

# Life in the Shadows

## By

## Jan Gordon

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Jan Gordon on Smashwords

Life in the Shadows

Prelude to Romance © 2011 Jan Gordon

The King's Gambit © 2011 Jan Gordon

Milk and Treason © 2012 Jan Gordon

A Soldier's Choice © 2012 Jan Gordon

An Unnatural Alliance © 2012 Jan Gordon & Nicky Charles

Thank you for downloading this free eBook. Do not post or archive on other sites without informing me. A link to my official distributors would be preferred. Please keep this book in its complete original form with the exception of quotes used in reviews. No alteration of content is allowed.

Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

Many of the short stories that follow are set against real historical situations, and historical figures are mentioned. However, this book is a work of fiction and, beyond the aforementioned circumstances, any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. All original characters are copyrighted to Jan Gordon. Characters in the story _An Unnatural Alliance_ that originally appeared in Nicky Charles' Lycan series are copyrighted to Nicky Charles.

This book contains mature content and is intended for mature readers.

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Many, many thanks go to Amy F. who tirelessly read through my scribblings over and over again, and to Jennifer M. who took time out of her very busy schedule to help with the editing. And lastly, thanks have to go to all my fans. Their interest in the characters I've created truly warmed my heart and spurred me onward into writing more stories featuring my were panthers.

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### Table of Contents

Life in the Shadows

Prelude to Romance

The King's Gambit

Milk and Treason

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

A Soldier's Choice

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

An Unnatural Alliance

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Author's Notes

### Life in the Shadows

An anthology of short paranormal romances.

Were panthers are an ancient race. For millennia they have lived alongside humans, always keeping their true selves secret for fear of persecution. They are a private people. Their past is cloaked in mystery and their ways are not always understood, even by other shifters. However, despite their best efforts to remain hidden from the public eye, an undeniable fact can no longer be ignored; one day their existence will be discovered. In preparation for this day and with the hope of creating a better understanding between the peoples of this world, one farsighted were panther has allowed me to share a few stories from his long life.

Join me on a journey that begins more than four centuries ago...

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Prelude to Romance

England, Christmas 1602

The young woman's heavily embroidered skirts rustled as she shivered and pulled her woolen wrapper tighter around her shoulders. At this time of the evening, the solar was too cold for the other women of the household. During the day the large room, generously lit by many windows allowing the sun to warm the space, was a popular place for the Duchess and her ladies to sit, sew, and gossip. But at night, it was used only as a convenient and hopefully private place for trysts.

Solitude, rather than a lovers' tryst, was what Tamara had been seeking. She sat near the small fire she'd lit and set her neat stitches in the linen she was holding; the flame from the large wax work-candle gave her enough light to see by. Wax was a luxury, but one she could afford, and her eyes didn't need a lot of light to see the fine pattern she was fashioning with her needle.

As one of the Duchess' ladies-in-waiting, she had many duties, but this evening with the festivities in the great hall, she didn't think she'd be missed. She'd needed a little time alone to consider the effect Her Grace's unexpected guest might have on her life.

It was Yuletide in the year of our Lord 1602. Queen Elizabeth, although frail, was still on the throne of England, and Tamara had a secret; a secret, that if it were made known, would have her hunted down like an animal.

A secret that was shared by the man who'd arrived that very day.

She'd made discreet inquiries and found that his name was Malcolm Colburn and that he came from the wilds of Ireland. Never having met anyone from Ireland before, his voice had sent shivers down her spine when she first heard him speak. Although his accent was similar to that of the Spanish Ambassador, it had a sweet lilting overtone to it that made his voice sound like music. Chewing on her lip, she wondered where the handsome stranger stood in the hierarchy of her kind.

Tamara had sensed, had smelled, what he was as soon as he'd stepped into the hall; just as surely as he had been aware that she was the same as him. She'd breathed in his scent; a scent that was as welcome as a summer shower after a hot spell, or the wonderful smell of newly cut hay.

Their eyes had met across the hall during the evening meal, and he'd inclined his head in acknowledgment of their similarities. She thought, now, of those eyes, the deep blue that seemed to burn into her soul; his black hair that had made her fingers tingle with longing to touch it.

Would he seek her out?

Her sharp ears picked up a slight sound on the stairwell. Turning her head in the direction of the opening at the far end of the room, she had a moment to steady her composure before he appeared in the doorway.

Tamara put aside her sewing and stood, patiently waiting for him to approach. She knew she should be modest and keep her eyes lowered, but she couldn't resist meeting his gaze. With silent cat-like grace, which obviously came so naturally to him, he advanced to where she was standing, and swept her a bow. Straightening, he took her offered hand and raised it to his lips.

"My lady. You are alone in this house?" He gestured for her to take her seat again, remaining standing until she'd done so. She knew he hadn't meant physically alone.

When he was seated on the settle on the opposite side of the hearth, she answered him. "Yes, my lord. My parents sent me to Her Grace's household when I was young."

"And the family has not yet discovered you?"

"No, my lord. The fashion for white paint has allowed me to disguise my lack of ageing, but I fear I will need to leave soon. Her Grace is beginning to look at me askance; we have the same number of years, but she feels hers as I do not." She pulled her sewing onto her lap to give her hands something to hold; to stop them from trembling.

"Where does your family hail from?"

"My people have spent the last several hundred years in Northumberland, my lord." Even though she was strongly tempted to be bold and look him in the eye, she managed to keep hers demurely downcast.

"They supported the true queen?"

"Aye, my lord, and will be happy when her son sits on the throne of England."

"Do you know who I am, my lady?" His voice held a touch of impatience.

"I have not heard of your name before, my lord."

He rose from his seat and came to stand before her. She watched in some confusion as he pulled his sleeve back from his wrist. "Amongst my family I am known as Malik bin Fahm. I am the heir." There, on his forearm, was a birthmark in the shape of a panther's head.

Tamara's eyes grew wide, and she scrambled to her feet before sinking into a deep curtsey; her sampler falling to the floor. "Your Highness! I did not realize. Please forgive me."

With regal grace, he reached down and placed one finger under her chin to make her rise up. "Please, there is no need to bow before me."

Standing, she dared look at his beautiful face again. "But, Your Highness, one day you will be my sovereign."

"And when that day comes, who will you owe allegiance to? Prince Jamie who will be King of England or to the leader of your kind?"

"To both of you, Your Highness." She lifted her chin a little higher. "We must obey the laws of the land in which we live."

"And if I would have you stand by my side as my mate and as my queen; what would you say?"

Tamara swallowed and wondered if her future really lay with this very regal creature. From deep inside, her pride made itself known. "I would say...that I would want to be courted first."

Malik stepped closer and, taking her hand again, he lifted it to his lips. She was mesmerized by his gaze as his lips lingered on her skin longer than was proper. As if he were daring her to protest, he caressed the delicate skin with his mouth and with the roughness of his tongue. "I think I could do that." He smiled at her and led her to the settle, pulling her down next to him as he sat.

Facing the hearth, he held her hand, and as the flames danced in the darkness creating a world of magic, they talked of the future.

A future that she hoped would hold centuries of love, freedom, and the continuation of a dynasty.

End

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The King's Gambit

Trenton, New Jersey, America

1776

The air in the tavern was thick with smoke from the massive stone hearth and redolent with the scent of tobacco and ale. Malik leaned against the leather cushions softening the back of the settle and took a deep drag on his pipe. Heat from the fire made him drowsy, and he was glad to be sitting inside rather than taking shelter under some bush out in the bitter weather. This winter was particularly harsh, evidence of which was coating the glass in the windows with white crystals.

He was a long way from his home in the west of Ireland and he missed the mild, wet winters of that green land. It seemed that the Colonies never did anything by halves, not revolution and definitely not winter. It'd been close on a year since he'd last seen his mate and cubs; although, he shouldn't call the older girls cubs anymore. His eldest, Matilda, was long mated with cubs of her own.

The hum of male voices rose and fell around him as he pictured himself sitting by the fire with Tam. He missed her, too. His female was probably angry with him, again. He'd never been able to tell her where he disappeared to, sometimes for years at a time. She probably thought he had another woman somewhere; better she thought that than the truth. The truth could get her killed.

A strongly accented voice pulled him out of his reverie and he looked around for the source. The speaker, a large bear of a man with a thick mustache and more than a few days' beard growth, was drunkenly toasting King George. His clothing marked him as a Hessian officer in the King's service and, incidentally, one of the men Malik was there to watch.

Watch...that was a euphemism that made Malik chuckle to himself. Spy. That's what he was really here to do. It was what he was good at and he'd been doing it for two hundred years. He was skilled at blending into the background, in either of his forms. No one paid him any attention, and if they did...well, being a shifter had its advantages; a snarl and a show of teeth usually sent them running in fear.

He'd started his career by accident when he'd been travelling north from his birthplace and home in southern Spain, where it had become fatally dangerous to be anything other than an ardent Catholic. He'd met the Englishman, Francis Walsingham in Paris in 1572 when the man had been Elizabeth's ambassador to the French court. While helping Protestant refugees reach the sanctuary of the Ambassador's home, Malik had struck up a friendship with him.

A few years later, in England, Walsingham had suspected a Catholic plot to oust Elizabeth. He'd needed someone to watch Throckmorton, the main conspirator; Malik had offered his services and his career in espionage had begun.

The wily old fox had gone down in history as Queen Elizabeth's spy master, but he was so much more than that. He'd been her Principal Secretary and a brilliant man with an intuitive knowledge of world politics. And he could sniff out a lie at a distance of fifty paces.

Raucous laughter once again brought his attention back to the Hessian officer and his compatriots. Malik sighed. He would need to follow them when they left. Watching how they entered their encampment might give him useful information on the positioning of their sentries. Realizing that he would have to reconcile himself to most of a night spent outside after all, he signaled a serving girl and ordered a brandy. Perhaps the liquor would help keep the cold at bay.

The light from the tavern windows only stretched a few feet into the road. With the moon obscured by heavy clouds that held the promise of more snow, the dark of the night was almost complete. The black panther, hiding in the darker patch of shadow in the shelter of some trees, didn't need light to see. He sat, still as a statue, waiting for the door of the tavern to open...waiting for his quarry.

A sudden burst of light and noise preceded the Hessian soldiers' exit from the alehouse. Malik slunk back farther into the shadows; he knew his black fur wouldn't reflect the light, but he wasn't taking any chances of being discovered. If they saw him, he wouldn't even get a chance to be shot as a spy, they'd probably kill him out of hand and use his pelt to warm one or more of their beds at night.

He could have spied on the British encampment without following the soldiers, but this way he could see and hear the pickets' reaction to their fellow combatants not just their positions. He planned to circle the camp in order to give General Washington a more detailed report.

The Hessians were burdened by their heavy greatcoats and mufflers, as well as the alcohol they'd consumed; following them was easy, except for the cold that seeped into his paws. Although he didn't like the cold it was no more than an annoyance to his kind. Even in human form, Malik wasn't susceptible to the extremes of weather; as a cat he was even less so. The officers were heading towards the barracks; Washington already knew the officers were billeted there. But what about the other ranks? This weather was punishing, surely they couldn't all be bunked down in tents.

As they passed the livery, Malik got a partial answer. The officers laughed and made comment about how it was warmer in the barracks than where their men were staying. Malik shook his head at the disdain these humans showed for the men serving under them. One of them complained that it might be easier to find female company in town where the men were billeted. With a leer he opined that a lot of the daughters and wives of the town were more than accommodating.

Malik's lips pulled back in a sneer. These men had no more morals than a common alley cat. When weres mated they remained together for life. That's why Tam's suspicions not only puzzled him, but hurt him to the core. That she could believe he would dally with other females was beyond his comprehension. But, it was a convenient cover and he was not going to disabuse her of the belief—yet.

Snow was beginning to fall when they finally reached the perimeter of the barracks. The picket must have been frozen but the soldier still managed a passable salute when he recognized the officers. Malik began to pad around the edge of the encampment. There were some tents and camp fires, but nowhere near enough to house the numbers that he'd heard were billeted in Trenton. His earlier assumption that the majority had to be bunking down in homes and stables in and around the town would appear to be true.

Halfway around the encampment he lifted his head and sniffed at the air. He smelled were panther—that strange mix of animal and human which was unique to his kind. Following the scent, he found a soldier taking a piss amongst some trees. As the man turned, buttoning the fall of his breeches, Malik let out a low snarl and transformed into his human form.

The man fumbled with his musket, thus giving Malik time to calm the soldier's worries.

"I am not here to hurt you." Malik raised his hands. "Where are you from...originally?"

The man sniffed the air and his stance became slightly less belligerent. "I'm the one who is armed; seems like you are the one who should be worried about getting hurt." He brought the gun up and leveled it at Malik. "And I'm from the Pyrenees, not that it is any of your business."

Malik nodded and let his hands fall to his sides once more. "You are right, of course, but before you shoot me or call for help, tell me have you ever heard of Malik bin Fahm?"

The soldier scoffed. "Who hasn't heard of the king? Never met him, nor ever known anyone who has. The only way he can be known is by a birthmark in the shape of a panther's head."

Malik removed his coat and jacket and rolled up his sleeve extending his arm toward the man. "You mean like this one?"

The soldier's eyes widened and he lowered his gun. "My lord? Is it truly you?"

"Yes, although I am known as Malcolm Colburn by the English and Americans."

The man fell to his knees before his monarch. "I am your servant, Your Majesty. What is it that you wish of me?"

"Stand up brother. What are you called?"

"Stefano bin Mustafa, Sire."

"Are you the only shifter in the camp, Stefano?"

"Yes Sire."

"Might I suggest that you take a long walk away from Trenton. Shift and go for a run. Stay away for a few days at the very least. If you can make it to the coast, find a ship and get yourself back to Europe."

"I'm sworn to King George, Sire. I cannot leave."

Malik's blue eyes flashed with sudden anger. "You are my subject, not the English king's. I would prefer that you stay safe and you _will_ do as I command."

The man bowed his head. "Yes Sire."

Malik began to turn. "Oh, and Stefano." The man's head came up at the sound of his name on his king's lips. "Be warned. Keep my advice to yourself, or you may find yourself in trouble with me as well as King George."

Stefano bowed his head once more and before he raised his eyes again Malik had shifted and slipped away into the darkness.

The weather was taking a turn for the worse, and his feline senses told him it was going to get a lot colder before long. He wondered if the pickets would be able to cope with another sharp drop in temperature. His gut was telling him they'd be taking shelter rather than standing out in the open during the next few nights.

Shadows swallowed him has he prowled around the buildings of Trenton, winding his way back to the tavern and a warm bed. He would have to be up before dawn in order to report to General Washington's camp by daybreak.

The crowd in the taproom had thinned considerably by the time Malik returned. Unfortunately the serving wenches were still hard at work, and some of them were actively looking for some 'after hours' easy money. He knew they'd be only too happy to keep him warm through the night. It'd been almost two centuries since he'd been with a woman other than Tamara; it hadn't been a love match, but they'd come to love each other. She was a good female, an excellent mother, and a passionate mate. He wasn't about to break his mating vows now.

Since reaching maturity he'd never lacked for female company. At well over six foot with olive-colored skin, black hair, and deep blue eyes, women had always been attracted to him like bees to honey. Of course, being of royal lineage had only helped where females of his kind were concerned. Now, such attention was just an annoyance and his libido didn't even stir at the sight of a comely wench, human or shifter.

The landlord spotted him entering, bringing with him a swirl of snowflakes. "Ye've never been outside on a night like this, have ye Mr. Colburn?"

"Aye, Mr. McDonnell. Your ale is powerful stuff and I needed to clear my head a little before retiring." Malik added a little extra Irish to his voice.

"A terrible winter it is, Mr. Colburn."

"And likely to get worse before we see any signs of a thaw." Malik moved towards the stairs. "I will see you in the morning, Mr. McDonnell. I shall need to break my fast early as I need to be on the road before daylight."

The man nodded at Malik. "Well then, I'll be wishing ye a goodnight, Mr. Colburn."

As he climbed the staircase to his room, Malik thought about the subterfuge he'd have to accomplish to cover his tracks in the morning. The landlord would be bound to wonder where his horse was stabled. Then he remembered the livery he'd passed on his way to the barracks earlier and realized that any suspicions Mr. McDonnell might harbor would be easy to overcome.

Malik lay on his bed fully clothed. He only had a few hours before he had to meet with General Washington and his officers. A short rest was all he could allow himself and closing his eyes, he tried to relax but it was not to be. Thoughts of his home invaded his consciousness; he pictured his mate, his Tamara, sitting by their hearth with their youngest at her breast. He wished he had some other occupation—one that kept him closer to home where he could watch his mate nurture his child and share the joys of a growing family. With a curse, he sat up and swung his feet to the floor. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he ran his fingers through his hair before cradling his head in his hands.

Two hundred years was surely long enough to be a spy for hire. But what else could he do? Weres, like humans, did a variety of jobs to earn a daily crust. However, he was a noble without a court. A king who couldn't raise taxes. What kind of profession could he take up that would befit a king, and yet not be noticed that he didn't age?

While many weres became soldiers like the man in the Hessian camp, a king couldn't become a lowly soldier.

However, a spy by definition was secretive. He could move from one country to another, like a will-o'-wisp...live his life in the shadows.

The financial rewards were excellent, but the toll it was taking on his relationship with his mate was too much. Perhaps he should come out and live in the light. Become a farmer or some such. A wry chuckle escaped him. Somehow he couldn't see himself working the land. Yet, he had to do something or Tam was never going to forgive him. He resolved to tell her everything when he returned to Ireland, and to promise he'd stay close to home...be a proper mate and father. If he were to give up this life, then her safety would no longer be an issue.

There were many advantages to being a shifter, one of which was being able to jump from place to place using only the power of thought. It was highly convenient when one didn't feel like walking or couldn't spare the time to travel by a normal conveyance. While it wasn't something that could be done over great distances, it could certainly take Malik from Trenton to the other side of the Delaware and the Continental Army's camp.

Well before dawn, Malik checked that the door to his room was locked, and dematerialized appearing a few hundred yards from the pickets guarding General Washington's winter quarters. The blizzard had been blowing for some time when he arrived at the perimeter of the camp, and his footfalls were silent as he approached the sentries. He was challenged and allowed to pass, walking determinedly towards the General's billet.

When Malik arrived at the Keith house, light was already shining from the windows. Inside, Washington and his men were breaking their fast. Maps were spread across the table between the plates and tankards.

General Washington looked up when Malik entered the room and greeted him with a nod. "Gentlemen, may I make Malcolm Colburn known to you. Colburn is a very talented man, able to slip in and out of the enemy's camp at will, with none the wiser." Washington stood and offered Malik a seat at the table. "Sit, eat, and tell us what you have found out."

Malik declined the seat but accepted a tankard of ale. Pulling a map of Trenton towards him, he proceeded to point out the salient facts and weaknesses of the British encampment. "Finally, sir, if I may be so bold, I think that if the weather gets any colder the pickets will not remain at their posts. They would freeze in their boots if they did."

"Hmm... An interesting point. I have also sent someone into Trenton to lay false information. He will spread it abroad that we will not attack at Christmas. It might just lower their guard." The general looked around at his officers. "Thank you, gentlemen. Now, if you would be so kind as to give me a few moments alone with our informant."

When the door closed behind the last of his officers, the general went to a trunk in the corner of the room and removed a strongbox. Pulling a key from his pocket he unlocked it and removed a soft leather pouch. He pushed the purse across the table to Malik before relocking the strongbox and returning it to its home and shutting the trunk.

"It is all in English sovereigns. I know, or suspect, more about you than you think I do, Mr. Colburn. Let me thank you for your service, and release you to continue on your way." He sat back down at the table and raising his brow he looked up at his visitor. "Might I suggest you leave the area and do not take part in the fighting...on either side. Understand?"

"Yes sir, I do. I wish you well in your undertaking, General. And if it means anything, I hope you manage to throw off the colonial yoke." Malik extended his hand and the general shook it.

Arriving back in his rooms at the inn in Trenton, Malik lost no time in packing up his belongings. Traveling light was easier for him than for other shifters. Every time he transformed from panther to human he made sure the clothes he included in the shift were clean, sometimes even new, depending on the circumstances. He smiled grimly; being a powerful were of royal blood with all its extra benefits, had its pluses as well as its minuses.

The landlord chose to be chatty over the morning meal of beefsteak and ale, and Malik had to keep his wits about him. He was just curious enough to be suspicious and Malik wasn't sure exactly which side of the fence the man sat. To be sold out to the British at this late stage would be disastrous. Thankfully, Mr. McDonnell believed his story about leaving his horse at the livery stable instead of the inn.

Malik paid his tab and with his saddle bags slung over his shoulder, he walked out into the cold. The snow had stopped but a freezing drizzle was falling which, in his opinion, was far worse than the blizzard of the night before. He walked in the direction of the livery in case the tavern's landlord was keeping an eye on his progress. Slipping behind the building when he reached it, he checked to make sure no one was watching and dematerialized.

Seconds later he reappeared behind some warehouses at the docks. The wharves were busy and he made his way down to the quayside. He needed to find passage to France and from there to Ireland.

There were two ships tied alongside that were listed as traveling to France, but one was a slaver returning to Europe with tobacco and cotton. No matter how much they cleaned the below decks between trips, slavers stank due to the terrible conditions their human cargo was kept in. His acute senses couldn't take the stench even with the freshness of the wind at sea. Besides, Malik could not and would not condone the practice of slavery. People, whether they be human or shifter, should be free.

He turned his attention to the other ship. It was a merchant vessel, and from the smell, had never carried slaves as cargo. The captain was also the owner of the ship and after some discussion over the price of passage, Malik had a berth to himself.

Stowing his gear in his cabin, he returned on deck to observe the crew and any other passengers. Leaning on the rail, he saw a familiar face on the dockside and made a spontaneous decision. Without hesitation he made his way down the gangplank to waylay the man who was dressed in rough homespun and a military greatcoat.

"Stefano!"

The man turned and visibly restrained himself from dropping to his knee before his monarch. Instead, when Malik drew near, he spoke with quiet respect. "Sire, I did not expect to see you here. I thought you had business in Trenton."

"My 'business' was concluded quickly and satisfactorily. I am pleased to see you took my advice. What will you do when you get back home?"

"I'm not even sure where home is anymore, Sire."

"Then I may have a proposition for you if you are interested. Come, let us walk." Malik turned to stroll along the quay. "What do you know about farming?"

"Little to nothing, Sire; I've been a soldier all my adult life."

"Your soldiering skills might well be useful at some point, but for now..." Malik stopped and looked at Stefano who had halted as well, curiosity etched on his handsome features. "For now, it's farming skills I need. Would you be willing to learn?"

"It can't be more difficult than killing for a living. T'would likely be a lot safer."

Malik nodded sharply. "I have a large estate in the west of Ireland. I have a fancy to farm that land. Would you be prepared to learn alongside your king? Work the land like a human male?"

"It would certainly be a change of pace and I'd be willing to give it a try, Sire."

"My mate and cubs live there and if I have to go away, would you guard them with your life? Would you be my lieutenant? I would rest easier if I knew there was a strong male watching over them."

"I would be honored to be of service to my king and his family." Stefano bowed his head and exposed the back of his neck in a show of subservience.

"So be it. Come, we will find you passage on my ship." Malik put a hand on the man's shoulder to guide him back to the vessel. "We need to think of a new name for you. Stefan would be good and close enough to your own name, but 'bin Mustafa' might well be thought too foreign in Ireland." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "The inn keeper in Trenton was called McDonnell, how about O'Donnell?"

"One name's as good as another to me, but I like the sound of that. Stefan O'Donnell." He tried the name and grinned. "Yes, I like that very much. A new name, a new life. It was a good day when you came across me in Trenton, Sire."

The journey across the Atlantic Ocean was arduous and long due to the season, for they first had to sail south before following the currents north. Malik's impatience to be home grew daily and he was glad to have Stefan's company to help while away the days. It was spring when they finally landed in Brittany. Yet the journey was by no means over. From there they found berths on a merchantman which took them to Dublin.

In Ireland's largest city they found rooms and a private parlor in one of the better inns. After the long weeks at sea it was good to sleep in a bed that didn't sway, not to mention the luxury of a bath. Clean and rested, Malik and Stefan sat down to break their fast. Malik waited a moment or two after the servants left the parlor before revealing his immediate plans to his new lieutenant.

"I have business to attend to here in Dublin, but by this evening I should be ready to jump to my estate." Malik leaned forward and pinned his lieutenant with his gaze. "Stefan, it might be wise if I arrive at my home alone. After a day or two I will come for you and you can follow me back to my home."

"As you wish, Sire. I am sure I can find something, or someone, to do here in this fine city." Stefan stretched and turned his chair to rest his feet near the fire, his eyes dancing with mischief. He had become more relaxed in Malik's presence during the long sea voyage. Now they were more friends than sovereign and subject.

"Behave yourself; I do not want to be met by any irate fathers upon my return."

Stefan's deep laugh followed Malik as he disappeared from their rooms in a shimmer of disturbed air.

Malik spent most of the day dealing with his bankers, and by the time made the jump to the west of Ireland he was thoroughly out of temper. Deciding he needed to exercise the bad humors out of his system, he reappeared at the very edge of his property with the intention of walking the rest of the way. Dusk was falling and there was a faint orange glow on the horizon as the sun disappeared for the night. It was good to be home. Walking along the track, he didn't try to hide his approach. When he was within yards of the front door it opened and Tam stood on the threshold, hands on her hips. He paused a moment to take in her appearance. It had been years since he had seen her, but his memory had not played him false. His mate was still as beautiful as the day they had met, perhaps even more so, and the sight of her was as welcome as a drink of water to a man dying of thirst. In his mind he could hear her voice, hoarse with passion, giving vent to her feelings as they consummated their love.

"You have returned, I see." He could almost feel the sparks of her anger as she glared at him in welcome. Malik sighed and approached his antagonistic mate; he would have to tread carefully.

"Yes Tam. And I do not want to leave again."

"Huh! Tired of wenching your way around the country? That will last for all of a week and then you will be off to find other beds again."

Malik stepped close to her and she backed into the entryway. He shook his head knowing there would be no appeasing her and followed her into the house, closing the door behind him. "Where are the cubs?"

"Out for a run."

"And the babe?"

"She is no longer a babe, but she is asleep, as if you cared." She turned around and he followed her closely into the large comfortable kitchen. Reaching the scrubbed wooden table in the center of the room she turned abruptly and, ignoring her antagonism, he smiled. Snaking an arm around her waist, Malik pulled her towards him.

"Tam, how about a kiss for the father of your children." Her scent hit him as he lowered his head towards hers. He felt his body harden in reaction to her softness and his memories of their early life together when passion had reigned supreme between them. She stirred him as no other female could. His lips met hers and for a moment he felt her melt against him before she stiffened and pulled away.

Tamara ground her teeth and slapped his cheek hard enough to leave an imprint of her hand.

Malik stared at his mate, shock at her action uppermost in his mind. Her bosom was heaving, her cheeks flushed. Any other time he might have appreciated how the color enhanced her looks, but right now he struggled with his emotions as shock quickly turned to rage. Anyone else would have received dire retribution, but he couldn't hurt his female.

With immense effort, he brought his temper under control and, without a word, spun on his heel and began walking back toward the front of the house. He flattened his hand on the back of the door and leaned his forehead on the wooden panel for a second before turning back to Tamara. She'd followed him, the look in her eyes telling him to go, that he was no longer welcome. Perhaps he'd never been welcome. No, that wasn't true, once, a long time ago, she'd loved him. Briefly, he searched her face for some evidence of that tender emotion but found none, only distrust and hurt. A heavy sigh escaped him, but he was too proud to beg and he'd done what he'd needed to do with his life. He had nothing to be ashamed of. With a lift of his chin, he met her accusing stare levelly.

"I am going Tam, but I do not want to leave you alone and unprotected again. My lieutenant, Stefan, will be here soon. He is a good man, one you can trust; he will bunk in the barn until he can build himself a cottage. Please allow him to protect you and the cubs." He turned to open the door and walked out. Without looking around he bid her goodbye. "Next time, I will not return without giving you notice."

He paused and gripped the door jam, his knuckles almost white as he fought to keep his emotions in check. "We are mated Tam, for better or worse, we are mated. Since I met you there has not been anyone else, and there will never be anyone else, until death." Without waiting for her reply, he drew on his powers and the air shimmered as he faded into the twilight.

For a moment Tam stared at the empty space where her mate had stood, then slowly sank down on the doorstep and cried as if her heart was breaking...which it was.

End

* * * * *

Milk and Treason

Chapter One

Ireland, 1777

Night was falling fast as the dark figure stepped out of the deepening shadows of the alley. He moved with feline grace along the quay, the ebb and flow of humanity parting to allow him passage. He looked dangerous...angry and ready for a fight. The dockside whores eyed him as a potential customer; the pickpockets took note of his belligerent air and gave him a wide berth.

Malik strode blindly toward his destination; the teeming life of Dublin's stews didn't even reach his consciousness. His companion was misery and it was all but consuming him. Only his determination to set the record straight was stopping him from becoming entirely mired in the anguish that made his heart ache.

One more job, he thought, and when he next went home he would make certain that Tamara listened to him. With his lieutenant, Stefan, there to help protect her and the cubs, it would be safe to tell her what he had really been doing during his long absences. The lies and subterfuge, that were the unfortunate yet necessary part of his life as a spy, had to end. He needed it to end. In future, she would know what he was doing each time he left her. Tam needed to be shown just how much he loved and cherished her, and that he had only been doing what he had to do to support her and their cubs.

Stefan was waiting for him at the inn where he'd left him. Malik hardly noticed how the streets became cleaner and the pedestrians better dressed as he neared the better quarter of Dublin where the tavern was situated. Walking there instead of making the jump into their private parlor, allowed him to burn off some of the emotion that was choking him, and by the time he reached the inn he was calmer. So calm that even finding his second-in-command in bed with two whores only elicited a chuckle. Two? Malik continued to smile as he entered his own room. Well Stefan was an un-mated were, there was no reason for him not to sow some wild oats. Just as long as none of those oats took root.

A combination of the mess he'd made of his relationship with Tam and the tiring exercise of using thought to jump the distance to the west of Ireland and back within an hour, made it imperative that he rest. Malik lay down on his bed and forced himself to stop thinking about his mate. But no matter what he tried, he kept seeing her in his mind. He could picture her so easily as she'd looked when they'd first met.

It had been back in 1602. The stiff and elaborate Elizabethan fashions had suited her and she had looked so regal. He had known the instant he had seen her that she would be the perfect mate and a good future queen for their people. She thought it had been just coincidence that had brought him to the duke's home that Christmas. He'd never disabused her of the idea.

In reality, he'd received a letter from his father in Spain telling him about the beautiful were of noble birth, and Malik, knowing he needed a mate, had arranged a meet with his superior at a time to coincide with the Yuletide gathering. Tamara had been companion to the duchess since they were children and had moved with Her Grace after her marriage to the duke. However, after forty years it had been getting more and more difficult for Tam to hide her youthful appearance and she'd needed to move on. An alliance with him had been the ideal solution. What had started as a mating of convenience had quickly become a love match, on both sides.

Some time later, an insistent knocking on the door to his room awoke him from a dream of him and Tam living in peace and harmony, surrounded by their children. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, he shook his head to rid himself of the remnants of a deep sleep. "Come," he called out.

Stefan entered, and closing the door, leaned against the panels. "I thought something had happened to you when you didn't answer the door immediately, Sire."

Malik eyed the big blond with a semi-serious snarl. "I was asleep."

"Unlike you to sleep so deeply, Sire."

"Stefan, I think we have been through enough together that we can dispense with the formalities. You know my name. It is Malik in private, or Malcolm in public."

Stefan came farther into the room. "I will endeavor to remember...Malik." He sat on a chair by the empty hearth and stretched his long legs out. "I didn't expect you back so soon. Is there trouble at home?"

"Not trouble exactly, but my homecoming did not go...smoothly. Come, I need a meal and a drink. I have a story to tell you."

They had finished their meal before Malik came to the end of his tale.

"So you see Stefan, as my lieutenant it is not going to be an easy welcome for you at my home." Malik sat back in his chair and took a mouthful of ale from his tankard.

"It's not easy for you either, Sire, I mean Malik. You are our leader, but no one knows you, you're a king without a country to govern." Stefan leaned forward, his elbows on the table top. "You're right, what else can you do to earn money? Become some duke's secretary? Earn your way at the gaming tables?" He shook his head. "That's too risky. T'would be a fine life for me, but then I'm not the monarch. If you were to consider the army or navy then you would have to be an officer, your bearing would demand it. But if you chose that course it would be too easy for you to be discovered. As a lowly soldier in the ranks, such as I was, it's easy to escape detection, but that would never suit you.

Stefan raised his tankard and took a sip of his ale before continuing. "As I see it, you are doing the right thing, Malik, so go and do what you must, I will stay and guard your family. I don't know anything about farming, but I will learn. I have a strong back and I will put it to good use in your service for however long you need me."

"Thank you, Stefan." Malik's voice was quiet and his gratitude very real. "We will leave first thing in the morning. But Stefan," he stood and glowered at his lieutenant. "no whores on my property."

Stefan looked contrite and held his hand to his heart. "Never." His sincerity, however, was spoiled by the smirk that he couldn't quite hide.

Chapter Two

Ireland, Summer 1780

Stefan raised his face to the stiff breeze coming in from the ocean, letting it blow away the cobwebs in his head. He'd spent the night carousing in one of Dublin's better brothels and now regretted having indulged in their wine quite as liberally as he'd satisfied his other thirst.

The sun warmed his back as he sat on an outcropping of rock atop the cliff edging Malik and Tamara's land. He looked toward the west, out over the Atlantic. His king, and friend, was out there somewhere. On the other side of the wide expanse of water lay the Americas, and the last Stefan had heard from Malik was that he was going back to work for General Washington.

He sighed, there were so many secrets these days. Malik's missions had to be kept secret from Tamara and her daughters, and he had to be careful what he said whilst on one of his jaunts to Dublin. If he let something slip, the English might find out that Malik was, to all intents and purposes, a traitor.

He also needed to stop their neighbors from discovering they had were panthers living in close proximity to them. If they were ever found out, Tam and the girls would no doubt be murdered in their beds. Humans never understood or accepted others who were different. The family had been living in this remote part of Ireland for decades, but even though there weren't many humans living close to Malik's farm, it was past time to move to another property. Weres didn't age like Homo sapiens, and unless they lived in a completely shifter community, they needed to move from place to place to avoid detection. Tamara had mentioned they had property in the fens of East Anglia and in Cumbria. Perhaps they should think about relocating and be ready to leave as soon as Malik returned.

A little more than three years ago Malik and he had tandem jumped to his estate on the west coast of Ireland. They'd materialized a couple of miles from the house and Malik had walked with him some of the way, showing him points of interest.

"The house is just over that rise." Malik had pointed to the north before handing him a leather satchel. "In there you will find letters of introduction and some of the gold that Washington paid me. I have included a letter of credit on my bank in Limerick; it is a large town where you should find most of the things that you might need.

"I will leave you here, it is not necessary to upset Tam any further, which my presence would only do. I will try and get word to you from time to time." Malik held out his hand and he'd gripped it. "Goodbye and good luck, my friend. Look after my females for me."

"I will, Sire. I'll care for them like they're my sisters and I will protect them with my life." He'd let go of his friend's hand, and as the air began to shimmer around Malik, Stefan had stopped him from leaving. "Malik. Take care of yourself, I've promised to look after your mate, not your widow."

With a sharp nod, Malik had disappeared, leaving his lieutenant to continue to the house alone.

He had stopped within sight of the house; a woman had been digging in what looked like a vegetable garden. Her flame red hair had glinted in the sunlight. As he'd drawn near she'd straightened from her task and put her hand up to shade her eyes against the sun's bright glare. He'd known she could see him as clearly as he could see her. Their feline senses rarely let them be caught unawares.

When he'd reached the edge of the garden he'd stopped and given the woman a courtly bow, which somehow hadn't appeared out of place even though he'd been wearing homespun. She hadn't curtseyed back at him; but rather had stood ramrod straight and managed to look down her nose at him, despite hardly reaching his shoulder. Stefan had stared at her. The red hair and green eyes complimented by skin the color of fresh cream had made the diminutive female outstandingly beautiful. He'd cleared his throat and finally found his voice.

"Lady Tamara?" At her nod, he'd approached and bowed again, "Stefan O'Donnell at your service, my lady." He'd held out the letter of introduction that Malik had given him.

Tam had taken the parchment and silently scanned her mate's bold writing before looking up and settling her hostile gaze on Stefan. "I do not want you here, Mr. O'Donnell. But it seems that my lord has commanded you to guard us, therefore I must suffer your presence." She looked him up and down. "I hope you know how to work, because due to the lack of danger to us, your guarding duties will be light. Instead, you will have to help with the cows and anything else that needs to be done."

"Cows?" He'd almost squeaked but covered it with a cough. "Er...I am here only to serve you and your family, my lady."

She'd nodded in the direction of a large wooden outbuilding. "You will not share our house. The barn is over there. You should be comfortable enough in the hayloft until you can build yourself a cabin. You can hitch the horses to the cart and drive into Limerick tomorrow for lumber." Her voice had left him in no doubt as to her opinion of anyone that her mate approved of. Stefan hadn't been sure if he envied or pitied Malik for his spitfire of a mate.

Stefan breathed in the sea air and lay back on the rocks as he remembered those early days. Initially, Tamara had tried to keep her daughters away from him, but in the course of day to day farm chores it proved difficult to keep them apart. There were six in all, though only four were still at home. Matilda, the eldest, was mated and lived in Scotland. Mary was next in line, but she only came home on Sundays from Dublin, where she taught French and Italian at a school for young ladies. Then there was Elizabeth who, as far as he could tell, did the majority of the cooking. Tamara taught the next two, Anne and Georgiana their lessons, but they also had their own chores. Anne cared for the chickens and the pigs, while Georgie was in charge of milking the cows. Little Sophie, the youngest, kept herself busy with her toys and a dog of indeterminate parentage.

Since he was the only male, it fell to Stefan to do all the heavy work. When he'd asked who'd done the job before his arrival, Tamara had replied, with a shrug, that they'd all helped out. He was happy to take the responsibility off those slim shoulders. Such a tiny woman, but she had a will of iron and a spirit worthy of a queen.

Learning the ways of farming had its highs and lows. He'd discovered that he enjoyed working the land and harvesting the fruit of his labors. Building his own home had given him immense satisfaction as well. And as for the animals, well, they needed constant tending and his sensitive nose often wrinkled at their stench; but when all was said and done, they were docile enough creatures. Except, that is, for the one day he'd tried to help out by attempting to milk the cows. Absently, he rubbed his hip at the memory of that encounter.

It had been raining heavily that day and Stefan had brought the cows in for milking. Georgie hadn't yet made an appearance by the time he got back to the barn with the animals, so he went off to muck out the stables. Later, he'd been washing under the pump in the yard when he'd heard the cows lowing in the barn. Curious, he'd gone to find out what was wrong. The two cows were still in the barn and by the sound of them, they hadn't yet been milked. He'd glanced toward the house, wondering why Georgie was late but, uncertain of his reception, he hadn't gone looking for her.

After hesitating for a moment he'd shrugged his shoulders and grabbed the milk bucket. He'd had no idea what'd happened to make Georgie late, but the cows were in pain and needed to be seen to. Placing the milking stool beside the first cow he'd settled down and stared at the swollen udder. He'd watched Georgie do this dozens of times, how difficult could it be? Reaching out to grab a teat, the animal had immediately reacted with a carefully aimed hoof at the bucket.

As the wooden pail had flown across the floor, he'd snarled at the cow, which only made the beast panic all the more. It had kicked out again, this time landing a blow to the leg of the stool on which he had been sitting. His ungainly descent to the flagstones had ended with his hip coming into painful contact with the ground.

Stefan had suppressed the urge to snarl at the cow again, and had, instead, righted the stool. He'd snatched up the bucket and had sat himself back down to make another attempt at something a teenage girl was able to do but he was, apparently, unable to master. The creature had made a mournful noise and remained still. Once again, he'd reached out for a teat and began to pull on it. Nothing happened. There was no sign of milk, and worse, the cow had looked around at him as if she couldn't believe he was actually trying this. He'd pulled again, and this time instead of the cow making a noise, there was a giggle from somewhere behind him.

Georgie had come into the barn, unwrapping a thick woolen shawl from her head and shoulders, which had been protecting her from the heavy rain. Her eyes had danced with merriment but she'd made no comment on what she must have witnessed. "Moira can be a fussy milker. Here let me show you how. Get up."

He'd moved out of the way and had watched as she sat down. Resting her forehead on the cow, she'd murmured encouraging words to the beast before taking two of the teats in her hands and began to make sure, rhythmic movements. Like magic, the milk began to squirt into the bucket. After a moment, she'd turned and smiled at him. "See? Just grab the teat at the top and gently squeeze as you slide your hand down." She finished with Moira before moving the stool over to the other cow. Pulling the bucket towards her, she placed it under the animal. "Now you try."

Stefan had sat down on the stool and attempted to copy what she'd done...and got a face full of milk for his trouble. He'd allowed a curse to escape him as he felt the milk drip from his chin.

Georgie had laughed again. "I think I'd better do it, don't you?"

"Yes, for now. I don't think I'll ever be as adept as you, but I will learn how to do it eventually." He'd leaned against one of the supports and watched her expertly fill the bucket with frothy milk. She and little Sophie were the only girls to have inherited their mother's bright red hair; Malik's dark features had toned down the coloring of the older girls to differing shades of auburn. She was still in the colt-like stage of a young were, but he enjoyed her company. In many ways, she eased the ache in his heart when he thought of the sisters he'd left behind all those decades ago. "T'is unlike you to be late for milking, Miss Georgie. Nothing wrong I hope."

"We hope not. Sophie woke up with a fever this morning. Mother is trying to get her to shift to hasten her healing, but she's too young to know how. We were all trying to force her transformation for her, unfortunately we have had very little success." Georgie finished her task, stood up and had grabbed the container of milk, ready to carry it back to the house.

Stefan had taken the heavy bucket from her and nodded for her to walk ahead of him. "I'll come and see if I can be of help." He'd paused until she'd looked at him. "Thank you for not teasing me too much over the milking. I will master it, you know. Someone needs to be able to take over from you occasionally, to allow you to rest."

She'd smiled at him and nodded. "It would be good to sleep late just once or twice." The smile had slipped slightly, "I don't know if Mother or Lizzie will let you into the house. Eating in the kitchen is one thing, but allowing you to interfere with a family matter... I don't know. However, if you can get Sophie to shift perhaps they'll soften their attitude toward you." She'd wrapped herself in her shawl and led the way back to the house.

All weres know that shifting from one form to another brings their magic to the fore, which in turn, speeds recovery from wounds or fevers. With his assistance, Sophie had finally managed her first shift and she'd recovered quickly from her fever, but watching Tamara with her child had made Stefan's heart ache. He was well into his second century; it was time he found a mate.

Taking his eyes off the rolling waves of the ocean, he glanced back in the direction of the farm. Dare he listen to the inner voice he'd been ignoring for the past three years? Malik would kill him. Tamara would probably neuter him. He rubbed his hands over his face, the morning stubble rough against his palms. He'd been regularly visiting that brothel in Dublin with the sole purpose of not listening to the whisper in his heart, but it hadn't quieted the voice nor quenched the burning inside him. Stefan sighed and stood up, stretching. As he began walking toward the cabin he'd built on a slight rise behind Malik's home, he studied the structure critically. Perhaps he should take the cart into Limerick and purchase more lumber. If his hopes were to come true, he would need to build another room or two onto his home.

Chapter Three

New York, August 1780

Malik was bored. There was nothing he disliked more than dancing. Oh he did it well enough, but he considered it a waste of time. He'd much rather be doing honest work. Smiling, he feigned interest in the chatter of his dance partner, while he let his mind wander. His thoughts flew to Ireland where he pictured his family, happy and safe, under Stefan's watchful eyes. He smiled even wider as he wondered if any of his girls had developed a tendre for his good looking lieutenant.

One part of the dance came to an end and another figure started. He brought his attention back to the assembly room and his dance partner. They were all the same—young, innocent, and well-schooled in the social graces by their doting mamas and stern governesses—regardless of where you were.

Malik's mind wandered again, thinking about the time after he had left Stefan three years previously. He had gone first to the Dublin inn where they had been staying. He'd already decided to return to America, and he had an idea how he could be of more use to General Washington. From Dublin he had journeyed to London and had spent some months successfully inveigling his way onto the fringes of the town's elite. By the time he'd arrived in New York, he had established himself enough in London society to be accepted amongst the high sticklers of English military and civilian society in America.

Some weeks after arriving back in the colony, he discreetly went in search of the leader of the Continental Army. During their meeting Malik had the distinct feeling that the general was ambivalent about his renewed offer of aid. Malik wasn't sure if Washington thought he was a double agent or if he suspected he wasn't completely human. Perhaps it was just that the man had a lot on his mind and had been distracted. However, whatever his feelings were, he'd accepted Malik's offer of help and arranged for a meeting with his spy master, a Major Benjamin Tallmadge.

Malik arrived at Tallmadge's quarters the next day and was shown directly into his presence.

"Come in, Mr. Colburn." Malik entered and sat in the chair indicated by the major. The first thing that struck him about Tallmadge was that he was young, Malik estimated mid-twenties. Second, he noticed that the younger man had a very penetrating gaze, something Malik assumed would be useful to a master spy.

"General Washington speaks very highly of you, Mr. Colburn." He opened a file on the desk in front of him and scanned the contents. "It seems you were of some use to us prior to the battle of Trenton back at the end of '76."

"I did what I could, and I am glad I could help."

"Where have you been since then?" He'd looked down at the papers in front of him.

"I had some personal business that had to be taken care of."

"And did you take care of it?" Dipping a pen into some ink, he'd made a notation on one of the papers in the folder.

"Partially." Malik had tried to answer politely without getting angry at the personal nature of the questions.

"I hope it will not interfere with your service to us."

"No Major, it can wait."

"You are not English." It hadn't been a question. He'd been sure Tallmadge already knew as much of his background that Malik had allowed to be known.

"No Major, I am Irish."

"Ah. Then you have no love for the English?"

"I would not be here offering my services if I had. But no, to answer your question, I have no love for the English."

After Malik had informed the major that he'd worked his way into the upper echelons of New York society, and had already made contact with many in the hierarchy of the English military, the major eagerly engaged Malik's services. "Keep your ears open. Men in their cups will often let slip things they should not talk about. And their women, in the throes of...er...passion, can often be tempted to talk of things that would be better left unsaid."

Malik had already decided that wasn't an avenue he wanted to pursue, but men talked over cards and their wine, and that he was prepared to encourage.

Tallmadge informed him that he'd be contacted by a Mr. Culper and in the meantime he should continue as before, cultivating friends and contacts amongst the English officers and society in the city.

Malik had left the major's quarters and found a deserted spot to dematerialize and make the thought-powered jump back to New York. Walking to his lodgings from the secluded spot where he'd arrived, he'd questioned why he was helping the colonists gain their independence from England. He'd realized that, in some way, it assuaged his guilt for not being able to do the same thing for Ireland.

The end of the set brought Malik's attention back to the ballroom. He wished he could remember the name of the young woman who had been his partner for the dance as he led her over to her mother.

He left the young debutante with her party and made his way through the crush in the direction of the card room. However, escaping the dancing wasn't as simple as Malik had hoped. A familiar voice stopped him before he could reach his goal. Major John André was, as usual, surrounded by a bevy of beauties of all ages as he called Malik over. "My dear Colburn, you must help me out. I seem to have made a dreadful mistake and requested the next set from both Miss Selwick and Miss Robertson." The two ladies in question simpered and fluttered their fans. "You simply must partner one of these delightful ladies or I shall be guilty of sending one into a decline while the other enjoys herself."

André was extremely popular amongst the ladies in New York. But then so was Malik. The major was dressed in his regimentals and looked very dashing in his regulation powdered wig. Malik, on the other hand, was rather soberly dressed in dark blue satin and snowy white linen. He kept his black hair unpowdered and tied back in a simple cue; his sensitive sense of smell couldn't take the scent of the powder. The two men were possibly the most handsome in the room but completely different from each other and a casual observer might think there was a friendly rivalry between them.

"I would not like to be the cause of any lady descending into a decline, therefore, Miss Robertson," Malik bowed towards the pretty brunette, "would you do me the honor of the next dance?"

The young lady curtseyed. "With pleasure, sir."

Malik stifled a sigh of frustration at having to dance again and offered his arm to Miss Robertson who laid her hand lightly upon it, allowing him to lead her out to take their places in the set.

His partner kept up an inane one-sided conversation whenever the figures of the dance brought them together. Heroically, he managed to smile and comment appropriately and it was with the utmost relief that he bowed to her at the end of the set. Again, he tried to escape the ballroom and this time he was more successful.

Reaching the entrance to the card room he found John André lying in wait for him. "I wonder if you play cards as well as you dance, Colburn."

He didn't like or trust André, but for appearances' sake he laughed and slapped him on the back as he led him into the card room. "Shall we find out?"

A burst of masculine laughter greeted them as they entered the room that had been set aside for the sole use of the male guests, drowning out the music from the ballroom across the hall. Clustered around the empty hearth a group of gentlemen were enjoying their tobacco, spirits, and freedom from restraint that female company would have necessitated.

They found a small table, sat down opposite each other, and Malik picked up the deck of cards that had been set out for use by the guests. "What is your game?"

"Piquet. Do you know it?" André tugged at and shook out the lace of his shirt sleeves where they showed below the cuffs of his jacket.

"Of course." Malik replied and started to sort the deck into the thirty-two cards they would need for play. He played the game tolerably well; in fact he'd taught the game to the young Prince Charles long before the early demise of his father at the hands of Oliver Cromwell and his own subsequent flight from England. However, Malik had another advantage over any human opponent; his acute shifter senses would tell him if André was worried, lying, or confident.

Malik shuffled the cards and placed the deck on the table offering André the first cut for dealer. He won the cut and chose to deal first, leaving Malik with the unenviable task of dealing the last hand of the game. Apart from declaring, they played the first hand in silence. The English officer's skill was such that Malik would've been hard put to beat him if he hadn't had his shifter's senses to fall back on.

"Well played, Colburn. We are well matched I think." Major André gathered the cards and pushed them across the table for Malik to shuffle. Malik nodded but remained silent, shuffling the cards while surreptitiously watching the officer seated opposite, waiting for him to speak. He didn't have long to wait. "You are Irish, are you not?"

Malik schooled his features into not showing surprise at the personal question and glanced up at André. "It is no secret. Why do you ask?"

The Major shrugged an elegant shoulder. "I wonder at an Irishman being loyal to King George. I have heard of a rumbling of discontent amongst the nobility of your homeland."

"I will not deny that a government with local knowledge would be of benefit, but only if it were answerable to London." It was only half a lie; Malik actually thought Ireland should be independent of England. "I am as loyal to our monarch as any in this room."

"But you are a long way from home, and not connected to the military."

Tallmadge and Culper had provided him with a carefully built cover in shipping which he knew would stand up to even the closest scrutiny. "I trade with the colonies, Major. With all this fighting, I had to come and see for myself how much it might damage my business."

They played another hand, which the major won, before he returned to the conversation. "I assume, Colburn, that checking on your business here in America would involve quite a bit of travel. Talking to the locals. That sort of thing?"

"You would assume correctly."

Major André shuffled the deck and dealt another hand, which they played before he spoke again. "These travels and talks of yours might well be of interest to the Crown. I may have a proposition to lay before you, if you are inclined to listen."

Malik forced his pulse to remain calm. Culper had told him of their suspicions regarding John André's involvement in an English spy ring; it seemed their information may well have been correct. "Depending on what it is, I might be interested."

They continued to play all six hands and he let the major win the game. In order to lull his opponent into a false sense of security, Malik had to use all his skill, both human and shifter, to lose convincingly by just a few points. André was so sure of himself, that if he thought he could best Malik at cards then he would be able to control him in other things as well.

"Excellent game, thank you Colburn. As I said before, we are indeed well matched." He stood and pocketed the coins he'd won from Malik before gesturing toward the ballroom. "Shall we? The ladies await us."

"I have had enough dancing for one evening, I think I will enjoy my pipe and some brandy. If you will excuse me." Malik gave his opponent a slight bow and made to move towards the hearth and the group of gentlemen gathered there.

André's hand on his shoulder stopped him and he turned. "That proposition I mentioned earlier...can you call at my lodgings tomorrow morning?"

"I will have to rearrange another meeting, but I should be able to make it." Malik inclined his head. "Until tomorrow." He walked over to the decanters and poured himself a brandy before turning to watch the major walk out of the card room.

The morning had dawned hot and humid. Although the weather affected him less than it would a human, by the time Malik was sitting in Major André's sitting room he was distinctly uncomfortable. He longed for a run in the forest.

"You are very popular amongst the ladies here in New York." John André sipped at his wine. As an opening gambit, Malik thought it was fairly innocuous. "But, like me, you never seem to take advantage of their charms."

Malik quickly changed his mind about André's comment. It was certainly not innocent, and definitely charged with innuendo. "Ah. I am afraid my heart isn't mine, and I am not inclined to dalliance with debutantes."

The major's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You are married?"

"Not married, no." Malik spoke the truth; a were mating was far more serious than mere marriage.

"But you have someone in Ireland?"

"There is someone, yes." Malik shifted on the sofa, trying to look uncomfortable with the line of questioning. "Why do you ask? Does whether or not I am attached have any connection to the proposition you have for me?"

"I was just curious, as I have not seen you much in the company of society's ladies or those of the demi-monde."

"I try to be discreet when it comes to my baser needs." Malik pulled his watch out of his pocket and flipped open the cover. "I postponed a meeting to come here this morning, Major, but I have another that I cannot be late for."

André's lips thinned, he obviously didn't like to be hurried. "Would that meeting be with a Loyalist or with a colonist? I wonder how many of your business meetings are with enemies of the Crown?"

"Probably quite a few I should think. As long as a man has money or goods I don't question his politics when I do business with him."

"Might you be prepared to discuss politics or the war with your business associates if there was remuneration involved?"

This was exactly what Culper had been hoping for. Malik kept his face devoid of emotion. "Are you asking me to spy for you, Major?"

"In a word...yes." Dropping all pretense, John André stood and began to pace. "You will report directly to me. Anything you hear might be useful, no matter how insignificant it might seem to you."

Malik stood; the major stopped his pacing and faced him. "Major, you are asking me to commit a serious breach of faith in the execution of my business. Your request will need some serious consideration before I can give you my answer."

"I would not expect anything else, Colburn. Will you be at the Robertsons' soirée this evening?"

"I will make a point of being there, and you will have my answer then." Malik bowed and allowed the major to show him out.

Out on the street, Malik took a deep breath to rid himself of the stench of the perfume that André had drenched himself with. Once again he longed for the forest, and the chance to run free. Perhaps he should move Tam and the girls to this young country. There was so much virgin territory here, and he'd heard that to the west the land was vast and empty. It would be a paradise for were panthers.

With renewed purpose, Malik walked briskly to the coffee house where he'd arranged to meet with Samuel Culper. He entered the store, the dim interior giving an impression of coolness. Choosing a table at the back of the room, he turned his chair to face the entrance. Ordering from the waiter who'd appeared at his side, he settled down to await his contact.

He didn't have long to wait, and rose to shake the man's hand when he arrived. In contrast to Malik, Culper sat with his back to the room, and seemed to blend into the surroundings so well that one could easily overlook his presence. Malik suspected that Culper wasn't the man's real name, but then as a spy he expected he had a good cover.

Without preamble, Malik cryptically broke the news. "He took the bait, as you suspected he would, and is prepared to do business with me if I choose to do so."

The waiter returned with Malik's coffee and took the other man's order. Culper waited until he'd walked out of earshot before replying. "Good. When will you give him your answer?"

"Tonight, at the Robertsons' soirée."

"Excellent. We'll give you some information..." Culper broke off as the waiter returned with his coffee, and again he waited until they were alone before continuing. "As I was saying, we'll feed him some information to keep him happy."

"I will not be responsible for getting any of our men killed." Malik wasn't exactly sure himself if he meant colonists or Loyalists.

"Mostly it will be false information. We might have to feed him something real, but if we do it'll be out of date by the time you pass it on. You will need to get close to him...become his confidante."

Bile rose into Malik's throat. "I do not share his _recreational_ proclivities."

"No matter, I'm sure you can make him take you under his wing despite that. He keeps his private life very private and not many know the truth of it." Culper drained his coffee and stood up. "I'll be in contact with something for you to pass on to him. In the meantime enjoy what New York society has to offer, Mr. Colburn."

Malik stood and shook the man's hand before sitting back down and watching him leave the coffee house. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't bring himself to like Culper. Although educated and obviously wealthy, something in the man's bearing didn't sit right. However, he knew the man was trusted by both General Washington and Major Tallmadge, and that would have to be good enough for him.

Chapter Four

Ireland, August 1780

Tamara watched her daughter, Lizzie, as she carried a packed lunch to Stefan working in the fields. She knew the girl was in love with Malik's lieutenant, but doubted Lizzie realized it herself. Tam was sure that Stefan was unaware of her daughter's regard, just as she was certain he was as much in love with the girl as she with him. Sighing, she turned back into the house. How could two people be so blind? She'd finally lost patience with them and had sent Lizzie off with Stefan's lunch, in the hope that some enforced privacy might bring matters to a head.

Stefan was cutting grass for winter feed; the muscles in his back rippled and bunched as he scythed with a rhythmic motion. It was hot and thirsty work and he stopped to wipe his brow and neck with the shirt he'd long since abandoned as he toiled under the unusually hot sun. Laying down his blade, he reached for the dipper in the bucket and stood to take a long cool drink of water. A flicker of green caught his attention from the direction of the Colburn home. Stefan's pupils dilated to bring the flicker into focus.

He took a deep breath as he realized who it was. Was she heading toward him? Should he get back to work and pretend he hadn't seen her approach, or should he go to meet her? Deciding to feign ignorance and continue working, he picked up the scythe and resumed cutting the grass.

Lizzie knew the instant he'd seen her and had been flooded with disappointment when he returned to his labors instead of coming to meet her. She sharpened her focus and watched the play of his muscles as he worked. He was beautiful, in both man and panther form. She'd only seen him shift once, when he'd helped force Sophie's first change. They had been dreadfully worried about the little girl. She'd been so sick and shifting had been the one sure way to aid her recovery. He'd done what the rest of them were unable to do. The first transformation in a young shifter's life is never easy; an adult would make eye contact with the child and create a stronger magical field to drag the child along as the adult shifted. It was an exhausting experience for both participants and often painful for the cub. It was probably their not wanting to hurt Sophie that had made it so difficult for her mother and sisters to force the little girl's change.

Lizzie remembered what Stefan had looked like as a sleek black feline. His muscles had rippled under his coat and her fingers had itched to reach out and trace the pattern on his black fur; a color so unusual considering he was blond in human form. She would never have guessed that he would be as handsome a panther as he was a man. And huge...the only panther she'd ever seen bigger than him was her father.

She'd not been at home the day he'd first arrived. The other girls had dragged her out for a run, something they rarely got time to do with all their chores. On her return she'd scented a stranger had visited and, when questioned, her mother had told them of their father's lieutenant who'd arrived to guard them and to help with the work on the farm. A strong pair of arms was constantly needed on the property and the girls were happy to hear they were going to have help. Although female shifters were stronger than their human counterparts, there were still jobs that would be easier for a male. Curious about the new male, she'd made a point of being near a window the next morning when she heard the cart clatter across the cobbles in the stable yard. Unfortunately, she'd only caught a glimpse of dirty blond hair and the impression of very wide shoulders as he'd driven down the lane on the way to town to buy lumber.

Mother had kept them busy and apart from him for weeks despite their curiosity about the male. The only contact they'd had with Mr. O'Donnell was at meal times when he would sit down with them around the large kitchen table. He was always polite but kept to himself. Lizzie would steal glances at him when she believed no one else was looking and she would find reasons to be outside whenever possible, surreptitiously watching him at every opportunity. She hoped that no one had noticed she had long since lost her heart to her father's lieutenant. Sadly, he'd never returned her regard, and she wondered how she could ever make him notice her.

Stefan's acute senses alerted him when Lizzie was close enough that he could no longer pretend he hadn't heard her approach. Straightening up, he held the scythe loosely in his hand and watched the female that invaded his dreams. He saw her hesitate as he stood up, and noticing the basket in her hand, wondered why she was bringing his lunch instead of Georgie or Sophie. Her dark auburn hair was hidden under a large wide-brimmed hat which kept her face in shadow. He laid his blade down and grabbed his shirt. Thrusting his arms in the sleeves, he turned his back to tuck the ends in the waistband of his breeches.

When he turned back she was only a few yards away from him. "I brought you your lunch, Mr. O'Donnell."

"Thank you, Miss Elizabeth." He took the basket from her and gestured to the shade of the dry-stone wall that bordered the field; lifting the cloth covering the food, he spied the jug of barley water. "Please, won't you sit for a while before you start the walk back? Refresh yourself with something to drink." He hoped she would agree; in the years that he'd been working for the family, he'd never been alone with her for more than a few minutes at a time.

Her cheeks took on an even rosier hue than her walk from the house had evoked. "I do not know... I mean, I am not sure that I should."

"Did your mother tell you to bring the food?"

"Well, yes."

"So she knows where you are, and that we're alone. If she didn't trust me then she would have sent Sophie or Georgie along with you." He waited a beat before adding, "Please, I would appreciate the company."

She sat with her back to the wall and settled her skirts modestly while he unpacked the basket she'd brought. Bread, cheese, barley water, and apple pie—food for the soul, and very welcome. He noticed there were two mugs in with the food; Tam must've known he would offer her daughter something to drink. Stefan suspected his queen saw more than she appeared to and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He poured the beverage and handed Lizzie one of the cups, his fingers brushing against hers as she took it from him. A frisson of something unexpected shot up his arm from the point of contact, a feeling not unlike that which precipitated a shift in form. Her sudden intake of breath told him she'd felt it, too.

"Thank you." She murmured, the blush, which had begun to wane, returned to stain her cheeks. Lizzie sipped at her barley water while Stefan pulled a hunk of bread off the loaf and begun to chew. "Mr. O'Donnell, I have a message from my mother. A tinker came through this morning with news that the neighbors have seen a large wildcat in the area. They are setting up a hunting party."

"I wonder if they've seen one of us, or if it's a real animal. I haven't scented any other cats in the area. Have you?" He was worried; it was his job to secure the safety of the family.

"No. And none of us have gone for a run in weeks. We were planning to go out tonight after dark, but now, perhaps that would not be wise."

"I haven't shifted in months; in fact I'm more than ready for a run. Perhaps I can make the jump to a more remote spot and stretch my legs." Leaning back against the wall, he watched her face. He could almost see her thoughts as they flitted across her features.

"There is a mountainous area to the south. There are no trees for cover, but it is very remote and deserted apart from the occasional shepherd and his flock and they would not be abroad after dark."

"I don't know the area; I'd need someone to make the jump with me in tandem the first time." He hesitated to ask her, but if he were to make any headway with this beautiful female, he had to take the risk. "Would you make the trip with me?"

She raised her eyes to his. Her gaze was clear and sparkled with the excitement of a promised treat. "I would have to ask Mother, she will probably insist that Anne and Georgie come with us, but I am sure she will agree." Lizzie finished her drink and placed the mug in the basket. "I should be getting back. The evening meal needs to be prepared." She rose and shook out her skirts.

Stefan rose with her and impulsively took her hand, raised it to his lips and placed a whisper of a kiss on her knuckles. "Thank you for bringing the food, and for keeping me company. I look forward to our outing this evening."

Lizzie looked up at his face, her lips parted and her breath came in short puffs. With obvious reluctance she disengaged her hand from his, blushing furiously again. "As do I, Mr. O'Donnell."

"Stefan. Please, call me Stefan."

He watched as she bit her lip and emotions raced across her face. She gave a quick nod as if deciding something. "Until this evening...Stefan."

The food forgotten at his feet, he watched her walk away until, even with his acute vision, it became difficult to see her. Shaking his head, he hunkered down to finish eating. Perhaps his dream was about to come true.

The evening meal was a boisterous affair. Georgie and Anne were bursting with excitement at the prospect of a run in the mountains. Sophie bemoaned the fact that she was too young to go, and Tamara often had to shout to be heard. Stefan watched Lizzie, she alone amongst the women, remained quiet although obvious excitement shone in her eyes.

They all helped to clear away the dishes, and as day turned into the long twilight, they were ready to leave. The girls knew the area well and arranged between themselves where they should materialize. The air shimmered and Anne, then Georgie, disappeared. Lizzie turned to Stefan and held out her hands. "Ready?"

"Wait a moment, Lizzie, I would like a private word with Stefan." Tam gestured towards the parlor. "Would you step in here for a moment?"

Curiosity bloomed in his chest as he followed her into the empty room, and closed the door behind him.

"Mr. O'Donnell...Stefan, please look after all three of my girls. But watch over Lizzie closest of all." She gave him a direct look. "Do you understand me?"

Was Tamara giving her tacit approval to him? Did he dare hope that Lizzie returned his regard and he had her mother's blessing? "I think I do, ma'am."

"I have told you before, Stefan, you may call me Tamara. Now go, enjoy yourself and make sure Lizzie enjoys herself as well. You two have waited long enough."

Yes, he had Tamara's blessing; he grinned at her. "Thank you, Tamara." He returned to the kitchen and took Lizzie's hand in his. "Ready?"

She nodded, the air shimmered and they watched the kitchen fade.

Stefan looked around as they materialized, his vision adjusting quickly to the half light. The area was desolate and beautiful. "Where are we?"

"Macgillycuddy's Reeks. It comes from the family name Mac Giolla Mochuda and some of the land around here is owned by the clan chief. Coming from the Pyrenees, you would probably call these hills, but to us they are mountains." She looked around and called for her sisters.

"Over here." The two girls walked up to them. "Mother said we didn't have to stick together, so we're going off on our own. We'll see you back at the house later." The air shimmered and the young women morphed into two black cats. Neither were fully grown, but certainly large enough to give humans a fright.

Stefan watched the girls bound off before turning to Lizzie. "Shall we? Or do you want to walk and talk for a while?"

"Let's shift and run, then later we can sit and talk before going home. If that is all right with you."

Her happiness at being free to run was contagious, and Stefan nodded his agreement. It'd been a long time since he'd shifted together with someone just for the pure joy of it. He suddenly realized how intimate it was as they morphed together, their magic mingling...touching. Once the transformation was completed a beautiful panther stood before him. She wasn't totally black, her fur had a reddish tinge to it and her black rosettes were more obvious than his were against his blue-black coat.

Stepping forward, he rubbed his head against hers and heard her purr. Gently, he nudged her, telling her with his body that she should lead the way. She hesitated for a moment before bounding off. Shortening his stride to match hers, he kept pace with her. He watched her from the periphery of his vision; damn, he could look at her all day. Although fully grown, she was smaller than him in panther form, but her muscles were perfectly delineated under her sleek coat.

Momentarily distracted by the stunning creature at his side, he almost stumbled and quickly turned his attention back to the terrain. Wild and rugged, it was perfect for their needs. The grass was springy under their paws, and with the hot weather the gorse was beginning to flower early. When the exhilaration at being able to run free finally burned out, they slowed their headlong rush to stop at a lake. Slinking down to the edge, Stefan began to lap thirstily. He heard Lizzie next to him and he lifted his head to watch for other creatures while she slaked her thirst.

He sat back on his haunches, guarding the female he was determined to make his. When she lifted her head from the surface of the water some droplets still clung to her muzzle looking like diamonds in the silvery moonlight. Moving closer, he licked her face clean and she began to purr rubbing her cheek against his until his playful nip had her suddenly pulling back. She pranced on the spot then took off at full speed and Stefan followed, careful never to overtake her.

They ran for miles before slowing to a walk again. It was good to stretch his legs, but he couldn't talk with or touch the female who ran with him, unless they morphed back. Deciding that it was time, he stopped and shifted back to human form. "Lizzie."

She had continued running but at the sound of his voice she turned and cocked her head. The shimmering air around her signaled her imminent change and seconds later the auburn haired beauty stood before him. Her hair lay loose around her shoulders, the breeze lifting it and blowing the strands into her face. He stepped closer and tucked the errant locks behind her ear. Stefan stood mesmerized by her blue eyes. Before he could stop himself he lowered his head and gently brushed her lips with his.

Suddenly realizing what he'd done, he stepped back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"It is all right. I think...no I am sure, I wanted to kiss you, too." She gave a nervous laugh. "In fact, I have wanted to kiss you for months. I did not think you had even noticed me."

"Not noticed you? I'm aware of your presence all the time. My skin tingles when you come anywhere near me." Stefan took her hand and led her over to an outcropping of rock where he pulled her down to sit next to him. Lifting her hand to his mouth, he placed a kiss in her palm then licked the sensitive skin at her wrist with his tongue. "Your mother approves of us."

"I know. I heard her telling Anne and Georgie not to stay with us. But I am not sure what Father will say."

"We'll talk to him when he comes home."

Her face crumpled, "But that might not be for years."

Stefan cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. "Then we will not wait for his return. Your mother approves and, in your father's absence, that will have to be good enough. We have no idea when we will see him again, but when we do I'm hoping your mother will be able to convince him our union is for the best." He kissed her again, trying to wipe away her fears with his lips. "Come, we should get home. We have a lot to talk about tomorrow, and I think we should both get some sleep before we do that." He stood and brought her up with him.

"Stefan?"

"Yes?"

"I love you. I have loved you almost from the beginning."

"My beautiful girl, out of all your sisters, you were the only one for me. I saw you and my heart was lost." He gathered her to him and caught her lips with his. It was she who deepened the kiss, and his body responded to her. Pulling away, he fought for control. "Home. Now. Before I do something we might regret."

"I would not regret it, Stefan. But I have to admit it would be more comfortable on a bed."

"Minx!" His carefree laugh echoed around the peaks as they dematerialized together.

Chapter Five

New York, August 1780

Malik arrived at the Robertsons' home in his carriage. He would've preferred to have walked instead of sitting in the stuffy interior of a box on wheels, but it's what humans did, and if he wanted to continue to be accepted as one he had to behave like them. For some reason this evening, Malik felt extraordinarily happy. His life in New York was fairly humdrum, and nothing had happened to cause him to feel this way. He could only assume that Tam was feeling a very strong emotion.

One of the side effects of a full mating was the sharing of feelings on an empathic level. It hadn't been something that he'd been expecting all those years ago. No one had told him that when he made love with his female they would share the experience, not just with their bodies but with their minds and hearts as well. The sharing of emotions extended to everyday life as well, it either brought couples closer together, or it tore them apart.

During their earlier years together it had helped Tamara and him to forge a closer relationship that made their mating into a love match. However, after Tam gave birth to Matilda, he'd come running every time she worried over some little thing the cub did. She'd learned how to shield her emotions so, as she'd told him at the time, that she wouldn't broadcast everything to her over-protective mate. While he'd missed the intense connection, it had made sense at first. But when she began to suspect that other women were the reason for his long absences, she'd started to shield her mind completely thereby cutting the connection from him as well. He assumed she hadn't wanted to feel intense passion from him when it was directed at another female.

Over time, however, it had become second nature to her to hide feelings she didn't want him to know about. If she was feeling such a happy emotion that it broke through the walls she'd built then it was nothing for him to worry about, and he allowed himself to enjoy the rare sensation. Need for his mate clawed at his gut and, if she was unable to keep her shielding in place, then she would most definitely sense the sensuous pull. Malik forced himself to block the feeling, he didn't want Tam to know how much he missed and desired her. Now was not the time.

His carriage slowed to a halt, and after descending to the sidewalk he climbed the steps to the imposing home of his hosts. The Robertsons' soirée was supposed to be a musicale, which meant no dancing, unless the younger guests decided on an impromptu set or two. Malik prepared himself for yet another boring evening and entered the foyer.

The Robertsons were a wealthy family and a minor branch of a larger noble tree with roots in England. In New York, they were one of the leaders of fashionable society and their invitations were much sought after. Not by Malik, however. He would've preferred to have been anywhere but in the stuffy music room amongst the city's social elite. Finding a place to sit right at the back of the room, he hoped he was far enough away from the giggling debutantes that were going to show their doubtful musical skills this evening.

After more than an hour of listening to bad singing and even worse performances on the harp and other instruments, Malik was almost asleep and thinking of making love to his mate. Stroking her soft white skin, kissing her smiling lips, and sinking into her hot moist flesh with his hard body... Disappointingly, polite applause brought him back to his present surroundings and he shifted uncomfortably on his chair, joining in the praise for the below par performance of the Robertsons' eldest daughter at the pianoforte. He waited until almost all of the audience had retired to the supper room before he rose, allowing his body time to relax from his previous erotic thoughts.

The hallway was deserted as he made his way to the refreshments. He hadn't gotten very far when the quiet scraping noise of a door opening caught his attention. A footman was exiting what looked to be the library or study. Malik gave the room a brief glance as he passed by, confirming his assumption, but the sound of Major André's voice from the interior made him pause. Since the servant had neglected to properly close the door, Malik lingered in the hope of hearing something that might be worth reporting to Culper.

He'd yet to have a quiet word with André letting him know that he'd be happy to pass him any information that came his way. Perhaps the evening might not be such a waste of time if he could learn something of importance that General Washington might make use of.

"He is ready to come over to our side." The major's cultured tones were clipped and business-like. Malik flattened himself against the wall and peered through the crack in the doors; he could just see André as he leaned back against a large mahogany desk.

"How can you be so sure he is not playing both sides, Major?" The speaker was hidden from Malik's view. All he could see were the man's boots as his legs stretched out from the oversized wing chair in which he was sitting. Military boots.

"My informant's credentials are impeccable, sir. The information is, without a doubt, accurate."

"It might just be the break we need in this damnable war. Damned upstart colonists, how dare they think they can turn their backs on the Crown." The unknown man's voice was cultured, very English.

"Yes sir." André stood and placed his drinking glass on the small occasional table by the wing chair. "We have been closeted in here for some time I had better put in an appearance or people might begin to talk. I will report further as soon as I know more details, but I think the date for his defection will be very soon." André bowed, "Your servant, sir."

Malik beat a hasty retreat to the music room, which thankfully was empty, turned around and exited again as if it was the first time he'd left. The major was just walking towards the supper room when Malik hailed him. "Major."

"Colburn! I expected to find you with refreshments in hand. What delayed you in there?" André had turned at the sound of Malik's voice and now nodded in the direction of the music room.

"I sat in the back and I am afraid I must have dozed off." Malik gave him a wry smile.

The major chuckled sympathetically. "The Robertsons' girls are not the most musically gifted in New York. Come, let us find ourselves some decent spirits instead of the insipid stuff they will be serving in there." He indicated the room where the majority of the guests were gathered, and led Malik into a small salon. On a sideboard there was an array of decanters and the major selected a brandy, poured two snifters and handed one to Malik. "Do you have news for me, Mr. Colburn?"

"Yes Major, I do. I see no harm in repeating any conversations not pertaining to my business interests. I might even be prepared to gently push my contacts into being somewhat indiscreet...for a fee." Malik sipped at his drink.

"Good. Good." Gone was the friendly Englishman and in his place was a businesslike British officer. "Payment will be made on receipt of any and all information."

"In English gold sovereigns?"

"Of course, is there any other currency worth having in this godforsaken land?"

Malik inclined his head, not willing to express his opinion on the subject.

André made another about-face and the jovial devil-may-care fellow was back. "Come, Colburn. Shall we join the other guests? Perhaps this evening we will find you a comely wench to make you forget the one you left at home."

They entered the main salon and began mingling with the guests, nodding to acquaintances, stopping to discuss the war, or the weather, with some.

"John... There you are. I have been looking all over for you. Where have you been, you naughty man?" The woman snapped her fan shut and rapped André's arm with it.

"My dear, Peggy. What a pleasure it is to see you here tonight. You are looking lovely, as usual." The major raised the lady's hand and kissed the air above her knuckles. "Colburn, my dear fellow, allow me to introduce you to an old and dear friend of mine. Peggy Shippen, this is Mr. Malcolm Colburn, a good friend of mine and to the Crown. Colburn, may I present Mrs. Margaret Arnold. Of course, I have known her for so long I still think of her as Peggy Shippen."

Malik bowed then raised her hand to his lips, but like André, didn't make contact with his kiss. "Arnold? I have heard the name... Is there not an enemy general by that name?"

Mrs. Arnold gave a nervous giggle. "There is indeed, and he is my husband. I, however, have always been a Loyalist. This dratted war has split many a family. But my husband and I never talk politics, and manage to live in peace with each other."

"A wise course."

"If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I see someone I need to speak with." She gave them a hurried curtsey and disappeared into the crowd.

The major turned to Malik, "A game of cards, Colburn?"

"Not tonight, André. I have an important business meeting soon after first light; I would have cried off tonight if we hadn't arranged to meet here. I will bid you good night." Malik stepped back and bowed. "You will hear from me if there is anything important to impart."

Dawn found Malik waiting for Samuel Culper in the taproom of an inn. To pass the time he'd ordered a hearty breakfast and was busy making short work of it when the man he was meeting sat down opposite him.

"The beefsteak is very good here. You should try it." Malik hardly glanced at the spy as he recommended the breakfast. "A good quality American steak might work well as a British beefsteak if it were allowed to."

Culper leaned forward. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I do not have a name, but I know it is someone high ranking."

"When?"

"Very soon." Malik glanced up at his companion. "I received the impression the ground work has been done over of a period of time."

"This is good. Really good. I'll have something for you to pass back within the next few days." Culper stood and held out his hand, which Malik took. "I look forward to a long and profitable association with you Mr. Colburn."

"And I with you, sir."

The round of social gatherings continued, one evening very much like another. Malik became the darling of society matrons, always attending the functions with good humor and a will to please. The effort this cost him made him wish for a week, or perhaps months, to run free in the open country away from his duty. After a few weeks of keeping his cover and collecting information for the colonists, he arrived at Major John André's lodgings in order to pass on some false information Culper had furnished him with, only to find him away from home. That evening he wasn't to be found at any of the social gatherings in the city; nor, according to gossip, was he seen or heard of the following day. Malik arranged a meeting with Samuel Culper but he had no news of the British spy master either.

A few days later news filtered down that the major had been arrested as a spy by the Americans. The shock amongst Loyalist society was tangible and many a lady threatened to go into a decline. Malik wondered what had happened to cause his arrest; he'd thought the major too clever to be caught out of uniform which would've been the only reason to be suspected of his being a spy.

Then one evening, a little over a week after the news of André's arrest, Malik was present at yet another interminable ball when a scream rang out from the entrance hall. Whatever had happened stirred the gossip machine into high gear and had women either fainting for real or pretending to swoon. Confusion reigned as the call went out for smelling salts. The swell of conversation became louder; finally it reached the alcove where he was enjoying a brandy instead of the insipid punch that the servants were offering. Major John André had been hanged as a spy. Not even a flicker of an eyelid gave away Malik's reaction. He wondered if his actions had somehow been instrumental in bringing about the man's demise. He downed the rest of his drink in one swallow welcoming the burn as the spirits slid down. André had been a spy...but then, so was he.

Unconsciously, Malik fingered his own neck, realizing just how much danger he was putting himself in. And, by association, his family. If he were caught spying by the English, not only would they hang him but they would punish his family. Time, he thought, to lay low for a little while. Perhaps a trip out to the frontier of this young country...

His mind made up, Malik left his lodgings that same night, determined to shake off the stink of New York and its people. A short note to Culper mentioning a long overdue visit to some distant cousins in Canada explained his coming absence. He spent months roaming the vast wilderness; sometimes as a man, sometimes as a panther. The wide open expanse, devoid of human habitation, gave him the freedom to roam wherever his fancy took him. Four legs and his superior stamina ate up the miles allowing him to explore the land in ways a man never could. The indigenous tribes he met were sometimes suspicious, but cautiously welcomed him in his human form. He learned that many told stories of animal spirits that lived as men. Their mythology pointed to the existence of shifters and he actively began to search for them. On his travels, he met many species of weres, some of whom lived amongst the human tribes that dotted the land. The more he saw of America the more he became enamored of it, but he realized that he couldn't turn his back on his conscience. He'd signed on to help the colonists, and it was with some regret that he finally returned to take up his duties again.

Once settled back in his lodgings, he reported to Major Tallmadge where he learned that his information about a high ranking American officer defecting had been correct; General Arnold, the commander of West Point had defected in September. He remembered the conversation he'd overheard at the Robertsons' soirée, perhaps Major André had been the one to turn the General; idly Malik wondered if Mrs. Arnold had been instrumental in making her husband support the Loyalist cause.

Tallmadge was willing to continue his association with him and encouraged him to return to New York society and continue socializing with the English military and Loyalists in the city, passing information to Samuel Culper whenever possible.

A year after André's hanging, General Cornwallis surrendered to the Americans in October and Malik realized it was time to take ship and head home. Although he was sure there would be more commissions he could carry out for Tallmadge, the deciding factor was his empathic connection with Tam, which had once again intruded upon his own emotions. He could feel her anxiety and deep fear. Then, that was consumed by a relief and joy so great that it took his breath away. The shared feelings made him long to have his family around him, to be part of that happiness. His curiosity was too great to be denied; he had to know what had happened.

Chapter Six

Ireland, January 1782

Malik's ship arrived in Bristol on a bitterly cold January morning. After spending months cooped up on board the vessel he decided not to face another sea voyage, especially not across the Irish Sea, a stretch of water notorious for its storms. Instead, he pushed the limits of his magic and made the jump to Dublin, taking a room at a busy coaching inn. A few hours of rest and a good meal gave him the strength to make the journey to the west of Ireland, materializing within miles of his home. After the enforced inactivity of an Atlantic crossing in mid-winter, he decided to shift and run the kinks out of his muscles before arriving at his destination. Morphing into his panther form he shook out his fur, sniffed the air to make sure there were no humans close by, and set off in the direction of his estate.

Twilight dulled the colors of the rolling landscape, but the grass was springy under his paws. It felt good to be back in Ireland. He was tired of the extreme weather he'd found in the Americas, far preferring the temperate climate of his adopted country. Starting off slow, he allowed his muscles to warm up, but his anticipation of home became too urgent and he lengthened his stride and ran full out. His muscles tingled with the exercise, and he could feel the tension that had built up over the past couple of years drain away with each mile. He was going to see Tam. He was going to make his peace with her. Live with her as a mate should do.

Without warning he felt a stinging pain in his side and he stumbled, his momentum causing him to roll over several times. Quickly, he struggled to get back up onto his feet, his animal instincts kicked in and survival became tantamount. He took a few unsteady steps and felt another burning sensation, this time in his flank. Collapsing on the ground, he knew he'd been shot and that he wouldn't be able to stand up anytime soon. He lay there laboring for breath, realizing the irony of having survived years of war in America only to be brought down within sight of his home. He coughed and the metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth. Knowing that he had to shift to reduce the chance of his wounds being fatal, he closed his eyes and focused on transforming; but he'd already lost too much blood and was too weak to morph. Where had the shots come from? A poacher or a hunter? Had the humans discovered his family? He had to get home; however, it'd have to be in his present form.

He fought to stay conscious. He needed to leave before the shooter arrived to claim his kill, but he knew he didn't have the strength to stand, let alone walk or run. Did he have enough strength, he wondered, to dematerialize? Closing his eyes, he tried to relax; he pictured Tam's parlor and felt the gentle tug that a thought-powered jump produced. With the last of his strength, he appeared on the floor of his home. The sound of women screaming was the last thing he heard as darkness enfolded him.

Tamara took the loaves of bread out of the brick oven in the hearth of her kitchen and set them on the table. The smell was wonderful—overpowering the scent of their evening meal, a rabbit stew hanging in the pot above the fire. A sudden pain in her side had her gasping for breath, then another in her hip made her reach for the nearest chair. Malik. Something dreadful had happened to him. Before she could pull herself together screams rang out from the parlor.

"Mother! Quick! Come quick!" Anne's voice shouted for her.

Tam hastened to the room and nearly stumbled at the sight that met her eyes. The enormous black cat that lay bleeding on her rug was more familiar to her than her cubs' alternate forms. With an agonized cry she sank to her knees beside her mate. Still in his panther form, he was bleeding from two wounds. Her first instinct was to gather him into her arms and cry, but knowing that wouldn't help she began snapping out orders. "Georgie, run for Stefan, tell him to hurry. Sophie, clear the kitchen table and then light some extra lanterns, I will need as much light as possible. Anne, place our sharpest knife, a pair of tweezers, a needle, and some twine in a pot of water and set it to boil. Find some clean bandages and brandy." The girls ran to do her bidding without comment.

"Oh Mal. What happened?" She felt wetness on her cheeks and reached up to wipe the tears away. Whatever their problems, this was not the way she wanted their life together to end.

The door burst open and Stefan rushed in followed by Georgie and Lizzie, who held a bundle of blankets in her arms. "What's happened?" Stefan's question was quickly followed by Lizzie's anguished cry, "Father!"

"Oh my God, Malik!" Stefan immediately made his way over to the big cat on the floor and, kneeling next to his friend, felt for a pulse. "He's alive, but very weak. Those are bullet wounds. We will need to get them out and fast." Looking up at Tamara for direction, he queried, "Kitchen table?"

"Yes, the girls are getting everything ready."

Stefan worked his arms under Malik's huge body. "I'll take most of his weight, Tam, you hold his head and shoulders from the front. Ready?" He saw her take a deep breath and nod. "On the count of three...one, two, three." Together they hefted the dead weight of her mate and with some difficulty carried him into the kitchen. The table was cleared when they reached it and with loving care they laid Malik on the scrubbed surface.

"Is that water boiling, Anne?"

"Yes, Mother."

Tam washed her hands and used a pair of tongs to take the knife and tweezers out of the boiling water; she laid them on the table next to the supine form of her mate. Handing Anne the pincers, she indicated the pot on the hearth. "Use these to take the needle and twine out and put them in a clean glass dish, then come and hold a lamp for me." Picking up the brandy, she turned to Malik's lieutenant and gave him the bottle. "Stefan, stand by his head, if he wakes you will need to keep him still. If necessary, force the brandy down him until he passes out again."

She looked around at her family, saw the worried expressions on their faces. They were relying on her to save Malik...could she do it? Ruthlessly suppressing her own fears, she asked, "Everyone ready?" At their murmurs of agreement, she picked up the knife, took a deep breath and began. First she held open the edges of the wound in his side, trying to see if the ball was visible. It wasn't, so she started to cut... What seemed like hours later, but in reality had only been a few minutes, she saw the bullet. It didn't appear to have hit any vital parts, but when she pulled it out blood started to well up into the wound with frightening speed. Moving quickly she threaded the needle and began to pull the edges of the tear in Malik's flesh together with quick and efficient stitches. Taking a wad of linen, she held it to the wound.

"Georgie, come here and put pressure on that while I see to the second one." Her daughter took over from Tam, holding the pad down on her father's side; tears running slowly down her cheeks.

Tam had to dig further for the ball in her mate's flank; the sudden realization that she was cutting into the living flesh of the man she loved made her nauseous. Her hands faltered and she felt a little unsteady on her feet. A large hand settled on her shoulder and she looked up to meet Stefan's eyes. The encouragement and trust she saw in their depths gave her strength to continue and she turned back to her task. Eventually, she saw the bullet and it made a small sucking noise as she removed it. The gaping hole she'd made needed more stitches than the one in Malik's side. Once closed, she held another linen pad to the wound and gestured to Anne to come and hold it for her. "We need to hold these on somehow. Stefan, I am going to feed the end of this bandage under him, please take it from the other side and then we can tie it in place." Anne held the pad still while Tam and Stefan struggled to wrap a bandage around Malik's heavy body. Georgie moved away and they repeated the same operation with the first wound. It didn't look pretty, but at least he had a chance now. He just needed to wake up so he could shift to help the healing.

"Should we move him to the bedroom, Tam?"

"I do not know, Stefan. If we move him the bleeding might start up again, and I have no idea if he is bleeding inside. Here, at least it is warm." Tam moved to the sink and pumped some water into the bowl and washed her mate's blood from her hands.

Stefan looked at his own mate, "Lizzie, take the little one back to the cabin and if you could take your sisters with you, it will be a help. Anne, Georgie, take the stew and bread with you." He kissed Lizzie lightly, ran his finger down the downy cheek of his son, and smiled. "I'll be over soon."

Tam sank down onto a chair near Malik's head and stroked his fur. So many years they'd been together, and never had she seen him hurt...he'd always seemed indestructible. "You can go home Stefan. I will be fine. If I need you, you are only across the paddock."

"I'll be back later to sit with him, so you can get some rest."

Stefan went over to the back door, and glancing back at his mate's mother, he saw the tears on her face. When he'd first seen her almost five years ago, he'd thought her a spitfire. Now all that fire had been quenched by the blood of her mate. He shook his head and prayed to the goddess that Malik lived. Looking at Tamara now he thought that, despite the discord between them, she might not survive Malik's death. Quietly, Stefan let himself out and closed the door behind him.

Malik was so still, only the slightest movement of his chest showed he was alive. With her hand on his huge shoulder, she rested her head on her other arm and gave into her tears. He had to live. She was prepared to sacrifice her own life if it meant he would survive. Licking her lips, she tasted the salt of her tears. "Please Malik, you have to wake and shift. I am so very scared. I do not want to be alone. Please Malik." A shuddering breath escaped her and she swallowed a sob. The thought of losing the only male she had ever loved was so painful; she knew her heart would break if he didn't survive. Leaning forward, she rested her face against the side of his for a moment before whispering in his ear. "I love you. Do not leave me."

Sometime later, Stefan crept back into the kitchen to find Tam asleep at the table with her head on her arms, her face stained from tears. He felt for Malik's pulse and he thought it beat a little stronger. Gently, he put a hand on Tam's shoulder and she woke instantly.

Her brow creased and looked first at her mate then at Stefan. "Is he...?"

He gave a brief reassuring smile. "He's still with us. Go over to our cabin, have something to eat, sleep a bit. I will watch over him."

"I cannot..."

"Yes you can. Send Sophie home, if there is any change she can run back over to fetch you. Go."

With obvious reluctance, Tam stood and left her mate in the hands of his lieutenant.

Tam came back to sit with her mate before dawn. Stefan was awake and sitting by Malik's head. She looked him in the eye, silently asking about their patient. Stefan shook his head and she held her breath, assuming the worst.

"No change, Tam. His pulse is steady, so that is good, but he has shown no sign of waking." He stood and stretched. "Don't worry about the girls; we will look after them today. I will take Sophie with me now and give her breakfast and I'll send one of the other girls back and one of us will be here with you at all times."

She gave a brief nod and settled down to continue her vigil.

Around noontime, Stefan returned with some food and forced Tam to eat something. When she'd eaten enough to satisfy him, he helped her change Malik's dressings. The wounds looked red and angry, and Tam guessed he was running a fever because the pads of his paws were hot and dry, but she couldn't know for sure. They'd just have to wait and hope that he would be able to fight this on his own.

Late in the afternoon, Anne and Georgie heated water and prepared a bath for Tam before the fire in the kitchen. Clean and in fresh clothes, she allowed them to persuade her to lie down on her bed for a few hours, promising to wake her if there was any change in their father's condition. Tam leaned over her mate's head and kissed it. Stroking the fur she whispered, "I love you Mal. I have never stopped loving you. Come back to me, please." Reluctantly, she turned and left the kitchen.

She didn't sleep for long, barely two hours, waking with a desperate need to be back at her mate's side. In the kitchen Georgie, Anne and Sophie sat in silence by the blazing fire. They had all come back to the house to sleep in their own beds and Tam sent them off to their room. In the dark of the night, Malik's shallow breathing and the crackling of the fire in the hearth were the only sounds. Tam sat with her hand on his fur-covered side, his heartbeat knocking erratically under her palm.

The heat from the fire, a quilted blanket around her shoulders, and the silence made her sleepy. Eventually, her eyes fluttered closed but she woke with a start seconds after her head had started to droop. A noise. Something was different. Looking down at Malik, she saw his eyes were open and he was watching her. Tam rushed into speech, her heart speeding up and making her breathless. "Mal? Oh thank God. Mal, you were shot, we have done all we could, but you have to shift."

Malik's eyes glazed over and closed. He took a snuffling breath and the air started to shimmer around him, but nothing happened. He hadn't been able to morph.

"Please Mal, you have to try again. I'm not sure I have the strength to force your change." Tears gathered in her eyes and began to spill out. "Open your eyes Mal. Perhaps, between us we can do this."

She held his head between her hands and silently willed him to look at her. He opened his eyes and his pain was clearly written in them. "I know you are hurting, Mal. I can feel it. But you have to shift, it is the only way. We will do it together." His eyes began to drift shut and, raising her voice, she spoke sharply. "No, do not close your eyes again. Look at me." With obvious effort he did what she commanded and their gazes locked. Tam took a deep breath, drew on her love for her mate, her need for him, and the air began to shimmer around them.

Malik snarled, his pain tangible as he began morphing into his human form. Knowing a forced change was painful, she briefly hesitated, not wanting to cause him even more distress. But determined to help her mate recover, she pushed through the transformation. When it was over, Tamara was in her panther form panting from the exertion. She stood on her hind legs, her front paws resting on the table, to check on her mate. Seeing that he was human, she shifted back. Either from shock or pain, he'd lost consciousness, but sleep was probably the best thing for him right now. Not having enough strength to think his clothes on during the shift, he was now lying on her kitchen table completely naked. It had been so many years since she'd seen him without clothes, for a moment she allowed her gaze to slide over his form. She had never seen a more beautiful male and as tired as she was, desire rose unbidden and she shook her head to rid herself of the thought. Briefly she ran her hand over his shoulder before reaching for the quilt that she'd been using earlier, and covered him.

Sitting back down in her chair, she sighed with relief. Now his recovery would speed up; knowing that, she felt all the tension seep out of her. He was going to live. Her eyes felt heavy and her muscles relaxed, and for the first time since she'd found him bleeding on her parlor floor, she willingly put her head down on her folded arms and fell into a deep untroubled sleep.

Light was beginning to streak the sky when Malik opened his eyes. Disoriented, he lay there wondering why he was in Tam's kitchen, on the table of all places. Slowly, his memory of recent events began to crystallize. He'd been coming home, when someone had shot him. Frowning, he recalled using the last of his strength to make the jump into his house, then just before blacking out there had been the sound of screaming. Who had that been? His girls? How long had passed between that and Tam forcing him to shift? Damn, he'd never experienced pain like that before. Turning his head, he saw his mate asleep in a chair next to him, her head and arms resting on the table next to him. Tentatively, he put a hand on her head and stroked her hair; the usual brilliance of the color dimmed in the half light of dawn.

Her head snapped up as soon as he touched her. She smiled sleepily at him. "You are awake. How do you feel?" She reached out and put her hand to his forehead. Her work-roughened hands had never felt so good. "No fever. That is good."

Malik tried to talk, coughed and tried again. "Thirsty."

"Yes, of course." She rose and poured some water and helped him sit up to drink it.

"I was shot."

"I know. I had to take the bullets out, but since I have never doctored one of us in cat form before, I wasn't sure if I was doing more harm than good."

"I am alive, Tam, so whatever you did, you did well." He swung his legs over the side of the table and felt the room begin to sway, as the floor seemed to rush up to meet him. "Can you help me to bed? I think I would like to rest on something more comfortable than your kitchen table." He chuckled wryly as he realized this was probably the first time he'd ever appeared weak in front of his mate, or needed her help to do a simple task like stand on his feet. She'd probably never let him forget it.

With his arm over her shoulders, he managed to climb the stairs to their room, and gratefully sank down on the feather mattress.

Tam covered him and stroked his hair back off his forehead. "I will go and fix you something to eat."

He caught her hand before she could leave, "Wait. I heard you. In the night. I heard you talking to me"

Tam blushed and wouldn't meet his eyes. "I was tired. I talked a lot of nonsense." She tried to pull her hand free but he held on tight.

"It was not nonsense, Tam. I love you, too." He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her palm. "We need to talk, you and I. There have been one too many misunderstandings between us. It is high time I told you the truth." He watched her closely to see her reaction, but her expression gave no hint as to her feelings.

"Yes, we need to talk, but later. Now, you need to eat and rest." She tugged on her hand again, and this time he let her go.

Malik lay back on the pillows. It was good to be home, but it wasn't the homecoming he'd expected. Perhaps getting shot had a silver lining, his mate seemed more willing to talk and listen than the last time he'd returned. There was nothing stopping him from telling her everything. How he'd become a spy even before meeting her. All the jobs he'd been on, and why he'd kept it secret from her. He hoped she would understand.

By evening, Malik felt it was time to get out of bed after having done nothing all day except eat and rest. He needed to bathe, and wanted his family around him. His thoughts drifted and he was just wondering where his lieutenant was, when there was a knock on the bedroom door.

"Come."

A smiling Stefan entered. "Still as imperious as ever, I see."

"Stefan!" Malik smiled and held out his hand. "It is good to see you. How are you? Have you been behaving yourself?"

"It was the best day of my life when you asked me to look after your family. Er... They are my family now."

"Good. I am glad you feel you need to guard them like they are your own."

Stefan paused and then met his eyes directly. "No, Malik. They _are_ my family. I fell in love with your Lizzie. We're mated."

Malik was silent for a beat as he digested this bit of welcome news. Reaching out, he grabbed his lieutenant's hand again. "I was hoping one of my girls would catch your eye. Welcome to my family, Stefan." Malik grinned. "And as my son, do you think you could bring up some hot water? I need a bath."

Stefan gave a hearty chuckle. "That you do! You stink worse than the pigs. Tam will want to check your wounds before you wet them, but I'll get the water heated."

Some time later Malik watched the steam rise from the surface of the water as he leaned his head back on the roll of cloth resting on the edge of the tub. Stefan had been as good as his word; he'd hauled the tub up to the bedroom and then brought cans of hot water until there was enough to soak away the layers of grime. Tam had declared his wounds safe to be washed and then had disappeared before he could get out of bed.

Not being totally sure that he'd be able to get into the tub unaided, he'd asked Stefan to remain until he had. But he'd been pleasantly surprised to find he was far stronger than he'd expected; rapid healing was common to all species of were, and he'd never been so thankful that it was. He was weak, but nothing another good night's rest wouldn't cure.

The door opened and he turned his head knowing it was his mate—anyone else would've knocked first. "Will you sit with me, Tam?"

She perched on the edge of the bed, eyeing him steadily. "I thought you were going to die."

"So did I." He waited for her to say something else, and when she did not, he asked, "Do you not wish to know where I have been?"

"I am not sure, Malik. Will I be upset by knowing?" She narrowed her eyes, distrust written clearly on her face.

"Possibly, but I promise you there are no women involved. There never has been. Since that Christmas in 1602 when I first set eyes on you, you have been the only female I have bedded...the only one I have wanted to bed." He watched as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Even as tired as he was, his body hardened at the way her bodice stretched tight over her breasts when she breathed in. When she opened her eyes and met his again, he continued.

"I have been in America. I was there during my previous absence as well. Other times, I have been in France, London...many places." He looked away and rested his head back closing his eyes; he didn't want to see her reaction to what he was going to say next. "I am a spy, Tam. Or more correctly, I am a spy for hire. I will work for whoever will pay."

There was a rustle of clothing and he heard her come closer to the tub. He opened his eyes and found she'd settled on the stool that had held the towels. "Of all the explanations I had imagined for your long absences, you being a spy never even entered my mind. How long?" He couldn't tell from her face if she was angry or relieved and she was still blocking their empathic link.

"Since before I met you. My first handler was Walsingham under Queen Bess."

"Then why keep it a secret from me? I am your mate; did you not think I should have been told you were putting yourself in danger?" Her eyes flashed and anger tinged her voice. Malik smiled, his wildcat was back.

"I thought I was keeping you and the cubs safe." He stood up and so did she, handing him a towel. Stepping out of the water, he wrapped the linen around his hips and standing close to her, he raised her chin with a finger so he could look her in the eye. "I realized, this last time, that I did not want to be away from you again."

She reached out and cupped his cheek. "I think it is entirely possible I was better off not knowing." She brushed his skin gently with her thumb. "Instead of being angry with you all the time, I would have been sick with worry."

Malik covered her hand where it lay on his cheek and turned his head to kiss the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. "Where does this leave us, Tam? Can we start again?"

"No more secrets?"

He shook his head. "Not between us. But you cannot tell anyone else."

"Stefan knows, doesn't he?"

"Yes. I met him on my last mission, in '76. I warned him to get out before the colonists attacked. But he will not tell the girls, not even Lizzie, although she will probably guess. You cannot either."

"So I should continue to be angry with you? Complain about your wenching?" She shook her head, a rueful smile on her face.

"Can you do it?" He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. "Can you pretend to be angry with my 'infidelity' in public, but be my lover in private? It will not be easy."

"I cannot promise not to slip up in public, but in private, oh yes, Mal, I will be your lover." Putting a hand on his shoulder, she reached up with her other and brought his head down for a kiss. "I love you, Malik."

The kiss was sweet, gentle, almost like the first time. Malik led her over to the bed and began to untie the laces on her bodice. He kissed each piece of flesh as it was uncovered, eliciting little moans of pleasure from his mate.

"Malik, you cannot, you will open your wounds."

"So tonight, my love, you will ride. Tomorrow, it will be my turn."

Malik held his mate in his arms; the love he felt for her almost too much to bear. Tamara slept, blissfully unaware that he was unable to find his own rest. His brush with death had added a sweetness to their love-making that had never been there before. The incident had also made him realize that he needed an heir. Who would be king after him? With six daughters, surely they were due to have a son. He winced as his stitches pulled and tried to find a more comfortable position. His efforts woke Tam, and she blinked at him in the dark.

"Are you well, Mal? The wounds bothering you?" She pulled out of his arms and grabbed her wrapper from a chair. Lighting a candle, she turned back to the bed.

"No, they are fine. But I think the stitches will need to come out tomorrow."

"Let me see." She pulled the covers back from his body to inspect her handiwork. "Yes, I think you are right."

"Tam," he hesitated to broach the subject, but he knew he had to. "What would you say to having another cub? I need an heir, sweetheart."

Her eyes widened and then she smiled. "You do not know, do you?"

Mystified, he asked, "What is it that I do not know?"

"Stefan and Lizzie have a son, Benjamin. You have an heir." She knelt on the bed next to him and grinned.

Now he understood the feelings of complete joy he'd felt from her while he'd been in America. His Lizzie was a mother. He had another grandchild, a boy to add to Matilda's girls.

Slowly, she untied the belt of her wrapper, letting it slide off her bare shoulders. "But I would not mind the exercise needed to create another child. In fact, I have missed it and need a lot more practice." She leant forward to kiss his mouth and matched action to her words.

End

* * * * *

A Soldier's Choice

Chapter One

Brussels, June 15th, 1815

"It feels rather strange attending such a glittering occasion without one's mate." The speaker turned to her companion and smiled. "As he was lord of a great estate back home, I never attended any social gathering of note without him."

"My dear Shreya, you and Adri have not lived in India for almost twenty years. England is your home now; surely you are used to arriving at functions without his escort?" Despite the size of the ballroom, the heat from the press of bodies and hundreds of wax candles was oppressive, even though the evening's festivities had hardly begun. Tamara opened her fan and waved it in front of her face in the vain hope that it would bring some relief. "I am sure Adri will be here soon, he was only going to collect Giri from his billet and then come directly here."

"I do not yet see any officers from the 95th; perhaps my son, along with the others, has been delayed. Brussels has been rife with rumors all day. It is said that Napoleon has already crossed the border."

"Would the Duchess of Richmond be putting on such a lavish entertainment if we were about to be invaded? I think not." Tamara nodded and smiled at some acquaintances across the vast room. "Besides, the Duke of Wellington is in Brussels. Malik and I were with him during the war in the Peninsular; trust me, Napoleon Bonaparte will lose the coming battle with the duke in charge of our army."

Shreya laid her hand on Tamara's arm. "Look Tamara, by the entrance, I see green uniforms. The 95th have begun to arrive."

Tamara followed the direction of her friend's gaze. Sure enough, men in dark green regimentals were entering the ballroom. "Adri has arrived with your son in tow, oh and see, they have Kit with them, too." Tamara smiled widely. The human was a favorite of hers. During the campaign in the Spanish peninsular she and Malik had stood in loco parentis for Giri, for all that he was a full-grown were. He and his good friend and fellow officer, Christopher Roberts, had made her and Malik's billets during the campaign their home away from home. In fact, Kit had become such a fixture that it had been difficult to keep their other selves a secret from him. Kit was a dear boy, and Tamara had treated him like the son she'd never had, but his constant presence had, at times, been inconvenient.

Shreya strained to look over people's heads toward the wide double doors. "I don't see Malik with them."

"No, I would not expect him to be. He has been gone for the past few days. If he arrives at all, it will be with Wellington."

"You never did tell me what your mate is doing with the army; I have never seen him in uniform."

"No, Shreya, he's not _with_ the army, but he _is_ with the duke." Tamara gave her friend a meaningful look. "He, and I at times, have used our special talents on Wellington's behalf. Mal knew Arthur Wellesley, as he was known then, in Dublin years ago. When he needed someone, who could, shall I say, _blend in_ with the terrain in the Peninsular, he asked Malik to help out. Our girls were all grown, so I decided to follow the drum."

"My God, Tamara, are you telling me that the Duke of Wellington knows what you and Malik are?" Shreya's horrified whisper conveyed her feelings most eloquently.

"He has never actually seen us transform, but yes, I believe he does know. Although, he has never said anything outright." Tamara sighed. "Of all the humans in the world, I think we can trust the duke not to reveal our existence to anyone."

"You and Malik have broken one of the cardinal rules. How can you be so relaxed about it?"

Tamara's stance stiffened and suddenly she looked every inch the queen she was. "Malik is monarch of all were-panthers. If he felt the situation called for his special services then it was up to him to make that decision." Her voice held a good deal of pride and a gentle rebuke. "But, of course, you tigers do not have to abide by his rules and decisions. Shreya, I can honestly say that I would trust Arthur Wellesley with my life and the lives of my cubs. Which, in a way, with his knowledge of us, I already have."

With her thoughts on her trust in Wellington's integrity and the knowledge that her children's safety from exposure was not at risk, she relaxed and turned back to watch the approach of her friend's mate. Adri walked with a swagger that spoke of knowledge of his place in the shifter world. And she would have to admit that it also told of a sense of superiority over the humans around him. Tamara didn't think that others saw, but she was very aware of it. Walking slightly behind him came Giri, a younger, slimmer version of his father but without the swagger. Tall and dark-skinned with black hair and dark brown eyes, he was devastatingly handsome.

Next to his friend walked Kit. Captain Christopher Roberts was as fair as Giri was dark. His blond hair, blue eyes, and perfect features would have done a Greek god proud. They'd been at Eton before going up to Cambridge together and had remained solid friends ever since. It was Giri's schooling that had brought the family of tigers from their native India to settle in East Anglia.

Tamara remembered how good it had felt to have other shifters living in close proximity after years of isolation. When their neighbors in Ireland had started to become inquisitive about how young they looked to have adult children and grandchildren, Malik and she had moved to the east of England. Since they owned several properties, both in the British Isles and on the Continent; and their daughter Mary ran a school in the one a few miles outside Bath, they had decided to move into an old house of theirs near Norwich.

When the Duke of Wellington had begun to build his army in Brussels, Shreya and Adri had taken the opportunity to visit their son. With the influx of so many military and diplomatic personnel together with their entourages, housing was scarce in the city and she'd been glad to open her home to the family of tigers.

The three men drew closer, receiving admiring looks from women of all ages, and Tamara caught at least one jealous look from an overstuffed matron when Adri Tandon lifted his mate's fingers to his lips.

"My dear, you look absolutely stunning this evening." Adri tucked his mate's hand in the crook of his elbow before turning to greet Tamara. "Mrs. Colburn, delightful to see you. But, no Mr. Colburn?"

In normal circumstances Tamara wouldn't curtsey to another shifter or use their formal names, but here amongst Europe's human elite, protocol had to be followed and she dipped politely in greeting. "Not yet, Mr. Tandon. I hope he will arrive later." She turned toward the younger gentlemen and held her hand out to Giri. "It's good to see you, Colonel. You must be pleased to be with your family once again."

Giri bowed over the proffered hand. "Yes ma'am, but I miss my sister, Anji, who is still at school."

"You will see her soon, I am sure. Once you and your fellow soldiers have put paid to the French." Tamara turned to the handsome young human. "Captain, what a pleasure it is to see you again."

Kit bowed over her hand before looking at her with laughter in his eyes. "It was always _Kit_ in the Peninsular. Have the grand surroundings and elevated company made you into a paragon of manners, ma'am?"

"Naughty boy. You must know that what passes for civility in the field would never be accepted in polite society." Tamara sighed to herself, wishing for perhaps the millionth time that she had a son like Kit. It had been forty years since her last confinement and she was beginning to lose hope of ever conceiving again.

The strains of a waltz filled the air and Tamara watched rather wistfully as Shreya was whisked away by her mate to twirl around the dance floor.

"Ma'am?" Tamara looked up into Kit's face. "Would you honor me with this dance?"

She placed her hand in his outstretched one and nodded. "Only one dance, Captain, and then you must find some younger and prettier ladies to ask."

"Are there younger and prettier ladies present? I do not see any."

Tamara allowed him to lead her to the center of the room. "You, sir, are a dreadful flirt. Promise me you will practice your wiles on girls closer to your age for the rest of the evening."

Releasing her hand for a moment, he held his over his heart. "I promise...but only if you swear to reserve the supper dance for me."

"If my husband does not arrive in time, then yes I would be honored. However, if he does, then promise me you will sup with us."

Accepting her conditions, he swept her into the dance.

Later, Tamara stood to one side watching Shreya dance with her son. Although the majority of the guests were British, the presence of so many foreigners and the fact that they were on European soil, meant the waltz was being danced more often than would be considered proper in an English ballroom. Tamara thought back over the centuries, at the different styles of dance and moralities she'd lived through. Shifters felt safer now than at any other time in history. True, they still had to keep their existence a secret, but they were no longer in danger of being burned as witches.

But Tamara loved the waltz and couldn't help but tap her foot in time to the music.

"Beautiful lady, may I rescue you from the dreadful fate of being a wallflower?"

Tamara jumped and almost gave a very unladylike squeal at the sound of her mate's deep voice next to her ear. Turning, she greeted him with both hands held out, which he took in his and raised each in turn to his lips. Then, turning them over, he carefully placed a kiss on the skin exposed in the opening of each gloved wrist. The warmth of his lips on her flesh spread throughout her body as if they were alone and in a more intimate position. "Mal," she sighed. "I have missed you."

"And I, you."

"Is the duke here?" Without turning away from her mate, Tamara surreptitiously scanned the area for any sign of the great man himself. "Did you arrive with him? Do you have news?"

"So many questions, my love. The duke is here, or will be in a few minutes. I slipped in the back way; he did not think it wise to be seen arriving with me. He said he wanted to keep our association quiet from the officers of the European contingent." Squeezing her hands gently, he led her over to a vacant sofa half hidden behind some potted ferns. "Yes, there is news. Grave news. The entire room will know of it before the end of supper. And I am very much afraid that many a man dancing here tonight will not live to see next week."

She clutched at his hands. "Giri and Kit are here."

Malik nodded. "The 95th will be in the thick of things. Their sharpshooters are second to none, and the duke will use them to the best advantage. May the goddess Bastet keep them both safe." He raised his hand and brushed her cheek with his knuckles, his eyes solemn. "But before we send them off to the coming battle we must let them enjoy themselves. If they can be happy and dance, then let us join them." She could feel the tears in her eyes and searched his face for comfort. With his thumb, he brushed a droplet that had spilled onto her cheek. A smile, albeit a forced one, spread across his handsome face and he stood, holding out his hand for hers. "Will you dance with me, Tam?"

Swallowing her fear for the young men she'd come to love like her own children, she smiled flirtatiously up at her mate. "With pleasure, sir." Tamara allowed him to lead her into the dance and barely suppressed a shiver when his hand settled at her waist. She really had missed him. They had been mated for over two centuries and he could still make her blood heat. Tam looked up into his face; such a handsome man with his black hair and deep blue eyes, and he was hers until death... Her breath caught. "Will you have to fight?"

"Not in the normal sense of the word, no. But I will be scouting in my other form. Never fear, Tam, I will be safe. After all we have been through, you and I, I will not fall foul of a French musket ball."

A sudden commotion at the entry to the ballroom caught their attention; the commanding figure of the Duke of Wellington strode into the room followed by his aides-de-camp. Some couples stopped dancing and the musicians faltered before picking up the beat again. Malik drew Tamara over to one side and moved to greet the duke.

The duke halted his procession into the room and smiled at Tamara. "My dear Mrs. Colburn, you are looking exceedingly lovely this evening." He nodded at Malik. "Colburn, good to see you. Look after your wife, sir, for she is a true gem amongst all our treasures."

Tamara curtseyed and Malik bowed. "Your Grace." They waited a beat until the duke had passed by before rising.

"Should I be jealous, Tam? Should I call him out?" Malik chuckled and playfully pinched his mate's chin.

"He is certainly a superlative actor. One would readily believe he had not just left your presence." She answered him in an undertone. Their conversation was interrupted by a voice calling her name. Turning, Tamara held out her hand to Kit Roberts who was coming to claim the supper dance. "Ah, Captain, I am afraid my husband has arrived in time for supper, but please join us."

Malik held out his hand to the younger man. "Yes, Kit. It will be like old times in the Peninsular. We will have to find Giri and his parents and invite them as well."

"It will be my pleasure, sir." The captain shook the older man's hand looking around the room. "I saw Giri dancing with his mother a moment or two ago. I will find them and bring them to the supper room."

During supper Malik suddenly put his hand on Tamara's arm to gain her attention. She turned away from her conversation with Kit to find out what her mate needed.

"Did you hear what Wellington just said?" He murmured.

Tamara glanced over to the other side of the room where the commander of the allied armies was sitting with the Duke of Richmond. "No, I was concentrating on my own conversation and couldn't listen to something being said more than a few tables away."

"He received a communiqué and asked Richmond if he has a good map of the area. Look they are leaving the table now. I have no doubt most of the men will begin leaving shortly."

Tamara bit her lip. "Will you have to leave as well?"

"Possibly. Probably." He covered her hand with his. "You will have to use that fertile imagination of yours to come up with a reason for my absence while there is a major battle going on."

She looked at her mate, and without even blinking, murmured, "I am sure there are brothels aplenty in Brussels. You will no doubt be spending some quality time at one of those establishments."

Malik turned his head so he could whisper close to her ear. "I am so sorry, my darling girl. I hate that I have to put you through this. One day..."

"Yes, well, when that day comes, we will sit back and laugh over this. But for now, in order to cover your absences, it is the way it has to be."

Wellington passed close to their table on his way out of the room and looked in Malik's direction. "Colburn."

At the sound of his name being called Malik looked directly at the duke. Wellington gave an almost infinitesimal nod before speaking. "A moment of your time, if you please."

It wasn't a request.

"Yes, Your Grace." Leaning over to his mate he reached out and briefly caressed the nape of her neck with his fingers. "I will be back to escort you home." Feigning drunkenness, he rose unsteadily from the table and wove around the seated diners, eventually following Wellington and the Duke of Richmond out of the supper room.

No more than an hour later, Tamara watched with a heavy heart as men began to say farewell to their families and friends. Most of their women left with them; although some of the officers stayed so late, they went directly to their regiments wearing their dress uniforms. It was well after two in the morning by the time Malik accompanied Tamara back to the house they shared with Shreya and Adri. On arrival, the Tandons tactfully left them alone to say their goodbyes.

Tamara could barely conceal her tears. "It seems as if I am always saying goodbye to you. Be safe my dear. Come back to me in one piece; I have no wish to have to sew up your wounds again."

They smiled at the shared memory of her saving his life and the deeper understanding they'd come to as a consequence of her actions. "A black cat in the night...no one will see me." His smile disappeared and their bond allowed her to sense that more somber thoughts had crowded his mind. "Napoleon is too clever to be quickly defeated. Unfortunately, I think the coming battle at Quatre Bras will not be the end of it." He pulled her to him, holding her close. "Sweetheart, I cannot lie to you; it is not going to be easy or pretty—they outnumber us at present, two to one. But I trust Wellington and know we will be victorious in the end."

She raised a hand and cupped his cheek. "Yes, but at what cost?"

"A high one." He turned his face and kissed her palm. He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep cleansing breath. "Kiss me my love and I will carry the memory with me until I can touch your lips again with mine." Lowering his head, he captured her mouth with his. Tamara opened to him, allowing him to taste her. She wished they had time for a far more intimate goodbye, but he had to leave. Pulling back, she stepped away. Not trusting herself to keep her tears in check, she was glad when all he did was look at her with longing in his eyes, before turning to open the door and walk out into the night.

Tamara took a ragged breath and turned away from the door. Try as she might she couldn't help but worry about the safety of the men she cared for, for the man she loved. A noise on the stairs distracted her and she looked up. Shreya, now changed into a plain gown, was descending to the entrance hall. When she reached the bottom step she held out her arms and, in a flutter of silk, Tamara stepped into them to be comforted by her friend.

"He will come back safe, Tamara. You know he will. Link with him, feel him in your mind, in your blood, and you will stop worrying." The tigress led her friend to the drawing room, and after bidding her to sit she poured some brandy and handed it to her. "Drink. It is going to be a long night. I doubt either of us will sleep."

Tamara obediently sipped at the wine, feeling the burn warming her from the inside out.

Shreya sat down opposite her. "My dear, why do you persist in perpetuating the myth that your mate is unfaithful? It is blatantly obvious that he worships the very ground you walk on."

"I know and I love him; he has always been involved in clandestine activities, for many years he kept it secret even from me and I thought he had another female. After I found out the truth we decided to keep the story going in order to stop our human neighbors and friends from discovering how Malik spent his time away from home. There are also members of our own community who would look askance at a were monarch working hand-in-hand with humans."

"Hard on you I should imagine."

"Harder on our cubs. Although, I am sure Mary and Lizzie know the truth. Mary because she is an extremely astute female; and Lizzie because her mate first met Malik in America during that country's struggle for independence."

The two friends lapsed into silence, both thinking of their loved ones about to go into battle. All they could do now was wait.

They started to hear the guns that afternoon. The sound seemed to reverberate through the very ground. Tamara had been close to many battles in Spain, but never had the sound and feel of the fighting reached such a distance. She knew the damage those big guns could do, and shuddered at the sure knowledge that hundreds, if not thousands, of men would be dead or dying by the end of the day.

By late evening the noise of battle had stopped; the air was still and eerily silent broken only by the groans of the wounded that had started to trickle into Brussels. Canon, musket, and sword wounds needed to be treated and it wasn't long before the few doctors in town were overwhelmed and incapable of taking on more patients. Tamara, together with Shreya and Adri, like all their neighbors, opened their home and took in anyone that needed help. When they weren't actually nursing the wounded they were tearing up sheets, petticoats and other linens that had been sacrificed to the cause to make bandages. Sleep was just a dim memory as they tended to the men in their care. With knowledge they'd gathered over their long lives, the men would probably do better in their home than in the hospital where the nursing was rather rough and ready, and the surgeons far too quick to remove limbs.

Throughout the night the injured continued to stream into the town. Following the walking wounded, came those who had to be brought by cart. These poor soldiers were in dreadful condition, many having stomach wounds or limbs missing; all that the women of the town could do was make them comfortable, allowing them to pass in relative peace beyond the life for which they had fought so bravely.

Never in Tamara's long life had she seen so much suffering—so many young lives lost. They toiled through the night and well into the next day, caring for strangers, many of whom died from their horrendous injuries.

Oppressive heat made tempers short, and didn't help the fevers of the men lying in the bedrooms and on makeshift pallets on the floors of the downstairs reception rooms. Then, as if Mother Nature had decided the weather wasn't bad enough, for late on Saturday afternoon the hot weather broke with thunderstorms of such intensity that the ground became sodden.

Taking a moment's break from tending the wounded, Tamara paused to look out of the morning room's windows at the rain and wondered if there were more men still out on the battlefield. If there were, she knew they wouldn't be able to survive in the appalling weather. How many more wives and mothers were going to be grieving before this war was over? She was luckier than most because through her bond with Malik, she was sure that he was still alive. Others were not so fortunate. Turning back to the room, she watched her friend, Shreya, tending yet another mortally wounded young man on a pallet. Her heart ached for the woman, for there was no such bond between mother and son as there was between mates, and the tigress was worried sick about Giri.

During the day news had filtered back with the wounded that Wellington had either moved or retreated from Quatre Bras to the fields near the village of Waterloo. Some said it had been a retreat, others said it was a tactical move on the duke's part. Either way, it was certain there would be another battle.

The heavens seemed to be in tune with Tamara's mood; the rain poured down, hour after endless hour. And then at one point during a sleepless night, the sky cleared. It seemed as if the entire town held its breath...waiting.

Rumors were rife in town throughout Sunday morning, some said a major battle had started, others said everything was still quiet. The morning passed with neighbors discussing the rumors, until they began to hear a booming sound in the distance. For a moment Tamara and Shreya thought the thunderstorm had returned, but with a clear sky and no sign of rain, it quickly became evident that it was the sound of the big guns they were hearing. All afternoon they felt the percussion of the canons.

During the evening the sound of guns gave way to another sound—a wave of noise that built into a roar as it came closer. Tamara moved to stand by an open window, trying to see what the commotion was about. A woman rushed by the front of the house, then another, and another, until there was a surge of people on the street, all cheering. Church bells began to ring in joyous unison with the people's happiness. There was no need to ask anyone for news, the outcome of the day's battle was obvious...Napoleon had been defeated.

However, on the heels of the cheers came more wounded. They flooded into the town, proof, if any was needed, that the battle had been hard won, and far worse than the one fought at Quatre Bras.

Close to midnight, Tamara and Shreya had both fallen asleep in chairs while watching over their wounded charges. Except for their own bedchambers, the house was full, but they were too exhausted to climb the stairs, nor did they want to leave the young men solely to the care of the servants. It was the sound of persistent banging that had Tamara starting awake. At first she thought the pounding was in her head, but as Shreya also sat up and looked around, she realized the noise was coming from the front door. She stood and dragged herself to the entrance hall; pulling back the heavy bolt, she opened the wooden panel a crack without really looking out. "I am so sorry. We have no more room. Please, you will have to find somewhere else."

"Mrs. Colburn... Tamara... It's Giri. I have Kit, he's in a bad way."

Her exhaustion dissipating in an instant, Tamara opened the door wide. "Oh my God, Giri!" Turning her head in the direction of the morning room she called out. "Shreya, come quickly, it is Giri."

The tigress ran in from the other room and attempted to embrace her son, but he was too busy supporting a badly wounded and mud covered Kit to pay her much attention. The commotion brought Adri running from the back of the house. He'd been helping with the wounded that had been billeted in the servants' quarters. The old tiger immediately saw the exhaustion in his son's face and relieved him of his burden. He took Kit into his arms and held him gently. "Where shall we put him, Tamara? Everywhere is full."

"My bed. I doubt I will have time to sleep in it in the near future anyway." After making sure Giri didn't need his mother's nursing services, she asked Shreya to bring up some hot water and bandages. All weariness gone, she followed Adri up the stairs to her bedchamber.

Adri laid Kit on Tamara's bed. "Can you manage, Tamara? I need to see to my son."

"Yes, Adri. Thank you for bringing him up here for me."

Adri reached out and brushed a lock of matted hair off the young man's face. "He is like a member of my family, I wish..." His voice caught and then he continued, "damn, humans are so frail."

"Yes they are. But I am not going to let him die if I can help it. Thank you again, Adri."

He nodded, his emotions clearly written on his face.

Tamara didn't see him leave the room for she was already cutting Kit's mud encrusted uniform off him, and as soon as Shreya arrived they began to wash him with the hot water the tigress had brought. The young man was so filthy that Shreya had to run for a second pitcher of hot water before they were able to remove all the blood and grime. Only then did the full horror of Kit's wounds become clear. He had what looked like a saber cut running from his lower abdomen, across the top of his groin to his thigh, laying open the muscle on his leg; the bone clearly visible.

As she gazed at the mangled flesh, doubt crept into her mind about being able to treat such a serious injury. If Kit had been a were she could force him to shift and that alone would help the healing process, but the boy was human. Could he survive such a wound? Could they save his leg?

Shreya made a sound in her throat that sounded like a growl. "Tamara, we have to sew that up but I doubt we can get all the dirt out of those cuts; he must have lain in the mud for hours. Look, it is already going putrid."

"We will clean it with a salt solution then sew it up. It's the best we can do."

"There is water constantly on the boil in the kitchen. I will go back down and put some twine and a needle into the pot to clean them, and then I will bring them up together with the salt. We used honey back in India to stop putrefaction, I will see if we have any."

"Thank you." Tamara answered distractedly while she wondered if she was doing Kit any favors by nursing him. Would he even be able to function as a man after this? The blade had missed his actual groin, but she didn't know enough to be sure that no permanent damage had been done.

The tigress put her arm around her friend. "It is the least I can do, Tamara. I know that Kit is like a son to you. Adri and I are lucky that our son came back in one piece."

While she waited for Shreya to return, Tamara continued to sponge down the young human as he was already starting a fever. Wishing they hadn't used up all their willow bark tea to fight fever in the other men, she made a mental note to see if there was any more to be had at the apothecary. She had nursed many a human in the Peninsular, but never one that was so close to her...that she cared for like kin.

Forcing herself to remain detached, she cleaned the wound as best she could with the salt water the tigress had returned with, stitched it closed with the twine and coated it with honey before binding it with clean linen. Now it was up to Kit. The boy was strong with such a lust for life, he had to survive. All she could do was watch over him and wait.

Chapter Two

Brussels, June 19th, 1815

Tamara was in her drawing room on the evening following the terrible battle on the outskirts of the village of Waterloo. Most of the wounded soldiers had been moved to other billets and they were left with only a few of the more seriously wounded, who were being tended by the servants. Of the soldiers that were being nursed by Tamara, Shreya and Adri, only one was left—Kit.

The three older weres and Giri were discussing what should be done with their desperately sick friend. None of them could stay in Brussels. Giri had been ordered to Paris with his regiment. Shreya and Adri had to collect Anji from her school and take her home. They had far too much luggage to transfer with a thought jump, so they would have to use a carriage and Adri had been spending a good part of the day arranging for the journey. Malik had managed to see Tam briefly that afternoon and informed her that he, too, had to go to Paris, and had asked her to meet him there. With all of them leaving Brussels, they were left with the problem of what to do about Kit.

Tamara couldn't sit still; she paced back and forth in front of the empty hearth. "I will not leave him here to the care of the servants." She was adamant, but couldn't see a solution.

On another pass by Shreya's chair, she noticed her friend was deep in thought, tapping her lips with her fingers. "Shreya, you have been very quiet, and you have that look on your face you get when you are planning something."

Shreya cleared her throat and a wry chuckle escaped her. "You know me too well, Tamara. And of course, you are quite right; I think I may have found a solution."

Tamara stopped her pacing and sat down on the sofa facing her friend. "What? Do you know someone who would be prepared to nurse Kit?"

"First, do you think he can be moved? Perhaps travel in a carriage?"

Adri looked sharply at his mate. "What are you considering, my dear?"

"Well, we have to collect Anji from Mary's school. It is summer and there will be no pupils in residence for at least two months. I thought perhaps Mary might agree to nurse the boy."

Tamara considered the idea. Mary was her second eldest daughter; she wasn't mated and ran a school for young female weres near Bath. Her entire staff consisted of shifters, so Kit would be the only human. It had a lot of potential for exposure, but he was dreadfully ill, either unconscious or delirious most of the time.

"I would have to speak to Mary, and a cabin would have to be arranged on the packet across the Channel. A well sprung carriage..."

"I can handle those details, Tamara. When I was enquiring about passage for us, I was told that a ship is due to leave for Southampton on the evening tide on Wednesday and again on Friday." Adri smiled at her. "Since his own father refused to acknowledge him, Kit spent all his school holidays with us; he really feels like part of our family. I only wish we could take him home with us, but in his weakened state I fear the extra journey across the width of England would kill him."

Giri stood up. "I hate to leave like this, but I have to get back to my regiment. Please send word to me when you come to a decision. Kit and I have been through good times and some very bad times together; I don't want to leave, but orders are orders. I will just go up and say goodbye to him and then I'll be gone." He embraced his mother and shook his father's hand. "We are off to Paris at dawn. I will try and get home whenever I get leave."

"Be careful, my son. Be vigilant and don't let anyone see you shift or dematerialize," cautioned his father.

"Father, I have been out of short coats for more than a couple of decades. And I have been a soldier for eight years and at Eton and Cambridge before that. I would not have survived if I had not been careful." He turned to Tamara and bowed over her hand before enfolding his mother in his arms and giving her another kiss. The colonel left to take his leave of his best friend, although it was doubtful Kit would even know he was there.

Tamara turned back to Shreya and Adri. "Mary would have to be consulted before I even consider your suggestion. I will make the jump there immediately and I will stay overnight with her. The last few days have left me so exhausted, I doubt I could do the journey there and back in one evening." She gave the tiger a direct look, "Adri, if there is any change in Kit's condition, will you...?"

"I will come and get you immediately. I promise."

"Thank you." She smiled at her friends. "I really do think of him as my son." Now they had come to a decision, they need to lose no time. "I will just pack a few things and then I will leave from my room, so the servants don't see me disappear."

"As far as your servants are concerned you have gone to meet your husband. Do not worry; we will take care of things." Shreya stepped forward and embraced her friend. "Give Mary our love, and tell Anji we will be there as soon as we possibly can. I will go up to sit with Kit in a moment or two, there is no need for you to fret about him."

Returning the embrace, Tamara blinked away tears of tiredness and emotion before stepping back. "I will be back tomorrow evening, at the latest."

Tamara entered into her room and closed the door softly behind her. The bedchamber was eerily silent. Giri had obviously said a hasty goodbye to his friend, for there was no sign of the young man. Kit lay in the bed, and for once he was quiet rather than thrashing about in a fevered delirium. Tam approached the bed, his stillness making her fear the worst and guilt flooded her for leaving him unattended. Then her acute eyesight caught the slight movement of his chest and she breathed a sigh of relief that he still lived. The boy was as pale as death, his face having no more color than the sheets. As she laid her hand on his forehead his skin felt cool but clammy against hers, and she knew that it wouldn't be long before the fever returned. Swallowing her worry for the boy, she passed into her dressing room, found a small valise and packed it with a few necessities.

Traveling using only thought, while holding something small was easy for a were of her age, but it would still tire her. Closing the connecting door to her chamber in case Kit woke and in his delirium saw her disappear, she closed her eyes and concentrated on Mary's school.

Barely seconds later, she found herself in the little room her daughter used as an office. She stumbled slightly as she tried to find her feet; her head was swimming from the effort of jumping over such a long distance, not something she would normally do. Looking around her, she weighed her need to sit against going in search of Mary at once. Deciding to look for her daughter first, she opened the door to the entry hall. Luck was with her as she spied a maid sweeping the main staircase. Walking closer, her nose twitched as she scented shifter. Fox, if she wasn't mistaken; the girl looked up as she approached.

Tamara took a non-aggressive stance and smiled. "Good evening. Do you know where I may find my daughter, Miss Colburn?"

The maid bobbed a curtsey. "Mrs. Colburn! We weren't expecting you."

"No, my visit was unexpected and will be of a very short duration. I will be leaving tomorrow."

"I'll tell Mrs. Connor you'll be needing a room. I believe Miss Colburn is in the back parlor." She laid her broom against the banister and made as if to lead Tamara to the back of the house.

"I can find my way, thank you... I'm sorry, I do not know your name."

"It's Susan, ma'am."

"Well, thank you, Susan." Tamara smiled at the girl again, and turned to find the back parlor, which she knew her daughter used as her private sitting room.

"Mother!" The woman, who had been seated at an elegant writing table, jumped up and ran to greet Tamara when she entered. "What are you doing here?" The look of pleasure on her face changed to one of alarm. "Father? Has something happened to Father?"

"No, your father is healthy and still very much in one piece." She patted her daughter's hand and led her to the sofa. Indicating the tea tray on the small table before them, she inquired, "Is there any tea left in that pot?"

Mary lifted the lid of the teapot and shook her head. "I will ring for fresh." Lifting a little silver bell on the table she rang for a servant. Susan answered the bell and Mary asked her for some fresh tea before turning to her guest. "Now, Mother, what has happened to bring you here so unexpectedly?"

Tamara looked at her second eldest daughter. Dark auburn hair and green eyes told of the mix of her and Malik's coloring. Tamara sighed, so pretty even with the freckles she knew Mary despised. It was time she was mated, but she'd always been independent. Determined to make her own way in the world, the girl had worked first as a governess to a were family, then as a teacher of languages to human young ladies in Dublin. And now she had her own school for young female shifters of all species.

"I have a favor to ask of you. But first I have a message for Anji; her parents will be here as soon as possible and they send you their love."

Mary smiled, "Anji is anxious to leave for the summer. She is already abed, or at least should be; we will tell her the good news in the morning."

"They might be a little delayed, but it is really beyond their control. Due to the amount of luggage they will be coming here by human means. And that brings me to the favor I need to ask of you." Tamara wondered how her daughter would receive her request, but knew there was no point in procrastinating. "Over the years that I have been with your father in the Peninsular you must have heard me talk of Captain Roberts?"

"Yes, he is a good friend of Anji's brother, if I recall correctly."

Tamara nodded. "His father is a Welsh nobleman and his mother was a servant in his house. He took responsibility for Kit's education but refused to recognize him further than that. After Kit's mother died his father continued to pay for his studies but otherwise completely disowned him." Tamara paused and felt a wave of pity for the human. She couldn't understand how a parent could ignore their own child.

"Adri and Shreya helped Kit buy a commission when they bought one for Giri. However, he refused a high rank and would only accept a lieutenancy. He refused any help to buy the promotion he so richly deserved and reached captain on merit alone. The poor boy has no real family of his own, and...well...to be honest your father and I think of him as a son. A human, but no less dear to us than he would be if he had been of our blood.

"Giri and Kit's regiment were involved in the recent battles near Brussels." Tamara held her fingertips to her lips and swallowed to stop the tears that threatened, as she remembered how pale and sickly Kit had looked when she'd left her house, barely an hour before. "Kit was gravely wounded and now lies in our home in Brussels. I have to meet your father in Paris, and Anji's parents must come back here and I do not want to leave him to the mercy of servants."

She saw the look of confusion on her daughter's face and guessed she was about to ask why she'd traveled here in such a rush to speak to her. Taking a deep breath, she hesitantly asked Mary for the favor she so desperately needed. "We wondered... We hoped you might take on the task of caring for him until he recovers. Shreya and Adri will bring him and then continue on with Anji and her belongings." Tamara bit her lip as she watched her daughter's reactions. Normally so composed, Mary was very obviously agitated.

"Mother, a human in a house full of weres?"

"At the moment he is either unconscious or delirious by turns. He wouldn't notice anything untoward." Tamara reached out and gripped her daughter's hand. "Please, Mary, I have no one else to ask. And he has nowhere to go except to one of the human hospitals, and if he goes there the only way he will leave is in a casket."

The door opened and Susan returned with a fresh pot of tea and clean cups. Mary smiled at the girl and thanked her, watching her leave and close the door before replying to her mother.

"I know very little about nursing humans, Mother."

"They are no different from us, except they can't shift to aid healing." Tamara reached for the teapot and filled her cup. Sipping at the reviving drink, she waited for Mary to come to a decision.

"Mother, do I have to decide right now? May I think on it? Perhaps if you tell me more about the captain and the nature of his injuries during the day tomorrow, then by evening I should be able to tell you if I will be prepared to nurse him." Mary stood up and moved over to the door.

Tamara didn't want to usurp her daughter's authority within the walls of her school, and gave way to her unspoken wish to bring the discussion to a close.

"I am sure my housekeeper, Mrs. Connor, will have prepared a chamber for you. You look exhausted. Did you make the jump in one go?"

Tamara nodded in response and had to smother a smile as her daughter tsked in concern. When had her cub become so maternal?

"Mother, you know how much that tires you. Please, rest, and we will meet at breakfast. Only Anji is left at the school; I hope you will not mind if she joins us."

"Of course not, I would be delighted to have Anji's company at breakfast. If she joins us I can give her news of her parents and brother." Tamara covered her mouth with her hand to hide her yawn. "I have hardly slept since the eve of the first battle, at Quatre Bras, so it was not only the journey that exhausted me. A night's rest and I will be back to my full strength." Reaching out she touched her daughter's cheek with her fingertips. "Do not fuss, my dear." She allowed Mary to lead them out of the room and up the main staircase to the bedchambers.

The following morning, after seeing Anji settled in the library with something to read, Mary and her mother strolled in the manicured gardens of the school, eventually entering a small summerhouse well away from the main building. Sitting on the bench within the structure, Mary repositioned her parasol to shade herself better from the sun and wondered how to broach the subject that had been occupying her thoughts since her mother's arrival.

"Mother. Was it very bad...the battle I mean?"

"Battles. There were two main ones and other smaller skirmishes." Tamara settled down beside her daughter and closed her eyes for a moment before telling the younger woman about the thousands of wounded with nowhere to go except the private homes that took them in. Mary sat and listened in silence, her mother's description of Brussels during the fighting so descriptive she felt like she'd lived through it herself. "Your father came into town briefly before going to Paris. He told us a little of what he saw at the battlefield itself. The fields near Waterloo, he said, were nothing but a charnel house. The wounded lay together with the dead. French, British, Prussian, all mixed together. And the camp followers... He said he had to chase off some of them because they were cutting fingers from the dead and wounded alike to get their rings." Tamara blinked rapidly and Mary could see the tears sparkling in her mother's eyes. "He said that what he saw will live on in his nightmares; that he never wants to see such carnage again."

Mary shook her head, trying to get the pictures that her mother had painted with her words, out of her mind's eye. "And what of Captain Roberts? How badly is he injured?"

"Oh Mary, I don't know if he will survive." Tamara finally lost her battle with her tears and she felt one fall to her cheek, closely followed by another. "He has a saber cut across his abdomen and thigh. It was terribly deep, especially on his leg. We treated it as well as we could, but he'd been lying in the mud for hours before Giri found him and brought him to us. By then the wound was already going putrid."

"If you bring him here, what can I do for him that you have not already done? I'm a teacher not a nurse."

Tamara wiped her tears away with her fingers and considered what to advise her daughter. "Change his dressings; try to keep his fever down. Willow bark tea is good for that. By the time Giri brought the captain to us we'd used up our supply on the other wounded and there was none to be had anywhere in Brussels. With so many wounded to care for, none of us could spare the time to search for some further afield. Before I make the jump back, I will stop at an apothecary in Bath to buy some more." Tamara leaned back against one of the wooden posts that held the latticed walls of the gazebo and looked over at her daughter. "If he survives—and I pray to the goddess that he does—he is going to be weak for a long time; he has lost a lot of blood. I will write up a list of medicines and remedies that you can try."

"Wait, Mother. I have not yet said I will take him in."

"But you will, won't you Mary? Because you have a kind heart and are prone to caring for waifs and strays." Tamara's eyes twinkled with humor. "How many foxes and deer do you have on staff?"

Mary sighed. "Too many. But where else are they to go? If they are not on private land they are in danger of being hunted when they shift. They are not like us—or the other big cats and the wolves—they are weak and helpless against humans and predators alike."

Tamara did not comment, she just sat and waited for Mary to come to a decision.

Mary shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under her mother's intent gaze. "Oh, all right Mother, I will do it. Bring Captain Roberts here and I will do my best." Her shoulders sagged as she suddenly had second thoughts. What if he died while in her care? Her mother would be devastated.

As if reading her thoughts, her mother reached out and patted her knee. "Kit is human and humans are frail creatures. Your best is all you can do, my dear." She rose and smoothed the creases from her dress. "If I am to ready Kit for such an arduous journey, I need to get back to Brussels. Walk me back to the house?"

Mary linked her arm with her mother's and they walked back in companionable silence. Before Tamara climbed the stairs to collect her belongings, Mary remembered something she'd been meaning to ask her mother. "Mother, we have had some livestock killed in the surrounding country and there have been sightings of a large black cat. Would you ask Father to visit if he has time? I have not been able to scent it and have no idea if it is a real animal or one of us, but if he tracks it he would know instantly."

"I do not recall hearing of anyone living in the area; of course it might be a rogue. But even a rogue wouldn't kill livestock unless they were unbalanced somehow. I will tell your father, I am sure he will find time to come over and investigate." She leaned forward and kissed her daughter's cheek, then hugged her. "Goodbye my dear and thank you for agreeing to take Kit. I will try and get away from Paris for a visit as soon as I can."

"Goodbye Mother."

On the outskirts of Bath, England

Shreya Tandon watched her young charge as the carriage bounced over the poorly maintained road. They'd left the toll road a few miles back and this last part of the journey was proving to be extremely uncomfortable, despite the well-sprung equipage her mate had hired.

Kit was running a fever again; he tossed and turned his head on the cot Adri had jury-rigged on the seat of the carriage. A week had passed since the battle on the outskirts of the village of Waterloo and to Shreya it had felt like a month. They had decided to wait until Friday morning before leaving Brussels. The packet-boat from Antwerp to Southampton had met with favorable winds and had made a swift crossing; they were now traveling the final few miles of their journey, and her worry for her gravely ill charge made every minute seem like an hour, and each hour like a day.

Unhooking the window next to her, she called to her mate to stop the carriage. When they pulled to a halt, Adri rode over to ask her what was wrong.

She was already pulling out the canteen of water and didn't look at him as he dismounted his horse and opened the door. "Kit is feverish again, and I want to sponge him down and try to get him to drink a little water. I could not possibly attempt that with the vehicle swaying and bumping the way it has been over this dreadful road." Fitting actions to her words, she knelt next to Kit's makeshift cot and began to dab at his face and neck with a moistened cloth. "Adri, would you help me sit him up so I can perhaps persuade him to drink a little."

Adri put his arm under Kit's shoulders and lifted him, supporting the boy's head on his shoulder. "Give me the canteen; it will be easier if I try from this angle." Taking the bottle from his mate, he held it to Kit's lips and, pushing them open, he tipped the container. "Well, some went down and I heard him swallow. But I fear more went on his clothes than down his throat."

"How close are we to Mary's school?"

Adri gave the canteen back to Shreya and gently laid the young man back down. "Not far, just a few miles. We should be there within two hours. We cannot let the horses go faster than a walk; it would be too uncomfortable for Kit."

Shreya breathed a sigh of relief. "I will be glad when we can get Kit into a proper bed with fresh, clean linens."

Her mate patted her on the shoulder. "Not long now. Sit back on the seat and we can get underway again." He jumped out of the carriage and shut the door. With a last worried look through the glass at the captain's pallor, he mounted his horse and gave the coachman the signal to drive on.

Somewhat less than two hours later they turned into the long graveled driveway of the Colburn School for Young Ladies. Shreya peered through the window and, as they drew near the building, she saw her daughter standing by the front steps together with her headmistress, Mary Colburn. Two footmen were hovering in front of the entrance, waiting for her carriage. However, Adri did not wait for either of the two men once they had reached their destination. Opening the door to his mate's conveyance himself, he handed Shreya down to the path.

Anji threw decorum to the winds and ran down the steps to hug her mother, and turning to her father, gave him an enthusiastic welcome as well. Adri kissed his cub on her cheek then drew back a little. "You look well, puss. I think you have grown since we last met."

Anji's high carefree laugh showed how happy she was to see her parents. "Is Giri well? Was he wounded at all? Mrs. Colburn told me he escaped injury, but I wasn't sure if she was trying to spare my feelings or not."

Shreya grabbed her daughter's hand. "I promise you that Giri is unhurt. He is in Paris as we speak and he promised to try and get home to see us." Turning to Mary, she smiled at the serene female. "Your mother and father send their love and their thanks; I would like to add mine to theirs."

It didn't take long for Adri and the two footmen to maneuver Kit from the carriage, and the big tiger hefted the young human into his arms. "Miss Colburn, would you show me where to put my young charge?"

"Oh. Yes, yes, of course. Please, follow me." Startled into action, Mary beckoned for him to follow her. She led them up the steps into the foyer and then up the main staircase to the second floor. "I have had this room prepared for him. I was sure none of the girls would want their rooms turned into a sick room while they are away from the school." The room was large and had a seating area near the fireplace; it also had the added advantage of adjoining her room through the dressing rooms attached to both chambers. If she left the doors open at night she would be able to hear him if he called out.

Shreya followed them into the room and helped Adri get Kit comfortably settled in the large canopied bed. Opening her reticule, she handed Mary a sealed package. "My dear, your mother sent this for you."

Mary took the small parcel and broke the seal. Inside there were two sheets of paper and some smaller packages. Unfolding the missives, she immediately saw one was a personal letter which she folded and put in her pocket to read later. The other held a list of medicines and unguents that her mother had included that might help in the nursing of the captain. She laid the paper down on the bedside table together with the various wrapped bottles and jars, and looked at the young man in the bed. His blond hair was dark and matted with sweat, his cheeks and eyes were sunken and his skin had a grayish pallor. Her mother had always described him as a handsome, charming man, and perhaps he was when in good health, but at the moment she saw no evidence of those good looks.

She straightened the covers over his wasted body and turned to her fellow shifters. "I think we can leave him for a moment or two while I show you to your rooms. How long will you be staying?"

Adri placed his hand at his mate's back and guided her out of the room; looking back briefly at Mary, he answered her. "Just until tomorrow morning. If we leave at first light, we should be able to cover a fair distance before we have to stop for the night."

Before shutting the door on Kit Roberts' sickroom, Mary took another look at the human. A shaft of sunlight from the window bathed the bed and for just a moment she thought she could see why her mother thought him handsome, then a cloud obscured the sun and the captain's pallor became evident once again. Shaking her head as she closed the door, she wondered if she would be able to nurse him as well as her mother seemed to think she could.

Chapter Three

She could hear shouting, almost a scream. Looking around she could see she was totally alone, but could still hear the voice. Or was it voices? Yes, there were many voices now, all crying in pain. Running through smoke, she couldn't find where the screams were coming from and then she fell, the mud sucking her down...

Mary sat up in bed feeling disoriented, the sounds from her dreams still echoing in her ears. The cries...they were real...Captain Roberts. She leaped out of bed, fumbled for the tinderbox to light a candle. Cupping a hand around the flame she moved quickly through the two dressing rooms and into the captain's chamber. The man was obviously in the throes of his delirium, his bed linen a tangle around his legs where he'd pushed it off his sweat-sodden body.

She placed the candle on the dresser and brought the bowl of cold water and a cloth to the bedside. Apart from giving him regular doses of willow bark tea when he was conscious enough to swallow, sponging the captain down was the only thing she could do. It made her feel so helpless—not a feeling to which a shapeshifter was accustomed.

Trying not to disturb him too much, she sat on the edge of the mattress and began to smooth the cool cloth over his face and neck. She wished Shreya had stayed, but she and her mate had left almost two days ago and this was Mary's second night caring for the wounded soldier alone. Having dipped the linen in the water again, she wrung it out and began to wipe his torso. She didn't know what he'd looked like before getting wounded, but he must have lost weight; no soldier could endure the rigors of campaign with his flesh wasted to such a degree that his ribs were so prominent.

The captain began to toss his head again and she murmured to him, telling him he was safe, that she was caring for him, that he was going to be all right. He seemed to quiet at the sound of her voice.

She'd hardly slept during the previous two nights, and the thought of returning to her bed was very tempting, but she knew he would only call out again. Eyeing the bed, she decided it was large enough that she could lie next to him and not get too close, plus there would be the added benefit of being near enough to tend him if he called out again.

After returning the bowl and cloth to the dresser, she snuffed out the candle before climbing into the bed next to him. Her last thought before wearily drifting off to sleep, was to question the goddess why humans couldn't be as strong as shifters.

It seemed as if she'd only been asleep for minutes before Kit's groans awoke her once again. He was tossing his head on the pillow seemingly in the grip of another nightmare. When she reached out to touch his forehead she felt that his skin was cool, and sighed with relief at the evidence that his fever had broken, though without a doubt, he was still disturbed. Sliding across the bed she gently pulled him into her arms and stroked his hair, whispering calming nonsense to him. Like a child he turned his head against her breast and settled back into a peaceful sleep.

Mary lay with her arms around her charge, holding him like precious china. All thought of sleep had fled and confusion reigned in her mind. Why did she feel so protective of this man? Was it just a natural feeling of a nurse for her patient? Her fingers found his hair again and slowly stroked it back from his forehead, the soothing motion not only lulling Captain Roberts into a deeper, more natural sleep, but soothing Mary as well until she, too, succumbed.

She awoke to the unfamiliar feeling of another body in bed with her. While she'd fallen asleep with her arms around Kit Roberts, it seemed the tables had been turned while she slept. Her back lay against his chest and his arms were around her body, one large hand cupping her breast. Mary was no innocent and she was sure that was an erection nudging her bottom. Well, that solved the question of whether or not the captain would be able to function as a man!

Before she could move away, she felt his breath on her neck and then his lips against the sensitive skin. The sensation had a warm, melting feeling beginning to take root in her belly, and with difficulty she ignored the fire that his touch was causing. It was nothing more than a reflexive reaction that any man would have upon waking to find a woman's body in his arms. Stiffening her resolve, Mary turned over and smiled at the disheveled man lying in the bed.

"You are finally awake."

"Yes, and I must be in Heaven, for surely angels look like you."

Mary's stomach quivered at the compliment but she endeavored to keep her reaction to herself. "I am afraid you are still very much in the land of the living." She slid out of bed and walked through the dressing rooms to her own chamber. A few minutes later she came back into the room tying her robe closed and found the captain had pulled himself up into a half-sitting position. "I am no angel, and my name is Miss Colburn; I have been nursing you. You were severely wounded at Waterloo."

"Colburn? Any relation to Malik and Tamara Colburn?"

"Yes, I am their d...umm...their cousin." She had suddenly remembered he didn't know what her parents were and he wouldn't believe a woman who looked the same age as Tamara could actually be her daughter. "You were crying out in your sleep, and appeared so disturbed I was afraid you might re-open your wounds as you tossed and turned. When your fever finally broke I thought I should stay with you; my presence seemed to calm you. However, I did not mean to fall asleep."

Kit nodded as if her rushed explanation made perfect sense, then glanced down at his bare chest before raising his gaze to her face. "Not that I mind, but I don't seem to have a nightshirt on."

"No, I had to keep sponging you down to try and reduce your fever and it would have been in the way." She turned away and opened a drawer in the dresser. "My cousin sent your clothes over from Brussels." She pulled a nightshirt out of the drawer. "Here, you can put this on."

He took the garment from her but when he lifted his arms to pull it over his head he winced.

"Let me help you." Opening the neck, she slipped it over his head then held it so he could push his arms through the sleeves. Holding him by the shoulders, she pulled the pillows up behind him to make him more comfortable. Straightening up, she gave him a direct look. "Are you hungry?"

He nodded, "I think I could eat a horse."

She grinned, "I cannot get you a horse...but will you settle for some eggs and toast, with perhaps some tea, instead?"

"For a start, yes, thank you Miss Colburn."

When she came back upstairs with a tray, she found him sitting on the edge of the bed. Putting the tray down on the table by the hearth, she turned to him, anger welling up inside her at the thought of the damage he could've done to his wounds. "What do you think you are doing?"

"I need to use the chamber pot, but I cannot seem to stand. I have tried twice and each time I have fallen back on the bed." He scowled at her, impatience and frustration showing plainly on his face. "How long has it been since I was wounded?"

"Waterloo was eleven days ago. You have healed remarkably fast but you are still very weak. Here let me help you." She put her arm around his waist in preparation to help him stand.

"No!" His shout made her jump back as if scalded. "There are _some_ things a gentleman shouldn't do in mixed company. Is there a man who might help me?"

Mary put her hands on her hips and decided that treating him like a recalcitrant child was the best option. "Christopher Roberts, I have been bathing your naked body for more than two days, I have seen to your every need. Just because you are now in full command of your faculties does not mean that your body is any different to what I have already seen and tended."

"The difference is I now know what you are doing," he countered.

Acknowledging his instinctive response, Mary softened her stance somewhat. Picking up the chamber pot she placed it on a low stool and brought it closer to the bed. "How about this...I help you stand and get over to the stool then I will slip into the dressing room. When you have finished call for me and I will help you back to bed. Would that be acceptable?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

"Then I suppose it is acceptable."

Biting the inside of her cheek to suppress her smile, she put her arm around his waist again and helped him stand and walk the few steps to where she'd placed the pot, then she whisked herself into the adjoining room until he called for her. Once he was settled back in bed she placed the breakfast tray across his knees.

He picked up the knife and fork and tried to bring some food to his mouth, but found that his hands were shaking too much and the egg kept falling back onto the plate.

She took the cutlery from his fingers. "You are far too weak. I'm afraid you are going to have to allow me to feed you."

He gave the tray a half-hearted push. "No. Thank you, but I find that I am no longer hungry."

Mary managed to stop herself from rolling her eyes, but couldn't keep the impatience out of her voice. "Yes you are, don't be silly. And even if you are not hungry you still have to eat. You have had nothing but gruel and beef tea for the last week or more, and that was only when you were conscious enough to swallow which was not often." She put some eggs on the fork and held it up to his mouth.

"I—"

As he opened his mouth to speak, she pushed the fork in and he took the eggs off it. "You _will_ eat, Captain Roberts."

"Tyrant." He said around a mouthful of egg.

"Yes." She grinned and received an answering smile from her patient.

Slowly, with considerable effort on the captain's part, he ate almost all the food and drank a whole cup of tea.

Mary stood up and cleared away the tray. "I am afraid there is going to be some more unpleasantness now. I have to change your dressing."

"I think not!"

"Please, Captain, I know it is in a delicate position, but it has to be done. Think of me as a doctor."

Kit thinned his lips and folded his arms across his chest. "I would rather you get me a real doctor."

"The nearest doctor is in Bath; there is an apothecary in the village but he hardly needs to ride out here for something as paltry as changing a dressing."

He lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes. "Again, I suppose I do not have a choice, do I?"

"I am afraid you do not."

"Go ahead." His voice rang with resignation.

Mary collected fresh bandages and salve from the dressing room. When she returned, the captain was still lying against the pillows with his eyes closed. Carefully, she untied the old bandage and pulled it away. The wound on his abdomen was healing but the one on his thigh was still an angry red and weeping. The muscle looked like it'd had a chunk taken out of it and a hollow had formed where the flesh was missing.

Glancing up at his face she saw he still hadn't opened his eyes. "Do you want to see the wound?"

He grimaced and shook his head.

"You should, because if you do not you will imagine it to be far worse than it actually is."

He shook his head again. "I saw enough when I relieved myself earlier."

Mary nodded absently at his answer as she put the soiled bandages to one side. "Was it a saber? Do you remember?"

"Yes and yes."

"It cut you on the lower abdomen and the thigh. The cut above your groin is healing, but the one on your thigh looks like it will take some time yet." She looked up at his face. "The sword missed your...er...essentials. But then you must have seen that earlier."

At that his eyes snapped open and his gaze swung from her face to his groin and back to her face. Mary picked up the salve and began to smooth some over the stitched wounds. As she did so, his body began to harden. "See...everything is in working order." She looked up at him again and saw a flush spreading over his cheeks. Fighting to keep herself from grinning, she busied herself tying the bandages in place.

"There, all done." She pulled the sheet and blankets up over his body. "You should try and rest now. If you will excuse me, I am going to get myself ready for the day, as I have business to attend to downstairs. The bell-pull is over there." She indicated the wall to the side of the bed. "But I will be up to check on you later. Sleep well, Captain Roberts."

"Kit."

"I beg your pardon?"

"My name, it is Kit. You slept by my side; I have held you in my arms; you have seen me naked. I think you have earned the right to call me by my first name."

"And my name is Mary." She smiled at him. "Rest well, Kit."

Kit was sleeping peacefully when Mary looked in on him before going downstairs. She needed to work on the school's accounts and decide whether or not she should raise the fees for the coming term. She had found contentment running her school. The young female shifters she taught came from all species; they learned all the basics that human young ladies learned: languages, arithmetic, deportment, dancing, music, etc. But at Mary's school, in addition to the regular subjects, the pupils were taught how to keep their other selves secret, how to jump distances using thought, to shift safely, and how to behave when in their other forms. They also learned about the history of were communities around the world and the different customs each species held dear. Most of her pupils came from the British Isles, but there were some from the Continent as well. She assumed more would come now that the long war in Europe was finally over.

Unfortunately her accounts could not hold her attention this morning, as her thoughts kept turning to the man sleeping upstairs. Her feelings of protectiveness during the night still confused her. He was a human, and while she was not averse to taking a human lover, and had done so on more than one occasion, she'd never felt anything more than lust for any of them. Why did she feel different about Kit Roberts? Perhaps it was because her mother and father thought so highly of him. And that reminded her of something else, she'd better warn the staff that she'd introduced herself as her father's cousin not his daughter. Oh bother, she thought, this was becoming more and more complicated. The quicker Captain Roberts recovered and left her property, and her life, the better.

Coming to the conclusion that her mind would not let her concentrate on business while Kit Roberts lay upstairs, she closed her books and went to check on her patient.

It was the silence that hit him first. He'd been dreaming about the battle, the noise...the smoke...the screams of men and horses as they were hit. Then he'd felt himself falling and instead of landing in the mud he'd awoken to this silence. Lying on the soft mattress and looking at the underside of the canopy above him, he wondered how he would've fared if he'd been taken to the hospital in Brussels, or worse, left on the battlefield. He was lucky, he knew that. He grimaced. Lucky enough to be a cripple for the rest of his life. He'd seen his leg, he knew what it meant.

And then there was Mary. He had an angel caring for him, so perhaps he was in Heaven. He shook his head at the fanciful direction of his thoughts. No. In Heaven there was no pain, and God knew he was in a lot of bloody pain. Hungry, too. Surely that was a good sign? His angel had said there was a bell pull... He twisted his head around and saw it hanging by the side of the bed. Grimacing from the pain, he levered himself up to a sitting position and reached back to pull the tasseled rope. The effort had him gasping for breath as a burning sensation shot up from his leg.

After what seemed an interminable amount of time the door to his chamber opened and Mary entered carrying a tray.

"Is that food?" Hunger and pain made his tone sharp.

"It seems your nap has not improved your temper at all," Mary snapped back at him.

He watched her has she rested the food on the dresser and came over to straighten the covers and plump up the pillows behind him. She completed the task in cool silence, her displeasure palpable. As she bent over him to lay the tray over his knees his attention was held by the sight of freckles across her nose and cheeks. They made her look so young, but surely she must be of an age similar to his.

"Can you manage by yourself or do you need my help again?" She stood stiffly at his bedside.

"My hands seem steadier now than they did earlier, but I would be happy to have your company while I eat." He tried to make amends for his previous bad temper and attempted a smile, but he was sure it was a little lopsided as his leg made him wince again. "You said you are Malik Colburn's cousin?"

Mary sighed and dragged over a chair and sat by his bedside. "Yes."

"And this house... Where are we?"

She smiled then and all rational thought flew from his mind except one, that he'd never seen anyone or anything quite as beautiful.

"You're at the Colburn School for Young Ladies and we are located some six miles east of Bath, near the village of Denesmoor."

"A girls' school? Am I going to become a spectator sport for a gaggle of school girls?" It was going to be difficult enough navigating the rough seas of recovery without an audience of adolescent giggling females.

"No, they have all departed for the summer. There is only the domestic staff and myself in residence. Even the other teachers have left for their homes."

Kit nodded and managed a few more bites of the poached chicken that Mary had brought him. "You may have told me this already, but I find I have no recollection of it, how did I get here?"

"Adri and Shreya Tandon brought you. They have already continued their journey onward to their home with their daughter Anji."

"Giri's sister." He nodded. "She's at school here?" He saw her nod and then thought of something else, something that stabbed him in the heart because he'd given it no thought before now. "Giri...is he...did he...?"

"The colonel, according to his parents, is healthy and has already traveled to Paris with the army. Apparently, it was he who found you on the battlefield and brought you to my cousin's home in Brussels."

Kit laid his fork down on his plate and lay back against the pillows closing his eyes. Giri was the brother he never had, the closest thing he had to family, to know that he was still alive...

Mary cleared her throat. "Can you not eat a little more, Captain?"

He opened his eyes again and looked at her and then down at the food left on his plate. "No. Thank you."

"I do not have any male indoor staff but I have asked the head groom if he would be prepared to help you. He will be up later with some hot water to help you wash." She stood up and came over to take the tray from him. "Would you like a newspaper? I have kept issues of The Times from the last week with all the reports of the battles and the aftermath."

"Thank you, Mary, yes I would like that." He waited until she had closed the door quietly behind her before shutting his eyes again. Could he bear to read the reports of the battle? Though it would twist his gut to do so, he would force himself to read that and the lists of the dead and wounded. It was the least he could do for them.

Mary wandered out into the late afternoon sunshine; she'd been indoors all day and now intended to spend an hour reading in the summerhouse. Ideally, she'd prefer to shift and go for a run, but with the local human populace on the look out for a killer black cat she really didn't think it was worth the risk.

Settling herself on the bench that curved around the inside of the structure, she raised her face to the sun; her book lying forgotten in her lap. What was she going to do with Captain Roberts now that he was on the road to recovery? A lot of her house staff were very young weres and as such had very little control; they were apt to shift at the slightest fright or strong emotion. The captain couldn't be confined to his room forever, and if he were allowed to roam free what would he do if he saw one of them transform?

Encouraging him to leave as soon as possible would be the wisest course; but was that what she really wanted? If she were honest with herself then the answer would be no. She brought her hand up to her chest and remembered how his hand had felt as it lay on her breast when they had awoken that morning. Remembering how protective she'd felt of him while he'd been wholly under her care—like a mother caring for her cub—or so she'd thought at first. She realized now that maternal feelings were very far from what she felt for Captain Roberts. And he was human; she had no right to want to keep him by her. Even if she told him what she was and he were able to accept that, he would still wither and die long before she even hit middle age.

Were the old legends true, she wondered. Did Bastet decree who your soul mate would be? If so, that might be the reason she had lived so long without finding a mate. Even though two of her sisters had found mates at a much earlier age, she had never really given it much thought before. Did she have to follow what the goddess had fated for her? Her mind wandered to the young man upstairs, and her heart gave an involuntary jump. If Bastet had decided that Kit was her fate, then it was no surprise that her heart had become involved so quickly.

Fate or not, there was no choice. She'd have to let him go, and indeed encourage him to leave. Her decision rather reluctantly made, she picked up her book and tried to concentrate on the text.

Chapter Four

"Watkins, do I have anything to wear other than nightshirts?" Kit asked the groom who was helping him.

"Aye, Captain. All yer gear was sent over from Brussels with ye, but I doubt ye'll be able to wear yer breeches over them stitches."

"Perhaps if we wrap my leg in some light bandaging the stitches might not catch on the cloth."

"Aye, that'll do it. Miz Colburn told me she has all the medical fixings in her dressing room. I'll go fetch what we need."

Kit wondered why the man was entering the room next to his instead of going out into the hallway to find the door to Mary's dressing room. Watkins returned just moments later with a neat roll of linen to bandage his leg. A suspicion formed in Kit's mind and, in order to confirm it, he offhandedly asked his temporary valet what lay beyond the next room.

"Yer dressing room leads into Miz Colburn's and that into her bedchamber, sir."

"Ah. Thank you, Watkins." Interesting, thought Kit as he watched the groom wrap his leg. When he was ambulatory again, a midnight stroll through those rooms might be entertaining and possibly quite satisfying.

"There ye go, Captain. Now let's try on those breeches."

They fit a little snugly over the bandage, but it wasn't too uncomfortable. A good night's sleep had left him feeling a lot stronger and he had half a mind to leave his room, but how? He could hardly hop everywhere, and he didn't feel he could ask Watkins to half carry him.

"If you could help me into the dressing room, Watkins, I will ring for you if I need you." He leaned heavily on the man as he hobbled into the room and sat down in an armchair by the window, with the newspapers that Mary had brought up the previous day on a table next to him. "Before you go, Watkins, would you please ask Miss Colburn if she could spare me a few minutes of her time?"

"Aye, sir. If ye're all set now, I'll be going."

"Thank you, Watkins." Kit sorted through the newspapers to find the earliest issue, dated Tuesday, 20th June, and settling back into his chair he began to read.

Mary was trying to force a fox to shift back to human form when Watkins found her and relayed Kit's message.

"He will just have to wait, Watkins." She turned to the shivering fox and spoke sternly. "Now Lillian if you do not change back, I am going to have to force you and you know how unpleasant that can be." After almost half an hour of trying, she was about to lose patience and force the shift. The maid must have calmed down enough to listen for suddenly the air shimmered and Lillian sat on the floor with her mobcap askew, cradling her hand.

Crouching down beside the girl, she spoke gently to her. "Let me see that hand, Lillian." The girl stretched out her arm and placed her hand in Mary's. "That was quite a nasty burn, Lillian, but it is already healing. Shifting was the right thing to do, but you should shift right back, and according to Cook you did not even check to see who was in the kitchen."

"I'm sorry ma'am, I didn't think."

The young kitchen maid had tears in her eyes and Mary patted her on the shoulder before looking around at the gathered staff. "This is exactly what I was talking about yesterday. You have to be careful. We have a human living here and he must not see any of you transform. Miss Anji's brother spent years at human schools and never once shifted from strong emotions. Please try for a little more self-control." She turned to the cook, "Mrs. Reinhart, would you make sure Lillian puts some salve on that burn and keeps it dry for the rest of today? She should be fine by tomorrow."

"Yes Miss Colburn. And I will try and keep a closer eye on the younger girls; they really shouldn't shift every time they get a little fright."

"Thank you, Mrs. Reinhart." Mary exhaled on a sigh and left the kitchen to make her way up to the master suite.

Arriving at the door to Kit's bedchamber she knocked and entered without waiting for a reply. "Captain, how can I help you this mor—" Mary stopped as soon as she entered, the bed and the room were empty.

"Mary, I am in the dressing room."

Mary followed the sound of his voice and found him sitting in a comfortable chair by the window with newspapers spread on the table next to him. "You are out of bed." Now she was stating the obvious; where had her serenity gone...her common sense?

Kit shook the newspaper in her direction. "I knew the battles had been bad, but when you are in the thick of it you do not realize just how bad. The numbers of the dead are terrible."

"Yes, they are. Are many of your friends on the lists?"

"Quite a few." His face was set and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

"I am very sorry." She sat down in the chair on the other side of the table. "It must be dreadful to read of a friend's death in the newspaper."

"My name would have been amongst them if Giri hadn't found me and brought me to your cousin's house. Not to mention the care you've given me." He reached across the small table and held out his hand and Mary placed hers in it. "Thank you, Mary. I owe you and your family my life."

"I am sure my mo...er...cousin would have found an alternative. So, no thanks are necessary."

"I think they are, and I do not want to argue with you about it. What I do want to do is get out of these rooms." His hand lightly rubbed his thigh as he talked.

"Are you in a lot of pain, Captain?"

"Kit. Remember, you agreed to use my given name? Yes, there is pain, but it is bearable. When can we take the stitches out?"

"I am not sure, I have never nursed a hu...umm...a soldier before."

"What has my profession got to do with it?"

"Oh nothing." She hurried to cover her slip, "I was just stating the obvious, and surely soldiers are used to being wounded?"

"I lived a charmed life in the Peninsular, only managed to pick up a scratch here and there."

Mary had seen the scars on his body, and they told a different story. Deciding not to bring up the subject of her having seen him naked again, she returned to the question of his present wounds. "About your stitches, I think we should give it a few more days."

"I don't need to wait for the stitches to be removed before getting some exercise outside of these rooms. I have to start moving around, breathe some fresh air."

Mary couldn't have him wandering around the house and grounds unsupervised; she nibbled on her finger while she thought of a solution. "If you fall, Kit, you might open your wounds. I do not think it wise for you to go walking around on your own."

"If you could find me something to lean on while I walk it would be safer. An old broomstick with a padded crossbar would do. We could cut the stick to the right height."

"I will speak to Watkins." She stood up to leave; she'd also have to talk to him about having the captain watched. "If we can fashion some kind of crutch for you would you like to join me for dinner this evening?"

"A change of scenery would be wonderful."

"Good. I will see you this evening then, Captain."

"I look forward to it, Mary."

With his crutch supporting his injured leg and Watkins hovering to help him if needed, Kit made it down to the dining room without incident. Mary met him at the foot of the stairs and led him into the dining room, allowing Watkins to help him into his chair at the table.

She watched as Kit stretched out his bad leg and winced, either his leg was paining him or the stitches were. Perhaps in the morning she'd check to see if they were ready to be removed. Either way, he looked very handsome in his formal service uniform; the dark green cloth with black trimmings and silver buttons suited his coloring. He'd obviously made an effort for his first evening downstairs. Although, she wondered, those trousers must be difficult to wear over his wound, they looked dreadfully tight. So tight, in fact, that they didn't hide much at all. Realizing where her eyes had settled, she quickly averted her gaze.

Susan entered with the first course and before they began to eat, Kit picked up a wine bottle from the table and offered to pour.

"Captain, I do not think you should drink too much wine if you intend to take laudanum for your pain. In my experience wine and opiates do not mix."

"I am aware that you and Mrs. Colburn both gave me laudanum while I was unable to make decisions for myself. But now that I am, I would prefer to deal with the pain. I saw too many men become dependent on the stuff while I was in Spain." He raised his glass. "To you, Mary Colburn. Thank you for being quite the prettiest nurse I could have wished for."

Mary could feel the flush heat her face at his compliment but raised her glass to him in return. "And to you, Captain Roberts, for being part of the brave army that rid Europe of Bonaparte." She sipped at her wine. "Will you stay in the army, Captain?"

"I don't know. I will have to send a message to my regiment and let them know where I am and my condition." He frowned. "There is not much need for a foot soldier who cannot march, especially in peace time. And now the war is finally over they will be looking to cut down on numbers."

"I understand you have been in the army since coming down from Cambridge; is there anything else you can do?"

"I studied law at university, but without influence I doubt I would be able to find a position."

Mary finished her soup and rang the little bell next to her to signal Susan to clear away and bring the next course.

"Perhaps my...er...Malik might be able to help. He knows many influential people." The door opened, the maid slipped in and Mary smiled at her. "Thank you, Susan, you may bring in the next course."

"When will your pupils return? Are there many?" Kit served himself some roast beef from the platter Susan held beside him.

"Not until the beginning of September, and at present we only have twenty for the next year, although with peace in Europe we might gain a few extra pupils."

"It must be a great responsibility; the house, the staff, and pupils. The cost of running such an establishment has to be high."

Mary smiled at her dinner companion. "We are almost self-sufficient; the home farm provides us with nearly all our food. The beef you are eating came from our own herd. And what we cannot supply ourselves, we buy in the village or in Bath." Noticing that Kit had finished eating she rang for Susan, who must have been hovering outside the door because she entered immediately.

The girl cleared the heavy dinner plates and inexpertly balanced them on the platter with the remaining beef. As Susan moved to leave the room with her burden, Mary watched as one of her prized dinner plates slipped and crashed on the floor; pieces of china spinning in all directions. She met the horrified gaze of the maid and half rose just as the rest of the crockery fell from the girl's hands as she shifted into her fox form. The creature stood there shivering and Mary didn't know what to do first—go to the girl and make her change back; call for someone to help; or distract Kit Roberts and stop him from noticing that a fox had suddenly appeared in her dining room.

Inspiration struck, and with a quick prayer to the goddess, she tipped her wine over herself and, grabbing her napkin, she began to dab at her dress. Kit struggled to get up to help her, his attention solely on her wet bodice which was already clinging to her breasts. In the same instant Watkins came running into the room. The wily old man grasped the situation at once; he knelt before the fox and took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes; instantly the maid stood staring into the eyes of a stately stag. Then, barely another second passed before Watkins reappeared in human form.

"Oh ma'am, I'm that sorry. The dishes just slipped right out of my hands." Susan looked distraught.

Watkins patted the girl on the shoulder. "Take the dishes to the kitchen, lass, and then come back and clear up in here." Turning to the Captain, "Sir, can I help ye to the drawing room?"

"No, Watkins, thank you. Just point me in the right direction and I will manage on my own."

"Thank you, Watkins." The relief in Mary's voice was palpable. "Captain, I will go and change and join you in a few minutes." As she passed the groom, she rolled her eyes and received a grin in reply.

Up in her room, Mary wondered for the thousandth time what she was going to do with the human in their midst. Watkins had acted with speed and natural command when he'd forced the transformation from the young fox. But the older weres in the household couldn't be everywhere all the time. Eventually Kit was bound to notice something.

She also wondered what she was going to do about the growing feelings she had for the captain. Should she act on them or ignore them? And yet, if Captain Roberts were to make the first move, would she be able to refuse him? Could she remain aloof or would her own feelings for the human take control?

In the drawing room Kit had poured himself a brandy and was now settled into a large armchair to one side of the empty hearth. A frown marred his handsome face, something was niggling on the edge of his consciousness. When the maid had dropped the dishes in the dining room he hadn't had a chance to look round before his attention had been caught by the sight of Mary's wet, translucent bodice. The hairs on the back of his neck, however, had signaled something extra-ordinary. By the time he had looked towards the door, the maid was already cleaning up the mess. He was certain something odd had occurred, and it hadn't just involved spilled leftovers and broken crockery. Or perhaps after years fighting the French, he'd finally succumbed to seeing shadows where there was only light.

He looked up as Mary came in the room and grabbed his crutch in an attempt to stand.

"Please Captain, you may remain seated, there is no need to stand on ceremony." Her smile made his heart falter. What the hell was happening to him? He was not one to react to a pretty woman in that way. Usually, a different part of his body reacted.

He relaxed back into the chair. "I thought we had agreed to use our given names."

"I am sorry, Ca...Kit, I will try and remember." She looked up as Susan entered with the tea tray. "Thank you, Susan. Have you quite recovered from your mishap in the dining room?"

"Yes Miss Colburn. I would like to apologize again, ma'am."

"There is nothing to apologize about, Susan. Just make sure it never happens again." Her tone was firm as she spoke to the young girl. "Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am, I understand." She bobbed a curtsey and left quietly.

Kit frowned. He felt there was some by-play here that he wasn't catching; he was beginning to have a strong suspicion that something had happened in the dining room that he hadn't seen. He mentally shrugged, it really wasn't any of his business how Mary Colburn managed her household.

They sat and conversed amiably over tea for some time. Kit telling stories of his and Giri's more repeatable escapades in between the horror of the battles in Spain, making Mary laugh. When one of his tales had Mary's chuckle turning into a yawn, he felt contrite. "It is getting late, Mary, and I am afraid I have been keeping you up with my chatter."

"No. No, it is not late, it is just that I have not slept well for the past few nights."

"And that is entirely my fault as well; I am sorry." Kit reached for his crutch and inelegantly managed to stand. "At any rate, it is time I sought my bed. Good night, Mary." He turned to walk toward the door and the stitches on his leg pulled, making him stagger before he righted himself.

"I will accompany you up the stairs, Kit."

"I do not need your help!" He snapped. He needed to feel independent; he didn't want to have to lean on her for help. He would climb those stairs on his own if it took him an hour to do it.

Mary bit her lip and appeared to swallow the retort that almost slipped out. Her tone was light as she replied, "I know you do not, Kit. But we are going in the same direction and I thought to continue our conversation." Suspecting he didn't believe her, she smiled and stood back allowing him to open the door for her.

They were silent as he negotiated the stairs, a difficult task accomplished by means of one hand on the banister and the other wielding his crutch. At the top he stopped for a moment, realizing he was winded from his exertions.

"Kit? Are you all right?"

"Hmm? Yes. A week and a half in bed and wounded besides certainly reduces a man's strength." He glanced sideways giving her a rueful smile. "I apologize for snapping at you downstairs."

"No apology is necessary, Kit. A certain amount of bad temper is only to be expected considering all you have experienced since the battle at Waterloo." She smiled back at him. "Some light exercise, fresh air, and good food will aid your recuperation."

"How soon do you think I can get rid of these stitches?" He asked as they began to walk toward their rooms.

"We discussed this earlier; I will have a look at them tomorrow morning and we will decide then. You must be the judge of how well your wounds feel."

"Will it involve me being naked again?" Now that he'd come to know her a little better, Kit realized he wouldn't be averse to being naked in her company, although he'd prefer it if she were naked with him. He couldn't resist teasing her, and was rewarded by the sight of her pinkened cheeks.

"Would you prefer I call the apothecary from the village or send to Bath for the doctor?"

They'd reached her bedroom door by this point and he turned to face her, balancing himself on his good leg and his crutch. "I am only teasing you, Mary. You have done an excellent job of caring for me to this point; there is no reason to call in anyone else." Kit raised his free hand and held her chin lightly, "Thank you, my dear." Careful not to lose his balance, he leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on her lips. As he pulled back, he almost gasped and gave his head a slight shake, sure he was seeing things. He told himself he needed to rest. "Goodnight Mary."

"Goodnight Kit." He barely heard her whispered reply as he walked away still considering what he thought he had seen.

Watkins was in his room when he entered, and he thankfully accepted the man's help to get ready for bed.

A short time later, the servant snuffed out all the candles bar one which he took with him as he left. Darkness enveloped the room as Kit lay in the bed staring at nothing. The fitful starlight coming in the window was not enough for him to discern anything more than shadowy shapes, and his mind was left free to concentrate on the kiss in the corridor. Had he really seen Mary's pupils change shape? No he could not have. But for a second, after he had kissed her, he could have sworn her eyes had looked like a cat's with the pupils elongated and pointed.

Chapter Five

"Kit?" Mary knocked on his door. "Are you awake?" She knocked again before turning the handle and quietly entering. The curtains had been pulled back and the room was bright with sunshine, but there was no sign of the Captain. She turned to leave, wondering where her house guest was, only to find the doorway blocked by the man she was seeking. Her first thought was of the kiss he'd given her the previous night; her second thought was that she'd like to repeat the experience.

"Good morning, Kit." Was that her voice? She sounded breathless. "Umm...I came to look at your stitches and perhaps remove them." Wait, he was coming in to the room, where had he been? "You have been out, Captain?" She forced herself to sound nonchalant. Had he seen something he should not have?

"No, I was just walking up and down the corridors to relieve the stiffness."

For a moment she felt giddy with relief. None of the household staff had been on this floor other than Watkins, therefore he wouldn't have seen anything untoward.

Kit's eyes crinkled at the corners and one side of his mouth quirked up. "So if you want to look at my stitches, do you want me to get undressed?"

Forcing her attention back to the handsome human in front of her, she smiled. "I do not think you need to undress completely, but if you would lie down on the bed and lower your breeches, we can look at the stitches and decide if you want them taken out or not."

Mary went into his dressing room and opened the door to the corresponding room in her suite. The connecting door had been closed the previous day to give him some privacy now that he was able to move around. She didn't hurry to collect her embroidery scissors—the sharpest she possessed—in order to allow him time to arrange his clothing.

"I have never removed stitches from anything other than cloth before now. I hope I will not hurt you..." Her voice trailed off as she entered Kit's bedchamber and saw that he was reclining on his bed, his breeches and drawers pushed down around his ankles. Clearing her throat and trying not to stare she gestured to the bed linen, "Please, Kit, cover yourself with the sheet."

"I apologize, I was not expecting you to return quite so quickly. But that is not what you said the last time you tended my wounds." He chuckled before complying. "If I recall, you remarked that everything was in working order."

"Yes but the situation has changed. You're moving about now and you..." She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to meet his gaze. "You kissed me."

"I did. Are you angry with me?" He tilted his head to one side and raised an eyebrow.

Mary hesitated before answering honestly. "No."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes." Her voice cracked on the word.

He grinned at her. "Would you like me to repeat it?"

"Yes," she whispered. She could feel her heart begin to race and her face heat at the thought of his lips on hers. Forcing herself to remain calm, she shook her head and cleared her throat again. "But right now we need to see about these stitches." She forced herself to look at his mid-section. Twitching the sheet away from the wound above his groin, she examined the stitches. "These can definitely come out; the cut has healed very well." She moved the cloth away from his leg without exposing him too much. "Your thigh, I think needs a few more days. It was a much deeper cut and you have lost some of the muscle."

"The stitches keep catching on my clothes."

"I see no reason why you can't keep a bandage on during the day, but I would advise leaving it open to the air at night." She picked up her scissors and took a deep breath. "Do you want me to take the stitches out from the wound on your stomach?"

He nodded and she felt him watching her as she carefully snipped each individual stitch and pulled it out. As she straightened up after the final stitch had been removed, he reached out and grabbed her hand.

She could have freed herself easily as she was far stronger than he, but she didn't; instead she raised her brows at him. He tugged her hand and she allowed herself to be pulled forward until their lips were a hair's breadth away from each other. Kit raised his other hand to her nape and gently pulled her the final fraction of an inch to meet his lips; Mary felt her eyes closing allowing her to just feel.

Last night his kiss had caught her unawares and she'd had no time to react. She'd spent most of the night regretting not responding to that kiss. Now, as his lips moved against hers, caressing, seducing, she opened to him and Kit slipped his tongue into her mouth to stroke hers.

Without warning he pulled back. It took Mary a second to realize that he wasn't going to kiss her again, and when she did she straightened up and opened her eyes. Kit was watching her carefully.

Still holding her hand, Kit caressed her knuckles with his thumb. "Well, that was...interesting... Good, but interesting."

Mary pulled her hand out of his grip. "I should go. I have accounts to go over. Just because the school is closed for the summer does not mean that I have no work to do." She whisked herself out of his room and leaned on the closed door. Last night Kit had kissed her without any pre-amble, and she was sure her eyes had reacted to her arousal and surprise. He hadn't said anything and she hoped he hadn't noticed anything. This time she'd closed her eyes and knew they'd been back to normal by the time she'd opened them again.

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves and bring her body under control, she descended to the ground floor and her private parlor. She was sure that Kit thought there was something strange about her. How had she given herself away? Had he seen her eyes last night but not said anything? She would have to be more careful for the rest of his stay with them.

Kit stayed where she'd left him. There was something odd about the woman, he was sure of that now. He no longer thought he'd imagined her eyes the night before, and just now when he'd kissed her he'd noticed her tongue had a strange texture. He'd kissed a lot of women during his years at Cambridge and in the army. True, most of them had been whores, but women are women, and never before had he felt a tongue that rough. Mary was a mystery...one he was determined to solve.

He slipped out of bed, pulled up his breeches and gingerly tucked his shirt into the waistband. He felt much stronger today; a couple of days of good food and lots of rest had done wonders. Now it was time to start building up his strength. He was still forced to use the crutch, but if he gradually built up an exercise regime, hopefully he would be able to do without it soon.

His first goal was to walk without the damn thing. To that end, he headed out of the house determined to walk the graveled paths that wound their way through the extensive grounds. He walked until he had exhausted himself. Determined to regain his strength, he promised himself that he would know every pebble on every path by the time he was back to his normal robust self.

He made a habit of walking the grounds twice a day. Annoyingly, however, Watkins often hovered like a nursemaid checking on her charge, and if Watkins wasn't to be seen then there was invariably another groom or gardener in the vicinity. The staff never seemed to leave him alone unless he was in his rooms or in Mary's company.

For three days Kit did nothing except walk, rest, and spend time with the woman who had nursed him. He found he was eager to dine in her company; to sit with her in the evenings and converse. On the fourth day he woke up feeling that he was ready for something a little more taxing. He eyed Watkins as the man laid out civilian clothes for him and prepared his shaving water and soap.

"Watkins, you are actually the head groom are you not?"

"Aye Captain, I am."

"I feel ready to tackle riding. Is there a mount for me that isn't a slug but is well behaved?"

"Aye, there's a gelding that's up to your weight."

"Please have him ready for me after breakfast. I shan't be attempting anything too strenuous." Kit lathered up his face and began to scrape off his morning beard. "I suspect Miss Colburn might insist that I take a groom with me, therefore I suggest we keep this just between ourselves."

Watkins grinned. "Right ye are, Captain. Mum's the word."

Kit finished dressing and before leaving his room, he turned back to his man, "I think, Watkins, we can take the stitches out of my leg later today. I will do it, but I would like you to be available in case I have need of you."

"Aye, Captain, I'll be here."

"Thank you." Kit hesitated over whether or not to take his crutch, before deciding to take it to use on the stairs which were still proving difficult to negotiate.

"Good morning, Mary." Kit walked into the breakfast room without the aid of his crutch which he'd rested against the wall just outside the door.

"Good morning, Kit." Mary looked up from the correspondence she was reading and her face broke into a wide smile. "You are not using your crutch. This is indeed a good morning."

"Yes, no crutch." He grimaced as he limped over to the sideboard to select his food. "But I will never be mistaken for a whole man."

"Nonsense, Kit. With time, the limp will hardly be noticeable."

Kit sat down and raised an eyebrow at her. "I very much doubt that. But at least I can walk and have two legs to do it on; there are many returning soldiers who are less well off."

"As is always the case after a war."

They fell silent while they ate and Mary went back to reading her letters. Kit quietly observed her; he hadn't tried to kiss her again since she had removed some of his stitches, perhaps that evening after dinner... Now that he was feeling so much stronger he wouldn't mind a little dalliance.

"What will you do today, Kit?"

"Continue to exercise this leg of mine, I think. And you?" 'Please,' thought Kit, 'say you're going to be busy in the house.'

"I have to drive into Bath. We need to buy some books and replenish the linens before term starts."

Manners forced him to offer his assistance. "Will you need me to accompany you?"

"Oh no, thank you for offering, but Mrs. Connor will assist me."

Kit's sigh of relief was almost audible; now he could ride out without her fussing over him.

An hour later Kit stood at the window in his dressing room watching the carriage head off down the drive with one of the grooms up on the box. Turning, he picked up his hat and gloves and left his rooms, looking forward to an hour or two of exercise on horseback.

"Is the village far, Watkins?" With the help of a mounting block and a steadying hand from Watkins, Kit was safely on the back of a large gray.

"Only a mile or two, Captain, ye should be fine. Take it easy, keep to a walk, ye don't want to be bustin' them stitches before ye get a chance to cut them out."

"Yes, slow and easy today. I don't want to set my recovery back." It felt good to be back on a horse, and, as the gray started to walk, Kit felt his heart lift, and he began to see the future with a modicum of optimism.

Watkins watched the young male ride off and waited until he was out of sight of the stables before signaling to one of the men who worked on the home farm. "Joshua, watch over him but don't let him catch sight of ye."

"Yes sir, Mr. Watkins." The young man bobbed his head at his superior, then the air shimmered and a handsome gray wolf stood in his place. With a bark at the head groom, Joshua bounded off to follow Kit and make sure he came to no harm.

Kit made it to the village without incident and seeing the tavern, realized how thirsty he was. He rode into the yard and was faced with the dilemma of how to dismount without putting too much pressure on his bad leg. Deciding he had no choice, he slid off trying to put as much of his weight as possible on his other leg. He handed the reins to a groom and, ducking his head to avoid the lintel, he entered the low-ceilinged taproom and ordered a mug of ale.

The landlord gave him a hard stare as he served the ale. "Not from around here are you?"

Kit took a mouthful of ale before answering him. "No, I am a guest for the summer at Colburn's school."

The man frowned. "Guest?"

"I am recovering from a wound and the owner is a relative of a friend of mine." 'Not that it's any of your business,' thought Kit.

The landlord gave Kit an assessing look and nodded. "You're a military man; I can tell by your bearing. An officer?"

"Captain, 95th Rifles."

"You were wounded at Waterloo?"

Kit was beginning to realize that he would have to get used to inquisitions like this until interest in the recent battles faded. "Yes."

"Well, then sir, your money's no good here." He pushed the coins back across the bar to Kit. "Anything you want is on the house. Call it a 'thank you' if you will."

Somewhat taken aback, Kit could only thank his host and take his tankard over to an unoccupied table in a corner. He tipped his chair against the wall and began sipping his ale as he watched the room through half-closed eyes. The landlord was not losing time in apprising his customers of the soldier in their midst and many a toast was given to the heroes of Waterloo. Kit could only think it was a shame that the government didn't think the same way about the rank and file that had fought so bravely.

Gradually the level of talk dropped back to where it had been when Kit had first entered and he began to hear snippets of conversation.

"Old Miggs lost a cow last night..."

"Last week it was Squire Corbin, he lost four sheep... Four! And they'd all had their innards ripped out."

"Something got into my chickens two nights ago, all I had left were a few feathers."

"The squire's talking about getting up a hunting party. I've heard talk there be sightings of a big black monster that looks like a cat, but it growls and snarls."

"Wouldn't want to meet something like that on a dark night."

"Me neither."

And, Kit thought with a silent chuckle, I was beginning to think the countryside was boring. He drained his ale and left the locals to their speculation. Perhaps he should call on this Squire Corbin; he might be able to use the services of a sharpshooter. Although, as an officer he hadn't carried a rifle into battle, he did own a Baker rifle and he was a damned good shot.

Stepping into the yard he was about to ask the groom for his horse when he saw a man he would swear worked on the home farm at the school. No reason why the man shouldn't be at the tavern, except Kit was sure he'd seen him hanging around the stables before he left. Kit mentally shrugged; the farm worker must've cut across the fields to have reached the tavern so quickly.

Swallowing his pride, Kit used the mounting block and settled himself on his horse. His leg had stiffened up considerably while he'd been sitting in the taproom and he hoped the ride back would loosen the muscles again. He strongly suspected he would pay for this exercise the following morning.

Half an hour later, Kit clattered into the stable yard at Mary's school and slid from his horse. He started to lead the gray to the hitching post to unsaddle and rub him down when he saw the farm worker from the tavern's yard. How the devil did the man get back here so quickly? As he watched the man, Watkins came out of the kitchen door and nodded to the farm worker who bobbed his head in return before speaking quietly to Kit's temporary valet. Kit turned his back on the men, and pulled the saddle off his horse's back with a grunt when the skin and muscle of his abdomen protested the movement.

"Did ye have enough exercise, Captain?" Watkins had come up behind him so quietly he might as well have been walking on the best Axminster carpet.

Kit handed off the saddle to him. "Yes. I stopped off at the tavern for a drink, and I swear I saw that man in the inn's yard. He was still there when I left; how did he get back here so fast?"

"Across the fields would be my guess, sir. Leave the horse, Captain, I'll get one of the lads to see to him."

"Thank you Watkins." He was indeed thankful. He suspected he had probably tried to do too much too soon. And he'd suddenly realized that he had a long walk around to the side door of the house, unless he entered through the kitchen. However, he suspected Cook would be horrified to find him in her domain.

"Oh Captain. Mr. Colburn is in the library; he be waiting for Miz Colburn."

"Malik? Here? Excellent." Kit headed towards the house with renewed energy, anxious to hear all the news from Paris, albeit a few days out of date.

"Sir!" Kit limped awkwardly into the library, and held out his hand to the man he respected only slightly less than he did the Duke of Wellington.

"Kit! By all that's wonderful. You look well. Completely recovered?" Malik stood, grabbed his hand and shook it with both of his.

"I am left with a limp, as you see, but at least I can walk. And I rode today, so I am very pleased with my recovery." Thinking of his ride, he realized he hadn't seen any type of equipage in the stable yard. "I didn't see your carriage, sir."

"I came post; I have already paid off the postillions."

Kit nodded, that explained the absence of a carriage. "Malik, I have to thank you and your wife most sincerely for taking me in after Waterloo. If Tamara had not cared for me like she did I probably would not be alive today."

"Thanks are not necessary, Kit. Tamara will be overjoyed to hear news of your recovery." Malik pulled the bell next to the door and after a minute Susan entered, she bowed her head and bobbed a curtsey. "Bring us some coffee, please, Susan."

"Yes sir."

Kit eased himself onto the sofa and stretched out his bad leg. "What news from Paris, sir?"

Before Malik could answer they heard voices in the entrance hall and moments later the library door burst open and Mary entered, her eyes finding Malik immediately. Holding her hands out to him, she smiled broadly, delight written on her face. "Father! How are you?"

Kit was sure he had heard incorrectly. Father? "Surely, Mary, Mr. Colburn is your cousin."

Mary, for once, looked thoroughly uncomfortable. "Er...yes, cousin."

"When Mary was small I was more than a few years older than her and she always said that I was rather stern, more like a father than a cousin. The nickname stuck." His friend explained.

"Ah. Now I understand. Mary, I won't stay here in my dirt, if you will excuse me I will go and change." When she inclined her head, he turned to Malik. "Sir, I will see you at dinner."

"Yes, Kit. Go and rest, I might suggest a hot bath or that leg will stiffen."

"My thoughts exactly, sir."

Kit entered his chamber to find Watkins filling a bathtub with steaming water. "You must have read my mind, Watkins. Thank you." He undressed and stepped into the tub with a sigh.

"I'll be back in a bit, Captain."

Kit leaned his head back against the edge of the tub and nodded in response; deep in thought, he never heard the groom leave the room. He thought back to Mary's appearance in the library; somehow he didn't think that Malik had been telling the truth. Whatever their relationship was, they were definitely more familiar to each other than mere cousins.

Chapter Six

Talk over the dinner table that evening had mostly consisted of recounted tales of the fighting that had, at last, put paid to Napoleon Bonaparte.

When Mary left them to their port, they talked in more detail about Waterloo and about Malik's impressions of the battlefield the day after. Malik saw Kit's throat move as he swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a moment. The boy was obviously still suffering from memories of lying in the mud, wounded and in pain, probably thinking he was going to die...alone. Malik thanked the goddess daily for Giri's intervention; if he hadn't gone looking for Kit...

Malik watched as the color leeched out of his young friend's face and decided they'd talked enough. "Come, it is time we joined Mary in the drawing room." As they walked across the hall, Malik couldn't help but wonder if something might develop between his young friend and his daughter. And if it did, how would he react? He was sure that Tam would be happy for their daughter to mate, no matter if Mary's choice was a human or another were, but as monarch of the were panthers he felt a certain amount of responsibility to his kind. On the other hand, perhaps this was the way forward—to bring new blood into their world. A memory stirred in the back of his mind...something his father had mentioned once about the goddess Bastet and a king's blessing...

Soon after they entered the drawing room Susan arrived with the tea tray and Mary poured the beverage. As she handed Kit his cup she asked him if he was experiencing any ill effects from his ride into the village.

Kit looked startled, "You have been talking to Watkins?"

Mary nodded and gave him a stern, school mistress look. "I doubt you would have told me. I hope you have not undone all the work you have put into recuperating."

Kit had the grace to look sheepish. "I knew you would not have let me ride if you had known my intention. However, I don't think I have done any harm. A little stiff, well, more than a little if truth be told, but that's all. In fact, Watkins helped me remove the rest of the stitches earlier this evening."

Malik was pleased he would have good news to convey to Paris. "Tamara will be overjoyed to hear that. She was very worried about you."

"I don't remember very much of my time before awaking here," Kit glanced towards Mary, "but I understand from Mary that she nursed me as best she could back in Brussels. If it weren't for her I might never have made it thus far." He leaned back against the cushions on the sofa. "While I was in the village I slaked my thirst at the tavern; the landlord was very hospitable and he would not take money from a hero, as he called me."

"I doubt all the returning soldiers will be hailed as heroes—especially those missing limbs." Malik frowned. "I foresee trouble when they cannot find employment."

"No doubt. If I had property I would try to employ as many ex-soldiers as possible, but unfortunately I must also seek work." He took a sip of his tea, before returning to the subject of the village inn. "I overheard some talk in the taproom about a wild animal on the loose; apparently Squire Corbin wants to set up a hunting party. I thought I might offer my services. My Baker rifle was amongst my belongings that were sent over from Brussels; I might as well put it to good use."

Mary exchanged a worried look with her father as he leaned forward to replace his cup on the table.

Mary gripped her cup tightly. "Kit, do you think that is wise? You are only now regaining your strength. If you go gallivanting all over the countryside you might set back your recovery."

"I am a Rifleman, Mary, not a cavalry officer. I will set up in one place and hopefully catch it in my sights, when the beast attacks the livestock I will kill it."

Malik cleared his throat, and abruptly changed the subject. "Mary, I have had a long day, I think I will have an early night. Good night, Kit, I doubt I will see you in the morning as I need to start my return journey at dawn."

Kit stood and shook his friend's hand. "So soon?"

"Yes, I am on an errand for the duke." The lie slid off Malik's tongue with ease.

"Then give Giri and Tamara my very best wishes."

"I will." Malik turned to his daughter, "I think I will take a turn outside before going up. Don't lock up; I will do that when I return."

Mary had caught the almost imperceptible nod of her father's head. She guessed he was going to track the creature that had been attacking the local livestock. "I hope to be up in time to see you before you leave in the morning. Good night, Cousin."

She waited until her father had left before turning on Kit. The anger she'd been suppressing since she'd heard of his jaunt to the village was welling to the surface and she battled to keep it under control.

"How dare you take such a risk with your health." She clenched her hands to stop them from shaking. "What if you had fallen from your horse?"

"I am no stranger to riding. Despite my injuries, it is second nature to me. I was fine and I came back safe and sound, with no more than some stiffness."

Mary felt her eyes begin to sting.

Kit moved closer and raised his hand to her cheek. "You care. You really care what happens to me."

Her throat was choked with tears and anger, and an emotion she did not wish to explore. Dashing his hand away from her cheek, she turned on her heel and almost ran out of the room, not caring what Kit thought of her abrupt exit.

Confused and somewhat gratified by Mary's reaction to his outing, Kit sat back down on the sofa and stretched out his bad leg. The fact that she cared what happened to him was obvious; the question was how did he feel about that? He pictured her face and those sweet freckles that danced across her nose, and decided that he liked having her care about him—a great deal.

Thinking back to dinner, he wondered again about his two companions' relationship. The feelings the two held for each other were almost tangible, and he would definitely lay odds they weren't cousins. Lovers perhaps?

He noticed that Malik hadn't once mentioned what, if any, part he'd had in Bonaparte's downfall. Kit suspected, from the campaign in the Peninsular, that the older man was a spy, although nothing had ever been said to confirm it. Wellington had officers in uniform who gathered information for him, but Kit had never seen Malik in uniform and was almost certain he was not part of any army. He'd often thought that the older man must be a will o' wisp to have come by some of the information he'd supplied to the duke, or the general as he had been back then. So, it was not surprising that he hadn't mentioned what he'd been doing during the past three or four months. What was surprising was that Mary hadn't once asked about Malik's activities; it was almost as if she already knew.

Mary was sitting up in bed reading when Malik knocked quietly on her door. Pulling on her wrapper, she closed the door to her dressing room before opening the one to the corridor to let him in. "What news? Did you scent him?"

"Yes. I did not find him...or rather her, but she is definitely a large cat, probably a panther. If she attacks your livestock you shouldn't have any trouble defeating her." Malik sat down on the edge of the bed. "One thing though, if you have to kill her, make sure she is buried deep. You do not want some human finding her remains. With obvious signs of being killed by a large animal, they will start believing there is yet another wild beast on the loose."

"Do not worry, Father, I'll deal with her, and I trust Watkins to do what must be done with the poor animal's remains."

"Talking of Watkins, I understand you have set him to watch our young friend."

"Well, yes. Although not to spy, just to make sure he doesn't see something he shouldn't. He needed help to dress and such, and Watkins said he didn't mind working in the house." Mary sat down next to her father and sighed. "I think Kit is suspicious. Not that he suspects what we are but rather that he thinks something is out of the ordinary. It's only a short step from there to finding out the truth."

"You will just have to be extra vigilant, Mary."

"There is more, Father." She turned to look her father in the eye. "I think...no I am sure...I am developing feelings for Captain Roberts. Would it be so bad for him to know about us?"

Malik put his arm around his daughter's slim shoulders. "If he returns your regard and you want to enter into a long term relationship, then you must trust him. However, if this is one-sided or just a very short-term affair, then no, do not tell him." He gave her a gentle squeeze then stood up and moved toward the door. "I must go, Mary. I'll collect my bag from my room and leave for Paris right away."

She hugged him and kissed his cheek. "Give Mother my love."

"I will."

Mary shut the door quietly and reopened the dressing room door. She knew Kit didn't really need help any more, but being a light sleeper, as all cats are, she couldn't help but hear him tossing and turning in his sleep. She knew his dreams still troubled him.

Slipping between the sheets, she smiled to herself; it had been good to see her father again, they didn't get nearly enough time together these days.

She'd hardly closed her eyes when a shout rang from Kit's room. Thrusting her arms through the sleeves of her wrapper, she ran through the adjoining dressing rooms. She arrived in the open doorway to his chamber to find him tossing on his pillow with the bed clothes pushed down to his hips. He'd not worn a nightshirt to bed and the sight of his muscular chest, now that he was no longer an invalid, made her hesitate.

Forcing herself to move to his bedside she smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "Kit. Kit, wake up." She began to stroke his hair and he seemed to calm. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she continued her ministrations enjoying the sensuous slide of his hair through her fingers. He became completely quiet and she glanced down at his face only to realize that his eyes were open and fixed on her.

"You were having another nightmare."

"When I was sick with the fever I dreamed you did that."

"I did." She moved to pull her hand back, but he caught it with his and pulled it down to rest on his chest, over his heart.

"I like it."

The steady beat of his heart reverberated through her fingers as she splayed them out over his skin. Deep in her core she felt an answering rhythm. For a moment or two she watched her fingers as she caressed him, then raised her gaze to his and saw the desire sparking in his blue eyes. Reaching up, he buried his other hand in her hair.

For a second or two Mary considered resisting but she wanted this probably as much as he, so she allowed him to pull her down to meet his kiss. She expected him to ravish her mouth, but instead he feathered kisses over her lips, occasionally licking at the seam between them. With a small sigh she leaned into him and opened in response to his gentle pressure. The kiss was so sweet, so gentle, that she relaxed and kissed him back, her emotions adding depth to a simple embrace. It didn't remain simple for long. Kit tightened his hold on her hair, cupping the back of her head to keep her close.

Suddenly, with a speed she didn't know a human could possess, he turned them so that she was pinned beneath him. He was breathing heavily and evidence of his desire was pressed against her, causing heat to pool low in her belly. "Mary, if you want me to stop, now is the time to say so. If I kiss you again I won't let you leave this bed until morning." With his arms braced on either side of her head, she felt small, fragile...feminine. Something she had never before felt with a human male.

She was glad of the dark because she was sure her pupils had changed shape with arousal. He couldn't see detail, but her feline eyesight didn't need light. She reached up and pulled his face down to hers and licked his lips playfully. "If you stop I might have to hurt you."

"I would like to see you try." His eyes crinkled at the corners as amusement laced his voice. Closing the distance between them he took her lips in a searing kiss that made Mary pant with need. Kit broke the kiss only to sit back onto his haunches, his knees between her legs, and began to untie her wrapper. "You have far too many clothes on."

With a soft laugh, Mary helped him remove her night clothes and welcomed him into her arms. Skin to skin. His hardness to her softness. With a sigh she accepted his kiss and felt his arousal against her, nudging at her curls. Her eyes closed of their own accord when he stopped kissing her mouth and began nibbling his way down to her breasts. The feel of his lips on her sensitive skin made her arch her back, pushing her breasts up in supplication. Holding on to his shoulders, she couldn't help but dig her nails into his flesh as he teased first one begging nipple and then the other. When he finally latched on to one pebbled tip she suddenly forgot to breathe as he began to suckle and nip. His little bites, just short of painful, almost made her snarl before she reminded herself he didn't know what she was.

She felt herself grow wet with desire. Her body clamored for him to take her. Never had a human been able to arouse her so quickly. Kit kissed her again, his tongue stroking hers. She let her tongue entwine with his in an erotic dance that was fueled by all the feeling that had been building within her for the past few days. Without conscious thought she opened her legs to cradle his hips. Sliding her hands down his back, she urged him closer. He needed no second prompting and pushed at the opening to her body. With a sigh of pleasure, Mary lifted her hips, the feeling of fullness blossoming into sheer heaven as he began to move and thrust.

As her world shattered around her the only thought she was capable of was that this human, this male, was hers and she wasn't going to give him up.

Kit pulled out of her body and rolled them onto their sides. He had never had a climax like it. Perhaps it was because he'd been celibate since well before Waterloo, but he rather thought it was because of the woman he was holding in his arms. In the darkness, he traced her face with his fingertips, felt the softness of the hair at her temples. Sated, he pulled her close and kissed her forehead and then her lovely mouth. "Mary, you are perfect." He closed his eyes and felt himself drifting off. He didn't know if he was dreaming or not but he was sure he heard her say, 'I love you, Kit.'

Mary hoped he hadn't heard her; listening to his even breathing, she didn't think he had. She lay in his arms watching him sleep for what seemed like hours before she crept back to her room. The die was cast now and she had to make a decision. To let him into her world or not. Perhaps the best course of action would be to first find out how he felt, what his true intentions were towards her.

Dawn came far too quickly. Giving up on sleep, she dressed for the day and went downstairs in search of something to eat, only to meet Kit at the bottom of the stairs.

"Good morning Mary. I came down in search of an early breakfast, but Mrs. Reinhart is baking bread and did not appreciate my presence in her kitchen." He chuckled and leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

"Not here, Kit! Someone might see." Mary listened carefully but she couldn't hear any of her staff in the vicinity.

"If you think the servants won't know that you shared my bed last night, then you are being naive." He took her hand. "Walk with me." He led her to the front door, pulled back the heavy bolt and pulled her outside. "We need to talk."

She bit her lip and nodded. In silent accord they walked to the summerhouse, Mary adjusting her steps to Kit's uneven gait. She wondered if his leg was paining him more because they had made love. Once inside the structure Kit turned to her and took hold of her hands.

"Mary, last night...I made a mistake and there might be consequences."

She looked up at him, her eyes stinging with the tears that threatened to fall. "You made a mistake? You made love to me, Kit. Are you now regretting it?"

"No. Never. But I was not, umm, careful. Do you understand? There may be consequences." His cheeks reddened and he dropped her hands. Turning away, he leaned against one of the uprights in the structure and looked out of the open latticework.

Mary was confused until she remembered he thought her human, with a human female's body. "Oh. No. There is no need to worry, there will be no consequences." It would be a couple of months before she was due to go into heat again.

"I should have known you would know what to do to prevent that, you were not an innocent." Kit was having trouble meeting her gaze.

"No I was not, Kit. And yes, I knew what I was doing."

"It will not happen again, Mary."

"What?" Mary nearly shouted it. He was rejecting her? She couldn't believe it, how could she feel this strongly about him and he feel nothing for her.

"It cannot, my love. Not until we are married."

She almost choked. Had she heard him right? Or was that merely a term of endearment? But then his statement about marriage; that had caught her completely by surprise. "Married?"

"Well, yes, of course. I will have to sell out of course, I would not ask you to be an army wife. And you couldn't stay here at the school while I go wherever my regiment sends me."

Mary sat down hard on the bench. "Kit, you haven't truly asked me to marry you and you have no idea if I would say yes if you did."

"Will you marry me, Mary?"

"No, Kit, I will not."

"But you allowed me to make love to you. You are compromised, you have to marry me." He pushed his fingers through his hair making it stand on end.

She sighed, he was a human and Mary realized she couldn't let this go further. She knew _her_ heart was involved, but her mind was telling her that he was only proposing out of a sense of duty. "Kit, I do not _have_ to do anything. I wasn't an innocent when I came to your bed. I didn't marry the last man I slept with either." She stood and walked over to where he stood. "Can we not continue as we are for a little while? I will not marry where there is no love."

"But we have affection, we can build on that."

"This is all moving too fast." She put her hand on his chest and reached up to place a gentle kiss on his lips. "I can't, Kit. I am so sorry." She stepped out of the summerhouse and looked back at him. "Let us go back into the house, Kit. You will want to eat breakfast before you call on Squire Corbin."

Kit left immediately after breakfast. A meal that was eaten in angry silence. Mary knew that Kit didn't understand; that he was hurt. She was hurting as well. She had wanted to say yes to his proposal, but he would have to know what he was getting into before they could take that step. And she had to be sure of his feelings before she explained about her world. If, as she suspected, he proposed only because he thought he had compromised her, then she would have to ask him to leave.

Considering she was over a hundred years older than him, she should know what to do, but she didn't, she'd never been in love before. She was half inclined to shift in front of him. She rolled her eyes. No, she couldn't do that. Resolving to wait until Kit returned from Squire Corbin before making a decision, she tried to get back into her normal routine of lesson preparation for the new term.

The day seemed to drag on and she couldn't settle to anything. Finally, she went for a long walk, ending up in the village before turning around and cutting across the fields back to the house. Watkins met her in the front hall and informed her that the captain had sent a messenger from the squire's house. He had been invited to stay for dinner and would not be back until late.

"Joshua will stay and follow him home, to make sure he arrives safe." The groom assured his employer.

Mary waited until Watkins left her before she snarled with frustration, and stormed off to her private parlor where she indulged in a temper tantrum. Shifting, she attacked the hearth rug; clawing and biting it until it was nothing but threads. Turning back into her human form, she looked at the damage she'd done and shrugged. She had never liked that rug anyway.

Kit rode into the stable yard after midnight. There were no grooms about so he saw to his horse himself and then let himself into the house, locking up behind him. He'd spent a pleasant day with the squire and his wife but now he was back and would have to face what had happened that morning in the summerhouse.

The house was silent and he hoped that meant that Mary was asleep. He climbed the stairs to his room and was surprised to find Watkins sitting in a chair reading a book, waiting for him.

Kit pulled off his stock and threw it on a chair. "There was no need to wait up for me, Watkins; I can get myself ready for bed."

The groom picked up the discarded stock and folded it neatly. "I know that, Captain. But I needs to talk to ye." Kit quirked an eyebrow at the man. "See, the staff here, they don't just work here for their wages, they love Miz Colburn. They elected me to discuss an important matter with ye."

Kit crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the bed post. "And that matter would be?"

"They...I want to know what yer intentions are toward her."

"Not that it is any of their, or your, business, but my intentions are entirely honorable. However, she won't have me." He stood away from the bed and stripped off his jacket before sitting down in a chair to pull off his boots.

Watkins came over to help him with his boots. Standing with the footwear in his hands he looked at Kit. "That's to be expected, ye ain't one of us. I'll take these down to polish."

Kit stared at the man's back as he left the room. Now, what the devil did he mean by that? He wasn't one of them? Of course he wasn't one of them. He wasn't a servant. On silent feet, he padded through his and Mary's dressing rooms until he came to the door of Mary's bedchamber; the well-oiled hinges made no sound as he slowly opened it. The moon was up and its light shed a silvery glow over the bed, revealing the auburn-haired angel that lay there. Yes, his intentions were honorable. They hadn't been when he'd pulled her into his bed last night and made love to her, but now all he wanted to do was stay by this woman's side for the rest of his life. During the ride back from Squire Corbin's, he'd realized that he'd acted stupidly that morning in the summerhouse. Looking back on Mary's reaction, it was obvious to him now that she had thought he'd proposed marriage out of a sense of duty. It was no wonder she'd reacted the way she had.

Kit stepped out of her room and closed the door as quietly as he'd opened it. Thoughtfully, he walked back to his own empty bed. He would bide his time; soon he would again ask her to marry him and, when he did, he would find a way to convince her to say yes.

Chapter Seven

Kit slept fitfully, and when the final tendrils of dark were banished by the waking sun he rose, dressed, and set off for a walk. He needed to plan his campaign to seduce Mary's heart, and he couldn't do that while he was just two rooms away from where she lay in her bed.

He meandered around the gardens trying to make sense of his disorderly thoughts, until finally, he found himself at the scene of his disastrous proposal. Entering the structure, he wondered if the pupils used the summerhouse or if Mary kept it for her private use. Dejected, he sat down on the bench and rested his head against one of the wall's uprights. He stared at the patterns the rising sun made on the floor as it shone through the open latticework of the walls. Should he ignore what had happened between them, or should he try and seduce her back into his bed? Each time he asked himself the question he found too many arguments for and against each option.

Arguing with himself was giving him a headache. Pulling out his watch, he decided it was late enough now that he could ask Cook for some breakfast. His stomach growled in agreement as he headed toward the back of the house. When he came within sight of the kitchen door one of the maids came out with a milking pail in her hand and headed toward the barn. Suddenly feeling the need to be chivalrous, he decided to help the girl with the heavy bucket after she'd milked the cows.

Kit entered the barn scarce minutes after the little maid to be greeted by animal noises. Not the lowing of the cows as he expected but snarling and yipping. Blinded from coming in out of the bright sunshine to the dimness of the barn, he edged around the wall until his eyes became accustomed to the gloom of the interior. Shapes began to take form but his brain had difficulty making sense of what he was seeing. The cows he understood and had expected, but the other figures had him taking a pitchfork off its hook to defend himself.

A fight was taking place in the middle of the barn. What looked like a very large black animal was snarling at a tiny fox that was barking and making screaming noises while darting about in what looked like a diversionary tactic. If Kit didn't know better he'd think the fox was trying to draw the beast away from the cows. The large black animal suddenly gave a roar and lashed out with one enormous paw tipped with lethal claws. The fox went down with a whimper. Kit had a sudden wish that his rifle wasn't safely stowed in his room.

With the fox all but silent, Kit began to hear other sounds. In the distance he could hear Watkins calling for Mary, and then at the door was a large grey wolf that began to howl. Kit crouched down in one of the stalls wondering what other animals were going to join this menagerie. Footsteps came running and he saw Mary silhouetted against the open door of the barn.

She looked down at the wolf, putting out a staying hand. "Stay back, Joshua."

What happened next made Kit fear for his sanity. Where Mary had stood there now appeared another large cat. This one was auburn in color, the same shade as Mary's hair. As it stalked further into the barn Kit saw it was larger than the black one that had attacked the fox. The two cats squared off and began snarling at each other. Suddenly, they both leaped into the air, their great jaws open to show sharp teeth. It was difficult to see but he thought they'd both managed to grip each other's necks with those deadly fangs. They fell to the ground snapping and snarling; the larger of the two brought its hind paws up and began to claw at the soft underbelly of the other.

The straw under them changed color as it became stained with blood; the larger of the two felines continued to attack the other until it no longer moved. Watkins walked into the barn at that point, knelt down next to the animals on the floor and put one hand on the black creature's neck.

"Ma'am, she's gone, ye can let go now."

The air shimmered around the creatures and Mary appeared standing next to Watkins and the dead creature. There was blood on her neck which she ignored in favor of going to check on the fox. She bent over the small animal and swept her hand along its body. Kit strained his ears to hear what she said to it.

"Lillian, come on little one, shift back. You know you will heal faster if you shift." Once again the air shimmered and the little kitchen maid appeared in the fox's place. Mary helped her stand up and brushed some straw out of the girl's hair.

"Will it scar, ma'am?" Lillian's voice trembled as she asked Mary about the claw marks on her face.

"I doubt it, Lillian. She was a regular animal, not one of us, and you shifted fairly soon after being wounded. Now, go on back to the house and clean up." Mary turned around and watched Watkins as he loaded the dead animal onto a wheelbarrow. "Bury her deep, Watkins. We don't want anyone stumbling over her carcass." As Kit watched Mary, unable to believe what his eyes had been showing him, she lifted her head and sniffed the air.

She began to walk toward the stall where he had taken refuge; the pitchfork still in his hand, he stood up and met her gaze as she drew near. He gestured with his weapon. "Do I need this, Mary?"

"No, Kit." Her voice was quiet and sad.

He laid it down and took a step closer to her. "You are bleeding." He pointed to her neck and then pulled a large handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. He tried to concentrate on the mundane, because if he considered what he'd just witnessed, he knew he would go insane.

"Thank you." She held the linen to her neck and wiped the blood off. "It will heal soon, it's not serious. Kit, we should go back to the house, I owe you an explanation."

"That is an understatement," Kit muttered as he walked out of the barn next to the woman he had thought to make his wife.

Mary led them to the back parlor and Kit shut the door once they had entered the room—he knew the conversation they were about to have was going to be unusual in the extreme, and he had no intention of being interrupted. He watched Mary silently as she stood by her writing desk fiddling with the inkpot and pens.

"Tell me one thing, is Malik really your cousin or your lover?"

Mary surprised him by laughing. "After all you have seen this morning, _that_ is the first thing you can think to ask me?"

Kit shrugged. "It's as good a starting point as any." He could feel his temper rising. "Just answer it."

She inclined her head in acknowledgement. "Neither. He is my father."

"And he's the same as you...a...a cat?"

"Panther. Yes, as is my mother, Tamara."

"That sort of explains how he came by so much impossible information in Spain." Kit sat down on the sofa. "Now I think you should start at the beginning."

"You're not horrified? Scared?" She came to sit down opposite him.

"No, neither of those. But I think I may be in shock. It's not every day the woman a man has asked to marry him turns into a panther, and kills another like her."

"She wasn't like me. She was a real animal...the one that has been killing the livestock."

Kit leaned forward and gripped his hands between his knees. "Mary, what are you?"

"I am a were. Weres are beings that can shift form from human to that of an animal. I belong to the panther species. The staff here are all shifters, we have foxes, deer, wolves, a tiger, and a lion." Kit watched Mary's hands as she twisted her fingers together. "All my pupils are shifters. We teach them how to be better weres, as well as educate them as young ladies."

Kit digested her explanation for a moment. "Where did you come from? I don't mean you personally, where did these 'weres' come from? Why have I never heard of creatures such as you before now?"

"We have always been here; since the Creation." She stood and began to pace. "Our version of the Creation is different to the Christian one. Ours says that humans and weres were created equal to live side by side. Were-Panthers were created by Bastet in her image. Bastet is our goddess.

"As to why humans have no knowledge of our existence." Mary shrugged. "We have always kept our presence secret, my father says it is because humans hunted us. In more recent times shifters have been burned as witches." She stopped pacing and faced him, her face devoid of any emotion. "We have become experts at hiding our other selves."

"I knew there was something extra-ordinary about you. I thought I saw your pupils change shape the first time I kissed you, and that second time I felt something unusual about your tongue."

"Strong emotion can trigger a response; the pupils changing shape is one of those responses." She licked her lips. "What is different about my tongue?"

"It's rough. Kissing you is very different from kissing any other woman."

Mary's eyebrows shot up; Kit was amused that she seemed genuinely surprised at his comment. Did he dare hope the glint in her eye was the spark of jealousy? "I never gave a thought to the feel of my tongue, and no one has ever mentioned it before."

"Perhaps they were just being polite." Kit ran his hand through his hair. "And Watkins? What is he?"

"He is a stag and quite majestic in that form." Mary looked Kit directly in the eye before asking, "What happens now, Kit?"

"I don't know, Mary. But whatever happens, your secret is safe with me. I will never tell anyone what I've seen and learned here today. Hell, no one would believe me anyway." Kit ran his fingers through his hair again. "I just thought of something...Anji is a pupil here at your school. That means Giri is one of you, doesn't it?"

"Yes, Kit. Anji is a tigress, and the rest of her family, including Giri and her parents, are tigers."

"I have known him for almost two decades—we were at Eton together. We lived side by side and I never even suspected. I must have been blind, or just plain stupid."

Mary sighed. "No Kit, not blind or stupid, as I said before, we are very careful." She started towards the door. "I have to go and ask after Lillian. Mrs. Reinhart will have seen to her, but she is my responsibility. You have a lot to think about. I will be in the breakfast room when you feel ready to join me."

Kit didn't answer her; he didn't even look at her as she left the room. She'd said he had a lot to think about. The words ' _a lot'_ didn't even come close to encompassing the information he had been given. His life and everything he thought he knew about the world had been turned upside down. He thought he might still be in shock, because he couldn't believe that he had sat here listening to Mary's explanations without blathering and slobbering like some kind of Bedlamite. But he couldn't deny what he had seen in the barn.

He had a decision to make. To go away, never see any of his friends again and never speak of what he knew; or to stay and woo Mary, convince her to marry him regardless of their differences. The sane part of his mind told him to leave. Forget everything he'd seen and heard and try to live a normal life. The other part of his mind, that part that had pushed him to become a soldier, said stay and hopefully grab a chance at happiness.

He needed someone wiser to help him decide. Malik. He was Mary's father, although it was hard to believe that someone who looked so young could be her parent. He stored that observation away; yet another question that needed to be answered. However, he had no one else to talk to and during his years in the Peninsular Malik had been like a father to him. The decision made, he stood and went in search of Mary.

He found her calmly eating breakfast. She looked up as he entered and quirked an eyebrow at him as he sat down and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Mary, I need to go to Paris."

"Paris? Whatever for?

"I need an older and wiser head than mine. I need to speak with Malik."

Mary reached out and touched his hand. "There is something else, something I have not told you. My father isn't just a were panther, he is our king, and as such, he is a very busy man; he may not be able to see you if you did go. He is far more powerful than any other were panther, and you are quite right to think him older and wiser than you. He's considerably older."

"King? Old? Is there anything else you have forgotten to tell me?"

Mary chuckled, "Oh a great deal, if you decide to stay I will tell you everything I know. But if you leave, perhaps it would be better not to know more than I have already told you." She reached for the coffee pot and refilled her cup. "But if you truly want to speak with my father, you don't have to go to Paris. I can send Watkins with a message asking Father to come here; it would save a considerable amount of time."

"Nonsense, it would take twice the time," Kit was astounded she would even suggest such a thing.

"Kit, part of what I have not yet explained is how we travel. We are not human and a lot of what we are comes from magic. If you stay you will come to understand, I promise." She stood and bent down to place a light kiss on his cheek. "I will go and speak to Watkins."

Kit remained at the table toying with the food on his plate. He felt like a child at an adult gathering. Everyone was talking about things he didn't understand. After spending eight years being in charge of a group of men, making life and death decisions on a day-to-day basis, he felt adrift...unsure of himself and his place in the world.

Admitting, at last, that he had no appetite, he left the breakfast room and went outside intending to walk until he was exhausted.

It was well into the afternoon when he returned to the house. He'd walked into Denesmoor, eaten luncheon at the tavern and had then wandered around the countryside aimlessly. Watkins intercepted him as he came in the front door and informed him that Mr. Colburn was in the back parlor.

"Thank you, Watkins." Kit left his hat and gloves on the hall table and went to find his mentor. He stopped outside the closed door to the room that Mary used as her private sitting room and took a deep breath. He didn't know what was going to come out of this meeting, but he was certain that by evening his life would be changed beyond recognition, far more than it had already. Reaching out, he turned the handle and entered.

Malik was standing with his back to the door and turned to face him as Kit entered. "Kit, I understand you have had an interesting day." The older man held out his hand to shake Kit's.

"Oh not really, sir, it's quite normal to find out that the people you have known for almost half your life are not actually people after all." Kit grimaced at his own rudeness. "I'm sorry, sir, I find I am a little out of sorts."

"No apology necessary." He turned to Mary who had been sitting unnoticed on the window seat half obscured by the drapes. "My dear, would you mind leaving us alone?"

Mary stood and came over to stand next to Kit, "Kit? Would you like me to stay?"

One of the things Kit had decided since that morning was that he wanted to keep Mary in his life. Either as a lover or as a friend; he realized now they could never get married. He took one of her hands and raised it to his lips. "It's not necessary, my...Mary. We'll meet at dinner."

She turned and kissed her father, whispering something to him that Kit didn't catch.

After Mary had left the room Malik gestured for Kit to take a seat and then settled himself opposite him. "You probably have a hundred questions to ask me."

"At the very least," Kit laughed nervously. "I honestly don't know where to start. I suppose I should start by asking if you really are royalty."

"Not in the sense of the British royal family, but yes I am the leader of all were panthers world wide. Each species has their own monarch; we have extra powers and we live longer than the average shifter."

"How did you get here so quickly? I thought you were in Paris."

"I was. Part of what we are is magic. I don't mean tricks that you might see at a travelling fair, I mean old magic...the stuff of myths and legends, except that it is very real." Malik stood and went to pour himself a brandy. He lifted the decanter in a questioning gesture towards Kit, who nodded once, then poured some for the younger man. "I traveled by thought, or as we say, I jumped here. We see in our mind's eye where we want to be and then we are there. It only takes a few seconds to travel many hundreds of miles."

Kit accepted the drink from Malik and took a mouthful, savoring the burn as he swallowed. "I find that difficult to believe even though I have no doubt that you are telling me the truth." He shook his head, there were so many things he needed to ask and finally settled on one. "You said you live longer than the average were. I hope you don't mind me asking, but how old are you sir?"

"I was born in 1500, and before you ask, my mate Tamara, was born in 1554. Mary is our second child and was born in 1680, so she is just a _little_ older than you." He smiled at Kit and took a sip of his wine. "Weres, in general, live between six and seven hundred years. The monarch and those of his immediate family can live up to a thousand. Our cubs age normally until they reach full maturity, and then the aging process slows to a barely discernable rate. And when we mate, we mate for life."

Kit's head was spinning with all the information he was receiving, then he remembered the rumors from Spain. "Er, sir, if you mate for life then there is something I don't understand. When we were in the Peninsular there were rumors about you and...um...other women."

Mary's father seemed to hesitate before nodding his head as if answering some unspoken question. "Son, you already know enough about my world to cause us great harm, one more secret will not hurt." Malik smiled sadly. "I have been a spy for well over a century, I have had to fabricate stories to cover for my long absences. Tam knows there has never been another woman since we mated; as I said when we mate, we mate for life. Our third child, Lizzie, knows because her mate met me during one of my missions. We have never told Mary the truth, but she is a very astute female and I doubt she believes the tales we've told. There is also the danger of a power struggle amongst the were panther nation. Other shifters might try and usurp my position if they knew I worked so closely with, and for, the humans. Hence the need for the fabrications."

"That's understandable, especially when you explain the reasons." Kit nodded slowly. "I had so many questions, but now I can't remember a single one."

"Well, Captain, I have one for you." Malik stood and went to stand with his back to the hearth. "What are your intentions toward my daughter?" His tone was much more formal than it had been just moments before.

"Before I knew what she was I had asked her to marry me. She refused. In light of all that I have learned today, I think I now understand some of her reasons for saying no." Kit hesitated to say more but Malik had been honest with him, it was only right that he tell the truth as well. "But, despite everything, I find, sir, that I do not want to cut her out of my life. Can one of your kind marry a human?"

"We don't marry in the Christian sense, we mate according to our own traditions. But to answer your question, yes a were can mate with a human. I know my daughter very well and I felt she was not indifferent towards you, and after my last visit here I acted on my instincts. I have been consulting some ancient texts and have found some interesting information. If you and Mary can reconcile your differences and decide you want to mate, contact me and we will talk again." Malik walked to the door and opened it. "Shall we find Mary and see if Mrs. Reinhart has dinner ready for us?"

Kit was silent as they went in search of Mary. He had a lot of information to digest. His world had been turned upside down.

Despite all he'd learned about Mary and her kind, he still wanted her as a man wanted a woman. His conscience told him to leave her alone; not to muddy the waters even more by being intimate with her again. His body, however, thought differently.

He wondered if the day could get any stranger...yes it could, he was about to dine with two felines.

Chapter Eight

Dinner had certainly been interesting, thought Kit, as he sat in the drawing room afterwards contemplating the brandy in his glass. Taking a sip, he considered again the options Malik had laid before him. Now he had to decide on his future. He was certain that he wanted Mary in his life. He could become her lover, but she would remain looking the same while he grew old and eventually died. Or they could be mated according to the traditions of her people, and he would actually become one of them...a panther. Malik had told them of an ancient magical ceremony which, according to the texts he'd found, would transform him. His third option, however—that of walking away and never looking back—was one he refused to even consider.

Kit put his drink down on the end table and scrubbed his hands over his face. Devil take it. Did he really want to become something so outlandish that no one would believe it if they were told? Hell, he barely believed it, and he'd seen Mary, Joshua, and little Lillian change shape with his very own eyes.

But he was curious, what would it feel like to change shape? To be such a powerful animal? What if he didn't like it? Somehow, he truly believed that it would be impossible, or even that he would be allowed, to return to being a normal human if he chose to become part of Mary's world.

His mind was running in circles; for every argument in favor of an option, there was one against. To be more than human, to be something so amazing, that was the stuff of dreams. Always having to live his life in the shadows, keeping the secret of his very existence from the world—that would have to go in the negative column. To possibly live hundreds of years with Mary, that would definitely be a positive. He sighed and leaned his head against the back of the chair.

Malik had left immediately after dinner, and that had been another strange experience. He'd left from the drawing room and Kit had been witness to his disappearance...because that's what it had seemed like. One minute the older man had been standing in front of the fireplace, and the next he hadn't. Kit had looked around the room expecting him to appear from behind an armchair, but Mary had said that her father was already back in Paris. Truly amazing.

He and Mary had tried to make conversation once they were alone. However, he had still been thinking about the revelations the day had brought, and the silences had lengthened until Mary retired, leaving him to his brandy...and his thoughts. Was she lying in bed thinking of him? If he were to appear at the connecting door of their rooms would she welcome him into her bed? He had a lot to consider, and despite his yearnings, he needed to come to a decision before he took Mary to bed again, if at all. Kit stood up, snuffed out the candles and made his way out of the drawing room and up the staircase to his chamber.

Watkins was in his dressing room when he entered. Kit eyed the man as he folded his shirts prior to putting them away. This slightly bent and seemingly ancient man was, according to Mary, a majestic stag in his other form. The groom turned to greet Kit with a twinkle in his eye.

"Trying to imagine me with antlers are ye?"

Kit chuckled. "Actually, yes. Mary said you look very regal."

"Nah. Mr. Colburn is the regal one; me, I'm just old." He motioned Kit to sit in a chair. "Here, let me help take off those boots, and then I'll leave ye. I reckon ye'll be wanting to visit the missus." Watkins indicated the door to Mary's rooms with his head. Kit declined to comment and accepted the man's help.

Kit was soon alone again, Watkins having taken his boots away with him, presumably to polish them for the following day. He sat where the old man had left him, and stared at the connecting door. If he went through to her room now he would be making a statement, a commitment to their future. He wasn't sure if he was willing to change his life so very drastically.

What if he went to her and said he wanted to be her lover for however long they had together? Would she accept that? Kit dropped his head into his hands and threaded his fingers in his hair. He wanted her—that much he was sure of.

Some sixth sense made him look up. Perhaps she'd made a noise or maybe it was just an awareness of her presence. He didn't look closely at the reason because there, framed in the opening between their rooms stood the woman he loved. Yes, he could finally admit it to himself, he loved her.

"Kit," Mary whispered. "May I join you, or do you want to be alone?"

Her hair cascaded down around her shoulders like silk curtain. She was dressed in her wrapper and looked so young and hesitant. It was hard to believe that she was over a hundred years older than him. Standing up, he held out his arms to her and she came forward to be enfolded in his embrace. Kit rested his cheek on top of her head and let her warmth seep into his body for a moment or two. Stepping back, he sank into the chair pulling her down onto his lap.

"Mary, do you realize how difficult this decision is to make?"

"Never having been anything other than a shifter, I can only guess at your difficulty. But I would think," she looked up at him through her lashes, "surely it would depend on how you feel about me."

"My dear girl, I have no doubts with regards to my feelings for you." He tucked an auburn curl behind her ear. "If that was my only worry then I would marry you tomorrow."

"First, if you choose to become part of my world, you would need to ask me again." Kit felt her lips against the skin of his throat; before he could react, she continued talking. "Being a were-panther, if Father's ceremony works, is not so very dreadful. It can even be very enjoyable at times."

Kit cradled her face in his hands and gently kissed her lips. "Mary, I love you, I want to spend my life with you. But doing this, I don't know, I think it might be more than I could handle."

"I would be right by your side, helping you to adjust."

"I know, my love." Kit dropped his hand down to her shoulder and he began to stroke the soft skin where it joined her neck. "As much as I would like to take you to my bed right now, I need to think this through and I can't do that if I have your luscious body next to mine." He nudged her off his lap and stood, still keeping hold of her. "Kiss me, and I will let you go back to your bed."

She came into his arms again and wound her arms around his neck. Leaning down, he captured her lips in what he intended to be a gentle caress, but which soon became so much more. Lifting his head, he smiled ruefully at her, turned her around and patted her derriere. "Temptress. Go, before I ignore all my good intentions."

Her laugh was low and throaty. "Good night, Kit. I hope you come to the decision that is right for you...and for me. I love you."

Morning came far too soon for Kit. Sleep had eluded him and he still hadn't made a decision about his future. He knew he loved Mary, and that he only wanted her to be happy. Putting himself in her shoes, he wondered how he would feel if he were forced to watch her age and die hundreds of years before he would. Kit's heart broke at the very thought, and he knew he couldn't put Mary through that. Could he embrace the alternative? He wasn't sure.

A light knock at his door pulled him out of his reverie. "Enter."

The door opened to show his temporary manservant. "Good morning, Watkins."

"I brought yer hot water, Captain." The man put the jug down on the dresser. "Ye be up early, sir."

Kit toweled himself dry after using the water. "I didn't get much sleep."

The groom nodded. "Us kind have sharp ears, Captain, an' I heard what Mr. Colburn was saying yesterday eve. I reckon ye've got a bit of deciding to do." Watkins moved around the room, laying out Kit's clothes for the day.

"Yes, I do. I spent all night thinking about it and I am no closer to making that decision."

"Well, sir, if ye won't think me impertinent, let me ask ye summat."

Kit nodded and signaled for him to continue.

"Do you love the missus?"

Kit respected the man immensely, but was still loath to answer such a personal question from a servant. However, he had given him leave to question him... "With all my heart."

Watkins seemed satisfied with his answer, but continued, "If Miz Colburn was in danger, what would ye do?"

Somewhat taken back at the unexpected question, Kit answered without hesitation, "I would do anything to keep her safe and happy, even if it meant laying down my life for hers."

Watkins held out a white linen cravat for Kit to tie around his neck. "I think ye've just given yerself the answer to the question." Watkins gathered up yesterday's discarded clothing and turned to go. "Miz Colburn is already in the breakfast room. I thought ye'd like to know that, sir."

Kit didn't move for some minutes after the servant had left. He couldn't believe the answer was so simple. Was he scared? Damned right he was. But was he scared of becoming a panther or of putting his heart into Mary's hands for safekeeping? He had gone into battle with more fear than this and survived. Kit picked up his coat, shrugged into it and left his chamber to join his future wife...no...mate in the breakfast room.

Mary heard Kit's progress down the stairs, his limp making his footfalls very distinctive. A short murmured conversation preceded his entry into the room and her heart skipped a beat, or maybe two, when she saw his handsome face. To her eyes he looked tired, but happy. His demeanor could even be described as festive. She poured him a cup of coffee and placed it before him as he lowered himself into a chair with a wince.

"Is your wound still paining you?"

"A little." He nodded his thanks as he took a sip of the beverage. "Probably due to the fact that I did not sleep at all last night."

"Not at all?" No wonder he looked tired, she thought.

Kit shook his head. "I had a lot to think about. And then Watkins solved my dilemma with just two questions this morning. Suddenly it was crystal clear what I had to do...what I needed to do."

Mary blinked. "He did? It was?"

"It's so simple, you see. I have no idea why I could not see it for myself." Kit reached out and covered her hand with his. "I love you, Mary. With all my heart and soul. And because I love you, I want you to be happy. If my going away would make you happy, that is what I would do."

Mary's heart stopped. He was leaving? No! Tears sprung to her eyes. "But..." She bit her lip, hoping the pain would stop the tears from falling. "That would not make me happy. Not at all."

"I know, my love, and I apologize if I misled you. I have no intention of leaving. Your father said we should send for him if I came to a decision."

Hope bloomed in her breast as she looked at his smiling face. "And have you come to a decision, Kit?"

"I have. How quickly do you think he could get here? Because I find myself rather impatient now I've made up my mind." Kit stood and covered the few steps to her chair before gingerly sinking down on one knee. "Mary, my dearest love, will you marry me? I mean will you be my mate?"

She no longer struggled to keep her tears in check, letting them fall freely. "Oh yes, Kit, yes!" Standing up at the same time as Kit, she fell into his arms and kissed him, their coffee growing cold on the table as they sated themselves with love instead of food.

The drawing room was full of people. The entire staff of the school was crowded around the perimeter along with the Tandon family, and all of Mary's sisters, her two brothers-in-law, her nephew and nieces. Tamara and Malik, resplendent in silk and velvet, stood by a small table in front of the hearth. And next to Kit, stood his soon-to-be mate. He looked at her and wondered what he had done to deserve the love of such a beautiful woman. Malik's voice pulled Kit's attention away from his intended and he tried to concentrate on what the monarch was saying.

"Kit, Mary, please come and stand behind the table." Malik smiled at them, the love for his daughter clearly written on his face. "We are here to celebrate the mating ceremony between our daughter Mary and her chosen mate, Christopher Roberts. However, Kit is a human and therefore we will need to call on the goddess Bastet to not only bless their union, but also to bring him into our world."

Malik paused, and looked directly at Kit. "Do you understand what you are about to enter into?"

Kit took hold of Mary's hand and looked into her eyes. He inhaled deeply, breathing out, he turned back to face Malik and replied, "I do."

"Mary, do you, daughter of Bastet, agree to place your life and love in Christopher's hands and to take his into your care in return?"

Kit held his breath as he waited for Mary's answer. Her voice was strong and her eyes sparkled with unshed tears as she nodded. "I do." With her words, he knew the die was cast and his future certain.

Picking up a ceremonial knife, with a handle shaped like a cat's head, Malik held it blade first toward Kit and Mary. "Mary, Kit, clasp your right hands around the blade of the athame and hold it over the chalice of the goddess which stands on the table before you."

Together, as they did as they were told, Kit felt his heart begin to race, and he had to force his attention back to what Malik was saying.

"You both need to press down on the blade until your blood intermingles and drips into the chalice."

Kit caught Mary's gaze, gave her a little nod signaling his readiness, and they began to press their palms together around the knife's sharp edge. Kit felt the sudden pain of the blade as it sliced into his hand; almost managing to suppress the hiss of pain that escaped him, he continued to hold onto Mary's hand. Warm blood dripped from their joined hands into the cup below until Malik held up his hand.

"You may release the athame now, but continue to clasp hands, holding the wounds together."

Tamara reached forward to take the dagger from them and placed it on the table in front of her mate who picked it up and sliced open his own hand. Holding the bleeding wound over the chalice, his blood dripped into the bowl to join that of Kit and Mary's. As Kit watched, the cut on Malik's palm closed and healed without leaving a mark.

Malik raised the cup, drank some, and then handed it to Mary. "You must both drink from the blood of your union and your king, the son of Bastet. Mary, offer the cup to your mate, and then Kit, you must do the same."

Kit took a mouthful of the contents and swallowed it expecting the coppery taste of blood, but was surprised to find it sweet and slightly spicy like mulled wine. In turn, he held the cup to Mary's lips watching her take some into her mouth, surprise at the taste evident in her eyes.

Malik began to chant in a language Kit did not recognize. He crooked a brow at Mary who translated in an undertone.

"He is asking the goddess Bastet to accept you as one of her own. To endow you with the power and life she entrusts to all her children. And that we are mated for life through love, trust, and honor." She sighed and looked at him, her eyes shining with love and happiness.

A warm breeze blew through the room, and Kit felt his hand, where it was joined with Mary's, begin to tingle and pulse. He pulled his palm away from hers and stared at it in disbelief. As he watched, the edges of the wound were pulling together and fusing. Almost immediately the same feeling radiated from the skin on his abdomen and thigh. Kit felt light-headed with disbelief. A feather-light touch on his chest brought him back to himself, and he covered Mary's hand, where it lay over his heart, with his own.

"Captain...you may kiss your mate."

Kit blinked at Malik, for a moment not fully comprehending what he had heard. "What? Oh, yes." Turning to Mary, he gazed at the face of his mate and knew she was thinking of him with love, and a healthy amount of lust. Leaning forward he kissed her reverently on the lips and the room exploded with applause, yowls, barks, and yips. Pulling back from the embrace, he noticed Mary's pupils had changed shape and her scent, which usually reminded him of roses, was now spicy.

She must have noticed him testing the air, because she leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "Your senses are sharpening, that's the scent of arousal you smell coming from me. We need to slip away soon, before it becomes so strong that everyone will scent me."

Kit grinned, "I am probably giving off the same scent."

Mary nodded at him, her eyes crinkling with laughter.

They managed to slip away very soon after the ceremony. Although Kit had begun to fear they wouldn't be able to when everyone insisted on shaking hands with him and kissing his mate. In a lull of the celebrations, Mary had grabbed his hand and led him out onto the terrace and down into the garden. He'd thought to consummate their union in the privacy of their rooms, but his mate...his bride...obviously had something else planned.

She led him to the summerhouse where he found she, or the servants, had been hard at work. A small table was laid with fruit and wine, large cushions were scattered over the floor, and to ensure privacy, the latticework walls were festooned with white silk.

Mary poured the wine and handed Kit a glass. "I love you, Kit."

"And I love you." A simple sentence, he thought, but it had such depth of meaning. They sipped at their wine and then Kit took hers away and placed it back on the table along with his. Drawing her into his arms, he lowered his forehead to hers. "Apart from the obvious, what happens now?"

"We need to bond. When a mated couple make love for the first time, their canines extend and the need to bite becomes overwhelming." She raised her head and brought her hand up to cup his cheek. "There's nothing to worry about, instinct will guide you. Because we have already drunk some of each other's blood, we have felt a little of what happens with bonding. At least I did."

"You mean, after the ceremony? I could feel your love for me...that wasn't my imagination?" Kit smoothed the hair back from her temple and kissed the soft skin at her hairline.

"No. I felt that, too. After we bond completely, we'll be able to feel each other's essence, as well as emotions. You will know if I am well, or if I am hurt in any way, as well as what I am feeling." Her fingers were busy untying his cravat while his were undoing the tiny buttons that ran down the back of her dress.

"Will I know your thoughts?" Kit licked the skin of her neck as her dress gaped and fell to the floor.

"No. Only emotions. Aagh." She arched under his hands as he smoothed his palms over her breasts through the fine lawn of her shift.

Kit moved his hands back to undressing her, and concentrated on the laces of her stays. Seconds passed, and her corset joined the dress on the floor. "I will say this again, my love, you wear far too many layers of clothing." Her petticoat and shift quickly followed and she was left standing in just her stockings and garters.

His body hardened at the sight of her. Kit felt a tingling as his canines descended from his gums. "You are so beautiful, Mary. My bride. My mate."

Mary smiled, the scent of her arousal heavy in the air. "You are the one wearing far too many clothes now, Kit."

It took only a matter of minutes to remove his clothes, and once bare he looked for the marks from his battle wounds. He'd already suspected what had happened during the ceremony, but now the evidence of smooth unblemished skin met his gaze. And on the walk to the summerhouse, he'd vaguely been aware of the absence of his limp. It seemed that Bastet liked her children to be unmarked and healthy.

Slowly they sank down onto the soft cushions, touching and stroking. Kit feathered kisses on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs as he untied her garters and slid the stockings from her limbs. Sighs and moans came from both of them as they aroused each other to heights Kit didn't believe possible. Due to the blood they had drunk during the ceremony they already knew each other's emotions, and being able to feel what Mary was experiencing spurred Kit on to discover further delights.

With the strength of his desire being doubled by his mate's, Kit knew he wouldn't last much longer; he had to bury himself in her warmth. Reaching down, he parted her folds with his fingers to find her hot, wet, and swollen. Kissing his way down her chest, he latched onto a rosy nipple while he slipped his fingers into her core. Inside, she was hot and silky with the wet evidence of her arousal. Pressing his thumb on the little bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex, he stroked and pleasured her toward a climax. He could feel her tightening around his fingers just before she arched and called his name as her inner walls pulsed around him. Removing his hand, he covered her body with his and sheathed himself within her welcoming heat.

He could feel Mary's inner muscles still quivering from her climax as he pushed inside and began to rock against her. Kit looked down at his mate, her lids were heavy with passion, her face was flushed and her upper lip was pulled up to show her canines. Shifting position slightly to rub against her with each thrust, he could feel his own climax building. Knowing he only had seconds, he leaned down and kissed her, his tongue rubbing against the sharp points of her teeth.

Mary's eyes opened as he pulled his mouth away from hers, and she began to arch and keen as he made her body shudder with need. Her second climax squeezed him and he emptied his seed into her. Kit's eyes closed as his body pumped into hers, only to open them in surprise when he felt twin pinpricks of pain on his neck. Instinctively knowing what he needed to do, he bent his head to bite the soft skin under her ear. Eagerly, he lapped at the sweet nectar of her blood, her tongue at his neck doing the same. Without warning, he climaxed again, making her pulse around his shaft once more in response.

As he lifted his head from her vein, she sunk back onto the cushion beneath her, a sated smile on her face. He felt his own mouth curving into a grin. "Mary, if we continue like this I won't be able to walk out of here."

A giggle escaped her and she raised a hand to stroke his cheek. "We can't have that; you will need your strength for your first transformation."

"You mean change into a panther? So soon?" He frowned. "I'm not sure I am ready for that."

"You will be."

Kit rolled off her and tucked her against his side. "How do I change?" he asked, but his mate was already asleep. Kissing her forehead he marveled at how beautiful and serene she looked at rest. He had already seen her in her panther form and was curious what it would feel like to change shape so completely. To grow fur and claws. A feeling grew in his stomach, one that he knew well. It was the same feeling that he'd had so many times before going into battle. But this time, there was no battle to be fought, just love to be met head on. Snuggling her closer, he shut his eyes and joined her in slumber.

Kit was the first to wake, and took a moment or two to enjoy the feel of the woman in his arms. This was the way it was going to be for hundreds of years. A long life of joy, love, and friendship. Gently, he shook her shoulder and kissed her full lips. "Wake up, my love. It's night time."

Mary came awake slowly, and stretched like the cat she was. Smiling sleepily at him, she caressed his cheek.

"None of that, or we won't get out of here tonight." He caught her hand and kissed her finger tips. "Are you going to show me how to change into a panther?" Any apprehension he had felt earlier had dissipated while he slept. Now, he was looking forward to this new chapter in his life.

Mary sat up and pushed her hair out of eyes, nodding. "I will have to force the change for you the first few times until you learn to do it yourself. Usually transforming is a pleasant experience but a forced one is not. Unfortunately, it is the only way to learn." She cocked her head to one side. "I wonder what color your fur will be."

"There is only one way to find out."

Mary placed her hands on his cheeks and looked directly into his eyes. "Are you ready?"

Kit took a deep breath and nodded.

As he stared into Mary's eyes, he felt rather than saw the air shimmer around them. Every bone in his body felt like they were moving, muscles and sinews shifting. His skin felt like it was on fire, like he'd been raked by one of Shrapnel's shells; the heat spread over his skin, making it tight and irritated. He shook his head trying to clear his mind, which seemed to have a hundred bees buzzing in it. Then all discomfort faded and the noise stopped. Looking around he realized his perspective had changed; he was suddenly much shorter than he had been.

Glancing down, he saw four legs that ended in four large paws, each one covered in light brown fur. He lifted his hand, and a paw moved up from the ground. Experimentally, he bent his head and licked one of his new feet. It was such an extra-ordinary feeling.

His shoulder was being nudged by something and he looked around to see a large deep auburn cat butting its head against him. Senses now equipped with greater acuity, he took in every nuance and feature of the sleek creature. He could hear its purr, see the glossy fur. Its spicy scent struck a chord in his memory, and then it raised its head, and Mary's eyes stared back at him.

Mary bounced on her paws once or twice before heading out of the summerhouse. Kit paused for a moment in the doorway, taking in the sights and sounds of the night that looked so different when viewed through a cat's eyes. Lifting his face, he sniffed the air; the scents of a myriad of night flowering plants drifted past on a warm breeze. He felt he had been born anew into a world he had never seen before.

A loud purring sound caught his attention, and he turned his head towards Mary...his mate...where she stood a short distance from him. Kit took a deep breath, and bounded forward, eager to follow her out into the darkness and into a whole new life.

End

* * * * *

An Unnatural Alliance

(Co-written by Jan Gordon and Nicky Charles)

Foreword

Readers may wonder how Jan Gordon and Nicky Charles decided to collaborate on this short. Jan, who wrote Black Silk, also edits Nicky's Lycan books. Both authors have discussed the idea of having Nicky's wolves somehow meet up with Jan's panthers. What a mix that would be! However, they couldn't come up with a story for their shifters to share. Then, a challenge on a writing site they both frequent, provided the prefect inspiration and this story was born.

_An Unnatural Alliance_ serves as an epilogue to Life in the Shadows, a prologue for the upcoming sequel to Black Silk, and a mini story involving the characters of Bonded from Nicky's Laws of the Lycans Universe.

An Unnatural Alliance

Chapter One

Present Day

"This is useless." Malik slammed his fist down on the table, making the computer monitor shake, and shoved his chair back from the desk in disgust. "How is it that I can find almost every were panther in the world except my own son?" He furrowed his brow and scowled at the screen.

Tamara set down the book she'd been reading and came to stand behind her mate. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she began to knead the tense muscles while peering at the screen. "Perhaps Lor has had more luck."

A low rumble of appreciation rose from Malik's throat in response to Tamara's touch. For a moment, he allowed himself to relax and enjoy her attention before his sense of duty called him back to the matter at hand.

"My dear, you know full well that Lor hates his brother more than my cousin hated me a hundred years ago." Malik swiveled the chair around to face his mate. "Nazeem tried and failed to kill both me and Steven back then. If Lorcan finds my heir before I do, I doubt there will be a happy family reunion."

Tam's face clouded at the mention of the discord that ran in the family. She tightened her lips and began to pace the small room they'd turned into their office. It was from here that Malik ruled the were panther world over which he reigned. With modern communications, he only needed to make the jump to other communities if a dire emergency occurred or if his regal magic was needed.

"It's all my fault." Tam paused by the window and pushed aside the sheer curtains that blocked the view of the rolling green pastures of their property.

Mal looked at the woman who'd been by his side through the centuries. To him, she still looked as lovely as she had the first time he'd seen her. The hint of silver in her red hair did nothing to detract from her beauty, and her figure was still as alluring as ever. Faint lines graced the corners of her eyes and mouth, giving evidence that their life together hadn't always been easy, yet she'd stuck by him despite it all. His Tam was a feisty woman, thank the goddess!

"How can it be your fault? You did what you had to do to save Steven's life."

"But if I'd been stronger..." Tam sighed and turned to face him. "Lor's pregnancy was so difficult. Lizzie and Stephan had gone to be with Ben in Australia; I was alone. I couldn't cope." She twisted her fingers, obviously still unable to forgive herself for the past.

"And if Nazeem hadn't made that attempt on Steven's life. And if I had been here to help. And if..." He purposely left the sentence hanging and went over to her. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close and tucked her head under his chin. "Life is full of 'ifs.' What matters now is that we have to find Steven before Lorcan does or we'll lose both our sons; one to fratricide and the other to the justice I will have to mete out."

For a moment they held each other tight, giving and receiving comfort, until Tam pressed her hands to his chest and stepped back. "Then you'd best get back to work."

Malik released her and returned to the computer. Quickly entering a web address, an image of a wolf appeared on the screen. Below the picture the words Lycan Link formed. He sat and stared at it for moment.

"How will that site help, Mal?" Tam came closer and peered at the screen. "It's for wolves."

"Do you remember back in 1958, when there was that mess with the rogue wolf sightings near Mount Leinster?"

"Yes, you helped cover it up. The press finally decided the dead sheep was the work of a bunch of youths, and the sightings were really just a stray dog. You did a good job, and it's all long forgotten." She smiled at him, and he wondered why her smile could still melt his insides after more than four centuries together.

Leaning back in his chair, Mal recalled the incident. "Lycan Link sent over a young Enforcer to do the job, but he was still wet behind the ears and had no idea how to deal with the locals. If I hadn't stepped in, the situation would've blown up in his face and the were communities would have been exposed." Malik tapped his forefinger against his lips, then leaning forward, he placed his hand on the mouse, clicked on _enter_ and the screen changed. "His name was Fielding. Robert Fielding and..." He scrolled down through the information, giving a grunt of approval when he found what he was looking for. "The man's now in charge of all the Enforcers at the Link." Another click of the mouse and an email program opened. "They have resources at their disposal that I can only dream of. Their whole society is organized like an oversized pack." Malik typed a short message and sent the email on its way. "I think it's about time I called in a favor."

"You think the wolves will help? They're not exactly friendly towards were cats." Tam frowned from her position at his side and Mal tugged her down to sit on his lap.

"It's been a while, but wolves have long memories. Fielding will help if he can, but for now, we wait."

Captain Robert Fielding frowned as he read the email yet again. When he'd first seen the message on his screen, he'd been more than a little shocked. It had been over fifty years since he'd set eyes on Malik Colburn. The fact that he was asking for help after all this time was...intriguing.

The file Lycan Link had composed on Colburn was both thick and impressive. Apparently, the man had been involved in undercover work for over four hundred years and could be credited with turning the tide in more than one uprising. He seemed to have a soft spot for the underdog...

Fielding chuckled at his own wording. Yeah, he'd been an underdog during that case in Ireland back in the late fifties. Over his head and drowning fast trying to deal with a bunch of irate farmers. Malik had helped cover up the presence of the rogue and smoothed things over with the locals before disappearing without a trace.

He'd always wondered what had moved Malik to help him all those years ago. Antipathy had always bubbled under the surface between their two races, though the source of the deep mistrust had been lost in the mists of time. When Malik had appeared and offered to assist, he hadn't thought to question why. And, by the time he had his wits about him, the panther king had helped out, then performing his party trick, had left in a shimmer of air without leaving a forwarding address.

Well, if the man wanted a favor after all this time, it was the least he could do. And—Fielding flicked a glance out his window to check on one of his men—it might prove to be just the type of case to distract a certain Enforcer from other problems.

He rubbed his chin as he watched the Enforcer in question complete yet another lap of the Lycan Link compound. Sweat glistened on the man's body, yet the exercise was doing little to ease the lines of tension that were so evident on him. Reno wasn't dealing well with Damien's disappearance. He was on edge, snapping at everyone, taking off without notice if he thought there was a lead on his partner's whereabouts. The only thing keeping the man under control was his mate, Brandi.

Fielding drummed his fingers on his desk and wondered as to the best way to approach Reno with the case. A request or a blunt order? Knowing how damned bull-headed Reno could be, only a direct order and a few dire threats would make the man take the case.

A smile curled the captain's lips. He hadn't had a good fight in ages. Maybe he'd just meet Reno in the gym and present him with the job there. A couple of sparring rounds and a shouting match might well be cathartic for both of them.

Reno threw the file down on the desk and paced angrily about his small office. Fielding had dumped a case on him that no one else wanted to touch with a ten foot pole. Were panthers! He snorted derisively. Nothing but a bunch of pussies that weren't even organized enough to keep track of their own members!

He ran his hands through his hair and winced when his fingers encountered a lump on his head. Damn that hurt! For an old man, Fielding could still hold his own in the gym. Reno had more than a few bruises and aching joints after their recent encounter. He wondered what Brandi would say when she saw him tonight. She'd likely fuss over him and then... No. Given how he'd been acting recently, she'd probably laugh, and tell him he deserved every lump and bump he got because he'd been such a pain in the ass lately.

Exhaling slowly, Reno eased down into his chair. He knew he was being difficult, but since Damien had gone rogue, concern for his friend was eating away at him. Maybe the captain was right. Maybe he did need to take a step back and clear his head.

Begrudgingly, Reno reached for the file he'd tossed on his desk and flipped it open. The basic facts were that Malik Colburn, a.k.a. Malcolm Colburn, king of the were panthers, was requesting Lycan Link's assistance in locating his long lost son...

Malik carefully closed his laptop computer and pushed it aside while sighing. Thousands of miles from home, the expanse of the Atlantic separated him from his mate. He hated being parted from her by such a distance and for such a length of time. It was too reminiscent of his 'spy' career and the years of misunderstandings that had nearly torn them apart.

However, it couldn't be helped. The ocean was just too long a distance to teleport across, so he'd had to resort to human conveyances. He gave a brief shudder of distaste as he recalled the experience. How they could stand being packed like sardines in a flying tin can, he couldn't fathom. And dealing with the security measures at the airports had nearly tried his patience to the limit! Well, the worst was over. He had a room in a hotel, had just finished talking with Tam via Skype, and was now ready to jump to Lycan Link headquarters. With any luck, he'd be able to obtain the assistance he needed and return home in a matter of days. Tam had hinted that she'd have a warm welcome for him upon his return, and his body stirred at the ideas that brought to mind.

With thoughts of the soft press of Tam's lips on his, Malik prepared to teleport to his meeting with the wolf. A quick glance in the mirror revealed he'd erased all signs of travel weariness; his suit was pressed, his tie tasteful. He smiled, thinking of how Tam would fuss with adjusting it if she were there with him. Half distracted by thoughts of his mate and her tender ministrations, he materialized in the public reception area of Lycan Link with a pleasant smile curling the corners of his mouth.

Unfortunately, he wasn't allowed to retain that congenial frame of mind. Barely had he felt the firmness of terrazzo tiles under his feet, when squeals of fright erupted to his right. Startled, he turned to see a young woman sitting behind a desk with a look of shock on her face. Before he could even begin to explain his sudden appearance, a klaxon blared, jarring his sensitive hearing.

All his senses instantly sprang to alert, and he darted his gaze about as a cacophony of noise came at him from all directions. Pounding feet, shouted orders, metal security shields clanging shut. A set of doors burst open and half a dozen heavily muscled and angry men surged into the room. Two of them immediately transformed into even angrier wolves and began to circle him. Malik instinctively shifted and snarled a warning at the two smaller animals.

For a moment they were at a standoff, but then seemingly out of nowhere, another Lycan darted in and nipped at his back leg. Spinning around, Malik lashed out with his claws and heard a very satisfying whimper of pain as he connected with his target. The wolf cringed away but its compatriots growled and took a collective step closer.

Malik let out another warning snarl and tensed, ready to fight when a commanding voice was raised above the pandemonium.

"Mr. Colburn, would you mind not wounding any more of my men."

Raising his head, Malik sniffed the air and relaxed. He never forgot a scent and this was one he recognized; it was the man he'd come to see. In a shimmer of movement, Mal returned to human form.

With a secure knowledge of who and what he was in the shifter world, Malik took a moment to adjust his suit coat and cuffs while calmly taking in the appearance of Robert Fielding. The man had aged well. Lycans weren't as long-lived as panthers, but their life-spans were still longer than human ones by a good few decades. Fielding must be past middle age but he looked fit and powerful. Ignoring the wolves that still stood around him, Malik stretched out his hand in greeting.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Fielding. I didn't, however, expect quite such a reception committee."

The captain glanced around at the assembled Enforcers and DC officers. "Stand down, men. Let me introduce Malik Colburn, monarch of all were panthers and direct descendent of the goddess Bastet." He gripped Malik's hand in welcome. "It's good to see you after all this time."

Malik grinned as the powerful man returned his handshake. "You've come up in the world since we last met." He looked around for the Lycan he'd mauled. "You'd better get those claw marks treated, panther scratches scar other shifters."

The various Lycan employees began to disperse and Fielding gestured towards the door at the back of the reception area. "Despite the actions of my men, I'd like to welcome you to Lycan Link. My office is this way." As the captain passed the desk, he motioned to the woman who was still staring at Malik as if he was some kind of apparition. "Julie, when you've recovered, would you please ask Reno Smith to join me in my office."

The girl nodded but still gaped at him, and Malik chuckled under his breath as he followed Fielding to his office. He was led through a labyrinth of halls and security checks and took it all in with interest. Lycans bustled about intent on their various jobs. Most paused as he passed by, discreetly sniffing the air, and then casting curious glances in his direction as they recognized his species. Fielding offered no explanation however, and no one approached with questions. The discipline within Lycan Link seemed top-notch.

Arriving at their destination, Fielding allowed Malik to enter the office ahead of him and then moved to sit behind the large mahogany desk. Malik took one of the visitor chairs, barely holding back a frown as it creaked under his weight. It had to be the most uncomfortable piece of furniture he'd come across in decades.

He must have given himself away somehow for the captain shot him an apologetic look. "Sorry. That chair's my defense against people staying too long. I'll get you another." As he moved to stand up, Malik shook his head.

"Don't bother. I've sat on worse." He adjusted himself as best he could and then quirked an eyebrow at the Lycan leader. "Who is this Reno Smith?"

"He's my top Enforcer. I've put him on this case in the hopes that it will keep him grounded." At Malik's inquisitive look, Fielding sighed. "His partner recently went rogue, and Reno's taking it pretty hard. He needs a distraction and your case may be just what he needs."

As the captain finished talking, Malik heard the door open behind him. Raising his head slightly, he unobtrusively inhaled, taking in the newcomer's scent. The man that had entered was dangerous, that much was obvious. There was latent anger in the air as well. Turning as the wolf came into view, he took a long look at him. Assuming this was Reno Smith, he saw a tall, well-built man at the peak of his strength. And, from the look on his face, dealing with him would be like handling a prickly pear. Suppressing a sigh, Malik knew his diplomatic skills were going to be tested to their fullest.

Malik glanced back at the captain in anticipation of an introduction. Robert Fielding looked him in the eye before turning to the younger man. "Reno, this is Malik Colburn. Take a seat and we'll go over the facts of the case." He gestured to the chair next to Malik's.

Reno propped himself against the wall. "I'd rather stand."

"I said _sit_!" The captain barked.

With the reluctance reminiscent of a recalcitrant teen, Reno Smith threw himself into the chair.

Reno forced himself to unclench his jaw, and stretched his long legs out in front of him. He didn't want to be here, but an order was an order so he had to make the best of it. The captain shoved a sheaf of papers his way and he picked them up without glancing at the contents; he'd read the file.

"So," Malik Colburn turned to look at him. "The captain was telling me you're his best Enforcer."

Reno grunted. Colburn was talking to him like he was some kid in need of soothing. He made no effort to bite back the rude comment that sprang to his lips. "And he's told me that you're the reigning monarch of a bunch of kitty-cats."

Malik's eyes narrowed, but he inclined his head obviously determined to ignore the slur. For a moment they silently studied each other. Colburn looked good for his age, considering he was over five hundred years old. Grey silvered his temples, but the rest of his hair was black as night. Lines bracketed his mouth and marred his forehead, but the man was still fit and powerful.

Reno had observed his entrance into the Lycan Link lobby through the surveillance cameras. When the alarm signaling a security breach had sounded, he'd immediately gone to his command post and watched the altercation, ready to coordinate the movement of more Enforcers should the situation have called for it.

The were panther had shifted smoothly and moved with an enviable grace and fluidity. Reno couldn't deny the man's skills. Still, he _was_ a cat and that fact alone stirred an instinctive caution. He decided to put Colburn on the defensive and see what the old man was made of.

"You're known as Malik? But..." He feigned checking the papers in front on him. "Official records have you listed as Malcolm? Why the name change? Trying to blur your trail?"

The corner of the man's mouth twitched. "Actually, yes, I am. Living as long as we do, panthers have an even harder time hiding from the human population than other shifters. Name changes and frequent relocation are necessary to stay under the human radar. Especially since the computerization of records."

"Are you sure that's the only reason? You've been involved in numerous bits of espionage. Perhaps some of it has been less than...legitimate?" Reno flicked idly through the reports, his voice purposely laced with a hint of accusation.

Colburn steepled his fingers. "Legitimate? By whose standards? Governments come and go, the boundaries between countries change. I do what's right for my people, _and_ my conscience."

"For _your_ people. But what about mine? Just a few moments ago you attacked one of my men. How do we know you can be trusted?" Reno narrowed his eyes.

"That's enough, Smith." Captain Fielding interrupted with a curt comment. "Colburn is the official representative of his people. You will treat him with the same courtesy and respect you would any other diplomat."

"Just letting it be known that I'm cautious, Captain. There's a history between our people and we're all aware of it. Lycan-panther relations are dicey at the best of times, and I prefer to have all the cards on the table before we start." Reno schooled his features into a bland expression.

"Can't let go of the old dog and cat animosity?" Malik made a gentle gibe then shook his head. "It's ancient history, Mr. Smith. Both of our species have done things to be ashamed of, but isn't it time we moved on? Living in the past will get us nowhere."

Reno opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again. Living in the past was what the Purists did. Was he letting his own surly attitude color his thinking? Perhaps. He clenched his fists and then forced them to relax. "My apologies, Mr. Colburn."

Malik inclined his head. "Accepted. Actually, I believe we have something in common. As I understand it, we're both searching for someone we care about. You, for your partner, and I for my son."

Reno was silent for a moment, staring at the floor and thinking about the feelings that roiled in his belly over Damien's disappearance. Worry over his partner's well-being. Fear that if—when—he was found he'd be too far gone to be saved. Anger at himself for not somehow preventing the horrific events that had led to Damien's breakdown. If the man beside him was even feeling half of these things... He lifted his gaze to find Colburn studying him and a look of understanding passed between them.

The faintest hint of relief could be seen on Malik's face, but he swiftly hid it and eased back in his chair only to frown and readjust his position.

A chuckle escaped Reno. "I've sat in that chair enough to know your butt and back are cursing you right now."

"Indeed, my...butt...is less than happy at the moment."

Fielding stood up. "Then perhaps you two could move your meeting elsewhere? Reno, pull up whatever files we have on Steven Colburn and let Malik have access to them. Then the two of you can decide where to start looking."

Reno nodded and led the way to the archives.

"I'm surprised these files haven't been digitized." Malik leafed through the papers Reno had extracted from the files. They were seated in Smith's office, on either side of the Enforcer's desk. The other desk stood empty, and Malik, guessing that it belonged to the rogue partner, had purposely avoided using it.

"There had been plans to put it all on micro-fiche, but technology overtook us and now we're slowly scanning everything into the database. There are a lot of records however, and it's slow going." Reno stood and poured himself a coffee, gesturing with the jug. "You want some?"

Malik looked up. "What? Oh, no thank you."

"As you can see from those records, the first mention we can find of your son is when he volunteered at the New York recruiting office to fight in France in 1917. He was released from service two years later, and then he simply disappears; we can't find a single trace of him after that."

The older man nodded and continued to read the report of his son's wartime experiences. "It seems he joined up with a fellow were panther. A Michael Cooper." He turned to the last page and his breath hitched. He looked up at the Lycan. "Cooper died in France. Seems they were part of the Lost Battalion. Steven was lucky to have survived."

Reno nodded, "Yeah. Casualties were high. Must've been a severe wound if Cooper couldn't recover from it."

"If there were humans around, he wouldn't have been able to shift to help with the healing." Malik shook his head. "Weres should stay well out of human wars."

"You didn't. From the Huguenots in France at the end of the sixteenth century to Afghanistan and Iraq in this one, you've made a business of meddling." Again, there was a hint of accusation in his voice.

"Yes. But I do what I do to help bring conflicts to an end, using subterfuge and cunning. I don't remember ever using a firearm in anger."

"So you rule by the tenet 'do as I say, not as I do'?"

Malik studied the man before him. There was a bitterness about him—the need to express his inner turmoil by lashing out—but also an inner strength. His instincts told him that Smith was intrinsically a good man. He decided to let the comment pass, and inclined his head in agreement. "Sometimes, it's the only way."

Reno stared at him for a moment, then took a swig of his coffee before sitting down. He exhaled slowly, appearing tired. Perhaps realizing he was being difficult, when he spoke next, his tone was milder. "What we don't have in our records is how and why Steven Colburn ended up here in America?"

"I looked for him soon after he disappeared in 1904. I found evidence that he'd signed on as a cabin boy on a merchant ship bound for North America. Records, even at the time, were fairly detailed. The ship was due to dock in Georgia." Malik ran his hands through his hair and sighed. "I followed the trail, but after arriving in America I could find no further information."

Reno checked the file in front of him. "It says here, your son was born in 1892, he must have been very young when he ran away to sea."

"He didn't run away." Malik hesitated. What had happened was really Tamara's tale to tell, and he debated whether it was even relevant to the search for his son. Finally, deciding that Smith needed all the facts in order to help, he sat forward in his chair clasping his hands before him. Telling an outsider, especially a Lycan, about the in-fighting within the were panther community was not something that came easily to his tongue.

"He didn't run away," he repeated. "My mate made him go. Forcefully. Against his will...and hers."

Reno set his cup down, a frown furrowing his brow. "Wait, back up. Are you saying you kicked a cub, your own child, out of your home?"

The panther nodded. "To my constant regret, yes, that's exactly what we did. He was only twelve years old. It was because—"

Malik was interrupted by the opening of the door. A stunning redhead half entered and smiled at him before turning a look on Reno that had Malik pining for his own mate.

"Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to let you know that I'm ready to leave. Will you be much longer?"

Reno stood and covered the few feet to the female before enfolding her in a hug. He closed his eyes and the tension in his shoulders visibly lessened, as if her mere presence was a tonic he needed. With his arm around her waist, he turned to Malik. "Colburn, this is my mate, Brandi. She's a DC officer here at Lycan Link."

"DC?" Malik raised his brows while observing the woman before him. Red hair, a nicely rounded figure, eyes dancing with mischief. The woman was so reminiscent of his Tam, the ache in his heart was almost physical.

She held out her hand and smiled. "Damage Control. When there are shifter sightings by humans, my team moves in and creates plausible explanations to conceal our presence. Some people," she cast a reproachful look at her mate, "call us professional liars."

Mal stood, took her hand and made a courtly half bow. "A reprehensible term to use when referring to someone as lovely as you."

"Thank you. And you are?" Outwardly, her inquiry was socially polite but he could sense the way she was assessing him; the intelligence behind her eyes undeniable. Yes, this woman was his Tam over and over.

"Malik Colburn, the panther king." Reno interrupted, his eyes pointedly fixed on their still joined hands.

Brandi rolled her eyes, removed her hand from his and nestled closer to Reno. "I'm pleased to meet you. That was quite an entrance you made earlier today."

"I thought I was expected. However, it seems that you weren't aware of the method of my arrival."

"Apparently we weren't. But it gave us an opportunity to test our security procedures in real time. I guess we should thank you." She smiled again obviously not in the least perturbed by the incident.

He cocked his head. "Your department must be new; I don't remember there being any DC officers in Ireland when I met Captain Fielding back in the fifties."

"Ireland? Colburn? Oh, that was you?" Her eyes widened with dawning recognition. "I remember studying that case at the Academy. It was a pivotal incident that made Lycan Link realize the need for DC officers."

"Indeed? Well, I'm pleased the situation led to such a positive outcome." Malik inclined his head and then glanced to the side. Reno was mumbling under his breath; something about DC officers being a pain and of course it was all because of a cat.

Brandi rolled her eyes at her mate before returning her gaze to Malik. "It's getting late. Would you two prefer to continue this meeting over dinner?"

"You're inviting me to your home?" Malik wondered how Smith felt about the invitation. The man seemed to have a chip on his shoulder where panthers were concerned. Regrettable, but understandable; ancient history and folk memories couldn't be erased within the course of one brief meeting.

"Yes, I've never met a panther before and it would be an honor if you'd come." She nudged her mate. "Wouldn't it, Reno?"

"Of course." Smith's answer was curt, but not totally unwelcoming.

"Then I accept your invitation. Just no chocolate for dessert, or you might have a serious situation on your hands."

"Allergic to the stuff are you?" She laughed. "Don't worry, I'm on a permanent diet; no chocolate allowed."

Later that evening, Malik sat back with a bottle of beer in his hand, raising it in a silent toast to the couple at the table. "That was delicious, Brandi, thank you."

Reno raised his beer in reply. The man had been polite but rather quiet during dinner. However, he appeared more relaxed now and seemed more inclined to talk. "Earlier, in my office, you were about to tell me why your son left home."

Malik flicked a glance at Brandi as she cleared the table, and then shrugged. There was no harm in speaking in front of the woman; she was a Lycan Link employee after all. "Soon after Steven was born, a messenger came to see me from Spain."

Reno nodded. "Your file says you're from there originally."

"Yes. Although the family came from North Africa long before I was born; that's why all the older panthers have Moorish names. I suppose today I should say Arabic names." He looked up as Brandi came back in and sat down, a cup of coffee in her hand.

She shuffled her chair which left her sitting closer to her mate. "What did the message say, Malik?"

"It was from one of my younger sisters. A cousin of mine, Nazeem, had been bad-mouthing me. Telling anyone who wanted to listen that I was sitting on my backside living the life of a lord in Ireland." Malik took a deep breath and blew it out through his teeth. "That I didn't care about my fellow weres, and that I was working hand-in-glove with the humans to rid the world of all shifters."

Reno narrowed his eyes. "The man was clever. What he was saying was partially correct and verifiable."

Brandi nodded. "A text book DC officer strategy. It's always best to wrap up a lie in semi-truths."

Malik idly twirled the beer bottle in his hand. "Yes. He'd whipped up some deep hatred of me; more and more people were backing him to have me removed. Of course, he intended to take over once I was no longer in the picture."

Reno frowned and pulled over the case file from the end of the table where it had lain untouched during the meal. Flipping through it, he quickly found what he'd been looking for. "How could he have taken over? Even if he didn't know about your son, you already had an heir. A grandson, Benjamin."

"Right. Ben was a grown man and newly mated at the time. They had moved to Australia to help build that country; he saw it as a good opportunity. There's a lot of open land down there for a panther to run in. My daughter, Lizzie, and her mate had gone to join him." Malik gave a half smile. "This was over a hundred years ago, remember, and communication was slow at best. By the time Ben would've heard of my demise, Nazeem would have been widely accepted as my successor. At least that seemed to be his plan. However, unbeknownst to him, I now had a son. A babe that Tamara and I doted on." Malik fell silent, his thoughts reaching back into the past. He could swear that he smelled his new born cub, felt his slight weight in his arms.

"Go on, Malik. What happened? Did Nazeem come after you?" Brandi's voice pulled him back to the present.

"Yes. He came after me but I led him away from the farm. My cousin was so single-minded, that at the time he didn't even think of using my mate against me. And at that point he still didn't know of the babe. We fought, numerous times, but I always made sure it was in front of non-shifters. Finally, during a fight in one of the poorer quarters of Dublin the coward pulled a knife on me while I was distracted by some humans. It went in deep and I knew that if I'd not been a were it would've been a mortal blow. I feigned death and he was arrested for murder."

Brandi's gasp made Malik look up. "What about the witnesses? If they thought you were dead, they'd have tried to dispose of your body or taken it to a morgue. I don't know what the practice was at the time but surely they wouldn't have left a corpse on the street. And your personal effects might have had identifying information. Did you just get up and walk away when no one was looking?" She shook her head and frowned. "I suppose you could blame grave robbers but... Oh my God, Malik. A situation like that is a DC officer's nightmare!"

Malik chuckled at her reaction. "Those were simpler times, Brandi. People were more worried about survival than dwelling on what had become of a dead drifter, which was the part I'd been playing."

"I suppose..." She still looked concerned, and Reno playfully tugged at one of her curls.

"Let the man continue his story, babe."

Taking another sip of beer, Malik resumed his explanation. "When Nazeem came up for trial, although there were plenty of witnesses, the lack of a body resulted in the case being dismissed. Nazeem ran back to Spain and all was quiet for a few years. I started to work again." He slanted a sheepish grin at the Lycans. "Nothing that took me away for too long, but I was away often enough that Tam resurrected the old tale of me being unfaithful and off dallying with different women in Dublin, Belfast, and even as far away as London." He shrugged. "It stopped the neighbors from asking too many questions. Unfortunately, little pitchers have big ears and Steven heard the stories, and believed them."

Reno grunted. "Not exactly the impression a young boy wants to have of his father."

"True, but there was no other way." Malik frowned still regretting how the necessary subterfuge had damaged his relationship with his son. "To make matters worse, the rumors began again that Nazeem was still intent on claiming the throne. However, by now he knew of Steven's existence and was going to get rid of my son and heir first."

Brandi gasped softly and tightened her fingers around Reno's arm. The two exchanged a pain-filled glance, and he speculated on what they were recalling. Had they lost a child or perhaps that of a friend? It was none of his business, of course, so he continued on with his tale.

"A child is far easier to murder than a powerful adult. In an effort to protect Steven, I decided to go after Nazeem, to take the fight to him rather than sit and wait for him to come and find me."

"And Steven was how old at this point?" Reno was making notes now.

"Steven had just turned twelve and my mate was in her third trimester of another pregnancy." Malik looked at Brandi. "She had gone one hundred and seventeen years without conceiving; suddenly she managed to give me a son, and to conceive again only a decade later. To say we were happy would be an understatement."

"But you left her, pregnant and with a half grown cub." Reno made more notes.

"We decided it was for the best. We weren't to know that Nazeem was already in Ireland and watching the house. After I had left, one of the neighbors came for tea and gossip; that's how Tam found out about the man with the strange accent who had been asking questions about us and the farm.

"Panthers don't have the thought connection that mated Lycans do; we only have an empathic link, so there was no way Tam could contact me. She was worried, I could sense that, but put it down to her usual concern whenever I was away." He set down his drink, stood up and began pacing the room. "Tam didn't know what to do. She couldn't defend Steven; in the third trimester a panther can't shift, it's far too dangerous. And Steven was too young and inexperienced to offer much of a fight; his panther was still only a quarter of its full-grown adult size. If Nazeem had come for them, Steven would have been in grave danger." He paused and scrubbed his hands over his face. "Tam made a decision; one she regrets to this day. She knew Steven wouldn't leave if she asked him, so she decided to drive him away with verbal abuse, tales that he was no longer wanted now that a new cub was on the way... It worked. He ran away, no doubt hating both of us and we haven't seen him since."

A tear trickled down Brandi's cheek. "Poor Tamara, it must have broken her heart. But what else could she do?" She blinked and wiped her damp cheeks. "At least Steven was safe. Did Nazeem come to the farm looking for him?"

Malik closed his eyes and fought to rein in the hatred that surged though him whenever he recalled what happened next. "Yes. And that's why he's dead."

Reno's deep voice quietly broke into Malik's nightmare. "What did he do, Malik?"

"He raped her; left her bruised and bleeding on the flagstones of our kitchen floor. I sensed her fear and pain and returned immediately but I was too late. She'd been near death and in desperation to save both herself and our unborn child, she took a chance and shifted. She healed, but Lorcan was born soon after. He lived, but the magic of the shift affected him. My younger son is...strange; he has no familial feelings and is driven by a hatred and a need for power."

"Hatred of you?"

Malik looked up at Brandi's words. "No, for his brother. He's trying to find Steven and plans to kill him in order to become my successor. And that is why we need to find my heir before he does."

Chapter Two

Several days later, Reno sat at his computer scrolling through the notes he'd made on Steven Colburn, trying to hold back the rising frustration he felt. The damned Colburn cub had seemingly disappeared from the face of the earth. There was no mention of him in any Lycan records, and on the human front there wasn't so much as a whisper beyond his service during the First World War.

No one knew what name he might be living under, what type of occupation he might have. Hell, they didn't even have a picture of the man. Reno frowned and stared unseeingly across his office. What might Colburn look like now? As a child he'd had a strong resemblance to his father... Hmm. An idea came to mind and Reno reached for the phone. A quick call to forensics might be just the ticket.

Two hours later he sat on the edge of Brandi's desk grinning.

"So this is Steven Colburn?" His mate eyed the picture before her, a smile curling the corners of her mouth. "Yum!"

Frowning, Reno snatched back the paper and stood up. "Not exactly. It's a computerized mock up; a compilation of Malik and Tam's features based on the assumption that he continued to favor his sire in looks."

Brandi got up and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. She then peered over his shoulder to get another look at the image. "Mock up or not, he's still very good looking." She took the sting out of the words by running her hands over his chest. "But you're even better in my books."

He growled in mock ferocity then twisted around to kiss her. "It's a good thing you qualified that statement." After a very satisfying moment, he regretfully ended their kiss and pulled away to study the image of the were panther again. "It's not much, but it's more than we had before. Tomorrow, I'll email a copy of this to our district offices. That way they can keep a look out for the man."

"Good idea." She took a final peek at the page before returning to her desk gesturing at the pile of papers covering the surface. "I'll be a while longer. Do you want to meet at Clancy's? I feel like having one of their burgers for supper."

"Sounds fine to me. I've got a few errands to run. I'll see you there in a couple of hours." Reno pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head and went on his way.

Brandi was late. Reno sat in his usual spot and surveyed the room idly while sipping a beer. It was too early for anything exciting to be happening. A few of the regulars had gathered around a table talking. A young couple was shooting pool, laughing, and more interested in each other than the game. And near the end of the bar a man was chatting with the barmaid.

Reno began to scan the room again and then froze as his brain registered an important fact. The man at the bar. Damn, it couldn't be. What were the chances? He was strongly reminded of one of Brandi's favorite movies...something about _all the gin joints, in all the towns_... Pulling the computerized image of Steven Colburn from his shirt pocket, Reno glanced from it to the man and then back again. The resemblance was striking. Mind you, there were probably hundreds of thousands of men in the world with dark hair and green eyes, however...

He closed his eyes and sniffed the air, sorting through the myriad of scents that met his nostrils. When he'd entered Clancy's he hadn't bothered; the smell of beer, sweat, and fried food had hung heavily in the air just like always, as comforting and familiar as the scents of his own home, but now... His eyes shot open and a smile curved the corners of his mouth. Cat. And not a domestic feline, either.

Studying the man out of the corner of his eye, Reno debated his next move. Should he approach the man? Leave and contact Malik? He decided against the latter. While there was no doubt that a were panther was in the room, he might not be the right one.

He leaned back against the bar and began to eavesdrop in the hope of gaining any information that might identify the man as his quarry. The barmaid was flirting shamelessly as she leaned forward, her ample cleavage quivering as she wiped down the polished surface. Apparently she found the man as appealing as Brandi had. The memory of his mate ogling the panther's image had Reno clenching his fists. Damn it, he really didn't like cats!

"So, are you in town for long?" The girl wiped the bar repeatedly in front of him and Cole smiled at her efforts. She was a pretty thing with light brown skin and dark eyes.

"Just passing through. Working my way cross country."

The girl leaned her elbows on the top of the now spotless bar, the action pushing her breasts together, deepening the valley between them. "What do people call you?"

Cole eyed her chest appreciatively then examined her face. She was definitely easy on the eyes, with a friendly smile and dark corkscrew curls framing her face. A flicker of interest stirred within him. He relaxed in his seat, prepared to see where the conversation went. "I'm Cole."

"Cole." She exhaled his name while sweeping her gaze over him. Her smile widened. "Well, Cole, my name's Justine." She gestured at the empty beer bottle in front of him. "Can I get you another?"

He nodded and accepted the new drink from her, laying down some cash on the counter. Cole watched her shapely behind as Justine moved over to the register with his money. She took a moment to write something on a pad before returning with his change.

She seemed unwilling to move away from where he sat, and started to wipe the already clean and dry glasses. "Where you headed?"

"A little town in upstate New York. You've probably never heard of it."

"Oh yeah?" She lowered her lashes and slowly licked her lips. "You might be surprised at what I know. Why don't you try me?" Her voice deepened on the double entendre.

"Farmingdale." Cole watched as her face dropped. He chuckled to himself at her reaction to his refusal to take the bait.

She recovered quickly however. "Nope. Never heard of it. What are you going there for?"

"I've bought an old property in the area. Thought I'd settle down, put down some roots." He took a swig of his beer.

Justine leaned forward, again making sure Cole got another bird's eye view of her breasts. "I may never have heard of Farmingdale, but I know _this_ town pretty well. Like, I know where a person could be private, where it's really dark. Know what I mean?" She scraped her teeth oh so slowly over her lower lip and then winked.

It might be a good idea, Cole thought. It had been ages since he'd been with someone. A restless, unsettled feeling seemed to constantly plague him. Maybe Justine's companionship would provide some relief. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He quirked the corner of his mouth.

Justine's voice became husky and she placed her hand over his where it rested on the polished wood surface. "I get off at eleven if you're looking for something to do later."

Cole felt the scrap of paper being pushed into his palm. He hesitated for a moment before closing his fingers around the note. Perhaps it was time he started to live life again. "Eleven. I'll remember that."

For a moment their eyes met in a silent communication of what was to come. Cole noted the scent of arousal coming from her, the way her breathing had increased in anticipation. His own body stirred and he gave a brief nod.

Justine appeared about to speak but some customers called for her attention and she went to take their order.

Cole glanced at the paper in his palm, at the numbers which must belong to her cell phone. Pocketing the note, he turned around to survey the customers in the bar, pleased with his plans for the evening. Justine should prove more entertaining than reruns on cable.

Leaning back with his elbows on the edge of the polished surface, he took in the sights and smells of everyday Americana. After traveling all over Europe and Asia for decades, it was good to be home. Well, not quite home. Tomorrow, he'd start the journey that would take him to Farmingdale, but he was tired and needed to sleep a full night in a bed, preferably not alone.

He inhaled deeply and held it before letting it out very slowly. Intermingled with the normal odors of a roadhouse was one that had his body instinctively stiffening in preparation for a fight. Dog. He mentally spat the word out. And not an ordinary dog either. There was a wolf in the building. Cole surreptitiously sniffed the air again to determine where the scent was coming from. He turned his head and discovered a man watching him from the other end of the bar. The fellow lifted his beer in greeting, slid off his bar stool and began to move towards him.

Cole narrowed his eyes as the Lycan came close enough to speak to him. He'd met a lot of shifters in his travels, and he didn't trust a single one. Not since Michael.

"You're in wolf territory, kitty-cat." The man's eyes were narrowed, a trace of a challenge lacing his words.

Cole barely suppressed an irritated growl. "I don't have to ask permission of your Alpha to travel through your territory. I'm not a dog."

The man stiffened at his words. "No, you're not. You lot are nothing but a bunch of pussies."

Cole snorted. "I bet I could kick your ass."

"Perhaps." The man inclined his head briefly. "I can't deny facts. When you shift you're bigger and you have built-in knives. But I'd leave you with enough damage that you'll remember me long after the fight."

They eyed each other for a moment while each took a drink. Cole turned back to the bar and placed his beer on the wood. "What's your name?"

"Reno Smith. You?"

"Cole." He didn't trust the shifter, and saw no reason to give his full name.

"That's it? Just the one name? Like Rambo?"

"The rest is none of your business."

Smith slowly put his bottle on the bar and drew himself up to his full height. Cole could feel the power rippling off the wolf's body. The man was definitely an Alpha. His aura of command was tangible.

"Actually, it _is_ my business. I'm an Enforcer. You know what that is?"

Cole shrugged a shoulder. "I'm guessing some kind of K-9 police force."

"A _K-9_ force that can whip your ass if you overstep yourself around here. Where are you staying?"

"Around."

"For how long?"

Smith's questions were making Cole uneasy. The interest in the man's eyes was too keen. "I didn't come in here to be interrogated." Cole stood up and moved to leave. Smith grabbed his shoulder and Cole frowned as the man's fingers bit into his flesh. The damned dog wasn't holding anything back. Their eyes locked and nostrils flared as a silent battle of wills was exchanged before a jingling at the door announced that someone had entered the establishment.

The sound brought them to their senses. Both men relaxed and stepped back. A quick glance around revealed that no one was looking their way, everyone's attention was drawn to a gorgeous red-head who had just entered. She scanned the room and then hurried their way. Cole watched as she wrapped her arms around the Enforcer and kissed him. Instinct told him the man was mated to the little beauty; a bit of envy stabbed at him before he used Smith's momentary distraction to make his escape.

Leaving the building, he quickly walked away from the bar. Behind him, he heard the door open and sensed the wolf watching him. Cole smirked knowing there was nothing the Lycan could do with humans milling about. He chuckled to himself pleased to have bested the dog, even in such a small way.

Reno fumed as the cat turned the corner and disappeared from sight. He held back a growl of frustration and returned to the bar where he'd left a bewildered Brandi.

"What was that all about?" She glared at him, obviously not pleased at the way he'd simply walked away with no explanation.

"That, I think, was Steven Colburn."

"Really?" Her eyebrows shot upward.

"Yep." Reno put his hand under her elbow and guided her back out of the bar.

"Why are we leaving? We were going to eat here." Brandi tried to pull her arm away from his grip.

"We'll get take-out." They walked in the direction of Brandi's car, and had barely reached it before Reno had her door open and was ushering her inside. "You pick up whatever you want, and we'll meet at home." He closed the door and spoke to her through the window. "Right now, I need to contact our friendly cat king."

Cole stood in a side alley watching the wolf drive away. Why was the man so interested in him? Was he just an overzealous watchdog trying to prove himself? Probably. His experience with wolves in Europe had shown him that they were entirely too territorial for his liking. Panthers were roamers, setting up home wherever and whenever the spirit moved them. Staying in one place too long, having long term relationships... He snorted; that wasn't the way of his people. The fact made him vaguely uncomfortable and he shook his head, wondering what was wrong with him lately. Nothing seemed...right...anymore.

He began to walk down the street, shoving his hands in his pockets. A piece of paper crackled against his fingers and he pulled it out. Justine's phone number. Hmm... Part of him said he should leave town; that the wolf's interest in him spelled trouble. But was he going to let a dog ruin his plans for the evening?

No.

He had as much right to be here as anyone. Carefully folding the slip of paper, he placed it back in his pocket and looked around. Maybe he'd catch a movie. That would fill in a few hours while he waited for Justine to finish her shift.

Reno paced the length of his living room waiting for Malik to answer the phone. While the panther he'd met in the bar had never claimed to be Steven Colburn, the man's reticence had raised his suspicions. Cole. Colburn. The names were similar. And he'd heard the overgrown cat telling Justine he was headed to Farmingdale. A quick check had revealed that it was the hometown of Michael Cooper, the man with whom Colburn had served in France. It was almost too much of a coincidence to not mean something. He'd report his findings and let Malik decide.

"Hello?" A woman's sleepy voice answered, as if the phone had awoken her. Reno remembered the time difference and swore softly under his breath.

"Umm...Tamara?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"I'm Reno Smith. I work for Lycan Link as an Enforcer and was assigned to help your mate locate your son."

"Oh yes, of course." There was a rustling sound as if she were levering herself up in bed. "I'd like to thank you for agreeing to help us. Do you have news?"

"I may have. Is Malik there?" Reno heard a car draw up outside the house, and flicked a glance out the window. He smiled at the sight of Brandi's rear end wiggling enticingly as she stretched into the vehicle to gather her purchases from the back seat. His arousal went from zero to sixty in a nanosecond...God, would he ever get enough of her? His mind began to wander as he contemplated how they might spend the evening, and only the sound of Malik's voice drew him back to the present.

"Smith," Malik's greeting was brief. "You've found out something."

Reno watched his mate enter the house and begin to pull containers of Chinese food out, placing them on the table. He sniffed appreciatively and tried to focus on his conversation with the panther monarch. "It's possible. Earlier today, I had an idea and asked our forensics department to work on it. They came up with a composite picture of what Steven might look like today, using a combination of factors."

"Interesting. Could you email it to me?"

"Sure, I'll do that this evening. But, by some weird chance, I think I found him."

"So quick? It can't be that easy, surely?"

"I agree it seems unlikely, but Brandi and I were going to eat at a local hangout this evening. I arrived early and I swear Steven Colburn was there chatting up the barmaid." Brandi came over and placed her hand on his shoulder, her eyes narrowed as she obviously tried to determine what was going on. "Malik, he says his name is Cole, and he's heading for a place called Farmingdale, in New York."

"New York?" Excitement laced the man's voice. "Good work. I'm heading back to the States. I'll contact you as soon as I've got an E.T.A. Thank you, Smith. I'm in your debt."

"Not yet, you're not. Let's make sure it's him before you make your move. Come here first. I'll have one of the Lycan Link district offices do some discreet inquiries, and then we can make our move." Reno snaked his arm around his mate's waist and pulled her tight against his side.

"All right. If I blunder into Steven's life unannounced it would probably do more harm than good."

"That's what I was thinking. I'll wait for your call and in the meantime see if I can find out some more about this town he's heading for."

As the call ended, a smile crept over Reno's face. He pressed a kiss to Brandi's lips and then picked her up and spun her around.

"What's this all about?" She laughed and clutched at his shoulders.

"A celebration. I think the cat case is as good as over and I can get back to looking for Damien." He kissed her again and loosened his hold so that she slid down the length of his body. His groin was pressed against her soft belly and he rumbled in pleasure when she wiggled against him and slowly raked her nails down his back.

"If this is a celebration, I know what we can do." She nipped at his chin and took his hand, backing towards the bedroom.

Reno needed no further urging and, with a growl, swept her into his arms and headed into the bedroom. The Chinese food, that had seemed so tempting before, was quickly forgotten.

Cole pressed a kiss to Justine's forehead and rolled away. She murmured softly and trailed her fingers over his chest before letting her arm drop to the mattress. He studied her for a moment. Her eyes were closed and already her breathing was falling into the deep rhythmic pattern that signaled sleep.

Good. By morning she'd likely have forgotten any...differences...she'd noticed about him or put it down to the fogged memories of too much alcohol. After watching her for a minute longer, he slipped out from under the covers, grabbed his clothes and padded to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and wash up. She'd insisted on the protection, and he hadn't felt like explaining how and why he knew he was disease free. She wouldn't have believed him anyway.

Cole pulled on his jeans and reflected on the evening. Justine was a nice girl. He'd enjoyed her company and their romp had relieved an itch, yet... Running his fingers through his hair, he sighed. The restless feeling inside him wasn't gone. There had been too many anonymous women over the decades; too many bland rooms, too many assumed identities. When had it lost its thrill? He couldn't even recall. All he knew was that he was ready to stay in one place for more than a year or three, to put down some roots. It had always been his belief that permanence was against a were panther's nature. But lately, he had begun to think that his nomadic life style was the source of his vague feeling of frustration. That's why he was going back to the only real home he'd ever known.

Gentle snoring sounds greeted him from the bed as he came out of the bathroom. Justine was sleeping, one arm stretched out over the place where he'd lain. Quietly he walked over to the edge of the bed and pulled the covers over her.

"Goodbye Justine, and thank you." He whispered the words and brushed a stray curl from her cheek before letting himself out of her apartment and stepped out into the cool, clean night air.

Looking up at the sky, there were few stars to be seen. The town was small but the light pollution was still bad enough to obscure the view. Rolling his shoulders, he decided that after a good meal and decent sex, a long run was next on the list. He needed to stretch his panther's muscles.

He began to jog away from the buildings, out into the surrounding countryside. Softly rolling hills covered in long grasses stretched as far as the eye could see with only the occasional cluster of trees to interrupt the view. As the glare of street lights dimmed, the inky blackness of the sky became speckled with bright pinpricks of light.

Looking around to make sure he was indeed alone, Cole transformed. Shaking his head, he snuffled the ground before him, before lifting his snout and sniffing the air. Alone. The only scents were those of some small mammals and rodents. He twitched his ears as he listened to the sound of them scurrying away from the intrusion of his unfamiliar and dangerous cat persona.

Taking a giant leap, Cole began to run, feeling his muscles bunch and stretch with each long stride. This was what he'd been missing. The wide open spaces in North America. Europe was too crowded, too populated, with barely any place for a panther to roam. In fact, the only other place he'd found comparable freedom had been in the wilds of Russia. But this...this was home. As pleasure surged through him, the urge to express his happiness came over him and he didn't try to hold it back. As the sound of a panther's scream echoed over the miles, he grinned. Tomorrow he'd return the rental car and make the series of jumps needed to reach the only town he'd ever called home, and the old farmstead he'd bought there.

Reno grunted at the incessant sound that buzzed in his ear. Damn it, couldn't Lycan Link leave him alone for one evening? He rolled over and reached for the night table, fumbling to find his pager. With a sigh, he heaved himself up against the headboard and checked the message. Hell. Several calls had come in to the police, all claiming that a wild animal was screaming outside of town. The police had dispatched a squad car, but Lycan Link wanted Reno to check it out as well since he'd reported a panther shifter was in the area.

A growl erupted from his throat. No doubt Cole was prowling around the town. Didn't the shifter know better than to go sounding off so near to a human settlement?

Throwing back the covers, Reno stormed across the room and began to pull on his clothes. From the bed, he could hear the sounds of Brandi waking and then sitting up.

"Reno? What's going on?" She pushed her hair from her face and blinked at him sleepily.

The sight of her creamy skin and naked breasts had Reno pausing in the middle of zipping his pants. Memories of the passion they'd shared just hours ago, flooded him. He recalled the feel of her hot mouth on him, his body trembling with the need for release. The taste of her on his tongue. Her fingers clutching at his ass, the sound of her keening as he drove into her relentlessly and pushed them both over the edge... For a moment, he almost forgot he was on duty. With a sigh of regret, he continued dressing.

"That panther—Cole—might be causing trouble outside of town."

"Do you need a DC along?" She moved to get up, but he shook his head.

"I'll call you if I need you, but until I know what's going on I don't want you around. Panthers are dangerous at the best of times and if this one is a drifter, or worse yet a rogue, I don't want you near him." He shoved his shirt tail into his waist band and pulled on his boots.

"Be careful. I don't want you coming home whining and complaining and covered in scratches." Brandi's voice was light, but he sensed her concern and paused to press a kiss to her forehead.

"Don't worry. He's just an overgrown house cat."

As he left the room, he could hear her muttering. "Yeah, a house cat with ten inch manicured nails."

Reno parked his car near the edge of town and turned off the motor. As the area plunged into darkness and the hum of the engine faded, he quietly stepped out and concentrated on his surroundings. The air was cool and damp, promising rain before morning. A slight wind ruffled his hair and the chirring of crickets met his ears. There was nothing suspicious in the vicinity.

Taking a quick look to ensure there were no humans about, he shifted and let his wolf come to the fore.

Time to go hunting for a kitty-cat, he told the beast.

_Cat?_ The animal's ears perked and a quiver of excitement passed over its body. Since mating Brandi, the beast had been more manageable, but it still enjoyed a chance to run free and hunting was a favorite activity.

Without another word, the wolf set off, nose to the ground searching for a scent on the gravel strewn road. When one was found, the need to howl was almost impossible to hold back. Senses on high alert, the beast followed the trail down the seldom used track until it veered off across the prairie. The panther was making no effort to hide its presence. A path of broken grass stems gave clear evidence as to the direction it had taken. Most likely, the cat had given no thought to the possibility that it would become the quarry.

The trail led for several miles, circling the town and then heading back towards civilization. Finally, near the far side of town, Reno paused. The panther's scent was stronger than ever now. He narrowed his eyes and scanned the area. There, near an abandoned barn, a large black creature was lounging in the shadows.

Caught you, he thought to himself. Getting to his feet, he crept closer, his belly low to the ground. The wind was in his favor, carrying his scent away from the cat. Still, the creature somehow must have noticed his presence, for it swiftly got to its feet and looked around with an air of suspicion.

Abandoning any attempt at subterfuge, Reno rose and stalked forward, his head low, a warning growl rumbling in his chest. The cat curled its lip and showed a set of impressive fangs.

Mere feet apart, Reno stopped and stared at the creature. Its tail slashed back and forth showing its temper. He raised his hackles and stood his ground. The cat was bigger than him, but he'd trained at the Academy and had more than one trick up his sleeve. Slowly, he began to circle around studying the creature, looking for any sign of weakness.

The panther was sleek and fit—a creature in its prime—with no sign of roguish qualities. Clear green eyes studied him, intelligence apparent. Perhaps this wasn't a case of a rogue causing trouble; perhaps the man was just a careless son of a bitch. Reno weighed his options, looked the creature directly in the eye, and purposefully relaxed his aggressive stance.

After a moment the panther did as well and the tension, that had fairly crackled in the air, dissipated. Of one accord they both shifted to human form.

"We meet again... _Cole_." He purposely emphasized the man's one name moniker.

"Much too soon, don't you agree, Smith?"

Reno nodded. "What are you doing out here?"

"Taking a run. Is there a law against that?"

"No. Not as long as you're discreet about it. The local police had some calls about people hearing wild animal screams."

Cole frowned. "And you know this because...?"

"As a precautionary measure, Lycan Link monitors all police communications. When they heard this one, I was sent to investigate since I'd reported your presence earlier in the day."

"Such an efficient little puppy dog you are. Someone should give you a doggie treat."

"And such a careless pussycat you are. Someone should beat your ass for that stupid stunt. Are you purposely trying to expose the shifter world? Or do you just not give a rat's ass what happens to us?"

Cole flicked his eyes away and then shrugged. "Sorry. I was enjoying a good run and thought I was further from town than I was. I guess I didn't realize the sound would travel such a distance. It won't happen again."

Reno compressed his lips, and then nodded. "Fair enough. But I'm giving you warning, you _will_ behave while you're in my territory or I'll haul you into—"

Before Reno's eyes, Cole suddenly dematerialized.

Reno shook his head and curled his hands into fists. "Damned cat!"

Two days later, Malik once again sat in Captain Fielding's office, trying to ignore the uncomfortable chair he was sitting on. Perhaps he should gift the captain with a new set of chairs; something sleek and comfortable. It could be a gesture of good will between their species. He studied the captain wondering how he'd receive such an offering and opened his mouth to inquire when the office door opened and Reno Smith entered the room.

Malik eyed the file in his hands, all thoughts of chairs—uncomfortable or otherwise—fleeing as he anxiously awaited the news Reno was about to deliver. That the panther—possibly his son—had left the area before his arrival pained him, but at least they had a lead. That was better than they'd had two weeks ago.

"Reno, you said you had news?" Fielding gestured for the Enforcer to sit and he did so with less reluctance than the last time they'd met in the same office.

Placing the file on the desk, Reno nodded. "We've been checking out Farmingdale; that's the town I overheard the cat...er...panther shifter mention while at Clancy's. It's a small town, in upstate New York; even with the surrounding farms the population is only around twelve hundred. No major tourist attractions or big business. Just local shops, farms and some vineyards."

Malik shook his head thoughtfully. "It doesn't sound like the type of place a young man of Cole's age would be drawn to."

"No, but it _is_ where his friend, Michael Cooper, was from." Reno leaned forward. "Brandi's been speculating that perhaps your son might have returned there after the First World War. Cooper had a family; perhaps Steven decided to look them up."

"But that was years ago. Why return now?" Fielding picked up the file and scanned the contents.

Reno shrugged. "Nostalgia? Maybe he left some personal effects behind and wants to check on them? Who knows?"

Malik nodded slowly. "Is there anything else?"

Fielding handed him a piece of paper. "Here's a copy of a newspaper article from the Farmingdale Gazette."

"Attempted robbery at local gas station." Malik read the title and then looked at the other two men. "Are you saying my son might have done this?"

"No. Your son might have actually _saved the day_." Reno's face took on a slightly disgruntled look as he spoke the words, and Malik wondered why. Had the two had a disagreement?

"That's correct." Fielding pulled out another sheet of paper and handed it over. "This is a copy of the police report. The perp was a small time thief and drug addict named Kincaid. It states that Kincaid was high and delusional at the time, claiming that he was attacked by a large black cat that appeared out of nowhere."

"A large black cat you say?" A smile crept across Malik's face. "Then the panther you met is most likely in the area and, given the other bits of information—the similarity between Cole and Colburn, his appearance, his return to his fellow soldier's home town—I'd say there's a good chance you may have managed to track down my son and heir."

Malik rose to his feet, feelings of relief and hope buoying his spirits. He couldn't wait to tell Tam the news. "Gentlemen, thank you for your assistance. I believe the tables are turned and now _I_ am indebted to _you_."

Fielding stood up and extended his hand, inordinately pleased with how the case had turned out. It had kept Reno busy for several days and, more importantly, it had proven that panthers and wolves could work together. It was an excellent precedent, and would look well in his monthly report to the High Council. He cleared his throat and began the speech he'd had his personal assistant prepare for him. It sounded pompous, but appropriate for concluding the case. "It was our pleasure to share our resources and expertise while assisting a fellow shifter. I hope this incident has laid the groundwork for improved relations between—" He didn't get a chance to finish the well-rehearsed spiel. Malik, monarch of all were panthers, direct descendant of the goddess Bastet, had just dematerialized from his office, leaving him with his hand extended towards empty air!

The captain let his arm dropped to his side and looked at Reno. The Enforcer was trying hard not to laugh but failing miserably.

"Go ahead, sir. Say it."

Fielding compressed his lips and then shook his head. "That ... darn ... cat!"

End

* * * * *

Author's Notes

Prelude to Romance

During the Middle Ages in England (and possibly in other countries, but this story takes place in England) it was the custom for a noble family to send their children to the estate of another noble—usually of higher rank—to train and educate. This custom gradually became less popular and went out of fashion with the start of the Civil War in the mid-seventeenth century.

### Milk and Treason

The historical incident dealt with in this story is a matter of record. However, Major John André's sexual persuasion is pure conjecture by historians and has been inferred to in popular culture; all speculation seems to have stemmed from comments made by Peggy Shippen in her letters. I have taken literary license with this for the purpose of the story. Malik's involvement in matters of history adapted for this story is, of course, purely fiction.

George Washington, himself, suggested that Samuel Culper Jr. might visit coffee houses to spy on the British. The Culper spy ring was a pre-cursor to modern espionage organizations, and the real names of the members only became publicly known in the middle of the twentieth century.

The mountains that Stefan and Lizzie visited to run free are real and look quite spectacular.

### A Soldier's Choice

The Duchess of Richmond's ball was a spectacular event. There are many anecdotal accounts of the evening and has been included in many works of fiction. However, as this is a short story, I've tried to convey ambiance rather than all the facts of the festivities.

