face to the wind. His nostrils flared as he tested the currents. Finding only the scent of wood pitch and damp earth, he relaxed. “So this is where we came from,” said his bemused companion, a warrior as dark as he was light. “Earth…” He frowned as he took in the naked birch limbs and dead tundra. “No wonder we left. Barren sort of place, isn’t it?” Fallon laughed. “Their winter ends, Mathin. They have snow and seasons, remember? And not all of us chose to leave.” He studied his companion’s appearance. Mathin had taken well enough to the comfortable denim pants and soft cotton shirts of the locals, but was visibly uncomfortable in the leather jacket that protected him from the dripping spruce boughs. Such heavy clothing was never needed on their world, but it was better than being wet. Fallon looked down and grinned. His companion had chosen to wear his own boots instead of the hiking boots he’d been offered. No doubt he had a knife sheathed in each one. At least they wouldn’t be flying on this journey. He’d be a nightmare to get past airport security. The guns holstered on each of their thighs would be no problem. Many of the locals wore them as protection against wolves and bears, at least in the untamed areas, but the dagger sheathed at Mathin’s waist made him frown. His companion already knew the risks of the blade falling into the hands of others, yet he’d chosen to bring it. No doubt because any thief intent on taking it would be cut to shreds for his effort. Mathin the Mad was no one to toy with. “The house is some miles from here. Are you ready to run?” Fallon asked, already looking in the direction of the trail that led to the highway. Mathin grinned, eager to explore this new world, and changed, taking on the shape of the Haunt. With one last glance at the empty countryside, Fallon joined him in the shift that made their race so feared by man, and so much stronger. Together they began the long run.     CHAPTER 1   “Yes, Grandma, I know.” Andrea sighed and rolled her eyes at her friend Zoë, who sat at her battered folding table, picking the almonds out of the chipped dish of nuts. “Knock it off,” she hissed, holding the phone away from her ear. “No, Grandma, not you! I was talking to Zoë.” Zoë smirked and made a show of hunting for the next one, knowing full well she was safe from retaliation. Andrea was busy piping the meringue mushrooms for her half-assembled Yule log. Sometimes Andrea wondered if the only reason Zoë hung out with her was for the edibles. It certainly wasn’t for the décor, she thought, grimacing at the rusty folding chair on which Zoë sat. At least it was better than the rickety three-legged stool that was the one-room apartment’s other seat. Other than a neat pile of blankets in the corner and the cardboard boxes housing her possessions, the room was still bare. And why wouldn’t it be? After all, she’d just moved in last week. Between work and culinary school, she’d barely had a moment to breathe, let alone unpack. Besides, it wasn’t as if she could afford much more than the essentials on her waitress’s salary. Even garage sale bargains were out of reach until she had the time to hunt for them. This was the last semester of school. In two days she could take her finals and finally earn her accreditation as a chef. She couldn’t wait. “Um, hmm.” she mumbled into the receiver sandwiched between her cheek and shoulder, realizing she’d missed half the conversation. It came as no surprise, since half of her grandmother’s dialogue consisted of local gossip, which Andrea detested, and personal advice, little of which applied to Andrea’s life. Still, she loved her grandmother, and she did try to respect her feelings. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear that. When shall I expect you?” “What?” The receiver slipped, caught in the crook of her elbow. She grabbed it and held it firmly to her ear. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Zoë wandered over to the microscopic counter, her gaze sly as she eyed the leftover chocolate gauche. Her fingers twitched. Andrea snatched the wooden spoon out the bowl and whacked the back of her hand. Zoë pouted and licked the creamy chocolate off her dark skin. The pout turned into a cross-eyed look of ecstasy. Andrea giggled. Then she heard her grandmother say, “Oh, thank you, dear! It means so much to me to know you’ll come visit. And do bring Zoë. She sounds like such a nice girl.” “B-but Grandma!” Andrea stuttered, stunned. “You live in Alaska!” Surely she hadn’t agreed to go visit there. “Don’t they still have igloos?” Zoë asked. Andrea glanced at her only to discover the brat had stolen the gauche while she’d been distracted. Brows lifted in challenge, Zoë dipped the spoon in the bowl and brazenly licked it. Andrea’s mouth opened in outrage, but Grandma Matilda cut her off. “I’ll pay for your e-tickets right away. I’ve got the Internet, you know.” Flustered by her Grandmother’s logic and the rapidly disappearing chocolate, Andrea sputtered, “I can’t take your money, Grandma! Besides, I have to find a better job, and there’s tons of stuff to do…” “If you haven’t found a job then there’s no problem, dear. You can find one here just as well, or wait until the summer’s over and go back to the lower forty-eight. Though why anyone would like to live there is beyond me.” Something chimed in the background. “Oops! There’s the timer. Jeopardy is on. I’ve got to go, dear. Love you.” “I’m not going to Alaska!” Andrea yelled, but it was too late. The line was dead. For a moment she just stood there, staring at the receiver until the automated message came on. She slammed it in its cradle, grabbed the half-eaten chocolate from Zoë and smacked it firmly on the orange counter. Pointless, now that it had been contaminated, but at least it was one thing in her life she could control. “Granny bought you a ticket, huh?” Zoë murmured sympathetically, eyeing the bowl. Eyes narrowed, Andrea inched it farther away. “No, she’s buying us tickets. On the Internet,” she said with mock anticipation, blue eyes wide. “And since I don’t have a job and as far as I know your job is mooching, there’s no problem, is there?” She shook her braided dark hair in disgust and popped the meringue in the oven, mentally reminding herself to put it on the top shelf so the ancient device wouldn’t scorch the bottoms. Carefully easing the frosted cake back, she grabbed a fresh dishcloth and started to clean up. “Sounds fun,” Zoë said absently, moving around her to lean on the mustard colored refrigerator. Her weave caught on the broken door handle and she grimaced, adjusting her position. “I’ve always wanted to see penguins.” Andrea closed her eyes in exasperation. “They don’t have penguins at the North Pole, Zoë.” When she opened them again Zoë had the bowl and was seated at the table. Giving up, Andrea joined her, eyeing the bowl wistfully. At the moment she wanted nothing more than to drown her troubles in a bowl of rich chocolate, but she’d already eaten her quota of heaven for the day. “I’m not going to Alaska,” she muttered rebelliously, almost to herself. Just the sight of that rapidly disappearing frosting was making her cranky. If there were justice in this world, Zoë would gain five pounds for every lick. Nobody should be able to live off snack cakes and pizza and still look like a prom queen. Zoë just looked at her and licked the spoon. “I’m not!” she insisted more vehemently. “Can you see me living with Granny for an entire summer? I’d go insane. Completely nuts. I mean…” She picked up a pen and tapped it on the table in agitated staccato. “All she does is ask me when I’m getting married, do I have a boyfriend….” “How is Rob, anyway?” Zoë asked around the spoon. “History.” “Already?” she asked in surprise, going so far as to remove the spoon. “I figured you’d at least keep him around long enough to pop your cherry.” “Zoë!” That was too much, even for her outspoken friend. “Maybe some of us like to wait until we’ve found someone worthy of the deed. Two months was enough to convince me that he wasn’t it.” It had taken less time than that, but she’d been reluctant to admit it, even to herself. After all, she was twenty-three and she hadn’t dated more than four guys in her entire life. Zoë called her picky, and Andrea was starting to wonder if maybe she was a little too demanding. Not that she’d had a lot of offers in high school, being one of the unlucky late bloomers, and shy to boot. She’d hidden her nose in a book throughout most of her teen years and lugged around a huge stack that strained the seams of her backpack. She might as well have had the geek logo stamped across her pimply forehead. Fortunately, things had changed. She’d learned to fit in, lost the glasses, and made a few friends. Her glossy brown hair was tamed with a chic cut and she’d discovered a sense of style. Her skin was smooth enough now that she hardly needed makeup, and she was in decent shape. Occasionally, she even had a date—they just never made it past first base. She was really picky about kissing. If a guy didn’t know how to kiss, then it was doubtful he’d be good at anything else. Even if he might be, would it be worth putting up with garlic breath and cold slobber to find out? Unfortunately, she’d had a run of bad kissers. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have desire, and she wasn’t frigid or anything. She just wanted more than a brief relationship with a man she only sort-of liked. She wanted love. Magic. Was that too much to ask? Zoë snorted. “It’s just a ring of tissue, girlfriend. It doesn’t mean anything.” Unwilling to argue the point, Andrea waved the issue aside. “Anyway,” she said, getting back to the original question, “I’m not going to Alaska. She’s just going to have to understand. I’ll call her back, and this time she’ll listen.” Zoë blinked, very slowly. “This is your Granny,” she said very carefully, as if to a particularly slow child. “The guilt will eat you if you don’t go.” Andrea frowned. “I’m not going.” “Care to bet?”   One week later Andrea found herself in a cab, heading for the house her grandmother maintained for a rich gentleman. She didn’t know much about the man, and at the moment she couldn’t remember his name. She was far too busy wishing she’d wormed out of this visit like Zoë, who’d simply told her Grandma that she’d take a rain check and gone about her merry way. Andrea had no such luck. So here she was, paying a cabbie an outrageous fare to take her far into the budding hills of Fairbanks. Actually they’d passed the city limits some time ago, and she wasn’t really sure quite where they were. She had a life back in Chicago—or soon would—and she didn’t have time to run off to the wilds and commune with the wolves or whatever the locals did out here. The first sight of the house caught her by surprise, though it shouldn’t have. After all, if the man were rich enough to hire a caretaker then it would follow that he could afford a rather nice residence. Built of squared stone blocks and nestled halfway into the hillside, the house resembled nothing less than a small castle, complete with octagon towers and a slate roof. Diamond paned glass of an iridescent hue graced the spacious windows. The front doors were constructed of thick planks of wood banded with elaborate ironwork. Still dormant birches lined the gravel paved drive and the grass had yet to turn green on the well-clipped grounds. “Nice place,” the cabbie said as she handed him some money. “What’s it like inside?” “Don’t know,” she admitted as she climbed out. “First visit.” He glanced at her black duffle bag and smaller carryall in speculation. “You need help with that?” “No, but I’d appreciate it if you’d wait until I’m inside before taking off. I tried to call from the airport, but nobody answered.” When he nodded she shut the door on the lavender cab and hefted her bag, her shoes crunching on the gravel as she approached the front steps. Hard to believe it was almost 10:30 PM and just beginning to get dark. This midnight sun business could really mess up a person’s time sense. Andrea’s breath frosted in the chill May air as she set down the carryall and grasped the wolf’s head knocker. As the sound echoed through the door and into the house beyond she suppressed a shiver. This place was just a teensy bit creepy. Only a few moments passed before one thick door opened wide, revealing her beaming grandmother. It took a moment for Andrea to recognize her, as the lady had shrunk since last she’d seen her. Of course, she’d been just a child at the time. She remembered Matilda’s hair as being gray-shot red, but now it was a faded shade of tangerine. Since their only communication had been a few phone calls over the years, Andrea was taken aback by how much the woman had aged. And didn’t she look a little pale? Hard to tell with the clouds moving in to obscure the light. A dog bayed in the distance. The older woman ushered her into the foyer, barely allowing Andrea time to set down her bags before she drew her into a big hug. The scent of roses smothered her and she fought not to sneeze. Andrea gingerly returned the embrace. “Hi, grandma.” Her grandmother didn’t seem to notice any awkwardness. “Oh, darling, it’s so good to see you!” she gushed, holding Andrea’s arms out to the side. “And look how you’ve grown.” “Yeah, just look.” If her voice lacked enthusiasm for the observation, well, that was to be expected. She hadn’t liked that gushing tone as a child and as an adult it set her teeth on edge. This is going to be a long visit, she thought with a mental sigh. “You look just like your great-aunt Virginia,” her grandmother enthused as she led her out of the foyer and into the sitting room on the right. She cocked her head. “Or was that Winifred? I never could keep them straight—they were twins, you know.” “Identical, huh?” Andrea looked around. And winced. What she could see of the parquet flooring under her feet was beautiful. Unfortunately someone had covered it in a series of violently clashing hooked rugs; the shaggy kind made with bits of yarn. Even worse, these rugs were balding. Rough-hewn beams spanned the white ceiling and the walls were wainscoted with birch tongue and grove. The effect reminded her pleasantly of a lodge, as did the iron, lantern-style light fixtures. Everywhere she looked the underlying decor spoke of elegance and taste. It was difficult to believe that whoever had designed this place would allow her grandmother to run amuck with her crazy color scheme. Unless the owner rarely saw it? “Oh, no, dear,” Matilda corrected her, continuing on to the next room. “They looked nothing alike.” Tension built in Andrea’s brow as she tried to understand her grandmother’s logic. Her first sight of the sitting room didn’t ease the frown. Slipcovers in loud floral patterns covered all the furniture. Couches and chairs were draped with crocheted Afghans of multicolored yarn. Checkered curtains with roughly the same colors as the slipcovers smothered the windows, obscuring the lovely diamond paned glass. So many knickknacks cluttered the sideboard, mantel and end tables it was impossible to see any of the surfaces. “Do have a seat, dear,” her grandmother told her, gesturing to a couch. Andrea sat down, discreetly elbowing aside a purple and red granny square pillow. “Been busy decorating?” “Oh, yes. The winters are very long here, and one must have something to do. Would you like a cookie?” She gestured to a plate on the coffee table. The cookies looked all right, but remembered dismay kept Andrea from temptation. Grandma’s desserts were never what they appeared to be. She still remembered the sensation of biting into a carob and prune bar at the tender age of seven. It had been years before she’d dared try another brownie. “Um, no thanks. I’m on a diet,” she hedged. Disappointed, her grandmother sat back, tucking her sweater more securely around her thin frame and propping her fuchsia-clad legs up on a hassock. Andrea blinked and politely averted her gaze. Her grandmother’s feet were clad in mismatched argyle socks, and her heels showed through the holes in the bottom. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I wanted you to come here on such short notice,” her grandmother began, surprising Andrea with her directness. At Andrea’s nod, she went on, “the doctors say that I have cancer.” She swallowed. “I don’t have much time.” Stunned, at first Andrea could just sit there. This was nothing like what she’d expected. Grandma couldn’t have cancer. She was too...she just couldn’t! It hit her then—her grandma was her last living relative. If she died, that was it, no more family. She would be alone. She didn’t even have a boyfriend, wasn’t sure if she’d ever find someone to love. Ashamed of her selfish fears and wishing to give comfort, she jerked out of her review and knelt at her Grandmother’s feet to grasp her hand. Tears she wouldn’t have expected clouded her vision. “Are they sure? They can’t...fix it?” Grandma shook her head sadly, her own eyes misty. “No, sweetheart. They can’t.” She sniffed. “And I’d so looked forward to seeing great-grandbabies, too.” Andrea flinched. How many times had she dodged her grandmother’s questions about settling down and raising some babies? It wasn’t as if she weren’t willing, she thought defensively. Was it her fault if good men were in short supply? At Andrea’s guilty expression her grandma shook her head and became all business. “Now none of that,” she said briskly, patting Andrea’s hand. “You just haven’t found the right man yet, and no wonder. But we’re going to change all that.” With barely suppressed excitement, she leaned in and confided, “I’ve spoken with my employer, and he’s agreed to hire you as his new caretaker—on a trial basis, of course.” Andrea frowned and sat back on her heels. The idea of becoming a housekeeper for a man she knew nothing about was ludicrous, of course, but she wasn’t sure how to say so without hurting her grandmother’s feelings. After all, she was so excited, and it must be good for her to have something to concentrate on after receiving the blow of incurable disease. With that in mind, she cautiously ventured, “I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a caretaker, Grandma.” “Of course you are!” her grandmother rushed to assure her. “And it will be such a relief to depart this world knowing that you’re in the capable hands of a man who can take care of you. Wait until I tell him!” “Whoa, wait minute!” Andrea protested, raising her hands to slow the flood. “I’d be working for him, not marrying him. Besides, I haven’t agreed to do this yet. I have things to do in Chicago—” But her grandmother was talking again, fast and furiously, and there was no getting in a word of protest. Andrea never did figure out how, but by the end of evening her grandmother had extracted a promise from her to at least stay for the summer. Of course, Andrea wanted to keep an eye on her grandmother, but she would rather make other living arrangements and find her own job. Grandma was sure to spend all her time trying to match make. It was late when they finished talking, so her grandmother took Andrea to one of the six guest bedrooms and wished her a goodnight. Vowing to find a way through this mess after she’d had a good night’s sleep, Andrea fluffed her pillow and promised herself she’d find a solution in the morning.   The scent of roses—a fragrance she’d always hated—woke her in the morning. Andrea opened her eyes and groaned as perfume wafted from the lacy sheets. The sight of the hunting ducks parading across the canopy of her bed threatened to make her nauseous. Throwing back the matching comforter, she swung her feet to the shaggy duck rug beneath and tried to wake up. A glance at the bedside clock—shaped like a decoy—said it was late morning. Shocked that her grandmother had allowed her to sleep in so late, since she’d always been insistent on rising early—a holdover from her days on the farm—Andrea reached for her jeans and a ribbed shirt. In moments she was dressed and groomed, making fast work of refreshing the twin braids at each temple. The braids reminded her of Zoë, who’d got her in the habit of them. She grimaced, wishing she’d had the guts to do like her friend and just stay home. Unfortunately, her grandma needed her. As her only family, Andrea really needed to be here. As soon as she’d fastened the beads on the ends of each braid she left the room, electing to skip the makeup, as was her custom. She’d been too tired for a tour the night before, but it didn’t take much effort to find the immaculate kitchen. A wide array of shining copper pots hung from the rack above the long work island, giving a hint that the room was well stocked. A stainless steel refrigerator and a very modern stove formed an odd contrast to the crocheted blender covers and parti-colored valances. The smell of recent cooking lingered in the air but no trace remained of any breakfast dishes. How odd. Grandma never passed up a chance to force an enormous breakfast on her only grandchild. Where could she be? Andrea propped her hands on her hips and surveyed the sunny kitchen until her eyes drifted once again to the fridge. Tacked to the front of it with a colorful hodge-podge of magnets was a piece of paper. Was that a note? Andrea moved closer, leaving it tacked to the fridge as she read in her grandmother’s swirling hand, “Dear Andrea, I’m so glad you’ve agreed to take care of the place for me. I know you’ll make me proud. After all, you’re a child of your word.” With a scowl for that dirty tactic, Andrea read on, “Now I’m off to do something I’ve always wanted—cruise to Tahiti!” Andrea gaped and read in growing fury, “If you need anything at all, just ask Fallon. He’s been very good to me and I’m sure that you’re going to adore him. Love, Grandma.” A streak of blue words spilled from her lips. She’d been set up! For that matter, why couldn’t her grandma just buy her a ticket to Tahiti, too? She’d far rather spend her time in the tropical sun, comforting her grandma, than freezing her tail off in Alaska. If she really were dying, wouldn’t she want family with her? It must be the matchmaking. If Matilda thought there was a man there, she’d strand her in Antarctica with him. Andrea wished she could get her on the phone now and vent. She felt certain she’d feel far more romantically inclined if she were lazing half-naked on a tropical beach. Where was the logic? “Such harsh words from such a pretty lady,” came a man’s husky voice. Andrea froze in the middle of a tirade against her grandmother and a vow to hate her new employer on sight. Oh, please, no, she thought without turning around. It had to be him. “At least I assume the lady is exceptional; the view from behind is certainly promising,” he continued in that deeply masculine drawl. “Excuse me?” she asked, hardly believing her ears. Since men were not in the habit of saying those kinds of things to her, she couldn’t help feeling defensive. What kind of jerk was this Fallon?  She pivoted, but the retort she’d planned died, forgotten. Gleaming black hair fell to his lean hips, framing a face so sensual it stole her breath. He was muscular, but not bulky, and his t-shirt did nothing to hide sculpted biceps and powerful shoulders. His long legs were clad in black denim, and he wore it well. A sudden fever made her face hot as she dragged her eyes up until she met his wicked black eyes. Eyes that snapped with knowing confidence. White teeth flashed in a wicked grin as he returned her inspection, very slowly. “As I thought…very promising.” He moved closer. Thrown off stride by her intense reaction to him, she moved back. And came up against the fridge. “I…” Get a hold of yourself, girl. She licked lips made dry by nerves. Maybe she could salvage this. “Are you Fallon?” “No.” He planted his hands on either side of her. “I am Mathin. And you are mine.”     CHAPTER 2   He’d known who she was when he’d entered the kitchen to inspect Fallon’s new chatelaine. Seconds after he’d entered the room and her unique scent reached him, he’d also known what she was. A charmer. An unholy, irresistible temptation for a man of his race. She was a wildcard mutation among humans with a pheromone capable of inflaming the male Haunt, of beguiling his senses until his very will became her own. Once humans had known his kind; known and hated them. They’d hunted down the Haunt, using the charmers to seduce their warriors. Once a man was in her power, no one, father or mother or beloved child, was safe. He would betray them all at one soft word from her poisoned lips. Women such as this had been used for generations to purge the world of his race until only a remnant remained; a remnant that had finally fled to another world to escape extinction. A woman like this could be the death of him. At the moment he didn’t care, wasn’t more than vaguely cognizant of those important details. Desire roared through his body, carried in by the scent of her unique pheromone. Proof enough of her danger. His blatant statement of ownership didn’t impress the girl. She ducked out of his arms and dashed behind the counter, glowering at him. “Guess again, pal,” she warned from the safety of the other side. He smiled. He could see the rapid pulse at her throat, the way her chest rose and fell with her breathing. His keen sense of smell told him it was more than fear she was feeling. He moved closer, drawn by her scent. It was making him weak, intoxicated. A part of him wanted to resist. He took a deep breath, but that was no help at all. “It would help if you didn’t want me, too,” he chided. She inched back, putting more counter between them. Her voice shook. “I’m warning you, buster! Come any closer and you’ll regret it.” She eyed him like cornered prey, but there was something in her posture that was a little too soft, almost inviting. Mathin planted one hand in the center of the island and vaulted over it, landing gracefully on the other side. “What are you afraid of, sweetheart?” he asked softly. He let his eyes speak of his arousal, but made no further move toward her. She watched him warily, but her eyes kept skittering away. She tried an unsuccessful smile. Was she trying to defuse the situation? “Do you usually accost women before breakfast, or is this an exception?” Mathin leaned lazily against the counter, showing her with his body that he wasn’t about to pounce. Yet. “Normally the women accost me, and more often than not wish to become my breakfast. Or dinner, depending on the hour.” When she snorted, he added casually, “So did you, before you thought to fear me.” “Get over yourself!” she protested, blushing furiously. “What do you think you are—some kind of rock star? For your information, I have a boyfriend.” Undaunted, his dark eyes swept her body again. “And what does this boy have to do with us?” he inquired, his faint smile absolutely possessive. “Children have no place in this discussion.” She gave him a withering look. “What I meant was, I have a man.” “You do now.” Her fists tightened, and she looked like she wanted to hit him. Since it was not the direction he’d prefer to move this, he mellowed a little, said quietly, “You’re not used to pursuit.” She gripped the counter, seeking an anchor, perhaps. “I don’t flirt; that’s true. I don’t like games.” He studied her for a long moment. Didn’t she? Inexperienced or shy, was she? It was good to know; it would require a more subtle approach. It had been a long time since he’d had to dust off that set of skills, but he knew that hunt, too. Pretending courtesy, he stepped back and said, rather formally, “I apologize for distressing you.” Especially if it will get me what I want, he thought, calculating what it would take to seduce her. Cautiously, she ventured, “Does that mean you’ll quit flirting with me?” He smiled. “It means I’ll be more subtle.” Her expression darkened, but before she could comment, Fallon entered the kitchen. He stopped dead. His head snapped up, and his nostrils flared as if testing the air. Piercing green eyes flashed her way, dark with indefinable emotion.  “Andrea, I presume.” Mathin felt a wave of possessiveness flare as he watched her shift uncomfortably. He didn’t like the way Fallon stared. “Yeah. But I think there’s been some kind of mistake.” Andrea plucked the magnets off the note, swearing when one fell and Mathin caught it. She reluctantly looked at him as he silently held it out. His palm was calloused and radiated heat. The instant she touched it an invisible shock of lightning traveled between them, buzzed through the bones of her arm with stunning power, trapped the air in her lungs. Shocked, her eyes shot to his, searched for answers. The only thing she saw was echoing electricity and a shimmering, golden heat. “Definitely a mistake,” Fallon muttered as he witnessed the exchange. “A moment of your time, Mathin.” It was difficult. Reluctantly Mathin moved toward him, loath to take his eyes from the woman. His woman. He could almost read the thoughts behind Fallon’s grim expression. Already she has him, the look seemed to say. Judging from the bewildered look on her face, she had no idea what to do with him. That was not a problem. He was an excellent teacher. “She goes,” Fallon told Mathin the moment they stood in the hall, out of earshot. “Had I known what she was I never would have agreed to this.” Mathin crossed his arms casually, as if unconcerned. “Is that wise? There are several Haunt due to arrive very soon for the summit. Should they meet her away from our protection…” he trailed off meaningfully. “You know how much some of us still hate charmers.” If their people should see one of the hated mutants used to track and destroy their families, they would kill her. It didn’t matter if she was innocent or not. It wasn’t only the Haunt who were a danger, either. There were still humans out there who knew about the Haunt and thrived on hunting them, and they didn’t balk at kidnapping women to do it. Appealing to Fallon’s gallantry never hurt. Fallon blew out a breath of exasperation and sent a peeved look toward the kitchen. Seeing that his logic was taking affect, Mathin pressed his advantage. “You know what the Black Charmers would do with her. And if she refused to become a huntress…” They both glanced toward the kitchen. “At least being murdered by vengeful Haunt would be quick.” Fallon folded his arms and stared at Mathin. He might not like it, but he was a practical man. “Very well. I suppose you’re volunteering to guard her?” White teeth flashed in a wolfish smile. “Night and day. After all, who knows more about guarding charmers?” He’d spent weeks rescuing his friend Keilor’s wife from scheming Haunt and hauling her out of the swamps. Compared to that, guarding this little charmer would be child’s play. Fallon snorted and rocked back on his heels. “Jasmine was mated—to your friend no less. Besides, she would never have allowed you to touch her. Aside from that, you and Raziel wore nose filters for the entire journey. We have none here.” “Would it matter?” Mathin’s gaze was speculative as he looked toward the doorway. “She is an attractive woman. I would have noticed regardless.” “Do you think so?” Fallon said repressively. “I hardly noticed. But I did notice her scent. What man wouldn’t?” Fallon became silent with remembered sensation, then shook his head as if throwing off an unwanted thought. Impatiently, he continued, “If she’s to be here then she will remain in your company, not mine. I can’t afford to be distracted just now; the applicants for Dark Land crossovers will be arriving very soon.” He began to pace, his boot heels clicking over the parquet floor. “For that matter, I can’t have her here with a houseful of unattached males. The elders here are disapproving enough already. They still feel that leaving Earth was the same thing as running from our troubles. Having a charmer here will only light the fire at the stake.” “You worry too much,” Mathin said mildly. “None of the males here are a match for either of us; certainly not these young stags. She couldn’t be safer. Besides,” his eyes gleamed, “I don’t intend to leave her unattached for long.” That would certainly solve Fallon’s problems, since once focused on a single man as a sexual outlet the charmer’s production of pheromones dropped sharply. Mathin’s headaches, however, would be just beginning. “Think it over carefully first,” Fallon urged. “The pheromone can be addictive. You might be tempted to make the union permanent.” Mathin raised a brow. “Some things are foreordained, my friend. Now stand aside before you’re trampled.” Before Fallon could object further, he led the way into the kitchen. A current of warm air brought her musky spice to him, rousing instant desire. It was the stuff of silken sheets and moonlight, naked skin and a lover’s cries. The scent of legend. Completely unaware of her allure, Andrea watched them warily from her perch on a barstool. “Forgive me for neglecting you earlier,” Fallon said politely, coming no farther than the doorway. “I was...distracted, but it was very rude. You had some problem you wished to discuss with me?” Her face set in determined lines, she slid off the stool and handed him the note. “Yes, definitely. I think my grandma’s up to some sort of trickery. Last night she made me promise to stay for the summer, telling me she was dying of cancer; she practically begged me to take over for her. Today I find this.” He took it with two fingers, almost visibly holding his breath. “Hmm,” he said after a quick scan, during which he moved toward the counter and placed it on the top. “I knew of no illness. It was my understanding that she was calling you in as a temporary replacement while she went on vacation.” “Ha! I knew it.” She whacked her closed fist against her thigh, vindicated. “She’s up to her old tricks again.” Fallon edged discreetly away, earning a bemused frown from Andrea and a smirk from Mathin. “And those would be?” “Matchmaking,” she all but spat. “The woman is determined to run my life. If she’d had her way I would have been married at seventeen and pregnant with my fifth child by now.” She looked away in disgust. “The only thing that’s kept her from setting me up before was a few thousand miles. Why was I stupid enough to change that?” “I can sympathize,” Fallon murmured from the far side of the room. “My mother is much the same. However, as you gave your word and I’m still in need of a caretaker, this changes nothing.” “What are you talking about?” she demanded. “You said yourself it was a mistake.” “Actually, I was referring to something else entirely. This arrangement will work well enough. I do have one request, though.” He glanced at the vivid curtains and winced. “If you could pack away your grandmother’s decorations while she is gone I would appreciate it. She seems to have been busy since last I was here.” He looked her over speculatively. “You don’t have an affinity for bright colors, do you?” She smirked. “It is pretty awful, isn’t it? But—” Visibly relieved, he nodded at Mathin. “He’ll be glad to assist you in any way you require. Just take him shopping with you and he’ll see to your purchases.” He grinned at Mathin’s scowl. “Mathin adores shopping.” When the scowl turned positively lethal he added, “He’ll also be available to answer any questions you may have, since I don’t plan to be home much. This is somewhat of a vacation for him, so he might as well make himself useful. Do you drive a stick?” Distracted from her list of objections, Andrea nodded. “Good. Take your pick of the cars in the garage for work or pleasure. Mathin knows where the keys are.” And with that, he was gone. “Wait!” Andrea ran to stop him, but Fallon was quick. “Where’d he go?” She took a step into the hall, looking determined. To distract her, Mathin asked, “Where would you like to start?” She turned and scowled at him. “I didn’t agree to stay, in case you didn’t notice. I was lured here under false premises. Tricked. Why should I stay?” His gaze became very serious. Measuring. “Because you gave your word?” She stilled. Stared at the floor. For a long moment she examined the tile, looking mutinous. Finally, she glared at Mathin. “Fine, I’ll stay, but let’s get something straight. I’m not into you. You lay a finger on me and I’ll bite it off.” He relaxed, leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. She was staying. “I understand ‘no’ very well.” His eyes dropped to the rapid flutter in her throat. “And ‘yes’ even better. Care to wager you’ll be saying, ‘yes, Mathin,” very soon?” His voice dropped an octave over the ‘yes, Mathin,’ making it sound breathy and eager. “Give it up!” she muttered. He came off the wall. “You want it?” She made a growling sound in her throat and turned her head to survey the hall, ignoring him. After a moment, she mumbled, “I guess I ought to start with the sitting room.” He regretted that last push. Granted, her pheromones were keeping his testosterone hiked, but he could work a little harder not to alarm her. As penance, he helped her dismantle the garish decorations in sitting room. As long as she was close, he didn’t care what he was doing. Just being near her, close enough to breathe her in, was worth any amount of housekeeping.   Andrea felt a grim satisfaction as she yanked off her grandmother’s slipcovers and pulled down drapes. In a way she couldn’t help feeling some sympathy for her grandmother’s attempts to hide the starkly masculine leather beneath, but at least that was tasteful, and Andrea felt more comfortable with the simple lines than with her grandmother’s flowered flounces. It was the only comfort she found in the situation, though. Much to her surprise, Mathin actually helped—and silently, too. After his macho display earlier, she would have pegged him as too “manly” to ever do anything as mundane as housework. Yet there he was, standing on a chair as he took down curtains for her, letting in the light. It was hard not to notice how the back of his thighs flexed as he reached over his head for the rod. Her eyes traveled up, unwilling fascinated by the play of muscle along his back and shoulders. No wonder the man was so confident. Everywhere he went woman no doubt spoiled him. And who could blame them? Just look at the way the light haloed his body, outlined those long legs and that perfect rear end. “Was there something you wanted?” Andrea looked up, straight into a pair of knowing dark eyes. Unable to think of a likely excuse, she blurted, “Um...I was wondering where you got your accent. I don’t recognize it.” Nice save, Andrea, she congratulated herself. He glanced at his backside, then slanted her an amused look from under his lashes. “Did you think my country was written on my pockets?” Unable to look at him, she glanced around the room, her cheeks on fire. Desperate to save face, she continued on, “So where is it? Denmark? Holland?” “A bit farther than that.” He dropped the curtain he was holding to the floor, replaced the rod and stepped down from the chair. He moved toward her, smiling at the way her eyes widened and her breath quickened as he approached. “If you like, I could take you there.” Andrea laughed awkwardly. She didn’t know him well, but she’d swear he was dead serious. “Why would you want to do that?” She didn’t see him move, but suddenly he held one of her braids in his hand. His attention fixed on the silky skein, he gently looped it around his finger. His eyes closed as he drew the sable tip across his lips. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek. She made a small sound, protest or invitation. His eyes opened, and he allowed the braid to slip between his fingers, setting her free. It was only after he’d left the room that Andrea discovered he hadn’t answered her. Suddenly she realized she stood there, watching an empty doorway with vision gone hazy. A sharp jerk of her head brought the world back into proper focus. Angry with herself, she flopped into a chair and gave the discarded pile of slipcovers at her feet a good kick. Tricky male. It would help if he weren’t so confident. She wanted to yell at her grandmother. Things had been going so well before she’d gotten slammed by the Matchmaking Diva. She should be in Chicago right now, hunting for her dream job. Instead she was sequestered in the frozen north, and it might be weeks before her grandma showed back up. Meanwhile, she had to deal with Mathin’s attempts to romance his way into her pants. The thought of Mr. Confidence soured her mood enough to get her up and cleaning again. He probably slept with every woman who caught his eye. She yanked off a slipcover. She had higher standards than that. Safe. Steady. Dependable. The words rang like a mantra in her head. There had to be a million guys out there with those qualities. There was no need to compromise with a man who’d break her heart when he inevitably got tired of her. Men like him didn’t settle for ordinary girls of no special beauty. Why would they when they could turn heads everywhere they went? He was probably a model. She could see him getting love-struck fan mail. Not that she cared, she told herself. He could do whatever he wanted as long as she wasn’t around to see it happen. She wouldn’t be here that long, and his vacation might even be up in a matter of days. Maybe Zoë could pick up some applications for her so she could start job hunting. In the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to wow Fallon with her cooking. Surely he’d be willing to write a letter of recommendation for her resume? It couldn’t hurt to be listed as a private chef—a well-paid private chef. Her grandmother had mentioned the generous salary she’d received—a lavish sum that had gone a long way toward soothing Andrea’s sensibilities. Would Fallon pay her the same? He’d better, she decided, sending a dark look toward the door. Especially if she had to put up with his friend in the interim. As if conjured by her thoughts, Mathin appeared in the doorway with a steaming plate. “I thought you might be hungry.” “Thank you.” Surprised by his thoughtfulness and intrigued by the tempting scent of curry, she followed him back to the kitchen. Another plate sat at the breakfast bar. Mathin set down the one he carried and moved around behind her. She twisted around to look at him suspiciously. “It’s traditional to give thanks in this way,” he said, forestalling her questions. “We always say a blessing before meals.” “I wouldn’t have taken you for a religious man,” she said skeptically. His answering silence was that of a man who had nothing to prove. Chastened, Andrea grudgingly obeyed his gesture and turned around to allow him to place his hands on her shoulders. His hands were very warm. Mathin intoned a blessing in his low, rough voice and moved around the island to take his own seat. He said nothing as he picked up the silver chopsticks beside his plate and began to eat. Disconcerted to find chopsticks at her own place setting instead of more familiar utensils, Andrea nevertheless chose to use them instead of seeking out a fork. By the stony look on Mathin’s face she’d offended him with her religious remark; she didn’t want to make it worse by scorning his selection of silverware. The first bite of curried chicken and vegetables took her by surprise, and she opened her eyes wide at the sublime combination of coconut and heat. “This is really good!” she said, astonished. “I’ve never had anything like it.” “Glad to have pleased you,” he answered without infliction. She chewed her bottom lip. Okay, religion seemed to be a touchy subject with him. Who would have thought a flirt like him would put much stock in it? Still, wars had been fought for less, so she attempted to make peace. “It was thoughtful of you to cook for me. After all, it’s supposed to be my job.” He gifted her with one oblique stare and returned to his meal. She didn’t like being rebuffed, but it occurred to her that it was one way to get him to stop flirting with her. Maybe it was for the best. She took another bite, hoping to break down the flavors so she could try to replicate them later. A little sweet, savory. Pleasantly salty. He sure could cook; too bad it was the only thing praiseworthy about him.     CHAPTER 3   “Here.” Fallon handed Mathin a small packet. Inside were several sets of nose filters; the best defense a male Haunt had against a charmer, short of walking around changed. Only in his other form could a Haunt be unmoved by the pheromone, for a changed Haunt had no sex drive. “I went back to get some today. Jayems and Keilor were most amused to hear of my dilemma.” They’d had an interesting time dealing with Jasmine when she was still an unmated charmer. Fortunately, she’d married Keilor soon after she’d stumbled onto the Dark Lands, putting them out of misery. While still alluring, she was nowhere near the menace she’d been. “And how is your fearless leader?” Mathin asked dryly, pocketing the packet. No doubt Fallon had already inserted the unobtrusive device, even though Andrea was nowhere in sight. Nor was she likely to invade Fallon’s private study. Not that it looked much like a study, save for the laptop computer on the desk and the rows of books. No, with the numerous sheer red curtains and golden accents, it appeared to be fitted for more pleasurable pursuits. The impression was only reinforced by the red velvet chaise lounge between the diamond paned windows and the statue of twined lovers in the corner. It was a vivid reminder that although Fallon might appear stuffy due to the distractions of this visit, he was still a sensualist at heart. The ‘your’ did not go unnoticed by Fallon. “Still unwilling to admit formal allegiance, are we? It’s fortunate that Jayems takes your actions as fealty enough.” He settled back in his chair and inclined his head, watching Mathin with wry amusement. “You might be a lord, Mathin, and unarguably one of our finest warriors—” Mathin raised a brow. “One of?” Ignoring the interruption Fallon continued, “But even you have to admit that Jayems is the Lord of First Rank sometime.” “Have I challenged him?” Mathin countered. So long as he did not he would happily go his way, never having to admit to anything. It had never been his way to make commitments, no matter what he felt in his heart. Any fool could give mere words. Actions were his way. “Are you planning to give a filter to every male who comes calling, then?” he asked, returning to the original topic. He ran a finger over the bird’s eye maple that formed the top of Fallon’s desk and the matching bookcases. “They will not enjoy the loss of scent and taste.” He grimaced, remembering the weeks he’d spent escorting Jasmine through the swamps, unable to taste a single thing. “Better for them to remain in Haunt the entire time.” “And frighten Andrea senseless?” Fallon half-grinned, picturing it. “Or are you hoping she’ll run to you for protection?” When Mathin didn’t answer right away, he cocked a curious brow, “What is this? Has time spent away from her cleared your head? Or are you still planning on claiming her?” A muscle in Mathin’s jaw ticked. “I might have spoken too soon.” Concerned for his friend, Fallon leaned forward and asked quietly, “Did something happen while I was gone?” He was silent for a moment and then admitted, “She said I did not strike her as a religious man when I wished to bless the meal.” He grew furious again just thinking of it. On his world men were measured by their strength of will and by their honor. For believers, that also meant a test of allegiance to the Deity. Besides all of this, he was a man of rank who’d earned his place. It was considered a great honor for a man such as himself to share a blessing with a woman, especially one of no special status. Another man might have become enraged at her slight, but he had endured it in silence. Still, even though he had never been a stickler for tradition and the privileges of rank, coming from her the insult stung. Fallon blinked. Then he chuckled. “No, she wouldn’t, would she?” Mathin’s scowl grew darker. One knuckle began to rap on the wood. “Wait!” Fallon raised a hand and tilted his head, signaling patience. “Hear me out. Religious men are not warriors in her culture. She would not recognize a man who boldly acts on his desires as spiritual. The words don’t even exist together, according to this culture.” His gaze grew sly. “Not that our religion encourages sex before marriage, either. But she wouldn’t know that, would she? Not with you as an example.” “As if you’re any better,” Mathin retorted, but accepted Fallon’s point. She had not intended to insult him, and that was what mattered. Perhaps he could forgive her. “Not that I’m encouraging you,” Fallon said quickly. “One charmer in the Dark Lands is more than we need.” “Is that disappointment I hear talking?” Mathin teased. “As I recall you pursued Jasmine right beside the rest of us.” A wave of Fallon’s hand dismissed the notion as ridiculous. “I was no more in love with her than you were, you randy stag; but it was obvious Keilor was hopelessly smitten. At the time he was just too stubborn to admit it. I just helped to hurry things along by pretending to chase her.” The look Mathin gave him was patently unconvinced. “Is that something I’m going to have to worry about?” “Are you in love?” “Of course not!” Mathin exclaimed, horrified. Lust was one thing, as was the desire to commit, but love was definitely not a wise thing. Fallon’s grin was piratical. “Then why are you worried?”   The sitting room looked very different when Andrea finished with it. Tired and dusty, but triumphant, she stood near the door with hands on hips and surveyed the room in the late afternoon light. The tall windows sparkled from their cleaning and there wasn’t a flowered print in sight. Brown leather overstuffed furniture, trimmed in brass, had emerged from the fluff. Once free of knickknacks, the end tables had proven to be topped with black and white marble and hand-carved of dark wood. Crystal lamps sat upon them, glinting with the polishing she’d given them. Add a fireplace and the room would be perfect. The overall effect was a touch stark, but she was confident that the reintroduction of a few feminine touches would soften and blend the rough edges. The next time she went to town she’d have to see about purchasing a few decorative pillows and a nice throw for the couch. Her attention went to the bare parquet flooring, and she added an oriental rug to her mental shopping list.  The pattern was very pretty, but rugs did add a nice tactile touch under the feet. An arrangement of silk flowers here and there and a few houseplants and the room would go a long way toward being comfortable. Satisfied, she left the sitting room and headed upstairs, intent on cleaning up. At the top of the curving staircase, though, she paused, looking at the first door. Should she take a peek inside? After all, she hadn’t really explored up here in the short time she’d been here and her duties did extend to cleaning these rooms now and then, didn’t they? Of course the fact that she knew it to be Mathin’s room had nothing to do with it. Whatever she’d expected to find as the door swung silently open, it was not the plain, almost austere room within. If her grandmother had ever been here, it didn’t show, for there wasn’t an ounce of decoration anywhere. The only point of interest in the entire room was lying on the fawn colored suede comforter. Drawn closer by curiosity, she left the door ajar and went to investigate. The object turned out to be a black belt with a holster for a gun and a dagger. The blued gun she left alone, but the obsidian metal of the dagger drew her attention. She traced the leather bindings of the hilt, fascinated by their texture, and carefully unsheathed the knife. It came free with a soft hiss. Its blade was as dark as the hilt, but the most surprising thing was the grooves in the haft on either side of the blade. Careful not to touch the edge, which appeared razor-sharp, she probed the grooves, wondering at their purpose. Why would anyone want such a thing in their knife? If one were to actually use it, it would only collect...blood. A little nauseated by the idea, she was about to slip it back into its sheath when an arm came around and gripped her hand over the hilt. Startled, she screamed and tried to twist away. “Easy!” Mathin’s voice came in her ear, sounding rather pained. He released his grip on her waist and turned her about, carefully prying her hand from the hilt. “This isn’t for chopping vegetables, you know.” “You scared me to death!” she accused as she stepped back, bumping against the bed. “Stop sneaking up on me like that.” “No more than you did me,” he answered calmly, putting away the blade. “This is more dangerous than you know. I’d appreciate it if you don’t touch it.” Reminded she was trespassing, she looked away, chagrined. “Um, sorry about that. I was just looking at the rooms to see what I was going to have to clean and got distracted. I shouldn’t have touched your stuff.” “No harm done. But you don’t have to clean this room. I’ll take care of it myself.” “Oh.” Feeling rather like a chastened child, she slipped around him, intent on escape. When he made no move to stop her, she paused at the door and risked a glance over her shoulder. He hadn’t moved. What? No pass? Not a single risky comment? One dark brow went up in silent inquiry. A shake of her head told him it was nothing, and she left, baffled by his behavior. The man had caught her in his bedroom and hadn’t done a thing about it. Not that she’d wanted him to, she hastily assured herself. It was just odd, considering his earlier behavior. The more she thought about it, the grumpier she became, and by the time she reached her room she was in a door-slamming kind of mood. Fickle, that’s what he is, she told herself as she grabbed some clean clothes. I knew it! It rankled to be proved so right, though. The worst of it was the blow to her vanity. She’d been doing just fine, known she was only middling desirable, and then he’d swept in and filled her head with glitter. Now the party was over, the novelty exhausted and she was back where she’d started, albeit a bit bruised from the bumpy landing. Well, she was on to his game now, and wiser for the lesson. It wasn’t going to happen again.   “Bon appetite,” Andrea said as she set the last dish on the dining table and prepared to retreat to the kitchen where she’d eat her dinner. “Are you not hungry?” Fallon asked, looking at the two place settings. “We would hate to lose your company for the meal.” Andrea studied the linen covered table, the candles, even the lighted china hutch in the corner, anything to appear busy. Straightening her shoulders, she looked Fallon in the eye and said, “Actually, I’d planned to eat in the kitchen. After all, this is a business relationship.” “Absolutely not.” Fallon entered the kitchen and came back with Andrea’s filled plate and teacup, setting it to his left. “I rather like your country’s tradition of informality. Besides, we are isolated enough here without forcing more distance.” Smiling like a cat, Mathin fetched a pair of chopsticks and a spoon from the china hutch, placing them beside her plate. The action brought him conveniently close enough to claim her as his partner for the blessing. Andrea tried not to scowl as Fallon spoke words of thanks. Mathin was up to his tricks again, and she didn’t like it one bit. She especially disliked the way her respiration increased and her blood sped as the warmth of his hands seeped through her clothes. It was a great relief when he seated her and returned to his place across the table. Mathin couldn’t miss Andrea’s sulkiness, and he suspected that it was due to his new reserve. A secret smile curved his lips. So, the little charmer resented the withdrawal of his affections. It almost made wearing the nose filter bearable. Since it was obvious she wasn’t going to be the one to speak to him first, he asked her, “What is the tea you drink? It smells interesting.” Of course he couldn’t smell or taste a thing at the moment, but she wouldn’t know that.  She glanced at the pretty crystal cup. “It’s called sassafras tea. It comes from the bark of a tree. I use it to help control my blood sugar.” Mathin canted his head and studied the reddish-brown liquid. “What do you mean?” Used to explaining her oddity, though never comfortable with it, Andrea traced the rim of her cup. “I have hypoglycemia. It’s an inherited disorder. Diabetics don’t produce enough insulin—hypoglycemics make too much.  If I eat too much sugar or too many quickly metabolized carbohydrates I get sick. Headaches, leg cramps, numbness in my hands and feet. Mood swings. Sometimes I get really cold or start to sweat.” She swallowed hard, reminded of some of the grimmer symptoms. “Many times I get depressed, or dizzy and confused. Sometimes my body just shuts down and I start to lose consciousness.” She paused and then added glumly, “Suicide is very high among hypoglycemics. The sudden blood sugar drops make people go crazy.” Their grim expressions yanked her attention off herself. Knowing that no one really wanted to hear about somebody else’s illness, she shrugged it off as if it weren’t one of the nightmares of her life and forced a smile. “It’s usually no big thing. I just try not to get stressed, eat regularly and I have a veggie drink or granola bar handy. A healthy snack almost always fixes it.” Mathin exchanged a concerned look with Fallon. The Haunt did not drink their vegetables. Nor was the idea particularly appealing. “Can’t your medics do something for you?” “Our doctors? Not unless my pancreas stops producing insulin and I become a diabetic.” She smiled dryly. “Trust me, we don’t want that.” Mathin returned to his meal in a much more sober frame of mind. The Haunt rarely suffered illness, thanks to their unique makeup, so he had no experience with it. Though come to think of it, the humans who’d wandered into the Dark Lands didn’t become ill, either, but that was because… Excited by his sudden idea, Mathin sat up straighter. Fallon must have anticipated his train of thought, because he gave him a sharp look and shook his head no. Undaunted by Fallon’s disapproval, Mathin assumed an innocent expression. Fallon’s eyes narrowed.   “Get it out of your head, Mathin!” They were alone in the study, and Fallon wasn’t shy about raising his voice. “A dalliance here is one thing, but you’re not seriously thinking of taking her to the Dark Lands and finding her a symbiont. Think of the uproar you caused with Jasmine! The last thing we need is another incident.” “Jasmine would have died without my intervention,” Mathin pointed out, close to losing his temper. He was tired of having that thrown in his face. He had saved her, hadn’t he? Fallon’s eyes narrowed, swirled with golden heat. “It wouldn’t have been needed if you hadn’t broken her arm.” A snarl escaped as Mathin’s own eyes glowed golden. “Be careful,” his gravelly voice deepened. “I didn’t see you there with a better solution.” A moment of silence passed as Fallon looked upward, taking a deep breath. When he sought Mathin’s eyes again his own had resumed their natural shade. “I was here at the time, but point taken. Still, you have to admit that introducing yet another symbiont-wearing charmer to our people would be a difficult thing. You’d be taking a woman you say you don’t love from her world and introducing her to a society very different from her own. She will have enemies no matter where she goes simply because of what she is. Is that fair? For that matter, how could you love her? You’ve only known her a day. Real love takes time to grow.” There was nothing Mathin could say to that. It wasn’t fair, and he knew it. Worse than that was the knowledge that he didn’t care. Even when he couldn’t smell her, he wanted her. The attraction wasn’t as powerful, but it was insistent. Was it only the knowledge of what she was that aroused him? Legend had it that to lie with a charmer was to experience pleasure worth dying for. Was it not said that more than one Haunt had gone to his death smiling after a night with a charmer? It would have had to be powerful pleasure indeed to allow a man to smile in the face of the woman who’d betrayed him. Mathin was no virgin, as the Haunt counted such things, and he’d known satisfaction many times; but never had he felt more than physical release. No matter how beautiful the woman, he had always felt that something vital was missing. The notion had bothered him so much that he’d abstained from pleasure for nearly two years now, much to his own consternation. In fact, he’d begun to wonder if something were wrong with him—until he’d met Andrea. Somehow she was the key. None of which he could explain to the practical Fallon. “Look, Mathin. I know you,” Fallon said, sitting on the edge of his desk. “Women adore you, for whatever reason,“ he grinned at Mathin’s sardonic look, “and you adore women. It’s only the shortage of agreeable ladies and being in close quarters with a charmer that’s causing you trouble. All I ask is that you wait until some of the Haunt women get here. As soon as you see them you’ll forget all about Andrea, you’ll see.” Doubtful, Mathin thought, but remained silent. After all, he’d seen scores of beautiful women in the last two years and had not been moved, but he was not about to share his private thoughts with anyone.   “I can’t believe I’m driving a three hundred thousand dollar car.” Andrea gripped the wheel and carefully watched the road, terrified lest she wreck it. “A house. I’m driving the price of a house. Several houses,” she murmured, dazed. So much for being adventurous. It had seemed like a good idea to chose the sports car over the black Land Cruiser, but now all she could think about was how bad she’d feel if she so much as scuffed it. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this sort of lifestyle. Amused by the note of awe in her voice, Mathin slanted her a look from the passenger side. “And this impresses you?” Her jaw dropped at the absurdity of his question. “Are you kidding? Like I’m ever going to get another chance to do this!” She gestured with one hand, encompassing the open top, the beautiful day, her hair whipping in the wind of their passage. “You might take all of this for granted, but for someone like me it’s a dream come true. And I still can’t believe he let me drive it,” she murmured, almost to herself. As far as she knew men never let women, let alone employees, drive their cherished sports cars, let alone a Lamborghini Diablo. “And what makes you think this is nothing special for me?” It was, in fact, only the second time he’d traveled by car, expensive or otherwise, and he quite enjoyed it. Even if it was difficult to completely trust a vehicle that traveled at these speeds. Andrea frowned at his intimate tone. “You know what I mean. You don’t strike me as the type to deprive yourself of anything.” “You’d be surprised.” Mathin stared straight ahead, his arm propped on the side of the door. He debated, and took a chance. “I haven’t been with a woman in two years.” The car swerved. It took a moment, but Andrea brought the vehicle back under control, though her hands still shook from the impact of her shock. Fortunately for them, traffic was light. “By choice?” she asked incredulously. Why would a man like him choose to be alone? He gave her a look that instantly assured her of what a foolish question that was. If Mathin had been alone, it wasn’t for a lack of willing partners. Which brought her to the next logical question. “Are you...sick? I mean, ill?” In this day of AIDS one never knew. Consternation brought his brows together. “I’m never ill.” Oh. Well, maybe he meant…Her face heated. He wasn’t trying to tell her that he was...? ”Um, you’re not...you don’t like guys, do you?” The shock on his face had her pulling over and stopping the car. The indignation that replaced it had her groveling in an attempt to salvage his male pride. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I—” One moment she was babbling and the next he moved over, braced against the wheel and her seat, and kissed her. All thought stopped. His lips were warm and soft, yet erotically demanding. Sparkling tingles zipped from him straight to her heart, and lower. Much lower. He nibbled at her lips, nipped, and she opened, needing his heat. His tongue swept into her mouth as if he owned it, stirring her desire with controlled passion. So sensual, and just the perfect pressure, but she sensed a fire in him, knew that she could be the one to fan that fire into consuming flame. A low growl came from his throat as he shifted his mouth to her throat, tormenting her sensitive nerves. Then he groaned. “Bloody uncomfortable car.” Shaken out of her haze, she pulled back as he did, breathing hard. “I-I guess that means you just like women, huh?” she joked feebly, trying to lighten the moment. He’d more than removed any doubts as to his orientation. His soft snort of amused annoyance wafted the fine hairs at her temple as his lips brushed her skin. “Only you would ask such a question, little rogue.” “Rogue?” she half-laughed, pushing him back even as he withdrew. “I’m not the one doing the kissing here.” He froze above her, a look of speculation on his face. “Are you claiming you didn’t like it?” Not about to fall into his trap, she dodged the question. “We should be going,” she said a little breathlessly. It was definitely in her best interests to shift his focus. Andrea didn’t fully relax again until they got underway, and even then her mind was not on the road, but him. She wished he hadn’t kissed her. Wished she hadn’t liked it. It didn’t help that the heavy-lidded glances he kept sending her did what they did to her heart rate. And why had he told her that about not having sex for two years? She risked a glance at him when he wasn’t looking. He didn’t seem the type to spill that kind of information to just anyone. Excitement stirred inside her. Was this his way of saying she was special? Don’t be a ninny, Andrea, said her practical, cynical side. Whatever had prompted the confession, it wasn’t personal. Neither was his kiss. It had just been a way to prove he wasn’t gay, and she’d been convenient. Any woman would have done at that point. She almost believed it. Since she had a lot to do that day, Andrea chose a mall attached to a grocery store and carefully parked the car, making certain to activate the anti-theft system as they exited. Once inside she told Mathin, “Go have a look around. I’ll be in the bookstore if you need me.” He nodded at her and watched her disappear into her chosen shop, then glanced around. Fallon had already taken him around town, but he was still amazed at the huge selection of goods for sale at these places. In the Dark Lands most merchandise was still crafted by hand; they did not have so many factories. He’d not yet made up his mind whether that was good or not. Since he had no interest in clothing and he was unaccustomed to the popular music here, Mathin chose to investigate the toy store. The bright colors intrigued him. As a child he’d never had toys; his father had believed that his son should be a warrior from the first and had scoffed at frivolous pastimes. Certainly he’d have sneered at the soft, blunted weapons offered to boys here. The dolls were cunningly fashioned, though, and on a whim he bought a female equipped with a number of frilly dresses as a gift for Jayems’ small daughter. Since it was unfair to bring her a token while neglecting Keilor and Jasmine’s twins, he also added two little warrior figures, complete with weapons. Pleased with his purchases, he sought out Andrea, ignoring the admiring looks of the shop girls and the female patrons. He found her easily enough within the small shop, crouched on the floor by a shelf of books. Since she looked content, he elected not to disturb her, shaking his head at one of the lady staff members who approached him. Clearly disappointed, the pretty blond offered, “Well, let me know if you change your mind.” Her shyly admiring gaze flitted across his torso and then dipped lower as if she were unable to help herself. Pink color washed her face and she quickly withdrew to continue stacking books. Her behavior didn’t surprise him; women always acted that way around him. He didn’t welcome the attention that morning, however, not when his interest was centered on one female in particular. With a sigh of resignation Mathin crossed his arms and waited, leaning against a stack. Even though he tried to ignore them, he couldn’t stop his sensitive ears from hearing the whispered comments. “Have you ever?” “I wish!” “Do you think he’s a model?” Minutes passed and he grew irritated with the unceasing speculation. Unwilling to put up with it any longer, he took the short steps needed to Andrea and knelt beside her, picking up the stack of books she’d selected. “Are these the ones you’ve chosen?” “Oh! Mathin.” She put a hand to her heart in surprise. “I didn’t see you there.” He refrained from rolling his eyes at the low comment another women made on that, knowing Andrea couldn’t hear it anyway. “If you’re ready…” “Actually, I am.” Before she could add anything else, he scooped up her books and took them to the cashier, paying for her purchase. Astonished at his actions, Andrea laid a hand on his arm, trying to angle him out of the way. “Mathin, you can’t! I’ll pay.” He calmly handed the cashier the correct amount of money and took the bag, leaving Andrea to follow him out of the store. She stopped him just outside. “Mathin….” “Pay me later,” he told her to pacify her before she besieged him with protests, though he had no intention of accepting her money. “Would you like to look in there?” He nodded toward the jeweler’s, remembering the quick, interested glance she’d sent it before heading to the less expensive bookseller’s. She glanced in the direction of his nod, then quickly turned her head, but not before he saw her desire. “I don’t need any jewelry.” Undaunted, he placed his hand at her lower back, making her tense. “What harm is there in looking? Let’s see what they have.” Propelled forward by his firm pressure, she reluctantly crossed the threshold and looked in the first case. She didn’t say anything, but he noticed her gaze go to the rings, in particular a platinum ring with a blue gem. It was shaped like a heart and the metal waved around it, accenting the gem in a pleasing manner. “These are very nice,” he prompted when she remained silent. “Why don’t you try one on?” He motioned to the shopkeeper to open the case. “Oh, I can’t.” Helpless in the face of his determination and her guilty desire to try out the ring, she allowed him to capture her hand—her left hand. Realizing what she’d done, she tried to withdraw it. It was too late. Mathin deftly slipped the cool platinum over her ring finger. It fit perfectly. Tears pricked her eyes. He couldn’t be serious. They barely knew each other! If this was his way of flirting, it hurt. Uncertain why she was so quiet, for he’d intended the ring to make her happy, he lifted her chin and gently asked, “Don’t you think you deserve it, sweetheart?” No. Andrea sniffed, unable to answer him truthfully without sounding pathetic. “I can’t afford it.” She winced. Even that sounded pitiful. “At least not right now,” she qualified. He flashed her a heart-melting smile. “No problem. My treat.” While she stammered a protest, he paid the jeweler and took her hand, towing her out of the shop. Overwhelmed by his show of generosity and uncertain what he expected in repayment, she persisted, “Mathin, I can’t accept this. Really, it’s far too much.” He stopped and held her wrists gently keep her from removing the ring. “If you return it, you will rob me of my pleasure in giving it, besides being unspeakably rude. Is this your intention?” Stung, she urgently shook her head and opened her mouth to protest. Mathin put his fingers over her lips. “No more.” Both his tone and expression brooked no argument. Resigned to the guilty pleasure of owning such an expensive keepsake, she nodded and said no more. The hint of a smile touched his mouth. “I would accept a thank you, however.” She laughed in embarrassment at his prompting. “Thank you. It’s very pretty.” He winked. “I knew you liked it.” Taking her hand, he led her towards the doors. “What about the groceries?” she asked, reminding him of their errand. “First we shop for the house. Weren’t you supposed to buy furnishings? When you are finished we can purchase groceries.” An hour and much shopping later, she shook her head in dismay. “We’re never going to fit all this stuff in the car.” In addition to new bedspreads, throw pillows and rugs, she’d also bought a selection of kitchen equipment at Mathin’s urging. There was no way that the Diablo would ever accommodate it all. “We’ll have it delivered,” was his calm reply. “Surely they have such services here. In the meantime, why don’t we find a place to eat? You’ve had little all day, and I’m hungry.” She smiled. Though he hadn’t complained, it wasn’t hard to tell that he was getting tired of shopping. But then, he’d looked disappointed since viewing the gun counter. Maybe he’d been hoping for something more impressive, like a display of bazookas. She consulted her list of stores copied from the yellow pages, then glanced at her map. “There’s probably a deli at the grocery store if you’re not picky. If we go there we can be finished much more quickly.” “Done.” Relieved to be quit of this place and its depressing selection of weaponry, he made arrangements for delivery and then escorted Andrea to the car. He couldn’t help a frown as she slid behind the wheel. Driving was one of the things he would have to learn if he stayed here much longer. Would he want to? He looked around at the traffic lights and passing cars as he considered the question. This world was very different from his, and he wouldn’t like to give up the Dark Lands. Fallon seemed content enough straddling two worlds, and although he’d come along as a curious visitor, Mathin couldn’t help but wonder how he’d feel about that. Certainly it would take more study than the overview he’d absorbed about Earth before their journey here. Not that he’d want to be the ambassador Fallon was. Long ago Fallon’s father had volunteered to be a diplomat between the Haunt who’d left and those who’d stayed behind, keeping the door open for any who wished to migrate. Fallon had inherited the duties when his father had passed on, and he seemed to enjoy them. Occasionally there was trouble here that demanded finesse and a strong arm to solve, such as criminal Haunt wishing to cross over to escape prosecution. At such times Fallon had to deal with the difficulties—often alone—and did so with expertise. Mathin knew he wouldn’t have the patience. His way was much more direct. He looked at Andrea out of the corner of his eye. She seemed to like her safe, contained life. He’d bet she’d have a problem letting go and trusting her instincts, of letting someone else guide events. She’d probably fight him at first. He understood that. As a warrior, he needed to be in control of himself and his actions at all times. The difference was that he knew he couldn’t control others, only react. A man could choose to be Mathin’s enemy or his friend, and there was nothing he could do about it. A woman could desire him on sight or despise him for his reputation, and all he could do was accept. Andrea did not accept; not her desire for him or the control he was about to exercise in her life. His calculated confession had opened up the expected vulnerability in her, made her consider him with new eyes. And she feared it. His jaw tightened as he acknowledged that fact. She was not used to pursuit, and his determined hunt confused her, tore her between what she wanted and what she thought she needed. Not that he was going to back off. Instinct guided him here, as it had all his life. What they had between them was meant to be. She would adapt. Andrea wasn’t thinking about adapting or even Mathin at that moment. Instead she focused on the ridiculous turn her life was taking. Here she was, driving a cherry-red sports car on an errand to buy groceries for a man she barely knew. The wildness of it made her smile. What else did the future have in store for her? The grocery expedition went flawlessly. Mathin was a helpful, though often silent, companion. It was easy to appreciate his lack of conversation when her attention was on filling her shopping list. Besides, dealing with the covetous looks of several female shoppers was bad enough. Not that Mathin did anything to attract them, she admitted to herself with a quiet sigh. With a body like that, all he had to do was breathe. It was as they were loading their bags into the car that she felt it. Someone was watching them. Mathin felt her freeze and instantly turned to investigate. “What is it?” he asked as he scanned first her startled face and then the parked cars. Sun sparkled off chrome and glass, distorting the shadows within. “I...someone’s…” she trailed off as the feeling intensified. There. Her vision narrowed on a very unattractive woman who watched them from the passenger side of a slowly passing truck. She had no eyebrows, and something blunt had flattened her nose at an angle. Her hair was unkempt and straggled around her face. It was her sad, deranged eyes that held Andrea spellbound, however. That and the way the woman gripped the side of the door, as if holding herself far away from the shadowy man driving the truck. Terror gripped Andrea hard, tugged at her. She knew instinctively that the woman was sending her a warning. Whatever held this stranger in thrall, it wanted Andrea, too. “Come,” Mathin ordered. He gripped her arm and escorted her to the driver’s side door. He had more than a passing idea who the woman might be, and he wanted Andrea out of there, fast. Sudden urgency filled her, and Andrea wove out of traffic as quickly as possible, fleeing the fear that dogged her. The moment they were free of traffic her foot flattened on the accelerator, sending the scenery blurring by. Still and silent beside her, Mathin didn’t say a word. All his attention was for the rear view mirror as he made certain they weren’t followed. Not that it would make a difference if they weren’t; the old charmer had seen them, and willing or not, she would tell her masters all about Andrea. Fallon had shown him the file on all known charmers, of which there were roughly seventy-five. Even without the pictures, Mathin would have known her by the way she drew Andrea’s attention and her reaction. The Haunt knew all about charmers out of necessity, since knowledge often meant the difference between death and survival. Any charmer could identify another, thanks to their unique characteristics. It was said to be a magnetic repulsion, a feeling of wrongness yet sisterhood that guided them. For this very reason Andrea could be a very effective tool for sniffing out other charmers. Unfortunately it also put her in danger from their masters, for the cults that used them didn’t care if a woman was willing.   Mathin didn’t have to ask to know that Andrea would not be. Even if she discovered the true nature of the Haunt and feared it, she would never seek to destroy them, not once she was assured that they were no threat. It was giving her that reassurance that would be tricky.   Panic faded to a sense of foolishness as Andrea put away the groceries less than an hour later. Mathin had helped her bring the sacks into the kitchen and then disappeared—not that she blamed him. She grimaced, absently cradling a small canister of cocoa to her chest. He must think she was pretty weird just now. She didn’t even know what had happened. The canister thumped as she set it aside and rustled through the plastic bags. The extra order of Kung Pao chicken and egg rolls Mathin had requested from the deli was on the bottom. A frown tugged at her brows as she considered the white cartons. For a man comfortable with chopsticks he’d been surprisingly ignorant of Chinese food. It was a sure bet he wasn’t oriental—and neither was Fallon, for that matter. So where had they acquired a taste for foreign utensils? Had they spent time in Asia? For that matter, what did the two of them do for a living? Her grandmother had never said, but then, she’d never mentioned Mathin, either. Were they related? Business associates? Friends? Just whom was she living with, anyway?   “That one,” Mathin told Fallon, swiveling the laptop so his friend could clearly see the face on the screen. “According to her file, she’s been with her cult six years now. Four Haunt kills to her record.” “A poor pawn then. Either that or the Haunt here are more wily that we thought.” “Or she resists.” Mathin didn’t flinch at Fallon’s doubtful look. “She wouldn’t be the first. Are you going to take care of her or send her name to the elders here to deal with?” He didn’t comment on Fallon’s expression of distaste. Killing women wasn’t something either of them relished, but not all Haunt felt that way, not when entire communities could be wiped out by one Haunt-sniffing, cult-controlled charmer. Reporting her location would be the same as putting a sniper’s bullet in her brain. “It’s not as if she could be returned to her family,” Fallon said quietly. “It’s the first place the cult would look. Nor can I offer her a refuge, should she want it. Not in my position.” There was a moment of silence. “What if there was a way to take the charmer out of the charmer? Or at least mute the damage.” Fallon frowned and propped his hip on the desk. “I’m listening.” Mathin sat back and steepled his fingers, thinking out loud. “Remember Leo? Jasmine’s human friend from the swamps? She used her symbiont to make her body produce the charmer pheromone for a time. If she could do that, then perhaps she also knows a way to reverse the process.” Fallon shook his head. “You’re talking about a long shot and a prolonged journey to the swamps, Mathin. And this is assuming that the old woman wants your help.” His eyes darkened. “The risk of you being caught by her keepers is not one I’m willing to take. Not with your knowledge of the crossing zone between our worlds.” The charmer had the ability to command a man under their influence to do nearly anything, given enough time. Their pheromones twined around the mind, muddied it so much that Haunt would reveal everything they knew about the location of others of their kind, even aiding in their capture. That was what made the charmer so dangerous, and so feared. If one got her hands on Mathin… That disaster didn’t bear discussion. “The best thing we can do at the moment is to move Andrea out of harm’s way.” He shared a sardonic look with Mathin. “If you can find a way to do that without moving her to murder or sending her into hysterics, I’d appreciate it. After all, I’m the one who’ll have to deal with inquiries from her friends.” “Just tell them Andrea eloped with a rich landowner. If she doesn’t write they’ll likely assume she’s consumed with her new life and forgotten them.” “Will it be true?” “If I have my way.” He inclined his head and met Fallon’s measured gaze with calm assurance. “She wants me, Fallon. I would not have considered this otherwise. I know it’s the right move.” Fallon considered him. He wasn’t as close to him as his cousin Keilor was, but he knew something about the man. Something more than desire was guiding him. “Is it one of your premonitions?” “A strong one,” Mathin agreed. And he always honored his special instincts. They were part of what made him one of the most powerful warriors of the Haunt. Satisfied, Fallon smiled. “Then I suggest you start wooing your woman, soldier.” His grin grew wicked. “After all, it’s going to take more than a liking for your pretty face to keep her from shooting you after she discovers what you are.”     CHAPTER 4   Andrea plotted as she made French dips for dinner. It was time she knew more about her employer, and she mentally tallied her questions as she assembled the paper-thin brisket on French bread. Loading the sandwiches, steaming broth and cob salad on a tray, she carried them into the dining room. The men were already there, waiting. Mathin stood up. “Is there more in the kitchen?” “A carafe of hot cider, but I can get it.” She frowned as he ignored her and headed into the kitchen. Shaking her head, she laid out the plates. “This looks good,” Fallon said a little wistfully. “I wish my sinus weren’t dead right now so I could appreciate it.” Mathin grinned as he returned from the kitchen bearing the carafe. “My nose is working fine. Smells delicious.” He inhaled appreciatively. Frowning, Fallon shook his head. “You’re going to make yourself miserable.” “Then you’ll be highly entertained this evening,” Mathin said cheerfully, placing his hands on Andrea’s shoulders for the blessing. Andrea didn’t miss the wolfish look Mathin cast her as he sat opposite her. He purred in ecstasy at his first bite, and the glow in his eyes as he looked at her showed another kind of hunger. “Delicious. I can’t wait for dessert.” She snorted softly and picked up her sandwich. After they’d taken the edge off, she asked Fallon, “So, what is it you do? Grandma never said.” He shrugged. “I manage my investments and travel. I have some land, ah, overseas that requires my attention from time to time. My mother lives there.” “Interesting. And where is there?” “Near Mathin’s property.” She slanted him a look for dodging her question, then turned her sights on Mathin. “And what do you do?” He grinned at her. “I’m a mercenary who invested wisely. I do pretty much anything I please.” Surely he was teasing her. She sent a doubtful look at Fallon, who smiled self-deprecatingly. “He’s not teasing, though he did leave out a few details. He’s filthy rich, if that matters.” She frowned. “I don’t care if he’s rich.” She didn’t really believe him, anyway. Maybe she didn’t want to. If he really were sexy, foreign and rich, he’d definitely be out of her league. Not that she wanted him, she hastily assured herself. It was just the principle of the thing. There had to be some balance in the world. Fixing Mathin with a dampening stare, she said coolly, “You’re not a mercenary.” He just smiled. Nettled, she finished her sandwich and started on her salad. She really had outdone herself. Mathin had already inhaled three French dips was working his way through a large helping of salad. The man acted like he hadn’t tasted food in days. “So how did you two meet?” The men exchanged looks. “We were…rivals in our youth,” Fallon said with a small smile. “Recent events and mutual friends have caused us to make peace.” Well, that was different. Fallon made them sound like wary allies, but Mathin was staying in his house. How weird was that? Taking a guess, she said, “So this is kind of a…business trip or something? For Mathin, I mean.” Mathin shrugged, a small smile playing about his mouth. “Or something. I was curious about the country…Fallon offered me a room.” “Oh.” Okay, so she didn’t know much more about them than she had in the beginning. So much for her sleuthing skills. Sighing, she resigned herself to not knowing. Obviously they didn’t want her to pry, and maybe the less she knew the better. After all, it wasn’t as if she were going marry either of them, was it?   After dinner she retired to the renovated den and curled up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. She had the room to herself for almost an hour before Mathin came strolling in. He must have showered, for his thick hair looked slightly damp and was drawn back from his face into a tail. Some of the intensity he’d had at dinner had calmed. “Did you have a good workout?” “Yes.” He glanced at the TV. “You like stories?” The theme song of Star Trek began to play as the credits rolled. Andrea snapped off the TV and sat up to give Mathin a seat on the couch. It was obvious he wasn’t going to take one of the armchairs, and she wasn’t going to lie on her back around him. She knew he’d take it as an invitation. “Doesn’t everyone?” The cushions compressed as they absorbed his weight. Without asking permission, he drew her feet into his lap. Ignoring her warning scowl, he moved aside the end of the throw that covered her and massaged her foot. The scowl melted to a look of reluctant bliss. Satisfied, Mathin gently rotated his fingers, drawing forth a small moan. “Good. I’d like to tell you a story. It’s a tale from...my country.” One blue eye cracked open. “And where is that, exactly?” Using pleasure to distract her, he shifted his grip, manipulating the center of her foot. “Ohhh...yeah, right there. Harder,” she breathed. Her lips parted in pleasure, and it was very difficult to hold his tongue. A mischievous grin curved his lips. She had no idea how suggestive she was being, and he wasn’t about to tell her. He’d have to remember this. He shifted, drawing one leg up to face her more fully as made himself comfortable. “Many years ago, there existed on this world a race of people known as the Haunt. They were a special race, different from humans but not so different that they couldn’t live in peace.” Andrea’s eyes opened wide as she gave him her full attention. He stopped massaging her foot and simply held it. “But the humans feared the Haunt, calling them monsters and accusing their race of savagery because they feared the Haunt’s strength. To preserve their people—for their numbers were small—the Haunt withdrew into secret pockets to protect themselves.” He held up a hand when she shifted, questions dancing in her expressive eyes. She settled back. “But this was not enough for the most fearful and blood-hungry of the humans. They found ways to sniff out and murder the shape-changing Haunt whenever they could. One of their best weapons was a human mutation they called a charmer. A charmer was a always a woman, and she had a special gift; a pheromone that drove the Haunt male wild with lust for her, causing him to lose control of his very will.” Andrea smiled, but it faded as he went on soberly, “These women were used by warlords and a powerful cult to hunt down the Haunt. Once they had a male in their possession, the charmer used her gift to force information out of him, discovering the location of his family. “To ensure that it was a Haunt male that responded to the pheromone and not some lovesick human, the charmers were disfigured or masked so that their faces could never influence their quarry.” She flinched, and he sympathized. It wouldn’t be pleasant if the cults got to her. “Many Haunt died this way. To defend themselves and stop the slaughter of their families, some Haunt began assassinating any known charmers. Others searched for another way. “They found it. One Haunt, a prospector, discovered a doorway between worlds. The world he discovered was a place of beauty, yet danger. Best of all, as far as he knew, it was unclaimed. He told his people about this world, which he called the Dark Lands, and many of them chose to leave Earth with him and settle there. The ones who chose to stay elected an ambassador, a man to serve as an emissary between worlds, should any of them ever choose to leave Earth. The Haunt who crossed over conquered the Dark Lands, and flourish there to this day.” Andrea scooted upward and drew her knees up, the better to question him. “You said they were shape-changers. What did they turn into?” “Werewolves.” A short laugh of surprise escaped her, but his expression didn’t change. “They weren’t moon-changing, blood-thirsty murderers, Andrea, but men and women with families and children. The change was just an adaptation to their world that gave them strength and speed and heightened their senses. Their wounds healed quickly, and they lived longer than humans. For that the world was ready to slaughter them.” Moved, she lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is this a parable?” Instead of answering directly, he asked, “Would you like to see the door between worlds? It’s not far from here.” Her eyes widened, and then she laughed. She nudged him playfully with her foot. “You almost had me going there. I’ll give you this, you tell a good story.” He caught the foot, raised a brow. “Do you fear the Haunt? I won’t let them hurt you.” “I’d rather not risk it. They don’t sound too fond of my kind.” She giggled as his thumb stroked her insole, tickling her. She twisted and pushed against him with her other foot. Instead of releasing her, he pulled her down and leaned over her. Her breath caught as his dark hair slid over his shoulder, enclosing them both in a private world. Faint tremors shook her. He smelled so good. No humor lurked in his bottomless black eyes as he held her prisoner beneath him. “What if I told you I was a Haunt? Would you fear me?” “I don’t need to hear that to…” She did not want to say fear. It was far too cowardly. “To be wary of you.” Mathin searched her eyes. It did not take great genius to understand the source of her trembling, for he felt the powerful rush of desire, too. “It’s not me you fear, but this.” Slowly, he lowered his head until her breath feathered his lips and his mouth tingled with awareness. Instead of kissing her, he held the position and waited. She stiffened beneath him, and her trembling increased. Delicate muscles strained as she held her body in check.  He waited. She began to shift, subtly squirming. The man was skewering her on the shaft of her own desire. She knew what he was waiting for. She wasn’t going to give it to him. Even though her breasts ached and her need hammered at her, she wasn’t going to— Andrea grabbed his head, meeting him halfway in a savage kiss. In her inexpert eagerness their teeth clashed. Immediately he took command, guiding the kiss into something gentler, but just as wild. The difference with him in control was exponential, and in moments she became a wild thing; clinging to his conquering body even as she stroked it, inflamed by her volcanic need. It was Mathin who broke away. Panting, he stared at the whimpering vixen beneath him, shaken by the speed of her surrender. In his wildest dreams he couldn’t have conjured up a more provocative lover, and it sobered him like a glacial blast of lake water. She was completely uninhibited, like no woman he’d known before. She trusted him. She wanted him. Him, not his reputation or his silver. Her complete abandon told him things about her feelings he knew she wasn’t willing to admit. Not yet. And so he backed off, giving her time. Giving them both time, because he suddenly realized this encounter wasn’t going to be like any other. Andrea was something special, and it would take time to figure out how he was going to deal with her. “Why did you stop?” It was a shaky whisper. “Shh.…” So she would know it wasn’t rejection of her that made him stop, he eased behind her on the couch and simply held her, allowing the need to slow to a more bearable simmer. He didn’t want to leave her in pain. Bafflement drained some of the heat from her blood. This was not a side of Mathin she’d anticipated. He kept surprising her with his mercurial mood shifts. She didn’t know how to deal with him. “Did I do something wrong?” His gentle laugh shook both their bodies. “No.” He kissed the rim of her ear. “It was very right. So right I was tempted to take you here and now, but I didn’t think you were ready. Was I wrong?” Her face heated as she tried to squirm out of his embrace. Mathin’s arms tightened. “I’m not mocking you, sweetheart. Stay with me. I like you here in my arms.” “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her brain was clearing, and the familiar resentment soon returned. This hadn’t been anything special for him. Look how calm he was! He couldn’t have felt what she had or he could never be so relaxed. “Let me go.” Since he attributed her stiffness to embarrassment, Mathin complied, spreading his arms wide. Had he realized her true feelings, she would never have escaped so easily. She scrambled off the couch and glared down at him, resenting his blasé calm. “Don’t touch me again.” Mathin grabbed her wrist, stopping her as she would have fled. He wasn’t sure why she was so angry, but he didn’t like leaving it unresolved. “I was not the only one doing the touching, sweetheart.” And it rankled she would imply otherwise. Andrea glared at his hand without result. “I’m not your plaything, Mathin.” A dangerous light entered his eyes. “Don’t tempt me to prove myself, woman. These waters are deeper than you know.” He held her gaze, let her see his unshielded desire just long enough to start her shivering. Slowly, he let her go. Seriously off balance, she stumbled hastily from the room. Crossing his hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling and brooded. Why did women have to make everything harder than it was? He was a man of action. If he wanted something, he went for it. He’d certainly never stayed up nights worrying whether he deserved it or not. What was it about females that made them protest every gift and analyze every action? More often than not they came to the wrong conclusion anyway and then blamed the man. Moving her to the Dark Lands wasn’t going to be easy. Nor would she take the move in good grace, especially with her grandmother to consider. He felt no guilt over his plan—not when the alternative was seeing her fall into the wrong hands. Adaptation might be difficult, but she was young and he would be there to help. Odds were that Jasmine and Rihlia would also be delighted to see a face from home and would willingly take Andrea into their circle. Yes, she would definitely benefit from the move. Now all he had to do was get her there.   “She doesn’t even see it!” Mathin gestured to his blade angrily. Its weight on his hip vindicated him. The old man said nothing, merely watched him as the redwoods rustled around them. The wind sighed in the silence. Undaunted, Mathin repeated again, “I’ve earned this with my own blood and many hard battles. Did she think it was easy? How dare she say she doesn’t see it!” “Perhaps it is not there to see,” the old man replied at last, and disappeared. Sudden panic struck Mathin. He looked, and his blade was gone.   With a gasp, Mathin sat up, clutching the blankets that bunched around his naked hips. The after-midnight twilight said the time was somewhere between one and three a.m. Still caught up in his dream, his hand shot out, seeking the hilt of his sword on the bedside table. Hard metal met his palm, and he sighed. The mattress creaked as he fell back on the bed, his hand still wrapped around the grip. The remnants of the dream lingered with disturbing power, chiding him. In the dream he’d complained that Andrea saw no honor in him, a deep affront for a man who’d worked hard to become the epitome of the honorable warrior. Was that why she ran from his passion? He caressed the hilt of his blade, considering. Were the men here so shallow they’d put such serious pursuit into winning a woman only for physical gratification? He grimaced, answering his own question. Of course they did. They were human. It was one of the things his people despised about them. Not that he’d never seduced a woman—but in the manner of his kind he’d been forthright about his desires. Never had he deluded a woman into thinking he wanted more from her than pleasure and companionship. A sharp twinge of conscience smote him at that thought. Very well, he admitted reluctantly. There might have been a heart or two burned in the process. If he were completely honest with himself, he’d admit it was part of the reason for his recent abstinence. He didn’t enjoy hurting women. But that was why he was the perfect mate for her, he assured himself, laying aside the blade. Never would he willingly hurt her, and never had he pursued a woman with such fierce determination. The trick would be to convince her of that. If last night’s experience were anything to go by, persuading her of his honorable intentions might be the challenge of his life.   The sun was high, its warm golden light spilling across the bed, but Andrea woke shivering. Unable to get warm, she tugged the covers high and curled into a ball. The hypoglycemic attack filled her with unnatural dread. Why had she eaten that ice cream? Thankfully, she’d learned to keep a box of raisins by the bed. It had become ritual now to pop a couple before she got up. The sugar woke her up, kept her moving long enough to fix a breakfast. Without the snack, she was sluggish, foggy, and lacked appetite. On some occasions, she’d actually had to crawl to the kitchen in search of sugar, too dizzy and weak to walk. That was not a fun way to start a day. Unfortunately, she’d also stayed up late reading, something she’d learned it was foolish to do. Regular sleep hours were vital to her well-being; exhaustion just made it more difficult to keep her blood sugar in check. With a sigh, she reluctantly bowed to the demands of her body and slid out of bed. Chills rattled her bones the moment she exited. Dressing quickly, she threw on an extra sweatshirt and sought out the kitchen. Sometimes she felt guilty that she couldn’t will herself well. Secretly she feared what it would do the career she dreamed about. Though she’d told no one, the panic attacks, shakes and lethargy brought on by stress had already forced her to quit more than one job, and she’d barely made it through the culinary academy. But though she searched the Internet and scoured books on her condition, she was out of tricks. Binges were guilty pleasure for others. For her, they were potentially deadly. Cooking was too much trouble, so she fixed a bowl of muesli. She’d made a big batch of it yesterday out of toasted oats, nuts, chopped dates and cinnamon. Drizzled with a little honey, it was perfect for mornings like this. She’d barely started when Mathin walked in. She greeted his “good morning” with a mumble. He stopped and considered her. His nose flared, almost as if he were testing the air. “Are you all right? You seem…a little off.” “I’ll be fine after I eat.” A rainbow danced in her eyes from the prism in the window, forcing her to avert her face. She didn’t like appearing weak in front of others, didn’t want them to think she was trying to get attention. Mathin observed her. His nose told him something wasn’t right. While still lovely, her scent was tainted, and her hand shook a little as she brushed her hair from her face. It worried him. “You’re not feeling well, are you?” Startled into looking at him, she reluctantly shook her head. “What do you need?” She sighed. “I explained about the blood sugar thing last night. I just need to eat something healthy. I’m already feeling better.” Her head felt clearer, and she wasn’t heading for the floor. It could have been much worse. “Maybe you should lie down for a while, once you’ve finished.” She quirked a smile. “Wouldn’t want Fallon to think I was napping on the job.” “He won’t mind,” Mathin said firmly. He glanced out the window. “In fact, we were thinking of going horse-back riding later on. He wants to inspect a piece of land he owns. If you’re feeling better by then, will you come?” Surprised by his invitation, she looked at him doubtfully. “I don’t know...I’ve never ridden a horse before. I wouldn’t know what to do.” He waved a hand. “You can ride with me. Although not what we’re accustomed to, Fallon assures me that the beasts make better speed than a…person on foot.” He looked at her entreatingly, using just a touch of smolder. “It will be fun.” Whether it was or not, he would find a way to convince her to go. Earth was okay for a visit, but it was time to go home. Unaware that her answer was about to change her life, she thought for few seconds and then agreed. “Okay. When are we leaving?” Barely an hour later, Andrea found herself on the back of a black and white horse. The thing was as huge as it was beautiful, but Mathin didn’t seem impressed. Fallon saw the disappointment on his face and laughed. “Not what you’re used to, Mathin? I warned you.” Mathin simply grunted in response. The stags he was accustomed to had nearly as much intelligence as their riders and volcanic levels of energy and spirit. It took great control, constant dominance and sensitivity to master one, and the Haunt took great pride in their ability to do so. This poor Beast was as insipid as water. Plodding, even. Fallon smirked at Mathin’s disgust and nudged his beast into motion. “Deal with it. It’s not for your sake, after all.” True. Mathin glanced to the side, thinking of his passenger. He hoped she was enjoying her morning. The white barked birch and dark spruce did look lovely in the early morning light. What would she think if she knew this would be her last view of Earth? The warming spring air was pleasant, though still cool enough to make her grateful for her light jacket. Andrea wondered how Fallon and Mathin could be comfortable without one. What kind of climate were they used to? “Aren’t you cold?” Mathin glanced over his shoulder. “Should I be?” With her hands on his waist, she could practically feel his deep voice vibrating in his chest. His profile as he glanced at her was a little too inviting…yummy. This morning she’d been too distracted to dwell on it, but now the memory of their kiss made her breathless. “I don’t know. Is it cold where you come from?” With an enigmatic smile, he faced forward. “Rather steamy at times, actually. Depends on the mood of the weather. Like this, though?” His gesture encompassed their surroundings. “It’s rarely this chilly. I like it.” “So it’s tropical? Must be nice,” she said, fishing. Why were these guys so secretive about their country? They couldn’t be illegal aliens, not with the kind of cars Fallon flashed. The men exchanged amused glances. “You would find it very exotic,” Fallon answered, reining his horse around a broken stump. “Not many are privileged to see it.” As if that told her much. “Why is that? Does it have to do with your government? Is it communist or something?” Fallon grinned. “No communists. The people are not oppressed or in fear of their lives. The leader of our country, Jayems, is well liked. We are merely selective about immigrants.” “What about visitors? Is there much of a tourist trade?” She felt Mathin chuckle. “No tourists,” Fallon confirmed. Stumped by his description, she guessed, “Is it an island?” “I’ll tell you what,” Mathin offered, guiding his horse onto the thin game trail Fallon turned onto. His voice held more than a hint of amusement. “Save your questions until we stop for a rest. After that I’ll answer any question you ask.” When they stopped she would see the answers to most of her questions with her own eyes. The challenge would be to keep her from bolting with panic once she understood where they were. To that end, he said casually, “But since it’s a long ride, let me tell you another story of the Haunt of the Dark Lands.” As they rode he told her more of the history of his people, including the Symbiont War. “Wait a minute,” she interrupted, confused. “I thought there were no humans in the Dark Lands.” “So did the Haunt, at first,” he explained. “Soon they discovered they weren’t alone in their new world. Humans had discovered it first, and there was a small swarm of them about. Since the humans didn’t want to share and the Haunt weren’t about to go back, they made war.” He frowned. “A war that shed much blood on both sides, yet ended in a draw. In the end the humans withdrew into the swamps with their symbionts and the Haunt settled the land near the portal, where they remain to this day.” Dark thoughts dampened his mood. Too well he remembered the bloody war and his father’s part in it. Fallon’s sympathetic glance didn’t help. His father was someone he’d rather forget. Unaware of his black reflections, she swatted a mosquito from his back and whacked another buzzing around her face. The little monsters were voracious. Even repellant didn’t work—the little suckers seemed to like it. “What are symbionts? You keep mentioning them, but never say what they are.” “No one really knows,” he answered easily, ignoring Fallon’s dark look. “The Haunt like to call them parasites, but any Symbiont-human will argue that they are anything but. For one, they restore life and health to their human host, feeding off the impurities and dead cells in their body. In return they enable rapid healing, agility and an increased life span.” “Huh. Sounds kind of gross. Is it like a bug?” Andrea mussed aloud, thinking of several Star Trek episodes. She smashed another mosquito. “I hate bugs.” “It’s not a bug,” Mathin told her, annoyed at Fallon’s snort of amusement. “And if we ever enter the Dark Lands, it’s the first thing I’ll find for you.” Andrea grimaced. “Thanks, but no thanks. Not interested.” Annoyed at her lack of vision, he demanded, “Why not? Wouldn’t you like to live longer? Be healthy?” “Healthy would be nice,” she agreed. “But not if it involved a bug. Besides, who wants to live forever?” Fallon laughed. Stymied by her logic, Mathin muttered, “The Symbionts would think you were blasphemous.” “Does it matter?” she asked, shifting to a slightly more comfortable position. “It’s not as if they exist.” Her comment effectively dampened that line of conversation. About an hour later, they entered a small clearing. There was nothing special about the birch-ringed space that she could see, other than the view of the surrounding wooded hillsides. The greening hills did look lovely. “Are we stopping for lunch?” “Soon,” Mathin promised. The stirrups jangled softly as he dismounted. “I hope you’re ready for this adventure,” Fallon told Mathin, nodding toward Andrea. He remained in the saddle. “What?” she asked, glancing at him as she dismounted. Good thing Mathin helped; the horse was tall, and she was stiff. She wasn’t looking forward to the ride back. Fallon smiled. “I was wishing you luck on your adventure. Mathin’s going to show you the gate to the Dark Lands.” Mathin handed him the reins to their horse, which he fastened to his saddle. She laughed. They were monkeying with her. “Yeah, right! I’ll give your best to Alice and the Hatter while I’m there.” Although unfamiliar with her reference, Mathin knew sarcasm when he heard it. “If you see them, you’ll have to introduce me,” he said indulgently. Best she had her fun now; soon she wouldn’t be laughing. “In the meantime…” He shifted the satchel he’d retrieved from the saddlebags and offered his arm. She shook her head at his teasing, but took it. After all that riding, she felt the need to stretch her legs. “We’ll be back in few minutes,” she told Fallon, just so he knew she wasn’t subscribing to their joke. “In case you’re not, what would you like me to bring you from here, should I visit?” He was smiling, but there was something in his tone…. She frowned. These guys took jokes far too seriously. “Well, let’s see,” she pretended to ponder. “I’ll be stuck on an alien planet with no entertainment. How about a deck of cards?” Fallon shook his head, but said nothing. Mathin escorted her to the trees at the edge of the clearing. It was growing surprisingly warm in spite of the thickening cloud cover, so she paused to tie her sweatshirt around her waist. “You know, after all the stories you’ve told me, I’m almost disappointed there really isn’t a gate. The Dark Lands sound pretty cool.” “I’m glad you think so.” Mathin gestured for her to precede him. A trickle of unease made her hesitate. There was something about him, something odd about the woods around them. Even though she couldn’t put her finger on it, something wasn’t right. Suspicious now, she said, “Just where are we going, anyway?” Her eyes dropped to the gun belt and sheathed dagger at his hips. This morning she hadn’t questioned the need for protection from wild animals; for the first time, she wondered if her companion might be one. Dark eyes watched her with frightening calculation. He knew she was afraid, but he wasn’t going to let fear keep her from crossing over. Her world was no longer safe. He would’ve liked to reason with her, but women weren’t always logical, and he hadn’t known her long enough to predict what she’d do. Instead, he relied on persuasion. “But we’re almost there. Don’t you want to see the Dark Lands?” “Maybe another time,” she answered carefully, taking a step back. Something was up, and she didn’t want to hang around and find out what. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t a trip to an alien planet. Unless Mathin was already on a private trip of his own? Chills ran down her back. The possibility of narcotic influences would explain so much. His mood swings, his fascination with the Dark Lands...How could she have been so blind to the clues? A stick cracked loudly under her heel, causing her to slip on the leaf mold. Instantly Mathin was there, preventing a fall with an arm under her back…and subtly walking her forward the last few, critical paces. Slyly, he distracted her with chatter. “Are you all right? You have to be careful, it’s slippery out here. These aren’t groomed trails.” Andrea unwittingly took four paces before she tried to resist. “Stop! I don’t—” That was when she looked up—and screamed.   On the other side of the gate, Fallon winced. That must have been painful at close range. Shaking his head for the trouble Mathin had willingly embraced, he kicked his stallion into a walk. He had business to tend to.   “What is that?”  Far from shrinking from him now, Andrea’s backside was practically welded to his front as she backed pedaled into him. Of course, he was blocking her escape. The magnificent redwoods and tall ferns of his home world surrounded them, but he doubted she’d even noticed the scenery yet. Mathin sighed. “It’s just a feeder beetle. They’re harmless.” If this was the way she reacted to what amounted to pet food, he was not looking forward to her reaction to the Haunt. The object of her terror turned its black head toward them and waved its antenna, mildly interested. Andrea yelped and skittered behind Mathin, using him for a shield. “It’s the size of a cocker spaniel! You’ve got the gun; shoot it!” With a grunt of amusement, he grabbed a small stick from the forest floor and tossed it half-heartedly toward the beetle. It bounced off its back with a dull clunk, sending the creature scurrying. “There. Now…” He frowned as she backed away, her eyes on the towering forest. Wild spice scented the air of the alien world around her. The surrounding woods had shifted and melded together so subtly that she hadn’t even noticed the change, but there was no doubt in her mind that she was elsewhere. And suddenly, desperately, she wanted to go home. Thinking to find the way back she whirled…and came face to snout with a wolf. She shrieked and shot back so fast she lost her footing and landed on her butt. So much for running. “Easy,” Mathin soothed as he knelt and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “The volti won’t hurt you. At least not when you’re with me,” he amended, for the volti were respected for their ferocity. The pack was gathering, drawn to the disturbance. They ghosted from the woods, forming a loose circle around Andrea and Mathin. While nominally under Haunt control, volti could be unpredictable. Andrea was behaving like prey, and Mathin knew he had to exert dominance quickly, before the pack decided she was fair game. He locked eyes with the pack leader, a big female. “Mine.” The volti held his eyes, her expression cunning. “Mine.” Mathin’s eyes narrowed. In his present mood, he wouldn’t object to skinning her. The female snorted and paced away, conceding the prize to the more dangerous predator. The rest of the pack melted into the woods, in search of easier prey. “You’re going to get me killed,” Andrea whispered, but her shoulders relaxed. “You’re making this more difficult than it has to be.” He helped her to her feet, helpfully dusting her rear. She swatted his hand. “Stop it! This wouldn’t be happening if….” She trailed off, her eyes going to the end of the path. A company of a dozen or more werewolves marched their way with military precision. Armed like Mathin, they had the flattened faces of wolves and seemed at home with the volti that flanked them. Mathin grabbed her arm before she could swoon. “Easy, there. You’ve gone white. No one’s going to hurt you.” His assurances buzzed in her ears like agitated bees. Werewolves. Giant bugs. This place was going to kill her. There came a time when even the most timid woman hit a wall. Flight was nice, but it was obvious there was no way to outrun the monsters now. Mathin barely had time to grab her as she snatched the gun from his holster. “Let me go!” she shouted, struggling in his arms. She kicked his shins as he wrapped her in a bear hug that squeezed the air from her lungs. “Settle down! I don’t want to hurt you.” He grunted as she landed a sharp heel kick to his calf. Had he known she’d be this panicked, he’d have brought a tranquilizer. Hadn’t his stories helped at all? Lack of air finally forced her to stop struggling. Immediately his arms loosed, letting her breathe. “Send me home,” she gasped. “You are home.” He had to tighten his arms as she picked up the fight, but she was tired from the last battle. The physical contest didn’t bother him, but when she hung her head and whispered, “No,” it hurt. She was trembling, so he turned her in his arms to comfort her, gently touched her cheek. She bit him. Then she tried to knee his crotch. “That’s it!” Mathin hefted the hellion and tossed her over his shoulder. When she pulled his hair, he swatted her sharply on the butt. There was ominous stillness. “Sir?” A soldier had shifted into human form so he could speak. He was dressed all in black from his combat boots to his black leather vest. Even his hair and eyes were dark. The only spot of color on him was the red Celtic knot on the uniform over his heart. He held a com, and his tone was professional, which much have taken some effort, considering the show Andrea was putting on. “Lord Jayems requests an audience with you after you’ve…” His eyes slid to Andrea and his nostrils flared. His gaze became rather glassy. “Neutralized the situation.” “As soon as,” Mathin agreed, silently cursing the soldier’s reaction to Andrea’s pheromone. Since he was still wearing the nose-filter he remained immune, but this man had no protection. “Change and escort us back to the citadel.” “I’m not going—oof!” Andrea grunted as he jostled her roughly on his shoulder, cutting her off. Now that she was surrounded by Haunt, her innate persuasive abilities could come out at any time. Only the change or the possession of a mate protected a male Haunt from the pheromone, and nothing saved them from the persuasion. He didn’t want her ordering the man to take her home. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with a rogue, and he’d probably hurt the man neutralizing him. Andrea hissed a curse and pinched him. “Let me down!” Unused to hearing women swear, his brow rose in mild surprise. “Very well.” He let her slide down and held her arm as she found her balance. “I’ll give you the opportunity to walk with dignity, but act up again and I’ll toss you over my shoulder. Got it?” His hard tone let her know he meant it. Lethal blue eyes glared at him. She could think of only two things he might want with her, and both made her despise him. “I hate you.” “And on such short acquaintance, too,” an amused voice drawled. “Keilor!” Relieved at the interruption, Mathin greeted him, clasping forearms with the dark-haired warrior who entered the clearing. He kept a grip on Andrea, knowing she couldn’t be trusted. With high cheekbones reminiscent of a Cherokee warrior, the man radiated energy and command. Several volti followed at his heels like a pack of tamed hunting dogs. The man’s dark eyes settled on Andrea, assessing and reassuring at once. He shook his head. “My wife has shared those exact sentiments; particularly as he dragged her through the swamps and fed her giant snails. Will you come and meet her? She is human, like you.” Keilor’s calculation worked. With a nervous glance at the Haunt and an even more skittish look at Mathin, she fell into step with the stranger. What choice did she have? Mathin followed, watching her carefully. He probably thought she’d attack at the first opportunity. Jerk. “We have two women here from your world,” Keilor said conversationally, doing his best to be pleasant. “One is my cousin. Both are about your age. I’m sure they’ll plague you for information from Earth.” Seeing that his long strides were too fast for her, he slowed to a more comfortable stroll. “Were they kidnapped, too?” she asked irritably. Keilor’s conversation soothed some of her fear, but did little for her anger. If she’d thought she could outrun them, she’d bolt in a heartbeat. There was a telling pause, but Keilor shook his head. “Not precisely. My wife used a dog to track my cousin’s scent and stumbled into the Dark Lands. Naturally, we couldn’t let her leave.” “I don’t see why not,” she snapped, looking at Mathin. “Isn’t kidnapping some kind of crime here?” Keilor looked at her. “Save your anger for Mathin,” he said calmly. “I wasn’t the one who brought you here.” “But you won’t let me leave.” Her gaze challenged him to do just that. “It’s not my decision.” His gaze moved to the trail ahead, dismissing the subject. Dejected, she lagged a pace behind, covertly watching the forest for opportunities to escape. The depressing sight of volti running through the trees ruled out that option, even if she had the speed to outrun the men. Searching for inspiration, she looked up, but other than the magnificent redwoods surrounding them, there was nothing that would help. The ground was equally fruitless, though strewn with interesting plants and mushrooms. Their bright purple caps were the size of dinner plates. “They’re edible, by the way,” Mathin offered, matching her pace. “And they glow in the dark.” Now that she was no longer physically struggling, he felt she might be ready to listen. He hoped so; he didn’t relish seeing her fear. The idea was for her to like it here. “Thank you, Mr. Tour Guide,” she said acidly. Did he think he could worm into her good graces so easily? “I was dying to know.” “Dying is what you would have been, had I left you behind.” Undeterred by her disbelief, he continued, “The woman we saw in town? The ugly one who scared you? She was one of the charmers I told you about. Charmers always recognize each other.” She stopped and stared at him. “What? There’s no such thing as…” she trailed off as her eyes reminded her that stranger things did exist. “But you said the Haunt kill…” She blanched as the true reason for her kidnapping registered. “I brought you here to save you from the cults. There’s nowhere you can go on Earth that they can’t find you. They have a lot of practice at it.” The list of Haunt kills to their credit certainly attested to that. “I don’t believe you. You didn’t bring me here just to save me. Are you that hard up that you have to steal women now?” Mathin stopped dead and fixed her with a lethal stare. Keilor crossed his arms, pausing with the Haunt to watch the spectacle.  “Can’t you control your woman, Mathin?” he asked, returning a taunt his friend had often used on him. “I’m not his woman!” she said vehemently. “I hate him!” “That’s not what you said last night,” Mathin grated, taking her arm. He walked on, ignoring her hiss of frustration. “I didn’t say anything last night, and you know it!” “Maybe, but what did you do?” His mood lightened as she did her best to injure him. “Nooo, that wasn’t it.” “Can’t you save the foreplay? I’m on a schedule,” Keilor drawled. “If I must.” He quickly bent his knees and tossed her over his shoulder, ensuring there would be no more delays. A soft pat on her bottom prevented the rear assault he felt coming. “Don’t make me retaliate,” he warned. Accepting her silence as answer enough, he smiled at Keilor, all teeth. “After you.”     CHAPTER 5   Andrea seethed as their party entered the citadel. Slung over Mathin’s shoulder and moving at a fast clip, she couldn’t see much beyond the smooth tiled floors on the ground level and the exquisite parquet flooring on the upper. Of course, there was his backside, but since she didn’t have anything to stab him with, it didn’t do her much good. Fortunately, Mathin decided to flip her upright before they arrived at their destination. He even held her arm to get her past the head rush. She pressed a hand to her aching stomach and shot him a glare—the man had a hard shoulder. “So far, I’m not impressed with the tour,” she grouched. They stood in a stone corridor, before a heavy wooden door. Keilor seemed to have disappeared, but there was a werewolf guarding the door. She gave him a guarded glance, but he didn’t look ready to pounce…yet. Mathin stared. “I tried to make it easy on you, if you’ll recall. You’re the one who started throwing punches.” She prepared to blast him, but his warning smile made her reconsider. The jerk wasn’t above spanking her. His eyes narrowed with smug humor. “Now pumpkin, you wouldn’t wish to upset your grandmother, would you?” “My…what?idor The Haunt guard opened the thick wooden door. Mathin strode through, sweeping her along with a hand at her back. The room beyond was sunny, and brimming with familiar knickknacks and gewgaws. Crazy colors covered nearly every surface. Hooked rugs in a riot of clashing colors, Afghans and slipcovers—the very ones she’d packed away—covered the furniture in a rainbow of dizzying shades. It looked like someone had tossed a bag of Skittles all over the place. Bewildered by the display, she simply stared. Why would Mathin have brought all this stuff? Her grandma wouldn’t be happy when she got home and discovered it missing. Wait…he didn’t think she wanted it, did he? “Surprise!” Andrea jumped as her grandmother popped out from behind a couch. She wrapped her startled grandchild in a rose-scented hug, making glad noises. Confused, Andrea stiffened. “Grandma?” she asked tentatively. Her grandmother pulled back and gave her a brilliant smile. “Oh, isn’t it wonderful! That sweet Fallon has arranged for us to live here in the Dark Lands. Isn’t it beautiful? Such lovely weather! I’ve always said he was a sweet boy.” Behind them, someone guffawed. Ignoring the sound of amusement, Andrea demanded, “What are you talking about?” She hoped it would make sense, because she couldn’t stand much more bewilderment. “What happened to the cruise to Tahiti?” “But I just said, dear,” Matilda answered with a fond smile. “I arranged for you to come up and meet his nice Haunt friend and fall in love—one look at him and I knew you’d fall in love—and for me to come here with you to help raise the grandbabies.” She beamed at Mathin over her shoulder. “You’ll have such beautiful babies.” Appalled, and more than a little nauseous at her grandmother’s unqualified approval of Mathin, Andrea demanded, “Are you saying you traded me for a chance to come here and...and...I’m not having his babies!” Shock and fury made her teeth chatter. She was a virtual prisoner and her grandmother was prattling on about babies. With Mathin! Was she possessed? In case her grandma didn’t get the point, Andrea pointed at Mathin and shouted, “He dragged me here over his shoulder, for pity’s sake! I’m not in love with him. I don’t even like him!” “Actually, I carried you over my shoulder,” Mathin said mildly. Andrea threw an ugly ceramic chicken at him. He plucked it neatly out of the air with one hand. Her grandmother didn’t even blink. “Settle down, Andrea. And don’t raise your voice to me. Your mama taught you better manners, bless her dear departed soul.” She sniffed. “She would be so proud to see you here, so near to your wedding.” Frozen in rage, Andrea stared at her happy grandmother, her fists hard with the desire to beat some sense into her. Not that she could. Besides the fact that it was wrong, her last spanking had been at the age of fourteen, administered by her father because she’d sassed her grandma. Respect for her elders was far too ingrained, no matter the provocation. She’d have to find another target. The blood pounded in her head as she passed the Haunt at the door without a thought. Nearly blind with rage, she looked around desperately for something to wreak havoc on. As if he read her thoughts, Mathin moved ahead of her and thoughtfully opened a door. “This one is unoccupied if you’d like to be alone for a while.” Grateful for his actions but unable to speak a polite word, she passed through the door, locking and slamming it behind her. The room within was completely done in white and smelled musty with disuse. Even the wood of the couches and upholstered chairs was snowy cream. Andrea was not normally a violent woman. She’d always considered fit throwing and tantrums to be the province of children. Today was another matter. Furious at her captivity and her grandmother’s betrayal, she grabbed one of the many porcelain statues from one of the pedestals that lined the walls. It smashed to shards against the white- embossed, papered wall. The action sobered her somewhat, and she stared at the mess, aghast. Until she remembered Mathin and her grandmother’s betrayal. Fury swelled, but this time she headed for a more repairable target—the enormous white-swathed bed visible through a door in the living quarters. Here she didn’t hesitate to toss pillows to the floor and stomp on them. When that didn’t work, she leapt atop the bed, jumping up and down to the sound of the creaking suspension. Even that was not enough, so she grabbed a fat pillow by its lacy case and used it to beat the tall bedposts senseless. “Stupid, stupid jerk!” she chanted, whacking the innocent post with all her might. “How dare he kidnap me? I’m not sleeping with him,” she shouted rebelliously, huffing for breath as she swung the heavy pillow. “Who does he think he is, Conan? Overblown fathead!” Only when she was dizzy and covered in sweat did she release the poor, limp pillow. She sat hard on the bed, not at all cheered by the light washing in the window. That was when the grief hit. How could Grandma do this to her? Had she been brainwashed? The thought gave her hope. What if? Wasn’t that a werewolf ability? She frowned. Or was that vampires? But if Mathin could be believed, they were nothing like either. She rubbed her forehead. The shock was overloading her body’s ability to cope, leaving her shaky and cold. She had to rest or she’d have a full-blown attack just like that morning. She lay back and closed her eyes, hoping Mathin would respect the lock. Whether he did or not, she had to rest. She just hoped she wouldn’t wake to another nightmare.   “You gave her what room?” Keilor winced at Jasmine’s incredulous demand. He had retired with Mathin to his private suite after their conference with Jayems. The open design of their house allowed a good view of Mathin, who pretended to be completely engrossed with their one-year-old boys as they played in the sunken living room. Light flooded the house from the clear wall behind the kitchen, making the need for other illumination unnecessary. A pen of sorts had been erected around the perimeter of the living area, leaving the twins with plenty of carpeted area to tumble and play. It also kept them out of the fireplace and their mother’s collection of potted fruit trees. Keilor shrugged and snatched a piece of the vegetable she was chopping for dinner. “Mathin said she didn’t seem picky at the time. Besides, we could hardly take her to Mathin’s room. They’re not mated yet.” Reminded of the source of her ire, the petite terror turned her wrath on Mathin. “And how could you, Mathin? What possessed you to drag the poor girl here when there’s plenty of Haunt women chasing you?” Mathin scowled as he tried to pry a lock of his long hair from a giggling twin while gently fending his brother off with his knee. She’d already heard the full story, and he wasn’t about to go into again. “You could have a little faith in my premonitions. They’ve saved your life often enough.” “Escorting me through the swamps was one thing.” She leaned against the long island and waggled the hand still holding her cleaver at him. “This is entirely different. She probably thinks….” she broke off, unable to say it without blushing. Agitated, she brushed a brown lock of hair off her forehead and glanced at Keilor. “Does she know you’re not going to, um, hurt her? That she has rights and choices?” “Actually,” Mathin blinked innocently at her, “I thought I’d let you tell her.” Jasmine opened her mouth as if to blast him, but must have thought better of it. An annoyed expression crossed her expressive face, and then morphed into her famous crafty look. Grown men had been known to run when presented with that look. Archly, she said, “I think I will. In her place I’d certainly feel more comfortable talking to a woman.” Her smile was evil. “And while I’m at it, I’ll make certain she knows she doesn’t have to marry you if she doesn’t want to. And I’ll tell her just what to do to avoid a Haunt-style wedding.” “If you wish. It won’t do you any good.” He shared a knowing smile with Keilor. “Some woman just can’t resist a wolf on the prowl.”   Andrea had been awake and brooding for some time when she heard a tentative knock on the door. A moment went by while she decided if she wanted to answer it. The knock came again, followed by a woman’s voice. “Hello? Andrea? My name’s Jasmine. Can I come in? I promise Mathin’s not out here.” It was the note of sympathy in the woman’s voice that did it. “Just a minute.” With a grimace for the broken statue, Andrea went to the door and unlocked it. One the other side was a pretty brunette in a blue and silver, Grecian inspired gown. For some reason she seemed terribly familiar. Almost like the woman at Kmart, though they looked nothing alike. Cautiously, she said, “Hello.” “Hi. I’m Keilor’s wife. I thought I’d invite you over for something to eat. It’s not quite dinner, but I’ve got some munchies if you’d like.” Her smile was mischievous. “Besides, I thought I’d tell you a thing or two Mathin might not want you to know.” Sensing an ally, Andrea nodded and shut the door behind her, doing her best to ignore the pair of Haunt guards who immediately followed them. “Thank you. That room was beginning to give me the creeps.” She hunched her shoulders. “All that white.” Jasmine glanced at the door with visible distaste. “I know what you mean.” Dismissing the subject, she added, “Our suite is just down the hall.” Arched windows lighted the dove-colored blocks of stone that formed the passage, sparkling faintly off the flecks of mica in the rock. “This is nice,” Andrea said as Jasmine led her into her suite, admiring the crest design worked into the wood of the floor and the tasteful tans and creams of the velvet-covered furniture. A restful number of plants graced the room. “Very nice.” She gestured to the pen surrounding the sunken living space and the toys inside. “You have children?” Jasmine laughed. “Twin toddler boys. Mathin and Raziel took them out to see the stags. No doubt I’ll have to give them both a bath when they get back.” Andrea’s brows rose. “You trust Mathin with your children?” Her hostess plucked a fruit segment from a platter on the long island, silently gesturing for her guest to pull up a bar stool and help herself. The comment she waved away with a careless gesture of her hand. “Believe it or not, he adores children, and he’s really very good with them. I’ve trusted him with my life…though I don’t know what he’s thinking with this latest stunt.” She studied Andrea curiously. “Don’t take this wrong, but he’s hardly the sort of guy who needs to go around kidnapping women, you know? You’d swear the man was a charmer himself the way women pursue him.” Andrea frowned. “I’d figured as much. Do you know why he brought me here?” She dropped her eyes to the orange piece of fruit in her hand, too nervous to eat until she heard an answer. Would Jasmine be honest with her? Jasmine sighed. “My guess is he’s got the hots for you, which isn’t surprising, considering you’re a charmer. Not that he can do anything about it without your permission,” she hastily assured her, touching her hand. “Rape is punishable by death here, and he’s not the type.” She made a face. “But don’t think he won’t try to seduce you.” She cleared her throat and fussed with the veggie tray. “I should warn you, when a man sleeps with a woman it’s the same as marriage here. A Haunt can mate only once, and once the body fluids mix…” She raised her hands in defeat. “Like it or not, you bed him, you wed him.” Andrea squinted in confusion. “And how many wives does he have?” The thought of joining a harem repulsed her, not that it would come to that. She’d geld him first. Jasmine laughed. “Sorry, I’m not explaining this too well. The Haunt can fool around all he or she wants, right up until the point of consummation. If they go past that, they’re hooked for life. Adultery usually results in madness, thanks to their unique genetic makeup.” When the confusion didn’t clear from Andrea’s brow she explained gently, “Mathin is a virgin as we define the term, as are all unmated Haunt.” The grin was back as she waggled a piece of fruit at Andrea. “But if you value your life, don’t call him that. The term means a man of no experience here, and he’s definitely not that.” Her brain swimming with details, Andrea muttered, “I see. I think. So you’re saying that he plans to...um, seduce me into marriage. Why? Didn’t you just say there were other women here who’d like to...?” she trailed off. None of this made sense. Jasmine rested her chin in her hand, considering. “Well, like I said, there’s always the charmer thing.” “Hardly.” She gave Jasmine a level stare. “Do I look like a red-hot vixen to you?” She smiled ruefully. “You’re pretty, but no.” She poured them both a glass of iced tea. “Not that it matters. I knew what you were the moment I saw you. “Besides, if Mathin said he was saving you from cults, then he was. Whatever you might think of him right now, he’s not a liar.” She paused for a moment, tapping her nails on the counter-top. “There is one other thing.” Andrea looked up, unsure whether to be hopeful or to brace herself. “What’s that?” The nails tapped faster in time to Jasmine’s agitation. “That Haunt believe in a lot of things that might seem strange to you. One of those things is casting lots. They believe that the result of the lot casting is holy. That’s how my friend Rihlia ended up here and married.” She sighed, tracing the marbled stone. “I don’t know about that, but I must admit it seems to have worked out well. She’s happy.” She stared off in the distance, her mind tracing memories. “One thing I have found to be uncannily accurate is the foreknowing some of them have. I’ve seen Mathin in some dangerous situations suddenly do the completely unexpected, often saving our lives. Later on he’d explain he’d been acting on one of his premonitions.” She paused, meeting Andrea’s eyes. “In that, I’ve become a believer. You would be too, if you’d seen what I have.” Her gaze grew troubled. “But this time I have to wonder if Mathin’s actually listening. He claims that bringing you here was partly based on a premonition.” What could she say to that? Andrea had no experience with such things, nor had she ever thought much about them. Did a premonition give Mathin the right to kidnap her? What did that have to do with Mathin’s curious attraction to her? She abandoned the subject for a moment, rubbing her forehead to release the tension gathered there. “My grandma’s here.” Jasmine didn’t even blink at the unrelated topic. “I heard.” “She brought her every earthly possession,” Andrea mumbled in distress. Her hostess chuckled in sympathy, remembering the garish collection. “I saw.” “I didn’t even bring a toothbrush,” Andrea moaned, sinking deeper into depression. “Now that I can help with. Come on.” Jumping off the stool, Jasmine took her to her bedroom, heading for a closet door. Andrea stopped in the door, staring in shocked fascination at the ornately carved lovers on the posts of Jasmine’s bed. A movement caught her eye and she looked up, startled to see a huge mirror on the ceiling. Yikes. “Keilor’s idea of a present,” Jasmine said dryly, poking her head out of the closet. Embarrassed to be caught staring, Andrea quickly turned her head and hurried over. “Just be glad Rihlia and I have had some time to work on the Haunt seamstress’s idea of underwear. You do not want to know what passed for bras when we showed up.” Beckoning to Andrea, she disappeared into the walk-in closet. “Now this,” she said, holding up a sapphire blue nightgown and robe set, “Will definitely look good on you. Besides, it’s not like I have much use for it with Keilor around.” Grinning at Andrea’s blush, she laid the set aside and rummaged for undergarments. “Brand new,” she said, holding up a ribbon-wrapped package of assorted silk panties. “We can get a seamstress in to fit you for bras later. I’m positive you don’t want to go shopping for overnjis,” she said, holding up the garment in question. Andrea gasped. It was a push-up bra with short sleeves but no cups. “Quite.” Jasmine tossed it back into its drawer and opened another, extracting some socks, which she added to the pile. Next came some black-maroon pants made of a thick, dark silk. “Stronger than denim.” Added to that were several shirts and a gorgeous blue and gold, Grecian style dress, which Andrea immediately refused. “No, I really can’t,” she insisted, though her eyes ate up the dress. She’d never owned such an exquisite piece of clothing. Jasmine waved off her protests. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, it will match your ring.” Flustered, Andrea grasped the forgotten ring. “Mathin tricked me into letting him buy it for me,” she muttered, feeling an explanation was needed. The event seemed so long ago, and the explanation lame. Why was she still wearing it? It was not a question she wanted answered. “Hm. He has good taste,” was all Jasmine said, but her expression was speculative. She left Andrea alone in the bathing chamber to freshen up while she went to check on dinner. Andrea washed her face and hands at the marble sink, welcoming the soothing warmth of the water. She didn’t know how much time she had, but surely she could wash her hair? It smelled like horse, and since she had to change her hair-dusted pants it only made sense. Later she would see about a long soak. Her backside wasn’t used to bouncing behind a saddle and it felt a little raw. The ordinary actions soothed her. She still wasn’t sure what to do about her grandma. Had it not been for her, she’d have planned to escape at the first opportunity. What was she supposed to do with the woman when she wanted to stay, had arranged the whole thing? Now that she was calmer the whole brainwashing thing sounded ridiculous, especially as she recalled her grandmother’s rabid desire to see her settled. She rolled her eyes. Who would have thought she’d have gone this far to do it? The amazing thing was that she’d found someone to help carry out her crazy plan. Well, I don’t have to cooperate, she promised herself as she washed and rinsed her hair. Jasmine’s relaxed attitude and confidences had gone a long way to firming her resolve. Mathin didn’t have a chance with her. As for her grandmother… One thing at a time. The first thing she saw when she emerged from the bathing chamber was a miniature giraffe the size of a large dog. Curled up on the woven rug on the far side of the bed, the small creature raised its head to study her with lazy interest. Its black-and white fur looked so soft! Enchanted, Andrea sank to her knees, holding out her hand. “Here, little fella,” she said softly, holding out her hand. The giraffe stared at her a moment from across the room, then closed its eyes and went back to sleep. Disappointed, but wary of disturbing the alien creature, she let her hand fall. “You give up too quickly,” chided a familiar, deep voice. Startled, she jumped up and scowled at Mathin. “What do you want?” It was so easy to vilify him when he wasn’t around, but now…Why did he have to be so good-looking? It didn’t help that he’d changed into what seemed to be the standard military uniform. The black leather vest and silky dark pants looked entirely different when not on a Haunt. It was very hard not to let her eyes linger on his hair dusted chest or the corded muscles of his arms. No wonder women chased him if he went around looking like that! The only color about him was the scarlet sash at his waist and the red Celtic knot on the vest over his heart. Belted at his waist were the weapons he rarely seemed to be without. They looked much more natural with his native garb. His brow went up at her display of temper. “I thought you might need these.” He extended a small pouch to her, thinking how odd it was that, even while wearing the nose-filter, every time he looked at her his stomach did a little flip. She took it warily. Inside were a number of toiletries. A round container full of shaker holes and equipped with a powder puff was the first thing on top. The clear powder inside sparkled on the surface of the puff. “Deodorant powder,” he explained in response to her puzzled expression. “The toothpaste and brush you know. The tube full of amber beads is soap for your body and hair. In the silver pot is lotion, in the bronze, repellent.” “Repellant?” She studied the small pot askance. Only a man would consider bug repellent an essential toiletry. However, it was the final item in the bag that defied her imagination. It looked something like an elongated, miniature plunger with a short rubber handle. He looked aside, a trace of color bronzing his cheeks. The last he’d purchased at great personal discomfort, remembering Jasmine’s bitter complaints about the lack of feminine necessities during their trek through the swamp. “Jasmine can explain its use to you.” She stared at him, unsure what to think, then replaced the plunger in its drawstring pouch. There was an awkward moment of silence. “Thank you,” she finally told him, though it was the last thing she wished to say. Unfortunately, attacking him would accomplish nothing, as he’d proven in the forest. She doubted that verbal attacks would prove more satisfying. Nor could she ask him the questions that burned in her mind. They were far too personal, too daring for her present mood. Would he even admit to her why he wanted her? Or was that just an assumption on Jasmine’s part? The silence stretched, grew awkward. “Dinner is ready,” he finally said. He gestured for her to precede him. Dinner was extremely difficult for her. Not only was her grandmother there, but she was determined to mask Andrea’s moodiness with chatter. The only bright spot was when Mathin displayed a rare sensitivity and claimed the elder woman for his blessing partner. Or it should have been a bright spot. For some reason, Andrea wasn’t happy at being passed over, even though she didn’t think she could stand his touch just then. It was hard enough when he took the seat next to her. It was a shame the exhausted children had been put down for a nap. They would have made a welcome distraction, she thought regretfully, glancing at the empty highchairs and then at the living area across the room. Only a natural screen of potted plants separated the two areas, giving the suite a refreshing openness. “Isn’t this a lovely place setting?” her grandmother asked, smiling as she handed her wineglass to Mathin for a refill. She sighed happily as she looked around at the shining crystal and elegant porcelain. “I’ll have to buy you some for a wedding gift.” Andrea tensed, her hands tightening on her silver chopsticks. It wasn’t the first “hint” her grandmother had dropped. Couldn’t she see what her pushing was doing to Andrea’s nerves? “Thank you,” Jasmine said with a quick glance at Andrea’s stiff posture. “I’ve always loved this pattern, but I’m so afraid the boys will destroy it. Already they’ve managed to...” No longer listening, Andrea sullenly pushed the food around on her plate. Although the dinner was excellent, she couldn’t eat more than a few bites. Later she would thank Jasmine for distracting her grandmother. This evening all she wanted to do was flee. “I have a better room for your use this evening,” Mathin said quietly, taking advantage of her grandmother’s distraction. The elder woman’s comments had him on edge, and he was the willing party! One glance at Andrea’s face was enough to see she was close to losing control. “It’s less...white. It also has a kitchen for you to work in. You’ll recognize many of the staples, and I’ll be happy to tell you about the unfamiliar ones.”  When she did nothing more than glance at him out of the corner of her eye, he added quietly, “There’s a lock on the door. No one will disturb you.” Still she said nothing, but the set of her shoulders relaxed. It was an exquisite relief to withdraw for the evening. She couldn’t help slumping just a little as Mathin closed the door behind them and led her out into the quiet hall. She brushed the bangs wearily out of her eyes. This had to have been one of the most difficult days of her life. Mathin paused outside a door a little way down the hall and studied her. The Haunt guards hung back a discreet distance. “You don’t feel well.” She stared at him. How did always know how she felt? Averting her eyes from the concern in his expression, she mumbled, “I’m just tired.” A large hand gently cupped her face, making her look at him. “I’m concerned about you,” he said softly, his fathomless black eyes mirroring his voice. “Let me send a medic to you.” When she shook her head he insisted, “At least a woman to stay with you. I know you’d like to be alone right now, but—” “Please!” She sighed tiredly, refusing his concern. “I just need to sleep it off, ok? I’ll be fine,” she added when he seemed unconvinced. “Then here.” He handed her a small black communicator. “It’s keyed to my frequency. If you need anything, I want you to call me.” He left reluctantly, glancing behind him as she entered her room. Night had fallen during dinner, and moonlight flooded through the glass wall in her room. Andrea stared, awed by the sight of not one but three moons in the sky. With such light in the room it only took moment to make her way through the shadowy furniture and past the kitchen island to take in the view. An ocean swelled and crashed far below, bordered by the redwood forest. Though she couldn’t hear the water, it was easy to imagine the sound of shattering waves. She pressed her palm against the cool glass, thinking it would be easy to spend hours just watching the ocean’s dance. What kind of creatures lived in that alien sea? “Lights,” she called, mimicking what she’d heard Jasmine do earlier. Instantly the room was illuminated, revealing furniture in a restful shade of forest green. Matching tapestry pillows of blue, gold and green invited one to sit and relax before the granite fireplace, but she was not in the mood. Instead she sought out the bedroom, planning on a quick bath before going to sleep. Her first sight of the king-sized bed brought her up short. It looked like the headboard was carved of one giant piece of mother-of-pearl. She ran her hand over the gold and amber paneled coverlet, delighted to discover its velvet texture. Sleeping in this bed would be a delight. A thought struck her and she glanced at the ceiling, relieved to see a carving of a giant flower instead of a mirror. At least she wouldn’t have to stare at herself in the dark. Or worse, scare her silly as something moved on the ceiling above. Someone had laid out the nightgown and wrapper Jasmine had sent to her room, as if anticipating her arrival. She fingered the silk, surprised when a scent she didn’t remember smelling before arose from the cloth. Musky, with a delicious, heady after note, it immediately brought Mathin’s image to mind. Had he perfumed the gown? Uneasy with the intimacy that act implied, she left the bed to seek out the bathing chamber. A drawn-back tapestry to the side of a mother-of-pearl handled armoire seemed the most likely place to search. Sure enough, behind it she discovered a romantically lit, stone lined pool. Wondering at the opulence of the room she’d been given, she did as she’d been told to do in Jasmine’s bathroom, calling tentatively, “Water?” Instantly it began to flow from the series of miniature waterfalls installed along the wall, quickly filling the pool. Steam curled invitingly off the rising surface. There was a stack of towels in the corner chest, and several vials of scented oil and soap set out on the rim of the bath. Shedding her clothes, she stepped in, surprised to find the bottom full of soft sand. How did they clean this thing? She settled back against the rim, relaxing fully for the first time that day. Tomorrow was soon enough to deal with her grandmother and Mathin. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as difficult as she imagined…   She woke to the feel of someone stroking her arm and a far too familiar chill. Mathin sat on the mattress and watched her with dark eyes. “I grew worried when you wouldn’t answer the door.” He gestured to a tall glass on the mother-of-pearl-topped dresser beside the bed. It was full of a pale, creamy looking liquid and smelled aromatic even from where she lay. “It’s not milk, but I think you’ll like it.” Reluctant to leave the warmth of the covers, she nevertheless scooted up and accepted the glass from him. The cool beverage inside was every bit as promising as it had smelled. “Thank you,” she said, self-conscious at being in such an intimate position with him. “My pleasure.” Satisfied that she was eating, he half-reclined on the bed, content to wait until she’d finished more than half the contents before speaking. “There are some safety rules we must discuss.” Certain that he had her full attention, he went on, “It’s not safe for you to wander around alone, though it will be easier once we’ve...later.” He took a breath, unwilling to launch that discussion. It would happen when it happened, and he wouldn’t make her grandmother’s mistake. “This is normal for women of rank, and though we’re protective of our women in general, your security will be tighter than most because of who you are. You’ll have bodyguards at all times. Try to ignore them. They’ll give you all the privacy they can.” He looked down for a moment, his eyes darkening with remembrance. “Jasmine was kidnapped once by someone who wished to exploit her charmer pheromone. We had to take extraordinary measures to get her back.” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I didn’t notice anyone drooling over her.” “The production of pheromone decreases in proportion to the level of sexual activity a charmer engages in.” His look was bold and heated. “Keilor keeps her well satisfied, I promise you.” A dimple popped into his cheek as she squirmed. “At the moment your production is so high it’s intoxicating.” Fire leapt in his eyes and his tone lowered to a rumbling growl. “The only reason I haven’t seduced you already is because I’ve been wearing a nose-filter since shortly after I met you. It almost totally blocks the senses of taste and scent.” Uncomfortable with the intensity between them, she asked warily, “Are you saying you can’t control yourself without it?” The thought made her break out in a sweat. If he became as hot for her as he’d seemed in the beginning she’d never be able to resist him! “No, but it’s difficult.” His dark lashes swept down, veiling his eyes. “Though being here like this is almost as powerful.” He caressed her bare arm, sending a shiver of desire through them both. An involuntary picture of him naked, his long hair flowing over her body, flashed in her mind with startling force. The desire to let him continue was strong. “I hardly know you,” she whispered. He withdrew his hand and rested it on his thigh, his fingers curled into a loose fist. “I know,” he said quietly. For a long moment there was silence. Finally, he stirred. “I’ll wait for you in the front room. Jasmine wanted to show you around, and she somehow managed to draft Raziel and me into bringing the children.” It was not the way he would have liked to spend the morning with Andrea, but perhaps it was best this way. Had they been alone he might have reached too far too fast and lost ground in the process. This way might be slower, but possibly better in the end. After he left, Andrea rose and dressed, looking forward to putting the barrier of others between them. Her feelings for Mathin disturbed her. The man was a werewolf, for Pete’s sake! He’d stranded her on an alien planet. A hostile planet, if she needed bodyguards. She had no business reacting to him this way. What she needed was a nice, safe, human male. Half an hour later, as she walked in the flower-scented gardens with Jasmine, she felt just as confused. Watching Mathin and his friend Raziel with the twins didn’t help. Birds sang in the mixture of exotic and earthly trees, like living jewels of bright color adorning the foliage. Domestic animals resembling hairy, sheep-sized yaks kept the grass well groomed. The splendor of it all should have set her at ease, but the sight of their four Haunt guards kept her on edge. They were discreet, but not invisible. The only helpful factor was that her grandmother had elected to stay behind; claiming too much sun was bad for her complexion. “The boys adore them,” Jasmine said with a maternal smile as she watched the four playmates fondly. The men had set the toddlers down and were playing hunt—dashing behind the trees of the orchard and popping out again with scary growls, winning squeals of childish laughter from the little ones. “I can’t tell who’s having more fun.” She’d exchanged her dress for a black-green, short-sleeved shirt and the black trousers and boots favored by the Haunt. Curiously, she was also armed with a gun and a knife, wearing them with the casual air of someone who knew how to use them. Neither of these items was half as interesting as the filigree gauntlets she wore about her forearms. Was it only the sunlight that caused the silver to alternately glint in the sun with almost life-like brilliance, and then dull? A happy shout from the children distracted Andrea from asking. Raziel called a halt to his play, hoisting DJ, the eldest, to his shoulders to allow the little one a chance to calm down. The baby twined his fingers in Raziel’s shoulder length dark hair, yanking gleefully. Wincing, Raziel gently pried the little hands loose and settled them in a more comfortable spot. DJ promptly latched on to the gold loop in his playmate’s ear and tugged for all he was worth, yelling with laughter. It set the ladies giggling as well, earning them both an ironic look. Andrea averted her gaze from his vibrant blue eyes. He wasn’t a looker, but those eyes could do dangerous things to an unsuspecting woman. Jasmine had discreetly told her he was wearing a nose filter, which was fortunate for her peace of mind. She didn’t think she could handle the hot-blooded pursuit of more than one Haunt at a time. Some time in the last twenty-four hours she’d come to accept that she was a charmer, though she couldn’t have said exactly why. Perhaps it was the alien surroundings or the shock of finding herself suddenly elsewhere, but she believed. Not that she wanted to dwell on it. She had enough to deal with just adjusting to this place. Mathin tackled the second-born, Malix, gently rolling over in the lush grass to cushion his fall. Malix ended up on top, giggling at his victory. He reached for Mathin’s nose, laughing when Mathin chuckled and lifted him in the air, safely out of reach. Andrea gasped as the tiny silver bracelets Malix wore about his forearms—a miniature version of his mother’s—suddenly extended into a line of liquid silver and tapped Mathin on the nose. “What…?” She didn’t know how to phrase it without putting her foot in her mouth. “It’s just his symbiont,” Jasmine said soothingly. “We’re not certain why he was born with one and not his brother. Unless it’s because his brother looked so much like his daddy that Malix felt compelled to take on some of my traits out of sympathy.” Her smile was wry. “You should have seen the look on Keilor’s face when he came out after his brother. I’ve never seen a man more perplexed.” Her smile slowly faded. “It’s going to make his life difficult, though.” She gestured to the Haunt. “That’s why we’re so careful about security. There are Haunt here who don’t care to see reminders of the symbionts, and even more who dislike the entire human/charmer/Haunt combination. We deal with it the best we can, but we can’t change the prejudices of the entire Haunt nation overnight.” Her gaze became distant. “Amazing how the kidnapping changed all our lives. Had it not been for Mathin breaking my arm and being forced to find me a symbiont…” “Mathin broke your arm?” Andrea gaped at her, turning horrified eyes on Mathin, who’d halted in his play to watch them, an unreadable expression on his face. She was unprepared for Jasmine’s fierce response. “If he hadn’t, I’d never have escaped,” she snapped, almost daring Andrea to contradict her. “Mathin received more criticism over that move than I liked. As far as I’m concerned, my opinion is the only one that matters. I owe him, big time.” Andrea would have apologized, but Jasmine wasn’t done. “You don’t want to know what the place I was kept in was like. Not only did he rescue me while Keilor healed, he gave me the means to have children with Keilor, to grow old with him.” “Oh.” Andrea felt that was the only safe thing she could say. Apparently this was a sore subject. She looked at Andrea, her gaze calmer. “Our races can’t produce offspring without the symbiont’s help. As far as we know, I’m the first human woman to ever carry a Haunt child to full term.” She looked at her children with concern. “Though I’m worried about Darius.” “Darius?” Andrea asked cautiously. She didn’t want to get chewed on again. “DJ.” Jasmine grimaced. “Keilor insisted on naming him Darius Justine. He hates it when I call him DJ.” “You worry too much,” Mathin assured her as their groups rejoined. “There’s no reason he can’t reproduce without a symbiont.” He grinned mischievously at the little boy in Raziel’s arms. “There’s too much of his father in him not to be a fertile little terror.” Jasmine rolled her eyes. “Yes. Thank you for your input, Mathin,” she said, taking her child from him. “Now why don’t you make yourself useful and find a hairy sugar fruit for us? Andrea’s never seen one.” “Do I look like a servant?” he demanded with mock annoyance, but scanned the trees anyway, heading for a monstrous one directly ahead. Andrea considered the corrugated trunk dubiously, wondering how he planned to climb it, since the nearest branch had to be nine feet off the ground. Instead of going to the base of the tree as she’d expected, he paused just under the shady canopy and glanced up at a thick branch. Without hesitation he leapt up, grabbed the branch and swung up into the tree. Andrea gaped at him as he walked along the limb, collecting fruit without benefit of a handhold. “What does he think he is, some kind of acrobat?” Raziel snorted as he sat DJ down, the better to catch the hairy, coconut-sized fruits Mathin tossed down. “Hardly. Even a cadet is expected to master so basic a skill as tree climbing.” “From a dead stop nine feet down?” she demanded in disbelief, astounded by his agility and the complete unconcern he showed as he wove among the branches slicing off fruit. It certainly wasn’t the kind of skill mastered by the average blue-collar worker. She was beginning to suspect there was nothing average about him. Raziel shrugged and handed her a fruit. “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” Jasmine quipped as Mathin swung down, dropping the last few feet. A hint of a smile played about his mouth as he took the fruit from Andrea and split it with his knife. He couldn’t help but find her awed expression flattering, even if, as Raziel said, it was nothing unusual for his kind. “Your fruit, sweetheart.” Released from the pressure of its shell, the pink interior of the sugar fruit burst open like a kernel of popcorn, folding around the inverted hull. Tentatively, she tried a bite. “Watermelon cotton candy?” she asked in surprise, delighted to discover the flavor in such an unlikely location. Jasmine laughed in delight at her amazement, then groaned as he handed each twin a huge kernel. “Mathin! I just gave them a bath!” The children gleefully buried their faces in the mass, slurping happily. He grinned without remorse. “So? We’ll take them swimming.” The grin turned wicked as he looked at Andrea. “You’re welcome to join us if you like.” And the minute she agreed he’d find a way to get rid of Raziel. There was only so much he could accomplish with small children about, but he could ensure it was the most memorable swim she’d ever had. “Only if you want to get an eye full,” Jasmine muttered, the tips of her ears burning pink. At Andrea’s inquiring look she elaborated, “The Haunt have no concept of modesty about their nudity. They swim in the raw.” Shocked, Andrea darted a look at Mathin. He winked at her.     CHAPTER 6   “N-no thanks,” she stuttered, mortified at the thought of undressing in front of them. After all, if they weren’t shy about running around out of doors undressed, who knew what else they did? “Don’t worry,” Mathin whispered in her ear as he stepped closer. “We keep our lovemaking strictly private. If you wish to be alone with me I can easily arrange it.” She swallowed hard and moved away, escaping the caressing hand at her nape. Instantly she missed it. “I don’t think so,” she retorted with a bravado she didn’t feel. Suddenly irritated at her weakness, she added “But don’t let me stop you from finding someone who’d like to. From what I’ve heard it shouldn’t be difficult.” Though his eyes cooled, Mathin said nothing. “Mm, I think I’d better see about cleaning these two up. Could you give me hand, Raziel?” Jasmine and Raziel collected the boys and left, giving them privacy to work out their differences. Lover’s quarrels could be so messy. Embarrassed at her waspish behavior, Andrea would have gladly followed, but Mathin took her hand and led her under the drooping branches of a tree. The feathery needles brushed her face as he pulled her through. The branches closed after them, forming a natural tent. “Let me go, Mathin,” she said, tugging at her captured hand. The solemn, heated look in his eyes made her tremble with awareness. What had made her goad him like that? Had she lost her mind? “Jealous, my love? There’s no need.” Slowly he brought her hand to his mouth and brushed a soft kiss on the back. “Do you see me with anyone else?” “I-I’m not jealous,” she whispered, knowing it wasn’t true. The thought of another woman chasing him bugged her. Not that she was chasing him, of course. It was just that she despised watching fickle men in action “Hmm.” He brushed his whiskered jaw against the inside of her wrist, making her shiver. “I’m glad.” No longer cognizant of what he said, she closed her eyes, hoping for—expecting—his kiss.  His breath whispered against her ear, thrilling her. “Mathin?” What was he waiting for? So easy, he thought, tempted. It would be so easy to make her wild with wanting, ready and willing. Today, in this very hour, he could end his torment. But that wasn’t how he wanted it. Lust was nothing to base a marriage on. He wanted more. Studying her face, he knew this was one woman who had that something more, and until he saw it shining from her eyes, he would not take her. Confused when nothing happened, Andrea opened her eyes and frowned at him. What could she say without sounding like a fool? “Er, was there some reason you brought me in here?” He thoughtfully traced her brow bone. “You haven’t asked me my intentions.” By now a woman of the Haunt would have certainly demanded a declaration of intent from him. Since she hadn’t, he could only assume it was a done differently among her people. Still, he wasn’t willing to skip this step. There should be clarity between them. Taken aback, at first she could think of nothing to say. It certainly wasn’t a topic she’d expected to come up. Men just didn’t ask that sort of thing where she came from. The boldness of it knocked her off balance. Secretly, it also impressed her. It took a strong man to face that kind of potential rejection. Since he was obviously waiting for her response, she ignored her burning cheeks and asked, “Okay, what are they?” She held her breath as she waited for his answer. His eyes became black flame. “I want to join with you completely, to feel your body close around mine. I want to hear your cries in the night and know that it’s me you desire. I want you.” She looked away, burning in all the places he brought to mind. If her cheeks had heated before, they were smoking now! She remembered what Jasmine had said about Haunt making love. Was he telling her he wanted to marry her? She swallowed. “What if I don’t want that?” Unwilling to play games, he pulled her body flush to his so there would be no doubt in her mind who wanted what. His mouth inches from hers, he whispered, “There’s no doubt you want, sweetheart. It’s only that you fear to take.” Sweat from the intensity of her desire rolled down her neck and dampened her back, but she fought her screaming hormones. Wrenching away from him, she turned her back, willing herself to stop shaking. Fists clenched at her side, she took a step away, needing to escape his space. “No.” He didn’t plead with her. Nothing was said during the long moments it took to pull herself together. Finally, feeling brittle and far too combustible, she left the shelter of the tree. Had the Haunt guards wondered at what was happening between the two of them, one look at Mathin’s grim face and her tight expression would have assured them that whatever it was, it hadn’t been satisfying. Mathin escorted her to her room and left without a word. It wasn’t anger that kept him silent, though. After all, it wasn’t as if she didn’t want him. All she had to do was convince herself why she should have him. The process would take time. A corner of his mouth lifted as she glanced uncertainly at him as she slipped inside her room. Whether she knew it or not, they were both caught in the same snare.   “He watches her like a hawk.” “Or a vulture,” Jasmine muttered, agreeing with her friend Rihlia. She’d introduced Rihlia and her daughter Sondra to Andrea over lunch in her and Keilor’s suite. Mathin and their husbands joined them, but left shortly afterward so the women could become better acquainted. Neither of them could keep from commenting on Mathin’s last searing look. “It’s just like watching you and Keilor all over again.” “Or you and Jayems,” Jasmine retorted, glancing at Andrea to see her reaction. Neither woman had missed the sizzling chemistry snapping between her and Mathin. Andrea ignored their comments and concentrated on removing the end of her ponytail from Malix’s little fist. The venture was only semi-successful and Malix came away with hair wrapped around his fingers. Her grandmother had managed to rock little Sondra into a deep sleep and was close to ending there herself. It was a good thing, too. Andrea didn’t want to hear her comments on the matter, since they inevitably maddened her. It still frustrated her that her grandmother refused to consider the idea of going home. “But we are home, dear,” she said stubbornly whenever Andrea brought it up. Too bad Andrea refused to leave her here, even if she could escape. An alien planet was no place to abandon an elderly lady. Jasmine exchanged a secret smile with her childhood friend before saying casually, “Pity about Ellipse.” “What do mean?” Andrea asked, her attention captured by the reference. Jasmine sighed and stretched, feigning nonchalance. “She’s the princess who gave Mathin his red sash,” she explained, watching her new friend carefully. “Only the best of the best are allowed to wear them—I think there’s something less than twenty in the entire Haunt nation?” she asked, glancing at Rihlia for confirmation. “Anyway, she’d already invited Mathin to participate in her yearly tournament for unattached males before he showed up with you. Now that he’s pursuing someone it’s unlikely he’ll attend, and it might damage her attendance records. He’s a great favorite.” Andrea scowled. “It’s not like I’m going to stop him if he decides to go. It’s not as if we’re dating or something.” Even if the thought of him participating in some kind of bachelor contest did make her feel grumpy. “What’s the prize, anyway?” she asked, grudgingly giving in to her curiosity.  “A date with any of the eligible women who chose to sign up as potential prizes, a red sash for any man who doesn’t have one, a small fortune in prismatic silver and a war stag. Not that Mathin needs the last.” Rihlia grimaced, tossing the end of her dark braid over her shoulder. “Bad tempered though he is, no one would argue that Mathin’s stag isn’t one of the best in the land.” Andrea’s mood darkened further at that information. She could just see legions of women sighing over Mathin’s dark good looks. “Of course, if he doesn’t attend he may be forced to take on more challengers at a later time.” Jasmine looked vaguely worried over that. “He practically has to schedule all those seeking to depose him. As arguably the best of the best, those seeking to make a name for themselves see him as the man to beat. One of these days someone’s going to get sneaky and take a shot at him just to get him out of the running.” “God help them if they do,” Rihlia said darkly before Andrea could grow too alarmed. She settled her side split skirt more comfortably and drew her legs up on the couch she occupied. For a woman who’d given birth not a year ago, she looked amazingly good in her cropped scarlet top.  “You know what the rest of the Haunt would do to anyone cowardly enough to take down one of their champions that way. They’re fiercely protective of their honor.” Though her words helped, Andrea still found herself fretting. It didn’t sound in his best interests to miss this tournament. Maybe she ought to speak to him about it. The issue nagged at her all afternoon until finally she decided to seek him out. It would be foolish of him to pass up the opportunity to defend his title because of her. Opting to meet him in a public place, she returned to a small fountain she remembered in the gardens, sat upon the rim, and activated the link he’d given her. While she waited, she let her hand trail in water, enjoying the feel of the sun-warmed liquid and the way the tiny golden fish flashed just under the surface. The tinkle of the fountain— a fish statue standing on its tail—soothed her as she did her best to think of nothing at all. She wasn’t nervous about seeing him again, she told herself as she admired the flowers surrounding the stone path that quartered the area around the fountain. She had legitimate business to discuss. It wasn’t like she needed to see him again. All of those arguments flew out of her head the moment she saw Mathin striding along the path toward her. The mere sight of his leather-clad chest was enough to remove the elasticity from her muscles. “You called?” he asked, coming to a halt just before her. His alert expression called forth a stab of guilt. Had he given the link to her for emergency use only? “I’m sorry if I interrupted anything,” she apologized immediately. “I didn’t have any way to tell you it wasn’t an emergency.” He grimaced and joined her on the rim. “My fault. I should have shown you how to use the speaking feature. Fortunately, I was able to contact your bodyguards and discover your whereabouts.” He took her link from her and instructed her on its use, flipping open the catch that transformed the link into a cell phone and showing her the list of codes used by the mute Haunt. “Now you can contact me properly.” “Thank you.” She smiled at him briefly before pocketing the link. The smile faltered under his inquiring stare. “Um, I wanted to talk to you about the tournament you’d entered.” “I’ve already canceled.” “I don’t want you to,” she said quickly, scowling at the fish. “Jasmine said you’d be plagued by wannabes and jerks if you do. Challengers,” she added, when he frowned. His brow cleared. “I’m touched by your concern, sweetheart, but it’s unnecessary.” He rested his forearm on his knee as he tilted his head to catch her expression. Sunlight glittered on the water behind him, heightening the sense of energy he carried with him. He flashed her a roguish smile. “I don’t mind the exercise.” She sighed in impatience. “Jasmine seems to think it’s a bad idea.” Mathin looked at the water with hooded eyes. “Jasmine interferes too much,” he murmured. Suddenly he smiled. “Though perhaps she has a point.” For a moment he waited, allowing the tension to build. The trauma on her face was endearing. Did she have any idea how transparent she was? “Very well. I will enter the tournament if you will.” “What?” she asked, blinking in confusion. “I don’t know anything about that stuff.” His grin widened as he realized what she thought. The idea of her battling Haunt warriors was rather comical. “I didn’t mean as a contestant, Andrea, but as my prize.” His tone became pure seduction. “After all, I’ll need an incentive, and I’m afraid none of the other women will do.” “There are other prizes,” she reminded him, unconsciously kneading her fingers. The man was asking a lot. “None worthy of my time.” She bit her lip. “What if somebody else wins?” “Nobody else will win,” he promised her with complete confidence. Perhaps one day, when age withered his bones to brittle uselessness, but not this tournament, and not his woman. “It’s your decision. I won’t enter without you.” “No.” Something twisted inside her chest. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t be tricked or manipulated into a relationship with him. Irritated, Mathin listened intently to the sound of the moving water, focused on the coolness of the late afternoon breeze. This woman and her fears were sorely testing his reserve. He’d never had a trial of such patience in his life. What he wanted to do was fall on her like a ravenous volti. Only the constant distracting of his mind kept him from it. Well, that and rigorous physical exercise, which her call had torn him from. Perhaps it was time he showed her it wasn’t wise to tease a Haunt. Taking her left hand, he raised it up until they could both see the stone of her ring glinting in the sunlight. “What is this?” “A ring,” she answered cautiously, uncertain where he was going with this. “The ring I gave you and you accepted,” he reminded her in a firm voice. When her eyes flew to his he nodded grimly. “Both of us understood what it meant. You trusted your instincts and accepted my promise,” he insisted when she started shaking her head. Desperate to deny his accusation, she opened her mouth—only to discover that no words of denial would escape. Inside her the truth rang like the toll of a chapel bell, resonating through her soul. Unable to refute him, she turned on herself. “I have no instincts,” she said grimly, jerking her hand away as she rose to her feet. He rose, too. “I don’t have cosmic voices ringing in my head or visions popping out of my eyes!” Her hand made a great chopping motion as she slung away the very idea. “I’m a practical, boring woman and I want a practical, normal man.” She began to pace. “I have a carefully planned out, perfectly sane path for my life. And guess what, Mathin?” She whirled on him. “You’re not in it.” Arms crossed, he stared at her, unimpressed. There was only one way to deal with this foolishness; he had to force her to look at her own heart. “Then return my ring.” The words hurt, because he knew she’d do it, but he refused to hesitate. If she wished to suffer then he’d let her do so until she sickened of it, even if he had to suffer himself. Only when she worked through her own delusions of being trapped would she truly be free. She recoiled as though slapped. Her hand flew to the ring, not to remove it, but to cradle it protectively. One tug and she could end his claims to her forever. The very thought made her stomach knot with protest. Tears sprang to her eyes but would not fall as she slowly obeyed him. With a trembling hand, she extended the ring, her throat too tight for words. Without any outward trace of pity or tender hesitation, he took it. “Thank you,” he said, considering the ring where it lay on his palm. She would never know just how raw her actions scraped him. No woman had ever had the power to cause him such agony. “I know just who to give this to.” Jerking at the pain his callous words brought, she stared blindly past him, willing him to leave. She got her wish. Only because she refused to cry in public did she make it from the gardens without falling apart. Her feet led her to an ancient stone chapel at the end of a randomly chosen path. She dropped her to her knees as she entered the shadow of the small building. The cool interior held no benches or furnishings of any kind save the elevated granite altar. The late afternoon sun gave it a gentle glow. An air of majesty and peace filled the entire room like the very breath of God. It was a lovely place to nurse a broken heart. Miserable as she was, Andrea still noticed enough of her surroundings to be surprised. Perhaps the congregation brought their own cushions to sit on? At the moment she didn’t care that she had nothing but stone to kneel on. Perhaps she deserved nothing better. Misery hounded her as she knelt before the altar. Silent tears of hurt wove down her cheeks, a spillover from the bitter knowledge that she was the cause of her own unhappiness. He’d only done as she asked, though he’d done it quick enough. But then who could blame him? It wasn’t as if she’d given him any encouragement. She’d finally gotten her way—she should be happy. Instead the tears came harder, burning her eyes even as her heart broke. Inside she knew she’d just thrown something—someone—precious away. Nothing she could do would ever make it right. “Tears? At this time in the morning?” Andrea gasped, staring at the old man who peered curiously at her from his seat at the steps of the alter. Feeling like a fool, she hastily wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.” “Lost a love, have you?” he asked kindly. Sensing genuine sympathy, she sniffed and cleared her throat. Who else did she have to talk to? Perhaps he was even a priest of some sort. Not that he looked like one in his dark gray pants and brown shirt. With his bushy gray mustache and rough voice he could have been the actor Sam Elliot’s brother. Still, what did she know about what priests looked like here? For all she knew, he was their version of the Pope. Her lip trembled. “I hurt him.” It was a measure of her emotional state that she didn’t ponder the ridiculousness of blurting her personal problems to a complete stranger. Only Mathin could reduce her to such a state. He flicked a dismissive finger, unimpressed. “So? Give him a kiss and apologize. He’ll forgive you. Unless he’s a cracked skull,” he added reflectively. Her mouth dropped. “But I can’t!” she cried passionately, shifting to a sitting position before her legs went numb. “I think I love him.” “This is not good?” He eyed her dubiously. “I can’t love him!” She shook her head furiously in emphasis. “I barely know him.” A snort accompanied his answer to that. “What does that matter? I met my wife one day and married her the next. Dead she’s been for seventeen years now, yet daily I miss her. Take what you can from life, girl. Take before it’s gone.” Shaken by his story, she stared at the stones. Were she and Mathin supposed to love so fast? Was Mathin even in love? He hadn’t said so. “He claims to want me because of these premonitions he has.” “Even better.” He shrugged. “If you can’t trust a vision, what can you trust?” Frustrated, she stared at him. “That’s not logical! I need more than that.” “Then you’ll always need more,” he said, standing up. He extended a hand and helped her to her feet. “If you love him at all, learn to have some faith in him. Watch him with his friends and the ones he cares for. Speak to them about him, watch how he responds in anger. You say you hurt him this afternoon? Watch what he does now. A petty man would run to another woman and secure her affection to salve his pride. Will he?” Though her heart wasn’t sure, she shook her head no. At least, she hoped he wouldn’t. Because suddenly she was painfully aware how much such a thing would hurt her. What would Mathin do? He stared at her for a silent minute. “Are you a coward, woman?” Outraged—usually people got to know her better before tossing insults—she snapped, “No! But—” “If you’re not a coward then there are no buts.” With a nod of acknowledgment he walked past her, leaving through the chapel door. She ran to the door. “Wait! Who are you?” He shrugged. “The gardener.” He walked off. Frustrated by the odd encounter, Andrea thrust her fists in her pockets and just stood there, silently fuming. What did he know about it? Unbidden, the shadowed grief in his eyes when he spoke of his wife swam from her memory, shaming her. Ok, so maybe he did know. The question was, should she follow his advice? There was no sense in chasing Mathin down unless she did, for he’d not be pleased by a mere apology unless it accompanied a change of heart. Fear snaked inside her as she glanced at the altar. Mathin was asking for forever. Did she really know him well enough to make that kind of commitment? She reviewed the facts she knew about him. He was good with kids, a point in his favor. He never yelled at her, also good. The matter of his race she decided to throw on the neutral pile for now. If Jasmine was any indication, it could be overcome. Better just to give that one time. She blushed as she remembered the plunger thing he’d included in the toiletries he’d given her, and Jasmine’s raised eyebrow when she’d asked her what it was. “I never thought I’d see the day when Mathin, of all people, would suffer the humiliation to buy a woman a catch-cup.” She’d shaken her head. “That, my dear, is the equivalent of a man buying a box of tampons.” She’d grinned. “I wish I’d been there to see his face! He must really like you.” Granted, it wasn’t a dozen roses, Andrea thought to herself with a wry grin, but exceedingly more practical. And, like the repellent, it showed he was trying to take care of her.  Maybe, she thought, daring to open a little to the idea. Maybe it could work. She spent the next week wandering, getting to know the Dark Lands as she struggled to make sense of her heart. She went with Jasmine and her children to the beach, playing with them in the surf in the morning and returning to wander the beach in the moonlight. There was so much beauty in their world, and the sight of the triple moons on the water soothed her. The fishing ships and yachts made graceful shadows on the silvered sands, bobbing gently on the breeze. Jasmine said she loved it here, and Andrea could understand why. Even the air smelled exotic; faintly spicy and clean. At night she returned to her room and read, or worked on some sewing to keep her hands busy. In the silence, her emotions began to sort themselves out. She missed Mathin. He’d kept his distance, respecting her wishes. Sometimes he looked a little sad. She felt a little sad, too. She wanted to get to know him better, to find out if she could relax with him. She knew too little about him, and that was why he made her nervous. Well, that and he came on like a bulldozer. There was no doubt she wanted him. What she didn’t know was if it would last.   The early morning haze had barely cleared when Mathin found himself engaged in yet another challenge match. Had the man known what a savage mood he was in, he might have chosen another time. It was clear even to the onlookers ringing the practice courtyard that Mathin was just toying with the winded challenger. Mathin was perfectly aware when Andrea arrived, for he had removed the nose filter the night before. If the scent of her caused him to pounce sooner than he might have, then so be it. He would see to it she had nothing to complain of. A lick of dark fire uncurled inside at the very thought. Andrea’s ring hung on a cord around his neck, making a perfect target for his opponent. Not that the man was capable of nicking Mathin’s bare torso, much less gaining the scarlet sash about his waist. It was all he could do simply to keep moving as Mathin drove him about like a master with a cadet. “Is this all you have?” Mathin asked in a bored tone as their energy blades clashed. The sizzling blue light lent a sickly glow to the warrior’s face. Then again, maybe it wasn’t the light, for out of the corner of his eye Mathin had seen the unattached males among the crowd begin to collect around his future wife. Only the four Haunt bodyguards standing grim guard over her protected her from their slobbering affections. He looked back at his opponent, his eyes glowing with golden fury. The man was breakfast. Andrea had never had so many men drop what they were doing to admire her. Although a trifle unnerving, their sudden fascination did boost her confidence. After all, she was irresistible, right? Surely Mathin couldn’t stay mad with her for long. Not that one would know it by his face. He watched her, his blue blade still extended as his fallen opponent scrabbled backward, out of his range. Even from ten feet away, the golden lightning in his gaze seared her. Mathin turned his attention to his blade as he flicked it off, transforming it back to the dagger she was used to seeing at his side. When he looked up again, his eyes were once again black. “Enjoying yourself?” He asked dryly, sending a warning glance at her herd of admirers. To a man they stepped away, clearing a space between them. Instead of closing the distance, he folded his arms and waited to see why she’d sought him out. The difficult and sleepless night he’d just passed had not left him in the best of moods. When Andrea walked toward him, determination in her eyes, his brow rose in grudging admiration. Few dared to brave him in this mood. That she would be one of the few somehow didn’t surprise him. She stopped smartly just before him. “I want my ring back.” Though his face remained impassive, inside Mathin was intrigued. This was a new approach. No apology? No womanly promises of future good behavior? What he didn’t know was that Andrea had carefully considered those approaches and discarded every one. Instead, she’d settled on one sure to break through any wall of reserve he might throw up. She gave a curt nod. “I’ll fight you for it.” That won several startled chuckles from the small crowd. Some of the women—Mathin’s groupies, she thought with annoyance—started whispering. Mathin’s lips twitched. “You’ll fight me?” he repeated, slowly sizing her up. He was definitely suppressing a smile now. “What did you have in mind?” he asked, humoring her. Feigning nonchalance, though she could feel her face heating up, she shrugged. “Oh, the usual. I thought I’d use one of those blade thingies first. After that I might shoot you just to make certain you’ll stay down.” He looked away, struggling not to burst out laughing. If she was trying to best him by humor, she was certainly winning. Even the soldiers in the background were grinning. “Blade thingies?” The terminology for the Haunt’s cherished Blue Death was so ridiculous it was a wonder he could contain himself. “Sure,” she continued, barely able to suppress her own nervous giggles. “Of course, you’ll have to teach me how to use it first. That could take a while. Still, think of the challenge you’ll be passing up if you say no. I could be the most interesting contender of your life.” Dropping her eyes, she added, lower, “You’d have to teach me everything, Mathin. I don’t have any experience with this the kind of thing.” She made herself look at him, her heart, and her apology, in her eyes. His face softened. It was impossible not to be moved by the sweet innocence in her gaze. Why had he not considered this might be part of her problem? “And you wish me to teach you?” This time the heat she felt was not only in her face. “Not all in a day,” she mumbled, stuffing her hands in her pockets to hide their trembling. When even the sight of his bare chest became too much she looked aside, busily searching the ground for distractions. The hilt of a blade appeared under her nose. She looked up at him questioningly. “Take it.” He urged, holding it out to her with a slight smile. “You wished to learn.” Dismayed that he would take her literally, she did as he asked. Had he completely missed her hint? Mathin decided half an hour later that he’d better call a halt. Although Andrea had a surprising amount of potential for a human, she was stiff and awkward with their audience and the emotions unsettled between them. She would be sore enough now without him driving her to exhaustion. Besides, he had other plans for her. Taking her hand, he led her past the curious onlookers. There was a small, private pool he knew of where they could refresh themselves and play. His lips curved in a sensual smile. He definitely wanted to play. The verdigris-crusted gate in the shrubs opened without a sound, closing behind them just as quietly. Distracted by the tall hedge maze around them, she did not see him lock it. Once again he took her hand, leading her without hesitation to the heart of the maze.  Exhausted by her exertions, Andrea was grateful to sit on the small knoll beside Mathin’s pond and catch her breath. “We can bathe here,” he told her, untying his sash. “No one will disturb us.” “N-now?” she stuttered as he dropped the sash at her feet. Clearly she hadn’t expected to move so far so fast. Too bad. He wasn’t in the mood for patience today. He unbuckled his weapons belt. “Now,” he confirmed, smiling wolfishly at her as he sat down to take off his boots. “Mathin,” she practically wailed. “I can’t just…” She trailed off as he stood back up. His hands went to the waist of his pants. She looked away. This had not been what she’d expected when she’d asked for lessons. Though she was too shy to look, the soft swish of his pants hitting the ground and the small splashes told her when he entered the pool. “You can look now,” he said, amused at her modesty. The Haunt were not ashamed of their bodies. Nor should she be, if he were any judge. “You tried hard today,” he told her after dunking in the water. Sun warmed as it was, it felt wonderful against his heated skin. “I’ve seen worse beginners.” She grimaced, slightly less self-conscious now that he was decently hidden. “I sucked dead guppies and you know it.” Nor did she mind admitting it if it got her out of more lessons. Mathin might be gorgeous, but he was a ruthless teacher. Besides, although she’d had his full attention, not an ounce of it had been sexual. His combat mastery was so complete, not even the famous charmer pheromone could shake it. He chuckled. “You’ll improve.” His voice dropped an octave. “I’m a patient teacher.” A quiver started in her belly and vibrated without ceasing as he levered out of the pool and lay beside her. She couldn’t look. “Today, I will not touch you.” He waited until she dared a look at his face. “Today is for overcoming your fear of looking.” When she looked back at her hands, he said nothing. Now was not the time to rush her. It wasn’t easy to face him. Nor could she quite look there, though she was dying of curiosity. For a long moment she simply stared at the muscled planes of his chest as he lay on his side, watching her.  Sensing her problem, he rolled over, tangling his fingers in the soft grass as he closed his eyes, his face lifted to the sun. He needed a tactile reminder to keep his hands off her. Sweet musk curled around him, making him dizzy with desire. Why had he promised not to touch her? Andrea gulped. Here was more man than she could hope to handle. Her eyes darted to hard length between his legs. It was huge! Facts of life aside, how could she ever hope to accommodate that? When Mathin didn’t move, simply awaited her pleasure, she grew braver. With timid curiosity she touched his damp chest, jerking away when the muscles jumped. Mathin groaned and turned his head away, but said nothing. Feeling more daring, she stroked the springy curls on his chest, learning their texture. Disturbed by her touch, the beads of moisture gathered there slithered down the muscled slopes.    His breathing quickened. Almost bold now, she slowly worked her way down his belly, darting quick looks to his face to see if he would object. Her touch was killing him. Just shy of her goal, he caught her hand, gripping it firmly in his. “Touch me there,” he rasped, “and it will be all I can do not to break my word.” He met her uncertain gaze with one of burning flame, a sliver from ripping away her clothes and taking her like the savage he felt. Only the knowledge of her untried state and his need to make it sweet for her stopped him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to…” she trailed off, uncertain of what she’d done. The muscles rippled in his stomach as he sat up. His smile was rather pained. “Don’t be. I have yet to hear a man complain because the touch of his woman inflames him.” She blushed and looked at the water. “Am I your woman?” Her scent teased him, tempted him to show her. “Say the word, and I’ll have you on your back so fast there will be no doubt, sweetheart.” Alert to her every move, he waited, muscles tense. Looking away from his intense visage, made even sexier by the wet hair slicked down his back, she gave a tiny shake of her head. “I’m afraid, Mathin.” The words gave him the motivation to stand and dress. “Then we’ll wait.” Even if it killed him, he thought grimly. She would not suffer at his hands. Besides, there was one other thing. “Come.” He offered her his hand. “I have something for you.” His eyes moved to the pear tree just beyond the pond. A secret smile curved his mouth as he caught a glint of silver. Unaware of his plans, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her under the shadow of the tree. Here the grass was thinner, and bits of moss curled around the toes of the tree. “Lovely pears this time of year,” he commented, admiring a particularly juicy looking specimen. Yellow with a red blush, it was just within her reach. Though she couldn’t see it from her angle, it was also just below the blob of silver clinging to the branch above. She reached for it. A scream rent the air as the silver blob dashed down her arm and past her armpit, then over her breast and down her stomach. At her navel the beastie divided into twin snakes of warm fluid, racing down her legs to curl about her toes before shooting back up to loop around her back. And all the while she shouted and danced like a jack-in-the-box gone mad. “Mathin! Get it off me!” Far from helping, he just stood there, watching the great entertainment. “It won’t hurt you, sweetheart.” Becoming sated from the toxins in the body of its new host, the happy symbiont slowed its greedy dining and flowed down her arms. There it anchored itself firmly to her forearms, determined not to be dislodged from such bountiful pickings. Shaken by the bizarre creature now pulsing on her arms, Andrea pulled at the filigree strands. To no avail. Furious at his trickery, she shouted, “Dang it, Mathin! Get it off! Now.” Though he lost his infuriating smile, he made no move to comply. “You need the symbiont to survive here, Andrea. Besides, your systems are now dependant on each other. Removing it now could cost you your life.” For a moment she seriously contemplated bodily harm. “You had no right to make that decision for me!” Without hesitation he answered her challenge, invading her space. “Get used to it,” he told her roughly. Black eyes glittered down at her without remorse. “I won’t allow you to hesitate over decisions involving your welfare.” Months ago Jasmine’s symbiont had reproduced by division, and she’d given him the offspring as a kind of pet. Though he hadn’t known what he’d do with it at the time—symbionts sickened when they tried to absorb Haunt toxins—he’d been fascinated enough by it to keep it here in the garden. It had seemed the perfect solution to give it to Andrea. He’d had reservations about speaking with her about it since the time she’d said she didn’t want one. Now he was glad he hadn’t. No doubt she would’ve shown the same foot-dragging reluctance to accept it as she did with him. Without it, she was vulnerable to all manner of sickness and injury. Had their positions been reversed, he hoped she would have done the same for him. Shocked mute by such a bald-faced declaration of dominance, she narrowed her eyes and looked away, ignoring him. Until the thing on her arms shifted. Alarmed anew, she shuddered and tried to pull it off, frustrated to discover it wouldn’t budge. “Give me your knife.” Obligingly, he unsheathed it and flipped it over, extending it to her hilt-first. The symbiont flowed seamlessly around the sharp blade, not the least perturbed. The only thing she succeeded in doing was nicking herself. Instantly the symbiont flowed over the bright scarlet bead, sending a warm buzz up her arm as it healed the cut. It then flowed back to its former position, leaving a smooth patch of skin behind. Disgruntled, Andrea stared at her arm, or what she could see of it through the silver web. Satisfied that she was finished trying to detach the symbiont, Mathin retrieved his blade, then led the way back. Still sulking, Andrea followed. Determined to despise him, she remained surly and quiet as her Haunt rejoined them outside the gate. No doubt they’d known exactly what was going on while they’d been waiting, she seethed. Too bad she couldn’t order them not to leave her alone with Mathin. Even if they could speak in more than the signs, she doubted they’d acknowledge the attempt. After all, it was Mathin who’d sicced them on her. He left her at her door, which she promptly locked. So much for reconciliation. Still tugging at the symbiont, she sought out the decanter of melon liquor she’d found among the wines stocked in her room. Even the silver chasing on the glass decanter reminded her of the symbiont and Mathin’s arrogance. With a grimace she poured a single shot, the maximum she ever allowed herself. With her hypoglycemia the effect was as potent as taking several more. Cradling her drink, she retired to the couch and waited for the nirvana of alcoholic anesthetic to kick in.  It never did. Frowning at the dregs of the green liquid in her glass, she wondered if she’d misjudged it. But no, it was clearly alcoholic and no doubt laden with sugar. So why wasn’t she pleasantly buzzed? In a mood to test her limits, she got up and refilled her glass. Again, nothing. The symbiont on her forearms shifted. Brows raised, she considered the beastie. Was it the cause of her sobriety? As if in answer to her thoughts, it pulsed. Intrigued now, she canted her head, wondering if it possessed a kind of sentience. She wanted a drink more than ever when it pulsed in affirmation. “Will you at least let me get drunk?” she growled, feeling almost as foolish as she did aggravated. “Otherwise I might have to see what a laser gun can do to you.” The symbiont seemed to sag a bit.  Sensing victory, Andrea poured another shot and grimly downed it. No toxin-sucking ball of an alien life form was going to get the best of her.     CHAPTER 7   Morning was not good. Still nursing her hard-won hangover, Andrea stumbled to the door to answer the strident knocks. “Don’t get your tail in a knot,” she muttered under her breath, wishing her skull didn’t pound like a tom tom. “I’m coming.” The thought had no sooner bloomed in her brain than soothing coolness spread from the symbiont on her forearms to her pounding temples, washing away the cruel throbbing. With it came an alien sense of sympathy. Bewildered anew by the pulsing warmth of the living metal, Andrea paused to consider them. Or it. Was it now one or two life forms? “Open up! Open up, I say,” her Grandmother demanded. Wincing at the strident tone and concerned about the almost frantic note, she unlocked the door. “Thank heavens!” Her grandmother cried, grabbing Andrea’s arm dragging her through the door. Since she was still in her blue robe and silk nightie, Andrea struggled to disengage without dislodging the slippery material of the robe, which gaped open every few steps. It proved impossible to do both. Her grandmother was surprisingly strong for an old woman. Her attempts to brake futile, Andrea tried reason. “Grandma,” she hissed, embarrassed by the very male looks she was receiving from the men they passed in the hall. “I’m not dressed yet!” “Who cares?” her grandmother retorted with startling fury. “Your young man is about to get himself killed!” “Mathin?” “Yes! And my future grandbabies with him.” The last seemed to incense her more than anything. “Some fool has challenged him to a fire dance. Why did you have to fall in love with such a reckless nincompoop?” Too distracted to give that the answer it deserved, Andrea ignored her. The cool feel of the wooden floor under her bare feet changed to hard stone as her grandmother rushed her down a flight of stairs and up to a tower balcony. Cool morning mist enveloped them as they burst out to the open air, making her shiver. They were too late. Below them a fire pit of glowing embers was spread out in a circle fifteen feet in diameter. Rough stone posts of columnar rock had been set within it. None was less than six feet from the flames that licked at the embers. Each one was no wider than a foot, maybe a foot and a half, across. And balanced on one, armed with a staff flaming at both ends, was Mathin. For only the second time since she’d known him, his hair was tied back, exposing his intensely beautiful warrior’s face. He held as still as death as his opponent eyed him. Sweat from the fires sheened both their bodies, plastering the material of their vests and black pants to them. Mathin had a scarlet sash. His opponent did not. Afraid to startle him, Andrea wrapped her arms tightly around herself. A small scream lodged in her throat as they attacked with the speed of opposing cars in a chicken run, racing to their destruction. Clamping her hand over her mouth as her grandmother gripped her arm tighter and tighter, she watched her love risk his life for a fool’s errand. The challenger stabbed the end of his staff at Mathin, attempting to scorch his face. Without looking at his footing, Mathin shifted onto another post, delivering a wicked low swing that came close to cremating the warrior’s hope of future pleasure. If he was shaken, the man didn’t show it, coming back with a deadly rain of blows. So swift was attack and counter attack that Andrea couldn’t follow, could only tense in rising panic. Arcs of fire painted the gray morning, leaving a tracery of lighting over her vision. How could they see? A gasp rose from the crowd as the challenger suddenly flipped backward, coming to rest with perfect control on a pillar. A small smile turned up the corners of Mathin’s mouth. He advanced. “His opponent is tiring,” Raziel said, coming to stand at her side. The light glittered off the ring in his ear. Another Haunt accompanied him, but Andrea barely spared a glance for the pair. Her fear ran too high.  “He’s going to die out there!” Raziel gave her a sharp look. “No one will die, girl. Have some faith in him.” His expression softened. “He’s a man, not a boy in need of mothering, and a master at what he does. Trellax was a fool to challenge him. There are perhaps a double handful in all the nation who could even give him a decent contest, much less hope to win.” He snorted as he watched the fighters. “For some reason it amuses him to trifle with these pups. I would decapitate them and let it bother me no more.” Startled, she said sharply, “Would you?” Somehow she doubted Jasmine would entrust her children to the care of such a man. He merely looked her, expressionless. Her eyes narrowed. Something told her not to believe him. “So why aren’t they chasing you down?” She glanced at his red sash. “Don’t you qualify as a challenge?” The Haunt beside him gave a woofing cough. His eyes as hard as African diamonds, Raziel smiled. It wasn’t pleasant. “The Immortal does not waste his time.” A shout drew her attention before she could question the unusual title. Trellax teetered on a post, balanced on a boot heel. He slipped. With a yell of outrage he fell to the hot coals, somehow managing to land on his feet at a run. In seconds he was across the flaming surface, stomping his feet to extinguish any lingering sparks. Nausea rolled over Andrea as she realize what would have happened to him, to Mathin, if either of them had landed on their back, or their hands.   A piercing whistle drew Mathin’s attention to the balcony and Raziel. He didn’t know why Raziel had summoned him, but the expression on his face had him racing across the coals and up to the balcony. There he found Andrea bent over a potted plant, dry heaving into the urn. Isfael, still in Haunt form, kindly held her hair. The other guards shifted uneasily. Instantly he was at her side. “What happened?” he demanded of Raziel, who supported the moaning grandmother. Raziel grimaced. “I think she pictured the barbeque you might have become had you—” he cut off as her heaves abruptly worsened. Furious and embarrassed by her reaction, Andrea fought her body until it stopped trying to toss up her intestines. The moment she was able to speak, she hissed, “How could you do something so stupid? You jerk!” Alarmed at her waxy complexion and glittering eyes, he tried to calm her before she sickened further. “He was unlikely to land on anything other than his feet. It’s part of the challenge—” ”You could have been killed!” Even though she still wasn’t up to shouting, the words packed punch. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with fire?” The words were foolish, but she didn’t care. She never wanted to feel this way again. “That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do. Don’t do it again.” Baffled by her reaction, since in his experience women cheered him on when he engaged in matches, he said carefully, “You are upset.” It wasn’t quite a question. Snarling, she sprang at him, only to have Isfael’s arm pull her up short. Still weak from the shock and illness, she struggled ineffectually. How she wanted to hurt Mathin! As the reason behind her wrath sunk in, Mathin felt a surge of hope and determination. Already she behaved like a wife. Why shouldn’t he seal the union now? Careful to prevent her from hurting herself in her attempts to injure him, Mathin picked her up. “Be still. Let me take you someplace where you can be calm.” Without warning, she burst into tears. “Don’t ever do that again!” Unnerved by her reaction, he glanced at her uneasy guards. It was obvious they would be no help. Raziel made a face at him. “Take her to her room and comfort her. I’ll deal with her elder.” Sound advice. All the way back Andrea sobbed in his arms as if her heart were breaking...or had almost broken. He couldn’t remember another woman caring enough to fear so for his welfare. Once they were in her room, he chose an armchair and sat down with her in his lap. It was some minutes before she began to calm. “You smell like smoke.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. She sniffled. He smiled. “Would you like me to wash?” He stroked the hair from her brow and placed a soft kiss at her temple. She was silent so long he thought she might not answer. “Very well, I—” Her lips cut off the words. Surprised by her uncharacteristic aggression, he stiffened. Blood heated by his match ignited, and in a moment’s time the pheromone took care of the rest. Fueled by her desire, the pheromone grew in potency, wiping out reason, even memory. Had Mathin realized how vulnerable his endorphins had left him to the charmer in her, he would never have allowed himself to be alone with her. She needed gentleness and time. What she got was a raging beast. Andrea wanted him, needed him, more than she ever had. The sight of him in danger had broken down the last of her resistance. Now, right now, she needed the comfort of his touch, wanted everything he could give. But something was wrong. Mathin’s eyes had been dark, but now shimmered with golden heat. The tender lover had disappeared in a frightening tide of passion. Gentle kisses became hungry, devouring commands. Hands that had been easy in the past now ripped her nightie in half, feasting on the lush curves beneath with a touch designed to sizzle. Though he inflamed her with his ardor, it was too much, and far too fast. “I can’t!” His mouth dropped to her nipple. Sucked it into the inferno of his hot, wet mouth. Suddenly she couldn’t breath. Scorching desire arched her back, helpless to prevent her body from calling him nearer. When the other hand joined in the game, teasing the other breast, she cried out with pleasure. How did he know just how to nip, what pressure to use to ease the small stings?  And then he touched her.   It was the sight of her blood that woke him up. Horrified, Mathin stared at the blood covering the fingers of his right hand and smeared across their naked thighs. Instantly his erection shriveled. “What have I done?” Alarmed out of her state of mindless need, Andrea tried to focus. Why hadn’t he finished? When he’d shoved his pants down she’d thought… The blood on his hands and his shock gave her a very different answer from the one he’d drawn. “Oh, God!” she wailed, praying He would make her disappear. “This didn’t happen.” How could her unpredictable flow choose to happen now? No wonder Mathin looked like he wanted to be ill! But how could she have known? First her grandmother had rushed her out of bed, then she’d seen Mathin trying to get himself killed. There’d been no time to think or consider when he’d started kissing her. It had been the very last thing on her mind. Sick with shame, she drew her knees up and pressed her face to them, hiding. “Go away!” Shaking with remorse at the pain he’d had no memory of causing, he tried to comfort her. “Andrea,” he whispered, reaching for her. She shoved him away. “Get out! I never want to see you again.” How could she ever look him in the face after this? His throat tightened, but he said nothing as he dressed, his fingers clumsy. He hadn’t even taken the time to properly undress before he’d savaged her. No wonder she wanted him gone. Cold with self-loathing, he quietly let himself out. How could he live with himself after this? He’d just raped his love.   Three strong drinks later, the pain still hadn’t dulled. Mathin sat alone in his room, his head in his hands, staring at the small, scarred table. The barracks were quiet, the men off training. No one would interrupt his soul flaying. All he remembered was her scent, her taste. Had she said no? Had he given her the chance? She never would have had a prayer of stopping him, not with the adrenaline of victory pounding in his veins and charmer scent in his nose. She’d desired him at first, he remembered that, but he’d ruined it for her. He’d brutally taken a gift he could never give back. The blood was proof enough that he’d had her, but he couldn’t remember ejaculation. Had he? If their fluids had mixed it was too late for either of them; they were mated. If not… He shook his head, angry with himself. Only a coward would run from this. True, if they were not truly mated it would give her the choice to leave him, but he couldn’t face that. He’d hurt her; it was his responsibility to help her. Revived from his shock, his mouth thinned in grim determination. He had to speak to her. Andrea wasn’t in the mood to answer the door, but she wasn’t a child. After a brief struggle with herself, she grudgingly unlocked it, hardly surprised to see Mathin. Mathin’s heart twisted. She didn’t even want to look at him. Pain made his voice rougher than usual. “Would you like me to ask Jasmine to be here, too?” “I hardly think that’s necessary.” She admitted him, then shut the door firmly behind him. “I’m sorry for that...for today. I wasn’t thinking.” Eyes wide with astonishment, he demanded, “You’re sorry? How could it be your fault?” She toyed with the tassel on a throw pillow. “How could it not be?” “No!” Stricken, he cupped her face in his hands, bending until he could see her expression. “It was nothing you did. It was me.” He felt his eyes fill. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, love.” “Hurt me? What are you talking about?” she asked in confusion. He thought he’d hurt her? “Andrea.” He could barely meet her eyes. “I have never...I don’t…” What could he say? Would she be honored to know she was the first woman he’d ever harmed? He doubted it. “My cycle started today,” she explained, just to make certain they were on the same subject. Her face heated at the frank admission, but they obviously needed clarity. Then the full horror of what he thought struck her. “Oh! No, Mathin,” she rushed to assure him. It was her turn to touch his face. “You didn’t hurt me. It was feeling really good until we saw…” Her face got hotter. “You know.” Now she couldn’t look at him. “I didn’t want you to stop.” Relief made him sit down fast. “Then I didn’t…” “No! How could you think such a thing?” “I don’t remember any of it.” Even that admission shamed him. Such a loss of control was inexcusable. “Only the very beginning and the end.” She grimaced and rubbed her head. “Nice way to end a make-out session, wasn’t it?” She sighed. “At least it explains the mood swings.” Her mood brightened. It wasn’t nearly so humiliating if she could blame it all on PMS. Mathin let out his breath in a long, slow stream. “Thank the Deity. It wasn’t the way I’d wished to begin our marriage.” A tug sent her tumbling into his lap where he crushed her close. “I didn’t want to lose you, and I never, never want to hurt you.” Uncomfortable with the reminder of what giving herself to Mathin entailed, she squirmed. She’d been going on instinct, unable to consider the consequences. She’d love to blame it all on hormones, but was uneasily certain there was more to it than that. He’d seduced her, and now all he had to do was look at her to make her lose her mind. She was kidding herself if she thought her brain was playing any part in this mess now. Unaware of her thoughts, he smiled at her. “Restless? Would you like to spend these days exploring? There are many things you have yet to see.” Hey, if he wanted to change the subject she was all for it. “Where do you live?” His eyes opened wide in surprise. “I’d like to see it.” A girl could tell a lot about a man from the place where he lived. “It’s a room in the barracks. Hardly the place for a woman.” “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” She hopped up and looked at him expectantly. “Well? Come on.” With extreme reluctance he led her through the halls, across a wide courtyard to the barracks, a long, two story building made of unadorned gray stone. Uncomfortably aware he was breaking a taboo, he escorted her to his room on the first level. Soldiers didn’t bring women to their rooms unless they were their wives, and these were not the married men’s quarters. At least her bodyguards were here to provide a makeshift chaperonage. One quick look, he promised himself, with a glance around the deserted officer’s hall. Then he’d steer her on to something more suitable. Andrea frowned as she took in the small, Spartan room. A narrow cot, perfectly made, took up most of one wall. At the foot of the bed was a trunk. There was no clutter, either on the dresser or the scarred table. It looked unoccupied. Perplexed, she entered the room. With a glance at Mathin for permission, she opened the dresser, found a couple of changes of clothes. The trunk was locked. Mathin gave her the key. It held weapons. Andrea gently closed the lid and locked it. For a moment she remained crouched, quelling the urge to cry. “What’s wrong?” “Why did you give me such a nice room?” Her throat ached, and she barely understood why. Mystified, he tried to comfort her. “I thought you’d like it.” When her expression grew even more miserable, he shifted uncomfortably and glanced out the door, searching for someone to explain her odd actions. Distressed, she threw herself into his arms and pressed close. “But you don’t have anything.” His chest shook within her arms and she looked up, puzzled. “My love,” he had to pause to stifle his amusement. “I like my life uncomplicated. The rooms I found for you were offered to me for your sake. As for myself, I prefer the barracks. Besides,” he lowered his voice and murmured in her ear, “my life has not been without pleasure. Shall I show you?” He nibbled on her lobe. A helpless moan of agreement sounded in her throat. He flashed her a wicked grin and led her to the stables behind the barracks. The lawn around it was neatly trimmed and the broad stone walkway free of weeds. A few trees had been planted here and there around the paddocks, providing shade. As with all things in the Citadel, it was kept neat and in perfect repair. But Andrea was not easily sidetracked. “What do you mean, you prefer the barracks? Are you planning to stay there after…” With an admiring smile for her pretty blush, he shook his head. “I’ll stay where you stay.” “But will you like it?” Mathin shrugged. “If you’re there, I’ll like it.” Annoyed at his unconcern, she pressed, “Don’t you have any opinions on the kind of place you’d like to stay?” “Yes.” He grinned. “It had better have a large bed.” Gritting her teeth against the fire in her face, she pulled him to a halt. “I’m serious, Mathin. We have to talk about this.” The picture she was getting of his financial status was a bleak one, and she refused to let him make sacrifices for her. Determined to set him straight, she opened her mouth, then gaped as a beast and rider came trotting by. It had to be the ugliest animal she’d ever seen. Husky and evil-eyed, the thing looked like the thug of the pack animal kingdom. It had the body of a horse, but it sported more muscles than a weight lifter. More disturbing, its gray hide was covered with scales, and it had the clubbed tail of an ankylosaur. Rhinoceros-like horns sprouted from its nose. The beast rolled too intelligent eyes back at them and stared evilly, snorting in contempt for good measure. “Our stags,” Mathin explained with satisfaction. “Much more impressive than your world’s tame little ponies.” Andrea’s eyes widened. “I am not riding those!” Instead of answering directly, he took her hand and led her into the spacious stone stables. “Would you like to see the finest stag in all the land?” “Pass.” The packed dirt aisles were free of droppings or suspicious stains. Thanks to the doors that opened into back walls of the stalls—she could see glimpses of tall fences through them—it smelled fresher than she would have thought. She was about to ask about that when she saw a group of large black beetles gathered around a pile of dung. Clicking noises emanated from them as they picked up patties in their huge jaws. “It’s all right,” Mathin said as she stiffened. He placed a reassuring hand on her back. “They collect the dung to lay their eggs in. The adults are harvested to feed the stags.” “They eat them?” she asked, repulsed. “That and browse. Come.” With a smile for her disgust, he led her to a stall on the end and opened the heavy wooden door. When she hesitated, he tugged her gently in. “He won’t hurt you after I make the introductions.” Not exactly reassured by his remark, she nevertheless allowed herself to be coaxed through the stall and into the corral beyond. The stag within lifted its head and stared at them, then swished his clubbed tail. It seemed to measure Andrea, then its nostrils flared. It came forward and nudged Mathin’s hand on her shoulder. Mathin nodded. The beast wrinkled its nose, exposing its fangs. It jerked its head, then proceeded to rudely snuffle her, lipping at her clothing. “Hey! Cut that out,” she snapped, shoving its face away. The scales on its muzzle were smooth and dry against her palm. Mathin laughed. She shot him an irritable look as the stag growled and pawed the ground, its head lowered ominously. Taking her cue from Mathin, she warned it, “Back off, you ugly piece of bear-bait, before I take Mathin’s gun and use it on you.” Immediately the stag’s head came up. It looked at the grinning Mathin. “She would.” The beast snorted and went off to graze, ignoring them. Andrea elbowed Mathin in the ribs to halt his silent chuckles. “That wasn’t funny.” He shook his head at her, pleased by her courage. Now was not the time to tell her his mount’s reputation. “It will only take a minute to saddle him.” Mouth open, she backed up. “Oh, no! He’s your horsy. You can ride him.” “Stag.” Mathin retrieved his saddle. “Whatever. I’m not going to ride him.” Minutes later she was sulking in the saddle. “Sometimes I really hate you.” Not even the feel of his hard body behind her completely made up for this latest outrage. “I can tell.” He gave her breast a quick squeeze, delighted to find the nipple hard and taunt against his palm. When she gasped and tugged at his hand, frantically looking around, he rotated his palm. No one was looking. “Stop that!” she hissed. It felt way too good. “Someone might see.” “This time,” he allowed, settling his hands at her waist. “Now show me what you know of riding.” Since she knew nothing, as he’d supposed, he led her through the beginning steps, patiently teaching her to guide his stag. Bloodlight wasn’t thrilled at being used for a beginner’s nag, but tolerated it reasonably well. Still, it was a relief when Mathin ended the lesson and took the reins. Lowering Andrea to the ground, he explained, “Bloodlight needs to run for a time. Wait here for me.” Before she could comment, he backed his stag up, then charged the fence. They cleared the six-foot barrier without a hitch. “Lord Mathin always did have the best beasts.” Andrea shut her mouth and turned around. A group of women stood on the other side, all strangers. “Lord Mathin?” The richly dressed stranger waved an elegant hand. “Mathin the Mad, if you prefer.” The green gems in the circlet on her brow glittered. She looked in the direction of the racetrack and the rider making his way around it with blinding speed. “Though I would be careful about using that title to his face. He doesn’t like reminders of his family’s legacy.” She smiled at Andrea as she assessed her. “Not that it makes him any less appealing as a potential mate. Surely one as potent as he could overcome any unappealing traits in his seed.” “Who are you?” The lady might be a fount of information, but Andrea didn’t like discussing Mathin behind his back, and not with a too-pretty stranger. “Princess Ellipse.” Ellipse gestured to the women around her. “These are my daughters and their friends.” Andrea gaped. “Your daughters?” The woman didn’t look any older than her late twenties, and the women she indicated were all adults. She looked harder, but could see no wrinkles in the flawless skin at the corner of Ellipse’s sky blue eyes, nor silver threads in her auburn hair. “Impossible. You can’t be older than I am.” Ellipse smiled. “Thank you.” She looked toward Mathin as he rode up. “Hello, your highness.” His tone and expression were carefully neutral. He didn’t dismount. “So formal,” she murmured, sliding a glace at Andrea. “I had hoped to see you at my tournament this year.” Andrea suppressed the urge to tap her foot. “I have other plans.” “Pity.” Ellipse rested her hand on the shoulder of the girl beside her. “My eldest daughter has volunteered to be among the beauties offered as prizes.” Her gaze grew sultry. “I have assured her that you have the stamina to shame any contenders.” Andrea’s toes curled in indignation. She felt her expression become distinctly unpleasant. Mathin glanced at her, then back to the princess. “My energies will be taken up with other matters this season.” “Ah.” Ellipse lowered her gaze and lifted a brow. “If you should change your mind… Come, ladies.” “If you should change your mind,” Andrea mimicked under her breath the moment the sultry princess was out of sight. She stomped off towards the stall door, grumbling under her breath. Oh, how she wanted to hit something! “It was long before I met you,” Mathin said, catching her arm. “Doesn’t feel like it,” she answered grimly. The jealousy was fresh and shocking in its vigor. Instead of arguing, he backed her up against the wall in Bloodlight’s stall, determination on his face. “How about now?” He thrust his knee between her legs, wedging his thigh tight against her sensitive center. His lips swallowed her moan. Passion hazed Andrea’s vision as she forgot everything but him. Ravaged by his need and the blood thundering through her head, she fought, then forgot why. Moments later she clung to him, as determined to claim him as he was to have her. Her hands slid inside his vest, urging it open— “Yikes! Find a room, guys.” The lovers broke apart with a curse and a gasp.  “J-Jasmine?” Andrea panted, her vision still hazed. Keilor stood behind his wife, looking amused. Mathin muttered and jerked his vest back together as Jasmine tsked at them. “Kind of busy around here to indulge in that sort of thing, isn’t it?” Her tone was chiding, but she grinned as she said it. Keilor smiled as he wrapped her in his arms and whispered in her ear. Jasmine colored and darted a mortified glance at the lovers. “Sh!” Smiling at Mathin, Keilor inclined his head. “Would you care to join us for lunch in the market?” His eyes sparkled with male satisfaction. “Jasmine’s craving seafood again.” Mathin’s face lit. “Congratulations!” He slapped Keilor on the back and gave Jasmine a gentle hug, kissing her on the cheek. “A girl this time?” An odd, fleeting expression crossed his face as he embraced Jasmine. It was gone so quickly, Andrea couldn’t decide if she’d imagined his concern. “As long as it’s not twins,” Jasmine agreed. Surmising this disjointed conversation meant Jasmine was pregnant, Andrea offered her own congratulations. The quartet fell into stride, with the men carrying on their own conversation while the woman had theirs, occasionally inserting comments into each other’s dialogue. The women didn’t notice as Keilor and Mathin subtly dropped back. “You sensed something.” Keilor’s tone was carefully neutral. Sorrow pierced Mathin, as sharp as when he’d embraced Jasmine. Sometimes he felt things, knew things about the people he touched. There was no good way to say it. “There will be no more children for you.” A muscle twitched in Keilor’s jaw. “I had hoped...Jasmine badly desired a girl.” They were silent a moment. “Will you tell her?” The sight of Jasmine’s jaunty stride was enough to break Mathin’s heart. He’d never intended to have children of his own, but he loved the ones he knew. Any child of Jasmine’s would have been a treasure. “She’s my wife.” Keilor’s simple answer spoke volumes. Unaware of the grimness in their companions, Andrea enjoyed the scenery. She had yet to see the market, and was looking forward to it. “Are you excited?” Jasmine smiled. “We love the boys very much, and we’re looking forward to having another child.” She lifted her face to the sky, staring at the passing cumulus clouds. “Though politically, it’s probably not wise. I shouldn’t have pressured Keilor into it the way I did.” Her smile was quick, though shadowed. “There’s not much he wouldn’t do for me.” “Dragonfly.” Keilor wrapped his arms around her, giving her a tender hug from behind. His hand caressed her stomach. “I’m not sorry.” Andrea looked away, unwilling to intrude on their tender moment. Mathin wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Come. You’ll enjoy our seafood, I think.” Feeling rather bold, she put her arm around his firm waist. The slight squeeze of his hand on her shoulder told her he was pleased. Andrea got only a glimpse of the marketplace before they led her into the restaurant. The wide windows sparkled with recent cleaning. A pleasant odor of sweetness and steaming seafood set her mouth watering as she surveyed the buffet. Mounds of shellfish meat, swimming with vegetables, orange crustaceans arranged on leaves of kale, and seafood salads in bright red and white radicchio bowls tempted her chef’s palate. Excited by the never-ending quest to try new foods, she loaded her platter. “You’re brave,” Jasmine said, eyeing the tentacle hanging off Andrea’s platter. “Do you know where that comes from?” “Don’t tell until I’ve tasted it.” Andrea neatly flipped the appendage back onto her plate. “Besides, it can’t be poisonous. He’s eating it.” She nodded at Keilor, who’d taken a large helping. “Keilor! I am not kissing you,” Jasmine warned. His look said, we’ll see. They settled at a table by the corner to enjoy their meal. Although Andrea didn’t think she’d ever enjoy the jellyfish, the moist baked fish was perfection. The tangy sauce that accompanied it could become an addiction. Equally as tasty was the hot and spicy crustacean stir-fry. Pleased to see Andrea enjoying this piece of his world, Mathin was caught off guard when Keilor casually asked, “Now that you’re settling into respectable life, will you be seeing to your estates? I understand they’ve suffered some neglect in the last year.” Mathin stiffened. Ignoring Andrea’s interest, he said, “I sent an overseer.” Keilor reclined against the back of the bench he shared with Jasmine. One arm was stretched across the back, toying with her hair. “Rumor has it, he’s incapable of handling your clan alone. They say he’ll walk away unless you come home.” “It’s not my home.” Mathin’s expression brooked no argument. “It needs a warlord.” Keilor’s tone was relaxed, but underneath was the Master of the Hunt. “Jayems and I agree that it’s becomes a threat to Haunt security. The last thing we need is another uprising.” He let the statement hang a moment. “Your presence could prevent it.” He wouldn’t say it, but Mathin knew the words were tantamount to an order. He clenched his jaw. Despite his wishes, he knew Keilor was right. His presence would prevent war. “Um, what are you talking about?” Andrea. The tension inside him mounted. His estates were no place for her. Reading his glance with the ease of long friendship, Keilor suggested, “Take Isfael and Raziel. Our position is secure enough here, and you’ll need someone trustworthy at your back.” “Raziel perhaps. Not both. You aren’t that secure.” He sighed and regarded Andrea, who seemed about to burst from curiosity. “It seems I’m needed on my lands.” Her brow furrowed. She hadn’t known he had any. “Where are they?” Somewhere nearby, maybe? “A few days ride from here.” Her eyes widened. “By stag?” She winced at his nod. “Your grandmother wouldn’t enjoy the journey.” He wouldn’t pressure her to go. It was too dangerous unless she was willing. “I wouldn’t be back for a long time. Months, at least.” Andrea dropped her eyes and stirred the remains of her lunch, no longer hungry. Everyone was looking at her. She’d just gotten somewhat used to this place; could she handle more adventure? “When would we go?” Relief surged through him. “I dislike waiting, and the storm season is close. Six days.” Her soft grunt was her only answer. “Good. I’ll help with the details,” Keilor offered. He stood and offered Jasmine his hand as Mathin did the same for Andrea.  They toured the market. At Mathin’s insistence, Andrea bought several beautiful books. Each was covered with sturdy leather and bound with brass. One was a cookbook. “The Haunt version of Betty Crocker,” Jasmine assured her as she handed it to her. “Just don’t try the recipe for pickled beetle eggs.” She smiled wickedly. “Too spicy.” She selected several bottles of essential oil and fragrance from the perfumer, and Mathin pointed out which spices they came from as he purchased supplies. She chose her own herbs and seasonings from the colorful display of glass jars available in one of the numerous outdoor booths. “Good idea,” Jasmine said, watching the merchant stash the herbs in waterproof packets. “Mathin’s swamp slug leaves a lot to be desired. It might improve if you drown it in spices.” “I was wearing a nose filter at the time,” Mathin growled. His temper had been short since Keilor’s announcement. “You were the only one who could taste it.” He caught the merchant ogling Andrea and gave him a warning stare. The man hastily looked away. He wasn’t the only man who’d drooled over her during their expedition. For the most part Mathin’s growls and frigid stares had doused the worst of their ardor, but only when his eye was actually on them. Then he could feel their hungry stares on his back, or rather, Andrea’s back. There were simply too many men and too much pheromone in the air. He'd have to take care of the situation before they left. He would be the only man seduced by the charmer when they rode out. Unaware of his plans, Andrea followed Jasmine back to their rooms at the conclusion of their expedition. Their bodyguards, who’d hung back while Keilor and Mathin were with them, closed ranks to escort them. It was difficult to imagine anyone braving the soldier’s fierce countenances to get to the women, until Andrea remembered that everyone in the Dark Lands was a Haunt. “I’ll have to take you shopping before you go—who knows what the merchants will have for clothes out there, and you don’t have near enough. Stop by our rooms tomorrow and I’ll take you around. Lingerie, shoes, dresses—you name it, we’ll buy it,” Jasmine said before Andrea left. “Mathin’s credit is good anywhere you want to shop.” “Well,” Andrea hedged. She wasn’t up to spending Mathin’s money when he wasn’t there to make her. “She’d love to. Make sure she doesn’t skimp on herself—I know you won’t have a problem seeing my money spent,” Mathin told Jasmine dryly. Jasmine gave him a cheeky grin. “Bet on that.” Unexpectedly tired, Andrea said goodbye to Jasmine and retreated to her room for a nap. Unease nagged at her as she lay on the couch, one arm flung over her head. How had she become swept up so easily into Mathin’s life? Why wasn’t she desperate to go back home? Her mind shied from the thought of going back, giving her further proof of her feelings. Still, she knew so little of him. Unless she’d misunderstood, Mathin was a lord of some kind. But then why did he live such a Spartan existence? It would explain how he could have arranged for this room—perhaps a favor from another lord. Jayems? She didn’t like the idea of Mathin being beholden on her behalf. Did he resist going home now because of lack of money? She chewed on the inside of her lip, considering. It would explain a great deal. Was giving up the tournament a bigger sacrifice than she’d suspected? Guilt stabbed her. If Mathin was resisting entering for her sake, than she was costing him far too much. She’d hated to turn him down today when he’d wanted her to buy things, but she’d tried to be frugal, guarding her reactions to some of the pricier items. She didn’t want him to think she’d wanted more than he could afford. Maybe his sending her shopping with Jasmine was a way of assuaging any lingering guilt, but she didn’t want him going into debt for her. Resolved to push aside her personal reservations, she stopped squirming on the couch and got up to cook dinner. It would be easier to broach the subject over a good meal.   “You want me to do what?” Mathin paused with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. The combination of an excellent dinner and his travel plans had distracted him from even Andrea’s enticing presence. Now he stared at her across the table, perplexed. What had caused this sudden change of heart? “I’d like to you see in action.” Andrea flushed, uncomfortable with the lie. She kept her eyes down and took a sip of her wine. “After all, everyone says you’re so good.” From the sudden intensity of his expression, he found her reasons suspicious. Uncomfortable under his knowing stare, she gave up. “I’m afraid you need the money and I’m keeping you from it.” There. She’d said it. Would he get mad? Mathin’s lips twitched. For a moment he regarded her, torn between amusement and consternation. He’d never imagined this situation would develop, but he was used to Haunt women, who knew all about him. “How did you…” The realization that she had never seen him in more than his simple room and the most utilitarian of clothes hit him. “Never mind.” “It’s not like it matters to me, but you were so upset about going back to your estate that I thought—” “It’s all right,” he assured her. He didn’t want to explain about his past now. Better to reassure her of the future. “But you don’t have to worry about money. I have easily more than ten times what Ellipse is offering as enticement.” Cash, at any rate. It would take longer to count the worth of his numerous stags and investments, not to mention his estate. “There’s no need to be concerned.” “Oh.” Now she felt foolish, but how could she have known? It wasn’t as if he wore a sign or something. He watched her for a moment. “However, I wouldn’t mind entering the tournament if you’d agree to be a prize. It will be the last time I have such an opportunity.” Besides, he wished to gift her with the prize. She should have something of her own. Andrea’s resolve crumbled at the sight of his sexy smile. Only a few more days and she could do something about the hot buttered rum he made of her insides. “Well...maybe this once.” The smile became dazzling. She felt a little faint. “Just don’t make a habit of it.” He stared at her red, full lips, very tempted to taste them. Had she used cosmetics? They were especially glossy and ripe-looking this evening. “A couple more days,” she warned him, breathless. He had to stop looking at her like that. Her scent curled around him, tried to mesmerize him as it played on his roused passions. It took a tremendous act of will to close his eyes and force his thoughts elsewhere. “After the tournament, then.” The gravelly whisper set her hands to trembling. It was difficult to leave them in her lap when she wanted more than anything to touch him. Her throat felt tight. “After the tournament.” He stood, carefully leaving the breadth of the table between them. “I would kiss you goodnight, but it wouldn’t end with a kiss.” She sucked in a breath and stood as well. It was difficult not to try her luck. The air sizzled between them, and it was all she could do to croak, “Okay.” She was scared and excited. The tournament was so close, yet it seemed like it was taking forever to get here, too. Abruptly, he turned and strode out of the room. Feeling bereft, she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stem the cold emptiness. Was this love? The need to crawl inside another person’s skin and become one with them? The need for them to do the same? She wasn’t sure of anything except that she wanted him with a need that was dizzying. Was that enough? Logic had long since deserted her when it came to Mathin. He’d thoroughly sucked her into the mysteries of the Haunt. Now she was leaning on him to show her the way. Should she keep her logic, or trust the man? Was it better to trust faith or practicality? Too overwhelmed to make such a choice on her own, she dropped to her knees and did something she rarely did. She prayed. And as she prayed something odd happened. In her mind’s eye she saw herself and Mathin. She was smiling, and in her arms she held— Shaken, her eyes popped open. A baby. She’d been holding their son. Convinced she’d had enough time touching the mind of God, she got up and dusted off her hands, determined not to dwell on it. A useless vow, for even as she cleared the table, doubts lingered. Was Mathin rubbing off on her? Why would she suddenly be seeing visions? She’d barely begun to consider a life with Mathin. Would he want children right away? She wasn’t ready! Telling herself to calm down, she resolved to have a talk with Jasmine. She’d know what kinds of birth control were available here. Mathin would just have to understand her position on things. They’d talk. She wiped her sweaty hands on her pants before she broke a plate. Surely he wasn’t the type to count his prowess by the number of children he had? If so, he was in for a big disappointment, because she’d never imagined having more than one or two. American girls weren’t big on breeding herds of children. Ah, well. Tomorrow was soon enough to see about it.     CHAPTER 8   Mathin set down his sage tea and eyed Andrea. She kept surprising him. “It’s the woman’s choice.” When her eyes widened, he added, somewhat embarrassed, “Do you not wish to have children?” Though he knew they were alone, he couldn’t help checking. The topic wasn’t one he could imagine having in front of his friends. “It’s kind of premature, at this stage. I’d rather wait.” “Then we’ll wait.” Relieved to have the conversation over, he gulped his drink and stood up. “Fallon will be arriving today. It might be your last chance for a long while if you wish to speak to him.” Andrea had mixed feelings about it, but Grandma Matilda wasn’t nearly so tame. “Fallon!” Matilda called, running up to him as he dismounted his stag in the courtyard that afternoon. Both feet had barely hit the ground before she had him in a bear hug. “I hoped you’d get here in time.” “Ah, my only love,” Fallon teased, hugging her fondly back. “I told you I’d visit.” He looked at Andrea over her head and returned his attention to Matilda. “I brought you the magazines you requested.” Matilda lit up as he handed her a plastic packet, as eager as any child. “Ooh, the latest issues of Crochet Digest and Sweater of the Month Club. Thank you, I hoped you would.” “My pleasure.” With a lop-sided smile, Fallon handed Andrea a heavy canvas bag. “Cards, you said. I brought your books and a few of your personal items as well. I thought you might appreciate them.” Somewhat sheepishly, she nodded. “Thank you.” Taking Andrea’s arm, he smiled at Matilda, who was already poring over her magazines, and walked from the yard. “Tell me how you like the Dark Lands.” “The weather’s nice.” “And the men?” he inquired with a teasing smile. “Are you flirting with me?” He laughed. “Would you mind if I were? Or is it Mathin I should be concerned about?” Her face heated, and she looked down, studying the cobbled walkway. “I don’t think he’d like it.” “Reached an understanding, have you?” he asked gently. A trio of pretty women waved at him, obviously hoping he’d stop and talk, but he only smiled back and moved on. “I was concerned.” Irritation made her frown. “I never noticed.” Fallon stopped and looked at her. “Mathin is a friend of mine. I wish to see him happy, but not at your expense. Do you dislike his attentions?” She blushed. “I thought not.” He continued on, this time without taking her arm. The blue sky made an elegant backdrop to his blond hair, an unusual color among the Haunt. “The hurricane season will be here soon, and I won’t be able to visit for some time. Business matters.” He was silent a moment. “Is there anything you’d like me to bring from Earth?” “A bicycle?” she asked, frowning as they saw a group of riders in the distance. “A horse would be fine, too.” “Livestock from Earth dies here,” he said, grinning. “But a bicycle might be possible. I’ll see about it.” “What do you bring Jasmine?” The question caused him to cock his head in curiosity. “She wants nothing. The Dark Lands are her home now, and she’s severed the ties to her past. Says she’s happier that way.” Andrea thought about that. “What if something happened to Keilor?” “She’d never take her children from their family or their home. Besides, she likes it here. Perhaps you will one day feel the same.” She didn’t know about that. Andrea shoved her hands in her pockets. Things were still so new and unsettled, and it was going to take a lot more than a couple of weeks in the Dark Lands to make it feel like home. As promised, Jasmine took her shopping, and she knew all the best places. Hours after they’d set out, the ladies returned carrying a few of their purchases—the bulk had been sent to Andrea’s rooms. Boots, white linen intimates, warm outwear and an array of clothes had been purchased, as well as a few home essentials. Jasmine had assured her that it was better to be safe than sorry. Andrea was still thinking about her conversation with Fallon as she helped Jasmine prepare the evening meal. “How long did it take before you felt you belonged here?” Knife poised in the air, Jasmine considered. “Had to be when I was injured.” She laughed. “Every cadet here sent fruit trees and candy. Keilor was so jealous.” Bottom lip between her teeth, Andrea nodded. “When you made friends.” “Yes.” She looked at Andrea. “It must be hard for you right now. Did you have to give up a lot when Mathin brought you here?” Just her world. “Not in terms of material goods, if that’s what you’re asking.” “It isn’t.” Andrea sighed and held the piece of fruit she’d been chopping in her hand. “Everything’s so weird here. The culture shock is rough to deal with. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get over it.” “Tell me about it. But people are people wherever you go. If I’ve learned anything from the Haunt, it’s that. Don’t let the setting confuse you; you can make friends—and enemies—very easily here.” “Enemies. Those I don’t need.” Andrea shuddered. The thought of being hunted by Haunt chilled her. “I know.” Jasmine said sympathetically. “Don’t dwell on it. Mathin is more than able to keep you safe no matter where he takes you, but do your best to be prepared, because you never know.”  Jasmine gave the kids a quick smile from across the room. “I hope you’re ready for an adventure. From what I remember, the place you’re going is pretty rough.” “You’ve been there?” “Sure. It’s where Mathin’s sister took me when she kidnapped me.” Stunned, Andrea could only stare at her. “Mathin has a sister like that?” Jasmine grimaced. “Not any more. Mathin killed her when she tried to attack us here.” Shock made Andrea sit down fast. Compassion warred with disbelief. “How could he do that?” Breaking Jasmine’s arm, killing his sister...what kind of man had she tangled with? “They were engaged in battle. If it hadn’t been Mathin, it would have been Keilor or one of the others.” Jasmine watched her soberly. “The Haunt don’t mess around when it comes to justice. Yesande earned her sentence.” Yesande. So that had been her name. A sudden tension in her neck threatened to bloom into a headache. The symbiont stirred. It flowed up her arms and twined around her neck, radiating warmth. Slowly the muscles relaxed. Shivering at the odd sensation, Andrea didn’t fully relax until the creature twined its way back to her forearms. Jasmine smiled in sympathy. “It takes a while to get used to, doesn’t it?” “I’m not sure I want to get used to it.” “Try. There are lots of odd things here,” Jasmine told her earnestly. “You have to learn to roll with the punches if you want to stay sane.” Two hours later, Andrea was still trying to absorb her new knowledge of Mathin as she shared dinner with him in her grandmother’s room. “Don’t be silly, dear,” her grandmother insisted stubbornly. “I most certainly can go anywhere my granddaughter goes. I know you can protect us both.” “It’s a long ride,” Mathin warned her. “You wouldn’t like the wagon.” “That’s quite enough,” she said, giving him a no-nonsense look over her teacup. “Now stop this foolishness and tell me about the place where we’re going.” After dinner, Andrea and Mathin took a walk. “This is beautiful.”  They stood at the top of the citadel, admiring the shadowed land. Three moons glowed with the soft light of Japanese lanterns, washing the redwoods and the sea beyond in silver. If the beauty of the night hadn’t been enough to steal her breath, her companion would have. He stood near, leaning on the parapet wall with her. Not quite close enough to touch, but enough to set her nerves jangling. She tried to calm her breathing. Her body was not quite ready. Soon. Equally affected, Mathin tried not to breathe. Every inhalation brought the intoxicating scent of her. Hunger buzzed through his brain, lower. Keeping his hands to himself was difficult. He dared not kiss her. Desire paced inside him, a volti, barely leashed. “You’ll be the first woman I’ve fought for in twenty years.” He hadn’t meant to say that, but it effectively changed the subject. “Twenty years?” Andrea scanned him in disbelief. “What were you, twelve? No way you’re older than thirty.” She paused and considered. “If that.” Mathin’s smile was mysterious, and just a touch smug. He stared out at the nightscape. Curious now, and slightly annoyed, she demanded, “Well, how old are you?” “Beautiful evening.” “Mathin…” “Did you notice the golden tint to the small moon? The rains will be here soon.” “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” “It would disturb you.” That did it. She was definitely curious now. “I’m already disturbed.” When his smile turned wicked, she threatened, “I could ask someone.” “No one will tell you.” She refused to believe that. Someone knew. Maybe she could bribe it out of one of his friends with some of the candy she’d made for the twins that afternoon. “Give me a hint.” “I’m older than you are.” “A better hint!” He turned and rested his elbows on the wall, smiled. “Beat it out of me.” Andrea snorted. As if. Still, he looked good. Hadn’t she wanted to touch him all night? She reached for him. Agile as a wild thing, he evaded her touch. “Can’t catch me.” He flashed her a taunting smile. “Can.” She stalked him. He let her get close, but never close enough, careful to remain just out of touch. She lunged for him, missed. Chuckling, he silently dared her to try again. There was no way she could ever catch him, so it surprised him when her symbiont snaked out and whipped around his wrist. It began to wilt. “What—” Andrea gasped as a wave of dizziness washed through her. Slipping out of the symbiont’s now weakened hold, Mathin steadied her. “Easy. Symbionts and the Haunt don’t mix. They are very happy to touch another human, or almost any other animal, but never one of us. We think our bodies are simply too alien.” “I’ll remember that.” The nausea was fading now, but she still felt rather yucky. “Please do.” One arm around her, he walked her toward the stairs. “Once, Jasmine forced her symbiont to heal a wounded Haunt. She nearly died. It took another symbiont to heal her.” “Why do you still fight with the humans here?” They descended the dim stairway side-by-side, holding on to the railings. “Technically, we are observing a truce. We haven’t had a reason to mingle, and both sides seem to like it that way.” Something in his tone told her he didn’t like it as well as the others. “I wouldn’t mind meeting some of them.” He smiled at her. “If you like. My lands border their swamps. I’m certain they’d be very interested in you.” They’d reached her door. Before he could talk himself out of it, he stole a fast kiss. Even that was dangerously potent. “For luck.” I’ll give you luck, she thought breathlessly. The memory of his touch was enough to fire her jets, and she wanted to take him for a test drive in the worst way. “Don’t get hurt tomorrow.” The grin he gave her was almost enough to send her to her knees. “Couldn’t happen.”   As she watched from her gallery seat the next evening, Andrea fervently hoped he was right. Jasmine touched the back of her hand, giving her a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, Mathin’s the best. He’s going to wipe the floor with these guys.” She shifted Malix on her lap. Andrea smiled rather sickly back. The box they were using held Jayems, Rihlia, Jasmine, Andrea and the children. Keilor was down on the field, helping out. It was dusk, and laser torches had been lit, ringing the circular arena in bright flames. The aisles of the seating area were also lit, making the arena look like a sunken wheel with spokes of fire. In the center of the arena was an elevated series of grids shrouded in vines. Andrea blinked, squinting in the torchlight. Had that vine just moved? A giggle drew her attention to the gallery next to theirs. Ellipse and her daughters held court, smiling at the crowd. Ellipse’s crown of twisted iridescent silver and pearls gleamed on her upswept hair. As if sensing Andrea’s gaze, Ellipse turned her head and favored her with a confident, knowing smile. Andrea’s throat tightened as Ellipse nodded to her and murmured an aside to her daughter. Whatever she said won a laugh from the young woman. With a rueful look at Andrea, the daughter returned to watching the crowd. “Rumor has it, Mathin is going to claim you for his prize.” Jasmine smiled when Andrea blushed. “Your grandmother’s been hinting that there’s to be a wedding tonight.” “No wonder she didn’t come,” Andrea muttered. “She knew I’d strangle her.” Jasmine laughed as the crowd began to stir. “She told me she just didn’t approve of male silliness and refused to watch. I’m supposed to report everything I see later.” Chuckling, Andrea turned her attention to the ring. Fifteen men strode onto the field, eight of which wore red sashes. One by one they began to call out the names of the women they chose as “prizes”, should they win. “Aldreah, Terah’s child.” “Celsi the Golden.” “Sometimes the women date the guys afterward, even if they don’t win,” Jasmine explained. “It’s terribly romantic to have a man fight for you. Lots of marriages come about this way.” “Andrea the Charmer.” Andrea gasped and looked out at the field. That hadn’t been Mathin’s voice. A man in a red sash was staring at her, waiting for her to acknowledge his words. “Raziel?” she croaked in astonishment. His white teeth flashed in a grin. “Mathin should not win such a prize without effort. I’m here to see he has it.” “How romantic!” Ellipse exclaimed, leaning over the balcony to smile at Raziel. “Has it not been a dozen years since you’ve entered my tournament, dear Raziel?” She glanced at the scowling Mathin. “But our Mathin hasn’t made his declaration. Do you also chose the Charmer Andrea for your prize?” The look Mathin turned on Andrea should have sizzled her on the spot. “She is already mine.” Raziel laughed and saluted Jasmine as the men paired off. “You set him up to this, didn’t you?” Rihlia demanded of Jasmine, grinning. Jasmine raised her hands helplessly. “Raziel thought it was a great idea.” Down on the field, Mathin gifted Raziel with a droll stare. “Jasmine?” Raziel shrugged. “She thinks Andrea will appreciate you more if you have to work for her.” The creak of the massive doors opening caused all competing warriors to draw and activate their blades. One never knew what kind of interesting surprises Ellipse might spring at her tournaments. Out of the darkness marched— “Female warriors?” Raziel gasped. Mathin was just as shocked. Men never competed with women. Even with these women in Haunt and full battle gear, the ridiculousness of it held the men frozen in place. How were they supposed to defeat these women without hurting them? Was that part of the challenge? Behind the twenty female Haunt emerged twenty dancers. These women were dressed identically in red harem pants and short vests. The pants were slit at both inner and outer thigh and cuffed at the heel. As they danced with their long, silken scarves, a strange, drugging perfume wafted over the men. Reminded of Andrea’s natural, desire-producing scent, Mathin blessed the Deity for his recent exposure. Hopefully the slight immunity he’d built up would serve him in good stead now. The Haunt nearest him, a huge female, lunged at him as the dancers withdrew to circle the fighters. He swung out to block her blade with his. His sword passed through hers, finding no more substance than smoke. The lack of resistance threw him off balance, and a blow struck him full in his unprotected ribs.   “Don’t panic!” Jasmine clamped a hand on Andrea’s wrist before she could dash down the stairs and out to the field. As she spoke, Mathin recovered from the blow and countered, actually hitting his attacker this time. “Keilor told me about this. The drug makes them see almost in slow motion. Their brains are processing the movements about three seconds late. As soon as they figure that out and start using their blind-fighting skills, they’ll be fine. Look.” Mathin seemed to have figured things out. His strikes were now steady and accurate, and devastating to his attackers. He fought back to back with Raziel, and together they successfully repelled the female Haunt. Those who had not been captured followed suit, and in minutes the first wave withdrew. The dancers came forward and wafted vials under the men’s noses, then left them to recover as they danced for the crowd. “A moment of your time?” Andrea glanced up to find one of Ellipse’s daughters at her side. Ellipse had retired to the back of her gallery and was watching her. It took only a moment to join her. “Yes?” Ellipse gestured for Andrea to join her on her divan. “You know that Mathin and I were intimate for a time?” Andrea blinked. The woman didn’t waste time! “Yes,” she answered cautiously, wondering where this was going. Ellipse studied the men on the field. “I was always a ruler first, a woman second. Mathin is first a man. We both understood this, and parted friends.” Her smile was rueful. “Still I am fond of him, and wish him well cared for. I think you’ll treat him as a man first, which is more than most of the women here would do. Often I think that is why he remained unwed.” She extended her silver goblet to Andrea. “You will make him a good wife, and time will make you a good lady wife. Share a drink with me and be friends. He will need you, and it could be he will also need me.” Cautiously, Andrea took it. The wine within was herbal, powerfully intoxicating. “Not too much,” Ellipse cautioned. “The wildwater is too powerful to be taken freely by humans.” She accepted her cup back and gestured to one of her daughters. “I have a gift for you.” Curious, Andrea watched the girl as she drew the cover off a cage and opened the door. Her eyes widened as she saw what was inside. “Is that...a baby griffin?” The animal had the head and wings of a bird of prey, but the body of a white lion. It squawked sleepily as the girl handed it over and then cuddled into Andrea’s arms as if they were old friends. Ellipse smiled fondly at it. “A very rare animal this far south. The white ones are especially prized. They are very good with children, but fierce protectors. Your children will not lack for a guardian all the days of their lives.” “Why are you doing this?” Ellipse raised a brow. “I’m far too forward to have ulterior motives, lady-to-be, and I know where to pick my allies. You might wish to find a seat—they’re about to begin again.” Andrea barely scrambled back to her chair before the next challenge began. “Nice pet,” Jasmine offered, turning her attention back to the arena before Andrea could say anything. The captured men—six in all—had been bound and blindfolded, and now hung upside-down from the arena wall. The dancers and lady soldiers had disappeared, replaced by some menacing male Haunt with pikes. A hissing wall of fire, thigh-high, snaked between the prisoners and the nine remaining men. The fire was slowly creeping toward the hostages. Haunt snarled, taunting the men who ranged themselves into a wedge with Mathin at the point. There had to be at least five Haunt to every fighter. To Andrea they looked like a fatal black wave as they formed a block and waited for the attack. Mathin fought with impressive skill, but it was his bravery that Andrea would never forget. Not once did he flinch or falter, and no one ever got a second chance to strike at him. Few got that much. He was almost wild, and he used his whole body. A fear seemed to come over the Haunt, and they began to melt away from him. Blocked by the fire, they attempted to fight their way around, but the warriors with Mathin wouldn’t allow it. In moments more warriors joined the fray. The prisoners had escaped and leapt the fire. These fought bare handed against the Haunt, and amazingly, prevailed. “Told you so,” Jasmine said, grinning. “Look! They’re splitting into two ranks. It’s time for the last contest.” Andrea nodded tersely in acknowledgment and wiggled her stiff fingers. They were going numb from her tight grip on the chair. Tension coiled in her belly, making her feel sick. This stupid tournament couldn’t get over fast enough for her.  Nine men approached the grid structure and swung up on it. The entire thing swayed as they ascended the multilevel platforms. Andrea felt the blood drain from her face as they drew their swords. They were going to fight up there? She must have looked bad, for Jasmine reached over, pried one of her hands free and held it. “Mathin will be all right, Andrea.” Blue light flashed as the men attacked. The fighting was vicious, and almost immediately one of the men crashed through the grids to a lower level as his opponent slashed it from beneath his feet. Cat-like, he landed on his feet, balanced on the bouncy grid as two more men came at him. Slowly they backed him up against a vine covered support post. Instantly the vine twined around him, holding him securely in place. Haunt came forward to free him and send him from the arena. A small scream lodged in Andrea’s throat as Mathin stepped backward off the edge of the platform to avoid a concentrated attack from three adversaries. As he fell he grabbed the edge of the platform. Hanging on the edge, he struck out with his blade and cut the grid from under their feet. Cursing, they crashed through, taking another man down with them. One armed, Mathin flipped back onto the platform. “Can he fly, too?” Andrea croaked in disbelief. Equally breathless, Jasmine whispered, “Sometimes I wonder.” One by one, men fell until only Raziel and Mathin were left on the top level. What was left of it, anyway. Great ragged holes turned the grid into a dangerous web. Stimulated by the activity, the vine was growing ever more active. Sparks flashed as their blades came together. Showing incredible agility and spatial awareness, they danced over the grid, the lightning of their strikes nearly blinding in the darkness. Lit blue, their faces showed ruthless determination and— “Why are they smiling?” Andrea demanded. “They’re having a great time out there and I’m about to die of fright!” Jasmine squeezed her hand in sympathy. “I know.” Raziel struck Mathin’s inner biceps. Mathin said something, grinned, and tossed his blade to his other hand. If he had seemed fast before, now he was nearly unstoppable. Down on the grid, Raziel gasped, “Give it up, Mathin! Your bed will be cold and lonely tonight.” “The only one giving it up will be Andrea,” Mathin shot back, and lunged for him. Both swords went flying as it came down to a wrestling match of brute strength. He had the weight on Raziel, but Raziel was incredibly limber. They rolled. Fell. And ended up hanging upside down by their legs under the grid, staring at each other. Raziel snorted. Mathin laughed. The match ended in a draw, with both men too incapacitated by laughter to continue.   She didn’t feel at all well. Andrea lay on her couch with her griffin, a warm cloth on her throat. Her grandmother swore it would help her stomach calm. Amazingly, it seemed to be working. Until he showed up. “Go away,” Andrea said sullenly, and closed her eyes. She hated being sick, and he was the cause. Mathin sighed and sat down on the floor beside her. “Hindsight tells me I should have expected this.” She mumbled something unpleasant and turned her face into the couch. They sat in tense silence. “I’ll sleep on the floor tonight. You can have the bed.” She glared at him. “Why don’t you sleep in your own bed?” “The couch is too short,” he continued, ignoring her. “We have to leave at first light, so you should sleep. We can’t delay the journey with the rains so near.” Frustrated in more than one sense, she sat up and hit him with her pillow. “This wouldn’t be happening if you hadn’t entered that stupid contest.” Immediately her stomach protested. She curled her arms around it protectively, wishing her symbiont were able to sooth nervous stomachaches. “Go to bed before you’re ill.” His eyes glittered with banked heat. “Or before I forget you’re ill and put you there myself.” Torn between wishing he would and wanting to punish him, she sulked all the way to her room. The man was bad for her. Very, very bad. So why was she so disappointed that he was out there and she was in here? In the other room, Mathin rested his forehead on his knee and sighed. This was to have been his wedding night, and he’d been humming with anticipation all day. So much so that Keilor and Raziel had teased him continually. He knew they were glad for him, so had only smiled in return. But this! What would they say if they could see him now? Grunting in annoyance, but determined not to leave this room and face their pity, he grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under his head. He would give Andrea a few hours of sleep, and then go in and wake her. She could sleep in the wagon tomorrow. Tonight she would get little. As it happened, he was the one who got little. A mere three hours had dragged by when a loud knocking sounded on Andrea’s door. Still awake, Mathin answered it. Looking askance at Mathin’s fully dressed form, Raziel cocked his head in silent enquiry. “What?” Mathin snapped impatiently, not about to explain. “Keilor. He says it’s urgent. I will stay here and guard the door.” Mathin looked at the other two Haunt already in place, his interest quickening. Something must be very wrong if Raziel felt the need to stand guard. Keilor was in his office. “We didn’t want to disturb you right away,” Keilor said, breaking off his conversation as Mathin walked in. “Not on your wedding night.” Mathin stared at him stonily. Three hours of torture, surrounded by Andrea’s scent, had not improved his temper. “Forget it. What’s the problem?” “The Master of the Hunt tells me you were ready to leave come morning,” the young man, a distant cousin of Mathin’s, said. ”I’d been sent by the overseer to summon you, but now I will simply hurry you along.” Contempt twisted his mouth as he raked Mathin with his eyes. “Unless you wish to see your lands fall into the hands of another, you’d best see to them. If you’re capable.” Never one to let a challenge pass, Mathin froze him with a look. “I’m more than capable, and I’m coming. Did you have something else to say, boy?” It was clear the young man did, but was wise enough to keep his mouth shut. Mathin dismissed him and turned his attention to Keilor. “We’ll leave within the hour. I’ll have Raziel rouse Andrea and her grandmother while I see to the arrangements. Thank you for alerting me.” Andrea wasn’t happy to be dragged out of bed in the middle of the night. Never a morning person, she was downright witchy before the hour of three, but she rallied when she discovered it was an emergency. As servants hurriedly packed her stuff, she made her way to her grandma’s, coffee mug in hand. Her grandmother was even testier than Andrea. “I am fifty-six years old, young man,” she all but snarled at Raziel. He’d tossed the covers off her when Andrea’s gentle attempts to wake her had failed. “So am I,” he returned, unimpressed. “You travel with the Haunt, you keep our hours, woman. Get up.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her firmly to her feet. “How dare you!” “I dare anything.” To prove it, he gave her a smacking big kiss on the lips, turned her while she was still dazed, and gently pushed her toward the clothes laid out on a chair. Andrea watched in astonishment as he strode from the room. “Wow.” Never had she seen anyone silence her grandmother so swiftly. “Impertinent man.” Fuming, her grandmother got dressed, muttering all the things she was going to say to Raziel. Wide awake now, Andrea opened the door to the apartment and entered the hall with anticipation. It was a big disappointment to find a Haunt outside. Until she recognized him as Raziel by the blue eyes, red sash and earring. No way would her grandmother dare to dress him down now. She was wrong. “Don’t try your Haunt tricks on me!” Matilda said the moment she saw what he’d done. “I know you can hear me just fine.” Raziel bared his teeth at her and started off down the hall. “You nasty, rude man!” Matilda followed just behind him, venting spleen. The two Haunt at the door exchanged toothy grins. Andrea had to agree, it was a sight. They followed Raziel down to a yard lit with laser torches at the stables. A confusing mass of men and Haunt strode to and fro, intent on their various tasks. Excitement hummed in the air. Raziel stopped in front of a covered platform that was hitched to a pair of stags. It hovered in the air, the invisible force that held it flattening the grass beneath. “An anti-gravity device?” Andrea muttered, bending down to peer beneath. “I will not speak to your back!” Matilda shouted, and squealed as Raziel picked her up and dumped her unceremoniously on top of the sled behind the driver. “Andrea.” She looked up at Mathin, who was seated on his stag. Bloodlight snorted at her, his nostrils flared to catch her scent. “You can ride with me or Matilda. The rest of us don’t need the light to see, and there’ll be little of it on this cloudy night. There’s a bed in the wagon if you wish to go back to sleep.” Was he mad at her? Andrea couldn’t tell from his expression, but his tone and manner made her wonder. Is this how he was going to act when he couldn’t get any? “I guess I’ll stay with Grandma.” “Fine.” He nodded curtly to Raziel, who helped her into the wagon, then rode out. The rest of the column followed. Hours passed. Tired of watching black trees and bushes go by, Andrea stared at the bottom of the canopy, feeling out of place. Occasionally she’d look out the bug netting, watching the dark shapes of the riders. What was she doing here? “What happened between you two tonight?” Matilda asked quietly. “I thought you were asleep.” Andrea rolled her head to glance at the dark shape beside her, really little more than black on black. She could smell her rose scent, though, over and above the spicy trees and the musky smell of stag. She wondered if the sensitive Haunt noses found that irritating, too. “What happened?” She sighed. “I was sick,” she answered miserably, careful to keep her voice low. “You know how I get when people fight.” “I know it makes you think of the man who killed your parents, but that was a long time ago.” Matilda’s voice was gentle. She stared at the canopy. It was wider than the base of the wagon bed, and the netting tapered to the platform below. “It’s not as if I dwell on it. It’s just that when I see men fighting, my gut remembers.” And the memories of blood and screams of agony returned. “I’m not a little girl anymore. I can handle it.” “Hm. So well that it messed up your wedding night?” Andrea rolled over, putting her back to Matilda. “Goodnight, Grandma.” Mathin listened in the dark, absorbing their words. He would have to warn them about Haunt hearing, but for tonight he was glad they didn’t know. He might never have thought to ask why Andrea became ill at the sight of violence, thinking it merely an odd quirk. Becoming his wife would be difficult for her. It might be possible to shelter her from the rough side of his life, but he couldn’t avoid it himself. To her credit, she seemed to realize that. She hadn’t asked him to become a pacifist. But…He considered the woman in the wagon, whom he could see perfectly well. He could stop participating in the tournaments. The idea scraped like a dull blade, but it wouldn’t kill him. Not if it were so important to her well-being. As for the other… His mind raced ahead, reviewing his memories of the terrain. They would stop at dawn to eat, and not again until dusk. Mathin smiled as he considered what he wanted for breakfast.   “You want to go for a walk now?” Andrea demanded, not yet fully awake. Mathin took her hand and led her out of the camp and into the redwoods. Ignoring the knowing looks they gathered, he shifted the thick blanket she had yet to notice over his shoulder and tightened his grip on her hand to prevent her from stumbling. “Walking is good for you.” Someone snickered. Feeling his face heat for the first time in ages, he walked faster. Soon they were out of earshot of even the most sensitive of Haunt. “Why…” Her eyes fell on the blanket as he spread it on the ground. Her mouth fell open. “Here?” “Here.” He took off his vest. “N-now?” “Right now.” He sat down and unlaced his boots. She backed up. “We’re right out in the open! Anyone could see us.” A frantic look around confirmed that they were alone, but one could never tell. “No one will.” He unfastened his weapons belt and reached for the buckle at the waist of his pants. “Wait!” She threw up her hands, palm out. “I just can’t do it out here, Mathin. I really can’t.” Mathin froze in disbelief. “There are no villages or towns in this direction for many miles, woman. Is it your plan to wait for weeks?” When she hesitated, he reached out, took her hands and gently tugged her onto the blanket. “They’ll know what we’re doing,” she protested weakly. “They already know.” Before she could comment, he kissed her.     CHAPTER 9   One kiss was all it took. Mathin’s lips were firm and hot. She took to them like kindling to flame as bonfires erupted all over her body. Forgotten was the idea they might be interrupted. Gone were the thoughts she’d entertained in the night of reconsidering her desire to wed Mathin. The feel of his hard body welded to hers, the smooth glide of his back muscles under her hands...everything felt too right to give up. When he wedged his thigh between hers, she moaned. The first deliberate drag against her inner parts lifted her to her toes. Shock waves traveled up her spine and vibrated to the ends of her fingers. It felt like she’d touched lightning. Again he did it, and this time she screamed, glorying in her climax. Mathin pulled back, fierce pride and satisfaction in his expression. He took a steadying breath and pulled her shirt over her head, casting it over his shoulder. Neither watched it fall. His eyes devoured her breasts, barely hidden by her bra. The nipples ached in response. “Mathin?” she asked in a very small voice. It made her self-conscious to stand here like this, yet very excited. Their eyes locked. “I’ve wanted to strip you naked almost from the moment we met. You’ll never know how hard it was for me to stop.” “Don’t stop now.” She blushed as soon as she said it, but the words were out. Would he think her too bold? With a groan he seized her lips, assuring her that he thought no such thing. “Touch me,” he commanded as he released the clasp in the front of her bra. Instantly clumsy, she stammered, “H-how?” Of course she knew how, but she’d never actually done it. What if she did it wrong? He frowned at her curiously, then twined the fingers of his right hand with her left, raising it between them. Each fingertip received a tender kiss. “Like this.” He placed her hand on his waist, then guided it back to cup his buttock. He gave a gentle squeeze. “And this.” He stroked her hand down his thigh. “Just like this.” Slowly he brought her hand to gently cup him, groaning in approval. “I think I may die.” She thought she might, too, but not for the same reason. Was he supposed to be this big? And how could she possibly ask without sounding like a complete ninny? The next moment she felt her own pants slipping down her legs. How had he managed that? Sudden panic made her grab for them. “M-mathin… His hands gently gripped her shoulders, then trailed his fingers over her skin. A gentle nudge slipped the bra straps off, and he slowly skimmed them down to her wrists. Trembling, she ducked her head and held onto her pants for dear life, torn between the need to cover her breasts and the greater one to hide her femininity. Mathin’s thumbs made slow circles on the pad between her thumbs and first fingers, relaxing the muscles until they loosened their death grip. And all the while he was murmuring sweet things in her ear. Enticing, wicked things. “Let me love you, sweetheart. I long for a taste of you. The smooth feel of you as I touch you with my hands, my tongue.” She shivered, and he teased her lips with his, adding a gentle flicker of tongue. “You like that? It gets better.” The tongue dipped deeper. “Hotter.” The next kiss was truly wicked. “Ah... and deeper.” This time his hand dipped between her legs, straight into her wet cleft. She tried to close them, but it was too late. He had possession. Andrea gasped as first one finger, then two eased deep into virgin territory, giving her a taste of what was to come. A comet zapped through her blood, trailing fire, and it was all she could do to stand. In seconds a primal scream of pleasure ripped from deep in her throat as her body arched. More! Another ragged burst of sensation crashed within, lighting up the darkness behind her closed eyes. Dazed, she felt herself being lowered to the blanket. Her pants were whisked away and she hardly cared.  “I’m going to die,” she moaned, delirious with pleasure. “Take me with you,” Mathin commanded, his voice ragged. He removed his teasing hand and gripped her hips, surging deep within. With the suddenness of a record being rudely ripped off, the pleasure stopped. Gasping at the searing pain, she struggled, but he had her firmly pinned. “Wait.” His voice was close to the edge and she instinctively stilled, knowing not to push him now. The symbiont moved, glided down her body and flooded her thighs with gentle warmth. In moments, the pain was gone. “Better?” he asked, his body trembling above hers. At her shy nod he began, very slowly, to move. Surge and withdraw. The gentle tempo of the sea. Soon it was not enough. “More!” She dug her nails into his backside in desperation, feeling as if she might die if he didn’t. Instantly the glide gave way to the thunder of surf, crashing over them both in waves of pleasure. “Yes. Yes! Oh, Mat, yes!”    If he wasn’t dead, he was close enough to heaven not to care. Mathin groaned and let his hand wander over his wife’s backside, unable to help himself. Half draped over him, she gave a sleepy wiggle, her hips instinctively moving against him. Already semi-hard, he strove to remember why he needed to get back and couldn’t think of a single compelling reason. Nothing in his life had prepared him for the blistering heat of his first time with his wife. Nothing came close. Even his most experienced lover had paled in comparison with his innocent sweetheart. Had he only known… Pretty blue eyes, full of slumbering heat, regarded him. She wiggled experimentally on his chest. “More?” Pink stained her cheeks even as she asked the question. How could he refuse? “More,” he answered firmly, and rolled her on her back.   They found Raziel lounging with his back against a tree, within sight of their breakfast camp. He dropped his foot to the ground and uncrossed his arms. As they came abreast of him, he took a deep whiff in Andrea’s direction. “I see we can all toss out our nose filters.” Andrea gave a mortified laugh. These guys were shameless. “Hm,” was all Mathin said. “Congratulations, sister.” Raziel kissed her forehead and handed her something. It was a holstered gun and a knife. “You’ve just married a warlord,” Raziel explained when she looked at him askance. “Believe me, Jasmine came to love hers.” “Er, thank you.” Unsure what else to do with it, she buckled it on. The unfamiliar weight dragged at her pants, forcing her to hitch them up. She felt like a fool. Mathin grinned fondly at her and stroked her cheek. “You’ll get used to it.” She grimaced. “Heaven help me if I ever have to use it. I’d probably get sick all over the victim.” “Here.” Raziel handed her a blue velvet pouch with rainbow-hued flowers embroidered on it. “This is from Jasmine.” A tug of the silver cord opened it. Andrea reached inside and found a card on top. It read, “Dear Andrea, Congratulations on your marriage—I think (grin)! Seriously, try to resist strangling him. The man can be impossible, but you’ll never find a better one. He loves you.” Andrea sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye, angling the card so that Mathin, who was trying to read over her shoulder, couldn’t see it. “I know these things might seem a little odd for a wedding gift, but I know who you’re traveling with. Learn to use them—you never know, they could save your life.” Curious now, Andrea left off reading the note and investigated. Inside was a leather belt with several pouches sewn on it, similar to a commando supply belt. The pouches yielded a fire starter, fishhooks, a poncho, and other survival gear. “I’m starting to wonder about all this,” she muttered, tucking the items away. There was one more thing in the velvet bag. As her fingers closed over the silky material, she knew she’d better peek before pulling it out. What she could see of the rainbow-hued cloth was sheer. The volume of the garment told her without looking that there wasn’t much to it. She consulted the note, and grinned. “What does it say?” She smirked, but couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “She wishes us well.” Mathin’s eyes narrowed. “Then why are you blushing?” Andrea stuffed the note into her shirt. “It’s just girl talk.” Marital advice, more like. Definitely nothing she wanted him to read. “It won’t be safe there,” he practically purred, and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Behave!” She elbowed him in the ribs. He just drew her closer as Raziel laughed and escorted them into the camp. Raziel wasn’t the only one with a gift for them, and she was surprised to discover a feast had been prepared in their absence. Although slightly wary of her, the men were genuinely happy for Mathin and treated her with respect. Although necessarily short, breakfast was merry. Everyone was in a good mood as they prepared to leave. Instead of helping her into the wagon with Matilda, Mathin took her hand and led her to an already saddled stag. The beast turned its face to them, sniffed at Andrea, and snorted full in her face. “Part of my gift to you.” Mathin suppressed a grin as she wiped her face in disgust. “I know you’d rather have a horse, but you do need to have something to ride.” “Tell me something, Mathin,” she asked as the beast turned its hind end in their direction, lifted its barbed tail and very deliberately farted. Andrea backed up a half dozen paces. “You guys have light sabers, laser guns and hover barges. Why don’t you just attach an engine to a barge and get rid of the stags?” “We like them. And unlike your people, the Haunt don’t care to spend their lives in factories making parts.” The obnoxious stag looked over its scaly shoulder and narrowed its eyes on Andrea. Walking was looking better by the moment. “I like cars,” she muttered, but swung up into the saddle anyway. The stag stiffened. She just knew it was going to buck. “Be aggressive with him,” Mathin warned. “Fine!” she snapped, galvanized by anger, partially directed at Mathin. Why would he stick her on a dangerous beast and then leave her to deal with it? She grabbed the beast by its small ear. “Listen up, buttercup! I’m in no mood to be messed with, so you either knock it off or I’ll rip this thing off and kick it around on the ground. You got that?” She felt guilty for saying it, no matter how deep their mutual dislike went, but the stag settled right down. Mathin nodded at her. “Good. As his rider you’re the only one who can win his respect.” She scowled at him. “You could have warned me.” “Forgive me.” He gave her a quick kiss and swung up on his own mount. He didn’t look very sorry. Andrea’s resentment grew as they rode. Hadn’t the intense passion they’d shared this morning meant anything to him? The memory softened her a little. The smiles he kept sending her told her he more than remembered. Anticipation unfurled in her belly. The stag she’d dubbed Buttercup shifted suddenly sideways beneath her, attempting to rub her into a tree. Indignation welled up again as she silently and inexpertly battled it with reins and legs. Mathin wasn’t even watching!   Raziel cut his eyes over to the woman Mathin was pretending not to watch. “She doesn’t seem to be taking well to the Haunt teaching style of benevolent disinterest, Mathin.” Determined not to look, Mathin nodded. “I know. But she’s stubborn and understands the rudiments. The only thing I can tell her is what she already knows. No one wants a nanny standing over them.” At least, Haunt warriors resented it. They’d rather master their problems without a lot of interference. Since he’d never taught a woman to ride, he didn’t know if Haunt women felt the same. He was concerned, of course, and that was the other reason he didn’t look. He was tempted to interfere, and he didn’t want her to lose face in front of the men. Her pride was important to him. Worry nagged at him, but he shook it off. She’d be fine. She was not fine. By the end of the day, Andrea thoroughly hated stags in general and hers in particular. Nor was she feeling kindly toward her new husband. “Get off,” she snarled at him as she dismounted, tossing her reins at him. Not once had he paid attention to her today, except to smile like an idiot, and she didn’t need him now. If he could ignore her as her stag tried to decapitate her by running under branches, sat down on the ground and tried to roll over, plodded when she wanted to canter and cantered when she wanted to walk, then he could just keep it up. She was coming to appreciate her symbiont. At least it healed her backside and kept her muscles limber. It was a fat lot more than Mathin had done. “Andrea…” Sick of his poor treatment, she snatched up a stick from the forest floor and pointed it at him, legs braced. “Get lost,” she told him coldly. “I’m going to wash up in that lake over there. Try to follow me and I’ll turn you into a shish kabob, got it?” “It’s the way we learn to ride,” he said calmly. “If you’d wanted help, you could’ve asked.” She sneered at him. “I shouldn’t have to! But go ahead; enjoy your butt-headed animals. Just don’t expect me to get back on one. From now on, I walk.” She stalked off. The lake was sparkling and beautiful in the light of the lowering sun. With a tired sigh, she sat down and tunneled her hands through her hair. She remembered why she didn’t like the great outdoors; bugs, dirt and unfriendly animals, some of which were human. Sort of. Weary to her core, she rested her elbows on her bent knees and stared at the sand under her feet. How had this day gone downhill so fast? This morning had been heaven; the afternoon, hell. What had changed? Tears pooled in her eyes, and she angrily swiped them away. She was within sight of the camp, and she wasn’t about to let anyone see her cry, especially not him. The first man to go down to the lake and casually strip shocked her. Gape mouthed, she stared as he whisked off his belt and blithely discarded his pants. Face burning, she looked away. She’d forgotten what Jasmine had said about the Haunt’s disregard for nudity. Unwilling to hang around and watch, she rose and moved into the woods where she couldn’t see. It would have been nice to wash, but she would have felt awkward even with a company of women. No way was she going to wash surrounded by naked men. A large redwood provided a good screen between her and the men, and she leaned gratefully against it. Maybe she could get a basin of water and clean up here in the trees. The squawk of her baby griffin, which she hadn’t seen all day—he’d been riding in the wagon with her grandmother—alerted her to Mathin’s presence. “I thought you might like to see him,” he said quietly. She accepted her pet without looking at Mathin. “Hello, Lionheart. Miss me?” She half-heartedly scratched behind his ear. “He’s not the only one.” “Go away, Mathin.” She turned aside. He moved around until he was in front of her. “All men are taught to ride this way. We don’t care to have others watching our mistakes.” “Maybe you’d make less of them if you had a little help.” Exasperated, he took a deep breath. “Stags are nothing like horses, Andrea. If I interfered, your mount would never respect you. Bloodlight nearly killed two Haunt and tried his best to trample me before he acknowledged me as master. The animal I gave you is as tame as they come. He’s obnoxious, but not bloodthirsty. You aren’t in mortal danger.” “I don’t care. I don’t want to learn to ride it. I’d rather walk!” There was only one cure for her defeatist attitude. “I never thought you were weak.” She gasped and rounded on him. “How dare you! It wasn’t my idea to come to your stupid planet in the first place.” She swatted a bug unwise enough to land on her cheek. “Look at this place! It’s barely civilized. I should have run back while I had the chance.” In a low, ominous tone, he told her, “We all have regrets.” He turned and walked away. She watched him go. Had he meant what she thought he’d meant? Had this morning cured his burning desire for her? Had he found her somehow deficient? It was the bugs that finally drove her back to the wagon. Not very hungry, she grabbed a single meat roll and retreated under the wagon canopy with her grandmother. “Rough day?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” She took a huge bite of roll to preclude conversation. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping with Mathin?” “No.” Nonplused, Matilda pursed her lips. “That’s not a good idea.” Determined not to answer, Andrea just kept stuffing her mouth until she was done. “Goodnight, Grandma.” It had to be due to the presence of the Haunt, for miraculously that was all her grandmother had to say on the subject. Determined to shut out the whole miserable day, Andrea closed her eyes and named every kind of pie she’d ever heard of until she fell asleep. The next day was worse. It rained all day. Buttercup managed to deliberately slip and slide in the mud, flinging muck up at his rider with his agile front paws. Twice he grazed her back with his spiked tail. Finally she’d had enough. Leaping down, she grabbed the reins by Buttercup’s muzzle and brandished her knife in his face. “You see this, you stupid beast?” she shouted over the pounding rain. “You pull one more stunt on me and I’m going to castrate you! You ever hear of rocky mountain oysters? Yours are going to be served up on a platter if you don’t knock this crap off.” Ignoring the incredulous stares of her escort, she sheathed the knife and remounted. Buttercup behaved like an angel for the rest of the day. The rain didn’t let up by the time they camped. Wet and miserably cold in spite of her poncho, Andrea crawled, exhausted, into the wagon with Matilda, who’d spent most of the day knitting. “You’ll catch pneumonia at this rate,” her grandmother predicted as she changed behind the closed curtains. “You should go sleep with—” “I’m f-fine,” Andrea cut her off, her teeth chattering. “You’re just as good.” “A scrawny old woman can’t throw off nearly as much body heat as—” “I’ll be fine,” Andrea insisted, trying to talk over her objections. “A randy young man,” Matilda finished stubbornly, raising her voice. “You married him. You should be sleeping with him.” Barely able to censor her words, she said in a low, dangerous tone, “I love you Grandma, but don’t lecture me. I’m a grown woman, and I’ll do what I want. Just because I had the bad sense to stick around here and be taken in by a smooth talking man…” Emotion choked her for a moment. “The only reason I stayed here is for you. Why is a mystery, but I will not be manipulated by you anymore. You want to preach about sins; think of your own first. Now goodnight.” Rolling over, she curled into a fetal position under the covers. Maybe now she’d get some peace. The wagon cover was thrown open and Mathin stuck his head in. “My bed isn’t in here, wife.” He knew she wasn’t happy with him, but this distance she forced between them did them no good. He wouldn’t allow her to sleep with her grandmother again. The miserable night he’d spent previously had convinced him of that. All night long he’d tossed, wanting her in his arms. His dreams had tormented him further, arousing his desire to a fever pitch and waking him yet unfulfilled. The loneliness was the worst. He’d missed her. She would sleep with him tonight. Andrea glared at him in the dark. “That’s right, it’s not.” “Come here, Andrea.” The tone he used was low, but powerful for all that. Reluctantly, she eased out of the blankets and crawled over to him. Instead of helping her down he took her in his arms and carried her the short distance to his tent. Setting her inside, he sealed the door. “Get in bed.” Had she not been so cold, she would have put up more of a fight. Instead she flung back the cover and got in, determined to remain on the edge of the bed. The rustle of discarded clothing sounded in the dark. Naked, he got into bed and immediately pulled her close. Still disgruntled, though his body felt better than she cared to admit, she tried to hold herself away from the hard length poking her in the backside. “Do you mind?” He said nothing, but teased up the edge of her nightgown, tracing a pattern on the thigh beneath. Remembering his explanations of the Haunt’s acute hearing, she silently, but forcefully, shoved it off. It returned, and proved impossible to remove. Angry at his persistence, she rolled over, the better to use both hands to dissuade him. Instead, he pinned her to her back and slid his hand to the place that was secretly wet and ready for him, and had been from the moment he’d summoned her. Andrea gasped as his fingers slid deep, bringing a delight she was helpless to fight. Her hips bucked, ignoring her now faint desire to deny him. His thumb grazed her most sensitive area, wringing a moan from her parted lips. “Little liar,” he whispered, and took her mouth with his. Their loving was angry and needy, tender yet fierce. Time and again she had bury her face in his shoulder to muffle her screams of pleasure. If possible, it was even better than the first time. He deliberately made it last for a long, long while. When they were finished she was naked, sweaty, unable to move. Limp and exhausted, she lay draped over his chest where he’d put her. Though she couldn’t forget her lingering resentment at him, he’d certainly proved she still wanted him. Still, the original problem remained unresolved. Mathin stroked her silken back, temporarily sated, but unhappy. She still hadn’t forgiven him. Inexperienced as he was with long term relationships, he also recognized she might be feeling neglected. Sex wouldn’t solve that. Tomorrow he would see what could be done.   “We’re moving just ahead of the rains,” Mathin explained the next morning. Andrea was seated in front of him on Bloodlight at his insistence. They traveled in the rear of the column for increased privacy. “We won’t have many more sunny days such as this.” Dappled sunlight poured through the mixed conifer and leafy trees, which faded as they climbed into the foothills. “The plains—and our lands—begin on the other side of these mountains. The citadel itself is only four days from here, but our holdings continue to the edge of the swamp.” She’d been quiet until now, uncertain whether to be pleased he had come for her last night or not. “You’re very casual about owning what is to me a huge amount of land.” “We hold it and protect it for the Haunt who live there,” he explained, tucking a strand of her braided hair behind her ear. “In exchange for this we are given certain rights and privileges. The only land we actually claim as our own is all the land around the citadel, within an hour’s ride in any direction.” “What rights?” “Not enough for the price you pay,” Raziel said. He’d become increasingly grim as their journey continued. Before she could question him further he kicked his stag into a canter and rode ahead. “What’s his problem?” “Don’t mind him. He’ll grow surlier the closer we get to his own holdings. Bad memories.” He was silent a moment, remembering. “Raziel was once feared as the most devastating warrior in the realm. Not only did he have a wicked temper, he was the best of the best—a warrior’s warrior. “Forty years ago, things here were not as settled. Jayems has been working to maintain peace for the last fifteen years, like his father before him. Before that, we had many clan wars, lots of upheaval. “There were many men who coveted Raziel’s reputation and wished to defeat him. Not all of them cared if they earned it in the arena or outside it. One day several of them from a large family known for its shiftiness ambushed him and his younger brother. They captured the boy and forced Raziel to surrender to save his life. The boy tried to get home, but died of his wounds before he made it.” There was a grim pause. “His remains were not found for weeks.” Andrea drew in a shuddering breath. “What happened to Raziel?” “They tortured him for days, then rolled his body into a ravine. They thought he was dead—their mistake. I don’t know how he survived. By the time he’d crawled out and I found him he was such a bloody wreck...” He took a deep breath, censoring the worst of the tale. She didn’t need to know what the scavenger birds had done to Raziel’s body, or about the maggots. The bones of his feet had been crushed, as had his hands and fingers. Once Raziel’s face had been as famed as his sword. It was a wonder he’d had a face left by the time he was discovered. Haunt might heal without scars, but there was only so much disfiguration their bodies could heal without surgery, which Raziel had refused. “Shortly after Raziel recovered, he disappeared for a time. One by one the men who’d killed his brother and tortured him disappeared, too.” “Raziel got them.” The words barely emerged from her tight throat. Poor Raziel. “He didn’t torture them, did he?” Silence. “Mathin? He didn’t, did he?” “He didn’t repay them for everything they did,” was all he would say. Some things were not for a woman’s ears. “When the full extent of what he’d survived was discovered, the Haunt began to call him the Immortal, and still do.” He snorted. “I think he likes it. Certainly he plays on the name to retain his privacy. Even women avoid him now.” “Jasmine doesn’t.” His voice softened. “Jasmine is very special.” She gave him a suspicious look over her shoulder, and he playfully nipped her ear. “Not as special as you are.” His hands roamed over her thighs. “Stop that!” she hissed, darting a look at the Haunt just ahead of them. She clamped her hands over his, but they continued to roam, stoking fires. “This is mean, Mathin. There’s nowhere to finish this.” Relenting, he stopped tormenting her. This was no place to pull off and indulge. “Later.” “Maybe,” she muttered. His fingers twitched on her thighs. “Ok! Later!” She had no doubt he’d start up again if she didn’t quickly agree, and she didn’t relish the thought of making out under the still dripping trees. Privately, she admitted Mathin’s attentiveness was reassuring. Perhaps it had been only the “riding lessons” that had caused his distance, though she thought it was a really stupid way to teach. Maybe the warriors here really did prefer to learn that way, but she’d lay odds the women didn’t. She’d have to ask some questions when they got where they were going. She didn’t like thinking about it much. As Mathin’s wife she was now a lady of rank, and the idea terrified her. She didn’t know what was expected of her, and life as the daughter of a blue-collar worker and a stay at home mom had hardly prepared her. “Uh, Mathin?” “Hm?” “Is there a lot of protocol and stuff I ought to know? I mean, I’m not exactly princess material.” He laughed and nuzzled her throat. “You’ll do fine, my love. Don’t worry so.” Andrea shrugged her shoulder, dislodging him. “I’m serious! What’s expected of a...what am I now, anyway?” “Lady wife. And as for what’s expected...you can have charge of running the household affairs of the citadel, if you like.” “You want me to be a housewife?” she inquired dryly. It didn’t sound like much of a challenge. She felt him smile against her cheek. “Our household consists of the entire staff and garrison, though I’ll be happy to assign someone else to deal with the garrison if it overwhelms you. Traditionally the chatelaine oversees the supplying of the household from garden and field, orchards, livestock and the hunt. You’ll have direct supervision of laundresses and household staff. There are budgets to see to and household and grounds improvements. In addition, the lady of the manor often works with the clergy, seeing to the care of orphans, widows and the disabled.” He paused a moment. “If that doesn’t seem like enough, I’m sure I could find something else as well.” She choked. “Is it humanly possible for one person to do all that and still stay sane?” “I don’t know about humanly possible,” he teased, “but it should keep you out of trouble.” “While you ride around, bash bad guys with your sword and rescue damsels in distress, right?” “Exactly.” The foothills got steeper until they were traveling through a crack on the top of the mountain four riders wide. Wind whistled through the pass, whipping her hair into Mathin’s face until he handed her a colorful silk scarf to secure it under. She looked at him inquiringly. It didn’t seem like something a guy would carry around. He smiled. “I came prepared.” That was thoughtful. “Thanks.” As she looked up from tying it on, she gasped. Raised carvings of beast-headed men and women decorated the stone. Crumbling with age, they still showed exquisite workmanship. “What is that?” Mathin glanced at the rock. There were several scenes depicting the characters gardening, warring against giant reptiles and building cities. “They were here when we arrived. Legend has it they predate the arrival of the Symbiont People.” She whipped around to look at him. “Predate...you mean there’s someone else on this planet?” Pleased to discuss one of his favorite subjects, he told her, “Not that we’ve seen. Both Jaymes’s citadel and mine were abandoned for many years before the Haunt took over. But the Symbionts are now at war with something they call ‘the Beasts’. They are very secretive about their business—possibly because they fear revealing weakness to us—but we do know these Beasts have driven them from the cities they built beyond the swamps. Since no one wants the swamps, it’s doubtful the war will continue if they stay within its borders, but I’d like to know what drove them there. It must be powerful, for even the Haunt found the Symbionts a challenge.” “I feel sorry for them. Being stuck in a swamp must be miserable.” “And dangerous,” he agreed, thinking of the huge reptiles that lived there. “But they’ve had centuries to learn to survive there. I doubt any army could drive them from their home ground.” She studied the giant carvings. “I guess it wouldn’t scare you, their having animal heads and stuff.” “Because I am a Haunt?” He shook his head. “I’m also a man, Andrea. No one trusts the unknown.” Afraid she’d hurt him, she shifted uncomfortably. “I just thought you’d be a little more used to it, is all.” She shivered as he drew his nails lightly up her right triceps. Did he realize just how erotic she found his slightest touch? “There are certain things I hope I never get used to,” he murmured playfully. “What do you think? Could there ever be anything other than sparks in the union of a Haunt and his charmer?” “Couldn’t happen,” she agreed, already half-drugged with desire. Before he could torment them both further, he broke off and straightened in the saddle. It had been years since he’d had such a difficult time of keeping his hands to himself. Blame it on the newness of his marriage, the effect of her pheromone, but he suspected it was the woman herself. What was she doing to him? “I love you, you know.” Andrea stiffened. Where had that come from? Unprepared for the admission, she panicked. Did he expect a declaration in return? Events had happened so fast she wasn’t sure what she felt for him. Desire, always. Incredible respect. Liking, even deep affection. But love?  “I…” “You love me,” he said confidently. “You might not be sure of it yet, but I am.” She turned to look at him. “How do you know?” “Your body talks. Your eyes speak. Even Raziel the Cynical has remarked on it.” “He could be wrong.” “Who are you trying to convince?” Good question. She didn’t know why the idea of loving him was so scary. Perhaps because he was larger than life? There was no way she could measure up. He’d be disappointed, and she’d feel guilty. “Maybe you…” What could she tell him? That he shouldn’t love her? He took pity on her, stroked her shoulder. “Give yourself time, my love. My people have an advantage over yours, for when we take on the Haunt we speak with our hands, our bodies and our eyes. We’re rarely fooled, unlike humans who must rely on words. I know what you feel, even if you don’t.” Shaken by his insight, she remained silent. How could he possibly know her better than she knew herself? They stopped early that evening. No doubt bored with the journey, Matilda advanced on Andrea where she sat by the fire. In one hand she held a ball of varicolored yarn, the other, a hook. “Here,” she said, thrusting the ball and hook at Andrea. “It’s time you learned to crochet.” Aghast, Andrea stared at the items as if they were instruments of torture. “Don’t you remember? I nearly flunked sewing.” Visions of ugly granny squares danced in her head. Matilda sniffed. “Every self-respecting woman should know how to crochet and sew. Besides, where do you think you’re going to find baby clothes in this wasteland? There are no stores.” A flush of heat warmed Andrea from her shoulders to the tips of her ears. “Grandma!” “Don’t be a ninny, girl. I know what you’ve been up to. Now be quiet and listen.” Someone coughed, and there was more than one muffled snicker, hastily choked off. Cowed by embarrassment, Andrea shut up. To her surprise, she found she enjoyed the lesson. There was something fascinating about taking a ball of yarn and a stick and making something from it. Best of all, she could simply tug on the string and undo any mistakes she might make. “What are you making?” Mathin sat down beside her, carrying two plates. One he handed to Matilda, the other to his wife, who eagerly took it. “Thank you. Aren’t you going to eat?” “In a moment.” He picked up her project and studied it. “It’s going to be a blanket,” she told him, feeling shy. After all, they hadn’t used protection either time they’d...she might just need it. He hesitated. Much as he enjoyed Jasmine’s children, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to have any of his own. There were things he had yet to tell Andrea about his bloodline. Besides, even with the help of her symbiotic, there was no guarantee they could conceive. “Jasmine is the first human woman ever to bear a the child of a Haunt. Always before, on the rare occasions when a human woman did conceive a child, it miscarried. I don’t know that we can—” “Bosh!” Matilda interrupted, setting down her empty plate. She picked up her crochet—a tiny little bootie. “It won’t be for lack of sneaking off in the bushes.” Oblivious to Andrea’s intense embarrassment, she added, “Besides, the woman in our family are fertile Myrtles. Once is all it takes. I swear all my sister had to do was wash her husband’s shorts and—” “Grandma!” She’d never seen this side of her grandma and would have preferred to remain ignorant. “Mark my words, you’ll have a strapping young son by this time next year.” Uncomfortable, Mathin rose, taking Matilda’s empty plate. “Glad to know you’re confident,” he muttered, then beat a hasty retreat. “Quite a surprise, isn’t she?” Raziel remarked as he joined him at the cook fire. Firelight played over his face. “Pity she’s not a Haunt.” Surprised, Mathin raised a brow. Raziel shrugged. “We are of an age.” A slow grin curved Mathin’s mouth. He looked at Matilda with speculation. “I wonder what a symbiont could do to erase some of the marks of time for her? Who knows? If she’s anything like her grandchild…” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, Raziel considered Matilda from across the fire. “She has red hair.” It was easy to tell he liked the idea. “How would we do it?” Pleased to see his friend interested in a woman after more years than he cared to count, Mathin clapped him on the back. “I’ll think on it. If it works, you’ll have a challenge on your hands.” Raziel’s smile was wicked. “Is there anything better?”   “You want me to what?” Andrea lifted her head from Mathin’s naked chest and stared at him. The walls of his tent provided visual privacy, but she kept her voice very low. “Think of her health,” Mathin suggested innocently. She snorted. “I’m thinking of the tongue-lashing I’d get if I ever tried such a thing.” “It’s for her own good. She’s an old woman, in human years at least. You wouldn’t want her to sicken on you.” Indignant now, she tried to sit up, but his arm around her waist prevented her. “Of course not, but I don’t see why you don’t go find her a symbiont. After all, it’s your idea and you should be the one to suffer the consequences.” “Won’t have time,” he said reasonably. “The symbionts are deep in the swamps, and I’ll have enough to do just preventing chaos at the citadel. This will be much easier, trust me.” Defeated by logic, she reluctantly lay back down. “I don’t know about this.” But she knew she’d do it anyway.     CHAPTER 10   “Good morning, Andrea.” “Hi, Grandma.” If Andrea’s voice lacked enthusiasm, she couldn’t help it. Mathin and Raziel had taken up stations nearby—Raziel against the wagon on her right and Mathin to the left—and watched her expectantly. She didn’t know what Raziel’s stake in this was beside curiosity, but they were making her nervous. “Sleep good?” “Like a baby.” Her wide smile only increased Andrea’s guilt. Her eyes cut to Mathin. “Great.” Galvanized by his frown, she took a step nearer. “Please remember I’m your only surviving kin and your favorite grandchild,” she said in a rush, and grabbed her grandmother’s wrist in a death grip, willing half of the symbiont to go to her. In a flash, the symbiont on her right wrist crossed the gap. Matilda screeched and jumped back, batting at the writhing symbiont. Undeterred, it twined around her body, wriggled under her clothes. Curious, the Haunt stared. All the while she danced around, screaming at the top of her lungs. “Help! Get it off me!” Alarmed, Andrea took a step back, as much to distance her from the crime as to avoid the flailing limbs. As abruptly as she’d started, Matilda jerked to a halt. Bent over, she clutched her knees and panted, her deep, rich red hair hanging down and obscuring her face. A fission of unease shook Andrea. Moments before, Matilda’s hair had been faded tangerine. Matilda lifted her head. Shock turned Andrea to stone. Seeming no older than Andrea and far more beautiful, Matilda’s youthful, deep blue eyes narrowed on her only grandchild. “What did you do?”  Startled by her own voice, she looked down, confirming the damage. Hands trembling, she lifted them. The age spots and fragile look of raised veins had completely disappeared. One hand flew to her mouth, the back pressed against her lips. Scared at Matilda’s drastic reaction, Andrea quickly fetched a mirror, hoping to reassure her. “It’s okay, Grandma. The symbiont just made you young again.” Matilda took the glass and stared at it, stone still. Then she threw it, shattering it against the side of the wagon, narrowly missing Raziel’s thigh. “How could you?” Tears of fury welling in her eyes, she rushed past Andrea and into the woods. “I’ll go after her.” Raziel took off in pursuit. Shaken, Andrea hugged herself. Even Mathin’s comforting arm around her shoulders didn’t help. “I never meant to hurt her,” she whispered. Mathin pressed his lips to her hair. All that day Matilda ignored her. As for the Haunt...they couldn’t keep their eyes off her. Raziel in particular received more than one black look as Matilda caught him staring, his eyes a little lower than her face. Caught, he merely raised one brow and returned his attention to the path descending the mountain. Deprived of her target, Matilda glared at Andrea. “I’m beginning to think I was conned,” Andrea hissed to Mathin in disgust, taking her guilt and passing it on in the form of displeasure. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?” Unperturbed, he answered, “No, but I can’t help but notice your grandmother looks very healthy.” “You’re a jerk, you know that? How could you notice something like that?” He sighed. “Sweetheart, stop snarling. Although this possessiveness is flattering, you don’t need it. One siren is all I can handle, and all I want.” Her emotions had been on a seesaw all day, ever since she’d given half the symbiont to Matilda. Suddenly she couldn’t handle it. She burst into tears and tried to leap off of Bloodlight. “I hate you!” Startled, Mathin wrapped his arms around her and refused to let her go. “What is it?” “Let me go! Let go!”  The panic attack, something she hadn’t experienced since being adopted by the symbiont, hit hard. Intellectually she knew what was happening, but emotionally she had to get away. Fighting him with every ounce of strength, she twisted in his arms, causing the rest of the Haunt to halt and stare. It only made things worse. “Let go of me!” she screamed, tears racing down her face. “What’s wrong with her?” Raziel demanded, cutting a sharp look at Matilda as if she knew the answer. She did. “Let her go, Mathin! It’s a panic attack. Something triggered her hypoglycemia.” “She might hurt herself,” he protested, undecided. Andrea tried to bite him. “No! She just needs space and quiet to calm down. Let her go.” He opened his arms. Immediately Andrea raced into the woods, ducked behind a tree. “Find something for her to eat. Meat and vegetables, fruit, anything but sugar. It will only make it worse later.” Matilda jumped from the wagon and followed Andrea. She peeked behind the tree and moved back to wait on the other side. The sound of distant sobbing made Mathin flinch. Dismounting, he rummaged in his saddlebags for his stash of spicy dried meat and vegetable chips. Holding it in his hand, he stared at the tree hiding his wife, feeling completely useless. Raziel joined him. “It might have to do with dividing the symbiont. It might have shocked her system. The creature wasn’t fully mature yet, and probably can’t handle the load.” His lips compressed in a tight line, Mathin nodded. “I hadn’t considered it might reduce the healing affect on her body.” Guilt racked him. It was the kind of thing he should have foreseen. “It will regrow. It might even be it will happen just this once,” Raziel tried to assure him. “Besides, if anyone should feel guilty, it should be me. I was the one who wanted—“ “This won’t help, Raziel,” he interrupted. If all she needed were time for the symbiont to regrow, he would give her time. In the meanwhile he would take better care of her. It was the very least she deserved. Curled into a ball behind the tree, Andrea wished she could die. It was so humiliating to fall apart like that in front of a crowd of witnesses. If she were just a little stronger, she’d always felt, just a little more determined, she could beat it. But it never worked. Often it was all she could to hold herself together as she was driving or in public. In spite of her best efforts the attacks would come, sometimes due to slips in her diet, others to stress. Around her periods or with colds had always been the worst, and she dreaded those times. Sometimes her spirits and health had sunk so low as to trigger suicidal thoughts. Even knowing the depression was a hazard of her condition didn’t halt it.  Now Mathin had witnessed her falling apart. Her lips tightened with self-directed anger and shame. If he scorned her, she’d cry inside. If he treated her as if she were made of spun glass, it would be even worse. She wanted him to pretend it never happened. More than one doctor had accused her of making it up to get attention or recommended a psychiatrist, and as a result she was paranoid of making a scene. No one in her right mind wanted to be stared at like a circus freak. Brush crackled as Matilda rounded the tree, dried food in hand. She extended it to Andrea. “Here. I brought you something to eat.” Nauseous at the very thought, Andrea turned her face away. She knew she needed it, but she rarely felt like eating when she had to. Still, it was either eat it or sink into a dangerous state on the edge of consciousness. She sighed and forced herself to take it. An old hand at riding out hypoglycemic attacks, Matilda remained quiet and let her eat. Only after some of the dullness left Andrea’s eyes and she sat straighter did she offer her hand. “Come on. We’ll close the curtains to the wagon so you can get some sleep. No one will bother you.” Grateful for someone else capable of making decisions for her clouded mind, Andrea took the hand and heaved herself up. All she wanted to do was hide in a hole until she got better. A root tripped her up, and Matilda immediately placed a supporting hand under her elbow. Grateful for the help, Andrea looked up—and saw Mathin coming toward her, concern on his face. She stumbled in her haste to avoid him. “No.” Confused, he stopped. “I just want—” “No! I’m fine. I don’t need help.” Before he could stop her, she stumbled to the wagon and clambered up the ladder. Concerned, Mathin tried to follow. Matilda grabbed his arm. “Don’t. You’ll just make it worse. Give her body time to stop torturing her and then she’ll talk. Right now it’s all she can do to hold together.” They both watched as the curtains on the wagon were jerked shut. “I’ll ride with her and keep an eye on her. I promise she’ll be fine.” Maybe, but as the day wore on his mood grew darker. It wasn’t in his nature to worry. This thing with Andrea was different, and he was determined to learn all there was to know about her condition. Next time he would know exactly what to do. She was his responsibility. Late that afternoon Andrea woke from a light doze, shaken from her slumber by the absence of motion. Curious, and feeling much better, she opened the curtains to look out. She drew in a sharp breath, surprised by the sight of the valley below. Like the prongs of a ring, ready for the diamond, the stone walls of a city rose. Round, it was set on an unnatural plateau in the land, perhaps the flattened remnants of a hill. The rest of the broad valley ran flat and nearly treeless to the distant tops of towering trees. Before the city was a village. Gardens and orderly groups of trees, possibly orchards, surrounded sturdy stone houses. Ant-like people roaming or riding about on wagons stacked high with hay or crates magnified the impression. Must be harvest time. Thunder rumbled in the roiling clouds overhead, signaling danger. “Are you all right?” She looked at Mathin, who’d pulled Bloodlight to a stop beside the wagon. “Yes,” she answered sheepishly, feeling foolish for her earlier...display. “I’m sorry for—” Taking pity on her, he reached out and caressed her cheek, raising her face. “I spoke with Matilda about it, and she told me what I can do next time.” His thumb traced a line from her cheekbone to her lips. “I dislike being helpless,” he admitted softly. Eyes lowered, Andrea gave her head a slight shake. “I’m sorry you got stuck with such a raw deal.” “Don’t ever say that again!” She flinched at the emotion in his voice. Intense dark eyes bored into hers. “I chose you, wife. I love you. Don’t ever imply it wasn’t anything but the best thing to happen to me. Do you understand?” Unsure what to say, she nodded. Besides, she couldn’t have spoken past the sudden lump in her throat. Mathin nodded at the walled city. “Our citadel. The people hurry to finish the harvest before the storms arrive in earnest. Once the hurricanes hit, the fields will be ruined and it will be dangerous to stray far from shelter. Don’t expect to draw a lot of attention as we ride in. Sometimes every minute counts.” “Good.” The last thing she wanted was a bunch of strangers staring at her. He looked quizzical for a moment, and then grinned. “I forget you’re not the typical lady. Many I know would be greatly offended at being virtually ignored.” She shrugged. “If I’d wanted the media’s attention I would have moved to Hollywood. Let’s go. I’d like to sit on something that doesn’t move.” Mathin hadn’t been kidding. They drew very little notice from the harvesters as they rode in, save for one man. “My lord.” An older man, well past middle age but not yet frail, approached their party as they rode toward the citadel gates. His frosted hair hung to his shoulders, the strands gleaming in the pre-storm light. A neatly trimmed beard clung to his strong jaw. “I’m glad to see you came so quickly.” As if undecided, he looked over his brown clad shoulder, frowned. “I think this is important enough I can spare a few minutes to speak with you.” Mathin dismounted. “Speak while you work. My wife and I will join you, though she won’t be able to help. She’s been ill.” He signaled for Raziel to take their party into the citadel, leaving two men behind, ostensibly to help, but also to provide extra protection for Andrea. “I’ll help, too,” Matilda put in, jumping from the wagon. “I’ve always loved harvest time.” The interested look she cast at the overseer put a frown on Raziel’s face, but he led the men into the citadel anyway. Mathin knew he’d be back the moment they were settled. He put his arm on Andrea’s shoulders. “Andrea, this is our overseer, Tomlin. Tomlin, my lady wife, Andrea.” Something shifted in the depths of Tomlin’s eyes, a reaction too quickly squelched for Andrea to peg. Wary of it, but willing to be polite, she extended her hand to shake. Tomlin took it and placed a perfunctory kiss on the back, dropping it swiftly after. “And this is Andrea’s elder, Matilda,” Mathin continued, unsurprised by Tomlin’s disinterest. Andrea’s pheromone had been tamed, and it would take time to convince the people here that he held her in higher esteem than his father had held his mother. Offended by Tomlin’s treatment of Andrea, Matilda merely nodded at him. Unfazed, Tomlin led the way to a hedge of orange, shiny fruit and began loading them into the half-full basket. Matilda claimed another basket and Andrea moved to help her. Mathin took her arm and frowned. “I’m fine,” she assured him. “The nap did me good, and I’d like to help.” Reluctantly, he released her. “As you wish, but if you feel the slightest bit ill…” “I’ll tell you,” she promised, and got to work. “Your father’s brothers and your cousins have argued for some time over who should succeed you should you die without issue.” Tomlin looked at Andrea as he picked and raised his brows. “Not yet.” Mathin said quietly. He wouldn’t have Andrea pressured into an attempt to conceive. A grunt expressed Tomlin’s thoughts on that. “Pity. One of your more hotheaded cousins has stepped forward to assume the roll. Although no one’s officially endorsed his claim, none have refuted it. He’s made much noise about assuming your duties in your absence. We expect him to make a show here before the storms hit.” “Do you?” Mathin asked, very softly. Instead of backing down, Tomlin looked him full in the face. “There were some who doubted you’d come, but I sent for you. It’s fortunate for us all that you came before he got entrenched.” “You couldn’t have closed the citadel against him? Are you not my caretaker?” The conversation was making Mathin angrier by the minute. How difficult was it to enter the citadel, lock the gate and raise the shield? “By myself?” Tomlin stared at him in challenge. “Your father left the people with a bad taste for the lordship, and you never stayed to change it. For all they know you carry his seeds, just waiting to bloom. Don’t expect an overseer to change what only you can do.” Andrea froze. Mathin was so still he might have been carved of ice. “No time like the present,” Mathin finally said in a dangerous tone, his temper barely in check. He walked away. Andrea watched him stalking down the lane of bushes and trees, seemingly intent on inspecting the picker’s progress. Concerned for him and disliking Tomlin’s attitude, she demanded, “What does his father have to do with anything?” Tomlin wouldn’t look at her. “You’ll have to ask him, milady.” Fat chance, with him in his present mood. With a sigh of frustration she resumed picking. At least she’d be sleeping in a decent bed tonight.   Or not. “What a dump.” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, had even muttered it under her breath, but Mathin whipped his head around and glared. “Sorry!” She put her hands in the air, palms out to pacify him. Even so, now that the words were out, she might as well express her opinion. “I know you said no one’s been in charge here since your sister took off last year, and it looks like it’s been vandalized.” The spacious hall was a disaster of chipped stone tiles and broken glass from the high, narrow windows. Runes had been painted onto the walls. She might not be able to read them, but if they were anything like the graffiti back home, she wasn’t missing much. Debris crunched under her feet as she made her way to the hacked up table and smashed chairs. She was no expert, but even she could tell the slashes were fresh. Besides, it didn’t take a genius to note that the rotten, crusted remains of food scattered around and crawling with insects was semi-fresh. Maybe four days old? “Someone had one heck of a party.” “And forgot to use the facilities,” Matilda added with disgust, wrinkling her nose at the stench of stale urine. “It’s going to take charcoal to lift the smell out of this mortar.” “It’s worse than that,” Raziel reported grimly, striding into the hall. “The bedrooms are just at bad—all thirteen of them. Every scrap of food in the storerooms is ruined, the chimneys are blocked and the water pipes are broken. I think the only thing in the citadel left untouched is the force field generator. Someone was very determined to starve us out.” Swearing, Mathin turned away. His wife flinched from him when she caught sight of his glowing golden eyes, which further fouled his mood. “We have what? Two weeks worth of supplies with us, maybe days before a storm whips up, and at least a month before it’s marginally safe to venture far enough to hunt.” Nor was it safe—or wise—to go back. No telling who would be in the citadel when he returned. “There’ll be a small tithe from the harvest today. The rest had already been stored in here,” Tomlin was unwise enough to point out. Near ready to strangle him, Mathin fingered the hilt of his sword. Tomlin had more than proved his incompetence. “We will go hunting,” he said in a soft voice, eyes narrowed to slits. “And I will purchase extra animals from the village and what supplies can be had. Andrea.” His tone softened a bit as he looked at her. “Stay near Raziel while I’m gone, and those he puts in charge of you. It’s not safe to wander around. You, too, Matilda.” He sent a disgusted look at the mess around him. “And I hate to ask it of you, but could you see to fixing what you can here? There might be young women in the village for hire. Sort through them and find ones you can work with.” The fire had begun to fade in his eyes, until he took a step and something squished under his boot. Instantly the flame was back. Without another word, he turned and stalked away, several Haunt falling in behind them. A little miffed that he didn’t say goodbye, even though she understood his temper, Andrea placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the mess. “Cleaning supplies, Tomlin?” He glared at her. “I’ve clearly been dismissed, milady. You’ll have to ask someone else.” He left. “Did I miss something here?” she demanded, wondering what his problem was. Mathin hadn’t said a word about firing him. “Mathin gave his duties to you,” Raziel supplied, nudging a chunk of plate aside with his boot. “I doubt he could have been plainer.” Shaking her head, Andrea went in search of a broom. “Where are you going?” Puzzled, she halted and looked him. “I’ve got to get something to clean this up.” He slowly shook his head. “I don’t think you grasp the scope of your new duties. You’ve got far too much to do to finish by yourself, and Mathin never meant for you to be down on your knees scrubbing. We’ll go to the village, hire girls with mops, buy supplies and return here so you can take a tour and see what else needs to be done.” Since he seemed to know more of what was expected than she did, Andrea followed him into the village, doing most of the talking at his insistence. Soon she had four girls and a strapping young man marching off to the castle to battle the chaos under Matilda’s supervision. “You’re going to have to advise me here,” she told him as they looked over the “yak” pens. The sheep-sized creatures milled about, completely unaware of their future as dinner guests. “I have no idea how many we need or how much to pay.” She frowned. “For that matter, Mathin didn’t leave any money.” He shook his head. “You’ve got to make yourself known now as a woman who knows what she’s doing and has the authority to do it.” He named an amount she should pay for each animal and explained how to barter to achieve it. Reluctant but resigned, she strode up to the man in charge of this particular pen and began to haggle. An hour and a thirteen yak-beasts, twenty domesticated birds and something she dubbed a hippo-cow later, she headed back to the citadel, feeling much more confident. Shopping wasn’t all that bad with Raziel along to give her pointers. Too bad he seemed to regard it as annoying as having teeth drilled. One thing she wondered, though. “How come you guys have this cow thing here, but Jasmine said the Haunt had no dairy animals?” “They don’t at Jayems’s citadel or anywhere else, for that matter,” Raziel explained, his eyes searching the path for danger even on the short walk back. “The milk beast is very stupid, its milk quite sweet. Not many Haunt tolerate them or care to drink their secretions. This province is unique in that.” “Their secretions? You have a way with words, Raz.” “Thank you, And.” Shooting him a sly glance, she asked, “Would you let Matilda call you that?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Do you care?” Aware what he really was asking was whether she objected, she shrugged. “It’s none of my business, but I’m curious anyway. How’s that for an answer?” A touch of pensiveness entered his expression. “She was angry about the return of her youth. She loved your grandfather very much, has been lonely without him. She cursed the extra years she’d have to live before she could be with him again.” “I didn’t know,” she whispered. Matilda rarely spoke of her Grandpa Bob, and she’d never mentioned anything about loneliness. Guilt swamped her. Worse, Raziel’s obvious distress over the situation opened her blind eyes. “You like her a lot, don’t you?” His jaw tightened. “I dislike competing with a dead man.” She could sympathize. “Still, I think she likes you.” “Do you?” She had his interest now. Waving a confident hand in the air, she said, “Sure. No woman makes such a fuss over a guy she could care less about. You rattle her. Besides,” she confided in a low tone, “ever since she got back her youth I’ve noticed her checking out your butt.” The Haunt to either side of them coughed. Coloring, he muttered, “Do me a favor and stop trying to whisper. I have yet to see it work.” “Sorry.” She grinned, only half-repentant. Raziel and Matilda would be good for each other, and it was fun to tease him. “So will I be calling you Grandpa?” He choked. “And how are you at changing diapers?” Looking dazed and more than a little cross, he walked faster. “You’d better hope Mathin gets back before I decide to beat you, wench.” “Tsk.” She laughed, but decided not to tease him anymore. He really did look miffed, but she couldn’t help being happy at the prospect of watching romance bloom. The giddiness faded as she entered the hall and remembered all of the work yet to be done. “Milady! You must come look at this.” A frantic young woman in braids ran up to her, gripping her skirt in her hands. “The pantry is crawling with vermin and beetles. Everything is spoiled!” “How big are the beetles?” Andrea asked warily. If it was anything bigger than an Oreo cookie she wasn’t going to touch it. “Feeder beetle larva!” Andrea felt herself turn green. “Um, why don’t you get that brave young man over there to help you? It doesn’t sound like the sort of trouble a woman ought to wade into alone.” Clearly relieved, the girl went to commission help. “Ready for the inner gardens?” Raziel asked, smiling slightly at her reaction to the bug news. “Why not?” It can’t be worse.” True, there were no big maggots in the one acre garden, but it was choked with weeds, and except for a few beds of perennial vegetables and the fruit trees and vines trained against the walls, it had not been planted. She cupped a scaled fruit in her hand and weighed it on the vine. “At least this fruit looks okay. We’ll have to muck out the kitchens in record time and process what won’t keep. Do we have enough fuel for the kitchens and power system?” “Good question. I’ll check and deal with it,” Raziel volunteered. The weedy stone paths and wild beds drew her attention next. “Some of this stuff seems to have re-seeded itself. I think we can prune some of it back and still use it. Do you think there are any plants left in the gardens and fields outside that we could dig up and transplant in here? And fertilizer...we’ll need to find the tools…” Muttering to herself, she went in search of something to write her ever-growing list on. By the time she sat down to a simple dinner of stew and flatbread with Matilda and Raziel, she was almost too tired to eat. Matilda wasn’t much better. They’d put in a hard day cleaning up the worst of the citadel, making it livable if not cozy. New bedding covered the two mattresses they’d been able to scrounge up, with more promised for delivery over the next several days. Jell candles lit the table, since the lighting system still wasn’t repaired. Even the table was only a makeshift affair, nothing more than a couple of wide planks propped on boxes. More crates served as seats. Mathin still hadn’t come home. It wasn’t very good, but Andrea finished her stew anyway, too hungry to worry about it. With luck, she could find someone with a little more talent to cook tomorrow. Unfortunately, she had far too much to do to even think about doing it herself. The best she could likely do was a quick tour of the kitchens before she had to see to the gardens. Now that the cellars and pantries had been cleaned out, they’d need to be restocked. Andrea closed her eyes and rubbed them with the heels of her palms. “How would you like to be chatelaine, Grandma?” It was odd calling the young redhead that, but Matilda had insisted. The title was still hers, no matter how she looked. Matilda raised a brow. “Would I be doing less work than I already am?” She fed Lionheart, who sat in her lap, another tidbit. “I’m sure it will be easier as soon as we get this mess under control. Just think of it as housekeeping on a grander scale.” Andrea groaned. “My dream come true. Housekeeping. Hah! I feel like I’m running the Windsor Hotel.” “You’re just tired,” Matilda said with sympathy. “Go on up to bed. I’m sure Mathin will be home soon. Wait for him someplace comfortable.” Good advice. Collecting Lionheart, Andrea mumbled a good night and trudged up the stairs. The room she’d chosen was the largest available, easily big enough to accommodate a massive bed and a wood framed couch, presently stripped of cushions. Steps led up to the high bed frame, and she dearly hoped she wouldn’t tumble out. The curtains on the deep, wide windows leading to the balcony she left open, unwilling to let Mathin stumble in the dark when he came in. With a groan of satisfaction, she climbed under the covers, snuggled Lionheart to her tummy, and shut her eyes. Sleep didn’t come right away. In spite of her exhaustion, the strangeness of her surroundings pulled at her. It would have been much easier had Mathin been there. The knowledge troubled her. When had he become home? The silence cocooned her, shut out distractions. Memories tumbled in her mind, then sorted into a logical progression as she examined them. Yes, there it was. Why hadn’t she seen that even when she’d been angry with Mathin for tricking her into the Dark Lands, she’d looked to him for comfort? Even Matilda hadn’t made her feel that way, so it ruled out mere familiarity, though it had to be a part of it. He’d been in control of the situation, protective of her from the first. No one, not even her mother, had ever done more. He was a very special man, and he’d married her. Sworn he wanted no other. Tears pricked her eyes. Maybe it was time she grew up and stopped holding out. She loved him back, had probably from the first, and all along she’d been afraid to admit it. At first it was fear that he wouldn’t care in return. Later it was wariness of what she was getting him into. After that...she was ashamed to discover it had been a need to control keeping her silent. If she didn’t say it, it was almost as if the entire situation wouldn’t be quite real, and she could keep something back, protect her heart. She snorted at her logic. The Dark Lands and the Haunt were no dream. How much more real could she get? A smile curved her lips. Knowing Mathin, he’d toss her over his shoulder and drag her back home if she ever tried to leave him. He wasn’t the type to suffer in silence and bemoan his fate. No, he’d hunt her down and make love to her until she couldn’t see straight for ecstasy, then make her promise never to run away again. The door creaked open. She sat up. “Mathin?” “It had better be.” He sounded tired and out of sorts. Andrea relaxed. “You must be exhausted. Can I get you anything?” He sighed and crossed to the window, shut the drapes. “A clean bed and a good night’s sleep.” Rustling sounds came as he undressed. “Hard day?” “Good hunting, but we had to go to the edge of the swamps to find it. The lands have been badly over-harvested. It’s going to take time to rebuild the wild stock. The meat we brought back is in the cellars, hanging. Tomorrow we’ll process it.” “Glad we got them cleaned for you, then.” “Thank you.” He got in bed and took her in his arms. He stiffened as his hand touched Lionheart. “What’s he doing in the bed?” Annoyed, she frowned at him, well aware he couldn’t see her in the dark. “He’s just a baby. Where else would I put him?” His fingertip smoothed the lines between her eyes, surprising her. “Your little pet will one day weigh as much as I do. Are you certain you wish him to sleep on the bed?” Grumbling, she tossed the covers off, felt around in the dark with her foot for her discarded clothes, and gently placed Lionheart on them. She gave him one last pat, turned, and slammed her toe into the bed steps. “Ouch!” “Would you like me to open the curtains to let the light in?” he asked in sympathy. “No, but I’d like a pair of night vision goggles for Christmas,” she snapped. Living with a Haunt was proving hazardous to her health. This time she got into bed without mishap. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” He snuggled her close. “Night, hon.” “Hon?” She yawned. “Ask me tomorrow,” she mumbled, and quickly fell asleep.   An unholy racket woke them in the morning. “I said get out!” Mathin leapt out of bed and grabbed his sword. He opened the door just in time to see Raziel thrust outside the door of the room directly opposite. Buck naked, he held his clothes in his arms, his muscular backside to Mathin as he argued with Matilda. “I was only there to sleep, woman,” he groused irritably, tossing back his mussed hair. “Had I wanted anything else you’d have known it.” Matilda, red hair equally disheveled, but attired in a flowered nightgown, stood in the doorway and glared at him. “Decent men don’t crawl naked into my bed when I’m sound asleep!” Raziel inclined his head. “What about indecent men?” There was a hint of laughter in his voice. She slammed the door in his face. Raziel turned and grinned at Mathin. He shrugged. “We had no other beds here. What could a man do?” “What’s going—eek!” Andrea ducked back under Mathin’s arm and hid her flaming face in her palms. “Don’t you guys have any modesty?” Mathin was also unclothed. Mathin shook with silent laughter. “Are all humans this prudish?” “Prudish!” “Sensitive, then,” he amended. He closed the door. She scowled at him. “Aren’t you going to say anything to him? Matilda has a right to be mad. Raziel can’t just go crawling into any bed—” “He didn’t. He chose Matilda’s.” “Why is that okay?” she demanded, annoyed on Matilda’s behalf. “Is this a guy thing or a Haunt aberration?” He snatched her up in his arms and tossed her on the bed, then pounced on top of her. “Maybe I should explain it.” He nipped her ear. It was a very long and thorough lesson. When they finally made it downstairs for breakfast, Raziel was in high spirits. Matilda was as grumpy as a bear. Feeling rather chipper herself, Andrea decided to test Mathin’s theory. She waited until they had a quiet moment alone in the garden before saying casually, “You must have gotten quite an eyeful this morning.” Matilda paused in her weeding to give Andrea a dirty look. “It’s not funny. I woke up to find myself completely tangled with the dratted man.” Color stained her cheeks, as well as a certain degree of guilt. Andrea was willing to bet it hadn’t been a completely unpleasant experience. Not with that look in her eye. Just to be sure, she prodded, “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” “Of course not!” Matilda exclaimed indignantly. “He never would. It was just so presumptuous of him, and so very…” She waved her gloved hand in the air. “Outrageous.” “Has he kissed you?” “Andrea!” Undaunted, Andrea shrugged. “What do you expect after the way you threw me after Mathin?” “That was different.” “Uh huh. So has he?” Matilda looked sheepish. “I haven’t let him.” Andrea shook her head and plucked another weed. “Might want to rethink that one, Grandma.” Examining the dirt in the bed they were clearing, she asked, “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?” Astonished, Andrea stared at her. “Mind? Why would I mind?” Matilda shrugged. “Grandma…” She floundered for words. “I want you to be happy. If Raziel can make you that way, I say go for it.” “I don’t know…” “Besides, if you don’t grab him someone else will.” Her advice seemed to fall on fertile soil. Later that morning Andrea passed a seldom used hallway and heard giggling. Thinking it might be kids, she went to investigate. Just before rounding the curved wall, she stopped in her tracks. She knew that voice. “Ohh...Raz,” her grandmother moaned. Another giggle. Too stunned to move, Andrea stood petrified to the spot. “Ohh, oh yes! Please!” Swallowing hard, Andrea quietly hit reverse. “You like that?” Raziel’s voice was full of male satisfaction. Slightly breathless. “Your fingers! Yes, please.” Caution be danged! Faster than a speeding bullet, Andrea cleared the hall. “What’s your hurry?” Mathin asked, about to enter the same hall. She grabbed his arm. “Don’t go in there!” Puzzled, he cocked his head. His gaze shifted as if he were hearing something. A broad smile broke over his face. “Hm.” “Don’t you say it,” she said through gritted teeth as she took his hand and dragged him away. “It’s possible he could be giving her a massage,” he suggested, trying and failing to maintain an innocent expression. He grinned. “Hah!” Oddly enough, when they saw the pair next, neither looked happy. “Please pass the salt,” Matilda asked Andrea at dinner. They were still using the makeshift table. Raziel reached in front of Andrea and plucked up the salt server, making a show of giving it to Matilda. “Anything else you desire, sweet?” “Nothing you’ve got,” she shot back, snatching the server. She plunked it down and vigorously salted what Andrea knew to be tough meat. They still hadn’t found a decent cook. Wishing to change the subject, Andrea sawed at her steak and observed, “Lovely weather we’re having. How long before the storms come, do you think, Mathin?” “Hard to tell about storms.” Raziel answered, looking over his cup at Matilda. “The weather sweeps from fair to foul here with dizzying speed.” Matilda glared at him. “Perhaps you shouldn’t make unreasonable demands on it. Besides, from what I’ve seen, you Haunt can’t make up your minds what you want.” Raziel’s eyes flashed. “I told you the woman accosted me, not—” He broke off and looked at the very interested Mathin and Andrea, who was seemingly fascinated with her tasteless meal. “We will discuss the weather later.” “We will not.” Matilda gripped her fork, her jaw set. “Later.” Nostrils still flared, Raziel all but snapped at Mathin, “So what do you intend to do about your cousin?” Mathin frowned. “You know I’ve sent messengers to the lands around us. Should my cousin be so foolish as to show his face here, I will deal with him. I don’t think he has the metal to do so.” “Perhaps.” Raziel stabbed at his meat. “The scouts are in place. You would know within the hour if he stepped foot on your land.” “What of your lands?” Mathin raised a brow and rested his forearms on the table. “You show great concern for my situation, and I thank you, but your estate is nearly as extensive as mine.” “I’ve sent men to look it over.” Raziel’s face shuttered. “My overseer is more capable than Tomlin ever thought to be. All remains under control.” Mathin shrugged. “It’s your choice.” His careless tone didn’t match his expression. Raziel looked at him suspiciously. “Since when did you care what becomes of my lands or any other? Jayems practically had to order you here.” An ironic smile lifted a corner of Mathin’s mouth. “True. Maybe I just don’t like to see anyone else enjoy their freedom now that I’ve lost mine.” Andrea frowned at him. “Not you, my love.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Never you.” She smiled softly and rubbed her hand against his shoulder. Just a word from him could make her feel so good. She hoped his cousin never came.   She wasn’t feeling well. They’d only been at the citadel a couple of days when she began to feel tired, almost drained. Mathin was very busy and Matilda was still in a snit, so it was easy to hide it at first. Andrea took care to eat right, but it wasn’t helping, not as it should. No matter how much she slept, she still felt tired and listless. Finally the morning came when she surrendered to the inevitable and summoned the local medic. His prognosis was grim. “You’re pregnant.” She gaped at him. The examination had taken place in her room, since she felt too tired to even walk to the village, and they were alone. “P-pregnant?” He gave his head a short, affirmative jerk and put away his things. “It’s not going well.” Irritated with his abrupt manner, she snapped, “Is that all you can say? Is there something I can do?” At touch of pity on his face, he nodded. “Prepare to lose the child. Human women always lose Haunt children. I‘m surprised your lord even let you conceive. I would have expected he’d take precautions.” Andrea paled. “Jasmine—” “Was a fluke. She was healthy and had a full symbiont. You have half, and your body is weak.” His expression softened and his tone gentled. “Tell your husband. Rumor says he’s not like his father. He will care.” Shocked that he would say such a thing, she demanded, “What do you mean?” He shook his head. “Call me when the bleeding starts. I’ll have my equipment ready.” She lay there after he’d left, staring at the ceiling. The details wavered in front of her damp eyes. The medic was wrong! She wouldn’t lose this child. Mathin’s baby. It seemed like only moments passed before Mathin burst in the door, his face pale and frightened. “Andrea!” He rushed to her side and took her in his arms. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?” Instead of answering, she burst into tears.   “You’re crazy!” Raziel hissed, grabbing Mathin by the shoulder. He spun him around. Their faces only inches apart, he ground out, “The storms are coming, Mathin. Think! I know you’re desperate, but—” Mathin jerked away and readied his gear. Bloodlight had already been saddled. “You’re in charge until we get back.” “If you get back.” Mathin rounded on him. “It’s the only chance we have, Raziel! Would you have me stay here and lose the baby?” He’d thought she was taking precautions. He’d assumed it because she’d said she wasn’t ready for children when they’d talked before the wedding. He bitterly cursed his assumptions now. He should have asked. Just because he was uncomfortable talking about the subject didn’t give him the right to jeopardize his wife’s health. “It could happen anyway.” Raziel was brutally honest. “You don’t know that the Ronin will even help you.” “They will.” Frustrated by Mathin’s refusal to consider the cost, Raziel got in front of him. “What should I tell your people?” Mathin looked him in the eye. “Tell them that I love my wife more than my life. Tell them I will come back, and my wife will have a healthy son.” Shaken by the resolution in his eyes, Raziel let Mathin pass. Eyes downcast, he considered what he would need to hear if it were Matilda and his child who were ill. “Mathin?” He turned around. “My prayers will follow you.” For the first time since Mathin had heard about the baby, he smiled.   Andrea didn’t remember much about the journey. Cold rain, impressions of big trees and the sensation of riding were all she knew. Mathin pressed food on her she didn’t want, fussed and sometimes shouted at her until she ate almost all of it just to ease his mind. Thunder often split the sky, and strong winds frequently made travel hazardous. When the bad storms struck he would take them to what shelter he could. Sometimes there was none to be had and they made camp where they could. At such times she could hear Mathin praying. His wife might have been too foggy to suffer much from their travels, but Mathin wasn’t so lucky. He lived in constant fear that fierce winds would topple a tree or send a flying limb into Andrea, killing her. Keeping himself alive was almost as important. She wouldn’t survive without him. He’d never cared so much for his own well-being. Six days into their journey he picked up signs of the Ronin. “Mathin?” Andrea lifted her pale face and peered at him through the mists. Blasted swamps! If it wasn’t raining on them it was foggy. “I’m here.” He moved to where she sat slumped on Bloodlight and touched her legs. “I found traces of the Ronin, my love.” He smiled for her. “Soon you’ll get to meet them.” “Good.” A ghost of her old grin tried to surface. “Tell them I said they need to be more welcoming of guests.” “You tell them.” He mounted behind her and got Bloodlight moving. “You’ll be seeing them yourself soon.” “Yeah.” Her voice was barely audible. He wrapped his arms around her and moved faster.   Mathin had felt the eyes on them for a good hour by the time he stopped that night. All but unconscious, Andrea lolled in his arms as he dismounted and gently lifted her down. Careful not to jar her, he lay her down on a tarp he’d tossed down on a patch of high ground and covered her with a blanket. “It’s going to be all right,” he whispered, and kissed her. He stroked her cheek and stood up. Looking up in the trees, he called out, “All right, come out. Don’t you know better than to stalk a Haunt upwind?” Feminine laughter echoed through the swamps. A line was cast down from the heights and moments later a woman slid down. Hands on hips, the tall blond surveyed him with a crooked grin. “Mathin. Finally found yourself a woman, have you?” In no mood to jest, Mathin nevertheless found a faint smile. Leo had visited the Haunt with her brother a couple of years ago, the first—and last—diplomatic visit of the Ronin to the Dark Lands. He didn’t remember her being so outspoken. She was armed with a holstered gun, secured by a strap to her thigh. A knife was sheathed at her side and she had a nasty-looking rifle over her shoulder. “My wife, Andrea,” he said gravely. “My human wife.” Leo’s violet eyes widened. She looked at Andrea in surprise. “Another charmer? Is she from Jasmine’s world? How…” She trailed off and frowned, the scarred brown leather of her jacket creaking as she moved closer. “She’s sick.” She gently pulled away a corner of the woven blanket, looking for wounds. “She’s pregnant.” Mathin clenched his teeth. “Our medic says she will lose the baby.” Stricken, Leo looked at him. They might not know each other well, but Mathin could see her sympathy for him. “You brought her to us?” Almost desperate, now that hope was so close, he nodded. “Your people saved Jasmine.” Jasmine almost died after healing a Haunt. Her symbiont absorbed too many toxins and hadn’t been able to bleed them off except through Jasmine’s system. It had taken one of the Ronin’s big symbionts to heal her. Leo blew out a breath and let the blanket fall. “Yeah, but…” She shook her head. “I can try.” She sat back on her boot heels. “My symbiont’s off hunting right now, and we’re a little far a field. We’ll have to wait until it comes back before I can do anything.” She squinted at the gray sky. “It’ll be night soon. We should move to higher ground. Can you bring her?” “Lead the way.” Leo’s idea of higher ground was to lead them to the ruins of an ancient temple. “This is a good place to wait out the storms, if there are any tonight.” She hacked through the vines covering the lower entrance with her machete. “Snake spawned vines! I just cleared these last month. They grow faster than a nest full of rodents.” “Doesn’t anyone else come here?” Even in the gloom Mathin could still make out the flat-topped pyramid’s vegetation covered outlines. She shook her head and sheathed her blade. They stood under the shadow of a deep alcove made of huge blocks. “No one else likes to come here, especially my brother. He doesn’t like to be reminded that our enemy might be anything other than savages.” Her lip curled. Mathin made Andrea comfortable on his bedroll. She was barely breathing. To distract himself, he asked, “You don’t believe that?” Her eyes moved to Andrea, watched the way he stroked her cheek. “My people would prefer to believe that you are nothing but monsters, too.” He snorted as he remembered certain things about Leo. One hand dangled over his knee as he sat on the ground. The other played restlessly in Andrea’s hair. “Would you mate with a Haunt?” At her expression of horror, he laughed. “Perhaps you aren’t as unbiased as you’d like to think?” Leo rolled her eyes and sat down. “Maybe not, but at least I don’t feel like shooting every Haunt I see. Some of you seem decent.” She pulled a small lantern out of her pocket and activated it. No bigger than a man’s fist, the perforated metal ball nevertheless put out a surprising amount of light. Expanding on her views, she leaned back on one hand and gestured to the three of them. “Are we not peaceful enough right now? You even love your wife, if I’m not mistaken?” “I love her.” She nodded. “You see? It can be done.” Her eyes shadowed as she stared at the lantern. “War is just a waste of life.” Reluctant to pry, Mathin held his peace. Besides, he agreed with her. Too bad more of their people didn’t think the same. A swishing sound brought him to his feet, his hand on his sword. “It’s all right.” Leo stood as well, one hand cautioning him to wait. Out of the trees came a silver hover-bike. Its edges somewhat indistinct, the gleaming silver being slowed as it came abreast of Leo. It slowly settled to the ground with something like a soft sigh. Leo grinned. “Ate well, did you?” She stroked the seat. “Come. I have a sickly friend I’d like you to meet.” The great symbiont gave a huge sigh and sagged. “Hey.” Leo’s voice was stern. “It won’t kill you.” With a soft growl, the entity went to investigate Andrea, giving Mathin a wide berth. Symbionts never touched a Haunt if they could help it. Half-heartedly, the front part of the bike nudged Andrea. A tendril formed and extended, delicately brushed over her arm. When it withdrew, she opened her eyes. “Where am I?” Mathin smiled in relief as the symbiont moved back and parked at the edge of the fire. “How do you feel?” She sat up with difficulty. “Better, but not one hundred-percent.” “You won’t until your symbiont regrows.” Leo frowned. “How did you lose half of it, anyway?” “She gave half to another human,” Mathin answered for her. “What’s important now is how long will it take to regrow?” Leo shook her head. “A season? Longer? Who can say? I’m not a medic, but I’ll wager the baby will strain her system and the symbiont.” “Can she get a new one?” At Leo’s look of horror, he demanded, “What?” “You can’t just switch symbionts like you’d change your pants! It would be murder.” “Andrea would die?” “I don’t know, but the symbiont would for sure. Their systems are far too integrated now. Just give it time. It will regenerate.” Mathin glanced at Andrea. “We don’t have time.” Leo chewed the inside of her lip. “I could take her home until the birth.” She frowned at him. “You couldn’t come. My brother would never allow it.” “Could you guarantee her safety?” “I should hope we aren’t so backward as to allow harm to come to a pregnant woman or her baby,” Leo muttered. “Besides, she’s human and you’re not, and less likely to goad anyone into a fight.” When he glowered at her she added, “Our men are very protective of our women. You should hear what I have to put up with every time I ‘run off’ as my brother puts it.” She tossed a small rock into the bushes. “It’s no wonder I dislike males.” “I don’t like this, Mathin.” Andrea’s nails were practically digging into his hand. “I don’t want to have this baby without you.” Mathin kissed her knuckles. “I know.” He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. The idea of not being able to communicate with her was agonizing. “If you come back with me…” He didn’t have to say it. She would lose the baby and maybe her life. She closed her eyes. “It’s three months until the rains are over, right?” He drew in a shuddering breath. “Yes. But it’s at least eight months until the birth.” She pressed his hand to her trembling lips. “Maybe the symbiont will grow back by then?” She brightened a little. “I could come home then.” “We might be able to manage that. Or…” Leo waggled her booted foot. “Depending on how well she gets, I might be able to bring her back to you after the rains and stay a bit to see that all is well.” “Really?” Andrea perked up. “That would be great!” “One thing at a time,” Leo cautioned. “In the morning I’ll take you to my brother.” Her smile was lopsided. “Just to be safe, I think I’ll introduce you as a sick woman I found wandering in the swamps. Your husband died while trying to bring you to safety when the Beasts overran your town. You weren’t used to the swamps and you need a safe place to stay. How’s that?” Andrea frowned. “I was separated from my husband. I don’t even like to pretend he’s dead.” “Whatever.” Leo stretched out on her now-flattened symbiont. The creature had become a silver bed of sorts. “Anything’s better than being the wife of a Haunt. Especially that one.”     CHAPTER 11   “What did she mean when she said, ‘Especially that one’?” Andrea asked the next morning. Leo had already left, saying she needed a ride and that she’d be back in an hour. Andrea thought it had been sweet of her to give them time alone. Swamp birds called greetings to each other in the early morning light as Mathin stared at the dark clouds on the horizon. “My father fought in the Symbiont Wars.” His jaw tightened. “He was one of those rare Haunt who had no respect for his wife, and he hated me.” He was silent a long moment. Hatred was a mild term for the active viciousness his father had spewed on his family. “No one was sorry to see him go to war. Even though I fought in it as well, I managed to avoid him most of the time. I only heard the rumors of what he became.” She waited until she could stand it no longer. “And that was?” He turned to her, his face full of disgust for the man who’d been his father. “A rapist and killer of women and children. A man who delighted in torture.” His lip curled in an unpleasant smile. “They still speak of him today in hushed whispers.” So that was what all the mystery was about. At last she understood. Andrea struggled to stand up. “You’re not your father, Mathin.” He knelt beside her, eased her back down. “No. I’m far luckier. I have you.” Throat tight, she gripped his hand. “Don’t say it like that. You’re not your father, no matter what.” “I’m not. I know.” He smiled at her, stroked her hair. “It’s okay.” About to cry, she curled her hand around the back of his head and drew him near. “One last kiss.” “Not until I take my last breath,” he swore, and kissed her. Roughly an hour passed before Mathin’s eyes moved to the southeast. In moments Leo reappeared, riding on her symbiont cycle. She parked in front of Andrea. “Ready to go?” Andrea swallowed hard, but nodded. Mathin helped her up, settled her on the bike. “I’ll be thinking of you every minute.” He gently hugged her. With his chin on top of her hair, he gave himself a moment to control the tears he felt and that she shed so freely. “Ah-hem.” Leo shifted, made a slight face. “She’s not dropping off the face of the world, Haunt. I’ll look after her.” He gave her a look. “I’ll be waiting.” Leo snorted and mounted up. “You’re welcome.” “Leo?” He waited until she looked up. “Thank you. You’ll never lack for hospitality in my house.” She nodded and gripped her bike’s bars. “I’ll remember that.”   For the first time, Andrea felt well enough to notice the swamp around them. Eager to take her mind off Mathin, she focused on the details of the swamp. Moss-hung ancient trees with huge aerial roots surrounded the marshy, bug-infested bog. They traveled about two feet off the ground, and their speed was such that she didn’t have time to study the local flora and fauna. The thing that made the biggest impression on her was the complete lack of civilization. They covered miles and didn’t see a single soul. “How far is it to your village?” “Another hour. Why?” Leo looked at her in the rearview mirror. “It’s so desolate. How do you make a living here?” Leo laughed. “We eat what doesn’t eat us.” At Andrea’s wary silence, she added, “We farm and hunt the swamp. We mine the minerals here. Many of our technologies are deliberately kept low-tech and sustainable, however. We use wood, natural fiber, stone, metal and leather instead of synthetics or chemicals, and we still make our soaps with fat and lye. Many of our lights and heat sources are oil or wood.” Fat and lye? Wood stove cooking? Andrea was dismayed. Even the Haunt had something like electricity. “Tell me you don’t use outhouses,” she begged. Visions of flies and drafty perches danced in her head. “Hardly.” Leo banked the bike around a large tree. “We don’t pollute our waters.” Maybe it was just Andrea, but Leo sounded just a teensy bit self-righteous. “So what do you do instead?” “Compost.” Oh. Ick! It took a full minute for Andrea to get up the nerve to inquire further, but she had to know. “So, um, what becomes of this compost?” Tales of China’s night soil-caused epidemics danced in her head. She fervently prayed that the Ronin didn’t spread raw sewage on their fields, too. Leo’s expression in the mirror—really little more than highly “polished” metal—was incredulous. “We use it on our food crops.” Andrea must have blanched, for she added as if to a small child, “The composting kills any pathogens and bacteria, silly. It’s far safer than allowing untreated waste to seep into the ground water and sicken us all.” “Ah.” Admittedly unfamiliar with the entire concept, Andrea decided to reserve judgment. But just in case…”You don’t eat your veggies raw, do you?” It didn’t take very long to arrive at Leo’s village. Andrea stared in amazement; many of the houses had been built in the spreading branches of the huge grove of trees. Some stone structures had been built underneath—well-maintained residences with stone tile roofs, fanciful waterspouts on the gutters and scalloped trim. But by far the most numerous buildings were perched in the trees. “Does it flood here often?” Leo parked in front of one of the stone residences and dismounted. “Often enough. Here, let me help you.” Forced to swallow her automatic refusal when a wave of dizziness assailed her, Andrea nodded her head. One hand firmly under Andrea’s elbow, Leo pushed open the carved door to the building and strode inside. “Healer! Got a customer for you. Rest here.” She eased Andrea down on a red, leather-covered bench. When the healer didn’t show himself immediately, Leo shouted, “Healer? Are you in?” and went in search of him, calling over her shoulder to Andrea, “Be right back.” Never one in a hurry to visit with a doctor, Andrea was content to wait and look. There was no receptionist in the stone room, just a fireplace with a clear panel in front of it. It could have been glass, but it wasn’t stained with smoke. An enormous, rainbow-hued snakeskin hung to one side of the fireplace; another in black and red graced the other side. A brilliant woven rug had been laid before the fire, with comfortable red leather couches flanking it. Various weapons hung on the walls and from the bare wooden beams overhead, along with all manner of herbs and drying foodstuffs. Quite an eccentric collection, Andrea thought. The sound of voices made her look toward the snakeskin curtains Leo had disappeared behind. She was just in time to see them flung open. “So this is my patient.” Andrea stared. She couldn’t help it. The “doctor” was little over average height, with curly hair that parted in the middle of his ear-length pageboy and frizzed at the sides. In spite of this he was gorgeous. Or maybe he was just so good-looking that nothing could detract.   Oblivious to her amazement, he continued to dry his hands on the towel he held. Finished, he tossed it to Leo with a teasing smile. “Make yourself useful, gorgeous.” Leo rolled her eyes and tossed the towel on the couch. “Get a servant, Scy. I’m not your chore girl.” “Pity.” Scy considered Andrea while Leo hovered. With a sigh of exasperation, he turned to Leo and frowned. Leo wandered off to examine the snakeskin. Scy winked at Andrea before settling down to business. “Leo tells me that you lost half your symbiont. That’s very rare.” “But not unheard of,” Leo interrupted. “Don’t hassle the girl, healer. Just fix her.” Scy didn’t even raise his voice. Without looking, he said pleasantly, “Leo, kindly muzzle it, would you? Unless you’d rather take her to another healer?” With silence from that corner, he continued, “What happened to your symbiont, Andrea?” He frowned as he said her name, and he slipped an “h” in after the “a”s, but his manner was gentle and concerned. Aware of Leo’s subtle signal, Andrea improvised. “I got hurt… Leo was pointing to the fire, “burnt, and it...” Leo grabbed her throat, stuck out her tongue, rolled her eyes back in her head and let her head loll. “Died.” “Hm.” Scy’s eyes shifted to the side. “I’m sure Andrea would like some refreshment, Leo. You know where it is.” Steel laced the command. Leo hesitated, but exited through the curtain. As soon as the material swished behind her, Scy fixed Andrea with a compelling blue stare. “I understand that you don’t know me and have no reason to trust me. Leo tells me that you’re also carrying a child and that it’s making you weak. This too, is rare. Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” His voice softened. “Has someone hurt you, Andrea?” Confused, Andrea shook her head. What did he mean? The curtains were shouldered aside as Leo returned with a bowl of fruit and a dripping pitcher of water. “Refreshments are here.” She plopped them on the bench. Scy glared at her. “You couldn’t find a glass?” He removed the wet pitcher from its precariously balanced position, set it on the floor and wiped at the wet leather with his hand. “She might be very thirsty.” Leo gave him a cheeky grin. “Leo, love,” Scy wrapped one arm around her shoulders and escorted her to the curtain. In the crook of his other arm he held the bowl. “Do you see this curtain? Beyond it is my kitchen. I promise not to tell anyone you’ve turned domestic if you go in there and set out a meal for us. You won’t even have to cook—I’ve taken care of everything. Just take out the roast and the vegetables, warm them, and set out a few plates. Can you do that?” Again his words were mild, but the stare he locked on Leo as he held her in a half-embrace was unyielding. “Fine,” came her grudging acceptance. Before she could pull away, he added, “And Leo? I’ll let you know when we’re ready to come in.” He handed her the bowl. Leo’s eyes narrowed, but she left. Andrea couldn’t help her silent chuckles. It seemed this was one man who knew exactly how to handle Leo. Scy gave her a conspiratorial grin. “How can I help it? The woman tempts me.” Some of his amusement faded as he once again hunkered down by her. “Now, you were going to tell me about this pregnancy.” She shook her head. “No, I wasn’t.” At his frown she added, “No one hurt me. This wasn’t forced on me, if that’s what you’re worried about. As a doctor…healer, I can see why you’re concerned, but—” “As a man I’m concerned,” he told her softly. “Women shouldn’t become our prey.” Touched and a little flustered, she nodded. “Thank you. You’re very sweet, but I wasn’t forced. Nor do I want to talk about it. Right now what I want is a way to get through this thing without losing my baby.” Her throat clogged. “I want it very much. Can you help me?” He winked at her. “No one better.” Scy’s kitchen was every bit as orderly as the outer room, and as interesting. The counters were all topped with polished granite embedded with fossils. The large bay window in front of the table was framed by a flowering vine and equipped with wrought iron shutters. The bowls and platters were made of pieced wood that alternated light and dark in a diamond pattern. Utensils consisted of a silver spork—a cross between a spoon and a fork—and knives. Andrea sat on one of the leather-covered stools around the table, a breathtaking affair made of fitted octagons of polished purple, ivory and honey-colored wood. “This is so beautiful!” she exclaimed, awed. “Who makes it?” Scy smiled. “Thank you. I do.” “You’ve very talented.” “So say all the girls,” Leo put in. He raised a brow. “All the girls?” Leo shrugged, quickly pretending disinterest in the conversation. “I’ve yet to receive a compliment from you, Leo,” he purred. “Yeah, well, I don’t need your services.” She stabbed her meat with her spork and sawed with determination. Scy cast Andrea a conspiratorial smile. “I could argue that no woman ever needed them more—“ Fire flashed in her eyes as Leo rounded on him with her knife still clenched tightly in her hand. “But I won’t. After all, it’s well known that I’m looking for a wife ready to commit and raise children, not a rogue huntress with a lust for adventure.” His eyelids lowered. “I’m selfish. I want my woman to save her passions for me.” Andrea looked away from the chagrin on Leo’s face. It was painful to sense her struggle, since she’d felt something similar with Mathin. She didn’t know what held Leo back, but she felt the need to ease the pressure for her. “So what will I have to do to stay well?” She speared a piece of tender white vegetable out of the creamy sauce on her plate and sampled it. Starchy and slightly sweet. Nice. Scy considered her as he chewed and swallowed. “Well, I have these leeches…” Leo moved as if she were furtively kicking him. Making a show of peering under the table, he continued, “I’ll have herbs and a special diet for you to follow. I’ll use my symbiont to help support your own and encourage its regrowth. You should have enough energy to engage in mild exercise, also a must.” He cocked his head thoughtfully. “It would be best if you avoided anything that might cause undo stress, of course. Do you have a place to stay?” “She’s accepted my hospitality,” Leo informed him before Andrea could say anything. Things had happened so fast she hadn’t thought that far. “How will that work?” He studied Leo as if puzzled. “You’re rarely home. I doubt your house has finished airing after your last disappearance. She’d be better off here if she has nowhere else.” “I think I can manage to remain home for a few months.” Leo gritted her teeth. “I’m not as irresponsible as you seem to think I am, healer.” “I could just rent a room,” Andrea broke into the brewing argument. Mathin had given her a pouch full of prismatic silver coins. The thought of being dependant on strangers chaffed. “You do have a hotel or an inn or something here, right?” “You’re not staying at an inn.” Scy’s tone brooked no refusal. “No, she’s staying with me.” Leo touched him on the shoulder when he started to protest, causing him to instantly still. “She’s a woman and will be more comfortable with me. Besides, you have people coming and going at all hours seeking your help. At least at my house she’ll have some peace.” He was still for a long moment, seemingly intent on the pattern of the table, but his eyes weren’t quite focused. “Andrea? Your choice. You’ll still have to see me daily.” Leo dropped her hand. Andrea could almost see the link between the pair snap. She considered. It would be interesting to see what became of these two. But first… “What do you charge?” Scy frowned. “Charge?” “What is your going rate for services? I can pay you.” “Oh.” His brow cleared. “Truthfully, I won’t be doing much until the birth. Can you cook?” He gave her a boyish grin. “I admit to having an incessant sweet tooth.” Andrea grinned. “Just give me your favorite recipes. I think I can fulfill your every dessert fantasy. Leo can introduce me to any ingredients I might not be familiar with.” “Leo!” Scy stared at her, incredulous. “You might want to find someone who can actually cook.” A low growl came from Leo’s direction. “Sorry, gorgeous, but the world knows you can’t do much more than char meat.” “I like it charred.” Andrea smiled. “If she wants to learn, I’ll teach her what I know. I was trained as a chef. It’s what I do.” Scy hesitated over the unfamiliar word ‘chef’. “As you wish. If you’re finished eating, I’ll be happy to examine you now and get your herbs.” The examination entailed nothing more than a brief merging of symbionts and some questioning. Scy disappeared into a back room and returned with a wooden canister of herbs. “Take these in tea morning and evening.” He handed her a folded list. “These are their names and properties, as well as your special diet.” Andrea kept her expression neutral as she unfolded the list. The script was completely alien. She’d have to ask Leo what was on it and make a new list. “Thank you.” “Ready to go?” Almost reluctantly, Leo unfolded herself and placed her hand in Scy’s. “I thank you.” He didn’t let go right away. “Meals taste better with company. I enjoyed yours.” Eyes lowered, Leo tugged her hand away. “Um. We have to go.” She tripped on her own feet as she inched away. “Thanks for cooking.” Once outside, Andrea permitted herself a wide smile. With a grumpy scowl, Leo swung her leg over her bike. “He’s like that with all the women.” “Desperate for dinner companions, huh? One of those geeks who can’t get a date?” She mounted up. Leo tossed her an irritable look over her shoulder. They rode the bike past six more houses until they reached the outskirts of town. There, a little apart from its neighbors, stood a tree house. Leo parked amongst the tall weeds at its base and dismounted. “There’s no paradise like a well-tended home,” she muttered as she removed both her gear and the small pack Andrea had brought. Andrea followed her up the wide, flattened mushrooms that spiraled up the broad trunk. “This is amazing! I’ve never been in a tree house before.” Leo stopped so abruptly that Andrea plowed into her and would have tumbled down the steps had Leo not grabbed her. “Careful who you say such things to. You’ll brand yourself a curiosity if you don’t.” She started back up. With a loud sigh, Andrea followed. “That’s going to be rough. How do I know what will make me stand out?” In the act of unlocking the door, Leo shrugged one shoulder. “Don’t speak to anybody.” With a groaned protest, the door swung open and burped up a draft of musty air. Horrified at the thought of having no one but Leo to talk to for months, Andrea opened her mouth to argue, but shut it again at her first sight of Leo’s house. She blinked. The lemon and white, bronze and crisp blue, ultra feminine interior was nothing like what she’d expected. Every piece of furniture was edged with ruffles and decorated with bows. Beribboned baskets and urns full of dried flower arrangements filled every corner and surface to bursting. The combination living/dining area had been small enough to start with. With the addition of the “greenery”, it was dangerously claustrophobic. Noticing Andrea’s wide eyes, Leo explained dryly, “My sister by marriage likes to please her husband. He thinks I should be more “womanly”, so she presents me with gifts to “stir the woman in me”. She dropped her dusty pack in the middle of a pretty woven rug with a loud thud. Dust flew from it, coating the floor. Andrea winced in sympathy. “Quite.” Leo entered the kitchen and poked around in the cupboards. “I have pots and kitchen implements I don’t know how to use. I vow if she brings me another dress she, “just couldn’t resist but is too pregnant to wear”, I will bury her in it.” Withdrawing a carved box similar to those Andrea had seen at Scy’s, she lit an oil-filled globe under a tripod and placed a clear kettle on top. “It’s a wonder I have a mind of my own left after their constant hammering. By now they should know that this metal doesn’t forge easily.” As annoyed as Leo sounded, Andrea though it must be nice to have someone around who cared enough about her to interfere in her life. Now that she’d spent more time with her own grandmother, those feelings had grown. She must have changed more than she’d realized. Heaven knew she never used to feel that way. The gliding loveseat looked like as good a place as any to deposit her stuff, so Andrea set it down and took one of the two stools at the tiny kitchen bar. “So tell me about yourself. I gather you prefer solitude in the swamp over life in the, er, big city?” The teapot began to squeal. Leo removed it, got Andrea’s herbs from the loveseat where she’d set them, and prepared two kinds of tea. “The swamp doesn’t try to change me. I hear no demands from the snakes for me to, “mature, settle myself and produce children”. She flicked an angry look at Andrea. “As if the man for me were just under my nose, patiently waiting for me to come to him.” She slammed the kettle down. “They are so deluded.” Lower lip caught between her teeth, Andrea pondered that. Once she felt exactly the same way, but now… Well, it had been said that happy couples made the worst matchmakers. “What about Scy?” “Scy?” Leo spoke as if drawing a total blank. Annoyed on his behalf, for she liked the healer, Andrea retorted, “Yes, him. He’s cute.” Leo’s lip curled. “He’s a healer. If he weren’t also a fine hunter and very skilled at woodwork…” She shook her head. “I will not marry a nearly useless healer.” Baffled at her attitude, Andrea frowned. “Doctors are very respected where I come from, and well paid.” A queer look crossed Leo’s face, then it cleared. “I forget you have no symbionts. Such men as Scy are all but unneeded here. Why he wastes himself on useless knowledge…” She gave her head a sudden, sharp shake. “Now I sound like my brother.” She handed Andrea her tea. “Ignore me. If Scy is bold enough to flaunt his profession under the noses of our elders it’s no concern of mine. It’s truth I’ve done it enough myself.” Andrea lifted her teacup to her mouth. It wasn’t bad. Eucalyptus and a touch of...cinnamon? “So what’s the big rush for you to settle down? Is you family trying to say youightre getting too old?” She could relate. Leo snorted. “I’m barely twenty-six. Just because my brother wed the first girl he could find of breeding age, it’s no reason for me to panic and snatch up a mate.” “I forget. Mathin said your people live as long as 300, right? I guess you wouldn’t be worried about that. Where I come from lots of people marry and have children by eighteen or twenty.” When Leo stared at her, she added, somewhat defensively, “Our average lifespan is 75. Gotta mature and pass on the genes quick if we want to see grandkids.” Disconcerted, Leo sipped her drink. “I wouldn’t like your world.” “It’s not so bad, but…” She looked around, thought wistfully of Mathin. What was he doing now? “This one has its charms.” “Tell me that after you’ve met my family.” After that dire warning, Andrea was expecting to meet a clan of dragons. As it turned out, Jackson was far more personable than she’d expected. Medium tall, with a hint of gray in his dark cropped hair, he accepted Leo’s introduction and promptly invited Andrea to join his family in their tree house for the evening meal. Leo’s face he searched closely. “What part of the swamp did you say you found her in? I can send men to search for this missing husband of hers. Surely he’s worried.” “I’ve already looked.” Leo shrugged. “The men will do no better than I. No doubt he’s sought shelter until the rains blow over.” Jackson frowned. “And left his pregnant wife alone in the swamps? Think, Leo.” “Thank you for your offer,” Andrea interjected before an argument could start. “It’s very kind.” “We do all we can to help our own.” Jackson’s wife, Shelarah, gently detached a young lad from her pink striped skirts and handed him to his father. She patted Andrea on the shoulder. “You’re holding up so well, dear. I would be frantic with worry.” It must have been the hormones of pregnancy, for Andrea felt her eyes tear up. She didn’t usually get emotional in front of strangers. “Not really. I miss him.”  “But where is Luna?” Leo helped Jackson’s young daughter set the table. “Tell me you didn’t set her off again and she’s decided to skip the meal.” He glowered at her as he strapped his son into a booster seat. “Our sister needs no help from me to fly into a rage these days.” “She’s at that age.” Shelarah set the baked fish platter on the table. “I remember how difficult it was for me.” “She walks around with a black cloud on her face.” “Well, she does have to live with you.” Leo took a helping of salad. “The girl is what—seventeen? She knows she’s welcome to stay with me when I’m here, and she’s old enough to keep my house when I’m not.” She met Jackson’s glower calmly. “You know you can’t keep her wrapped up forever.” “It’s who’ll notice when she exits the cocoon that concerns him,” Shelarah murmured. She sent Andrea a small smile and shook her head a little, as if amused by an old argument. “Don’t mind them, they can’t agree on anything, especially their younger sister.” Leo grinned. “I admit that pack of young warriors she runs with would give a mother pause.” She shook her head at Jackson, and her tone gentled. “They’re just friends, Jack. You worry too much. Armetris would never let anyone touch her.” All motion at the table ceased. “She doesn’t run with them anymore.” Jackson’s mouth tightened. “I don’t know what happened, but there’s plainly been a rift. She’s angry with the lot of them.” “Those boys are her only friends. Have you looked into it?” His look said she’d asked a stupid question. “No one is talking.” Leo blew out a breath, then caught Andrea staring at her with frank curiosity. “Luna is something like me. She’s always bonded best with males—our father was our greatest friend—and this must be a blow.” She sent Jackson a concerned look. “I’ll speak with her.” Although brother and sister were quick to spar with each other, Andrea noted that each held fierce family loyalty. She only hoped her children would one day feel the same. Saddened, she touched her belly protectively. Oh, Mathin…   Jackson waited until Andrea was deep in conversation with his wife about pregnancy and child rearing before he took Leo aside. “What,” he asked sternly, “do you have to tell me?” She tilted her head warily. “About?” His eyes narrowed. “Give over, sis. You no more found her wandering in the swamps than plan to marry and save me worry. Besides, I saw that small smile when Shelarah asked if she’d feared meeting up with a Haunt so near the border. I can tell she’s human enough, but there’s more here than you say. Do I have to contact the Haunt and ask questions, or will you talk?” Certain he would follow through with his threat, she sighed. “You remember Mathin?” His gaze sharpened. “The Haunt who chased you around Jayem’s citadel and halfway into the swamp? I remember.” She rolled her eyes and leaned against the deck rail. “It was a passing fancy for him.” “She’s his?” He shook his head, irked. “What did you think—that I would force her to leave or see her harmed after I learned of her condition? You know how I feel about my own wife and children.” He looked out over the village, his eyes troubled. “Besides, she’s not the only woman to come back carrying a questionable child.” Unwilling to get sidetracked, Leo shifted to face him squarely. “You never liked Mathin or the Haunt.” “At least he’s occupied with a wife. For that matter, I don’t hate the Haunt. They are different, and best left alone.” His tone held mild warning. An old argument itched to burst forth. Leo resisted the urge. “Are you saying you will let him visit her?” Jackson rapped the rail with his knuckles. “Not in the village, but…” He eyed her shrewdly. “I can arrange something if you will agree to socialize regularly while you’re here.” After a long, tense moment of silence, Leo granted him a curt nod. “Fine. But don’t think I’ll put up with any matchmaking. And Jackson—keep your wife from bringing me any more gifts.”   Mathin was very concerned—and surprised—to see a Symbiont Rider show up at his door not long after with a message from Jackson. While the rider waited uneasily for a reply, eyeing the Haunt who stared back suspiciously, Raziel read over Mathin’s shoulder. “Amiable of him,” he said warily. Familiar with that tone, Mathin sent him a look. He knew Raziel was dying to comment. “A monthly visit might be feasible, even with the troubles here.” And very tempting. The moment he’d returned, Raziel had informed him of reports that Tomlin had gone over to his grasping cousin; if he hadn’t been his from the start.The citadel was bracing for war, and his people weren’t happy about it. Many blamed Mathin for being gone so long. If he weren’t careful, he might have trouble within his own ranks. The matter required finesse and delicacy, and his presence. The second was a sacrifice he deeply regretted right now. He looked at the messenger. “Come inside. It will take time to write a reply.” The Ronin was clearly unhappy at his directive, but followed on his bike. “Tell Matilda to craft a letter to her granddaughter. She’ll want to hear something cheerful from home,” he told Raziel. He tried not to think about what he must write.   “Bad news?” Andrea could feel her bottom lip protruding. “Trouble at home. Mathin might not be able to come.” The intimate details of his letter she kept to herself. He sounded as lonely as she felt. Leo set aside the rifle she’d been cleaning and stretched. “What you need is to keep busy.” She grinned. “Perhaps a little mischief?” Interested in spite of herself, Andrea leaned back on the couch and tilted her head. “What kind?” A sparkle in her eye, Leo sat down on the small table before her and leaned forward. “At the same time Jasmine had been kidnapped, some of our women were also stolen. As far as we can tell, all three were charmers. One old woman was recovered alive; she was murdered soon after we brought her back. The other two died.” Her mouth thinned. “We never found the killer, but we think it was the same person as sold them to Mathin’s sister, Yesande, to experiment on. She coveted their charmer powers. Here’s the riddle: our men can’t detect a charmer. Yet how did they know which women to take? It had to be insider help.” Thoughtful, Andrea considered. She’d never been called on to solve a mystery before, but the idea of bringing a murderer to justice appealed. “Do you have any records of the investigation?” Leo surprised her by pulling a box out from underneath the table she sat on. One by one she pulled out three thick folders. “Copies of all the files, fished from under my brother’s nose.” She smiled grimly. “I hate to see anyone get away with murder.” Impressed, Andrea flipped through the stack. Someone had been very thorough, judging by the volume of materials. Still… “You realize I can’t read this, don’t you?” “I’ll read it to you while you take notes.” Leo handed her a tablet and a stylus. “Ready?” It took days to finish, and when they were through Andrea had an impressive stack of notes, plus tables of what, where and who. Her head swimming, she crowed, “I’ve got it!” “What?” Leo’s head snapped up. “It’s Mrs. White in the ballroom with a brick!” “What?” Andrea laughed and sipped her tea. “Just a joke.” Rolling her eyes, Leo tapped her own notes. “I’ve always suspected the silversmith. He knew all of them.” “So did half the village.” Annoyed, Leo tossed her notes aside and flopped down on the couch, one arm over her eyes. “So what do you think?” Not to be rushed, Andrea chewed the end of her pen. After all, the women had been dead for some time. Justice could wait another few minutes. “I think we’re going about this the wrong way.” When Leo took her arm from her eyes to frown at her, she explained, “Neither of us is an investigator. I say to catch a charmer-napper, use a charmer.” Leo examined her uneasily. “You’re pregnant. Besides, Yesande is dead and no else is interested.” “One.” Andrea held up a finger. “Jasmine told me what you did, how you became a charmer for a while. You could use your symbiont to suck some pheromone out of me and graft it onto you for a while.” “That’s not exactly what I did,” she protested. “Whatever.” Andrea waved her objections away. “It worked. Two: So far as we know, only Haunt can detect the charmer. So we ask Scy if there is any other way he can think of, then see if he has any records from his predecessor that might indicate human/Haunt crosses in your midst.” Leo sat up. “That’s not possible!” Andrea placed a hand on her stomach. “Is. Scy did say it was rare for your women to have hard labors, seemed to think it a strong indicator of rape, maybe by Haunt. Cases of pre-labor sickness could give a strong clue.” A little green, Leo nodded. “You’re right. I never thought of it.” Content to have contributed a fresh angle on the case, Andrea nodded. She was getting sleepy. “Bet nobody else wanted to, either. Oh, yes, and three: we can spread a rumor about someone paying for charmers again, to raise interest. I bet we could get Jasmine to help set up a sting—an arrest,” she corrected her slang. “I’d rather not tell Mathin what we’re up to. He’s got enough on his mind as it is.” Plus, he’d be furious if he thought she were putting herself in danger. Sweet as that was, it would really hamper the one thing that kept her mind off her powerful need for him and her fears. She needed this. Besides, there was no reason for him to be concerned. What harm could possibly come to her?   Scy sighed and set aside the piece of wood he’d been carving. “I know why you’re asking, gorgeous, but the information you’re asking for would violate my oath and upset more than one sleeping snake I’d rather let lie.” Leo sat on the footstool opposite him and watched him suspiciously. “You wouldn’t interfere with a murder investigation, would you, Scy?” One dark brow lifted. “And since when has Jackson authorized you as an official justice maker?” Pink frosted Leo’s cheeks and the tip of her nose, but she continued doggedly. “Does it matter? None of those he ordained got the job done.” “And you think you can do better?” “We might.” His eyes remained steady. “This isn’t a light matter. Those you would tamper with have been under Jackson’s surveillance since the incident, with no results. The odds of you—” “We have a new plan,” Andrea interrupted. “This one will get results.” He gave her his full attention. “What plan?” She smiled pleasantly. “One for one. You tell us what you can, without breaking your oath, who had a rough birth and we’ll tell you the plan. But you have to give us your word not to tell anyone what we plan to do.” “But I can ‘hint’ about it, right?” he said sardonically. “That seems to be your standard.” “Do you want details or not?” Leo snapped, neatly sidestepping the issue. He regarded her for a moment without expression. “There are three. One is a female who has been dismissed by all concerned as innocent.” He waited. “The plan involves bait,” Andrea told him. Leo madly scribbled notes. The muscles in his jaw tensed. “The female in this case is unusual of the three. Her father is believed to be neither human nor Haunt.” Leo’s jaw dropped and the point of her stylus broke. “You can’t mean…” She fell silent at his curt nod, stunned. Intrigued as she was, Andrea knew that he was purposely sidetracking them. “The plan depends partly on spreading a rumor.” Scy rubbed his shadowed jaw. “One of the men is a warrior. His father was Haunt.” “Was?” Leo asked, leaning forward. “Mathin the Ravager?”  She held her breath. She wasn’t the only one. Every bit as riveted, Andrea leaned closer. What would her Mathin say? Did he know? Scy’s brusque nod left her breathless. She’d never expected this! “We’ve thought of a way to ambush the bad guys.” Without looking at Leo, keeping his eyes locked on Andrea, he continued with growing ire, “The third is also a spawn of Mathin the Ravager. He sits before you now, growing more concerned about your sanity by the second.”     CHAPTER 12   Andrea choked on her own saliva. Mathin’s brother? No wonder he was so cute! Leo actually recoiled. The momentum sent her backwards over a footstool and onto her rump. “Ow!” A low growl erupted from Scy as he bent down to glower at her. “Did you think I would suddenly carry you off and eat you? Haven’t I had enough chances over the years if that was my plan?” Aware that Leo’s reaction probably hurt, Andrea tried to distract him. “Not to seem rude, but as a half-Haunt, what abilities do you have? Can you hear and smell like they do? Change? Detect charmers?” He ran a hand through his hair, then got up and paced, his expression half-savage. “Partly to the stronger senses, no to the change. Yes to the charmers, which means your plan won’t work. I knew you for one the moment you arrived, and Leo has been one from the moment she came back from visiting the Haunt.” “What!” Leo squawked. Still pale, she stared at him. At least she was once again sitting on the stool. He shook his head, a slight, knowing smile on his lips. “Your purging didn’t work. Lucky for you, Jackson doesn’t know or he’d throw a fit.” Overcome, Leo slapped a palm to her forehead, mouthing silent oaths. Scy returned his attention to Andrea. “Those who can tell already have knowledge of you both, yet have done nothing at this point. Why do you think you’ll have sudden success now?” Questions spun in Andrea’s mind. She searched his face. “You must not be as strongly affected by the charmer pheromone as the Haunt.” “Why do you say that?” A tiny smile edged her lips. “I don’t see you perusing Leo with the vigor typical of a full blood.” “The way your lover pursued you?” he asked softly. “That is how you know so much about it, isn’t it?” When she said nothing, his gaze slid to Leo. “There are herbs a man can take.” His smile held little humor. “I’ve become intimately acquainted with Leo’s fertile cycle, when the pheromone is strongest. It’s not something a man wants to encounter unprepared.” A pink blush made Leo’s expression of misery more acute. “I’m sorry…” She stumbled on the words, unable to go on. He picked up the wood he’d been carving, just held it. “It doesn’t matter.” But it had to. Andrea’s throat ached. How apart he must feel—one of the Ronin, but more as well. Was that why he hadn’t yet married? Did he dread his wife discovering who he was and possibly loathing him for it? To be the child of rape...she couldn’t imagine. But this was so much harder. “Do you have any brothers and sisters?” she asked softly. “No. No family that acknowledges me. Mathin’s other spawn and I don’t talk, nor do we have feeling for each other.” His face hardened. “Our sole link in common doesn’t make for cozy conversation.” The next question made her blush ten shades of red, and it was far from delicate. But really, how…? She cleared her throat. “Um, how does being half Haunt affect your...your…” She couldn’t say it. He tilted his head curiously. “What?” She waved him off. “What?” he demanded, growing impatient. “Say it!” Andrea toyed with the edge of her shirttail, examining it in minute detail. “Are you only allowed to mate with one woman?” She couldn’t believe she’d just asked him that. For a long moment he stared at her in utter silence. “I’m flattered,” he said slowly, “but—” “Not me, you idiot!” she hissed, mortified. He thought she was propositioning him! She darted her eyes in Leo’s direction and mouthed, “Her!” Fortunately Leo was looking anywhere but at them. Vastly relieved, he exhaled and relaxed, resting his forearms on the back of the couch. “Oh.” His grin was slow and very heated. “Why do you think I’m in such a hurry to find a mate, or such a popular lover? I satisfy—and find satisfaction with—my partners without pressuring them to give up more than a maiden should. But I find myself growing restless.” His hot gaze captured Leo’s, and his voice dropped to an intimate murmur. “It is time for more.” Leo shivered. Sorry she’d asked, Andrea cleared her throat and said briskly, “Right. Thank you. Now, about the kidnapped charmers…” All friendliness faded from his now mocking expression. “You want to know if I did it.” Before she could answer yea or nay he continued in a tone that dripped sarcasm, “Yes, I took five women—” “Five!” Leo exclaimed. He spared her a glance. “There were two others from other settlements that you haven’t heard of.” He returned his attention to Andrea, but this time his soft tone ached. “I took five women, including my grandmother, and sold them off to a mad woman for her sadistic experiments.” An ache so fierce it closed her throat made Andrea look away. She had to tell Mathin about this man! Much subdued, Leo asked, “Can you help me purge the pheromone from my system, Scy?” “I don’t know. We can try, though I don’t know why you’d bother. The swamps aren’t exactly swarming with men who’ll notice.” “No, only one killer who’s hunted down charmers before,” she snapped. “And you’ll not go near him.” He straightened up. “It’s too dangerous.” Leo’s expression remained mutinous. “Don’t press me, woman.” A hint of Haunt fire made his blue eyes glow. “Not over this.” Understanding too well that Leo was playing with matches, even if Leo didn’t, Andrea reached over and gripped Leo’s shoulder, saying calmly, “The plan was to quietly surround ourselves with protection and then spread a rumor that an old friend of Yesande’s wished to take up where she left off.” “No.” Unwilling to hear a word against their idea, Leo stood up. “You have no authority over us, Scy, and taking this to my brother won’t stop me. Why give up this chance—” Equally furious, and far tenser, he moved closer until they were almost nose-to-nose. “You don’t know the man you’re dealing with. Even I could barely take him—” “Even you?” she demanded, incredulous. Her expression became so patronizing that Andrea groaned. This was not good. Oblivious to the buttons she was pushing, one by one, Leo went on, “You may be a decent hunter, Scy,” she gestured to the snake skins, “but I’ve yet to see you practicing with the warriors or besting anybody.” Andrea put the back of her hand to her brow and groaned. No brother of Mathin’s would take that lying down. “Perhaps because there would be no contest?” His tone was absolutely confident, almost insolent. “I’m no easy mark, blue-eyes. If nothing else, Mathin’s blood makes me a soldier you pray you’ll never see in action.” He tossed the wood block on the table. “I’ve known from childhood that none of these could ever take me.” Knowing that Leo was on the brink of causing a war, Andrea jumped into the gap. These two might be destined to explode sometime, but she didn’t want to be anywhere near the fallout. “Okay, so modify the plan. It’s still good and that guy should be brought to justice. What would you do differently?” It took a moment, but gradually Scy unwound enough that he no longer looked capable of eating anyone. “I don’t know, something that doesn’t involve ‘bait’. Preferably something that depended on you both being locked safely away.” “Don’t concern yourself,” Leo told him coldly. “We never expected, or wanted, your involvement.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder and headed for the door. Before she could blink Scy was there, blocking the way. “I’ll make a deal with you, blue-eyes.” He was smiling, but there was no fun in it. “If you can take me down right here and now, I’ll give you my favorite rifle and my snake skins. You’ll have to be at least that good to get near your target.” When she didn’t move, just watched him suspiciously, he taunted, “Come on, gorgeous. Show off some of those moves your brother taught you. I know you’re not helpless, but it’ll take a lot more than a few defensive tactics to kill a son of Mathin.” Andrea jumped up and put one hand on each of them. They didn’t really want to go there, did they? “I believe you, so let’s not waste time with this, shall we?” Her calm tone belied her thumping heart. “We can just as easily come up with a new plan, can’t we, Leo?” When both combatants stared at her suspiciously, she lifted her brows in mock surprise and made an “O” of her mouth. “Unless you’d like me to leave you two here alone to resolve this?” She tried for a leer. It was comical how swiftly the two broke apart. “Stay out of trouble,” Scy warned them. One hand rested on his hip while the other ran distractedly through his hair. He was half-turned away, and breathing rather hard. Andrea knew he’d be watching them. Leo’s chest moved more rapidly than normal, too. There were a lot of teeth in her smile. “Of course. Would I ignore you?” Andrea hustled her away before anything could come of Scy’s hot look. Once outside, she scolded mildly, “You’d better stop baiting him unless you’d like to be bitten.” “He annoys me.” Leo shot an irritated look at his house as they walked away. “He likes you.” “Hah! He acts like my brother,” Leo complained bitterly. Andrea doubted his thoughts were fraternal. “Let me rephrase that. He wants you.” Frozen in her tracks, Leo goggled at her. “That’s not true. He’s never seen me like that.” Searching her eyes for clues, Andrea asked, “Are you sure? Or is that what you’d prefer since you don’t want him back?” As she walked, Leo toyed with the edge of her jacket cuff and looked everywhere but at her. “We’re friends of a sort. Have been for a long time. We carry on very well this way. I insult him, he parries. Sometimes we talk. That’s all I want. Anything else would be too complicated.” “Why?” But Leo didn’t have to answer. Their wandering had taken them to a bakery, and the delicious smells inside the softly lit shop quickly distracted Andrea. “What is that yummy looking pastry?” She pointed to rounds of what looked to be puff pastry sprinkled with green nuts and drizzled with caramel sauce. Dominating the sweets section were also tiers of flaky tartlets, delicately browned triangular biscuits and fan-shaped pastel cookies. Domes of bread, ranging from family size to single serving, took up much of the rest of the shelves. Some of the bread had been shaped into fancy twists and fish shapes. “What can I get you and your friend?” The baker, a thin, short woman with a ready smile, wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ve just finished a batch of meat filled buns if you’d like a snack.” Leo grinned at her. “You know me so well, Elda. We’d like a sack of sweets, too. Some of everything.” While the baker filled their order, Leo examined the shelf trim. “The carpenters did a wonderful job on these, Elda.” Elda beamed. “Know it. Charge a fair price, too, for what you get.” “I thought your son was a carpenter? Couldn’t he have done it for you?” “Posh.” Elda waved a hand. “His Nilha is keeping him close and busy, what with tending to their twins. It was faster to have the others do it.” “How’s she doing? I heard the birth was easy, for being two of them.” She slanted at look at Andrea, who had to turn away to hide her grin. Apparently Scy hadn’t cowed her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Elda sliding a fat, steaming roll into a bag. “As easy as birth ever is.” Elda handed Leo a pair of bags and told her the cost. “I thought I’d die when I delivered my boys.” Leo glanced at Andrea, whose loose clothes still hid her condition. “Well, yes. But no one ever has a truly difficult time of it, do they?” She shrugged. “After all, that’s why we have symbionts.” For a moment Elda regarded her with a sharp gaze. “There’s a reason if we don’t, but if you’re hunting for news from me you won’t find it, girl. I can understand why you’d care, but it’s not my place to speak of it.” She turned and disappeared into the back of the shop. Andrea blinked. “Now that was odd. How could she know?” Equally stunned, Leo shook her head. “I have no idea. Maybe there’s more here than we thought.” It had begun to rain, and they had to dash through the worsening storm to reach Leo’s tree. Andrea shook droplets off her hands and went in search of a towel and dry clothes. At least it had let up enough to give them time outdoors. By the time she finished, Leo had opened the sacks and a bottle of lightly fermented juice. She’d also put on the glass kettle for tea. “What do you think Elda meant?” The meat roll was very good, but Andrea’s mind wasn. Mat on food. Time passed as Leo munched quietly. At last she said, “Nothing comes to mind. However, I’d lay odds that my brother knows something of this. Getting him to tell me might be a minor miracle, though.” She traced her lips with the edge of a thumbnail, her eyes unfocused. “We could continue with this line of questioning, however, and see where it leads.” Stumped, Andrea just nodded. The baby was making her tired and, though she was loath to admit it, a little weak. The daily walks and mental stimulation were good for her, but Leo was going to have to do most of the footwork. Besides, Leo knew these people and she didn’t. What help could she possibly be?   Mathin read his wife’s latest letter, and then sat in silence before the fire in the banquet hall. This might be difficult. He took a long drink of his wine, smiling without humor. His wife had a gift for understatement. Thought you needed to know… Had he? Had he really? He crumpled the edge of the letter in his fist and then tossed it aside. For most of his life, he hadn’t known about these strangers spawned of his father’s madness. No doubt they were content to keep it that way as well. What did his wife think, that the three of them could take up friendly relations as easily as sitting down to dinner? The criminal included? His head ached. Massaging the bridge of his nose, he tried to think, plan. He missed his wife. Worry for her clouded his mind. Not one night in five did he sleep well, knowing she was far beyond his reach. As soon as she got back he would speak with the medic. He was never going to jeopardize her again, even if it meant giving up the chance of future children.   As days dragged into weeks, and then months, Andrea’s condition began to be noticed. Also noted were her general pallor, her frequent visits to Scy and the ease with which she tired. The responses Leo got to her questions began to become sympathetic. More than one person asked her outright if Andrea was the reason she asked. Surprised at the knowing questions, Leo fumbled a reply and found it expedient to stop asking. So far they’d gotten little in the way of results, anyway. Oddly enough, once she stopped, people began to seek her out. Most who came ended up visiting with Andrea. Often they brought gifts of food or baby clothing, especially once she made it clear that she already loved her child and was looking forward to its birth. “I want him,” she said rather forcefully to a matron who hinted at pity for her. “How could I not? He’s half of me.” One kindly older man brought her a book one day. He was often at the park with his grandchildren when she walked there, and they’d spoken a few times. “It’s very lovely, and thoughtful of you,” Andrea said warmly as she caressed the beautifully bound history. “But I have to confess, I can’t read.” “I’ll teach you,” he said simply, and set about it. One by one the Ronin won Andrea’s heart with their concern and simple kindness. Soon she began to feel guilty at their sweet but misguided help. Scy laughed at her. “Don’t. Trust me, they get plenty of entertainment in return. The mystery of what happened to you and whether you ever had a husband is driving them crazy.” He shrugged at her frown of rebuke. “All right, so some of them genuinely care. You’ll have to excuse my skepticism. I’ve been fielding more than my share of questions lately.” Sometimes her guests would speak of the distant war. Everyone was concerned about the battle with the Beasts over the towns beyond the swamp. Their own settlement was well away from the borders and thus insulated from the fighting, since the Beasts showed no inclination to enter its borders. Whatever they wanted, it was contained within the boundaries of the towns. When Andrea asked Leo what these Beasts looked like, Leo withdrew a sketchbook from her things. She smiled as her thumb traced over the worn edges. “My passion.” A touch of wickedness crept into her smile as she handed the book over. “I do a lot more in the swamps than chase snakes.” Practically falling apart, the book fell open in Andrea’s lap to a drawing that looked all too familiar. She gasped. “This is the carving in the stone at the pass to Mathin’s citadel!” “And a challenging thing it was to get near enough to see it without attracting attention,” Leo agreed. “Those blasted Haunt can see in the dark. Took me a week of sneaking in the daylight to get there. Even so, it was one of the easier sites to get to.” Andrea met her eyes, intensely interested in Leo’s self-appointed work. “Your brother has no clue, does he?” “No one does, save you.” The pictures fascinated Andrea. Each rendering of the animal-headed men and women was very detailed and accompanied by the artist’s thoughts. Many of the pictures had words in hieroglyphics inscribed above or around them. “These look like pictures of Egyptian gods,” she said slowly, troubled. “Even the way they’re dressed reminds me of pictures I’ve seen from the tombs of the pharaohs. How old are these?” And wouldn’t Mathin love to see a copy of these. Maybe she could bribe Leo into making one. “Thousands of years,” Leo slid next to her on her couch, excitement in every line of her body. “These gods, who were they?” Andrea slowly shook her head. “The ancient Egyptians worshiped them. I know their head god was Ra, the sun god. I don’t know much more than that.” Their eyes met. “Do you think...these must be people who’ve crossed over from world to world, and maybe—” “—they’re not really Beasts,” Leo finished for her. Her eyes lit up. “Maybe they’re people like us, hiding under armor or something.” She jumped up, unable to contain herself. “The bodies, I’m told, always deteriorate before we can examine them, along with their body armor. Anyone who tries to examine their weapons usually gets blown to powder, so they’re destroyed, and I’ve found no grave sites to excavate to see what their bones look like.” “But Scy hinted that a woman had a Beast baby.” Andrea stood, too nervous and excited now to sit. “I think we need to have another talk with him.” It was a very short talk. “You wouldn’t know the girl from any other.” Scy slammed a fresh cartridge in his energy rifle. He was going hunting again. He’d been doing a lot of that. “Neither would her mother appreciate questions.” “I wasn’t going to ask her any,” Leo protested. “Scy…” When he continued to ignore her, she placed her body right in front of him. “This is very important to me.” A light like golden foxfire hazed his blue eyes. His body began to tremble. “Don’t,” his voice was hoarse and he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from Leo’s mouth. “Don’t get so close to me, woman, unless you want to get close to me.” His nostrils flared as her eyes widened. “I’ve long run out of herbs, and you’re provoking far more than my temper.” He brushed past her. “I’m not afraid of you!” she yelled at his back. “No,” he snarled over his shoulder as he opened his front door. “You’re terrified.” The door slammed, making both women jump. Andrea let out a breath. “That man is definitely Mathin’s brother.” She noted Leo’s shaken appearance and tried to offer comfort. “At least we know that these Beasts must be human, or close to. How else could they produce offspring that looked like us?” “Yes.” Leo rubbed her arm. “I think I need to take a walk. I have some thinking to do.” Certain she knew about what, Andrea kept her mouth shut and headed back to the tree. The last few weeks had elevated the tension between Scy and Leo. Andrea knew the only cure for what ailed them, but wasn’t sure that Leo was ready to accept the diagnosis. Tempting as it was to lock them both in a room with a very large bed and throw away the key, Andrea knew that they’d have to work out their own differences. A blush and a guilty grin stole over her face as her mind flashed a picture at her of what that would look like. It had to be the long separation from Mathin getting to her. She placed a hand on her back as she ascended the mushrooms to the tree house. Hard to believe that it was almost time for the birth. Two weeks until D-day, and then she could finally go home. Mathin’s letters were getting even more maudlin. The rainy season had passed, but due to her condition they didn’t dare remove her from Scy’s care. Nor had he been able to visit her. Assassins lurked in the woods around the citadel, and more than one raid had been carried out against his people. They needed him, and honor wouldn’t let him abandon them. Not that his letters didn’t contain his pithy opinions on the dubious joys of lordship. With a weary sigh, Andrea lay down on her bed and tried to get comfortable. It was almost to the point where she needed a forklift to roll over. At least it was almost over. She closed her eyes, half-asleep already. A noise came from Leo’s room. She froze. The front door had not opened. Whoever that was, it wasn’t Leo.   Leo’s feet carried her past the other houses until she reached the privacy on the outskirts of the swamp. It had been months since she’d been able to explore the ruins in the swamp, and she was restless. Tonight the restlessness had a new edge. Tonight she thought of Scy. Felt him, actually. She sighed and ran a shaky hand over her biceps. She knew what her body wanted, knew what Scy wanted. The ache between them had become a living thing, and denying it any longer was foolish. It would be so easy to let her body rule this one time. But what about her heart? Could she promise him forever? Would he object to her exploration in the swamp, or would he join her? The idea of his companionship as she showed him the remnants of lost civilizations lit her up inside. Could it be done? Resolved to speak to him, she turned to go back into town. Behind her, a twig snapped. Heart racing, she spun about. “Scy?”   Mathin’s head snapped up as a Ronin, his clothes covered in blood, was escorted into his hall. He left off his study of the maps around the citadel and strode toward him, meeting him halfway. “What happened?” His heart pounded, dreading the answer. If anything had happened to his wife, he’d never forgive himself. “The army camped out in your woods tried to stop me.” The man wiped gore from the already healing cut over his eye. “Jackson sends word. His sister and your wife have been taken by Haunt, we suspect by someone connected with your cousin. We know it was Haunt blood we found at the site were Leo was taken—the Symbionts won’t touch it.” “And my wife?” Only the fury in his veins held horror at bay. “What about her?” “There was no blood in Leo’s house, nor much sign of a struggle.” The man’s face, oddly familiar, softened. “She was very pregnant, and couldn’t have fought for fear of harming the baby.” Iron purpose infused Mathin with strength. “Give me five minutes to collect my gear and my stag, and I’ll—” The Ronin shook his head. “You’ll never make it in time. Jackson is already tracking them, and my symbiont won’t carry you. If you really want to go, we can hitch a hover platform to the back of my cycle and I can try to tow you past the assassins. It might be the only way.” Raziel didn’t say a word as he followed Mathin to collect his gear, but Mathin knew that he had his full support. No one took a Haunt’s woman and lived to brag of it. Mathin gripped his shoulder as he came to the door where his friend stood, silent and watchful. “Your word is as my word, my friend. Take care of my people, and if I don’t come back…” “Happy hunting.” Raziel wouldn’t let him say it. “Gut the fool who took her.” Fiercely, Mathin clasped on him the arm, gave him a nearly bruising squeeze. “Never doubt it.” Minutes later, lying flat on a body-sized anti-gravity platform with hastily rigged ropes for his hands, Mathin gave a sharp nod. He would be virtually defenseless as they sped by the Haunt in the woods, but at least he presented a difficult target. He only prayed that his wife wasn’t being hurt. The cycle eased out of the gate, gathering speed as it headed up the road through the village. Naked fields flashed by as the woods edged closer. “Hang on!” the Ronin tossed over his shoulder, and suddenly they were flying. Eyes narrowed against the wind and flying insects, Mathin felt the rope bite into his wrists where he’d looped it. He held on as best he could with the toes of his boots against the edge of the platform as the cycle began a series of fast maneuvers around the trees that blurred past. The slight lip on the edges wouldn’t prevent him from flying off on one of the turns if he weren’t careful. As if to prove his point, the platform took a sharp dip, then leveled with a jarring thud before fishtailing alarmingly. “Watch it up there!” he shouted, raising his head to glare at the crazy driver. Eyes tearing from the wind, hair tugged by its greedy fingers, he swore as the platform bounced. He’d kill this man! That opinion changed as he got a glimpse of what all the fuss was about. Ranged on every side, dark waves of Haunt filled the woods. Silent shadows fired on them as they sped past. Seriously tempting death, the Ronin never slowed, banking around trees and crashing through lesser brush with a skill that filled Mathin with grudging respect. The man could ride. A blue beam of light slashed through the forest gloom and hit the Ronin’s arm. He cursed and the symbiont cycle wobbled, but didn’t slow. Mathin’s respect for the man doubled. It had been a wicked hit, and had to hurt, but he stayed the course. It reminded him of why the Symbionts had proved to be such powerful opponents during the Symbiont Wars. A wry smile tugged up a corner of his lips. He wondered what the Symbionts called it. The Haunt Conflict? All humor evaporated as another lucky shot glanced off the edge of the platform, frying his right wrist and singeing the rope to a thread. Agony shot through him as he forced his hand into a claw and gripped the corner of the platform. If he fell off now, the Haunt would make certain he never got up. Andrea could die. At last they broke through the enemy ranks, gliding smoothly over a river and up the gravel bank on the opposite side. The Ronin put a good quarter hour between them and the enemy Haunt before he slowed to a brief stop. “You going to live?” he asked as he dismounted to check Mathin out. His Symbiont was wrapped around his injury, already healing it. Mathin slid his chaffed wrist out of the rope loop and flexed it. “Yes.” The Ronin eyed Mathin’s blackened wrist. “Was that your fighting hand?” The smile Mathin gave him was grim. “Don’t worry. Either hand works for me. I can still kill the man who took my wife.” “Good.” The Ronin took a length of rope from his cycle and fastened another loop handle to the platform. “Let’s ride.” They traveled for hours, to the very edge of the swamp and an hour into it. By the time they began to slow the light was growing poor enough to trouble human eyes, but the Ronin didn’t seem hampered as he dismounted and rummaged in his gear. “Here.” He withdrew some flatbread, dried meat, fruit and nuts and gave Mathin a share. “We need to eat.” He took a long drink from a canteen and then passed it over. Mathin gratefully took a long swallow, wiping his mouth with the back of his good hand when he was done. “And then?” There was a short silence as the Ronin tore off a strip of jerky with his teeth and chewed. “It looks like the kidnapper was joined by others, then took a boat downstream. There’s a ruin nearby that makes a very logical rest stop. Since we aren’t sure how many there are, Jackson surrounded the area with our men in a loose ring. A Haunt could slip through, but not carrying the women.” His smile was humorless. “He thought an agreeable Haunt with night senses could be an asset for taking out any sentries as we moved in.” “He made the right decision. I’d have killed him if he hadn’t alerted me.” Mathin crunched his dinner as fast as he could. Time was of the essence. The Ronin dropped a small container of whatever he was smearing on the flatbread and bent to pick it up. It was full dark by then and thick clouds covered the moons. Mathin suspected it was too dark for normal human eyes. “See rather well yourself, don’t you?” he asked softly. He fingered the hilt of his blade, but made no move to draw it. The Ronin eyed him coolly. “So I do. What of it?” He rolled the container in his hand. Perversely unwilling to let it go, Mathin asked, “Scy?” Not long before he would have sworn he had no interest in the man, but now… His half brother inclined his head and then went back to what he’d been doing, ignoring him. Unsure what to say, Mathin finished eating. This was no time or place for weighty discussions. Perhaps there was never a time. And why did the knowledge of this man’s bloodlines affect him, anyway? He’d hated his father for more years than he could count, had never felt more than a vague ache at times that his sister had become what she had. This unlooked for urge to know more about Scy mystified him. Better to keep his mind on their mission, he told himself. Three lives depended on it.   Andrea spent the most miserable night of her life on a cold stone floor. A lichen covered, gritty and occasionally buggy stone floor. At least she wasn’t chained to it like Leo. No doubt her obvious weakness had spared her. Too exhausted to run and far too ungainly to sneak away, her Haunt guards had barely spared her a glance when they’d deposited them in here. Shivering as much from the spookiness of that as from the damp chill, Andrea glanced toward the dim light coming in from the single exit. A brackish puddle had collected in the sunken depression under the stone tiles, and it reflected a bit of the light and the occasional shifting shadow of a guard. Odd how she’d never felt so wary of her Haunt, but then they’d gone out of their way to put her at ease. There was nothing remotely friendly about these dark warriors. Every now and then Leo would stand up to stretch, but her chains didn’t allow her to lift her arms past her hips. The bolts in the floor were very solid—she’d tugged on the chains enough that she’d bled, trying to loosen them. “I’m sorry.” Startled by Leo’s soft words, Andrea squinted at her vague outline. “Why? This isn’t your fault.” “Had I been with you, been more alert, I might have stopped them.” A soft snort asserted Andrea’s opinion of that. She knew what a Haunt could do. “My friend, even if you were G.I. Jane, I doubt you’d have done much damage. I’ve seen these guys in action, remember?” “Still—” “Let it go,” she advised softly. “Guilt will get us nowhere. Right now we need to think about surviving.” As if reminded of Andrea’s condition, Leo’s hand reached out in the dark and grasped her own. Their symbionts—Andrea’s was almost regrown—linked, and soothing strength flowed from Leo to her. Refreshed, she sat up. “Thank you.” The need to comfort washed over her, and she squeezed Leo’s hand. “You’ve been a good friend to me. The best.” A return squeeze was Leo’s only answer. There was a muffled sniff. Before Andrea could say more, the sound of voices and the tramp of boot heels on stone alerted her. Someone was coming.   Mathin, still in Haunt, lay next to Scy in a forgotten airshaft above the chamber where the women were being kept. A Haunt in human form had just entered below them, and his words carried clearly to their ears. “So this is my brother’s wife.” Mathin stiffened. Beside him Scy’s breath caught. So this was their other brother. The big man looked down at Andrea, who tried and failed to stand. They couldn’t see his expression, but his stance spoke of contempt. It almost broke Mathin’s heart to see her sink down as if defeated. Jackson had better hurry to get in place, or he was going leap on the bastard from here and rip out his throat. A cruel laugh came from the stranger’s throat. “Not much to look at, are you, little charmer?” His head moved toward Leo and he looked her up and down. “But you...you have possibilities.” Scy shifted forward, but Mathin caught his arm and squeezed in warning. Not yet. Scy subsided, but tension radiated from him as he sighted his laser rifle on their brother. Mathin’s hands were occupied with the coil of rope that would give them access to the room below. Unaware of his danger, the black-haired man continued to taunt Leo. “When I heard the rumors of Mathin’s wife’s abrupt disappearance, and then rumors of a pregnant stranger in your settlement, I knew I had to investigate. And look what I found.” He fingered Leo’s hair, laughing when she jerked away. “Now I have a charmer to toy with for as long as I want. And since there’s no profit in you since my dear sister Yesande died, I can keep you as long as I like.” Leo tried to lash out at him with her symbiont. With lightning speed he drew his energy blade and lopped it off. Leo hissed as if in mortal agony. “Behave, woman.” He drew the edge of his humming blade over her thigh, parting the cloth to her groin. A sizzle of flesh and her gasp indicated that he’d deliberately scored the skin. Leo’s symbiont rushed to heal it. He watched as if fascinated. “Do you know how to rid a woman of her symbiont so you can take her? Mathin the Mad knew. Simply slice it away bit by bit,” his blade lopped off another chunk, wringing a cry from Leo, “until just enough is left to heal her for your next round.” Gunfire exploded in the hallway, distracting him just as Scy fired his rifle. Simultaneously, Leo kicked him in the groin. Mathin threw the rope down and launched himself over the side, rappelling rapidly toward the bottom, Scy right behind him. Scy’s shot had hit his half-brother just above the heart, thanks to Leo’s synchronized assault. It glanced off his body armor, but did slow him down. It didn’t save Leo from a wicked backhand with the hilt of his blade, however. The blow caught her under the jaw and sent her flying back, only to be jerked to a halt by her chains. Unable to break her fall, maybe unconscious as well, she dropped like a rock. Her head hit the ground with a sickening crack. Mathin’s feet hit the ground and he launched himself toward him. A snarl of outrage came from Scy at Mathin’s back, but he only had attention for their enemy. And as he watched, the man changed. Only this change was nothing like that of a full Haunt. Instead he became a hideous mixture of wolf and man, a were-thing with long, scraggly hair and patches of naked flesh. Abnormally long fangs gleamed yellow in his elongated jaws, and his eyes gleamed pus-yellow with red pupils. Revolted, and more than willing to put the monster out of his misery, Mathin engaged. Blue lightning snapped and fizzled around them as swords sliced the air; deadly cuts that would slice their opponent in half when they connected. Around the edge of the puddle they danced, each eager to draw blood. Tonight a Haunt would die. “Can you help her?” Andrea tried to control her shivering. Scy kept one eye on the swordsmen while his symbiont worked on Leo’s head. Still unconscious, she didn’t move. “I’m trying.” He handed a gun to her. “Fire if you get a clean shot. If anything happens to Mathin, you won’t have time for more than one. Got it?” “I—yes.” Determined to control the contractions that squeezed her lower belly, she tried to keep her eyes on the fighters. It wasn’t easy. Not only were they moving in a virtual blur, but the cramps distracted her. They didn’t feel like the false contractions that had squeezed her whole stomach as the pregnancy advanced. No, these were lower, more intense. They felt like they meant business. Please, God! Get us out of here. Something happened—Mathin’s boot must have caught in one of the cracks in the broken paving stones. There was a snapping sound, and he went down. His enemy’s blade went for his neck. Mathin parried. And suddenly Scy was there, a katana-like energy blade weaving like St. Elmo’s fire, interfering with the monster’s blade and luring it away while Mathin freed himself. Balanced on one foot, Mathin withdrew his own gun and stood ready to aid should Scy need it. He didn’t. As relentless as death and hurricane-swift, he wove a dizzying lightshow around the were-beast that was every bit as skilled as Mathin’s. Fireworks exploded from their dueling blades, then the were-beast staggered. Scy’s blade leapt forward and impaled itself deep within the monster. Without a trace of remorse, Scy held it there until it had sizzled a black hole within the body cavity, burning away lungs and organs. The stink of burning hair and charred meat filled the air, and the were-beast’s eyes dimmed, then finally went dark. He was dead. For a moment nobody moved. Then a group of Ronin, led by Jackson, ran through the doorway. Jackson skidded to a halt, the rest of the men panting behind him. “Anyone need help?” Retracting his blade, Scy gave him a curt nod. “Leo.” As the Ronin swarmed around Leo, Mathin, now changed, hopped over to Andrea. She could see the lines of strain around his mouth and eyes. “How badly are you hurt?” she asked, concerned. “Broken ankle. It’ll heal. You?” She gasped as another contraction hit her. “I think I’m having this baby.” And wasn’t that a fine way to end the day? Unable to lift her, Mathin suffered Jackson to carry her out of the room while two Ronin helped him to follow. More Ronin followed with the monster’s decapitated body—always a wise precaution when dealing with a Haunt—and the unconscious Leo.   “Breathe, Andrea.” She reared up on her elbows and glared at Scy, who was stationed at her feet. “I am!” “You can do it, Andrea,” Mathin said at her elbow. “Shut up!” In the worst agony of her life, she couldn’t believe that Mathin was cheering her on as if this were a sporting event. Another painful contraction hit her and she screamed. “Don’t push!” Push! I’ll show you push, she thought, but didn’t have the breath to say it. She felt the painful pressure as Scy checked her cervix for dilation, and cried out at the additional torture. “Okay, you can do it. Push, Andrea!” More demands. Wanting nothing more than to get this baby out, she let her body do what it had been fighting to do for the last half hour. She pushed. And felt the burn as her baby was expelled. The baby was very quiet as it lay in Scy’s arms. Then it opened its eyes, took one look at him, and began to cry. Mathin smirked. “At least we know he has good taste.”   Later, as Andrea lay on the bed in a blissfully un-pregnant state, she turned her head to smile at Mathin, who also reclined on the bed, cradling their son. His ankle had been set, and he seemed glad of the excuse to lie beside her, doing nothing. He smiled back. “He looks just like me.” “Heaven help us.” His face serious, Mathin carefully eased the wrapped bundle between them. He propped himself on one elbow to watch them both. “Would you object if I were to tell you this will be the last child of our bodies?” After the nightmare she’d seen today, Andrea understood his feelings perfectly. “No. But I’m glad he’s here.” She took his hand. “I’ve missed you, Mathin.” A kiss as soft as a dove’s wing demonstrated his heartfelt agreement. “The days could never speed by fast enough, and my nights lasted forever.” Ah, yes. That’s what a woman wanted to hear. Content just to be near him and too exhausted for long conversation, she snuggled down and just enjoyed for a while. Just as she was about to drift off, Mathin said in a contemplative tone, “I thought we could name him Roxtan.” Her eyes flew open. “You are not naming my baby Roxtan. Why not just call him Conan the Barbarian, if you’re going to do that?” His eyes narrowed in annoyance. “What would you prefer?” “How about Alexander?” The disgusted face he made gave her his opinion on that. “Okay, how do you like Maximilian? Max for short.” Mathin snorted. “That sounds like slang for a body part you haven’t seen in far too long. Definitely not.” Peeved, she said, “Herbert then.” “Her-bert.” He turned it over on his tongue. “That was a joke, Mathin!”   The day after Andrea had her baby, Mathin received good news. He limped into Leo’s spare room, in the process shaking Andrea from a light doze. “Look at this!” He thrust the missive he carried with him into her hands. Accustomed to reading Ronin script for the last few months, she blinked at it. Without waiting for her to actually read it, he told her, “Jayems finally ignored my messages to stay away and brought reinforcements. Between him and Raziel, my cousin’s forces were routed in a day.” He frowned. “I only regret I wasn’t there to deal with him.” “You were busy.” She scanned the note. “Did Keilor stay home, then?” Mathin’s sudden stillness boded no good. Taking her hand, he placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “He stayed home with his wife, my love.” His tone became sorrowful. “They lost the baby.” The color drained from her face. “No,” she whispered, and slumped to the bed. Tears welled in her eyes. Jasmine had been so happy! He didn’t try to make it better with platitudes, just held her. “I know.” He rubbed his face against her hair. “I know.” She grieved, but even as she cried for her friend’s loss, in her heart Andrea had to wonder. Had the baby been lost because of some unavoidable defect, caused by the mixing of such alien blood? Might the child have been born a monster? Much as she loved her son, she was glad they’d decided that one was enough. This tempting fate business wasn’t worth it. Perhaps Scy had reached a similar conclusion. In the days they spent waiting for Andrea to recover enough for the trip home, Scy never said a word to Leo. If he saw her on the streets, he turned and went the other way. The times he checked up on Andrea and the baby, Leo was out. Rumor had it he spent much time hunting. “I hate to see them like this,” Andrea said to Mathin after they went to bed one night. “Leo moves like she’s in mourning, and Scy…” Her eyes pleaded with Mathin. “Could you talk to him?” And say what? Aloud, he sighed. “Andrea…” “Please?” “As you wish.”     CHAPTER 13   “It’s a good day for hunting.” Scy looked up at Mathin, his face neither welcoming nor hostile. “It is.” He continued along the path leading into the swamp. With a sigh for Scy’s stubbornness, Mathin followed. Not only had he promised his wife he’d talk to Scy, but Scy’s aloof attitude also roused a sense of challenge. “Rather far from your wife, aren’t you?” Mathin shrugged. “With all the men Jackson has stationed around Leo’s house, I doubt an insect could sneak in to harass her. He’s very thorough.” When Scy said nothing, he added casually, “I thought he and Leo would come to blows over his attempt to set bodyguards over her. She seems to delight in losing them in the swamp as often as possible.” Scy snorted. “Andrea wants to offer her the chance to visit. She wants to introduce her to some of my friends.” That brought Scy to a halt. “How wise is it to introduce a charmer into a citadel swarming with male Haunt?” A slight smile tugged at his lips as Mathin said slyly, “Not so difficult, if a Haunt were to take her in hand first.” Anger radiated from Scy. “I’m not one of you!” Arms crossed, Mathin stared him down. “I am the head of my family and your older brother. You are if you wish to be.” Scy looked away. “Our blood ties are weak and you know it.” Mathin drew a deep breath. “I would have preferred another way to have made them, but I’ll take what I’ve been given.” His eyes narrowed. “Or do you despise your Haunt blood so much that you’d rather not acknowledge it?” His jaw tight, Scy took a couple of steps off the path and leaned against a tree. “It’s how I came about that I despise.” He gestured to the settlement, barely discernable through the trees. “As far as most of them know, I’m no different than they are. I was raised here; I’m one of them. Yet…” He kicked at a tree root, ground the bark off with his boot heel. “I can’t forget what I saw when we rescued Leo.” Resolute, he met Mathin’s eyes. “That could have been me.” Unspoken hung the thought that it might become of a child of his. There was no easy answer to that. Mathin contemplated a leaf, still wet with the morning’s dew. “We know so little of these crosses. One of Jasmine’s sons can change—the other cannot. Yet he wears a symbiont and seems to have senses much like you.” He met Scy’s eyes. “There is some question as to whether they’ll be able to reproduce at all.” “I don’t intend to experiment.” Scy straightened as if to move off. “So you rob her of the pleasure and comfort to be found in your arms without asking her?” Mathin asked softly. “Is that more honorable?” A shudder shook Scy like a volti shakes his prey. Pressing his advantage, Mathin continued, “Have you thought that the attraction between charmer and Haunt is perhaps meant to be? And all other arguments aside, can you deny that Jasmine and Keilor, Andrea and myself are happy? Can you afford not to find out if such is possible for you, too?” Aware that any more words might work against him, Mathin changed the subject. He nodded at Scy’s symbiont. “How is it that you’re able to wear a symbiont at all? With their aversion to Haunt blood, it would seem improbable.” Scy flicked a crawling bug from his arm. “You said yourself that one of Jasmine’s children was born with it. So was I.” He shrugged. “It would appear that I am more human than Haunt. Either that or my Haunt side is submerged enough that it doesn’t signify.” There was a moment of silence while he reflected on it. “If we were to marry, it would likely be best to marry into the side we resembled best. Presuming we aren’t such an unstable conglomerate as our dear, unlamented brother.” A humorless smile touched his lips. “I think it’s best he didn’t pass on any genes, don’t you?” “That we know of,” Mathin added darkly, thinking of the women the man had bragged of raping. Equally grim, Scy shook his head. “I assure you that none of the women he stole survived—including the one we recovered. There were no others.” “At least there’s that.” More silence. “I never did thank you for all you’ve done for me and my wife.” “It was nothing.” “It was something,” Mathin returned forcefully. “And I won’t forget it. If there is anything, at any time, that I can do for you, you have only to name it.” Scy searched his face. “Be careful what you offer, brother.”  He smiled a little. “I might accept.” “Do that.” Mathin left, satisfied that Scy would turn his words over. It was strange how he’d become caught up in the desire to see Scy happy. He’d even caught himself thinking about inviting him to visit. He shook his head, exasperated at his own foolishness. Scy wouldn’t come. Nor did he need an older brother at his age. Picking up his pace, he returned to his wife. “So what did you talk about?” she asked the minute he walked in the door. Arrested by the sight of her nursing their son, he froze. Heat drummed in his veins, reminding him of how long he’d been celibate. “Are you listening to me?” Andrea caught the direction of his gaze and pulled up the blanket around the baby so he would look at her face. Ever since she’d started nursing he’d eyed her poor, swollen breasts with the hunger of a starving man. “Tell me what Scy said.” With a regretful sigh, he claimed a seat on the couch opposite her. “Very little.” “Like what?” He gave an irritable shrug, his mind, or rather his groin, still occupied with thoughts of forbidden fruit. “I don’t remember.” Exasperated with him, she shook her head in disbelief. “You spoke for half an hour and can’t remember a word?” Mathin raised a speculative brow. “Perhaps you could coax it from me.” The grin he gave her was pure invitation. “I’m nursing,” she said primly, even though a mischievous smile played at her mouth. “Besides, I just had a baby.” Not one to give up easily, he tried, “Just a little kiss? Surely that’s allowed. Besides,” he peered at his son, hoping it was true, “he’s asleep. Come and cuddle for a while.” He slid down on the couch, tucked one hand behind his head and extended his free hand. “I promise to behave.” Anticipation flared as she gave him a dubious look, but stood. Immediately their son began to cry. She gave Mathin a helpless glance and patted the baby on the back. “It’s okay, honey. Go back to sleep.” “Waaaah!” Defeated, Mathin groaned and dropped his wrist over his eyes. Thwarted by an infant. What would Raziel say? As it happened, it was Matilda and not Raziel who had much to say. Much to everyone’s surprise, she appeared later that day, riding behind the Ronin who’d been chosen as messenger between the settlement and the citadel. “Andrea!” she cried as she dismounted, running to hug her granddaughter. Before Andrea could say a thing, she pulled back and demanded, “Where’s my great-grandbaby?” The moment she was presented with the infant, she began to cry. “I thought this day would never come.” She sniffed. “Isn’t he beautiful?” Leo, who was present at the time, rolled her eyes, but there was a faint wistfulness there as well. “And I thought my family was bad.” In between cooing at her grandson and directing Mathin where to put her bags, Matilda somehow managed to scold Andrea for not writing more and for making her come out to see the baby when she might have just came home. Barely able to get a word in edgewise, Andrea protested, “We told you we’d be home the day after tomorrow. For pity’s sake, he’s not even a week old yet.” Of course her words fell on deaf ears. And baby hog that she was, Matilda barely relinquished the child long enough for feedings. Andrea had the feeling that if she hadn’t been nursing she’d have never seen her son. Matilda and Shelarah hit it off right away. Within hours they had their heads together, and if their frequent glances in Leo’s direction were any indication, Leo’s days as a bachelorette were numbered. “They make me nervous,” Leo whispered to Andrea as they sat at Jackson’s table, playing a strategy game. “Look at them giggling. I don’t believe that they’re just trading recipes.” Andrea had to agree. While Mathin and Jackson carried on a conversation in the living room, probably about something boring like trade agreements, Matilda showed Shelarah how to crochet. Their hushed conversation might have been about granny squares, but she doubted it. “Do you think it’s too late to run for hills?” When Leo continued to look disgusted, she decided to ask what had been bothering her for some time. “Leo? What happened between you and Scy after we got back?” There was silence for a moment as Leo toyed with a game piece. “Nothing.” As if fearing Andrea would doubt her, she rushed to say, “We’ve barely seen each other since.” She slouched a bit, and the barest hint of a sad frown made her look younger. “Not that I care,” she added, but there was no conviction in her listless tone. This called for action. Assuming the guise of helpful friend, Andrea nodded. “Good!” She moved her game piece with confidence. “Then he can’t be jealous if you show up at the town dance tomorrow night wearing a dress that will make all the men drool.” An extremely dubious frown was her reward for that brilliant idea. “No, he couldn’t, if I were going, which I’m not. Especially not wearing a dress. Do you realize how hard it is to walk in those things? And don’t even consider riding in one.” “Small price to pay to look good for a night.” Leo needed this, and Andrea was going to see she got it. “Besides, it’s not as if you have to start wearing one on a daily basis. Shock value counts for a lot.” Leo took a gulp of her beer. “I don’t doubt that,” she muttered. She tipped her glass to Andrea in warning. “But I won’t do it.” Andrea gave Leo her best gangster grin. “We’ll see.” The next morning, well before the party was to begin, Leo presented Mathin and Andrea with a copy of her notes and sketches. “A gift,” she said simply. Mathin was more excited than Andrea would have dreamed possible. “Do you know how much I’ve always wanted something like this?” he demanded of Leo, his eyes glued to the pages. “It’s almost impossible to get any information on the Beasts in the Dark Lands.” Leo and Andrea exchanged pleased looks. “Wait a minute.” His brows furrowed as he stared at the page. “I’ve seen this picture somewhere else, only…” Both women leaned over his shoulder to see what had him so interested. It was a night scene with a sphinx in the background and two lovers entwined by a fire. Just the sort of thing that would have caught Mathin’s eye, Andrea thought, amused. The only thing was, instead of three moons in the night sky there was— “One moon.” Andrea sucked in a breath. “Where did you see this picture, Mathin?” He regarded her solemnly. “In Fallon’s library, on Earth.” Leo froze. The light of a zealot flashed in her eyes. “Can you get it for me?” Her whisper shook with suppressed emotion. “It will take time, but yes.” His eyes moved back to the picture. “Depend on it.” Drunk on euphoria, Leo was an easy victory, Andrea thought smugly as she later viewed Leo in a new dress. It had been hanging in her closet, right next to more than one lovely creation—gifts of Shelarah’s—but since she was fairly certain it had never been worn, it fit the definition of new to her. Looking at her far-away gaze and lost smile, Andrea doubted that Leo was even aware of her outfit. And a lovely outfit it was. Russet on gold silken material fell from one of Leo’s shoulders to the golden sandals on her feet. A dark red sash edged in gold and tasseled on the end emphasized her slim waist, and the skirt was split at the side to show off the straight, cinnamon skirt underneath. Her blond hair had been intricately braided with matching ribbons and piled on her head. Scy couldn’t help but be impressed. “You look lovely,” Mathin said as Andrea lead her into the living room. She beamed, until she saw Mathin was staring at her and not Leo. Flattering, but with all the time she’d spent on the Leo Project, she wanted a little more feedback. To give him a clue, she smiled pointedly at Leo. “Yes, doesn’t she?” “I meant you.” He tore his eyes from her body long enough to flick a gaze in Leo’s direction. Startled, he did a double take and a slower inspection. “But yes, she does.” Okay, that was enough feedback. Feeling a bit jealous, she edged in front of Leo and sat down on Mathin’s lap. The kiss she gave him just a bit more wicked than strictly needed for a greeting. When she pulled back, his eyes were glowing. Yep. Still got it, she thought, feeling smug. “We could skip the party,” he murmured in her ear, giving the lobe a hidden nip. “Not tonight,” she told him primly, enjoying the novelty of teasing him while he remained helpless to prevent it. “We’re expected.” His muttered answer brought warmth to her cheeks, but he let her up. There would be time for this later. Symbionts helped a girl heal fast.  Besides, she had to see Scy’s face when he caught his first glance of Leo. The girl in question was waiting impatiently for them just outside the door. “Hurry up,” she said, poking her head in. “Shelarah was making snail puffs for the buffet, and I want to make sure I get some before they’re gone.” “Can’t miss that.” With a droll smile for Mathin, Andrea followed her out, holding Mathin’s hand.   Scy looked like he’d been hit by lightning. One look at Leo and he’d frozen in mid-sentence and simply stared. The man he’d been speaking to turned to see what was the matter. He was still gawking. With remarkable aplomb for a woman in the center of a growing pool of silence, Leo headed for the buffet table, took a puff, and turned back to eat it while leaning on the table. The noise level rose as her neighbors pretended they hadn’t been staring. Pleased, Andrea joined Leo at the table and served herself from the wine fountain. Matilda had charge of the baby tonight so that Andrea could enjoy herself. Matilda waved from the play area set up on the grassy commons for the small children, content as long as she could hold her grandchild. More than one man watched the sexy redhead regretfully, but she’d made it clear when she’d first arrived that she was attached, and the word had spread. The bubbles from her effervescent drink tickled Andrea’s nose as she regarded Matilda over the rim. It was still difficult for her to picture Matilda as being wed to Raziel, but Mathin had assured her it was true. She didn’t know if the couple planned to have children or simply enjoy hers and Mathin’s, and wasn’t about to ask. After her trying experience with this pregnancy, she simply didn’t have the energy to contemplate anyone else going through the same. Time would have to unfold the answer. Besides, right now she was far more interested in Leo’s love life, which seemed to be heating up. Already two men had approached her. She smiled at one of them and accepted his hand as he led her out to dance. Her partner said something over his shoulder to the other man, and all three laughed. Curious to see how Scy was handling the competition, Andrea spied him in an intense conversation with a young blond. After all her matchmaking she was annoyed he was speaking to the wrong woman, until she noticed that the girl couldn’t be more than seventeen. She looked familiar, and after a moment she realized it was Luna, Leo’s sister. She’d barely recognized the tomboy in a dress. Luna radiated tension as she gripped his elbow – the matter was clearly urgent. Scy shook his head, and then glanced skyward as if seeking inspiration. Finally he sent a frown toward Leo’s admirers, and let the girl lead him off. “Wonder what that was all about,” Mathin muttered at her side. “I don’t know, but I’m beginning to feel like the unappreciated fairy godmother,” Andrea complained. His grin sent firecrackers popping clear to her toes. Mathin took her glass and set it down. One quick tug pulled her into his arms, slightly bent at the perfect angle for a kiss. “I think I can do something to change that.” A superb dancer, Mathin twirled her around the dance floor, his very grace as beguiling as his dark good looks. The man danced like he made love, and every burning look was enough to set her blood aflame. Schemes and plans for others were lost in the dreamy whirl of pleasure he inspired. How easy it was to love him. It had been too long. But tonight...tonight she could wait, for the pleasure of being held in his arms was real and warm. Tonight she would savor the dream of their love, for tomorrow they were going home to some very real responsibilities and challenges. Life would go on, ticking along its eternal track and bringing them new adventures. But for now she would hold him, and be thankful that someone had seen fit to shake up her mundane life and bring her a taste of something wild.   “I have to speak with you, Scy.” “Can’t it wait?” He looked over Luna’s head to the crowd of men panting after Leo. Very well, so they weren’t panting, but they were far more eager than he liked. Who could blame them? That dress of hers was as thin as paint and showed every curve. What had she been thinking to wear it in public? He’d thought a long time about Mathin’s words and carefully considered his own feelings. She might not know it yet, but Leo was for him. Now he had to convince her of that. But he couldn’t do it with her little sister distracting him. The girl had been off visiting relations for months, and now she acted like the fate of the world hinged on getting his instant attention. “Luna—” “Now, Scy.” Her eyes burned with intensity. “It can’t wait.” Curious now, despite his urgent need to pulverize the men basking in Leo’s glow, he allowed her to drag him off into the shadows. Whatever she wanted to know couldn’t take that long. When they were sufficiently secluded among the abandoned houses, she let him go. With the cool moonlight reflecting off her blond hair, bleaching it colorless, she suddenly seemed both older and far more intent than he’d realized. “Is it true?” Her voice was low, intense. “Am I a hybrid, Scy?” Ragged pain laced her words. “Am I one of them?” Frozen in shock, he stared at her. “Who told you that?” She flicked her hand impatiently. “It doesn’t matter. I know you know about all the births around here. I want the truth, Scy. Now.” Well, she was entitled to know. There was no way to break it to her gently, so he took a deep breath and gave it to her straight. “Welcome to the world of the half-lost, sweetheart. Yes, you are a hybrid.”   Leaving the next morning was harder than Andrea had expected. “Take care of yourself, Andrea,” Jackson told her as she prepared to mount behind a symbiont rider. Leo was supposed to take her home, but she’d been nowhere to be found this morning, nor had she come home last night. At least she and Matilda had a comfortable ride. Poor Mathin was stuck riding on a platform again, since the symbionts wouldn’t tolerate his touch. “I made something for you to eat on the way.” Shelarah handed Andrea a basket and hugged her. She sniffed. “We’re going to miss you. Please come back to visit.” “Only if you promise to show up at the citadel now and then.” Already Andrea felt weepy. But where was Leo? Just as they prepared to mount up, Leo pushed her way at a run through the small crowd. “Wait!” Scy followed her at a more leisurely pace. She slowed to a halt, panting. “I said I’d drive her! Just let me get my bike.” Scy wrapped an arm around Leo’s waist and smiled. He seemed to be in exceptionally good humor that morning. “Our bikes. Won’t take a minute.” Jackson’s eyes fixed on the arm at Leo’s waist. She turned pink and pushed it off as she backed away to get her bike. “Won’t be a minute.” She fled. Scy watched her leave, a knowing smile on his face. “The girl likes to ride,” he murmured. Jackson’s eyes narrowed. Andrea bit her lip and turned away in an unsuccessful bid to hide her grin. Looked like Mathin wasn’t the only one who’d come for his girl. Haunt men always finished what they started.         About the author:   I'm a stay at home mom with three kids, a dog and an active imagination. I spent the first 34 years of my life in Alaska, land of the midnight sun, but these days I'm located in Washington, and am enjoying a much warmer sun :)   I'm married to my high school sweetheart, John, who is known to bring me flowers "just because".   My leisure time is filled with gardening, sewing, art and reading.   Connect with me online at: www.autumndawnbooks.com http://authorautumndawn.blogspot.com     Books by Autumn Dawn:   Spark Series:   When Sparks Fly Dorchester No Words Alone Dorchester Solar Flare   Anthology for the Mammoth Book of Time Travel Romance:   Hemlock & Iron   Indie books:   Dark Lands Series: The Charmer Dark Lands: Homecoming Scent of Danger The Golden Bell Ghost in Her Heart Beast Wars   The Woman Inside The Other Woman Through the Looking Glass   Ride The Stars Careful, He Bites   Interstellar Lover   Under the Bridge