To: My husband, the weatherman. My very own Lycant with gentle hands and a warming smile. I love you, Tompe.

The world in which this novel is set is one entirely of my own creations. It does not exist in any real place or in any real world or in any real time. Though the setting may look familiar, seem as though it belongs on Earth, trust me, it doesn’t take place here. It is a parallel place that only vaguely resembles our world. The time period is neither medieval nor futuristic but somewhere in between. There might be similarities to our world’s history but such likenesses are only there as reference points and are not to be taken literally.

As you read, you may come across what you take to be references to modern accoutrements, language and idioms. Likewise you may encounter things you are accustomed to seeing in historical novels or even in comic books. In this fanciful world I have created, this is simply the way its inhabitants speak and act and react. The words they speak are their own and not to be confused with the way the people of our world and of our time speak.

This work is a compilation of dreams and fantasies and wishes of my own fabrication. Their world is as I see it and it is peopled with characters who I labored hard to give birth. These characters live in a mystical place crafted entirely from the darker reaches of my very vivid imagination. They don’t know about your time or the time of your ancestors. To them, it is the here and now. To me, it is a world I long to visit.

So sit back and detach yourself from your here and now and journey to theirs. Suspend what you think you know and leave your mind open to the mystery of ... what-if?

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Prologue

It was not a sound Jamie MacGivern could have expected and it startled him as he laid in wait for the eight-point white tail buck that had been eluding him for the last two days. It was the unmistakable drone of a small aircraft engine and the sputtering, coughing hiccup of the sound told him the craft was in trouble.

Looking up as the noise passed directly overhead to make the old amalgam fillings in his teeth throb, the Highlander narrowed his pale green eyes, a deep crease forming above the bridge of his straight nose. He caught just a flash of silver underbelly through the canopy as the plane sailed past in the sodden gloom of the late morning. A soft rain peppered his face for it had drizzled nearly all night and showed no signs of letting up. He had to blink away the intrusion of the raindrops, resisting the urge to shake the hair plastered to the sides of his face in an effort to remain as still as he could.

His long fingers instinctively flexed around the stock of the crossbow, his middle finger hovering over the trigger. Even as the noise careened away then grew to a deafening volume--that of an engine struggling hard to stay running--he silently returned his gaze to his quarry. The animal stood immobilized though its sensitive ears were twitching, its head held high. A second or two before the noise ceased to be, replaced by a thunderous boom that made him cringe, he watched the buck’s distinctive tail dip and its hindquarters flex, and knew any shot he made would do no more than graze the beast even if he managed to hit it at all.

Reluctantly, he lowered the weapon for his prey made a graceful leap and bounded into the thick concealment of the verdant forest, the rattling of its passing loud in the now silent woods.

“Fuck,” he spat as the ground around him rumbled, the vibrations spreading out from the point of impact. He could feel the faint tremors along his belly, elbows, and thighs as he lay on the wet mat of decaying leaves with the fecund stench teasing his nostrils. Lowering his head to his forearm, he squeezed his eyes tightly closed for a moment, striving not to bellow with aggravation. He lay there hissing angrily then shook his head at the interruption.

Sighing deeply, he got to his feet in the squishy carpet of detritus in which he’d been stretched out. For a moment he hung his head as a muscle ground in his lean jaw, his teeth ground brutally. His grip on the crossbow was so tight the knuckles of his hand had bled of color and his eyes were filled with ferocity. He spat out another expletive then walked to a tall oak and laid his weapon at its base. Furious and frustrated that he’d once again failed to bring down the buck, he turned on his heel and headed for the area where he knew the plane had gone down.

Tramping through the hip-high brush, he batted aside the low branches. The region where he’d been hunting was thickly overgrown and nearly impassable in places. It was high in the rugged Pionós Mountains--an area backpacking tourists avoided since it was well away from the range of high huts. The huts--used to provide shelter and food for hikers and mountaineers--were tended by rotating personnel during the mountain climbing season but the closest hut to where Jamie passed had no croo, as they are called by mountaineers, due to its remoteness. Because of that, he was the closest humanoid to the crash site.

It took nearly an hour for him to reach the scene. The closer he got to the place where the plane had gone down, the smell of burning rubber, spent fuel, and smoldering debris intensified, wafting to him on a quickening breeze. From the volume of the explosion, he did not expect to find survivors so he took his time picking his way. The crash of a small fixed engine plane in this wild section of the mountains was not unheard of, but it was an uncommon occurrence. He had no real desire to see the carnage, the possibility of charred bodies or headless corpses, yet that part of him that still bore some resemblance to humanity urged him on just in case a spark of life remained.

Lightning flared around him as he dug his toes into a steep bank to make his way up the incline. The soft raindrops suddenly became a steady bombardment of icy-cold pellets then a drenching downpour, making it hard to see through the curtain of water. As he crested the incline, the wreckage lay crumpled in front of him like a child’s broken toy, a few slender plumes of smoke rising into the gray light. Swiping a hand over his wet face, he surveyed the damage with no hope of finding life in the ruin of the plane.

But then he saw movement off to one side and his gaze narrowed as he swung his attention in that direction--sweeping the scene carefully until he saw a hand rake at the air, claw at it, heard a low, wet groan that set the hair stirring at the nape of his neck.

Hurrying forward, he saw a man and woman lying together, the male scrambling to push himself up and away from the female beneath him, his hand scraping at a piece of twisted wreckage at their head as he tried to gain leverage.

“Hang on!” Jamie called out as he skirted razor-sharp fragments.

The man twisted his head around to reveal a face streaked with blood. He squinted up at Jamie as though he couldn’t see him. “I can’t get it off,” he said in a deep, guttural plea. “Please, I can’t ....”

Once those words left the man’s mouth, he collapsed atop the woman, his hand sliding down the jagged metal, the base of his palm snagging on one serrated point.

Jamie knew the man was dead even before he hunkered down beside him and put two fingers to the side of the man’s neck. There was no pulse, no movement of his chest as he lay covering the woman with his much larger body. The female was all but hidden beneath his bulk.

As gently as he could, Jamie pushed the dead man over, wincing as the body flopped against the sodden ground. The woman’s face was turned to the side, her features hidden beneath stringy strands of wet dark hair. Reluctantly he reached out to touch her just below the jaw and was surprised to find a faint pulse though her flesh was clammy and cold. He looked down at her chest and saw a steady, slow movement.

A sharp crack of lightning rent the air and the wind howled viciously. He knew if the woman had any chance of survival at all he would need to move her out of the fury of the storm. Stepping over her legs, he slid his hands beneath her shoulder and legs and started to lift her--only to find she was anchored to the dead man at her side.

“What the hell is this?” Jamie grumbled as his gaze fell to where her wrist was shackled to the wrist of the dead man.

Hunkering down beside her, he reached out to tilt her head toward him, carefully dragging the wet hair from her face.

“Holy fucking shite,” he breathed as he took in the beauty of her face.

Though she had a nasty bump on her forehead and a livid bruise forming around it, her features were so delicate, so ethereal he was held spellbound despite the tempest surrounding him. Dark lashes hid the color of her eyes from him but the soft oval structure of her face, the slightly upturned nose, the high cheekbones and smoothness of her complexion drew his hand like a magnet and he traced rough fingers along her jaw, across her full lips, and down her slender neck. He could span her throat easily with his large hand and because he could a strange protectiveness leapt up inside him and he cocked his head to one side, unable to look away from the perfection of her lovely face.

“What did you do, lass?” he asked softly and let his hand wander down the center of her chest. As though they had a mind of their own, his fingers molded around one firm breast and squeezed lightly.

His cock hardened instantly and he jerked his hand back as though he’d been burned at the contact. He trembled, wanting this unknown woman so badly, needing her so desperately he wanted to roar like a beast.

Another brutal shriek of the storm broke the trance into which he’d slipped and spurred him into action. He shot a glance at the dead man’s hand and when he saw no key clutched there, moved over and began going through the pockets of the business suit that was now a soggy mass of material. Still he did not find the key to the handcuffs that linked the two together.

He started pushing aside the leaves and pieces of soaked insulation on the ground around the man until he found the key.

With the cuff dangling from her wrist, Jamie once more moved to the woman’s side and put his arms under her. He hefted her against him and began picking his way carefully back through the wreckage. It was a long way back to his cabin and the light was beginning to fade.

Chapter One

To his way of thinking she weighed next to nothing as he carried her through the forest, her head falling back over his arm so all he could see was the underside of her firm chin, the sweep of her long hair swaying against his leg. He would look down at her from time to time to stare at the steady pulse throbbing in her neck. It was the only way he had to make sure she was still alive, still breathing.

The rain had increased with the wind lashing brutally at him, making each step difficult on the rock-strewn ground. It had plastered her white blouse to her chest and he could clearly see the lacy outline of bra beneath. Each time he glanced down, his body throbbed with need, for it had been a long time since he’d held a woman so close to him.

As he picked his way over the uneven ground, he wondered how long it would take a search party to climb the barren stretch of mountain to locate the wreckage. He knew unless there had been a radio problem the pilot would have sent out a mayday, would have given their location. But given how far up the mountain the plane had crashed, the terrain into which it had plowed it might be days before a rescue team stumbled upon it.

His face filled with grim resolve, he knew once he had the woman safely at his cabin he would have to go back to the crash site and conceal every trace of his passing, make it look as if she had gotten loose and stumbled over a cliff and into the turbulent whitewaters of the Aimrid River far below. He would leave no trail for the rescuers to find her.

“You belong to me, now,” he said, his green eyes hard. “No one will ever find you where I’m taking you.”

Blinding light flashed above him and the strobe effect momentarily disoriented him. He stopped moving to wait for his eyes to readjust to the dim light. When he did, he heard the unmistakable drone of an airplane engine. Despite the violent storm, the searchers had arrived but he doubted the wreckage could be seen from the air in the murky gloom. The vast canopy of the thick forest growth would hide it.

Shifting her weight against him, he continued on, increasing his speed, more determined than ever to make it back as quickly as possible to the crash site to cover up her disappearance.

Half an hour later he was skirting his way around two tall rocky outcroppings and slipped carefully through a fissure that hid a vine-covered entrance into the vast cave system he called home. Sliding between two cascading vines, he entered the cave and bent over to lay the woman gently on the ground. He dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small tin of matches then reached for the lantern he kept hanging on a piton beside the entrance. He lit the lantern before bending down to pull the woman to a half-sitting position. Putting his shoulder to her belly, he lifted her to sling her over his shoulder for that was the only way he could carry her and the lantern at the same time.

Unhooking the lantern, he started down a narrow opening that led deeper into the cave. He held the lantern high to light his way for there were many pitfalls along the way--narrow cracks into which an unsuspecting traveler’s foot could slip. Peppered the length of the pathway as well were breaks in the rock that plummeted straight down and ended only God knew where. He stepped agilely over those openings and made his way ever further into the hushed stillness of the cave.

Down twisting, serpentine ledges and through fissures and past a maze of tunnels he traveled until he came to what at first appeared to be a dead end. But upon setting the lantern on a rocky overhang, a single push at the center of the seemingly solid wall made the entire section pivot inward with a scraping sound that echoed loudly.

He took up the lantern and carried her through the opening, turning to nudge the stone doorway with his knee. The portal closed quickly and only a knowing eye could have discerned where the opening had been.

It was into a thirty foot by thirty foot cabin he took her, the unpainted clapboard walls and ceiling and floor having been built within the small cave he had chosen as his residence. Beside the single door were two windows that flanked it. Along one wall was a wide stone hearth in which a fire cast the only other light in the structure. Beside the hearth was a wood burning cook stove, a tin sink with a hand pump, floor to ceiling cupboards filled with jars of vegetables and fruits and bins of root vegetables, and a single wooden table with two chairs. Behind a plain wooden three-panel screen was a small copper tub, a dry sink over which hung an unframed mirror and which held a pitcher and ewer along with a glass containing his toothbrush, toothpaste and comb, and what could only be a garderobe, an opening in the rocky wall that led down into a cesspit far below. The opening was covered with a hinged plank that resembled a modern toilet seat. The rest of the furniture consisted of a tall, intricately carved armoire, a full-sized bed, nightstand, several shelves filled with books, and a rocking chair that sat before the hearth. An oval rag rug lay before the fireplace. No curtains hung at the window and there were no decorations on the wooden walls save for a large crucifix over the headboard of the bed.

He took her to the hearth and lowered her to the floor. Seeing her lying there with the firelight flickering over her still features, he had the urge to rip her clothing away and have his fill of her but even though his entire body quaked with the need to take her, he knew he could not give in to the demon that had made his cock rock hard in his jeans.

Kneeling beside her, he eased the simple black pumps from her feet and set them aside. Just as he’d imagined, she had pretty feet with clean, short toenails left unpolished. He longed to suckle those sweet little digits but already her body was quivering from the wet and cold despite lying so close to the fire and he feared she might wake at any moment.

Resolutely, he put his hands on the buttons of her white blouse and flicked them open, striving not to stare at the lacy bra for the darkness of her nipples could be seen pressing against the fabric. He eased her up to remove the blouse then set to unbuttoning and unzipping the navy slacks that covered her long legs. He tugged the slacks down her hips, gently working them down. The sight of the thin wisp of lacy panties set his blood to pounding fiercely in his ears and he could not resist sliding his hands between her legs.

He closed his eyes as the heat of her sex filled his palm. He ran his thumb back and forth slowly over the wiry strands of dark hair covered by the lace, aching to bury his face against the softness, to taste her.

She groaned and he snatched his hand away, his eyes flaring open, his breath held as he expected her to come to. But she did not move. Her eyes remained closed. She lay there defenseless before him and once more that strange sensation of protectiveness sprang up in his heart and he swallowed hard.

Breathing harshly, he snagged a towel from the arm of the rocker where he’d hung it to dry earlier that day and began drying her hair. When it was as dry as he could get it, he pulled it into two sections to either side of her face and loosely braided it. There would be time to brush it neatly when he returned from the crash site.

For a long while he just knelt there watching the soft rise of her breasts as she breathed. His eyes wandered over the silky smoothness of her arms--though there was a scar under one that puzzled him--the short fingernails that had just a hint of color to them, the flatness of her belly and shapeliness of her hips, the taper of her legs. He longed to run his hands over every inch of her but--just like with her hair--there would be time for all that.

She groaned again and he tensed as her head fell to one side. He could feel his heart racing again in the anticipation of her opening her eyes and seeing him but that did not happen.

Then he saw it--a dark stain on the rug beneath her head and when he reached down to touch it, his fingers came away stained with a crimson blotch that he knew was blood.

As carefully as possible, he eased her over and it was then he saw the ragged gash on her scalp, right at the back of her head. The rug beneath her head was soaked with blood and he cursed himself that he had not rubbed that portion of her head while drying her hair else he would have discovered the wound then.

“Ah, lass,” he said on a long sigh. Manipulating the injury with his fingers, he knew the cut was deep enough that it needed to be sutured.

He got up to fetch the first aid kit he kept over the kitchen sink and to light the wood stove to heat water. While the water came to a boil, he gathered what he needed to stitch the wound then eased her onto her left side.

Once the head injury had been closed, he knelt beside her once more. His eyes were hungry, his hands sweating and he ran a tongue over his upper lip as though he were a starving man before whom a banquet had been laid. It took him a moment longer before he could work up the courage to remove her bra and panties and when he did, he felt flames licking at the very core of him. His shaft became so stiff it was acutely painful. He put a hand to the erection and knew he’d have to relieve himself before he could make the trek back to the wreckage.

His gaze kept roaming to the fleecy softness at the apex of her thighs. He could smell the womanly scent of her wafting up to him and it only seemed to intensify the discomfort between his own legs. He wanted to stroke that lush triangle, dip his fingers into the soft folds, feel her wetness on them, separate that sweet flesh, taste her ....

“Stop it, MacGivern!” he snarled.

With some effort, he got up and stalked to his bed, flung the covers aside then--grinding his teeth together to push aside the need riding him so brutally--he went back to scoop her up and carry her to the bed. He laid her down then covered her, blocking out the image of a body so delectable it made his mouth water.

Standing there beside her with his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, he strove to get his unrelenting lust under control. His cock throbbed and he put a hand to it, rubbed, adjusted, whimpered low in his throat. By God he was so desperate to possess her, to sink his flesh into hers he didn’t think he could wait until he returned from the crash site. He reached for her--saw his hand trembling--and backed away. She was too beautiful, too perfect to rush and he knew from past experience the wait would be well worth it.

He would make sure of it.

She groaned again and her head thrashed on the pillow. He feared she would wake before he was ready for her to.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. He couldn’t allow her to wake just yet.

He went to the kitchen area and reached for a small box hidden among the spices and extracts on the shelf. Opening the box, he took out a vac-syringe, sealed needle and a small vial of purple liquid. Breaking open the seal on the needle, he attached it to the vac-syringe then poked the needle through the vial’s rubber top, drawing up a precise amount of the fluid. He tapped on the syringe to get rid of any bubbles then released a small amount of the fluid before taking the loaded vac-syringe to the bed. With great care, he injected the thick med into a vein in her neck, flinching a little when she moaned at the invasion of the burning drug. But what he had done was crucially important. It was to assure she would remain asleep while he was gone.

The last thing he did before leaving her was to slip the open cuff of the shackle to the headboard and lock it, taking no chances that she could leave the bed.

With one final look at her, he went to the hidden door and pushed against it in a place only he knew to touch and when the portal swung open, left quickly before he could give in to the temptation to take her as his body demanded he do.

All the way back through the twisting, winding tunnels and narrow crevices to the entrance of the cave, his shaft rubbed savagely against his jeans. He was sweating, breathing hard and when he’d gained the entrance and stood there staring out into rain that continued to fall heavily, he unzipped his fly—leaving the clasp closed—and pulled out his cock. He leaned with his back against the wall, his legs spread and the moment his fingers closed around the thick erection just beneath the swollen head, he closed his eyes, his lower lip tucked between his teeth. Grabbing the inseam of his jeans, he tugged the fabric taut so the opening brought pressure upon the base and balls of his cock. His hand tightened around the shaft as he began the up and down motion to relieve the painful ache in his joint.

He thought of her firm breasts, her taut thighs, and the flat belly with its dark, damp triangle that called out to him. He longed to suck her nipples into his mouth and draw upon them, nibble them, suckle as he stroked her nether region deeply.

“Aye,” he whispered as he increased the speed of his movement.

Envisioning her open to him—hips raised as he lapped at her dewy center—he could almost smell the womanly scent of her surrounding him. His chest heaved. His breaths became shallow, loud. In his mind he was fingering her clit until it was a tight little bud ripe for bursting, ready to ooze its honeyed juice upon his waiting tongue.

It had been a long time for him and while he strained to catch just the right rhythm, just the right pressure around his cock, he thought of her lovely face and the full lips he wanted to devour with kisses, the sweet mouth he wanted to invade with soft thrusts of his tongue deep inside. He imagined her opening her eyes to look at him as he hovered over her and he saw those lips smile with invitation, watched her tongue come out to lap at a perfect upper lip.

“Aye,” he said louder and his hand moved frantically on his flesh until his cock was primed for release. He felt it building in his sac and soaring upward, burning all the way down his length. He arched the shaft away from him just a second before it erupted in a thick, hot stream. He watched it spurting as he stood there tense against the wall until the last squirt left him and he sagged, his head falling to his chest, panting with each breath, hearing the blood pounding in his ears, feeling the climax all the way to his booted feet.

It was rare for him to relieve himself as he’d just done and each time he gave in to the enticement, he experienced a deep shame flooding him afterwards. This time was no different and he felt his cheeks grow hot, felt the dishonor deep in his soul. He knew better. He’d been trained better. What he’d done was morally wrong. It was a sin to spend his seed upon the ground.

But he knew himself better than those who had instructed him did and he knew had he taken her as he’d desired to, he might possibly have hurt her--such was the depth of the need that prodded him. And there was the time constraint. A woman like the one lying in his bed deserved more than a quick rut.

His breathing once more calm, he stuffed himself back in his jeans and pushed away from the wall. The smell of his spent semen made him wrinkle his nose with disgust and he kicked sand over the tell-tale globs at his feet.

Despite the downpour, he had a job to do and he set out into the gloom to see it done. His shoulders hunched against the pelting rain, he made a mental note to retrieve his crossbow on the way. It would not do for a search party to find such an expensive weapon and wonder how it came to be high in the Pionós Mountains where there should be no human life.

Not that he was entirely human, he thought as he thrust his hands into the pockets of his sodden jeans.

The trek back to the wreckage took him longer than he expected for the rain had caused mud slides around which he had to work his way. Cold wind buffeted him yet all he wore was a shirt and jeans--both of which had been soaking wet for hours. Mentally berating himself for not having the foresight to at least grab a jacket, he doggedly climbed the trail to the crash site with the droning sound of the search plane circling overhead.

Looking up at the sweeping branches of the trees above him he knew there was no way his progress could be seen from the low-hanging clouds that no doubt obscured much of the searchers’ line of sight. Nevertheless, he increased his speed, determined to get back to his cabin as quickly as he could.

Digging his muddy boots into the incline beyond which the debris was hidden he stood beneath a tall pine with his hand on the rough bark, catching his breath. He was in the best shape of his life but his energy was beginning to flag. Bending over to rest his aching back, he stared at the scattered plane parts littering the site. With the eye of a professional he scanned the area, making note what needed to be addressed, what needed to be handled.

Once more the search plane flew overhead. With it came the whop-whop-whop of an incoming helicopter and he knew he had to hurry.

Rearranging the scene to make it look as though the woman had scrambled free and slid down in the mud several times before heading to the ledge took only a couple of minutes. He made it appear that she was dragging a leg behind her, careful not to make the passing through the mud and leaves too deep for an injured woman to have made. At the cliff, he had to be more cautious of the circling helo—lying on his belly to scrape away the bushes and rocks at the edge so it would look as though she’d skidded over the drop, clawing at the bank for purchase before tumbling into the killing waters below.

Scooting back across the decomposing leaves and pine needles, he covered his own passing and took one last look around the plane, searching for anything that might belong to her. He dared not go inside for by then he was covered in mud and he didn’t want the investigators to surmise anyone other than the three in the plane had been there.

At last satisfied he’d done all he could, he headed back to the blind where he’d left his crossbow.

By the time Jamie entered his cabin, his back was on fire with pain. He had spent the last fifteen minutes constantly rubbing his left side but the ache was deep and it hurt so badly tears were beginning to blur his vision. He had deposited the crossbow with his other weapons in a concealed niche in the tunnel leading to the hidden portal and it had been all he could do to drag himself the last five yards.

He was shivering from the cold and knew he’d need to take a hot bath as quickly as possible if he wanted to stay healthy so the first thing he did upon entering the cabin--the first thing after a quick glance to make sure the woman was still asleep and breathing--was to light the fire under two large kettles of water and to fill two more.

While the water heated, he stripped off his sodden clothes and tossed them into the fire. The garments were so filthy he had no desire to try to get the red mud from them. Padding over to the bed, he unlocked the handcuff from the headboard as well as from the woman’s wrist and slipped them into the drawer of the nightstand. He stood watching her sleep then sighed deeply. As much as he wanted her, at that moment in time he doubted the pain would allow him an erection.

Wrapping up in a blanket, he sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire, the pain in his back a blazing prod radiating agony with every breath he took. Hanging his head, he willed the pain to pass but he knew it would be a long time before it began to subside.

It was all he could do to push himself up when the first kettle began to whistle. The loud, piercing sound had snapped him awake and he was annoyed that he’d allowed himself to sleep. Grunting with the effort he got to his feet, dropping the blanket to the floor and began filling the copper tub with the boiling water. By the time the water was comfortable enough for him to climb in, he was shuddering with pain, the weight of the kettles having sent wave after wave of sheer torment through his aching back.

Settling down into the water, he stretched his arms along the rolled edge of the tub and laid his head on the high back. He had moved aside the screen so he could see the woman on his bed and he stared intently at her. Her beautiful face was turned toward him, the dark sweep of her long eyelashes fanning the softness of her smooth cheek. Her lips were slightly parted and behind those full, pale pink marvels he glimpsed the whiteness of her front teeth. To him, she was perfection. He wondered what those luscious lips would feel like wrapped around him.

He lowered one hand to the thick fullness that—despite the ungodly pain throbbing through him—had begun to manifest itself from his prurient thought. He massaged himself for awhile then with clenched teeth reached for the washcloth and the soap on the shelf beside the tub. Striving to get his mind off the woman, he scrubbed briskly—almost brutally—at his flesh until he felt clean, then slid down in the tub to wet his hair. Surfacing, he lathered the soap and washed his shoulder-length hair. When he was finished, once more he laid his head on the back of the tub and automatically his gaze went to the sleeping woman.

He had known many women in his thirty-nine years but not one had ever held his attention for long. He was drawn to dark haired beauties much shorter than his six-foot, two-inch height and he liked them slender with lush bosoms and tiny waists, flaring hips and long, silky legs that could wrap around his waist as he took them. He preferred virgins but an experienced woman—one who knew the intricacies of pleasing a man—was a welcome respite from untried flesh.

He wondered into which category the woman in his bed fit. There was but one way to find out and with that thought making him hard, he pushed up from the water.

Eyes steady on her, he reached for a towel and dried off, ignoring the steely erection that stretched toward the bed. His hair was dripping down his back and he toweled it briskly then wrapped the material around his waist. With the curly tendrils framing his face, he walked to the bed and with infinite slowness, peeled the covers to the foot of the bed.

It was her nipples that fascinated him the most and he sat down beside her, putting the tips of his fingers just above the areola, drawing in a deep breath as the tip of her breast grazed the crease of the first knuckle on his middle finger. The warmth of her radiated down his finger to make his palm itch and he splayed his hand so he could rest it upon the softly yielding mound of her left breast. Very gently—reverently—he squeezed, testing the pliancy of her flesh, the firmness, allowing her nipple to press intimately into his palm.

He cupped her other breast in the same way and closed his eyes as his heart rate sped up and the ache in his groin intensified. Swallowing, he closed his eyes to better experience the silkiness of her breast, the way it filled his hand, the beat of her heart at the base of his palm. He flexed his fingers around her, drawing upward little by little, closing his fingers together until his fingertips closed over the dusky bud. He rotated her flesh tenderly, plucked at it with his short nails until it was a stiff little pebble. Having attained his goal, he lowered his head and drew that sweet morsel between his lips, flicking it with his tongue, laving it, nibbling in before taking it deeply into his mouth to suckle, holding it firmly for his devouring.

She moaned in her sleep but he did not relent from his enjoyment of her flesh. His left hand--elbow pressing firmly into her belly--continued to knead her right breast as he drew upon her nipple with his hot mouth. His tongue made lightning stabs at the firm peak and his teeth closed around the nipple now and again to apply just enough pressure to make her moan again. This time, she writhed beneath him, her hips instinctively lifting.

Without removing his mouth from her breast, he slid his other hand down her side and belly and onto the curly triangle that felt so satiny to the touch. He smoothed his hand back and forth across her lower belly so those soft curls could abrade his palm, his fingers threading through the spiky hairs to lightly pluck at them.

His suckling brought another low moan from her and when he looked up through his lashes, he saw her sweep her tongue over her lips. That sight hardened him even more and he turned his hand so he could slip one finger into her moist channel.

Slick heat greeted his exploring finger and he drove it deep, added another, finding no obstructing membrane to prevent him from inserting still another until he was stretching her slightly, easing in and out of her with slow, gentle strokes that echoed the motion of his lips. The scent of her arousal drifted up to him and his cock stirred. He released his hold on her breast and pulled the towel open so he could grip himself firmly.

With his mouth on her breast, three fingers inside her sheath and his other hand tugging at his erection, he brought himself almost to the point of release but when that moment came, he was up and over her, pushing into her cunt in one long thrust, his knees between her spread legs as he braced.

Rocking his body rhythmically upon hers, he buried his face against the side of her neck and licked at her skin, reveling in the saltiness. He slid his hands beneath her hips and lifted her up for deeper penetration, wishing he could watch her expression as he took her.

Another long moan came from her but then her body began to ripple around his and he stilled--feeling her orgasm milking him--and he pushed up to look down at her. She shivered then laid still, one long breath escaping her parted lips.

“Aye, lass,” he whispered. “Take all I have to give.”

A few more thrusts and he came hard, his entire body shuddering with the force of the enjoyment that rocketed through him. Breathing heavily, he eased off her and lay at her side, his hand protectively, possessively on the slight concavity of her belly. He watched her until he realized she was sweating.

He frowned, worrying she was developing an infection. He needed to see to her health as he had his own and swung his legs from the bed, wincing at the pain that engulfed his back with the abrupt movement. He had to sit on the edge of the bed until the worst of the agony passed. Finally, he was able to get up to warm more water.

Chapter Two

The hands were so gentle on her flesh, so tender, the touch brought a sigh to her lips. Though her eyes were open only a crack, through an undulating haze she could see a shadow moving over her as a warm cloth was swept across her brow. The scent of soap filled her nostrils when the cloth passed down her cheeks and softly along her lips. Warmth flowed down her neck and across her shoulders. Her arm was lifted and the soft material dragged lightly down her flesh, dipped briefly in her armpit. She felt the shadow lean over her to take up her other arm to bathe it, as well. When the cool wash of air flowed over her body, her eyelids fluttered open but all she could see was the foggy silhouette of an arm and a broad shoulder as the warm, wet cloth passed over her chest, momentarily around and under each breast before gliding down over her belly and onto each hip in turn.

She could feel her blood racing as the cloth dipped lower still and she held her breath, waiting for it to be thrust between her thighs but the soothing warmth did not journey there. Instead, it flowed tenderly down first one thigh then the other and onto the calf and shin of her left leg before ending up on the instep of that gently lifted foot.

“You need wake up, lass,” she heard a deep voice say and the cadence of a thick brogue brought her eyes all the way open. The covers were tucked around her, each arm pulled from beneath the spread to be laid gently atop.

She strained to see who had spoken but in her hazy, foggy condition she could make out nothing more than the wide sweep of his shoulders and the dark brown hair that was tied back in a ponytail as she saw him move away from the bed. She tried to speak, to call out to him, but her throat felt raw, parched and all she could manage was a small bleat of sound.

But it was enough to bring him back to the bed and as he leaned over her, sliding a hand beneath her neck to lift her head, she felt the cool rim of a glass brought to her lips.

She drank deeply--wanting, needing more than a few sips but before she could drink her fill, he moved the glass away and gently lowered her head to the pillow.

She licked her lips and tried to follow his progress across the room but her vision was blurred, wavering in the low light. The smell of burning wood, the rich aroma of a salty broth simmering attracted her senses to make her stomach growl with hunger. She plucked at the sheet beneath her hands, struggling to keep her eyes open, hoping he would come back to the bed and lean over her once more so she could get a glimpse of his face.

The creaking of a chair drew her attention back the other way and in the steady glow of a fire leaping in a wide stone hearth, she saw him sitting there, his head pressed against the tall back of a rocker, his face in profile to the flames. There was something so tired, so sad about the way he slumped in the chair with his long legs thrust out in front of him. Though she could not see all that clearly, she had an impression that in his left hand was a large mug. Idly she wondered if it were coffee or tea or the delicious smelling broth he drank.

Once more she licked her lips and tried to speak but it felt as though all her energy had been drained away, her ability to move more than just her hands sapped from her. She was bone-tired and her head throbbed miserably, her entire body one massive ache. Sighing, she closed her eyes for the effort to keep them open took too much of what little vigor she had left.

She must have slept for when she opened her eyes again, her guardian angel was easing the wet cloth over her face once more and the wetness of it felt so good she moaned. As he bathed her--his hands running firmly over her body--the gentleness of his touch was so comforting she never wanted it to end. She longed to have him drag the cloth between her legs but he avoided that area, coming close to it but never delving into the ache that dwelt there.

All through what must have been a long, tiring night, he would leave the chair and hover over her, bathing the sweat from her body, giving her small sips of water to drink, running his hand over her brow to push aside her damp hair. Each time he came to her, his touch was never hurried, never hurtful, and always soothing.

Each time he returned to the chair, she felt the loss of his presence keenly and groaned inwardly. She longed to have him lie down beside her and draw her into his arms, hold her against him, chase away the teeth-chattering chills that struck now and again. But when those times came, he would get up and pile more covers on her, speak softly to her until she returned to a restless slumber. When she woke, she would lay there watching him trying to get comfortable in the chair, see him shift his tall length, and wish she had the strength to speak to him, to bid him come to bed with her.

Some time later, she woke to find the covers weighing her down, the heat around her too high so she tossed the covers aside, reveling in the cool wash of air flowing over her body.

“No,” she heard him say and he was leaning over her, tucking the covers snugly around her again.

“Hot,” she complained, looking up at the underside of his unshaven jaw.

“No,” he pronounced.

“Hot,” she repeated and tried to push the covers off away but he would not allow it.

“Behave,” he said firmly then put a hand beneath her neck to bring her head up. “Drink.”

The water was so cooling and delightful as it trickled down her throat. She gulped greedily--expecting him to pull the glass from her lips before she’d had her fill but he didn’t. He held her head cupped in his strong hand until she had taken all she could.

“Enough?” he questioned.

She managed to nod.

Sliding his hand from her neck, he straightened and turned from the bed, reaching behind him to knead a muscle at his side. Her gaze softened for she knew he must be stiff from passing the night in the constricting confines of the rocker.

When he turned back around, she got her first clear look at his face and she drew in a quick breath. He barely glanced at her before he moved out of her line of vision but that one brief look was enough to make her pulse race.

Striving to push herself up in the bed to get another look at him, she felt the weakness turning her arms to mush. Pain gouged at her head and she sucked in a soft breath, stilling as the ache shot all the way down her neck. It was all she could do to lift her head to see where he’d gone. When she saw him standing across the room at an old-fashioned stove, stirring something in a heavy cast iron skillet, she blinked, her forehead crinkling with confusion. The smell of eggs cooking wafted to her.

“I’m hungry,” she heard herself say.

He made no reply to her statement as he lifted the skillet and turned its contents into a plate. She watched him cross the room toward her with the plate in one hand and a fork in the other. Her head fell back to keep him in sight as he towered over her for a moment before sitting down on the edge of the bed. She swept her gaze over his face as he scooped eggs onto the fork.

Handsome really could not describe the sheer male beauty of his face, she thought as he thrust the fork slowly to her lips. His looks mesmerized her, fascinated her. They were so rugged, so masculine, yet so beautiful to look upon she found she could not tear her gaze from him. It was like looking at a stunning sunset or a beautifully painted portrait come to life.

“Eat,” he ordered.

She opened her lips to take in the lightly scrambled eggs, chewing thoughtfully as she let her eyes continue roaming over his features.

His dark brown hair was pulled back sharply from his face and secured carelessly in a ponytail. At his temples there were lighter patches of gray. His light green eyes were framed with long, thick lashes beneath perfectly arched brows and his nose was straight and well-defined, very masculine in shape and length. He had full lips that had a distinctive bow to the upper, a clean jaw line though it was shadowed with at least a two-day growth of beard. Broad shoulders sloped into thickly muscles arms the biceps of which rippled as he fed her. She could feel the hardness of his thigh against her own as he sat there and through the opened V of his shirt, she saw a crisp mat of hair.

“Know what happened?” he asked her as he scraped the egg around in the plate, then scooped another bite up for her.

She thought about it for a second, curiously unconcerned, and shook her head. Lifting the cover, she peered down at herself--embarrassed a bit that she was naked beneath the sheets.

“Remember anything?”

“No,” she said, lowering the sheet. She obediently opened her mouth to him as he pushed another spoonful of egg toward her, her eyes never leaving his remarkable face. She drank him in, absorbed him, knowing she would venture to the well many times over to experience the pleasure just looking at him gave her.

“Do you know who you are?” He appeared to be a man of few words and those he spoke seemed to be pulled reluctantly from him as though he were unaccustomed to speaking aloud. His gaze was as steady on her face as hers was on his.

She half-laughed at the question and started to answer but then realized with a start that she did not. The knowledge hit her like an ax between the eyes and she just stared at him--her eyes wide, lips parted, hands clutching the sheet to either side of her hips--as she tried to dredge up a reply, but nothing came. It was as though a black, swirling mist obscured the response and would not allow it to surface. Her mouth worked but no sound came out.

She watched him get up and move away, taking the now empty plate with him. “Why can’t I remember?” she croaked, struggling to push up in the bed.

“Concussion,” he said as he placed the plate into a basin. He took up a potholder and reached for an iron kettle on the stove then poured hot water into the basin.

She put a hand to her head and felt around until she found a spot that was very sore. She winced as she felt what must be stitches running along her scalp.

“I sutured it,” he said.

Her head ached even worse as she sat there trying to dredge up what had happened from the murky well of her memory, but it refused to come. Everything was a complete blank and when she tried to remember her own name, she couldn’t. Tears swam across her eyes.

“I don’t know who I am,” she said, her lips trembling.

He looked around at her soft cry and removed his hands from the dishwater, took up a towel to dry them as he came back to the bed. He flung the towel over his left shoulder then sat on the edge once more.

“Mairi,” he stated—pronouncing the name as mah ree—then reached out to run his fingers down her cheek. “Your name is Mairi.”

His hand was warm and she turned her face into the cup of his palm, feeling the roughness of calluses against her flesh.

“And who are you?” she whispered, staring into his gentle eyes.

There was a moment’s hesitation then he lifted his chin. “Jamie,” he answered. “Jamie MacGivern.” The right side of his mouth hitched upward more with a spasm than a smile. “Your husband.”

There was a quickening in the lower part of her body as her womb clenched at his words. “M … my husband?” she questioned, hearing the blood pounding in her ears.

“Aye,” he said then got up from the bed to go back to the basin.

Something elemental twisted inside her and she smiled. This handsome, sensual man with the sexy green eyes was her husband? It went a long way in explaining what she was doing naked in his bed, allowing him liberties like bathing her without protest.

“How did I hurt my head?” she asked.

“Fell,” he told her and he took up the cast iron skillet and wiped it clean with a rag.

“Oh,” she said, trying to remember.

“You were out three days,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “Three days?”

“Fever,” he said as though that would explain everything and with the way she felt, she accepted it at face value.

Jamie was watching her from the corner of his eye. He had kept her drugged for three days while the searchers combed the mountainous terrain searching for her. He knew when they had passed within fifty feet of the outcroppings that hid the cave and he knew they were still about, hoping to find her even though he’d methodically pointed all clues to her whereabouts toward the jagged cliff overlooking the river.

In those three days he had bathed her and cared for her, drizzled the potent narcotic down her throat, and slept with her naked body pressed firmly to his. Time and time again he had taken her—as he would again this night—but this time, she would be aware, would experience the heady delight he intended for her to enjoy.

“My head hurts,” she told him.

He nodded and reached for the bottle of aspirin he kept on the shelf. There would be no more of the narcotic to dull her senses unless she proved to spurn his advances and should that happen, mixing that same narcotic with a bit of goat’s milk would insure her ready participation.

She took the two aspirin he shook into her hand from the plastic bottle and accepted the glass of water he held for her. Smiling her thanks, she took the analgesic and most of the water.

“Lay down, lass,” he told her, taking the glass from her.

She slid down in the bed though she never took her gaze from his face. As their eyes met, she felt her womb twist for he was looking at her as though he wanted to devour her. And she was shocked to find she wanted him to gobble her up.

“Jamie?” she questioned--caught and held by his lustful look.

Jamie put the glass on the nightstand and sat down on the bed. He leaned over and took her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue deep between her parted lips and when her hand curled around his neck, he deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth forcefully over hers. Her tongue met his and he groaned, his hand going to her breast to knead it firmly, his thumb rubbing briskly over the nipple.

She arched toward him, ignoring the pain between her temples. Nothing mattered but feeling his firm body covering hers. She wanted him naked atop her. His weight was delicious as he pressed her into the mattress, his mouth sweet and warm, the stroking of his hand at her breast sending waves of sheer pleasure rippling through her. When he pulled away from her, she whimpered and reached out to him.

“Wait, lass,” he told her and he sprang up from the bed, practically ripping the shirt from his body. Buttons flew as he jerked the garment over his head.

Moistening her dry lips she stared at a perfectly honed chest with sharply delineated muscles that undulated from rock-hard looking pecs to a flat belly that tensed as he tore at the fastening of his jeans. A wide mat of curly brown hair covered his upper chest and ran in a tight little tiger line from his deep-set navel into the darker pelt of hair between his legs.

And that was where her attention stayed for it was an enormous, jutting brute of a cock that leapt out of his jeans the moment the zipper went down. Dark ridges of veins curled around that glorious tool and the head was so broad, so shiny with juices she trembled just contemplating the way it would stretch her cunt.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed as his thigh muscles contracted when he kicked away the jeans and came at her, his eyes intent, his cock as straight as an arrow. She trembled again as he flung the cover aside and it went sailing across the room, tearing her attention from his shaft to the stark hunger in his eyes. Her lips parted, her eyes widened, and she felt her heart begin to race.

He put his right knee to the mattress and swung the other leg up to wedge it between her, gently lowering himself atop her instead of falling on her as he wanted to do. He shifted his weight so the majority of it was on the left side of her body as he swooped down to claim her mouth once more.

His kiss curled her toes and made her world spiral out of control. She wrapped her arms around his neck, the fingers of one hand raking through the dark hair of his ponytail. She ground his mouth against hers and arched her lower body up to meet his, wanting him desperately, needing the piercing of his tool within her.

Jaimie's back sent violent stabs of pain all the way down his hip, but he chose to disregard it. He wanted this woman so badly he would have walked over burning coals to have her stretched out beneath him. His cock was stabbing against her thigh, the head oozing, and he reached down to guide it into her velvet warmth. The moment the tip touched the spiky curls between her legs he growled and thrust deep into her, growling again when her left leg came up to arch over his hip.

She felt his lips slide from hers and down her cheek, coming to rest in the hollow of her shoulder. Her arms were tight around him, her leg capturing the lower part of his body as he rocked against her, driving into her so forcefully he grunted and the top of her head struck the headboard. His fingers were under her—digging firmly into her rump to lift her for his strokes—and she wound his ponytail around her hand and held on.

“Mairi,” she heard him say over and over again and he drove into her.

“Jamie,” she whispered in his ear and felt his shiver as his penetration stretched her, his thick cock filling her completely.

Their climaxes started at the same moment—his, a wild pistoning of his flesh against hers and hers, a rippling wave of tight little flexes that drove him wilder still. He hissed as he ejaculated and let his head fall back to howl with the release of the pleasure that claimed him. He barely felt her fingernails raking his shoulders, jerking at his hair. It didn’t matter. Pain was pleasure to him. Pleasure was pain.

When he was spent he sagged against her, his hot breath fanning across her sweaty throat for his cheek was on her shoulder, his lips at the base of her neck. She kept him imprisoned in her firm hold and yet he did not mind the restriction for once. If anything, he rejoiced in that tight embrace. He closed his eyes to the delight that had invaded his very soul.

“My husband,” she said with wonder and reached up to smooth the damp hair from his forehead.

He opened his eyes and for just a moment the enormity of his lie flowed through him but he pushed it aside. “Aye,” he said.

“My love,” he heard her whisper.

Those words made the lie bearable for no one had ever loved him. No one had ever dared to love him. He knew he would do anything for this woman, suffer any torment to have her at his side for the rest of his unnatural life.

Chapter Three

“Well, there’s a man who lives up in the mountains who knows the terrain better than anybody else but I don’t know that he’d help you,” Sheriff Olson Spence told the man sitting across from him.

“Why wouldn’t he?” Federal Agent Cody Wendt inquired.

“Don’t like folks bothering him for one thing,” Spence replied as he leaned back in his chair. “And though there's been those who’ve gone up there looking for him, ain’t a one of them ever found his cabin. He don’t take to strangers and if he don’t want to be found, he won’t be found.”

“You say he’s a good tracker, though?” Wendt’s partner, Jake Hobart, pressed.

“The best there is around these parts,” Spence told him.

Wendt frowned. “Is there any way for you to get in touch with this guy? Does he have a cell phone? Can you call him?”

Spence and his deputy, Nick Tolliver, exchanged an amused look. Spence shook his head. “Mister, he don’t even have electricity or running water up there on Aonair Ridge. As for a cell phone ….” He chuckled. “The closest tower is over to Rayford and even if MacGivern had one in his damned backyard, he wouldn’t answer it.”

“Not damned likely,” Tolliver agreed.

“Then how do I get to him?”

“Well, whenever he’s got money coming to him for a sale, old lady Beaufort runs a green flag up the pole at her place and he’ll eventually come down when he sees it.”

“Money from selling what?” Hobart questioned.

The sheriff pointed at a carved eagle in flight that was perched on a stand across the room. “He did that.”

Wendt and Hobart turned to look at the carving. It was an intricate, exquisite rendering that--had it not been fashioned from polished wood--would have seemed all too real.

“Beautiful work,” Hobart proclaimed.

“If this Beaufort woman hoists the flag, how long will it take the tracker to come down?” Wendt demanded.

Spence hooked a finger down his nose. “That might take days, even weeks.”

“Agent Groves doesn’t have weeks,” Wendt snapped.

“From everything I was told, it looked like your law woman went over the ledge and into the river,” Spence said. “What makes you think she didn’t?”

“I’d know if Allison was dead,” Wendt said, a muscle flexing in his jaw.

“Cody,” Tolliver said softly with a slight shake of his head.

Spence nodded. “Unh huh,” he said, casting his deputy a knowing look.

“Listen, just have the Beaufort woman signal him,” Wendt said. “I know she’s out there and if he can help us find her ….”

“I ain’t saying he will,” the sheriff stated.

“I’ll make the son of a bitch help us,” Wendt snarled.

“Easier said than done,” the deputy said with a snort. “You don’t know him like we do.”

“If she somehow made it to his place, would he take care of her?” Hobart asked.

“He’d damned well better have!” Wendt proclaimed. “If he’s hurt her or ….”

“Cody!” Wendt’s partner cautioned in a firm voice.

Wendt’s hands were clenched into fists and he turned away, his face dark with anger.

“If she could be moved Mac would have brought her down if he found her,” Sheriff Spence said. “If she couldn’t be moved, he’d have come down to get help. Considering it’s been four days now since you found the wreckage and we ain’t heard from him, that tells me he ain’t seen hide nor hair of her.”

“You think he knows about the crash?” Hobart inquired.

“Mister, don’t nothing happen on this side of mountain that he ain’t aware of,” Spence answered. “Now across Aonair Ridge, that’s another matter. I ain’t never known him to go trekking over that way.”

“That ain’t to say he hasn’t,” Deputy Tolliver commented. “And he’ll be the best one to take you there since he can read tracks and signs like the rest of his kind.”

“His kind?” Wendt asked, pouncing on the statement.

“Mac is a Lycant,” Spence said softly, lips twitching as he waited for the reaction to his revelation.

“Oh, hell,” Hobart grumbled.

“And you people tolerate him living near you?” Wendt demanded.

“He don’t bother us and we leave him the hell alone,” the sheriff said.

“Is he a full-blood?” Hobart queried, glancing at Wendt.

“He is,” Spence said then leaned forward in his chair. “You still want us to run up that flag?”

Wendt narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. I’ve got a box of silver bullets in the trunk of my car with the bastard’s name on them if he tries something with us!”

The sheriff and his deputy laughed and shook their heads then Spence ordered Tolliver to have Mrs. Beaufort hoist the signal.

“You find what I said funny?” Wendt sneered after the deputy left the room.

Sheriff Spence got to his feet and hitched up his gun belt. He reached for his hat before he spoke. “Let me give you a bit of advice, Agent Wendt,” he said, staring the other man in the eye. “You may have had contact with others of his kind, but I would venture to say you’ve never encountered a full-blooded Lycant warrior and that is precisely what Mac is. You go popping him with one of your magic bullets and all you’re gonna do is piss him off and believe me when I tell you that you really don’t want to do that.”

“I’m not afraid of a damned Lycant,” Wendt stated.

The sheriff’s smile was nasty. “You ain’t met Jamie MacGivern.”

Wendt snorted. “Let’s go, Jake.”

Once out of the sheriff’s hearing, Wendt ordered his partner to find out everything he could about James MacGivern.

“See if he was ever brought in for conditioning,” Wendt stressed.

Hobart released a long breath. “We’d better hope he was.”

* * * *

“He’s gonna be madder than a cornered wolverine if he comes down here and there ain’t no money waiting for him,” Elspeth Beaufort complained to Tolliver. “You best go tell Ollie to have his wrinkled ass handy to explain to Mac why I put that flag up.”

“The sheriff will handle it, Elspeth,” Tolliver assured her.

“I’m just saying,” Elspeth told him with a sniff. “He’s gonna be ticked.”

“Mac ain’t gonna be happy when them government men ask him to guide ‘em to the other side of the Ridge, anyway,” Tolliver suggested.

The old woman waved a dismissive hand. “That there woman they’re looking for done went over the ledge and won’t ever be found,” Elspeth put in. “Mac’ll tell ‘em the same.”

Tolliver reached for a package of cookies then dug into his pocket for his money, shelling the coins out on the counter where they made a hollow plinking sound on the top. “Well, we won’t have to worry ‘bout it until tomorrow, even if he sees the flag today.”

“You tell Ollie to be here bright and early!” Elspeth ordered.

The old woman pulled her heavy wool sweater around her frail shoulders and watched the deputy saunter out of her general store. She walked to the window and looked out at the gray, gloomy day that threatened to erupt into even more rain. The environs around the little town at the base of Mount Piseog were nothing more than bogs as it was, the lone paved street covered with mud from the continual slides flowing down from the Pionós Mountain range.

Lamb’s Grove--population less than fifty--didn’t get many visitors for it was tucked into a side of Mount Piseog that was not easy to reach. The occasional mountain climber might find his or her way to the rustic village, but since there were no restaurants or inns, no souvenir shops or outfitting establishments, hikers didn’t stay long in town. With the search teams and government agents roaming around, the residents had seen more outsiders in the last four days than they’d seen in an entire year.

“And I’ll be glad when they get their wide loads outta here,” Elspeth complained as she watched a group of three searchers walking past her store.

“How many are there?”

The old woman yelped and jumped, spinning around with her eyes wide to plaster herself to the door of her shop. She hadn’t heard a sound and that infuriated her.

“God damn it, boy, don’t you sneak up on me like that!” she complained, her hand trembling as she clutched the sweater front. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”

“How many?”

She moved aside as he came to join her.

“Ten,” she replied. She narrowed her eyes. “You must have been on your way down before I ran that flag up.”

“What do they want me for?” Jamie asked as he stared out the window at the strangers.

“There’s a woman missing from that plane crash up near Lurcher’s Point,” she replied. “They think you can help ‘em find her.”

“She went over the ledge,” he said then moved away from the window.

“That’s what we’ve told them but they don’t listen,” she complained. “You know how government people can be.”

“Only too well,” he acknowledged as he went to the counter.

Elspeth nodded, spying a rucksack on the counter that hadn’t been there before. “I know you do.”

“I know damned well they’ve covered every inch of the Point,” he said as the old woman opened the rucksack. “Where the hell do they want to look now?”

“Across the Ridge,” she told him and when he arched one dark brow, she shrugged. “They’re government men, Mac, and they don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground.”

A slight twitch of his lips was all that generally passed for a smile from the Lycant.

“You gonna guide ‘em over that way?” she inquired as she reached inside the canvas bag.

“Why not?” he responded. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Elspeth’s hand closed around a wooden carving and when she brought it out, she whistled. “Lordy be, Mac. This is something else!”

He glanced at the carving of two naked lovers standing entwined in a passionate embrace then looked away. “What can I say? I was horny.”

The old woman looked up from the carving with sad eyes. “You need a woman, son,” she said. “A mate.”

“How much do you think Wilson will pay me for the two of them?” he inquired.

Elspeth blinked. “There’s another one?” she asked, setting the first carving down to rummage in the rucksack for the second. When she pulled the other one out, she drew in a quick breath then slowly leveled her gaze on her visitor. “Mac?”

“Put them away,” he said. “You’re about to have visitors.”

Stuffing the carvings into the rucksack, the old woman barely had the canvas bag under the counter when the bell over the door rang and the two government men walked in. “What can I do for you, gents?” she asked, keenly aware of Jamie turning to leaned his elbows on her counter as he surveyed the newcomers.

Cody Wendt knew immediately who the man was at the counter. His nose wrinkled with distaste and his hand went to the holster slung around his shoulder as though he expected MacGivern to attack.

Jamie snorted at the implied threat. “Not the best way to win friends and influence enemies, G-man,” he quipped.

Wendt ignored the snide remark. His attention was glued to the large hunting knife strapped to the other man’s left thigh. “Raise your hands then turn around and put your palms flat on the counter where I can see them,” he hissed.

Slowly, Jamie lifted his hands out to the side and up--the front of the leather bomber jacket he wore splaying open--then casually turned around. The look he gave Elspeth as their eyes met was as cold as the snows that dusted the higher elevations of the Pionós in winter and caused the old woman to shiver. When he lowered his hands to the counter, she saw a tick flexing his jaw.

“Frisk him,” Wendt ordered his partner.

Hobart moved in quickly, reached around the Lycant and confiscated his knife, tossed it to Wendt and then with practiced ease ran his hands over Jamie’s shoulders, along his arms then began patting his sides and hips and legs. “He’s clean,” he said, stepping back.

“This is a helluva weapon,” Wendt observed, staring at the deadly black tungsten blade. The cutting edge was deeply serrated and looked razor-sharp. The tip was curved upward, the carved bone handle curled down and no doubt made to fit only one man’s grip. “This is an assassin’s blade.”

Jamie shrugged indifferently.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

Doing as he was ordered, Jamie kept his hands up and in sight, having no intention of giving the federal agent a reason to draw on him.

“We need a guide,” Wendt said, handing the blade to Hobart.

“You need a lot of things,” Jamie said. “Manners being right at the top of the list.”

Wendt took a few steps forward, his face a mask of anger. “I know all about you, MacGivern,” he said.

“Then you know I don’t suffer stupidity very well,” Jamie told him. “If you want my help--which you don’t need, by the way--you’d better find a way to ask nicely or I’ll turn around and walk right out of here.”

Before his partner could explode into a fit of fury, Hobart stepped between them. “Why don’t we need your help?” he asked.

Jamie shifted his frigid stare to Hobart. “From everything I’ve heard the woman you’re looking for went over the ledge. If that’s the case, you’ll never find her body in the river.”

“I don’t believe that,” Wendt snarled. He raked a hand through his thinning blond hair. “Not for a fucking minute do I believe my Ally is dead!”

A strange look entered the Lycant’s eyes, but he said nothing to the outburst.

“Why don’t you take a walk, Cody,” Hobart said, “and let me handle this.” He put a comforting hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Go on. Take a breather.”

Wendt’s lips thinned but he spun around and stormed out of the store, his heavy tread making the bell over the jingle before he ever jerked the door open.

“He and Allison have been friends since they were at the University of Corinth together,” Hobart said in way of explanation for Wendt’s behavior. “He’s worried sick about her.”

“He’s in love with her,” Jamie stated, folding his arms over his chest, a hard gleam in his pale eyes.

Hobart frowned. “I wouldn’t go that far. Allison has a husband waiting for her and we’d like something concrete to tell him about her disappearance.”

Jamie stiffened. “She was married?”

“Twelve years,” Hobart replied. He stepped forward and extended the dagger to the Lycant, who took it without a word of thanks and shoved it into the sheath at his thigh.

“Married women ought not to be Federal agents,” Elspeth chimed in.

Jamie glanced at her, his eyes narrowed.

“I know we got off on the wrong foot, MacGivern but ….” Hobart began but Jamie made a rude sound, cutting him off.

“You checked my record so you know I spent time in Draeton,” the Lycant snapped. “You also know I have no love for the government for what they did to me.”

“It isn’t the government you’d be helping here,” Hobart told him. “It would be a good woman who just happens to be a highly-decorated lawwoman.”

Jamie stared at Hobart for a long moment then turned away. “It’s too late in the day to start up the mountain. I’ll get my gear and meet you back here at dawn. If you aren’t ready to go then, I’ll leave your ass behind.” He brushed past Hobart and skirted the counter, leaving by the same rear door he’d entered.

“You’d best tread carefully around him, Mister,” Elspeth told the government man. “They hurt him bad at Draeton and your partner has already brought out the mean pup in him. You really don’t want to get a look at the mad wolf.”

Hobart acknowledged the old woman’s words with a slight nod.

When she was the only one in her store, Elspeth reached under the counter and pulled out the rucksack. From it she took the second carving Jamie MacGivern had done and she stared intently at the rendering. It was of a man lying beside a woman, his knee crooked between her spread legs, a hand on her breast, his face buried in her neck, but it did not take a genius to realize the man was Mac and the old woman had no doubt the woman was the missing federal agent.

“What have you done, Mac?” she asked, her arthritic fingers tracing the smooth leg of the reclining male. “What have you gone and done?”

* * * *

On his way back up the mountain, Jamie knew he was being trailed but paid no attention to the clumsy attempts of those following to keep him in sight. He would shake them when he needed to, for the man on his trail was as inept as they came. Besides, he had other things more pressing on his mind.

His thoughts were on Mairi--or Allison as the fed had called her. He didn’t like that name and shook it aside. Mairi suited her better.

He didn’t like the idea that there was another man in her life, though he had suspected there had to be. He hadn’t used his vast powers to question her but he would as soon as he got back to the cabin. He hadn’t wanted to know about her past, but upon learning she hadn’t been the prisoner he thought her to be, but rather the lawman he knew he had to discover all he could about her.

And he had to know what her true connection to the bastard whose fear for her safety had transmitted itself so powerfully to the Lycant. He had intercepted deeply-hidden images rushing through the other man’s head and those images had made the hackles rise on Jamie MacGivern’s neck.

“Lovers,” Jamie snarled under his breath, his fingernails digging into his palms as he walked. The government prick and Mairi had been lovers and that knowledge seared him. He had no idea how old or new that relationship was but he intended to find out.

The man Wendt sent to trail MacGivern lost him so suddenly it was as though the earth had opened up to swallow the Lycant. One moment he was there and the next he simply vanished in a wisp of fog that skipped between the tracker and his quarry. Despite searching carefully for over an hour, not a trace could be found. As the sun began to set, the tracker made his way reluctantly back to the village.

* * * *

She was still asleep when Jamie entered the cabin. He knew she would be for he’d given her enough of the drug in her coffee before he left to keep her out while he’d gone down to Lamb’s Grove.

Lying on her back with one arm beside her head--her wrist shackled to the headboard--she was smiling faintly and he could not resist leaning over to kiss her. She stirred and sighed in her sleep when he eased his hand into the neckline of one of his shirts he had given her to wear to gently cup her breast.

It made no difference to him how many men she’d known before him, how many had laid between her thighs. That was all over and done with. He would be the last man to have the privilege of taking her.

He kneaded her soft flesh and felt his cock begin to harden. It needed her. He needed her. Withdrawing his hand, he fished in his pocket for the key to the cuffs and unlocked them, sliding the steel bracelets back into the drawer.

Shrugging off his coat, sitting in the rocker to tug off his boots, he pulled the shirt from his jeans and unbuttoned it. After he peeled the long sleeves up to his elbows, he went over to the cupboard and took down the metal box containing the narcotic vials, opened it and withdrew a second vac-syringe that was filled with a stimulant created to counteract the strong narcotic. Sitting down on the bed, he injected a bolus of the drug into her neck then ran his fingers down her cheek. He waited until he saw her struggling up from her drug-induced slumber before getting up to replace the vac-syringe in its container. He returned to the bed.

“Mairi,” he whispered as he sat beside her. “Wake up, lass.”

She moaned lightly and her eyelids fluttered open. The moment her eyes connected with his, she smiled.

“Did I fall asleep again?” she asked, yawning.

“You need the rest,” he said. He caressed her cheek.

“I need my husband,” she said.

Jamie felt her words to the very core of him. When she held her arms up to him, his heart nearly broke from the guilt that suddenly washed through him, but he pushed it brutally aside and enveloped her in his arms, burying his mouth against hers, thrusting his tongue deeply into her soft warmth. He felt her wedge a hand between them to run her fingers over his chest.

The hell with everything else, he thought. She was his and he ached for her. He pried her arms from his neck, got to his feet, then snagged the covers and tossed them aside. The sight of her long legs beneath the hem of his shirt made his mouth water.

She sat up and pulled his borrowed shirt over her head, tossed it aside. “Hey, sailor?” she teased. “New in town?”

“Aye and I’m thirsty. I need to taste you,” he said for that had been all that he had thought of the last mile up to the cabin. He had yet to know her special flavor on his tongue, the scent of her deep in his nostrils.

As soon as his words registered, a sharp pain drove straight through her head and she clutched at the sheet beneath her, staring up at him as he stripped out of his shirt. When he glanced up at her before taking off his jeans, another pain stabbed at her brain and her eyes widened as flashes of memory--like the shards of a broken mirror--began careening, tumbling through in her mind’s eye.

Naked, he crawled onto the bed and between her legs, pushing them gently apart to wedge his shoulders between her thighs. His palms slid under her and he lifted her hips.

“You smell so good,” he growled and buried his face in the curls over her sex.

A piece of the skittering, falling mirror connected with another and she saw the top of another man’s head--one with blond hair.

Despite the pain lancing through her head, she shook her head in denial, pivoting it back and forth on the pillow and she reached for his hair, threading her fingers through the thick dark waves, sliding them down to remove the band that held his ponytail.

His breath was hot on her mound, his tongue doing wicked things to the folds of her cunt as he licked at her, suckled her and another jagged section of mirror slid into place beside the other two and she got a quick glimpse of a nice-looking man’s face, but it was not the face of the man whose mouth was turning her inside out.

Her hands tensed in his hair and she pushed aside that other face, wanting only the man pleasuring her. He was nibbling at her clit and the sensation was sending shock waves of sheer delight through her lower body and deep into her womb. As he pulled a hand from beneath her and inserted a finger into her channel, she groaned aloud. She heard him laugh then another finger drove deep.

“Jamie!” she cried out, tugging at his thick hair.

“Like that, do you?” he whispered against her, the vibration of the sound making her tremble.

And another piece of the broken mirror settled into place and a voice--so unlike Jamie’s soft brogue—spoke her name—Allison.

“No!” she hissed, not wanting that other part of her life to intrude.

Jamie raised his head, hurt filling his face. “No?” he questioned. His pale green eyes had lost some of their sheen.

“No,” she said, catching her mistake. “I don’t like it, Jamie. I love it!”

Then she saw him smile for the first time and that smile broke her heart for it was filled with such happiness, such contentment she wanted to reach down and gather him to her, hold him forever.

“That’s good to know, lass,” he said then lowered his head to suckle her clit while a third finger thrust into her and began a rhythm that had her arching her hips up from the mattress in cadence.

She stared up at the ceiling above her as piece after piece joined her memory together to show her an opulent bedroom, a king-sized oak monstrosity of a bed with velvet bed curtains draped around it, moiré wallpaper, and a man hovering over her whose expression was one of being pleased with himself instead of glad he was pleasuring her.

“Cody,” she mumbled, hoping Jamie had not heard her and tore her mind away from the man with whom she had been having an affair for the last two years.

But it wasn’t Cody Wendt who concerned her, but another man whose face suddenly appeared at the side of that very expensive bed--a man whose enraged countenance was only a fraction of a degree less deadly than the .45 caliber pistol he was clutching in his hand.

The sound of that gun being fired made her jump and as Jamie slithered up her to cover her with his tanned, brawny body it was Wendt’s look of stunned pain that she saw instead of Jamie’s handsome face.

“What’s wrong?” Jamie asked, searching her eyes.

And then he knew.

That part of him that was not human, that instinct that was honed much finer, sharper, intuited the thoughts going through her mind and he stilled.

“I ….” He didn’t know what to say to her.

“Love me!” she said in a voice that was part panic and part desperation. “Jamie, love me!” She clutched at him, pulling him to her. “Make me stop remembering! Make me stop remembering!”

For a split second he balked, but the terrible loneliness that had been abated the last few days would not let him roll off her. His cock was ridged and burning with need and her hands were all over him, refusing to allow him to leave her.

“I don’t care who I am,” he heard her say. “I just need you!”

He did not need any more encouragement and took hold of his shaft and thrust it deep inside her, filling her, stretching her. He grunted as her legs went around his waist and her fingernails dug into his bare back, her hips jerked upward so that he was seated to the hilt within her velvety warmth. As she began writhing beneath him, those short little fingernails pricking his flesh, he lost all sense of humanity and started ramming into her with enough force to make the bed rock.

She was caught up in the heat and the smell of him. His weight pressing down upon her was the most delicious feeling she had ever known. Even more than the stiff, hard cock thrusting into her welcoming cunt, it was his muscular body slick with sweat as he pumped against her that set her blood to racing. He was heavy and that heaviness was glorious. She felt captured, imprisoned by his brawny arms and feeling his fingers clutching at her rump as he strokes lengthened and sped up made her wild with need.

This--she thought as she strained her cunt against his invading cock--this was what she’d been searching for all her life. This was the pleasure that had eluded her, that had briefly showed its treasures to her only to snatch them away again. This wondrous, sensual man suspended over her was what she wanted, what she needed. He was expertly giving her what she had known all along was out there but could never seem to find. He was a man giving of himself.

It didn’t matter that he had lied to her. Nothing but his strong body and handsome face and delightful tool had meaning for her--that and the suspicion that this man was as lonely and desperate as she, that he needed her as she needed him.

“Love me,” she whispered to him. “Jamie, please love me.”

He knew he already did. He’d loved her from the moment he’d first seen her face at the crash site. But he had no chance to tell her for such exacting pleasure suddenly rippled through him as her vaginal muscles undulated around him and tugged at his shaft. He howled with the release for it was the most intense he’d ever known and his frenzied thrusts would be enough to bruise them both but that was of no importance. He felt her nails raking his back as she came again and he could barely breathe for her legs had clamped so tightly around him he could no longer pump into her and just lay there with his cock buried in her vibrating folds.

“Oh, my God,” she gasped and clutched him to her. They were both sweaty and slick and the scent of their combined juices made her want to pump against him until they were both ready to fuck again.

He growled and rolled over to his back, her lush body trapped in his arms. His eyes locked with hers and there was steely determination in the green depths.

“You remember who you are?” he asked.

She nodded. “It doesn’t matter.”

“To me, neither,” he said firmly, “but they are looking for you.”

She winced. “The Agency?”

“Whoever that blond asshole works for,” he grated, his jaw flexing.

“That was Cody Wendt,” she said.

“Your lover,” he stated.

“Ex-lover,” she corrected him. “We haven’t been together since my husband shot Cody in the back while he was lying atop me.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Jamie’s mouth but he made no comment about what she’d said.

“I almost remember everything,” she said, plucking at the wiry hairs over his left nipple. “The plane went down?”

“You were the only survivor,” he told her. “I thought you were a prisoner since you were shackled to some fat guy.”

“Richard Owens,” she provided. “A bank embezzler I had arrested in Ogden and was taking back to Wellington.”

His arms tightened around her. “I’m not letting you leave.”

She tilted her head to one side. “Who said I wanted to?” Her smile matched his, but his took her breath away for it transformed his face into that of a movie star handsome male.

“I made it look like you fell over the side of the cliff and into the rapids below,” he admitted. “Blondie didn’t buy it.”

“If Cody is anything, he’s thorough,” she said with a frown. “Unless he sees my body--up close and personal--I doubt he’ll ever let it go.” She wriggled in his arms. “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

Reluctantly he released her and watched her climb off him, grinning when she looked around the room. “Behind the screen,” he informed her. Running his hands behind his head, he ogled her naked body--so firm and so flawless--until she was hidden behind the folding screen.

“Ah, Jamie?” she called out to him. “Where the hell are we?”

He knew she had lifted the lid on the garderobe and was peering down into the vast blackness of the cistern.

“Roughly two miles underground,” he answered and heard her gasp. His eyebrows shot up when she peeked her head around the screen, eyes wide, mouth open, hand gripping the panel.

Chapter Four

“What?” she asked in a squeaky voice.

“I built the cabin into a cavern with a large complex of caves,” he said. “No one can find it even with infrared probes. There is a sheet of ice between the top of the cavern and the roof of the cabin.”

“Holy Mother of God,” she mumbled. “Why?”

“Why did I make this my home?” he asked and at her silent nod, he shrugged. “Well, once a month for about two days when the moon is full I undergo Conversion and .…”

“You’re a Lycant!” she gasped and he saw her fingers on the screen bleed of color.

“And you are a Lycant’s mate,” he said, holding her stare.

She swallowed hard. “How close are we to the full moon?”

“A week and there is no need for you to worry. I won’t be here when I Conversion. I won’t ever allow you to see that.”

She let go of the screen, forgetting all about having to relieve herself. She padded back to the bed and climbed on it. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said though she knew her reaction had hurt him. She laid her hand on his biceps. “I ….”

“You won’t ever see me in Lycant form,” he repeated. “Now go piss before you wet the bed.”

Tucking her lower lip between her teeth, she scooted off the bed and left him lying there with one knee crooked, his hands behind his head. When she came back, he had left the bed and was at the wash basin, pumping water into a kettle.

He glanced around at her to see her shrugging into his shirt again. He was disappointed that she’d covered up her perfect body. “Want some tea?”

She nodded, her gaze sweeping over his bare back and down the tight jeans that now covered his long legs, his bare feet making him even more sexy in her eyes. Her gaze drifted up him slowly.

“Are you staring at my ass?” he asked.

Her inspection had stopped at a large dark area on the left side of his back just above the waistband of his jeans. She walked to him, curious about the discoloration. “What happened to your back?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Draeton,” was all he said as he took the kettle to the stove and wood stove.

She let out a long breath. “How long were you there?” she asked quietly.

“Five years.”

She knew all about the Maximum Security Prison near Cuthbert. It was where they sent the truly dangerous criminals.

And Lycants who could not be controlled by ordinary means.

She went to him and put her fingertips on the dark area the size of a saucer that stained his back. “What caused this?”

He turned so her hand slid from the rough, puckered scar to his belly, smiling faintly at her as her fingers spiked through the curly hairs along his tigerline. “You really want to know?”

She slid her arms around his waist. “I want to know everything about you,” she answered.

Reaching behind him, he took her wrist and unhooked it from his body, then led her toward the rocker. When he would have offered it to her, she shook her head and slipped gracefully to the floor. She instinctively knew the rocker was the only thing that would help ease the pain she sensed in him. As he sat, she saw the flicker of it pass over his features. She laid her head on his thigh, her hand wrapped around his calf and stared into the fire.

Grateful he did not have to look into her eyes as he explained about his imprisonment, he tangled his fingers in her dark curls.

“I was arrested right after the final battle at Fairmoore,” he said. “That was when all my kind were being rounded up and sent to re-conditioning camps.”

“You balked at being arrested,” she said, understanding that he would have resisted what he had to have known was coming.

“It took ten of them to bring me to ground,” he said as his fingers slid through her hair, combing it between his splayed fingers. “I pissed them off so badly they would have slit my throat if one of the scientists hadn’t intervened.”

“One of the men who had engineered you?”

“The very one who made me what I am, aye,” he said. “He was a mean son of a bitch and determined to break me.”

She could hear the anger in his tone and felt it in the way his hand moved along her scalp.

“This particular bastard had developed what he called an equalizer,” he continued. “It was a weapon ....” He let out a harsh breath. “Nay, it was a torture device that allowed him to be able to easily control a recalcitrant Lycant.”

“Were there many of you at Draeton?”

“Just four of us full-bloods who had been government assassins,” he answered. “I was the only one who survived.”

She lifted her head and looked up at him. “What happened to the others?”

He looked down at her. “The scientist’s name was Ordwell,” he told her. “Simon Ordwell, and he was a sadistic bastard who got his pleasure from hurting us. He hurt the other three so badly they died ungodly deaths in unrelenting agony.”

Her hand tensed on his calf. “I’m glad you lived.”

“I was stronger than the others,” he said and a strange shadow flitted through his gaze. “He took more care with me.”

She watched him shift in the chair as though feeling the pain that had been meted out to him.

“The scarring on your back was caused from the weapon he created?”

He nodded. “It was a direct-energy transmitter. It sent 250,000 volts of electricity through the central nervous system to control the skeletal muscles.”

“That much voltage would kill a human outright,” she whispered.

“And put a major hurt on a Lycant,” he stated dryly. “The device was designed with two transprobes built into a wide fibromesh belt that was locked around my waist. If you tried to remove the belt, you got a warning jolt and if you continued, the voltage went up and the duration of the hit increased. Each probe was situated over a kidney. With the transprobe activated against a place where you’d been hit time and time again, it will burn the flesh and do permanent tissue and organ damage.”

“It damaged your kidney.”

“It destroyed one and severely damaged the other to the point where it began to fail,” he replied. “But lucky me, Ordwell had invented an artificial kidney that he was good enough to implant in me. The only trouble is when it is doing what it was intended to do--purifying my blood--it hurts like hell. The more active I am, the more frequently the AK works. The more frequently it works, the more pain I feel.” He shrugged. “It’s a no-win/no-win situation for me.”

The kettle began to whistle and he would have gotten up but instead she did, padding softly into the kitchen area to fix them a cup of tea. She brought the mugs to the fireplace and sank down at his feet again. She saw him wince as he reached for the mug she held up to him.

“Thank God you got out of Draeton,” she said, tears filling her eyes at the agony this man had been made to endure and was still enduring.

“They needed an assassin to take out General Bashenko and I was the only Lycant assassin left alive and they needed my killing abilities,” he said. “I was given a full pardon after I fried his evil ass.” He took a long swig of the hot tea then rested his head on the back of the rocker.

She thought of the head of military security who had attempted a coup of his own after the war, hoping to rule the world and was awed that she was in the presence of the man who had brought him down.

“I disappeared after that,” he said. “I didn’t want them to know where I was so I went looking for the perfect hideout and found it here.”

“Wendt will tell them where you are,” she said then took a sip of the tea.

“Oh, they know I’m up here,” he told her. “They just don’t know where. They’ve tried to catch me, have sent agents in but after awhile, they stopped coming.”

“If they pardoned you, why would they still be coming?”

“Ordwell wants me back,” he said. His eyes darkened. “For reasons of his own.”

“What happened to them?” she asked. “The agents, I mean.”

“I led them over the Ridge and into the territory of Ad Fear Liath Mor. What happened to them after that is anyone’s guess.”

She had no idea what he meant and wasn’t sure she wanted to ask.

He locked gazes with her. “I’ll be leading Wendt and his men over there tomorrow,” he said.

“You won’t hurt them?” she asked.

“I won’t lay a hand on them,” he said and his eyes never wavered from hers. “You have my word on that.”

She believed him and laid her head on his thigh again, her attention on the leaping flames. “How long will you be gone?”

“Two, three days at the most,” he replied.

“Will you leave me a map on how to get out of here if I ....”

“No.”

The one word was a firm denial that brooked no argument. She was silent for a long while then asked him what would happen to her if he failed to return.

“I’ll return, lass,” he answered. “Never doubt it.” He shifted in the rocker and grunted, wincing.

She lifted her head. “Why don’t you go lie down, Jamie? Or is it better sitting?”

“It hurts either way,” he said then finished off his tea, setting the mug on the hearth. “Come here and let me hold you.”

She put her half-empty mug on the hearth and sat down in his lap, worried that her weight would cause him more pain, but he wrapped his arms around her. She laid her head on his shoulder and began to twirl a lock of his chest hair around and around her finger.

“You’re obsessed with my chest hair, aren’t you, lass?” he asked with a snort.

“I love it,” she said and spread her fingers through the thick mass. “I especially like the way it makes my nipples hard.” She grinned when she felt his shaft tense at that comment.

He put a hand to her chin and lifted her head, covered her mouth with his and drank deeply from the sweetness he found there, slipping his tongue deep. His fingers trailed down her neck and beneath the hem of the shirt to tease the silky curls above her sheath. One finger dipped to the moist bud that began to swell the moment he touched it.

She pulled back from him and slid off his lap, positioning herself between his legs. “Now it’s my turn to do the tasting,” she said, her fingers going to his zipper.

Jamie spread his knees farther apart and watched her bent head as she undid his jeans and reached inside to free his cock. She took hold of his inseam and held it tight as she lowered her mouth to slide her soft lips down the length of him.

“God,” he breathed, closing his eyes and letting his head fall against the back of the rocker. His hands went to her head to hold it gently as she plied her mouth on his willing flesh. The suction as she worked her way up and down his shaft, the pressure she exerted on the fabric of his jeans to pull it taut, was causing such exquisite torment he never wanted it to end.

She heard his breathing increase in depth and timing as his hands flexed in her hair. He was elevating his hips in rhythm to her suckling and that turned her on as she relaxed her throat and took him as deeply as she could. He was a large man with a broad cock--at least ten inches of sweet, hot muscle--but she managed to accommodate him well enough, pulling him nearly free of her mouth only to swirl her tongue around the knob of him again and again before drawing him deeply into that moist cavern once more.

He was on the verge of release and would have pushed her head away but she would not allow it, obviously wanting to take all he had to give her and unwilling to break away at the last moment. His cock was rock-hard and throbbing and when he came, he gave a shout that he felt to the very tips of his toes and had to slap his palms on the rocker’s arms to keep from slamming her head down on his groin.

The climax seemed to go on forever and when she had drained him, milked him dry, he opened his eyes to see her looking at him, sweeping her tongue over her lips in such a way he felt another spasm rock his shaft.

“Lass, you’ll kill me like that,” he said, trying to push the agony in his back aside so he could enjoy the last tremors of pleasure her mouth had given him.

She knew he was hurting so she got lithely to her feet and held her hand out. “Come to bed with me, my husband,” she said.

Her words gave him a jolt of happiness. “Are you sure?” he asked, searching her eyes.

“I have no intention of ever going back,” she answered. “I’m sure.”

He slipped his arm under her legs even though she protested him lifting her. Carrying her to their bed--he would never again think of it only as his own--he laid her down and slid in beside her, gathering her tightly into his arms.

“I can’t love you just yet,” he said for the pain was disabling him so badly it was all he could do not to groan.

“Just hold me,” she said, her hand smoothing over his chest. “I’ll just play with your hair.”

He laughed. “A woman obsessed,” he said with a snort.

For a long time they just lay there in silence, content and at peace then his fingers began rambling over her arm, her shoulder, her waist and when one fingertip touched the scar beneath her right arm, he asked her how she’d come by it.

“When Stephen found us at the Carlton that day and shot Cody, the bullet went through Cody at an angle and grazed my arm, burying itself in the mattress,” she replied.

“It’s a wonder he didn’t kill you both,” he observed.

“Steve is a piss-poor shot,” she said. “Always was. He told me he aimed directly over where Cody’s heart is but standing where he was above us and at that angle, all he did was put a deep furrow in Cody’s back--painful though it was--and nipped me. We had a hard time explaining how Cody got shot.”

“Your husband wasn’t arrested?”

“We didn’t want anyone to know about the affair. That would have been career suicide for all three of us,” she said.

“He’s an agent, too?”

“Was,” she said. “After the incident, he quit the agency.” She raised one shoulder. “I was going to leave him when I came back from that last assignment.”

“And marry blondie?”

“Not likely,” she told him. “Cody was pressuring me to do that, but I had no intention of tying myself to him. He’s too unpredictable and like I said, he’s just plain mean.”

Jamie fingered the scar under her arm. “He hasn’t seen mean yet,” he said quietly.

She moved back from him and looked into his face. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him or his men.”

“I won’t.”

There was something dangerous in his eyes but there was truth there, as well. She believed him when he said he wouldn’t hurt the men though she knew he was more than capable of doing things a human assassin would never dream of doing.

She laid her head on his shoulder. “Tell me about the Warehouse,” she said.

“No.”

The one word was spoken with a finality that let her know he would not discuss the place where he and his kind had been created, their embryonic DNA spliced with that of their lupine dams. Since he was a full-blood, she knew his sire had been one of the first generation of Lycants that had to be destroyed because they could not be controlled. Though she’d heard horrible tales of the brutal training, the inhuman experimentation that had gone on at the Warehouse in the Highlands, she doubted he would ever enlighten her. Like most government agents she knew the Lycants had been produced as nearly-invincible, expendable warriors skilled in quick, savage killings meant to instill abject fear in the enemy. In their lupine form, Jamie’s kind could go where humans could not and accomplish inhuman acts only the warped minds of their controllers could conceive. Those who had been successfully re-conditioned after the war no longer posed a threat to mankind. Ones like Jamie were still dangerous.

She changed the subject.

“What do you do to pass the time when you’re not rescuing women from plane crashes?”

He molded his hand to her breast. “You mean when I’m not ravaging them while I keep them drugged?”

She looked up at him. “Did you do that to me?”

“Aye.”

“Bastard,” she said then kissed his shoulder. “Wicked, wicked bastard.”

“I carve.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Carve what?”

“Statues,” he said. “I sell them to a gallery in Doverton.”

“What kind of statues?”

“Eagles, wolves, mountain lions.” He ran his thumb over her nipple. “Naked woodland nymphs.”

“Where did you learn to carve?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just found myself whittling one evening and when I was finished, it was a pretty fair rendering of an owl. I gave it to Elspeth for her birthday. A hiker saw it on the shelf in her store and asked who’d done it. He knew a man who knew a woman who knew a gallery ....” He shrugged again. “They pay me good money.”

“Who’s Elspeth?” she asked.

“A spry little old lady who’d jump my bones in a heartbeat if I stood still long enough,” he said with a grunt of humor. “She owns the general store down in Lamb’s Grove.”

“I imagine many women would jump your bones if you gave them a chance,” she teased him.

“Many have,” he said and plucked at her nipple.

“How many?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

He shifted so he could replace his fingers with his lips upon her nipple, drawing the hardening little bud into his mouth. With his teeth lightly clenching the coral tip, he gazed up at her through his eyelashes. “More than my share.”

“All of whom pale in comparison to me,” she said smugly.

“Um hum,” he said and began suckling her, his hand dipping down to the apex of her thighs. With his thumb stroking back and forth across her soft fleecy triangle, he insinuated his middle finger into her wet warmth. The moment that finger curled upward to press against that mysterious spot he sought, her hips lifted off the bed.

“Oh yeah, Wolfman!” she gasped and she felt the rumble of his laughter against her breast.

* * * *

She was sleeping soundly when he left her, being as quiet as he could so he would not have to reassure her still again that he would return. He knew she was afraid of being trapped there below ground, but he had no intention of that happening. He would return even if meant slaughtering the agents he would be leading to a fate none of them could have ever envisioned.

With one last look at the woman who had claimed him, heart and body and soul, he eased the wooden door of the cabin closed, took five steps to the hinged rock portal, opened it and left, securing the doorway behind him. After lighting a lantern, he retrieved his gear from the weapons niche, and then set out on the winding, twisting corridor that would take him to the outside world. Two hours later, he was standing in front of Elspeth’s store, impatiently awaiting the arrival of Wendt and his team.

“You want a cup of coffee, Mac?” Elspeth asked him when she opened her door.

“I’m good, lady,” he replied. “Go back to bed. It’s not even light yet.”

“I don’t sleep as well as I used to,” she said, coming out to stand with him. She hugged her bathrobe around her. “How is the girl?”

He did not look at the old woman. “Content and being taken care of as she never has been before,” he replied quietly.

“In more ways than one I imagine,” Elspeth said with a grunt.

“Have you clothes for her in a size eight?” he asked. “What she was wearing was mostly destroyed and she’s been wearing my shirts but they swamp her.”

“I’ve jeans and some t-shirts,” Elspeth said. “Panties that would fit her. What size bra?”

He shrugged and held his hands out as though weighing melons. He gave the old woman a bewildered look. “I don’t know. They fit nicely in my hands.”

Elspeth snorted. “About a 36C, I’d say.”

“Would you bundle the stuff up for me—socks, too and anything else you think she might need--and put them in a rucksack?” he asked. “I’ll get them on my way back.”

“You betcha,” Elspeth said then frowned. “There comes that Wendt fella. He walks like he’s got a stick up his ass.”

“If he gives me any shite, he will have a stick up his ass,” Jamie replied.

“Be careful, son,” she told him then turned to go back into her store.

Wendt had a dark blue watch cap pulled down over his white-blond hair. His very pale blue eyes were hard as he came toward the Lycant. Behind him, his partner walked beside another man who was frowning deeply.

“You ready to go?” Wendt demanded.

“I’ve been ready, G-man,” Jamie responded.

Hobart was the only one who greeted the Lycant, nodding at him in the way of warrior to warrior. “We had some bad news last night,” he said. “There was a monorail accident in Mauvrie where Agent Groves’ lived. Her husband was among the casualties.”

“You consider it bad news,” Wendt snapped. “I consider it a blessing for Allison.”

Jamie considered it a blessing, too. It meant there was one less problem in her life and with the man’s passing, she was a widow, free for him to make his legal mate--which he intended to do.

Hobart sighed deeply as though he were embarrassed for his partner. He looked away from the Lycant’s appraising stare.

“We’re wasting valuable time. Let’s get this show on the road,” Wendt grumbled.

Hitching the rifle he carried slung over his shoulder more comfortably against him, Jamie stepped off the wooden sidewalk and onto the mud-streaked street, heading toward the vast unsettled terrain west of Aonair Ridge.

* * * *

The woman who had told her lover just before falling asleep in his arms that she preferred he continued calling her Mairi instead of her given name of Allison, turned over to find the bed beside her empty, the sheet cold. She opened her eyes, knowing he’d gone and for just a moment felt the hard-rimmed blade of panic scrape down her spine. She sat up so quickly she got lightheaded and had to put a hand to her temple to still the spinning. Heart racing, she threw aside the covers and ran to the cabin door, flinging it open to find a solid wall of rock less than six feet from where she stood.

Palms sweating, hands trembling, she walked to the dark expanse and ran her hand over it, knowing she’d not find the way to open it, feeling the claustrophobia pushing brutally at her. She pushed all along the rock face and swept her palms over nearly every inch, but there wasn’t even a hint of movement nor did she find a single ridge or crack. When she finally gave in to the hopelessness of the situation, she turned away, her shoulders slumping and went back into the cabin.

She refused to think about what would happen to her if Jamie did not come back. He had explained the water was pumped up from a vast underground lake so that supply was limitless but food and fuel was another matter.

“There will be enough wood for at least two weeks,” he’d told her. “You’ll find a stack of it to the left of the cabin door.

She had seen the cords neatly placed there but it was the food that concerned her.

“I have enough canned goods to last a month or more so there’s no need to worry,” he’d assured her.

Staring at the rows of cans and jars on the shelves, she thought if she rationed what was there, she might have enough to eat for twice that long--maybe even longer if she was very careful.

“But he’s coming back,” she said firmly and went over to sit in his rocker. “He is.”

Her gaze fell on the low chest where he’d told her he kept his carving tools. Curious, she got up and knelt in front of it, opened it and was amazed at the variety of unfinished carvings he was in the process of doing. She took a few out and looked at them, touching the notches and whirls, deep indentions and creases that made the animals look very real. Spying a sketchbook, she picked it up and flipped it open. The first sketch made her draw in a quick breath.

It wasn’t just the attention to detail that her lover had captured in the portrait he’d drawn in pencil, but the loving care with which he’d created it. The drawing was of her sleeping and he had given it an ethereal quality that made tears spring to her eyes. He had captured her in a defenseless moment--unaware, unprotected--and yet he had infused the work with a possessiveness that told her all she needed to know about his true feelings for her.

Page after page of her face followed. In one she was laughing. In another she was frowning. In still another she was looking out at the viewer with one eyebrow elevated in challenge, yet her lips were pursed with what could only be amusement. He had drawn her sitting, standing, lying down but her favorite was the one of her sleeping beside a faceless man, held closely in his arms, tight against his heart.

A single tear fell down her cheek but she did not reach up to bat it away. The beauty of the drawings had nothing to do with the way she looked, but with the way they had been crafted. Her lover was an incredibly talented artist with a knowing eye for both detail and action. She was sure no one had ever really looked at her the way Jamie MacGivern had, nor understood her the way his drawings implied.

Carefully closing the sketchbook, she laid it atop the carvings and shut the lid of the chest. Her hand lovingly tracing the top of the chest, she laid her head down and smiled.

She sat there for a very long time, considering her options. She was not a woman given to rash judgments or quick decisions. Her acceptance of her present situation surprised her but--upon concentrated thought--she realized it was what she been searching for, what she’d needed for a very long time.

Her entire life had been lived methodically with an eye on career advancement. From high school through college, her goal had been to be her own woman. Her job had meant everything to her, her marriage next to nothing. An arranged affair between their families, the marriage had been a sham from the start. She had neither loved nor particularly respected Stephen. Not interested in having his children or being the social butterfly he demanded she become, their life together had been one long series of shouting matches and chilling silences. Every once and awhile, the shouting matches were punctuated with brutal slaps--a black eye on two separate occasions--and simmering resentment on both sides. The last black eye she’d taken had resulted in her accompanying her husband to the emergency room with an unhinged jaw from where she’d hit him with a cast iron skillet.

Glancing over at the collection of cast iron cookware in Jamie’s sparse kitchen, she smiled. She knew beyond any doubt that none of those heavy implements would ever be needed to settle an argument between her and her lover.

Getting up, she went back to the bed and stretched out across it on her stomach, her chin propped in her hands. When Jamie returned, she was prepared to make a commitment to him and to the life she knew she wanted to share with him.

Chapter Five

Jamie led the team of searchers along a serpentine path that was as treacherous as it was dense. They had left behind any semblance of a marked trail and were now on the most dangerous part of the Ridge, The higher they climbed, the more inhospitable the terrain.

“I see what you mean about her not having come this way,” Hobart told the Lycant. “I don’t know how she could have.”

“Shut the hell up,” Wendt ordered. “There have to be other trails leading away from the crash site.”

“There aren’t any trails. No one ventures on this side of the Ridge,” Jamie said as he stopped to take a drink of water from his canteen. “I tried to tell you that. Climbers don’t come over this far.”

“You shut up, too,” Wendt growled. “How do I know you aren’t leading us away from where she might be sheltered?”

Jamie locked stares with the agent. “You don’t.”

“This area makes me very uncomfortable,” Jacobson, one of the other agents remarked. “I have a feeling we are being watched.”

“You are,” Jamie said, shifting his gaze to the agent. “But I can promise you it isn’t by your missing woman.”

“There are people living up here?” Hobart asked.

The Lycant smiled nastily. “There are no humans living on this side of the Ridge.”

“Then what’s tracking us?” Jacobson asked. He rubbed his neck and turned to look behind them, searching the thick undergrowth. “What kind of animal is it? Bear? Panther? What?”

“You have entered the domain of An Fear Liath Mor,” Jamie answered. “And he doesn’t like intruders.” He surreptitiously massaged his back. The always-there pain wasn’t yet severe but it was getting there.

“The what?” Hobart queried.

“The Big Grey Man, the Guardian,” Jamie told him with a smirk. “He’s twenty feet of badass trouble.”

Wendt cursed beneath his breath. “You’re full of shit, MacGivern.” He put a hand to the front of his trousers and tugged. “I’ve got your twenty feet of trouble right here!”

Jamie snorted and recapped the canteen. “Yeah, you shake that little thing at him when he comes charging you, Wendt. I’m sure he’ll quiver in his furry tracks.”

“Fuck you, MacGivern,” Wendt snarled.

“Cody, knock it off,” Hobart warned. He, too, was feeling edgy, experiencing uneasiness he couldn’t explain and his partner was exhibiting belligerent behavior that was rapidly causing him concern.

“I’ll only say this once,” Jamie said, sweeping the agents with a steady look. “We’ll be reaching Féinmharú Crag soon. It’s a flat piece of rock that juts out over Blight Canyon. When we pass it, you might suddenly have an overwhelming desire to go to the edge and take a look over the side. My advice to you is not to do it.”

“Why not?” Hobart asked.

“Men have been known to jump off the ledge for no apparent reason,” Jamie replied. “One minute they’re looking over the Crag and the next they’re splattered on the rocks below and with no way to retrieve them. You can’t repel these cliffs. Men have died trying. A helo can’t hover over because of severe downdrafts. If you fall, your remains will stay until the buzzards pick ‘em clean. Just keep away from the edge and you should be all right. If you hear music, ignore it.”

“What the hell are you trying to pull, MacGivern?” Wendt shouted. His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated as though he’d swilled down a powerful narcotic. With shoulders hunched with aggression and his fists clenching and unclenching at his side, he didn’t look all that stable. “If you think you’re scaring my men, you’re barking up the wrong tree!” He arched his upper lip. “Or howling up the wrong tree.”

“You want to see what’s over the ledge?” Jamie asked. “Be my guest, Wendt. I sure as hell won’t stop you from jumping to your death.”

“Why you ....” Wendt took a step forward, but Hobart reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Stay away from the ledge, men,” Hobart ordered, but his attention was steady on his partner. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“There’s nothing wrong with me!” Wendt hissed, jerking his arm out of Hobart’s grip.

“Then stop acting like an idiot!” Hobart snapped, trying to extricate his trousers from a bush of brambles into which he’d wandered.

The other men were exchanging worried looks. It was apparent from their expressions that they, too, were uneasy, uncomfortable with their surroundings and each of them kept looking over his shoulder, rubbing at his neck, keeping an eye on the thick growth to either side of where they were walking. Their hands were never far from the rifles they carried slung over their shoulders. Even the lone medic with his cumbersome gear turned now and again to look back down the trail or to scan his surroundings.

Jamie turned away from them and continued on, a tight smile on his face. He felt the heavy weight of a malignant stare on his back, but he knew it would do no good to look around for what was following them would remain hidden until it was ready to be seen. Although he did not have the same overpowering sense of foreboding, of impending doom the others were feeling, he was not unaffected by the vibrations rising and falling around him. The lupine part of him was keenly aware, his senses on high alert.

The higher up the mountain they climbed, the colder it became until the air around them was drifting with a wispy, icy fog along the ground and obscuring the vegetation farther off the trail. By the time they reached Féinmharú Crag, the wispy fog had turned to an undulating milky blanket that hid all but those trees and bushes closest to them. It blanketed the ground completely, billowing up in places as high as the men’s hips but never receding as they entered its rolling depths.

“Is that the place you mean?” Jacobson asked.

“Aye,” Jamie acknowledged, not bothering to look toward the Crag. “Just stay away from it and you’ll be all right.”

The others stared at the jut of sharp rock that was visible one moment in the thick fog then completely covered by it the next. A shimmering veil of fog seemed to hang just above the dark shape of the Crag, giving off a faint bluish glow.

“It really does beckon you, doesn’t it?” the agent asked and took a step toward the ledge, but Hobart called out to him, drawing the man’s attention to him.

“You stay where you are, Jacobson!” Hobart ordered.

“Do you hear that?” an agent named Baxter asked.

Jamie had heard the eerie musical refrain the moment the Crag came into view and he was sure Hobart had for out of the corner of his eye, he’d seen the government man’s head come up and watched Hobart’s head swivel toward the ghostly music.

“He plays the whistle to lure people to their deaths,” the Lycant said softly. “Ignore it.”

“Ignore him,” Wendt spat. “He’s trying to spook you.”

“He isn’t the only one spooking us,” Baxter commented. He shuddered as though something wet and decidedly slimy had hit him between the shoulder blades.

“I don’t like this place,” Dalton, the medic insisted. “My heart is racing and I have this uncontrollable urge to run.”

“That’s what he wants you to do,” Jamie said. “You run and you’ll find yourself plummeting down into the canyon.”

A sudden cracking sound came to them out of the fog and every head, every eye snapped toward the noise. Guns were drawn from holsters, rifles slipped from shoulders, and bullets ratcheted into chambers, barrels pointed at the spot from where the sound had come.

“What is that?” Dalton inquired, his voice breaking. “What the hell is that?”

It was a strange noise like the sound of booted feet crunching over wet stones, sluicing through water that echoed to the men.

“I don’t like this place,” Baxter repeated the medic’s words.

“Good God, I’m shaking!” another agent commented. “What’s wrong with me?”

Jamie could have told him, but he said nothing. The strange, supernatural things that happened on that side of the Ridge were what kept unknowledgeable hikers from visiting the desolate area. He glanced behind him to see Wendt digging his toes into the trail. The agent was mumbling to himself and his face was as tight and hard as flint. The weirdness was getting to Cody Wendt.

“What?” Hobart asked. “What did you say, MacGivern?”

Jamie glanced around. “I didn’t say anything.” At Hobart’s frown, the Lycant shrugged. “If you hear words being whispered in a language you don’t understand, they aren’t coming from me.”

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up?” Wendt bellowed. His eyes were nearly popping from his head and he sprayed spittle as he spoke. He drew his gun and leveled it at Jamie. “Stop trying to scare my men, you fucking wolf!”

Jamie had no fear of the gun aimed at him. He was fairly sure the government man would have loaded it with silver ammo, but even if the bastard unloaded the entire clip into the Lycant’s body, it would do little damage. The bullets would pop out almost immediately, the wounds would close, and any pathway torn through Jamie’s body would seal itself up quickly. Not even a direct hit to the heart could lay him low.

“Lower your weapon,” Hobart said sternly. He made no overt move toward Wendt, but let the tone of his voice--the coldness and the authority--gain his partner’s attention.

“Don’t you see what he’s doing?” Wendt shouted.

“I see you acting like a deranged person,” Hobart said. “Lower the goddamn gun, Cody. Now!”

The sudden sound of laughter off to the right side of the trail caused every man to look that way. It was an evil barking, a barrel-chested guffaw that made the hair on every arm--including Jamie’s--stand up. No sooner had the laughter died than an ungodly howl rent the air with such force and volume, two of the agents pissed in their pants.

“Mother of God!” Baxter gasped and before anyone could stop him, he’d spun around and started blundering back down the barely-existent trail, the sound of his crashing retreat bringing on another wave of ghostly laughter.

Despite both Hobart and Wendt shouting at Baxter to come back, the agent continued his headlong rush until there was only silence surrounding the trackers.

For a few moments no one said anything, expecting to hear something that would alert them to Baxter’s fate. When nothing happened, no sound reverberated back them, Jamie started walking again.

“Should we go after him?” Hobart asked.

“He didn’t scream so I’m guessing An Fear Liath Mor let him go,” Jamie remarked quietly.

Though Hobart and Wendt fell in behind the Lycant, the other agents stayed where they were.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” Wendt demanded.

“I’m not going any farther,” Jacobson said.

“Me, neither,” another agent stated.

“Smart men,” Jamie commented. The pain in his back was plaguing him so greatly it was all he could do not to show it to the others. He shifted against the discomfort and used every ounce of his mental ability to push the hurt to a dark corner of his mind.

Through a parting in the thick ground fog, it was obvious there was no defined trail where they were. MacGivern was making a passageway through the thick undergrowth, pushing aside debris and skirting falling logs. It was growing colder by the hour as they climbed and the light was beginning to fade though it was just a little past noontime. Through the spreading canopy overhead a gunmetal gray sky showed dark clouds beginning to build. The hint of rain was on the freshening breeze.

Hobart looked around at the men. “If you want to go back I won’t stop you. I don’t think we’re likely to find anything up here but if we do, keep your walkie-talkies on and I’ll call you.” He directed his attention to Dalton. “Leave me your gear.”

“I’ll stay,” Dalton said in a reluctant voice.

“You sure?”

“You go and I’ll have every last one of your motherfuckers up on charges,” Wendt growled in a low voice. He still had his gun out and his fingers were flexing around the grip.

“There’s no way Allison could have made it over this way, Cody,” Hobart tried to reason with his partner. “We’d have seen signs or MacGivern would have sensed her.” He looked at the Lycant. “Do you have any sense of her having come this way?”

Jamie shook his head. “None at all.”

“He’s lying,” Wendt snapped. “He knows she’s up here and that--that thing--probably has her in its lair.”

“You’d better hope not,” Jamie quipped and when Wendt once more pointed the gun at him, the Lycant moved so fast no one saw him do it until the gun was in his hand and Wendt was on the ground with a broken wrist cupped in his free hand.

“Son of a bitch!” Wendt howled, and once again the eerie laughter rumbled out of the forest.

Jamie threw the weapon as hard as he could into the fog then stood over Wendt, his expression one of deadly warning. “Do that again and I’ll break your other wrist as well!”

Thunder boomed around them and then without warning hail began falling.

“Oh this is just what we need,” Hobart grumbled as he pulled the hood of his coat up over his hair.

“There’s a cave about a hundred yards over that way,” Jamie said, pointing.
“Stay close and if something touches you, don’t look around.”

“Something touches you?” Dalton echoed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Jamie didn’t answer but struck out for the cave. He never looked around to see if the men were following him for at that point he didn’t care. Peripherally he noted that Hobart was helping Wendt to his feet and speaking to his partner in a low, insistent tone.

By the time the last man entered the musty cave, Jamie was hunkered down where there had been a long ago campfire, piling dried twigs atop a budding fire, his flashlight pointed on the ring of rocks surrounding the small flame.

It was crowded in the cave but at least they were dry. Wendt was huddled against the cave wall with his broken wrist cradled against his chest, glaring murderously at the Lycant. “I’m going to kill you,” he said.

“Take a number,” Jamie said, not even bothering to look up from what he was doing.

“Will it follow us in here?” Dalton asked. He was as far back in the shallow cave as he could get.

“Unlikely,” Jamie replied. “He would be too vulnerable having to stoop down to enter the opening.”

“Let him stick his neck out and I’ll chop it off for him,” Jacobson muttered, fingering the machete he had strapped to his hip.

Hobart glanced around the cave. “Is there anything I can splinter his wrist with?”

“Nothing sturdy enough,” Jamie answered. “We’ll need to gather some more wood to conserve the flashlights.” He nudged his chin toward the small pile of branches on the fire. These won’t last long they’re so dried out.”

“Will it attack us if we go out?”

“I don’t know, Hobart,” Jamie told him. “I’ll go. He’s used to seeing me and knows I mean him no harm.”

“Yeah, because you’re in league with the prick,” Wendt hissed.

Jamie cast Wendt a contemptuous look then got to his feet and walked over to the cave entrance. Outside, the hail had stopped but it was pouring rain. He pulled the hood of the parka he wore beneath his leather jacket up to shield his head. He started out.

“What if you don’t come back?” Hobart asked.

“I will,” Jamie said and disappeared into the onslaught.

Almost immediately the uneasiness tripled for Jamie and his sensitive olfactory sensory neurons picked up the rancid odor of the shaggy creature that stood only ten feet away, the lumbering height of its broad body casting a shadow over the Lycant.

“Kys ta shiu, Vainshtyr Coimirceoir?” Jamie greeted the creature respectfully, knowing all too well not to look directly at its face.

“I am well, Wolf,” came the low growl. “How goes it with you?”

Jamie shrugged. “Ta mee fliugh gys y chrackan,” he said, telling An Fear Liath Mor that he was soaked to the skin.

There was a derisive snort. “Then get in out of the rain, fool.”

Nodding his agreement to the suggestion, Jamie reached down to gather some broken branches, keeping his gaze on the ground and not on the hulking giant who took a few steps closer. He realized the pain had subsided completely.

“I have blocked your torment, Wolf,” the creature said softly.

“You have my gratitude, Vainshtyr Coimirceoir,” Jamie said.

For years the two had observed an uneasy alliance. Jamie showed the respect An Fear Liath Mor deserved as the Guardian of the Gateway into the Other World, and the creature did not squash the Lycant like one of its fleas.

“What are these annoying things you have brought to my realm now, Wolf?”

“They are of no import, Master,” Jamie replied.

“That, of course, goes without saying,” the one whose name was Coimirceoir declared. “Why are they here? Since they are not chasing after you, should I assume you are daring to lead them into my realm for some reason you think important?”

“They are searching for a woman,” Jamie said and straightened up, his arm loaded with wet branches. “My woman.”

Coimirceoir reached out a huge paw to wrap it around a slender pine. Its pointed ears twitched as finger-like talons clicked against the bark. “You took a woman?”

“T’ish mian my ghriaih,” Jamie replied, stating she was the woman of his heart.

“And you will fight for this female?”

“I would die before I allow them to take her from me,” the Lycant vowed.

“So you led these bumbling fools to my realm for me to do what with them?”

“What you do so well, Master,” Jamie said.

“Scare the shite out of them, eh?”

“Send them back to their world with no desire to ever return to yours,” Jamie responded.

The shaggy creature shuffled closer still until he was hovering over Jamie, the stench nearly unbearable. “Look at me, Wolf.”

Steeling himself to view the hideous countenance of An Fear Liath Mor, Jamie raised his head. It was all he could do not to wince at the sight that greeted him and when the beast sent out a psychic query that ripped brutally through his brain, the Lycant had to bite his tongue to keep from making a sound.

“Ah, I see now,” Coimirceoir said and withdrew the savage probe. “There is one you would like to see me do more than frighten. You would have me scramble what frail little human brains he has left.” It tilted its head to one side. “Why is that, Wolf?”

“He dares to claim what belongs to me,” Jamie replied.

“You don’t want this rival dead?”

Jamie shook his head. “She would not want that and I don’t want another soul on my conscience, Master. I merely want him out of her life and off our mountain, never to return.”

Coimirceoir sighed. “You are too lenient, Wolf. I would pulverize him for you if you but asked.”

“I want him to return to his world and leave me to mine.”

“May I cripple him?”

Jamie had to look away from the eager expectation on the ghastly face of the beast. “I would prefer you not.”

“His mind, at least?” It was asked in a childish tone of pique.

“I believe he had his foot on that trail before he ever came to our mountain.”

“My mountain,” Coimirceoir corrected. “It is my mountain, Wolf.”

Jamie bowed his head in acceptance of the reprimand. “S’feer as trome-chooishagh eh dy vel eh myr shen,” he acknowledged.

Coimirceoir waved a huge paw of a hand and the air around him became redolent with a musky stench that made Jamie’s eyes water. “Of course it is a solemn fact that it is so. Did I not say as much?”

Jamie smiled and forced his gaze back to the creature’s strange glowing blue eyes. “You did, Master. Forgive me.”

“Well, then go back to your useless cattle if you will not let me pull the arms and legs off your puny rival,” the beast complained.

“Gura lie ayd, Vainshtyr Coimirceoir,” Jamie said with a slight bow.

“She dty vea, my charrey,” Coimirceoir replied and when the Lycant’s head snapped up, the creature smiled though it was by far the most grisly, horrifying smile Jamie MacGivern knew he would ever see. “My charrey,” it repeated and put out an oversized paw.

Jamie had not expected the Guardian to acknowledge his thank you, but for it to call him—a Lycant—its friend astounded him. Astonishment turned to shock when a hand of friendship was extended, stunning him to the foundation of his being. He looked down at the massive paw that engulfed his hand and was overwhelmed. When the creature scratched his thumb down Jamie’s palm and drew blood, the Lycant went as still as stone.

Without a word, the Guardian raised Jamie’s hand to his thick lips and flicked out a rough tongue, sweeping away the small dotting of blood along the palm, his strange gaze never leaving Jamie’s. “Should you ever need my help, call out to me and I will hear you now,” it said. “No matter where in this world you might be.”

“I am honored, Vainshtyr Coimirceoir,” Jamie said, his voice breaking, trying not to flinch as that huge paw crushed his hand in its grip then released it.

“Coim,” the Guardian grumbled and dug a taloned-toe into the ground. “My friends call me Coim, Jamie.”

Too stunned to say anything else Jamie back away from the twenty-foot tall apparition. He bowed once again and when he straightened up, the beast was gone, having moved so quietly and silently he had not heard him leave.

And with its departure, all uneasy, all fear, any trace of emotional or spiritual, psychological or physical discomfort, and reeking stench left with it--leaving behind a soft whistling that seemed oddly reassuring.

* * * *

Cody Wendt glared at the Lycant, the expression on his stony face leaving no doubt what he thought of MacGivern. He had refused to draw nearer the campfire where the others sat though the frigid mountain air made every breath he exhaled a plume of mist. He sat huddled with his legs drawn up into the perimeter of his arms, his stare steady on the man who had led them up the mountain. His broken wrist had been strapped with splints made from the damp twigs Jamie had brought back from his reconnaissance.

“Did you kill her after you fucked her or was she already dead when you found her?”

The other men looked around at Wendt’s nasty question but Jamie did not. He was reclining on one elbow with a cup of coffee in his hand, staring into the flames and wondering what the Guardian would do once the rain stopped.

“You need to chill, Cody,” Hobart told his partner.

“You like doing it with dead bodies, don’t you, Wolfman? Live women don’t do it for you or won’t they let you near them?”

Jamie took a sip of the scalding hot coffee and continued to ignore Wendt. He felt the others looking at him, gauging his reaction to the inflammatory words.

“When I find her ....”

“You aren’t going to find her,” Jamie said quietly and lifted his head, his pale green eyes sparking light from the campfire as he steadied his gaze on Wendt. “Ever.”

Hobart frowned. “Do you know more than you’re telling us, MacGivern?”

“He knows where she is,” Wendt said. “He’s known all along.”

“MacGivern?” Hobart pressed.

“The woman you are searching for tumbled over the edge of the cliff,” Jamie said. “All the evidence points to ....”

“Evidence you planted,” Wendt said, nodding. “I see that now.”

Jamie tossed the remainder of his coffee into the fire where it spattered and sizzled. He leaned over to take up his backpack, unzipped a pocket and thrust the cup inside before getting to his feet. He threaded his arms through the straps of the pack and reached for his rifle.

“Where are you going?” Hobart asked.

“Home.”

Hobart stood. “You agreed to lead us to the summit and ....”

“It’s useless--not to mention dangerous--to go any farther up the Ridge,” Jamie said. “I’m not wasting any more time leading you where you have no business being in the first place. You go any deeper into the Guardian’s territory and I promise you won’t ever leave.”

“Didn’t I tell you he was full of shit?” Wendt asked in a sly voice. “He’s wanting to get back to hide Ally’s body.”

“Shut the hell up, Wendt!” Hobart snapped. “I’m sick of your stupid-ass accusations!”

Wendt grinned maniacally, rocking back and forth as he sat hunched across the way.

“Stay or leave,” Jamie said. “It’s your choice.” He headed for the cave entrance where the icy rain was still coming down in driving sheets.

The sound of a bullet being racked into a chamber was loud in the shallow cavern.

“You take one more step and I’ll blow your fucking head off,” Wendt warned. “You aren’t going anywhere, asshole!”

Jamie looked around to see the agent pointing a .45 automatic at him. The gun was in Wendt’s uninjured left hand, the muzzle steady.

“Cuff him, Hobart,” Wendt ordered. “Now!”

Hobart stood undecided. Wendt was the senior of the two and in charge, but the man was rapidly losing touch with reality, his behavior becoming odder by the moment. The unease they were all feeling, the increasing fear and depression was taking its toll.

“He’s right, Jake,” Dalton said. “We shouldn’t let MacGivern just waltz out of here. If nothing else he needs to lead us back down to the village.”

“Yeah,” Jacobson concurred and the other agents nodded agreement.

Hobart chewed on his lip, his gaze going to Jamie. “Come sit back down, MacGivern. We can’t let you ....”

One moment the Lycant was in the cave entrance and the next he had vanished, moving so speedily his passing had been nothing more than a blur. Even though several of the agents ran to the entrance right behind him, they could not make him out in the rain.

“He’s gone,” one of the agents said. “We’ll never find him out there.”

Wendt lowered his gun with a hiss of fury. “I should have put a slug between his eyes when I had the chance.”

The agent standing at the door suddenly scrambled back with a loud cry, putting his hands up over his face. “No!” he screamed.

“What the …?” Hobart started to say, but uncontrollable panic seized him and he lurched sideways, almost stepping into the fire before he flattened himself against the wall of the cave.

A sharp, piercingly cold wind came blasting through the entrance and brought with it a malodorous stink. The force of the gust blew out the campfire, plunging the men into unrelieved darkness.

“Where’s the flashlights? Where’s the flashlights?” Hobart yelled and his voice was filled with terror.

It was the fierce growl--the vibration from which echoed and bounced off the walls so loudly the men had to cover their ears--that struck horror in the agents’ minds. It was the sound of thundering feet, of unearthly laughter, of brutal hissing that made the men crash into one another as they struggled to flee the confines of the small cave. Their shrieks of dismay and terror only added to the din as a savage roar brought small chunks of rock down from the ceiling.

Rushing out into the storm-laden night, the agents ran in every direction in their attempt to escape whatever had intruded into the cave. Unabridged fear ran alongside them as maniacal laughter followed in their wake. The only one of the agents left in the cave was Robert Codyan Wendt who sat like a statue in a widening circle of urine with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his body shuddering so badly his teeth were clicking together, sucking in whimpering breaths like a keening wind.

And he was not alone.

Chapter Six

Jamie heard the screams and shouts of the agents as he made his way down the mountainside. He was smiling grimly, finding dark humor in knowing the Guardian would do no harm to the men--except perhaps for Wendt. He knew An Fear Liath Mor had taken the image of his rival from Jamie’s memory and would seek out the unfortunate bastard whose mind would never again be the same after an up close and personal visit with the Guardian. In a way, he almost felt sorry for Wendt.

Shaking aside what he considered a weakness, he continued on down the trail, hoping none of the agents would blunder off the cliffs or break his neck in a fall. He rather liked Hobart and would hate to see anything happen to the levelheaded man. The others meant nothing to him but he had enough sins on his soul that he did not need any more heaped upon it.

It took him a bit longer than he would have liked to make his way back to the cabin he now shared with his woman. He’d stopped back in the village to pick up the rucksack with the clothing Elspeth had put together for him. He had been careful not to leave a trail of his passing though he suspected the agents would have concerns on their minds other than tracking him back to his lair. The moment he opened the stone panel, he felt his heart begin to race, his palms to sweat and he rubbed his right hand down his pant leg--feeling the scrape from the Guardian’s nail and reminding himself to disinfectant the shallow wound just to be on the safe side.

For a moment he stood outside the cabin and looked in the window. His woman was sleeping, the low light from the lantern casting its soft glow upon her beautiful face. Easing the door open he went and as quietly as he could began to undress. Though he would have liked to have submerged himself in a hot, cleansing bath, he did not want to waken her so he made do with a quick washing off and a splash of peroxide in his palm before going to their bed.

She sighed when he eased the covers up and slid beneath them, careful not to disturb her. Lying on her side with her hands tucked beneath the pillow, her knees drawn up in a fetal position, she looked so young, so vulnerable. He turned on his side to face her--aching to reach out and trace her cheek with his fingertips--but he kept his hands to himself. He would content himself just to watch her, to study every nuance of her features from the spiky sweep of her lashes to the soft lips to the slight cleft in her pretty little chin.

“T’een yn teiy.”

The soft, respectful words drifted through his head and he knew the Guardian was seeing what he saw. It was an intrusion of sorts--this telling him his woman was stunning--but then the next words came to let him know the creature had pulled out of his mind, that it would be there only if it was needed--“Beeyn cooinaghtyn ort.” I will be with you in spirit.

Jamie drew in a long, slow breath, exhaled quietly and closed his eyes, taking with him into slumber the lovely face of his mate and the comforting presence of a new friend.

* * * *

He smiled.

Her fingers slid warmly over his flesh.

He opened his eyes.

She tightened her hand around him.

“All is well?” she asked as she rubbed her thumb across the tip of his cock.

“That ends well,” he replied.

“Good.”

She released him and pushed the covers down to the foot of the bed with her toes then wiggled down and over his right leg, settling between his legs, nudging his thighs farther apart with her shoulders. With her gaze holding his, she covered his corona lightly with her wet lips as she encased his shaft firmly in her hand, letting his flesh slide slowly against her palm. Twisting her head from side to side, she kept her moist mouth locked on his cock head.

“God,” he breathed and buried his hands in her hair.

Slowly and with deliberate care she laved him, flicked her tongue across his tip and into the salty slit. She caressed his balls and licked him from the underside of his sac to the tip of his knob then swirled her tongue around and around the oozing head.

“Oh, baby.” His moan accompanied the jerking of his hips as his fingers dug into her scalp.

Her mouth was so hot around him, her tongue a deliciously wielded weapon that had him at its mercy. He was afraid he would scratch her, pull her hair, so he slammed his hands to the headboard and gripped it, straining as his legs began to quiver, his heels digging into the mattress.

She was relentless with her suckling as she drew him deep into her mouth. The pressure, the vacuum was so intense, so firm that he was beyond knowing anything except the pleasure of her lips and tongue. When he came, she swallowed him in smooth little strokes that made him growl with delight. And when he looked down at her, she swiped her tongue across her lips as though the taste of him had satisfied some deep need within her.

“I love you,” he said and the words shocked him even as he said them, for he knew them to be true.

She smiled. “And I am falling in love with you,” she replied, then slid up him.

He gathered her into his arms and felt his heart swelling as she laid her head on his shoulder--so trusting, so innocent, expecting him not to hurt her in any way. One slender finger twirled a curl of chest hair as her warm breath blew across his flesh, one shapely leg crooked at the knee over his groin, and he was as content as he had always wanted to be.

“Are they gone?” she asked and he could hear the concern in her tone.

“They will be as soon as they come down off the mountain,” he told.

“Wendt?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Him, too.”

She was silent for a moment then lifted her head to look at him. He turned his so he could see her beautiful face.

“At some point I will need to let the agency know I’m alive, Jamie,” she said quietly. “I need to hand in my resignation and deal with what I left behind.”

“He’s dead,” Jamie said. “Your husband.” When her eyes widened, he explained how the man she had been married to had met his fate in the tragic monorail accident that had claimed other lives.

She searched his gaze for a moment, then nodded. “It’s just as well, then, for there’s no reason now for me to go back.”

“You don’t want your personal things?” he asked.

“I imagine Steve’s sisters will pack up our things, store them until they learn something definite about me. I can ask them to send my stuff to Lamb’s Grove,” she said.

“Then you’d best do that before Hobart returns and tells your people you’re dead,” he told her.

“Jake’s a good man,” she said. “He’ll understand.”

“We’d best make up a plausible lie as to where you’ve been this past week,” he said. “I’d just as soon they not send more men back here after me because I mislead them.”

“No, that wouldn’t be good,” she said. “I’ll use the amnesia because that wasn’t a lie. I can say I was holed up in a cave and when my memory returned, made it down from the mountain. Is there a way to get down and come in from the opposite side of the village?”

“Aye,” he answered. “I’ll take you tomorrow.”

She returned her cheek to his shoulder. “I’ll stay in the village and then in a few days I’ll meet you. No one needs to know we’ve already met.” She stroked his chest. “It will be love at first sight for us.”

He chuckled. “It was for me.” His smile faded. “Elspeth knows you’re with me, but she won’t say anything.”

“Maybe I can stay with her, then.”

“She’d like that,” he said. He ran his hand down her arm, over her hip and then beneath her thigh to touch the curls at the top of her legs. “And I’d like some of this.” His fingers delved into her moistness.

“Oh, really?” she questioned.

He turned with her, sliding her under him, his thigh wedged between her legs. “Yeah, lass. Really.” He stroked her, his fingers sliding in and out of her warmth. “I can’t get enough of it.”

“It does seem that way,” she said with a long sigh.

His thumb stroked over her clit, pushing the delicate little hood upward. She arched her hips, purred like a kitten, and he smiled slowly, hungrily, his cock growing hard as the scent of her welcoming juices rose to entice him. He put his hand to his shaft and nudged her thighs farther apart.

“Come to me, baby,” he said and when she lifted herself up in offering to him, he drove himself into her with one fluid motion that went deep, filling her, stretching her, possessing her completely.

She put her arms around his neck, raised her legs to hook them around his waist and brought his lips to hers so that while he slowly thrust in and out of her warm channel, she slipped her tongue in and out of his hot mouth, swirling her tongue across his bottom lip.

“Damn!” he hissed and wedged his hands beneath her to jerk her toward him, pushing as deep inside her as he could go. He was like a man obsessed, driving into her savagely, reveling in the nails she dug into his back, the tight constriction of her legs clamped around his waist and when his release exploded, the animal within him growled with eyes flaring, pupils dilated with lust.

Her orgasm rocked her to the core of her being and she clung to him as tears filled her eyes. Ripples of pleasure tightened around his thrusting cock and drained every last spurt until he fell upon her, breathing heavily, spent, sweat coating his flesh with a fine sheen as his heart pounding brutally against hers.

“I love you,” he said on a hitching breath. “By the gods throughout the universe I love you.”

And she knew all doubt of her feelings for him had been laid to rest. She would do anything for this glorious man wrapped in her arms. His weight was like a blessing pressing upon her and she gave in to the sweetness of it. She wanted to sleep with him blanketing her, feel his heart beating, hear his breath, and absorb the warmth and scent of him. Gently she kissed his forehead and closed her eyes.

* * * *

He stumbled along the path mumbling, stopping now and again to look around, to peer at the dense vegetation, to listen for following footsteps. Cocking his head to one side he stopped breathing. Had that been a twig snapping into? Was it a footfall that had drawn his attention?

He sniffed the air like a hound then dropped to all fours, scuttling under a bush where he hunkered there shivering, further soiling his pants, keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut lest hell open up again to breathe into his face. When after ten full minutes had passed and nothing reached out to snatch him up, he pried one eye open to look out of his hiding place.

Nothing moved in the bushes around him or on the trail. There was no sound other than water dripping off the leaves.

Yet he stayed there another ten minutes until he was sure he had nothing tracking him. Like a timid mouse he crawled out from beneath the camouflage of branches and hesitantly stood, his pale blond hair a streaky mess of mud and foul debris. He ran a filthy hand under his nose and stood there quivering for a moment before taking a cautious step forward, then another.

He paused to listen still once more before finally starting down the trail again. All the while, his eyes skipped back and forth from one side of the undergrowth to the other. His hands opened and closed at his side, his fingers flicking outward as though the nerves were being attacked by electric shocks. A tick also worked in his face while his lips constantly moved, forming phrases that were garbled, that made no sense but had meaning to him for he nodded now and again to whatever nonsensical statement he’d made.

It was close to morning now and a faint line of gray was dotting the top of the Ridge. He stopped to stare at it--eyes narrowed--until the first rays spread out over the peak with ghostly talons.

“Good,” he said and nodded. “Good. Light is good.”

He increased his pace down the trail, slipping and sliding in the muck and mud, falling once or twice but unconcerned with his appearance or the stench that clung wetly to him. His pale blue eyes mirrored nothing but the outlines of the trees he walked past. There was no thought showing there, no sanity, either.

When the lights of Lamb’s Grove came into sight, he stopped and stared at the collection of buildings for a long while, chewing on his bottom lip until it bled. He watched the little village come alive, hid behind a tree to stare at people walking about. At one point he observed a group of men putting luggage into a couple of vans and thought they looked familiar to him, but he didn’t really care. As one of the men started back into what must be a hotel, he turned to stare.

“Cody?” the man yelled and the other men stilled, looking around.

He snarled and waved an arm in dismissal.

“It’s Wendt,” Dalton said.

“Yeah, I know,” Hobart agreed and took a few steps from the car. Once more he called his partner’s name but the man at the end of the street didn’t answer, just glared back at him.

“We need to take him back with us,” Jacobson reminded the others. “Or we’ll be sent back to fetch him.”

Hobart stood in the street with his hands on his hips. “He doesn’t look sane,” he observed.

“We all saw it,” Dalton said. “Wendt got left alone with it. Would you be sane?”

“We didn’t see nothing,” Hobart insisted. “Not a fucking thing!”

“Well we sensed it,” Dalton snapped. “We smelled it!”

“We felt it,” another man said with a shudder.

“You have that tranq gun handy, Jacobson?” Hobart asked.

“I can get it ready,” came the answer.

“Then load it and go around behind Wendt. You’ll be upwind of him so aim carefully. Aim right between his shoulders and ....”

“I know where the fuck to aim,” Jacobson growled.

Hobart did not reprimand the agent. None of them would be with the Agency once they got back to headquarters. They’d seen what they knew they should not have. They’d ventured where they knew they should never have gone and each of them had had the fear of something--whether God or devil--instilled within them and not a one of them would ever be the same again.

“Just do it,” Hobart said as Jacobson went back to the van and began rummaging around inside. “Go through the hotel and out the back way and around.”

“Fuck you,” Jacobson hissed. “Don’t you think I knew to do that?”

“Do you think MacGivern has her?” Dalton asked.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think she’s dead,” Hobart said. “If he’s got her, there ain’t a damned thing we can do about it.” He put a thumbnail up to chew on it, never taking his attention from Wendt, who was now squatting down beside a tree, watching them.

Jacobson went back into the hotel with the tranq gun clutched in his hand.

“Do me a favor, Dalton,” Hobart said. “Would you collect Wendt’s things and bring them down. As long as he’s staring at me, I don’t want to lose his attention.”

Dalton shrugged. “I got nothing better to do,” he grumbled.

Hobart took a few more steps toward Wendt, but when his former partner looked as though he would run, the agent stopped, putting his hands out to the side. “I just want to talk, Cody.”

The squatting man shook his head, denying permission. He was weaving back and forth from side to side as he hunkered there, humming, poking at the ground with a twig he’d picked up but his gaze never left Hobart.

Not even when the tranq dart got him high on his right shoulder.

Wendt reached behind him as though to swat whatever had hit him then wobbled, going down to one knee. Surprise, then confusion filtered over his face just a second before he pitched forward.

Hobart and his men ran toward their fallen comrade and within minutes had him up and in the hotel where it was necessary to bathe the feces and mud from him before they could load him in the van. Before an hour had passed, the two vans were rolling out of Lamb’s Grove with eight silent men lost in their own thoughts, and one drugged agent who was lost to the world.

Chapter Seven

Jamie was the first to wake that morning and he eased from the bed so as not to wake her, scooped up his jeans and pulled them on, leaving the hook at the waistband unfastened. After a quick session behind the screen, he came out and began filling the coffeepot, quietly going about the business of making breakfast for them. He was content, but he knew they would need to have a long serious talk and he didn’t want to do that on an empty stomach.

It was the smell of bacon frying that brought her awake. She stretched and sat up, fluffing the pillow behind her and watched her lover as he puttered at the stove. Her gaze went over his shoulders and down his bare back to the brutal scar where his left kidney had been replaced with the artificial one that pained him so savagely. He wasn’t aware she was watching and when he suddenly stiffened and put his hand to that part of his body to massage it, her heart ached for him. If she had the man who had caused his torment in her hands, she would twist the little weasel’s head until it popped off.

Jamie caught that violent thought and looked around as he scrambled their eggs. “Remind me never to anger you, lass.”

She grinned at him. “I’m hell on wheels when I’m mad, Wolfman.”

He nodded and took the heavy skillet from the fire, dividing its contents onto two plates. “Breakfast is ready.”

Tossing aside the covers, she padded behind the screen and when she came back, she was wearing another of his shirts, rolling the sleeves up as she walked. The tail of the shirt reached almost to her shapely knees.

They ate in companionable silence. Once he was finished, Jamie pushed his plate to the center of the table and leaned back in his chair, the front legs off the floor as he sipped his coffee. His eyes never left her face.

“What are you thinking?” she asked as she wiped her lips with a paper napkin.

“That you will not want to live here the rest of your life,” he said.

“No,” she agreed and pushed her own plate away. Bracing her forearms on the tabletop, she sat hunched forward. “I’m really rather claustrophobic.”

“I thought about it on the way back from the Ridge,” he told her. “There is a plot of land up there where it wouldn’t be hard to run connections for electricity and water. It’s still off the beaten path and I really don’t think anyone would dare bother us up there.”

She propped her chin on the base of her right hand. “Is there any way to have telephone line or at least a satellite dish put in?”

His eyebrows drew together. “For what purpose?”

“Internet,” she told him. “And television.”

He sniffed. “Neither of which I’ve ever had the inclination to have.”

“But which I really need,” she stated.

A long, indrawn breath, a slow hunch of a shoulder, an equally slow inhalation of air, and he gave in to her. “If it will keep you content,” he agreed.

“I was thinking I could write,” she said, “so I’ll need a computer, too.”

Another long breath. “All right.”

She arched a brow. “You didn’t ask what I’d write.”

“Do I want to know?” he inquired.

“E-books,” she said. “I have a friend who makes about twenty grand a year just writing short stories for a couple of websites. I’m sure she’d hook me up with her publishers.”

He sipped his coffee, not commenting on her suggestion. If she thought she could write, he was sure she could. Though his carvings made enough money to keep them extremely comfortable, he realized she was a woman who needed to contribute.

“I have quite a bit of savings,” she informed him. “We could buy one of those modular homes and have it delivered in sections to ....” She stopped for he was shaking his head. “Why not?”

“I would like a log home with a dark green tin roof,” he said. “One I can put together with my own two hands.”

She didn’t argue. “Okay, but I will furnish it with stuff you can’t make with those strong hands of yours.”

His lips twitched. “No velvets or silks or brocades or frou-frou wallpaper.”

“Leather and burlap and heavy cotton?”

“Aye, but not in pastel colors.”

“Earth tones only, then,” she conceded. “But I want a real bathroom with a big tub and a walk-in shower.”

“I think I can arrange that,” he acknowledged, “but only if I lay the tile.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll have to live here until the inside of the house is complete,” he said. He finished off his coffee. “I’ll go down and have Elspeth start ordering the lumber for me. There’s a man and his son who do concrete work so I can have them pour the foundation. How big a house do you need, lass?”

“At least twenty-four hundred square feet,” she said. “Three bedrooms. The master bedroom on the first floor and the other two upstairs.”

He frowned. “Why do we need two other bedrooms or a second story?”

“One bedroom for my writing and one bedroom for your workroom,” she said with an emphatic nod of her head. “That’s non-negotiable, Wolfman.”

His frown wavered. “I thought you were thinking about children,” he said. “I can’t give you…I won’t give you ....”

“I can’t have children,” she interrupted and held his gaze. “I had a hysterectomy ten years ago.”

He gave her a concerned look. “Why?”

She shrugged. “Fibroid tumors. They run in my family.”

He seemed to relax and she thought she detected an inaudible sigh of relief.

“I see one problem though,” she said, wanting to change the subject of children. At his raised eyebrow, she asked if he would have help in building the house. “You won’t be able to do it all on your own.”

“There are men down in the village that will help me,” he said. “Men who have been helping to hide me up here for years.”

Now she breathed a sigh of relief. “Then what are we waiting for?” she asked. “Let’s go down to the village and ....”

“You aren’t going anywhere,” he said. “Not until I know the men who came here looking for you are gone.”

That made sense to her, but she chaffed at knowing she had to stay underground awhile longer yet. Though she trusted him explicitly, she was itching to see the daylight, to feel the wind on her face, to smell the clean air. Being cooped up was making her nervous. She was not used to the restriction.

Jamie leaned forward, putting the chair legs on the floor and reached out a hand to cup her cheek, rub his thumb over her lips. “I’ll go down and check on things,” he said. “My instinct tells me they’ve gone, but I want to make sure.” He thought about the agent he’d thrown up against the Guardian and wondered if that man was wondering mindlessly around the mountainside or if the others had rounded him up and taken him with them.

“You won’t be gone long?” she asked, searching his eyes.

“I’ll be back before sunset,” he said. “There are things I will need to see to like the lumber and the foundation.” He shrugged. “And lead the men to the spot where the house is going to be built.” Another thought--that of the Guardian--flitted through his head, but he didn’t think there would be a problem.

At least he hoped there would not. The land he had in mind was just inside the Guardian’s realm but far enough away from the Gateway that there should be no problem. The land would fall under the protection of An Fear Liath Mor if the Guardian agreed they could live there.

“I see no problem.”

The words were like a harsh caress, but the next were spoken with more gentleness.

“I will welcome the company.”

Jamie silently thanked the Guardian then got up from the table, beginning to clear it but she would have none of that.

“You cooked,” she said. “I will clean. Now go sit in your chair and relax. I can tell you’re hurting.”

He chuckled. “Bossy woman.”

“I’m getting cabin fever,” she grumbled.

“When I come back--and provided the men are gone--we’ll go for a walk outside.”

“I can’t wait,” she said as she began filling the sink pan with hot water from the stove.

Taking a seat in the rocker, he watched her moving about the kitchen. It made his heart swell with contentment for it was a domestic scene in which he’d never expected to take part. When she was finished and was drying her hands on a towel, he pushed himself up--ignoring the ungodly ache that moved through his back--and went to her, encircled her in his arms, bringing her back to his front.

“All I could think about while I was gone was you,” he said, nuzzling her neck.

“All I could think about while you were gone was you,” she countered and rubbed her rump across the growing bulge in his jeans.

“And what was it you were thinking?” he asked. His breath was warm on her neck, his lips teasing the nape, his teeth nibbling, his tongue swirling to send quivers through her body.

She turned in his arms and draped hers around his neck, gazing up into his chiseled features with a look so hot, so demanding there was no need for her to reply. He scooped her up and took her back to bed, trying desperately to push aside the agony in his back.

It took him but a moment to rip open the shirt she was wearing to bear her breasts. Like a serpent he slithered over her to latch his mouth upon one firm peak and as she spiked her hands through his hair, he drew upon that sweet, tender flesh until it was a hard little pebble, sweeping the tip of his tongue over it to tighten it even more.

She lifted one leg and hooked it over his, turning him to his back with ease until she was sitting astride his hips, her hands upon the zipper, tugging it downward as he stared up at the heavy weight of her breasts revealed in the forced opening of the shirt. She eased her hand inside the crotch of his jeans and eased him out, curling her fingers tightly around him.

“I honestly believe I’ve created a monster,” he told her. “One who can’t keep her hands off my cock.”

“Or your chest hair,” she said as she caressed him.

“That, too,” he said, then sighed as though much put upon.

“You have no right to look so good,” she said as she pushed herself up to her knees and then guided him to her wet heat. “You put most men to shame, Jamie MacGivern.”

He blushed and she laughed, settling down on his rigid length. She squeezed her vaginal muscles around him and he drew in a quick, deep breath as she leaned forward, braced the edges of her palms on his chest, and took his nipples between her thumbs and first two fingers to rotate, to pluck, to lightly pinch, to scrape gently with her fingernails.

Jamie was mesmerized by what she was doing to him. He wanted to squirm beneath her but she wasn’t moving anything save her fingers and the muscles of her cunt. She was alternating tightening and releasing, tightening and releasing as she sat upon him and her fingers continued to work his nipples in counter rhythm to the pulses of her slick inner heat.

He reached up for the headboard and wrapped his hands around it, eagerly sacrificing himself to her wicked torture. Though the pain drilling through the left side of his back was so intense he could barely draw breath, what she was doing was so important to his state of mind he would have endured a raging fire burning his flesh to ash to experience it.

“You like that?” she asked and squeezed his cock, held it.

“Aye,” he said, licking his lips. He felt sweat popping out on his forehead as he anticipated her releasing him but she didn’t. He was as hard as stone—pressed as far up inside her sweet body as he could reach—and could feel the beginnings of release building in his testicles.

She smiled. “Say my name.”

“Mairi,” he stated firmly. "My Mairi.”

“Aye, Wolfman. Your Mairi.”

Her inner muscles began a tight little undulation to simulate orgasm and as it pulsed, it gave no quarter and as it rippled around him. It was the most riveting sensation he’d ever felt and he let himself go, pouring into her with a grunt of satisfaction that only increased as he felt her real orgasm claim her.

Her fingers closed tightly around his nipples as she let her head fall back, her release quivering through her lower body with such intensity, such strength she growled deep in her throat. She actually purred when his hands clamped onto her breasts and he thumbed her nipples, bringing still another orgasm to her aching body and she rode it out hard, bouncing, grinding, pivoting on his still hard cock until she was completely drained, falling forward onto him and into his strong arms as one last shudder ran through her.

He wrapped her in his embrace and nuzzled her cheek, feeling his heart and hers galloping like wild horses. They were both slick with sweat and he wanted to lap every little bit of it from her flesh.

“I love you, Jamie,” he heard her sigh.

He put a hand to her face and swept her hair back from her forehead to plant a soft kiss there. “I love you, too.”

“Always?”

“Until my last breath and beyond,” he vowed.

She snuggled against him and closed her eyes, listening to his strong, steady heartbeat.

* * * *

Long after he’d left her, she sat in his rocking chair and thought of the new life she was beginning. She’d told him she would have a letter of resignation ready for him to take to the village in a few days. She wanted to think of just the right things to say to her boss, the right way to explain why Cody and Hobart had not been able to find her. She didn’t want agents returning to look for her or to cause Jamie problems. More than anything she didn’t want the scientists who had hurt him to step up their effort to get him back.

She knew he stayed in a constant state of discomfort and most of the time in very severe pain yet he tried to hide it from her. When he returned, she was going to sit him down and have a long talk about that.

* * * *

Jamie stood behind Elspeth in the kitchen of her apartment over the general store and watched as she surfed the Internet, looking for log home companies. His hands were curled over her shoulders as he peered down at the computer screen. When she found a site with floor plans of which he approved, she agreed to be his representative and contact them to purchase the model he liked.

“That’s a beautiful place,” she told him.

“Do I have enough money in my account to pay cash for it?” he asked, straightening up.

Elspeth twisted her head around. “Son, you have enough money to pay for a dozen of ‘em if you’re of a mind to make yourself a subdivision up there,” she teased.

“One will do,” he said, squeezing her shoulders before he moved to one of the chairs at the table and hooked a leg over it as she printed out a copy of the floor plans for him to take back to his lady.

“I’ll take care of everything for you,” she said. She took the sheet from the printer and handed to him, watched him fold it and stick it in the pocket of his coat. “Don’t worry.”

“I won’t,” he replied.

For years the old woman had been managing his finances for him--depositing the monies from his carvings and withdrawing what he needed for the supplies she ordered for him. He lived so frugally, the money had accrued nicely drawing substantial interest through wise investments she’d taken out in his name. He had done very well under Elspeth’s guidance.

“How’s she gonna explain coming back from the dead?” Elspeth asked as she settled back in her chair.

“She’ll say she found a cave and holed up in it,” he said. “Had amnesia so didn’t know who she was or that there would be people looking for her.” He shrugged. “That’s partly true.”

“And they’ll believe that when you were all over that Ridge looking for her?” Elspeth shook her head. “You’d best come up with a better plan or they’re gonna know you was hiding her all along.”

“It doesn’t matter if they do,” he said. “What can they do if they don’t believe it?”

“Charge you with obstruction of justice? Hampering an official government investigation?” she suggested. “Give you a nice long jail term?”

“They have to catch me first,” he replied with a wag of his dark brows.

She laughed. “I wish I had just a little of your sass, boy.”

“Did you see them leave?” he asked.

“Every last one of them except for the one I heard is running amuck somewhere up on the mountain.”

“I’ll have to fetch him,” Jamie said. “If he hasn’t gone flying off a ledge somewhere.”

Elspeth scratched her cheek. “I was glad to see that asshole Wendt leave. They had him all doped up.” She gave him a sharp look. “Saw something he shouldn’t have, did he?”

“I suspect he did,” Jamie answered. “Up close and very personally.”

“The mountain takes care of its own,” she said and pushed her chair back. “You want some tea?”

“No, thank you,” he said, also rising. “I need to go see the Tolberts and take them up to show them where to pour the foundation. They can begin clearing the plot.”

“Would you happen to know who owns title to that plot?” she asked.

“When they check for the permits and everything, they’ll find that I do,” he said with confidence.

“Who really owns it?” she prodded.

“Someone not of this world,” he said softly.

“And all the right paperwork is just gonna magically show up in all the right places, huh?”

“Something like that,” he answered.

“Must be nice to have friends in such elevated positions,” she commented.

* * * *

The Guardian stayed well away from the land to which Jamie led Edger Tolbert and his sons Chad and Rafe later that afternoon. An Fear Liath Mor did not want its presence to instill fear or trepidation in the village men although it knew they would be nervous the entire time they were in its realm and not really know why. It sat perched on his favorite crag and stared into the bubbling brook that slithered past, watching the humans as they went about pounding stakes in the ground.

“Like busy little ants,” the Guardian chuckled. “Busy, busy little ants.”

In his infinite wisdom, An Fear Liath Mor knew the Lycant had not seen the last of the crazed one. The man’s mind was not as addled as it had hoped to make it. It had wanted to scramble that pitiful awareness but that had not happened. The human had proved to be stronger than anticipated. There had been madness deep in that subconscious long before the human had trekked through the Guardian’s realm.

Madness and murderous intent.

“He wants your woman, Wolf,” Coimirceoir, the Guardian said.

There would be a reckoning, An Fear Liath Mor reasoned, but it would be there on the Lycant’s side.

“At his side,” the Guardian corrected.

* * * *

“You couldn’t have picked a better spot for a homestead,” Edger Tolbert said as he took off his hat and swiped an arm over his sweaty forehead. The man was much too heavy for his five foot four frame. He looked around at the tall conifers and the limestone streaked with bright red and gold striations, the wandering stream with its sparkling little waterfall shaped like a crescent. “It’s peaceful here though just a touch unsettling.”

“Ain’t no close neighbors, Papa,” Rafe Tolbert suggested. “That’s what makes it so ....” He couldn’t find the right word.

“I think I’ll be happy here,” Jamie said. “It gets old living in a damned cave.”

“You been there so long,” Chad, the youngest Tolbert remarked, “why move out now?”

“Reckon that’s his business, Chad, and none of yours,” the boy’s father chastised with a growl and a lowering of his brow. It was common speculation in the village that the Lycant had found the missing woman and an unspoken vow that she wouldn’t be mentioned until Mac, himself, brought up her existence.

“Just asking, Papa,” Chad mumbled, his cheeks red.

“I think you know why I need a decent place to live, Chadwick,” Jamie said and reached down to pick up a smooth stone from the bank of the stream. He pitched it across the stream, watching it skip along the water.

“Ain’t none of his concern, though,” Edger insisted. “And it ain’t gonna be discussed.”

“Much obliged,” Jamie acknowledged. He dusted his hands and braced them on his hips. “I’ll be back down in a day or two to help. If you need anything, see Elspeth.”

Edger nodded. He glanced around. “Ah, we ain’t gonna have no visitors while we’re working up here, are we?”

Jamie shook his head. “No, but you’ll be watched over so you need not worry about bears or the like.”

“That’s a relief,” Edger said on a long sigh.

“Just don’t let anyone go beyond the cairn I showed you,” Jamie warned. “Everything from there on up the mountain is sacred to An Fear Liath Mor and he protects it.”

Edger glanced uneasily at the small pyramid of stones that set off to one side. “Won’t be going beyond that, no, sir.”

The Tolberts left Jamie to make their way back down to the village. He stayed for a bit--knowing he’d have company. He sat down tailor fashion beside the stream with his legs crossed in front of him and wrapped within the circle of his arm and waited.

It didn’t take long.

“Busy little ants,” the Guardian said from behind him.

Jamie didn’t turn around. He knew the creature did not like to be looked upon unless it did the inviting. “There will be quite a few of them up here until the house is built.”

“I can tolerate ants,” came the gruff statement. “They are easily squashed if they annoy you.”

“They’ll keep to this side of the cairn.”

“Oh, I know they will!” the Guardian chuckled and clicked its teeth together like a cat.

Jamie laughed and felt the creature settle down beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the thick, shaggy coat of the Guardian and the massive feet that ended in appendages with long, sharp talons.

“How goes it with your woman, Wolf?”

“Things are going good, I believe.”

“The one who desires her will be back.”

Jamie frowned. “You believe so?”

“I know so.”

The big feet flexed. The long toenails curled downward. “Best for you to be prepared for his return.”

“Aye.”

They sat there for a moment longer then the creature shambled to its feet with a grunt and a snort, its large bones creaking like that of an ancient one. A ripe smell washed over Jamie to make his eyes water and clog his sinuses.

“Call should you need me, Wolf.”

And then it was gone as quietly and as suddenly as it had appeared.

It had been a warning that Jamie knew he should heed. He understood very little about the Guardian, but he suspected the creature had abilities so vast, so powerful that it could see into the future. He knew it could easily pluck memories from the minds of human and animal alike. The extent of the powers it could wield did not bear contemplating.

Pushing up, he stood beside the stream for a bit longer--surveying the beauty of the land, the serenity of the surroundings, the peace it gave him--then turned to head back to the cave.

* * * *

Jake Hobart was grim as he walked out of the hospital room where his ex-partner lay strapped to the bed. Wendt was practically foaming at the mouth with fury at being tied down, but the words coming out of the man’s mouth, the wide-eyed stares and fierce snarls had garnered him the restraints.

“I don’t know what happened to him up there but your agent is showing signs of a complete psychotic break,” the psychiatrist had informed Spencer Croft, the head of the agency, earlier than evening.

The team had turned in the vans in Rickover, the closest large town to Lamb’s Grove, and then taken a helo back to the Agency. They had been met by a contingent of steely-faced escorts who had spoken not one word on the way to the sprawling complex that housed the Agency. Upon arrival, the men had been separated and taken to interrogation rooms where all but Hobart still sat.

“I’ll get to the bottom of it, Doc,” Croft had assured the Mind Healer. “I’ll know what happened out there or heads are gonna roll!”

Hobart had spent five hours being grilled by a team of agents with Croft shouting and cursing at the top of his lungs, but what had there been for either him or the other members of the team to say? None of them saw what had so frightened them and not a one had been touched--as Wendt surely had--by whatever had come after them on that mountain. Something had been there, but what?

“Don’t give me that shit about not seeing what attacked you!” Croft had bellowed and then when not a single one of the agents could give him any more information, he’d put them all on administrative leave.

And ordered them to undergo psychiatric evaluations.

All except Hobart, who had turned in his resignation.

“Coward,” Croft had labeled him but Hobart didn’t care. He had one last order of business to see to before leaving the Agency Compound for the last time.

Passing orderlies and nurses who were giving him speculative looks, Hobart ground his teeth and continued out of the hospital and into the night. His talk with Wendt had accomplished nothing and now Jake Hobart was even more uneasy. He crossed the street and walked to the monorail station, glancing up to look at the schedule to see when the next train would arrive. Annoyed that it would be a thirty minute wait, he went into the station and slumped down on one of the hard plastic benches, his legs shooting straight out in front of him. He was tired, hungry, and worried.

“Rough night?” the station master inquired from his grilled kiosk.

Hobart looked up to see the man watching him over a lowered newspaper. “One of the worst of my life,” he replied.

“Lose a friend in there?” the man asked, hitching a thumb over his shoulder toward the hospital, the newspaper bending and rattling with the movement.

“Yeah,” Hobart said. “And a partner.”

“Happens,” the other man declared, snapped the paper, and then went back to reading.

“Yeah,” Hobart agreed quietly.

“James MacGivern? James MacGivern?” Croft had yelled, his face turning red when Hobart had mentioned the ex-warrior. “Motherfucking hell! Why wasn’t I told it was him up there? Eighteen men have been sent to retrieve that fucking Lycant and eighteen men have come back with their fucking asses having been handed to them! Every goddamn one of them is a mental case now! If I’d known that bastard was up there, I’d have sent a fucking regiment with trans-out helmets and revert guns!”

“Trans-out helmets,” Hobart mumbled to himself and drew his legs in, bent over them as though his belly was cramping him. Just thinking of the specialized helmets that blocked thought transmissions was enough to give him a sour taste in his mouth. He couldn’t help but wonder if that was what had happened up on the mountain, if MacGivern had been playing them.

“Agent Hobart?”

Hobart jumped and snapped his head up to find a short, balding man staring intently at him. “Yes, sir?” he asked, noticing the blue-edged badge on the man’s white lab coat and turned pale.

“I would like a word with you in my office,” the man said. His eyes were stern. “Now.”

Hobart got to his feet. “May I ask …?”

“No, you may not,” the man snapped and turned on his heel to walk out of the station.

There were two security guards waiting outside the station and they fell into position to either side of the man as he walked. Hobart followed along in their wake, feeling like a chastised child.

Once inside the medical center, the man turned down a corridor over which a sign informed visitors it was off limits to all but authorized personnel. Harsh-faced guards stood sentry at the beginning of the corridor and others were stationed at intervals all the way down the long, dimly lit passageway. Each was heavily armed.

The man stopped at a black enamel door. “In here,” he said and opened the door with a swipe of his ID card. A loud, audible click echoed down the corridor and the door slid back into the wall.

In front of him was a long stainless steel interrogation table and two straight back metal chairs without cushions. The room was windowless, very cold and very bright--especially so compared to the dimly-lit corridor--and smelled of strong astringent. There were rust-colored stains on the concrete floor--some in splatters and two in large pools.

“Sit,” the man ordered. He stood with his hands on the back of his chair.

Hobart did as he was told, taking a seat on the rigid, uncomfortable chair, unable to keep from squirming beneath the hard look aimed his way from the unknown man. “May I ask what this is about, sir?” he asked, feeling like a child about to be punished.

“I am Dr. Simon Ordwell. I am chief of staff at Draeton.”

The agent could not stop the shudder that rippled through him. “Draeton?” he repeated, beginning to sweat.

“You are aware James MacGivern was interned at Draeton?”

Hobart nodded, swallowed with some difficulty. “We were told he was given a pardon.”

Ordwell’s beady eyes sparked black fire. “A pardon that has since been revoked. I would very much like to have the Lycant returned to my authority.”

“I have terminated my position with the Agency, sir,” Hobart said although he was sure the man already knew.

“Do you believe Allison Groves is still alive?” Ordwell asked.

Hobart shifted in the chair. “We have every reason to believe she died soon after the crash,” he answered.

“Do you believe Allison Groves is still alive?” Ordwell repeated.

The former agent lowered his head. “Yes, sir, I do.”

“So do I and I believe we both know where she is,” Ordwell stated.

Hobart lifted his head. “Sir, what is it you want from me?”

The scientist’s slow smile was deadly and filled with such brutal intent Hobart felt his bowels loosening. “I have what I needed from you, Jacob. Leave.”

Not needing a second order to do so, Hobart was up and out of the room, passing the two guards outside who gave him narrowed looks that made his throat clog with sour liquid. His pace increased until he was once more at the monorail station, sitting on the plastic bench and trembling violently. He ran a shaky hand over his sweating face.

“Draeton,” he whispered. “Oh, my God. Draeton. That bastard was from Draeton!”

The level nine maximum security mental facilities was the closest thing to hell there was on his world. Not only did it house the criminally insane, it was a government-run penitentiary where it was rumored inhumane experimentation had been carried out on the inmates before--and some say even after--the war. MacGivern had spent time there but the Lycant was stronger, more powerful, and tougher than a normal man. What must it be like for ordinary humans remanded to the hellish facility?

Another shudder traveled through Hobart’s body and he flinched when he heard the sudden rush of sound that heralded the arrival of the monorail. He shot to his feet and all but ran to the stile, shuffling impatiently as he waited for the sleek black train to pull into the station. Glancing nervously around him, fearful Ordwell would come back for him, the former agent could smell his own sweaty body odor and the urine that had stained his pants as he’d hurried from the medical center to the monorail station.

“Come on, come on, come on!” he hissed at the pneumatic doors and when they began to peel back, he rushed into the monorail car before they were barely open, squeezing through the gap, and took a seat at the back, his eyes trained on the medical center entrance, one knee nervously pumping, a cuticle clamped between his teeth.

From his fifth floor office window, Simon Ordwell watched the monorail pulling out of the station. He stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, legs braced apart, gaze tracking the train as it began to pick up speed on the elevated rail.

“In regards to the men who returned from the Pionós Mountains, I want all but Agent Wendt immediately terminated with extreme prejudice,” he said to the other man in the office with him. He glanced around. “Handle it as we did the others.”

“Understood, sir,” the man replied. “Have you spoken with Wendt?”

“Not yet,” Ordwell answered, “but I will before the evening is over.”

“Any instructions on how he should be handled?”

Ordwell turned away from the window and took a seat at the opulent desk afforded to him by the Agency when he was in residence at the Compound. “Yes. Have him injected with 150 milligrams of Introspectaline-4. If needed, another 5 milligrams may be administered in ten minute increments until he is calm enough for me to interrogate him.”

The man glanced up from the pad on which he had been writing his orders, pen paused over the paper. One thick white brow lifted. “That won’t short circuit him, sir?”

“Not in the hyper state in which he’s locked. He has enough adrenalin streaking through his system to counteract the effects of the I-4. Just have them monitor him carefully and have a suitable amount of Epi on hand just in case.”

“Very good, sir,” the man replied and left quietly to do as he’d been ordered.

Ordwell went through a few papers on his desk, but could not concentrate. His thoughts were on the Lycant--the last of his kind, though he doubted MacGivern knew that. Leaning back, he threaded his fingers together over his belly and closed his eyes.

“I will have you in hand very soon, Jamie,” he whispered. “And this time, you won’t escape.”

* * * *

Cody Wendt glared at the little man who entered his room. “Get the fuck out of here, you fucking midget!” he hissed and struggled against the restraints that held him to the bed.

Ordwell nodded to one of the two orderlies who had accompanied him into the patient’s room. Both men walked to the bed and one leaned down to slap a hand over Wendt’s mouth. The furious grunting and squealing behind the constriction of the man’s hand came to an abrupt stop when the other man cupped his hand firmly around Wendt’s testicles.

Although he went as still as death, Wendt was so agitated that he was sucking gulps of air through his nose, his nostrils flaring and contracting as he stared with fear at the man who came to stand at his bedside.

“Now that I have your attention, Agent Wendt,” the small man said, “let’s discuss Allison Graves.” He nodded and the two men released their holds on Wendt and stepped back.

“Ally? Ally?” Wendt said, his mouth open, drool sliding down one corner.

“You do know where she is, don’t you?” Ordwell asked.

“He has her.” Wendt hissed. He narrowed his eyes. “That animal has her!”

“Yes, he does and he is using her in the filthy way of his kind,” Ordwell agreed.

A low, keening sound pushed from Wendt’s throat and tears formed in his pale blue eyes. His blond head thrashed back and forth on the pillow. “My Ally,” he whimpered. “She was mine.”

“And she can be again,” Ordwell declared. “With MacGivern out of the way.”

“I want to kill him!” Wendt shouted and struggled violently against the restraints. He continued to thrash until the small man bent over him. “I will kill him!”

“But killing is so final, Agent Wendt,” Ordwell whispered in a persuasive tone. “Wouldn’t you prefer he suffer for a very long time instead?”

Wendt went still again, his eyes riveted on Ordwell. “Suffer how?”

Ordwell smiled nastily. “In ways you can’t even begin to imagine,” the scientist purred.

“You would punish him for me?”

“Will you go after him for me?” Ordwell countered.

Wendt pulled against his bonds. “Let me loose and I’ll show you what I’ll do!”

Ordwell straightened up. He’d seen in the eyes of the man on the bed that which he’d been seeking and was satisfied. “Unbind him,” he told the men, “and get him a set of camouflage fatigues.”

Wendt licked his lips, anticipating his freedom. He nodded as though agreeing to some inner commands only he could hear.

“I will give you the way to drive MacGivern to his knees,” Ordwell said as Wendt sat up, massaging his chafed wrists. “It will be up to you and your team to bring him back to me.”

“Then you’ll kill him?” Wendt asked, his eyes shining.

“No,” Ordwell said. “But I will make him wish I would.”

Chapter Eight

She marveled at the complex pathway along which they moved. The twists and turns and perilous drops, the abrupt dead-ends that looked like a solid wall, but which turned out to be an illusion, the sheer volume of strange corridors down which they traveled boggled her mind. Her hand was clasped tightly in his and when they came to a dangerous precipice, he picked her up and carried her across, cautioning her not to look down.

“How far into the ground are we?” she asked for it seemed they had been walking for at least an hour.

“A mile, perhaps two if you straightened out all the passageways,” he answered.

“No wonder they couldn’t find you,” she said and her eyes grew wide at the beauty of the boxwork ceiling above them.

“And now you know why I couldn’t just draw you a map,” he said, looking around at her with a grin. The glow from the flashlight he carried made his high cheekbones look eerie, his pale green eyes giving off a chatoyant reflection.

“I would never venture this trail by myself,” she said.

“To do so would be dangerous,” he agreed and his fingers tightened around hers.

By the time she saw light at the end of a long tunnel, she was bone-tired, her legs feeling rubbery and her back aching. She knew he must be in agony, yet not once had he reached around to massage the small of his back.

Outside it was almost sundown and the sun was at such an angle that it cast its last rays upon the cave’s entrance, bathing the surrounding hanging vines in a crimson glow. The towering rock face around them glistened with the light.

“Is that a waterfall I hear?” she asked as they came out of the crevice and skirted the tall sentinel rocks that hid the passageway into the cave.

“Aye,” he said. “It is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.”

With her hand still tucked in his he led her through the forest and to the spectacular cascade. It was only a few hundred yards away and when she saw it, she drew in an awed breath and stared at it with the rapt attention of a child.

A heart-shaped fall of water fell in sparkling waves to a bubbling pool over which silvery water tumbled and churned. Mist splashed the smooth rocks circling the basin and wafted to the lovers, dampening their faces. The verdant green depths of the pool looked inviting and he told her he often bathed there for the water was much warmer than it looked.

She let go of his hand and sat on one of the boulders, leaning over to drag her hand through the water. “Can we go in?” she asked.

He nodded. “I thought you might want to,” he replied and laughed for she was already pulling off her boots, tugging hard on them for they were a size too small for her feet, but the only ones Elspeth had in stock.

“There’s no rush, Mairi,” he said as he leisurely unbuttoned his shirt.

“I want to fuck you in that waterfall, Wolfman,” she said around clenched teeth.

One dark brow shot up. “You do, do you?”

“With extreme prejudice,” she told him.

He chuckled as she peeled her t-shirt off and tossed it aside, standing to unbutton her jeans--jeans that fit her ass so lovingly, so tightly just watching her shuck out of them did all manner of evil things to his libido. Still he took his time undressing, enjoying watching her desperate striptease and when she waded out into the water, he drew in a breath and held it.

“Venus rising from the foam,” he said as the mist swirled around her. He stood there and watched her sure, firm strokes as she set out across the pool until she was standing in the V of the heart shaped falls, water cascading over her.

It was a sight that set his blood to racing. Her long hair was draped over her shoulders, clinging to her breasts as the water fell all around her. She had a deliciously ripe figure, as she had told him was—indeed—36C, 22, 36, and though her suit had been a size eight, she normally wore a size ten though she preferred a size eight in jeans.

“I like them to mold to me,” she'd said.

And they did, he thought as he kicked off his boots and stepped out of his own jeans. They clung to her in such a way his mouth watered just thinking on it.

“Are you going to stand there all day and tease me with that body of yours, or are you coming in?” she called out to him.

He watched her gather her hair and begin loosely braiding it, saw her fling it behind her back before she dove under the water and in the last light of the sun, he saw her swimming toward him beneath the churning waves. He stepped down into the water and met her halfway across the pool. She swam right into his waiting arms, surfacing to press her naked body tightly to his.

“That’s better,” she said. She wiggled against him, smiling when he growled low in his throat and his arms became iron bands around her. “Much better.”

He looked up for the moon had just crested the mountain top and its soft glow fell upon the water. By the next night, it would be full and he would have to leave her for a few days. That had been the reason he’d wanted to bring her up to the surface for a few hours that evening.

She followed his gaze. “You’ll be leaving soon?” she asked.

“Tomorrow afternoon. It will only be for three days,” he said. “Until the cycle is complete.”

This was something she would have to get used to and she knew there was nothing to be done about it. Three days out of each month they would be separated, but if that was the only time they had to be apart, she could endure it.

“Where will you go?” she asked.

“Deep in the cave system,” he replied. “Where I won’t be a danger to anyone.”

“But what will you …?” She shivered, hating to ask the question but he understood.

“When I am in Conversion, I’m not particularly choosy about what I eat,” he said. “There are all manner of rodents and ....”

She laid her fingers across his lips. “I guess I really don’t want to know,” she said.

He grinned at her and in the moonlight, his white teeth looked very sharp. “I promise I’ll brush and floss when I get back.”

She wrinkled her nose at his teasing and laid her head against his chest. “I’ll miss you while you’re gone.”

Laying his chin on the top of her head, he sighed deeply. “No more than I will miss you.”

With the soft mist peppering her face, she lifted her head and looked up at him, snaked her arms around his neck and pulled her legs up so she could wrap them around his waist. “Then let’s not waste a moment we’re together,” she said and forged her lips to his.

Jamie felt that kiss all the way to his toes and he shifted his legs farther apart so he could withstand the onslaught of the tumbling waters swirling around them. His hands slid under her rump to brace her. With his tongue plying hers, tasting her sweet mouth, probing and thrusting, he lifted her higher so his rock-hard cock could touch the core of her. He guided her onto his shaft and thrust his hips forward, delighting in the groan that he captured with his own mouth.

Impaled on his delicious rod, she clung to him as he waded through the shallower part of the water to carry her to a jutting rock where he sat her down, never once breaking free of her slick body. He pulled her harder against him and flexed his thighs, driving up and into her as she sat upon the rock. Her arms were around his neck, her breasts like burning brands searing his flesh as he thrust into her, her legs like vices around his waist.

Grinding against her, driving into her, he reveled in the wet folds of her honeyed cunt. She was gripping him with such wonderful little pulses that it made him want to throw his head back and howl into the wind. His fingers dug into her hips as he rocked against her, his mouth taking hers, and when he came, he came hard, his entire body trembling with the force of it. In his heart of hearts he knew if it had been possible, such a strong, violent climax would have surely seeded her with his child. Before the last spurt left his body, she had joined him, her fingernails clamped into the flesh of his shoulders as her inner muscles undulated around him.

He tore his mouth from hers--breathing hard, the blood pounding in his ears--and lowered his forehead to her shoulder, dragging in gulps of air as he strove to get his racing heart under control. He could feel the animal part of him striving to break free and with the moon nearly full it was calling to him, prodding the ferocious side of his nature and he growled.

She reached up to smooth his wet hair, crooning to him as she held him in her arms. She, too, was breathing harshly. Her legs tightened around him and they stayed that way until she felt his cock slide from between her thighs.

“I never thought to have a mate,” she heard him say. “I thought I’d always be alone.”

“You’ll never be alone again,” she told him.

“If I ever lost you ....”

“Shush,” she said sternly. “You aren’t going to lose me.”

He needed to lay with her. He needed to be in their bed, in the safety of his lair and he lifted her off the rock and carried her out of the water.

“Our clothes!” she said, glancing back as he started for the cave.

“They’ll be there tomorrow,” he said and his purposeful strides carried them up the slight embankment and back into the forest.

She heard him suck in a breath and knew he must have stepped on a sharp stone but she clamped her lips shut, knowing he wouldn’t listen about going back for their clothing. Instead, she kept her head on his shoulder, her arms around his neck and just inhaled the manly scent of his tawny flesh, delighting in the sensations it plied through the lower part of her body.

“Don’t you need the flashlight?” she asked.

“No,” he said and explained to her how the growing moon-enhanced abilities of his lupine nature sharpened his night vision. “I can see the slightest bit of heat given off by the smallest stand of lichen or a tiny insect crawling along the rock wall. I might as well be wearing night vision goggles.”

His step was sure through the cave system, for he could have made the trek blindfolded if need be, since he’d traveled the passageway countless times. He knew where to plant his foot, what portion of the corridor to avoid, what section necessitated a surer traverse. Though it took him a bit longer to make the hike, they arrived back at the cabin without a single mishap. He had to allow her to slide from his hold as he operated the stone slab to enter his lair, but as soon as he had the portal and the cabin door open, he swept her up and carried her to the bed they shared, laying her down and crawling atop her like a man long denied what sustained him.

“I have to … I ....” His mouth came down on hers as he wrapped his body around hers, his legs entwining with hers, rolling to his back so she was above him but never breaking the contact of their lips.

She thrust her tongue deep into his mouth and ground her shapely rump on his groin. Her hands dug into his shoulders as she slid her hot sex down onto his cock with enough force to make him grunt. Swiveling her hips upon him, she rode him hard, releasing his mouth to sit up and let her long hair fall back over her shoulders as she closed her eyes and pressed deeper on his shaft while the ripples of her climax began tightening around him.

“By the gods,” she heard him moan, his hands clamped around her hips as she pushed her lower body against him, grinding upon him as she came.

His own explosion was so shattering that he thought the top of his head would come off when he shot long and hard into her velvety warmth a few heartbeats later, the spasm rocking him with its white-hot intensity. He grasped her hips and stilled her last tired movements on him while he pumped upward urgently--their flesh slapping together--riding out the storm of passion that had him in its thrall. For a split second darkness enveloped him and he saw stars shooting across his vision then he collapsed with a loud groan and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

She stretched her body over his and swiveled her head so her lips were pressed to his throbbing jugular.

“Jeez, Wolfman,” she told him, “I think you liked that.”

“I … think so,” he gasped. His body was slick with sweat as he reached up a trembling hand to spike it through his wet hair, pushing the tendrils out of his eyes. “I also think you killed me, lass.”

She smiled and ran her tongue over the pulse of his vein, delighting in the way he shuddered at her touch. Curling her fingers through his chest hair, she drew in a long breath and exhaled slowly, sleepy from their tryst. When she felt his hand gently stroking her back, she purred and heard his low laugh.

When morning came, she found herself alone. Jamie was gone, the cabin door closed, the stone portal once more a solid sheet of rock--the perimeters of which she could not detect with hand or eye. Though she had awakened late, she had not expected her lover to be gone, but something he’d said before sleep had claimed them came back to her ....

“I need to make sure the Guardian is near you while I am in Conversion.”

“Guardian?” she’d questioned, but he had fallen asleep, snoring lightly in that way that amused her rather than annoyed her.

He must have gone to see whoever or whatever he had meant although she hoped he would return before he had to leave for that dangerous period of the full moon. She wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. She wanted to love him at least once more before they were separated.

She got up and padded behind the screen and got ready for the day, slipping on one of his shirts, though she had several t-shirts he’d so thoughtfully provided her. Walking barefoot into the kitchen area, she fixed herself a cup of tea then sat down at the table to work on the resignation letter she’d started. Picking up the pen, she sat there tapping it against her bottom teeth, trying to come up with a perfect explanation for why Wendt and Hobart had not been able to find her. After ten minutes of staring at the paper, she pushed it aside with a hiss of disgust and leaned back.

“Why lie?” she said aloud. “Why not tell them I didn’t want to be found and that I hid from them? It’s partially true. Then again, why tell them anything? Why not just let them go on believing I’m dead.”

“Wendt knows you’re still alive and I suspect Hobart does, too,” Jamie had told her.

“So what if I say I wanted to be with Jamie and didn’t want to go back?” she mumbled.

But would that explanation get Jamie in trouble? Would they step up their efforts to capture him, knowing he’d misled them? The Agency was geared for revenge and to know the Lycant had played them false would be like waving a red flag in their faces. He’d assured her the government would never take him back to Draeton, but would this make them try even harder to take him down? Would they send more men, especially if Wendt insisted she was not dead?

Worried for Jamie’s safety, she sat forward and put pen to paper.

* * * *

At that moment Jamie was standing at the waterfall, hands on his hips, staring at the place where he and Mairi had left their clothes. The clothing was gone and there were footprints in the loose shale--a man’s footprints--and the tracks led back toward the village. Frowning sharply, the Lycant scoured the area, reading the signs that suggested whoever had taken the clothing had scoped things out, did some tracking of his own and that concerned Jamie. Though the man’s tracks did not lead back toward the cave, that they were there, at all, was telling. The tracks were too damned close to his lair for his peace of mind.

Heading up the mountain toward the ridge, he kept a close watch on his surroundings, an ear tuned, a nose primed for sounds and scents that shouldn’t be there. The scent of the man who had invaded his territory was not familiar to Jamie--he’d made it his business to know the personal scent of every man in Lamb’s Grove. This man was a stranger.

Long before he reached the craggy ridge he knew the Guardian was following. The sense of doom and foreboding began to dog his every step and he constantly shifted his shoulders, feeling the hawk like eyes watching his every move. Though his back had been bothering him during the climb, he realized the pain had stopped, the overwhelming fear caused by the presence of the beast had dissipated, and he smiled to himself. Apparently the Guardian liked to play Healer and that was fine with Jamie. He only wished the Healing would last longer than just when he was in the presence of the formidable creature.

“That would be good if it could be,” came a heartfelt sigh and Jamie knew his thoughts were being read so casually by the powerful being.

He stopped, looking out over a spectacular view of the valley far below. For miles all there was to see was the blue-green vista that looked so serene, so safe yet he knew danger lurked somewhere in the peaceful scene spread out below him.

“There was an intruder at Muirnín Falls,” he told the Guardian. “Much too close to the cave.”

“The moon rises full tonight, eh?” An Fear Liath Mor commented and Jamie felt the beast right behind him.

“It does and I have come to ask a favor of you, Vainshtyr Coimirceoir.”

“Coim,” the Guardian corrected. “There is no Master here, nor are you my servant, Wolf.”

“Jamie,” the Lycant stated and heard a gruff chuckle.

“You want me to watch over your mate while you are snarling and growling and doing all manner of wolf things these next few days.” An eerie chuckle issued from the broad chest of the beast. “Do you lick your prick when you’re in beast form?”

Jamie shook his head at the vulgar question but grinned wickedly. “I’d have way too much fun if I did that and would most likely be slurping them all night.”

“Too true,” An Fear Liath Mor said with a wink. “At any rate, back to business.”

“I would not ask except with the intruder about ....”

“Consider it done, Jamie,” the creature declared. A heavy paw descended on the Lycant’s shoulder, weighing it down a bit then a comradely squeeze was extended before the paw was removed. “That is what friends are for.”

“Do you know what became of the human who ran away from the others?” Jamie inquired.

“He roams the hills,” the Guardian replied. “I see him now and again but he stays well clear of me. His reason has left him so I leave him be.” There was a pause. “Do you believe this is the one you sensed at the falls?”

“No. The scent is unknown to me,” Jamie said. “And it carries with it a sense of menace.”

“Then you should be very careful, my friend,” the beast said. “What do you propose doing?”

Jamie ran a hand through his loose hair. “I’ll go to the village and look about. I will ask the old woman. If there is a stranger, she will know of him.”

“You think him one of those who seek you?”

“I know he is. He took our clothing from the falls,” Jamie answered.

“Why would he do this?”

“Proof,” Jamie said. “Proof that she is alive and with me.”

“Clothing can belong to anyone, Wolf.”

“From that clothing, scientists can take DNA. Hair, skin sheds--those things are unique to each person. Identity can be determined.”

“Ah,” the Guardian drawled. “And that is not good?”

“That is not good,” Jamie agreed.

“Be careful, then,” An Fear Liath Mor said.

From the corner of his eye he saw the creature simply vanish into thin air and wished he had such ability.

* * * *

Elspeth gasped as she straightened up from adjusting the canned goods on the bottom shelf. “Damn it, boy! You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days! Make some noise when you come up behind a person, will ya?”

Jamie’s nostrils were quivering for he’d picked up the scent of the man he’d been tracking. “Who is the man whose stench is clogging my sinuses?”

The old woman shrugged. “His name is Colton Gray,” she replied. “The Endicott Gallery sent him. Seemed nice enough.”

Storm clouds gathered in the pale green eyes of the Lycant. “Why did he come here for my carvings and not the woman?”

Elspeth held up her hands. “He didn’t say and I didn’t ask. Should I have?”

“I want to know everything you can find out about any stranger who shows up here,” Jamie said, locking gazes with her. “How do you know he really came from the Gallery?”

The old woman blushed. “Well, I don’t, but he knew about the payment arrangements and he liked your lovers, Mac,” Elspeth said.

“I’ll just bet he did,” Jamie snapped. “Where is he now?”

“He left about an hour ago,” she told him. “Said he was in a hurry to get the statues back to the gallery for a showing.”

“How long was he here?”

“A little over a day,” she answered, her brows drawing together at his harsh tone. “He arrived right after you came for your lady’s clothes. Why? What’s wrong?”

“What reason did he give for staying so long?”

“Wanted to tour the village,” she replied. “Said it was quaint.” She searched his angry face. “He’s not who he said he was, is he?”

“He’s one of them,” Jamie said. The pull of the moon was making his blood-lust rise and his hands were opening and closing into fists at his side. A jittery feeling was beginning in the pit of his belly and slowly working its way up his spine, making it taut.

“Well, he’s gone now,” she said.

“They’ll be coming back,” he said and turned to leave.

“Full moon tonight?” she said.

“Aye.”

“Will she be safe?”

“The Guardian will be watching,” he told her.

Elspeth shuddered. The villagers did not like to have An Fear Liath Mor down from its realm and there would be nervousness, unease, a general feeling of discomfort among them for the next few days. Doors that were usually left unlocked at night would be bolted. No one would venture out after sundown. Pets would be brought it and stock kept penned close. It would be a long three days.

* * * *

“I have proof that she’s alive,” Agent Colton Gray said into his cell phone as he drove back down through the Pionós Mountains. “He has her. There’s no doubt about it.”

“Where are you now?” his boss inquired.

“About fifteen miles from Rayford.”

“A strike team will be in route within the hour.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Gray acknowledged.

* * * *

Simon Ordwell sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair with his elbows braced on the arms, fingers threaded together and watched as Cody Wendt dressed. He noticed the tremor in the agent’s hands, the constant licking of his lips, and the shifting of his light blue eyes, the nervous tic that pulled at Wendt’s cheek and knew the man had slipped over entirely into the territory of the psychotic.

“You said you’d give me something to bring him down,” Wendt said.

Ordwell nodded. “You are familiar with the direct-energy transmitters used during the war?”

“I got zapped by one once,” Wendt said with a snort. “That isn’t going to be enough to ....”

“The transprobe I have designed carries 475,000 volts housed within a dart about the size of a paperclip. Shot into the Lycant, it will drive him to his knees and render him unconscious for up to twenty minutes--more than ample time for you to inject him with a sizable dose of pairilis that will keep him out for the trip to Draeton.”

Wendt stopped buttoning his shirt. “Will it kill him?”

“No,” Ordwell replied, “but it will deliver a very painful, debilitating shock that will cause a very severe headache for days afterward, not to mention an infusion of agony throughout his entire musculature that will keep him weak and helpless.”

“I want him to hurt.”

“Oh, he will, Agent Wendt,” Ordwell assured him with a brutal smile. “Believe me he will hurt as he has never hurt before.”

The door opened and Ordwell’s assistant came in with a small case such as would house a musician’s flute. He carried it to the adjustable bedside table at the foot of the patient’s bed and laid the case atop it. Opening the case, he withdrew a weapon that looked like a miniature tranq gun but with a longer barrel and a heavier stock. Also from the case he removed a small black oval pellet.

“The accuracy range of this weapon is roughly 50 meters,” the man said. “For maximum benefit of the charge, aim for the center of the chest or back. Avoid a headshot. It wouldn’t kill him but it would irrevocably scramble his brains and that we do not want.” He ratcheted the slide back and dropped the transprobe pellet into the chamber. “There are eleven other transprobes in the case but since you are a highly-qualified marksman, you should need only one.” He extended the gun butt first to Wendt.

Wendt took the lightweight weapon and examined it, hooked his finger onto the trigger and sighted down the long barrel, flipped the switch to turn on the laser sight and a small red dot appeared on the far wall. “Sweet,” he pronounced. “Real sweet.”

“I thought you might appreciate the workmanship,” Ordwell said softly.

“He’ll never know what hit him,” Wendt said with a dry chuckle.

“Oh, but he will,” Ordwell argued. “He most definitely will!”

“When can I leave?” Wendt asked, lovingly caressing the weapon in his hand.

“The team has been assembled and the convoy will roll out within the hour,” his assistant stated.

“Convoy?” Wendt questioned, his brows drawn together.

Ordwell got up from the chair and shrugged out of his lab coat, folding it neatly before placing it on the chair seat. “For some reason the village has protected MacGivern and helped to keep him out of our reach all these years. In order to remedy that, it will be necessary to place Lamb’s Grove under martial law and restrain its citizens to keep them out of our business,” Ordwell said. “We are taking a specially-designed laboratory along with us to contain our errant Lycant until we can get him back to Draeton.”

“How the hell can you take a laboratory with us?” Wendt demanded.

“Take a look out the window, Agent Wendt, and you’ll see,” the assistant said in a smug tone.

Wendt walked to the window and looked out. What he saw beneath the sweeping arcs of the sodium vapor lights in the parking lot brought a slow, malicious grin to his lips.

A solid black truck tractor-semi trailer combination sat like a hulking monster in the yellowish glow of the lights. The windshield and side windows were darkened with film so the interior of the cab could not be viewed.

“How long is that thing?” Wendt asked, amazed at the length of the semi.

“The box is eighty feet long if that’s what you mean,” the assistant replied. “It houses a state of the art laboratory and command center, both built expressly from Dr. Ordwell’s specifications. It is manned with men I trust implicitly to do as I tell them.”

Eight black armored vehicles sat in four rows in front of the rolling laboratory and eight more sat behind it. The windows in the multipurpose wheeled vehicles were also covered in dark film. It was impossible to tell either how many soldiers were inside the armored carriers, or how many might be in the six troop transports that sat in three rows behind the last row of armored vehicles. A black limousine sat nearby with a uniformed chauffeur leaning against the passenger fender with his black-clad arms and legs crossed.

“Are you ready, Agent Wendt?” Ordwell asked.

“Yeah,” Wendt said and when he turned from the window, his eyes were gleaming with malice. “I was born ready for this!”

* * * *

She knew something was wrong the moment he came through the door. She could see it in his eyes though there was a smile on his lips. “What happened?” she asked.

He shrugged, a nonchalant uplifting of his shoulders meant to convey indifference, but the mirrors of his soul were reflecting disquiet, apprehension. “Nothing for you to worry about,” he replied and held his arms out to her.

She came to him and pressed tightly against his tall frame. He was a good head taller than her but she fit in the niche of his embrace almost as though their bodies had been forged from the same pattern and had been meant to be one. The steady, reassuring beat of his heart against her cheek gave her a small measure of encouragement. She tilted her head so she could look up at him.

“What happened?” she repeated.

“There was a man in village looking for me, but he’s gone,” he told her.

She searched his gaze. “But he’ll be back.”

He nodded. “Most likely, but he won’t find me and he won’t find you.”

She moved back, breaking his hold. “I finished my resignation letter.”

“That’s good,” he said but she could tell he was distracted. From the hands of the clock on the mantel she knew the sun was already beginning to lower in the sky. Soon, he would be leaving her and already she was feeling his absence.

“Will you take it down to the village and post it when you get back?” she asked. “The letter, I mean.”

He nodded then threaded the fingers of his hands through hers and held her hands firmly. “Try not to worry. The Guardian will be close by.”

“Who is the Guardian?” she asked.

Jamie shrugged. “More than a hundred handfuls for any agent of your government. No one will get within a mile of you, I promise.”

She had no fear of anyone discovering his lair. It would take a miracle for someone to stumble upon it and nearly impossible for that person to discover a way into the cavern that held the cabin. But he had given her a pistol for her own peace of mind and the hollow-point bullets with which to load it. She was an expert marksman and though she did not like doing so, she had dealt death in the past and could do it again if needed.

“I should go,” he said and released her hands, stepped back.

He was nervous, on edge and she understood it was the full moon calling to him that made him so. His face seemed sharper, his eyes brighter, and his hair when she reached up to stroke a lock back from his forehead was coarser.

It was the tenderness of her touch that made him groan and he grabbed her hand and pressed her open palm to his lips, closing his eyes as though leaving her was as much a physical agony as a mental one. He dragged her against him and slanted his mouth of hers in a hungry demand that she felt all the way to the pit of her belly. When he released her and pivoted around, stalking purposefully to the door, she made no move to stop him, made neither protest nor declaration of her love for him. She knew he understood the way she felt and to say it would cause them both pain.

For a long time she stood where she was--silently praying for his safety--before she picked up one of his shirts, walked to his chair and sat down, her tearful gaze on the flames leaping in the fireplace as she brought the shirt that held his scent to her face.

* * * *

Jamie was stunned to feel the tears falling down his cheeks. He swiped angrily at them, ashamed of his weakness. Crying was for weaklings, not Lycants. The man who had created him had striven to beat such flaws out of him during childhood. To have cried would have been to invite more pain, more degradation, and more punishment. To show weakness of any kind would have been tantamount to signing your own death warrant. Lycants were not supposed to have feelings. They were not supposed to know love. Lust? Aye, lust they could have, but not the gentler emotions--the ones human men felt.

But he loved his Mairi with every drop of blood in his body, every inch of sinew that held his muscles together and with every ounce of marrow in his bones. He refused to question how he could have developed such a deep-seated bond with her so quickly, but he suspected loneliness and isolation had played a large part in making that love grow.

“You’re like a fucking puppy,” he snarled. “The touch of a gentle hand, a scratch behind your ears, a few soft words, and you roll over and expose your belly.” He ran his arm over his damp face. “You might as well have pissed yourself in the bargain!”

By the time he reached the cave complex where he’d chosen to spend the next trio of days he was growling with frustration. His eyes narrowed into thin slits, lips peeled back from his teeth, he stopped to take off his clothing and fold it haphazardly before stuffing it into a niche to keep it safe while he was in Conversion. Practically running the rest of the way through the tight corridors, he barely noticed the sharp rocks gouging into the soles of his bare feet. By the time the sun sank and the moon rose, his transition from man to wolf had already started. One moment he stood erect and the next he dropped to all fours, his head hanging between his outstretched arms as fur began rippling from his flesh and bones popped as they shortened, compacted.

His jaw elongated. His forehead shot forward. His snout pushed out with a wet, cracking sound. Thick claws erupted from the tips of his fingers and toes, fangs descended from his gums. His entire being underwent a transformation.

And all of it was an agony far worse than that with which he lived every day. It was an exquisite ordeal that made him whimper and whine and then howl with frustration and hopelessness before the full Conversion claimed him and he fell to his side, panting and heaving, his lupine body quivering, paws jerking.

When he had transformed completely there was no human intelligence left within him. He could not speak nor think in human terms for his animal nature had full reign over him. His bloodlust was high and hunger prodded him so that when he had regained enough strength to stand on wobbly legs, his dark muzzle dripped with saliva. He lifted his head, sniffed the air and knew a raccoon nest wasn’t that far away. The damp, dark passageways called to him and he made a chuffing sound as his nostrils quivered, searching for the scent of his prey.

He took a step forward in the pitch blackness that would be his home for the next three risings.

Chapter Nine

Every man, woman and child in Lamb’s Grove was rounded up and interned in the largest building in the village—the communal church where nearly every one of the two hundred and thirty-two residents worshipped each Seventh Day. Armed guards stood sentinel at each door and the windows had been boarded over with no chance of escape for the detainees. But to keep the prisoners docile, each had been given medication that made them lethargic and less likely to cause trouble.

When the black caravan had rolled down the street, there had been no thought of running and hiding, of protesting the insertion of martial law upon the village. Burly, silent men in black fatigues had piled out of the armored vehicles with laser rifles at the ready, their faces hidden behind the ebon smoothness of mirrored faceplates that revealed not even the gleam of a warrior’s eye. Black leather boots and gloves hid any expanse of flesh so that the soldiers appeared far more menacing than had there been a hint of humanness to their look. Only a few had protested taking the mind-dulling meds but they would not do so a second time.

Ordwell had taken over the sheriff’s office and from there he ordered his troops to search every inch of the village for any sign of James MacGivern. When none was found, he dispersed them into the surrounding forest and up the mountain with the express command not to return unless and until they had news of the Lycant’s whereabouts.

“Aren’t you afraid he’ll know we’re here?” Wendt questioned as he stopped his pacing to slant the scientist an impatient look.

What passed for a smile tugged at the older man’s puffy face. “There is a full moon tonight, Agent Wendt. James will have gone to ground rather than risk hurting the woman during his Conversion. He is neither aware of what is going on here nor were he to scent us, would he care. This is the ideal time for my men to find where he is hiding and to put you in position to bring him down when he emerges again in human form.”

“What about the monster?” Wendt asked. He began nervously chewing on a cuticle that had already been gnawed to the quick. “What are we gonna do about it?”

Ordwell sighed. “There is no monster, Agent Wendt. James has the ability ....”

“Don’t try feeding me that shit like they did at the hospital! I know what I saw. I saw the fucking thing!” Wendt shouted, eyes wide, saliva spraying. “I felt it touch me. I felt it breathe on the back of my goddamn neck! Don’t sit there and tell me there is no monster. It spoke to me!”

The scientist started to speak then obviously thought better of doing so. He closed his mouth and stared at Wendt, gauging the man’s lucidity. Others had returned from the Pionós Mountains saying there was something evil, something dangerous in the vast timberland but they couldn’t say what it had been. None had admitted to seeing anything though they’d sworn something had been there. Ordwell had dismissed the wild tales, believing them some mind-warp the Lycant had thrown at the agents to scare them away from his hiding place. Studying Wendt now as that man roamed back and forth across the room, there might be some doubt to the validity of that particular theory.

“What was it you saw?” Ordwell asked in a quiet voice.

“Big,” Wendt said and rammed a hand through his white-blond hair. “Big and it smelled like a beached whale ten days in the sun, only worse.” His eyes rolled in his head. “Furry and tall with talons and fangs and it could appear behind you without making any noise then disappear in the blink of an eye and reappear in front of you.” He shuddered. “And that face! Those eyes!” He shuddered again and wrapped his arms around himself.

Ordwell exchanged a look with his assistant who shrugged and arched a disbelieving brow. The scientist turned back to Wendt. “You say it spoke to you,” he stated. “What did it say?”

Wendt shook his head wildly. “It spoke some strange language and it growled and it hissed and it snarled!”

“What do you think this monster is?” Ordwell inquired. “Did you ask MacGivern?”

“An Fear Liath Mor,” Wendt said. “He called it the big gray man.”

Ordwell’s assistant drew in a harsh breath and when the scientist shot the man a quick look the assistant put a hand to his throat. “I thought that was an old talespinner’s yarn!”

“Does it mean something to you, Alex?” Ordwell asked.

“There is a legend of the Guardian of the Gateway,” the assistant replied. “The name given it was An Fear Liath Mor, Geata Coimirceoir. That translates to the big gray man, guardian of the gateway--he who keeps the entrance to the Abyss.”

Ordwell narrowed his eyes. “What exactly does that mean--the Abyss?”

“Some say it is the doorway into another dimension,” the man answered. “A way through time and space to the other side of the megaverse. Others say it is a pathway into hell, itself, where legions of demons rule.”

“Where monsters are born,” Wendt said, nodding. “Monsters like the big gray man on the ridge.”

“Could such a creature actually exist?” Ordwell queried Alex.

“I can’t say, sir,” the assistant answered. “Since Lycants exist ....”

“One Lycant,” Ordwell interrupted. “Only one still exists.” He tapped his bottom lip with his index fingers. “But if there really is something up there, it would behoove us to find it and take it into custody, to investigate this supposed gateway into another dimension.”

Wendt laughed. “Yeah, right. You do that.”

“Are you afraid of this so-called monster, Agent Wendt?” Ordwell asked.

“I’ll stay away from it,” Wendt declared. “That’s for fucking sure!”

“Would you kill it if I gave you the means with which to do it?”

An unholy light entered Wendt’s face. “You’d better believe I would!”

Ordwell inclined his head. “All right.” He turned to his assistant. “Alex, tell Dr. DeLayne that I would like him to begin work immediately on the most powerful poison he can concoct. Tell him I want enough death in a single cartridge to bring down an entire herd of crazed rhinos. Tell him to make six rounds and fashion them into a size that can be loaded into an automatic rifle that can fire those rounds in a single burst.”

The assistant gave a slight bow of the head.

“That ought to take that stinking beast down!” Wendt said after a low whistle.

“It would be enough to take down a tyrannosaurus if one still existed,” Ordwell agreed. He leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps your monster is some holdover from that Sasquatch nonsense from before the First Burning War.”

“I’m gonna kill it whatever it is,” Wendt vowed.

“But if it is killed, Dr. Ordwell, how will we garner any information concerning the gateway or what might lie beyond?” his assistant inquired.

Ordwell frowned. “You have a point.” He rubbed his thumb along his bottom lip. “Tell DeLayne to give us a very strong tranquilizer instead, then, and to ready shackles that could restrain that herd of charging rhinos.”

Wendt snorted. “There isn’t anything strong enough to hold something like that, but you’ll see. You’ll see.” He turned away. “While you’re fucking with the An Fear Liath Mor and its fucking with you, maybe tearing a few heads off, I’m gonna be looking for a way to kill it!”

The door to the sheriff’s office opened and Agent Colton Gray came in. He gave Dr. Ordwell a crisp salute. “You wanted to see me, Sir?”

“I am told the Lycant has a human here with whom he is close,” Ordwell said. “Bring that person to me.”

“The old biddy who runs the general store,” Gray stated. “I’m on it, Sir.” He saluted again, then left, Ordwell’s assistant right behind him.

“You going to question the bitch?” Wendt asked.

“I doubt there is anything she can tell me that I don’t already know,” Ordwell replied. “No, I have other plans for her.” He smiled brutally. “Something that will be sure to bring our Lycant down to us when he settles back into his humanoid state.”

* * * *

The Guardian sat cross-legged just out side the entrance to the Lycant’s lair, munching contentedly on a haunch of venison. It liked its meat rare--so rare, in fact, it never felt the kiss of flame. Keenly aware of every insect, every reptile, two- and four-legged creature within a hundred yards of where it sat, those unwavering hawk like eyes continually scanned its surroundings, its ears cocked for any sound it knew should not be in the vicinity. As soon as its great black nostrils caught the scent of man and the furtive whispering of cloth against flesh as the human moved, a dark spark of savagery leapt in An Fear Liath Mor’s stare. It rose to its full height then dissolved into mist, taking the deer meat with it so no tell-tale sign of its whereabouts would be detected by the intruder.

Or intruders as the creature reckoned as another scent assailed its muzzle. Stealthily stalking the stalkers without emitting the pheromones that would induce fear in those who sensed it, it kept close watch on the humans and when they drew near to the Lycant's lair, it released a small whiff of the very potent chemical that released alarm signals into the air.

“Hold up!” it heard one of the humans hiss in a low tone and the two others moving with the trespasser stilled instantly, weapons raised.

All three human men stood amidst a clump of concealing brush and carefully surveyed their surroundings. Cautious eyes tracked from tree to tree, boulder to boulder, and scanned the ground underfoot. The leader squatted down to inspect the forest floor. He was an expert tracker but there were no signs for him to read.

“I don’t see anything,” he whispered.

In its incorporeal state, the Guardian grinned hatefully. It could increase the release of the chemicals from its body to a level that would terrify the humans or it could make a sound to alarm the interlopers, but it did nothing. It simply waited, issuing silent mental commands to the men to move away from the place where the Lycant entered his dwelling place.

“MacGivern hasn’t been this way,” the leader said. “Let’s move out.”

Watching the human men until they disappeared into the greensward, An Fear Liath Mor leaned against a tall tree and began to scratch its back on the rough bark, tearing at the leg of venison, growling low in its throat at the pleasant sensation of tree to hairy shoulders. One ear was tuned to the passage of the humans and the other to the various under sounds moving through the forest. Satisfied no immediate threat was close enough to worry about, it slid down by the tree and continued on with its meal.

* * *

The woman who had decided that Mairi was a name she much preferred to her own was mending one of Jamie’s shirts and humming softly to herself. It had been two days since her lover had left her and she wondered if he missed her as much as she missed him. She had used their time apart to clean the cabin thoroughly from top to bottom and to rearrange drawers and cupboards, and to bake brownies from scratch. She had also sat at the table and gone over the plans for the house that was being built for them. She refused to worry about outsiders causing them any problems.

Sighing tiredly--her muscles sore from all the stooping and squatting and bending she’d done while cleaning--she put the shirt aside and closed her eyes, laying her head on the rocker’s tall back. The cabin was soundproof and comfortable so within a few minutes she was dozing softly, her hands curled toward one another in her lap.

It was a sensual dream that flitted through her mind and she gave herself over to it with ease. Jamie was stripped to the waist, hammering a two by four into place on the frame of the screened porch that would jut out over the babbling brook running beside their new home. The sound of running water sizzling over rocks and the distant caw of an eagle was punctuated by the rhythmic pounding of her lover’s hammer.

She loved watching the play of muscles on his bare back as they flexed and bunched. There was a fine sheathing of sweat glistening on his torso and arms and his dark hair was tied back from his forehead with a red bandanna.

“Want some lemonade?” she asked and when he turned to look down at her, she felt her womb leap in anticipation.

“Aye,” he said and paused in his hammering to swipe an arm under his chin where a bead of sweat was ready to descend.

As she poured him a tall, ice-filled glass of the tangy liquid, he climbed down from the ladder like the lithe animal she thought him. Her hungry gaze followed him down the slight slope to the creek bank, devouring him as he hunkered down beside the flowing water, peeled off the bandana then dredged it through the cold flow to swipe at his heated face. Bent over as he was, the tight muscles of his ass beneath the confines of his faded jeans drew her notice and she licked her lips, her feet moving her closer to him as he dragged the bandana over his chest and under his sweaty arms.

“Stop ogling me, wench,” he said, not looking around. “Your eyes are scorching a hole in my back.”

“Stop teasing me, then,” she said in a breathless voice as she came to stand beside him.

His chest was gleaming from the droplets of water that cascaded through the thick pelt of hair over his pectorals. The waistband of his jeans was wet as he squatted there.

“How am I teasing you?” he asked, craning his head so he could look up at her, squinting in the harsh brightness of the sun.

“You’re practically naked,” she said and let her gaze wander over the striations of his hard muscles--lingering on the bunched chords that banded his arms.

He got slowly to his feet and his hands went to the single button at his waist. With careless ease, he flicked it open, ran down the zipper and then moved back so he could kick off the ragged tennis shoes he wore.

“Where are your socks?” she asked, brow furrowed.

“Same place as my shorts,” he said as he pushed the jeans down to reveal a lack of underwear. “In the hamper back in the cabin.”

She swallowed hard as his heavy cock sprang out of the jeans. It was jutting toward her with intent, the head moistened by a single drop of liquid. When he stepped out of the jeans and stood there in his naked glory, she felt her heart begin to pound, her blood to race, and her palms to sweat.

“You are shameless,” she whispered.

He took the glass of lemonade from her. Tossing his head back, he drained the glass, the sight of his throat working doing wicked things to her libido and when he was finished, he swiped the back of his hand across his wet lips then let the glass fall to the grassy bank.

“Come here, baby,” he said in a husky voice and snaked out an arm to drag her to him.

He was sweaty, but the scent that rose from him was a heady blend of male and sexual need that made her giddy with wants of her own as he plastered her to him. His mouth swooped down to claim hers and his tongue invaded, darting in and out of her mouth in such a way it made her knees weak. She clung to his broad shoulders, lifting a leg to cock it around his lean hip. She heard him laugh deep in his throat and he slipped his hands down to lift her other leg onto him.

Before she could protest, he had walked them down into the chilly stream and she gasped as the cold water touched her rump. Her legs tightened around him as she felt herself falling back into the creek. The water closed over her head for a moment then he pulled her up, standing there amidst the rushing current swirling around them, looking down into her face, his legs planted firmly against the force of the water.

“Have you any notion how much you complete me, Mairi?” he asked.

The long skirt she wore was bunched up along her thighs, her core pressed to the wiry hairs of his groin. She could feel the stiffness of his shaft riding between the clefts of her ass and wiggled against him.

“Have you any notion what you do to me, Wolfman?” she countered.

A slow, evil grin pulled at his lips and he braced her so he could slide a hand between them to push aside the crotch of her panties and slip his hard cock inside her.

“I know what I’m going to do,” he said as he thrust his hips forward, driving all the way into her moist heat. With slow pushes he filled her and withdrew. Filled her and withdrew.

Her fingernails dug into his shoulder muscles. She rode him, pushing down as he drove up until the rhythm became frenzied and his hips were like pistons as he pumped into her lush body. His hands were splayed under her rump and he was easily lifting her to rock her up and down on his hard flesh as he thrust against her.

Then she was coming with her head thrown back, her mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, her trill of release loud in the early afternoon. His own climax erupted with a roar as he pulsed into her--once, twice, thrice, a quartet of times. He held her still upon him as one last squirt spilled and he was standing there being buffeting by the water, his panting breaths harsh as he dropped his head to her shoulder.

“I love you,” he told her. “With all my heart.”

“And I love you,” she said, dragging breath into her depleted lungs.

They clung to one another as he eased from inside her then lowered himself into the water so the current was tugging at their waists. He insinuated a hand between her legs to help wash away the juices with which he’d filled her then stood and waded back through the water, climbing the slight incline of the bank and carrying her over to the blanket she’d spread for their noon meal. He lowered her to it and stretched out beside her on his back, his hands under his head as he stared up at the lacy canopy of leaves overhead.

“I could stay here like this forever,” he said, sighing contentedly.

Though her blouse and skirt clung to her, she lay down beside him and nestled against him, allowing the warmth of the sun to begin to dry her clothing. She put her head on his bicep and spiked her fingers through the hair on his chest.

“We are going to be happy here,” she said.

“Aye, we will,” he agreed.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

They both sat up quickly to find Cody Wendt standing a few feet away, a gun leveled at Jamie.

She put out a hand to stop what she knew was coming. Her mouth opened in protest as the word ‘no’ rolled from her tongue on a low, vibrating of distorted sound. She saw Wendt’s finger tighten on the trigger. She heard the unmistakable click. Saw the muzzle flash. Watched the bullet exit the bore in slow motion, tumbling over and over toward her, turning her head ever so slowly as it passed directly in front of her on its trajectory toward Jamie’s heart. Felt the lethal wind of the hollow point’s voyage. Heard Jamie’s oomph of breath as the lead struck his chest. Stared in horror as his eyes widened with pain and a bright red hole appeared. Recognized the sorrow that blossomed in his eyes as he began to fall backwards.

* * * *

“No!” she cried out and snapped awake—eyes wild and chest pounding.

She was trembling from head to toe as she sprang from the rocker and began pacing, scrubbing her hands over her face. Gut-deep pain lanced through her to make her bend over with the force of it. Clutching at her belly, she groaned, feeling tears gathering in her eyes.

“Just a dream,” she told herself. “Just a dream.”

But she knew there were men outside looking for Jamie. Danger was lurking there amidst the towering trees and boulders. And she was stuck inside the cabin--deep in the ground--and unable to help the man she loved.

“Jamie!” she groaned, going to her knees, burying her face in her hands.

Now she was terrified that something would happen to him that he would not return to her. She knew she was being protected but what if Jamie could not return? Would the man he had called the Guardian come to her rescue and release her from the depths of the ground? Or would she die alone in the cabin, starving to death moment by horrid moment?

“He would not allow that,” she said aloud, tears falling to the floor in front of her. “He would make sure you were safe.”

But would the man she loved be safe beyond her help, at the mercy of his enemies?

* * * *

The Lycant twitched in his sleep, his muzzle wrinkling as he made chuffing noises. He was dreaming of his mate and his paws worked as he ran after her, darting through the forest and leaping over rocks and splashing through streams. His ears swiveled at the sound of her delighted laughter as she hid behind a tall conifer and peaked out to catch sight of where he was. He became motionless in the underbrush--watching her, grinning playfully as she took a tentative step away from the concealing tree. He drew her scent deep into his lungs and felt pride that this female was his, that she had chosen him as her lifemate.

“Wolfie?” she called softly. “Where are you, Wolfie?”

His grin became predatory and he took a step forward, knowing she could not see him for the camouflage of the brush. He made no sound at all as he took another careful step, his paws delicately crushing the fallen leaves scattered upon the forest floor.

“Jamie?” she called and this time her lovely face tilted to one side as she obviously strained to hear him.

Another furtive step closer to her, careful not to touch his sleek coat against the ferns that grew to either side of him.

She came all the way out from behind the tree. Her beautiful face was furrowed with worry as she clutched her hands together in front of her. “Jamie?”

One, two, three more stealthy steps toward his mate. Inwardly, he was chuckling to himself, his eyes bright, and his lips peeling back from wickedly sharp fangs as he grinned in anticipation. A fourth step and he was close enough to sweep out a paw and touch the hem of her long skirt, flick out his tongue to lick at the bare toes sticking out from beneath the material.

“Damn it, Jamie!” she said, putting her hands on her shapely hips. “Where are you?”

“Here,” he said with a growl and leapt at her, converting in mid air from Lycant to humanoid male as he sprang.

She laughed as he took her down to the forest floor, dragging her beneath him and wedging his naked body between her thighs as he kept his weight from crushing her as they fell.

“You bastard!” she teased. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

He reached up to touch the sweetness of her face, but didn’t reply as he slanted his mouth across hers and took her willing lips with his own. She tasted of honey and lemons and he thrust his tongue deep inside her mouth as his hard erection pressed urgently at the core of her sex.

He took her there on the soft cushion of leaves and fallen fern fronds, with a gentle breeze blowing over them and the distant sound of the Muirnín Falls crashing into Lake Crói. His cock was as hard as steel as he pumped into her soft body and her arms and legs were wrapped so tightly around him, so possessively around him his heart swelled almost to the point of bursting. She loved him and he knew it.

“Never leave me,” she pleaded as they lay there afterward in the sweaty gleam of after-love. She was pressed close to his side, her head pillowed on his bare shoulder, her fingers trailing spirals upon his chest.

“I swear I never will,” he said.

A loud crashing in the brush around them brought him instantly to his feet, his body arched forward in fighting stance, his hands up and fingers extended like claws.

“Run, Mairi!” he ordered as he spun around to meet whatever threat was coming at them.

“I won’t leave you, either!” she pledged and snatched up her skirt and blouse to hastily dress.

There were a dozen or more armed warriors who came thundering out of the forest. With pikes and barbed hooks swinging from thick chains, with laser rifles and transprobe guns aimed directly at him, he and his mate were surrounded.

He roared, changing in mid-roar into the vicious, brutal creature he could become in a heartbeat. He ran at one of the attackers and something hit him in the side, knocking him down, spinning him over and over. The pain was so acute he could not make a sound as he skidded in the debris lining the forest floor. He heard his woman scream and flipped over to his paws in time to see two men struggling with her, dragging her away from him. He let out a roar and sprang for her attackers only to be brought down by another brutal hit from a transprobe dart. Once more he went down, stunned, whimpering in pain, and they were all over him--chains were wrapped around his thrashing paws and tight around his muzzle. The wickedly barb hooks were thrust into his haunches and flanks and he howled beneath the constriction of the restraint around his muzzle. He felt a sting in his neck and then his world began to shut down.

“Mairi!” he yelled in his mind as darkness spread over his vision.

He came awake with a yowl and scrambled to his feet, standing there shuddering like a leaf in a stiff breeze. He was panting, his heart thundering. He swung his head from side to side but in the inky blackness of the cavern he saw nothing. There were no intruders, no attackers with weapons and paralyzing drugs. His mate was nowhere in sight and he hung his head between his paws for a moment--thankful--for he knew she was safe.

Slowly he lifted his head and attuned his senses to the cycle of the moon. It was no longer completely full and he could feel the pull of his humanoid side calling to him. Before the sun rose, he would begin the Conversion again from Lycant to man.

He shook himself and padded toward the corridor of rock that led up to the surface. He wanted to be closer to Mairi so as soon as the new day dawned, he could be on his way to her. Winding his way through the miles of twisting tunnels, he became aware of something troublesome wafting on the air. There was a scent that disturbed him and he stopped now and then to sniff the air. The pungent odor made the hackles rise on his back. It was a familiar smell yet tainted in some way and it brought instant wariness to his brain.

* * * *

Those two hundred and thirty-one villagers of Lamb’s Grove who had been confined in the communal church sat praying for the loss of one of their own. Tears were being shed and memories relived. Anger was being directed at the intruders who had descended upon the village and taken such brutal control. Not a single person or reasoning age within the communal church did not know why the soldiers were there or why one of their own had been brutally murdered. All any one of them had to do was look out at the scaffolding where the body hung swaying in the morning breeze to know how evil the soldiers were.

“How long will they leave her like that?” Rafe Tolbert asked his father.

Edger Tolbert ground his teeth together. “Until Mac arrives to cut her down.” He glanced at his other son who was staring out the window. “Come away, son. There’s nothing we can do.”

Chad Tolbert swiped at the moisture that clung to his cheeks. Like everyone in the village, he had loved the old woman and her death was a raw wound gouging at his heart. “The crows have found her,” he said softly but one of the village women had heard his words and let out a keening sound that cut deeper than any knife.

Elspeth Beaufort had been hanging from the scaffolding for two days now and her body would be giving off a siren’s call to the carrion. It would also be a signal as blaring as a klaxon’s horn to Jamie MacGivern.

“He’s going to be pissed,” Rafe stated. “He’s going to kill him some government pricks.”

“They’re laying in wait for him,” Edger reminded his son. “Do you think they’ll let him get within ten feet of that scaffolding before they take him down?”

“What of his lady?” Chad asked.

“The Guardian will see to her,” his father said and heads nodded all around them.

“Maybe the An Fear Liath Mor will come to Mac’s aid,” Rafe recommended.

“We could ask it,” the preacher said and every eye turned to the holy man. He shrugged. “We know it’s there, my friends.”

“Are you suggesting we pray to the Guardian?” someone asked.

“That’s blasphemous!” another spoke out.

Brother Tavis McShane shook his head. “Not exactly pray, Danny, but call out to it. It has protected us all these years. We can ask it to look after Mac.”

“Increase Mac’s odds,” Rafe said.

“The gods know he needs all the help he can get,” Edger declared. “Those bastards out there will take him from us if they get the chance. Mac is one of us. Are we going to allow that to happen?”

“No!” those assembled yelled.

“Then let us join hands and send our thoughts to the Guardian,” Brother Tavis said. “Let us ask for its help in keeping Mac safe.”

Chapter Ten

Strolling along unseen behind two trespassers, blowing its breath on their necks and grinning when the men looked around fearfully and slapped a hand to their flesh, Ad Fear Liath Mor oozed just a little more of the alarm pheromone from its shaggy body and watched with glee as the humans shivered.

“What the hell is that?” one of them asked. “I don’t like this worth a shit?” He scrubbed at his neck, nearly colliding with a tree as he kept looking around.

“Keep your fucking voice down! Something is trailing us,” the other man said.

“Me,” the creature whispered.

The two men spun around but there was nothing behind them. They were trembling now with faces as white as freshly-laundered sheets. Although their weapons were up and sighted--barrels sweeping from side to side as the agent’s had been trained--there was nothing at which to shoot.

“It’s the Lycant,” the younger of the two men said. “I know fucking well it is.”

“Whatever it is,” the other man snapped, “I’m going to blow it a new asshole if it gets in my way.”

A low laugh came from the beast standing only a few feet away and the sound was like an eerie registering of the wind. It spread a little more of its potent chemical into the air and nearly peed itself when one of the men whimpered.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, Benson!” the younger man suggested. “Join up with the others.”

“Safety in numbers?” the Guardian whispered and slapped a hairy paw over its mouth when the two men shrieked and took off running.

When the combined thoughts of the villagers suddenly wound their way through the Guardian’s brain, it stopped and listened, hearing the words as clearly as though the speakers were right beside it.

A mighty frown tugged at the features of the beast and its giant hands curled into fists. The anger that rose off its body suddenly released a wash of chemicals that seeped out of the shaggy coat and broke the spell of invisibility that had cloaked it. In the blink of an eye, it crashed after the fleeing men, its arms shot out and those hard taloned paws were gripping the two men by the scruff of their necks.

“You dare harm one of mine?” the creature bellowed and slammed the heads of the two intruders together with a loud clack.

It didn’t care that it had carelessly killed two humans. Humans were an inferior race at best and those whose bodies it allowed to drop like rocks into the ravine beside it did not rate a second thought. With feral eyes glowing red as blood, it set off with long, thundering strides, heading for the place where it knew the Lycant had gone to ground for his Conversion.

* * * *

Jamie sniffed the air as he reached the exit of the cave in which he’d spent the last three days. The stench of death was heavy in the air and the smell was coming from the direction of Lamb’s Grove. He eased out of the cave, looking all around the clearing before him. He sensed humans close by--could smell them--and he put a hand to the dagger strapped to his thigh, quietly easing it out of the leather sheath. With the grip tight in his fist and the blade held down in fighting position, he blended into the forest so quickly no human eye could have detected the movement.

He slipped silently through the forest, making his way parallel to the trail that led to the village. He could hear muffled sounds off to his right and behind him and knew they were being made by men searching for him. Just once he tried to touch the mind of the Guardian but drew back quickly--having encountered blind, irrational fury that made his stomach churn and his balls tighten. Something had happened to infuriate the creature and whatever it was had been so bad An Fear Liath Mor was flooding the air with a scent that made the Lycant tremble.

Yet for a reason he could not understand, Jamie did not fear for his mate. He knew she was safe from whatever had happened. He also knew he needed to concentrate on what was going on in the village, to protect the humans under his care.

“They’ve killed the old woman!”

The enraged bellow thundered through Jamie’s head so loudly he cried out, slapping his hands to his ears, feeling blood seeping from the sudden rupture of his eardrums. He staggered, concealing himself in a clump of bushes as a trio of trackers passed within five feet of him.

“What was that?” the leader of the men asked. He swung his rifle toward the place where the Lycant was hiding.

“I heard it, too,” one of the others acknowledged. “I think it came from over ....”

A loud crash sounded behind the men and they spun around--eyes going wide enough to pop from their faces as the Guardian came lumbering toward them like a charging elephant. The men’s screams were bloodcurdling as the hideous creature bore down on them, swiping vicious, brutal talons across defenseless throats, thrusting those wickedly curved deathwielders into soft bellies and huge paws lifted one body high into the air before bringing it down upon a raised knee. The loud crack echoed sharply through the forest as the tracker’s spine was snapped in twain.

Jamie stared in horror at the destruction the creature had wrought. From his crouched position beside a large fern, he lifted his head and looked up into the blazing, terrifying gaze of the Guardian.

“They killed the old woman and have left her to hang for the buzzards to peck!” Ad Fear Liath Mor hissed.

The Lycant could barely hear the words for his ears were still ringing, his eardrums aching from the creature’s earlier bellow. The scent radiating from the big shaggy body was enough to turn Jamie’s insides to mush with fright and he wished it would ease up on the chemicals it was broadcasting.

“Where are the villagers?” Jamie asked. There would be time to mourn Elspeth’s passing when he had annihilated those who had murdered her.

“In the meeting place,” the Guardian growled, then swung its massive head to the right. Its eyes took on a sheen of pure monstrousness. “More come and I am greedy for blood!”

“Be careful!” Jamie yelled, but Ad Fear Liath Mor had disappeared in a flash of pungent gas that made the Lycant heave.

Worried now about the safety of the others villagers, knowing without a doubt Ordwell had come to Lamb’s Grove to take him back to hell, Jamie also knew the son of a bitch would not hesitate to sacrifice another innocent in his quest to get what he wanted. The Lycant knew from personal experience the depths of depravity into which the scientist would sink if the need arose. As long as Mairi was out of harm’s way and he could keep the villagers from suffering, his own safety didn’t matter.

“Look to my woman,” he sent to the Guardian. “Let nothing happen to her.”

All that came back to him was a tearing, grinding, ripping cacophony of mayhem and the occasional shriek of a human dying in agony. The Guardian was in a murderous frenzy and the stink of spilled blood was saturating the air.

Hurrying toward the village, Jamie skirted the closest buildings of the settlement and ran behind the communal church in a blur of speed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the swinging body of the woman who had been the only mother figure he’d ever known and felt the prickling of tears momentarily cloud his vision. He spotted the guards hidden around the scaffolding, sensed others on the roofs and inside buildings, took out two who guarded the door at the rear of the church and yanked the locked portal off its hinges, startling a woman who had just come out of the ladies’ restroom.

“Get out!” he told the woman. “Get into the forest. The Guardian will protect you!”

To her credit, the woman had not screamed but nodded crisply at his command and hurried to tell the others. By the time the villagers began trickling out of the church, the guards who had been watching the back of the building were unconscious or dead.

Jamie knew he had to lead the other guards away from the church so the villagers would have time to escape. The only way to do that was to make for the scaffolding and the pitiful corpse that was drawing him like a magnet. Pushing aside his anger and hurt and the raw sorrow lodged in his throat, he sprinted around the church and out into the open, careless now of who saw him. He put one foot on the lowest step leading up to the swaying body and felt the weapon aimed at his back. He turned and his eyes met the maddened ones of Cody Wendt.

And then the agent fired his weapon and pain such as the Lycant had never experienced tore through his body, zapped through his veins and muscles and brought him crashing off the step, his body convulsing violently.

* * * *

“The villagers escaped,” Agent Gray informed Ordwell. “And whatever the hell slaughtered our men is nowhere to be found.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ordwell said as he looked down at the man strapped to the exam table. “I have what I came here for.” He glanced over at his assistant. “Tell the driver he had to head out.”

“What about Allison?” Wendt protested. “We need to know where he’s keeping her!”

“Ah, yes,” Ordwell said. “Agent Groves.” He gave Wendt a nasty smile. “You can come back for her when you return to look for the creature.”

The agent got up in Ordwell’s face, towering over the shorter man, glaring down into his eyes with murderous intent. “I’m not leaving until I have my woman!” Wendt snarled.

One moment Wendt was standing and the next he was on the floor, his body jackknifing, shuddering almost as powerfully as the Lycant’s had.

“Get that crazed loon out of my sight,” Ordwell told his assistant who had wielded the transprobe that had brought Wendt down. “He served his purpose and I never want to lay eyes on him again. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly, sir,” his assistant agreed and motioned two guards to lift the unconscious body.

Ordwell’s attention was snared by a low groan from the metal exam table and he leaned over the Lycant. “Wake up, James,” he said softly.

Jamie’s eyelids fluttered partially open, closed, and then opened again. He strove to focus but his eyes rolled back in his head and he went under again, the signals in his brain misfiring from the massive jolt of electrical current that had careened through it. His fists clenched beneath the heavy titanium restraints clamped to his wrists then hands relaxed, his body going limp.

“That will continue off and on for a few hours, I’m afraid,” Dr. DeLayne prophesied. “I doubt he’ll be truly cognizant before nightfall.”

Snorting with irritation, Ordwell turned away from the table. “I see no reason to remain here, then. I’ll be in the limo. Keep me informed of his condition.”

DeLayne bowed respectfully and made another check of the restraints that shackled the Lycant to the table, testing the ankle, chest, and neck bands as carefully as he did those locking Jamie MacGivern’s arms.

* * * *

The Guardian watched the two humans dropping their burden into the ravine but made no move to attack them. Engorged with the blood and flesh of many victims, it was beginning to feel the lethargy that a full belly brought. Slow moving, now, and realizing it could not attack the long vehicle in which the Lycant was imprisoned without possible harm befalling Jamie, Ad Fear Liath Mor turned its attention to the broken body of the man who had been thrown into the ravine. The human lay with its neck at an angle that told the creature it had ceased to have a spirit in this world.

“But I’ll not lead you into the next,” it mumbled and called up a gateway to suck the offending body into the miasma of the Abyss where it had sent all the soldiers it had slain that day.

It had to think of his friend’s mate and as soon as the trespassers moved out, it would go to the Lycant’s lair to release her. Their villagers were safely hidden, dazed by a wash of stunning chemicals the creature had blown over them and unlikely to cause problems. It would release its hold on them once Jamie’s woman was out of the ground.

Swiveling its hooded eyes to the pathetic sight of the old woman still dangling from the scaffolding, the Guardian let out a low hiss of anger. Her soul it had already escorted into the Gateway of the Afterlife, but her body needed to be handled properly, its suitable burial of importance.

“Get Jamie back safely,” the old woman had asked at her Judgment, using the one request granted to her by the Gatherer of Souls.

A single tear slid through the rugged fur on the Guardian’s nightmarish face and it put up a huge paw to catch it, bringing the salty expression of grief to its tongue.

To Ad Fear Liath Mor, the elderly were a blessing. They had lived long lives and deserved an easy death, a respectful journey to the Afterlife where all was good and bright and happy. For an old one to be so abused, her body disrespected and desecrated, was an abomination that set the creature’s blood to boiling. Heads would roll when the Lycant was safe, and it knew whose it would go after first.

* * * *

She heard the scrape of the outside entrance opening and tensed. Jamie had never made such a noise when he had returned to the cabin and the sound sent shivers of alarm racing through her. Racking the slide back on the gun she held, she moved off to one side and leveled the weapon at the door.

“Mate of the Lycant, I am your friend.”

The words were softly spoken and seemed to come from inside her own head and not from outside the cabin. When the wooden door leading into the cabin did not open, she took a step forward, intent on blasting to hell anyone or anything that tried to enter.

“They have taken him, Mate of the Lycant.”

Grief drove straight through her and the gun wobbled in her hand. “Who are you?” she called out.

“I am Coim, the Lycant’s friend,” came the equally soft answer.

She took another step then felt complete ease settle over her. All her fear evaporated and she lowered the gun. “You are the Guardian,” she said.

“I am that one, aye,” the gentle voice answered.

“Is he…? Have they…?” Her voice broke. “Please tell me they didn’t hurt him.”

There was a long pause before the next words. When they were spoken, there was great sadness in the tone. “I fear I can not tell you such, but he lives and I will free him.”

She laid the weapon on the table and rushed to the door, throwing it wide but there was no one there. The rock entry was open, as well, and a light flickered on the tunnel.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“The wolf would not like me to show myself to you,” was the reply. “I am not ....”

“You are his friend so you are mine. Please let me see you.”

“That can not be,” the Guardian said. “My appearance would frighten you.”

She ventured out into the tunnel. “Will you lead me through the mountain, then?” she asked. “I know there are pitfalls.”

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands and I will take you past all dangers,” the Guardian told her.

Though she was more afraid of the darkness than what the man looked like, she obediently squeezed her eyes shut and extended her hands to him. The moment the warmth touched her, she smiled.

“You have very soft skin, Coim,” she said and heard a low chuckle.

“You have no idea, bantling,” was the amused return.

One moment she was standing in the tunnel and the next she was in the open air, staggered by the change in the atmospheric pressure and the speed of light travel from one place to the other. Disoriented, she opened her eyes and had an impression of great height and width moving quickly away from her, the air displaced in a heartbeat as something massive blended into the forest. The cave system was behind her, only a sheer wall showing her where the break in the face was that led to the hidden entryway.

“You should be on a track team,” she called out and once more heard laughter.

“Follow the trail,” she was told. “It will lead you back to the village.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“After my friend.”

“But you might need my help. I can ....”

Once more something moved with lightning speed amid the towering trees and suddenly she knew she was alone. Whoever—or whatever—had been there had vanished completely.

* * * *

He woke with such pain spiking through his muscles it was all he could do to force his eyelids open. His body was wracked with bone-deep agony that throbbed and burned and fired all along his nerve endings and sped upon the highways of his arteries and veins. Spasms rippled throughout his limbs and he twitched and panted with the effort to get the agony under control. Hands clenching and unclenching, teeth grinding he stared up at a track of light above him and marveled that the only part of him that didn’t hurt, that didn’t support the pain was his back. For the first time in a long, long time there were no crippling twinges there.

“He’s awake.”

An attempt to turn his head toward the sound of the unknown voice was futile. He was suffering too much. The hard table upon which he lay bounced beneath him and he could not stop the groan of anguish that parted his lips and brought sweat to his forehead.

“You are in the trailer of a semi headed back to Draeton.”

He knew that voice all too well and when he managed to focus he was greeted by grinning face that suddenly loomed over him, he wanted to groan again--this time with the helplessness that had claimed him.

“Hello, James,” Ordwell said and put a soft hand to the Lycant’s face. “Did you think I’d forgotten you?” He stroked the fevered flesh, trailing the tips of his fingers down a clenched jaw. “A father does not forget his son. As a matter of fact, I tried to stay away from you but had to return. I wanted to be here when you woke.” He turned to a man standing beside him. “How is he doing?”

“His temperature is one hundred twelve,” that unknown voice reported. “Otherwise, all vitals are within normal ranges for his kind.”

“Yes, he is quite warm,” Ordwell agreed. “Perhaps we should start an IV, Dr. DeLayne.”

“Of course.”

Ordwell smoothed the tousled hair back from Jamie’s forehead. “How are you feeling, James? Are you in much pain?”

He refused to give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him acknowledge the agony racing through him.

“The new transprobe had to be powerful in order to bring you down with one shot,” Ordwell told him. “There will be no lasting after affects to worry about.” He threaded his fingers through the Lycant’s thick curls then leaned over so his lips were to the bound man’s ear. He lowered his voice to a whisper only Jamie could hear. “And it can be applied any time I feel you are not behaving as I want you to behave, James. The strength of the current can be increased and the duration of the contact held longer without doing you too much damage.”

Unable to move his head, Jamie shifted his eyes toward Ordwell. The man’s hot breath was fanning along his cheek, the rubbery lips were grazing the inside of the Lycant’s ear and the fingers in his hair were tightening.

“You are going back where you belong,” Ordwell whispered. “Back where I want you.”

The kiss on his cheek made Jamie shiver involuntarily and when the scientist yanked brutally on his hair, the Lycant growled murderously low in his throat.

“Behave,” Ordwell hissed and moved back, taking no chances his prisoner might suddenly find control of his motor functions. “He’s all yours, DeLayne.”

Dr. DeLayne took Ordwell’s place to quickly and efficiently insert an IV into Jamie’s arm. As soon as the icy-cold liquid started flowing through his veins, some of the ungodly pain began to diminish. The Lycant’s muscles started to relax and the burning racing through his veins began to subside.

“He is a remarkable specimen,” DeLayne said, his gaze moving over Jamie’s bare chest. “I can see why you are so proud of him, Dr. Ordwell.”

“Yes, he is quite spectacular,” Ordwell agreed. “The most lethal of his kind and--by far--the handsomest.”

Jamie snorted at that remark.

DeLayne put a hand on the restrained man’s bare thigh and squeezed firmly. “Superb muscle tone.”

“A perfect body in every way,” Ordwell stated.

Jamie could feel DeLayne’s stare crawling over the lower portion of his body and it sickened him for he knew here was another pervert of Ordwell’s ilk. He held his breath--expecting the scientist to touch him between the legs--but DeLayne only sighed and moved away.

Ordwell smiled nastily. “Oh, he wouldn’t dare touch. He knows to whom you belong, James.”

Jerking his gaze from the doctor’s, Jamie stared up at the light. Memories of Ordwell’s soft, chubby hands roaming over him at will--poking, prodding, slipping in and out, squeezing, stroking, pulling--made the gorge rise in Jamie’s throat. Recalling how the bastard’s body felt atop his own as Jamie was pinned to the sweat and semen-soaked mattress and held there by restraints, the painful invasion of unwanted flesh thrusting feverishly inside him ripped through the Lycant like summer lightning. He was sickened by the images that refused to leave him and his flesh crawled.

“You’ll have to wait awhile, James,” Ordwell said as though he had read his prisoner’s thoughts. “Until we are back at Draeton.”

Closing his eyes to try to shut out the horrid reminiscences, Jamie tried flexing his shoulder and leg muscles to see if he had any control of them. He found he did not, but he continued to struggle against the immobility of his limbs, taking heart that he could move his hands. Willing his arms and legs to cooperate, using every ounce of whatever preternatural power he had at his disposal, he surreptitiously worked at getting them to obey.

He could not be taken back to Draeton.

He would rather die than return to that hellish place.

* * * *

Unlike his fellow Guardians who controlled the Gateways on other planets, Ad Fear Liath Mor had the power to roam around the one it controlled at will. Why that was so, it did not question, but was happy that was the case. It had traveled north to the farthest reaches of the arctic poles and as far south as the wild windswept cape where ship wrecks dotted the jagged shores. It had visited the eastern countries as well as the western climes but its home was where the Gateway to Life was located, there above the quaint little village of Lamb’s Grove. Like its siblings it had been given many names on many worlds but no matter what it was called, it was feared and treated with superstitious respect by most cultures, refused acknowledgment that it existed in others, and spoken of with laughter in only a very few.

But no matter where its kind existed, where it called home, it was the most powerful, most lethal and most tenacious of creatures. Once set upon a path, it did not waver from that path nor would it leave undone that which had to be finished.

Soaring over the mountainous landscape in search of its quarry, the Guardian strove to get its overpowering fury under control. It was enraged at the loss of the old woman and furious that a friend had been hurt and taken against his will by enemies who had invaded the Guardian’s territory, and then escaped the retribution due. Around it, the heavens split with thunder and streaked with lightning--remnants of the rage that was coursing through the big, hairy body. Winds howled at tornadic speeds around it as it flew, buffeting the huge body. Red eyes gleamed with more than a touch of madness as they scoured the night-darkened land below.

“Call to me, Wolf,” it commanded.

It listened intently for some small whisper of sound from the throat, the mind of the Lycant but there was nothing. If the one it sought was conscious, he was where the Guardian could not pick up on his whereabouts and that concerned the beast.

“In what manner of place do they hold you, my friend?” it asked. “What kind of jail imprisons your soul?”

And then it saw the caravan of trucks and vans moving along the ribbon of road and swooped down low. Hiding its scent and presence, it dove down to peek into windows, searching for its friend, sniffing the air to catch the Lycant’s smell. Plastering itself against the glass of first one van then another, it did not find what it sought. The fancy long car with the silly looking driver did not reveal the presence of MacGivern, but it held an odor than made the creature’s nostrils quiver.

“Your enemy was in this vehicle,” it growled, thinking of the crushed body of the dead man in the ravine. “I have found those who took you from me.”

On down the line it went--plastering its face against the glass--and when it did not find the Lycant among the smaller vehicles, it knew its friend must be in the long shiny black box. It also knew there must be lead lining the walls of the box else it could have homed in on MacGivern.

Though its psychic powers could not penetrate the barrier of the lead, its massive paws could but it feared ripping the metal container open lest the one driving it crash off the mountain road and plummet into the depths of the craggy cavern below. Such a thing might harm the Lycant and that was to be avoided. Not a hair on its friend’s head must be harmed and whatever else might have been done to him would be avenged.

With extreme prejudice.

* * * *

She knew someone was following her and she tightened her fingers around the sturdy branch she’d picked up. Whoever it was made no attempt at covering his or her movements yet when she turned around to try to get a glimpse of her tracker, there was no trace of the one shadowing her.

Somewhere along the trail she’d taken a wrong turn and had been forced to backtrack. The sky was now a dark purple color as the sun sank behind the mountains but to the south, the sky was flickering with a magnificent display of fiery illumination and thunder echoed back to her though there wasn’t a trace of rain in the air. The eerie weather phenomenon was a mystery but she was grateful she hadn’t been caught in a downpour. Ahead, she could see the lights of the village so she wasn’t worried but the stealthy sounds behind her concerned her and she slipped into a thick bracket of ferns and was very still.

He moved right past her shortly thereafter, so close she could reach out and touch him if she desired. But touching him was the last thing she wanted to do. With his wild hair and rolling eyes, filthy, torn clothing, and skittish manner, she knew this must be the agent who had been roaming the hills since that first night. He was mumbling to himself as he stopped and listened, and his dirty face crinkled with confusion. He shifted from one foot to the other, wrung his hands then whimpered like a lost child. It was that sound that touched her heart.

“I’m over here,” she said softly and even as low as her voice had been, the poor man jumped and flinched, slamming himself against a tree, shivering from head to toe as his wide eyes locked in on the place where she stood. “It’s all right.”

He shook his head. “No, no, no, no, no,” he repeated.

“The Guardian didn’t hurt you and I won’t either,” she said and took a step out of her concealment. “Do you want to go down to the village with me?”

He turned his head and seemed to be studying the flickering lights below. He whined, reminding her of a scared little puppy. In that low, keening sound was a cry for help, for comfort and as his wounded eyes returned to her, she felt her heart break.

“We can get something eat and some warm clothing,” she said. The mountain air was crisp and the strong wind was tugging at her hair and clothing, making her eyes water and her teeth chatter. “A hot cup of coffee would be great right about now, wouldn’t it?” She took another step toward him.

He nodded warily, looked around them as though he expected someone to jump out of the bushes at him.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked.

“Groves,” he muttered and sniffed.

“That’s right. I was Agent Groves.” Another step and a gentle smile. “What I really need is a shot of tequila. Whatcha think?”

He licked his lips then put up a grimy hand to wipe at his mouth. “Scotch,” he whispered.

“Single malt?” she asked and held her hand out to him.

He looked down at her hand in the fading light and seemed to be considering. When at last he finally reached out his own hand--soiled at it was--she threaded her fingers through his.

“Let’s blow this pop stand, okay?” she asked.

“Lost,” he said.

“Yes, I know you were,” she said. “But you’re found now.”

“So lost,” he repeated on a long sigh.

“You’re with me,” she told him.

She tugged gently at his hand and he fell into step beside her. As they walked, she kept up a calming conversation. She told him about Jamie and what a good man he was, how he had saved her life. She did not ask him to speak, to give her any information about himself. At that moment she thought he needed comfort and acceptance, not interrogation. The closer they came to the village, the more tense his grip on her hand, the slower his footsteps, so she stopped and looked up at him.

“Everyone needs a little help from time to time, you know?” she asked. “That’s what friends are for.” Her eyes held his. “I was an agent. You are an agent and ....”

“Were,” he said then shook his head emphatically. “No more.”

“I know where you’re coming from,” she said. “But you know what?”

He looked at her quizzically.

“I’m starving. Let’s put a move on before I faint and you have to carry me the rest of the way.”

His lips twitched though his eyes were still wary and the focus not quite right. “I’d carry you,” he said.

“I’m sure you would.”

“Hungry, too,” he admitted and this time it was him who tugged at her hand to lead her to civilization.

Chapter Eleven

One by one, from the last van to the one following directly behind the big long rolling black box, the Guardian casually and without detection plucked each vehicle from the highway and carried it to the Gateway, dropping it through with a wicked laugh before streaking back to the convoy to snatch up another. Like a greedy child hiding its toys, Ad Fear Liath Mor moved with such speed and sureness, those soldiers inside the vans were unaware of their predicament until they felt themselves falling through an empty, lightless void that seemed to go on forever and ever. No frantic transmissions from their radios could pierce the chasm into which they’d been thrust. No screams of panic or cries for help would ever be heard. Fifteen vehicles--six troop transports, eight armored vans, and the black stretch limo simply blinked out of existence.

When nothing trailed the long black box, the creature flew ahead of the line of vehicles and began to allow the concealment of its alarm pheromones to slowly escape into the air. It knew the first human to scent the chemical would shift uncomfortably in his seat then begin to feel an inexplicable unease, restlessness, wariness, a small touch of nervousness. That nervousness would seep over into the man beside him then the one behind him. As the chemical spread and its intensity increased, agitation would start then meld over into apprehension and disquiet that rubbed raw the nerves. With the further saturation of the pheromone, heartbeats would increase and sweat would break out over the men’s bodies. An icy touch would crawl down their spines and they would begin turning to look behind them, searching for whatever had caused their anxiety. That anxiety would spread like spilled ink on a clear white sheet of parchment and stain the human’s dispositions with tight, uncontrollable fear. Every turn in the road might hold an obstacle that would suddenly loom up in the sweep of the headlights. Rocks might at that very moment be readying themselves to tumble down in a deadly avalanche from the high cliffs beside the road. A crater might well have developed in the pavement into which the unsuspecting driver might run. The drivers--in turn--would begin to ease up on the gas, to slow down in anticipation of trouble coming their way.

Laughing to itself as it hovered above the lead van as though it were a genie out of a bottle the Guardian began to send subliminal messages to the nine men behind the wheels of the vehicles. It whispered caution into ears and drove seeds of doubt deep into unsuspecting minds.

The convoy’s speed dropped from 65 mph to 55 mph.

And then the fog--thick and milky white--came out of nowhere, rolling down the steep cliffs of the mountain to hide the lead van from the one behind it.

The van disappeared.

“Where the hell did this fucking fog come from?” the driver of the second van in line asked, leaning forward to look up through the glass of his windshield.

That van disappeared, as well.

“Team leader, what’s the word on this fog?” the soldier riding shotgun in the semi asked into his microphone but only static came back to him. He glanced worriedly at the driver then tried another channel. “AAV 2, do you copy?” When he received no answer from the second van, he tried the others but only a grinding white noise was all he could pick up.

“I don’t like this. I’m slowing down,” the semi driver said and cut his speed to 40 mph, practically crawling on the winding mountain road.

Inside the semi, Ordwell looked up from the newspaper he’d been reading. “Why are we slowing?” he inquired.

“The Com is out, Sir. I can’t raise the driver,” a man sitting at the communications terminal replied. “Something must be up.”

Ordwell snapped the newspaper shut and got to his feet. He walked over to the Com Term. “Turn on the outside cameras.”

But all four cameras revealed nothing but electronic snow and the semi seemed to be slowing down even more.

Opening his eyes as the scent of fear spread through the trailer, Jamie managed to flex his arm and one leg, glad his motor functions were returning. All around him there was a flurry of activity as the scientists and the few guards stationed in the trailer began to feel the cloying sense of impending danger that was making them snap at one another.

“What is happening, James?” Ordwell demanded as he appeared above his prisoner. The man’s face was drawn taut, his gaze sharp.

Pretending he could not focus, the Lycant half-smiled as though he were on another plane of existence. His eyelids fluttered and closed. He sighed.

“How long will he be like this, DeLayne?” Ordwell shouted. “I need answers!”

“He took a large hit, Sir,” DeLayne replied. “I can’t adequately gauge ....”

The trailer lurched then came to a stop on a long hiss of air brakes. Eyes turned to Ordwell.

“Should we check outside…?” one of the guards asked.

Ordwell started to speak but his assistant put a quick hand to the scientist’s arm. “Sir,” he said, “if the creature Wendt told us about truly exists, it could be out there.”

“No!” Ordwell told the guard. “That door remains closed!”

Jamie could not keep the startled yelp from erupting when Ordwell grabbed a handful of the Lycant’s hair and jerked viciously. His eyes flew open.

“I thought you were pretending!” Ordwell sneered, his lips pulled back from his teeth. “Is the creature outside? Has it come to fetch you?”

Straining against the burning pull on his scalp, Jamie ground his teeth, speaking through the constriction of his clenched jaw. “How the fuck would I know? The walls around us are lead, aren’t they? I can’t penetrate them to find out.”

Ordwell bent over his prisoner, their lips almost touching. “What will the beast do?”

Jamie smiled hatefully. “Let’s just say you’re a walking dead man, sweet meat.”

Ordwell yanked Jamie’s hair. “But you’ll be dead before me!”

“Won’t matter,” the Lycant told him. “No one is going to leave this trailer alive and believe me when I tell you, where it is going to send all of you will be eternal and make the fires of hell look like an amusement park.”

Ordwell’s assistant backed away from the table, his face pale, eyes wide. “It can’t get in here because of the lead. It ....”

“Can rip this trailer apart as easily as you can pop a lid on a soda can,” Jamie said with a low laugh.

“That’s a lie. It can’t get in here,” the assistant said, shaking his head.

“Keep thinking that,” Jamie said, looking past Ordwell’s shoulder.

Eyes flew to the point where the Lycant was looking. There was nothing there to be seen yet the men were trembling, sweating, and making low whimpering sounds, backing away from that area of the trailer. With every passing second the terror raised another level until all but Ordwell, DeLayne and Ordwell’s assistant were plastered against the wall containing the door to the outside. Each of the men were shuddering violently and dropping to their knees, arms over their heads to protect them from whatever evil had arrived in their midst.

“How could it possibly enter?” Dr. DeLayne said, head swiveling from side to side as he searched the trailer for an intruder. “This is a maximum ....”

“Through the ventilation duct,” Ordwell’s assistant whispered. He was staring up at the small square of mesh that filtered the air and circulated it through the trailer.

Ordwell followed the other man’s gaze then looked down at Jamie. “Can it get in?” he asked and when Jamie only grinned at him, the scientist grabbed one of the transprobe guns and shoved the barrel tight against the Lycant’s temple. “Can it get in?”

Only the Lycant could see the looming dark shadow as it built behind Ordwell, but every man there—especially the three standing around the exam table--keenly felt its presence. Sheer, stark terror shifted through every brain to loosen bowels, release piss, and start undulating cries of panic from every throat. A noxious, overpowering stench rose up to burn eyes and sting throats and snatch away breath. A cacophony of gagging and retching was added to the whimpering and men began pushing and shoving one another in an attempt to get out of the trailer.

“Don’t open the door!” Dr. DeLayne screamed. “Don’t let it in!”

“It’s already here,” Jamie said softly.

Ordwell squeezed the trigger of the gun and the fiery current ricocheted through the Lycant’s brain to stiffen his body. An unearthly howl of agony was ripped from Jamie’s throat, then he began convulsing so violently he broke the restraints locked around his wrists and, ankles and chest.

A vicious roar shattered the eardrums of the humans as Ad Fear Liath Mor took corporeal form within the confines of the trailer. The vile odor it gave off in its anger was enough to plummet most of the men into unconsciousness and the humans fell in a clump, unable to draw breath into their lungs. So enraged was the creature, it manifested in its full height and breadth, blowing the top off the metal box with a resounding shriek of scraping metal and expanding its sides until the lead buckled and collapsed outward away from the frame to fall out on the dark highway. Any man who dared to look upon the beast was plunged into madness and hearts stopped still.

Ordwell’s assistant was shrieking like a young girl as he stared up at the creature hunched above him. DeLayne was dead on his feet, held erect only by the rigid grip of his fingers on the edge of the exam table. Then the assistant met his own doom, every vein in his body exploding as the Guardian wrapped a meaty paw around the poor man’s head then squeezed until there was nothing left but pulp.

The gun still in his hand, Ordwell squeezed off a burst of the transprobe and the current hit the Guardian in the center of its broad chest.

Ad Fear Liath Mor looked down where its fur was smoking from the electrical charge then leveled its crimson bore of a stare on the scientist. It growled deep in its throat.

Ordwell released another blast, a third then a fourth, but though the fur crisped and shriveled beneath the zap and gave off a putrid smell, the beast only smiled. It was a purely vicious smile that revealed long, sharply pointed fangs from which hung long strands of thick salivation. The black face crinkled with obvious amusement and the deadly gleam in its blood-red eyes began to sparkle.

“You,” it said, pointing a long, yellowed talon at Ordwell, “will know hell such as no human ever has since the dawn of time.” It moved its gaze briefly to Jamie then leveled it on the scientist.

Ordwell had one last round left in the transprobe gun. There was enough there to kill a normal man. Rather than suffer what the creature no doubt had planned for him, the scientist turned the gun toward himself, aiming it at his own temple, but before he could fire the gun was plucked from his fingers and went sailing into space.

“No,” the Guardian said. “It won’t be that easy.”

Jamie was thrashing upon the exam table, his eyes rolled back in his head. He had swallowed his tongue and was unable to breathe. His body was rigid in its throes, his bare heels drumming on the table. He was dying from lack of oxygen.

“I can save him,” Ordwell said, moving quickly to the table. “I can save his life!”

The creature did not move as the scientist bent over the Lycant and pried his jaws open, ran a finger into Jamie’s mouth to anchor his tongue. It merely watched the overweight man with its giant head cocked to one side as a child would observe the antics of a bug crawling upon the ground.

“It’s all right, James,” Ordwell said. He snaked out a hand and grabbed the stethoscope from around DeLayne’s neck and stuck the terminals in his ears. Putting the bell to the Lycant’s chest, he listened for a second or two then turned to point at the crash cart. “He is in defib. I need that!”

Ad Fear Liath Mor glanced at the strange-looking thing on wheels then shrugged indifferently, folding its massive arms over its singed chest. It possessed the power of life over death and would not allow the Lycant to succumb to whatever had been done to cause him to shudder so pitifully. It had already spread a veil of numbness over Jamie MacGivern’s mind so he would not feel pain even though his body continued to convulse. What it did now was merely toying with its victim.

“If you don’t want him to die ....” Ordwell began, but the beast merely threw back its head and laughed.

“The old woman had done you no harm,” the creature said in a low, throbbing voice.

Ordwell blanched. “She didn’t suffer,” he was quick to say. “She had been given a drug before she was hanged. She ....”

“The old woman had done you no harm.” The words were repeated with a savage snap of tone.

Looking about him frantically, Ordwell took a step toward the ruined side of the trailer, but the beast moved to block his escape. He felt a trickle of urine run down his leg.

“The wolf had done you no harm,” the beast stated.

Ordwell licked his dry lips, panic seizing him with jagged claws. There was no way for him to escape, no easy end and as evil as he knew he was, the thing standing before him was a thousand times worse.

“All the wolf and the old woman wanted to do was live in peace.” A thick ridge of fur shifted, bunched across the creature’s sloped forehead. “But you would not allow that.”

“I am a man of science,” Ordwell defended. He held his hands up for the beast to see. “I wield the power of life and death in my hands.”

A slow smile pulled at the creature’s mouth and it shook its shaggy head. “You have no authority over such matters, little human,” it said. “You thought you did, but you were wrong. You might cause pain. You might torment and torture and even kill, but that is not power.” Dark death blossomed in the carnelian glare. “That is nothing.”

“And you have such power?” Ordwell challenged, though he was quaking inside.

“I do.” To prove its point, it switched its gaze to the remains of Ordwell’s assistant and reanimated the dead man, causing the corpse to dance like a puppet upon a string. Other obviously deceased men came suddenly ‘alive’ and jerked and pranced about that end of the trailer—a macabre clicking sound eliminating from the otherwise lifeless bodies.

“That isn’t life,” Ordwell scoffed and felt watery stool trickle down his legs as the creature bestowed a fierce frown upon him.

“Not life as you perceive it. In the Abyss where their souls now reside, there is consciousness. That is what you believe life to be,” Ad Fear Liath Mor stated. “You will soon find that life can be much more.”

Ordwell became aware the Lycant was no longer moving. He looked down at the man on the table and winced. “You let him die,” he said. He put a trembling hand to Jamie’s arm as he hung over the side of the table. Something that might have passed for regret shifted over the pudgy face then vanished. He looked to the creature. “Will you make James dance, as well?”

Without moving a muscle of its massive body, the beast stared at Ordwell. It had stopped transmitting the fear pheromones and the cold mountain air had blown away the stench of its shaggy fur. Nothing moved with a mile radius of the destroyed trailer--even the sky overhead had stopped its spectacular fireworks for the creature’s rage had left it. Now, only grim determination filled the crimson glower.

“The Lycant is my friend,” the Guardian said. “When I am finished with you, I will give him back his life and he will live that life with his mate as the gods intended. As for you, life of a sort will continue though you will wish it had left you as it left these others.” It smiled. “You will pray it will leave you, but it will remain for as long as there is time in the megaverse.”

The last thing on this earth Simon Ordwell saw was a giant paw coming at him. The last thing on this earth he felt was the wrapping of that paw around him, his feet leaving the wreck of the trailer, his body stinging as it was drawn up through the frigid heavens. The last thing he heard on this earth was his own scream of terror as he was thrust into the very maw of evil and It swallowed him whole.

Epilogue

Mairi blotted the perspiration from her forehead as she sat cross-legged on the blanket and watched the men putting the green tin roofing on her new home. The day was bright and sunny with just a hint of wind to cool it. Around her, the village men had set up plank tables and the women were busy now putting out the covered dishes that would be the noon meal. Children ran about laughing and taunting one another, and pet dogs scampered about in their little masters’ wakes. Here and there a baby cried or cooed to its mother. It was just a typical early spring day filled with the camaraderie of a tightly-knit community.

She put up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, seeking her husband among the workers toiling on the house. At first she didn’t see him, but then she noticed Rick Baxter--the former agent whose eyes still bore a slight trace of madness from his brush with the Guardian. Jamie had taken Baxter under his wing and the two men had become very close. So close, in fact, Baxter would be building a cabin not too far from Mairi’s door.

The lilting sound of a tin whistle wafted over the air and everyone paused in what they were doing to listen. It was a soft, pleasing sound and where in the past it had caused fear and trepidation, it now soothed and calmed.

“It’s the Guardian,” she heard a little boy say. “He’s going to serenade us again!”

“How lovely,” a middle-aged woman said with a sigh, and began tapping her foot in time to the rhythm.

Though the creature never showed itself to anyone except Jamie, and Baxter was perhaps the only other human who had seen its face and lived to tell the tale, it made its presence known to the villagers in ways that showed its intentions were to protect, not scare or intimidate. Yet still no one dared impinge on the beast’s territory beyond the cairn of stones.

No one save the man whose life Ad Fear Liath Mor had returned to him.

Jamie turned from his work and leaned back to look past Baxter. He put up a hand to acknowledge his mate, a killer smile taking over his sweaty face. “I think I’ll take a break,” he said.

“Yeah,” Baxter acknowledged.

Unbuckling his tool belt and dropping it by the opening where the front door would stand, Jamie reached into his back pocket and drew out a bandana to wipe his glistening face. He came over to the blanket and dropped down, taking the frosty glass of lemonade from Mairi’s hand.

“Gods, it’s hot,” he said before taking a large gulp of the tart liquid.

“You okay?” she asked, searching his face for any tell-tale sign of weakness.

“Never better,” he replied and rolled the glass over his hot face.

“You sure?”

He grinned. “Yes, Mommy. Jamie’s fine.” He tipped the glass up again and drained it, then set it aside and stretched out with his head in her lap. “I think we’ll be ready to move in by the end of next week.”

“No big hurry. I kind of like living over the general store,” she said.

Jamie reached up to tug playfully at a lock of her hair. “You make a damned fine shopkeeper, little lady,” he told her.

“Somebody’s gotta do it. And since Elspeth left her estate to you, it only seems fitting.” She shrugged. “And it gives me something to do.”

They tuned in to the lyrical music coming from the forest and Jamie closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of his mate’s hands smoothing the hair back from his forehead. He laid his own hands on his belly and laced the fingers.

“I think Bax is getting sweet on the Rawlston girl,” he said.

Mairi looked away from her handsome husband—the man she’d married three weeks earlier in a candlelight ceremony attended by every villager of Lamb’s Grove—and sought out Baxter. The man in question was hammering away.

“She would be perfect for him.”

“Uh huh,” her lover agreed.

Silent for a long while, Mairi realized Jamie had fallen asleep and she smiled. He was so content now, so happy with life that he felt comfortable enough—protected enough—to let down his guard among the villagers. There was no dark cloud hanging over him, no strangers lurking about trying to capture him. Along with her letter of resignation, he had sent a letter to Draeton, reminding them of the release he had been given long ago. No word had returned from the maximum security prison, but no news was good news she supposed. In the two months since the soldiers had vanished without a trace on the mountain highway, there had been no further excursions by the government.

“The Guardian will keep anyone bent on mischief away,” Jamie had told her. “It will never again allow soldiers to enter its territory.”

As her husband slept so soundly, so securely with his head in her lap, Mairi turned her head and looked into the portion of the forest from which the mystical music floated. Whatever and whoever the Guardian was, he--or it as Jamie continued to refer to the one who had saved his life--had her undying gratitude. When she had opened the door of the general store to the gentle knocking that night to find Jamie laying there, her heart had nearly stopped. She had thought him dead but he was merely unconscious, his breathing and heartbeat erratic but strong.

“He’s sustained what appears to be electric shock,” the Healer had explained, “but he’s doing well enough. We’ll have to wait until he wakes to see if there was any permanent damage.”

But Jamie had awakened with only a nasty headache and no other debilitating symptoms. The rugged, crippling pain in his back had disappeared as mysteriously as the soldiers and had yet to return. Other than an occasional twinge of pain in his right temple, he seemed fine. He would not tell her what had happened to him when he’d been taken, and she was beginning to think he really didn’t know. Perhaps--as she suspected was the case--the Guardian had wiped all knowledge of that time from her lover’s mind. She had stopped asking.

“Whatcha thinking?”

She looked down and into the beautiful eyes of her husband. “I wish he’d come down and be with us,” she said.

“Won’t happen,” Jamie said. “It’s content with things just as they are.”

“Is he that gruesome to the eye?” she asked.

“Well, let’s say it wouldn’t win any beauty contests and let it go at that,” he answered and sat up. “Any more lemonade? Your man is thirsty and he needs to get his ass back to work.”

“I think they’re about ready to call everyone to lunch,” she told him. “I don’t want you to spoil your appetite.”

“Won’t happen, either,” he responded. “I’m a bottomless pit.”

“In more ways than one,” she mumbled and met his eye. She laughed when he wagged his eyebrows at her.

Things had changed so drastically for this man, she thought, as he guzzled down another glass of lemonade. He smiled readily, laughed often, and had begun to tease her unmercifully when they were alone--and sometimes in front of Baxter. He slept better at night and woke cheerful each morning. The heavy rock of dread and anticipation had slipped from his shoulders and the chip that had been resting there had been chiseled away.

Her gaze locked on the rhythmic movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed--his head tipped back, long fingers gripping the glass-and she watched a single drop of sweat roll down his neck and into the crisp hairs on his chest. Unconsciously she licked her lips, wanting to taste that little drop with the tip of her tongue.

“Woman, you are broadcasting your thoughts again,” he said with a growl. “Stop that.”

She looked up into his pale green eyes to see them smoldering and smiled slowly. “You’re not the only one who has a healthy appetite, Wolfman.”

He swiveled his head, apparently looking to see who might be watching them as he reached for her hand. Springing easily to his feet, he tugged at her arm until she was standing beside him. “Let’s see if you have any of that in stock, then,” he said loud enough for curious ears to hear.

“Jamie!” she hissed at him. “What are …?”

He pulled her along behind him. “I’ll bet there’s some in the storeroom.”

Mairi lowered her face so no one would see her blush and clenched her teeth to keep from laughing. Her lover was escorting her down to the village and it was more than obvious what his intentions were. She swept surreptitious glances at those they passed but no one seemed unduly inquisitive. No one was staring pointedly at them or grinning knowingly.

“You are awful,” she whispered to him.

“I am horny,” he replied in an equally low voice. “I wasn’t until you issued your challenge.”

“What challenge?” she asked.

“Sitting there smacking your lips while mentally stripping the pants off me,” he told her and his fingers tightened on hers. “You are shameless.”

It was another sign of the peacefulness that had finally come to this man, had entered his lonely life to fill his soul, and she reveled in knowing she had helped bring that serenity to him.

“He’s a terrible, wicked Highlander,” a voice spoke from the forest and Mairi swung her head that way, but knew she’d never see the Guardian.

“Mind your own business, Coim,” Jamie responded.

Mairi pivoted her head around to keep looking behind her at the spot from where the voice had come. All she could see was a large dark shape and when she heard laughter, knew Ad Fear Liath Mor was enjoying itself.

“Does he have a mate?” she asked.

Jamie looked down at her. “I wouldn’t think so.”

“Don’t you think he’s lonely, then?” she asked.

He pulled her close to him. “Not all men need a woman in their lives. Some prefer not to.”

“I doubt he’s one of them,” she said. “He deserves to be happy.”

“Do not worry about me, bantling. I have a fine female,” came the proud statement.

Jamie stopped and his head snapped around in surprise. “You do?”

Laughter came from the forest, fading away as the Guardian moved off. “You don’t know everything, Wolf!”

“Son of a bitch,” Jamie stated. “He’s got a mate.”

“And maybe little Guardians as well?” The whisper was filled with amusement.

A shudder rippled through Jamie at that thought but he continued walking, his brow furrowed. It had never occurred to him that Ad Fear Liath Mor was not alone in this world. Just knowing there were others of its kind was a bit unsettling.

“Where do you think the other Lycants are?” she asked.

“Scattered to the Four Winds, I would imagine,” he replied.

“Is it possible for you to contact them with your psychic power?”

He stopped once more and turned his full attention on her, scowling down at her. “Why?”

She shrugged. “They have to be lonely, unhappy men. Don’t you think they’ve been shunned by society because of what they are?” she queried. “Not truly human and more animal than man when the moon is full. They would have a hard row to hoe out there.”

“And this should concern me because?” he inquired with an arched brow.

She leaned into him. “Because you are happy and content and at peace and should want your brothers to be the same.”

“Brothers?” He shook his head. “I don’t have any brothers. There weren’t litters of us, for the gods’ sakes!”

“You know what I mean,” she said.

He narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you thinking?”

“The people of Lamb’s Grove accepted you and...."

"Because I left them the hell alone," he interrupted. “They tolerated me.”

“They accepted you and you know it,” she stated. “You are one of them.”

Annoyed with this turn in the conversation, he slipped lightly into her mind and when he read her intent there, he blinked, his lips parting in shock. “You want to bring them here to the mountains?”

“There can’t be that many of them left, Jamie,” she reminded him. “Less than a handful that I remember hearing about. What would that be, four, five? If you’re worried about them behaving, as a full-blood you would be the alpha male among them and they would be under your authority.”

“I don’t want anyone or anything under my authority, woman!” he snapped but it wasn’t out of anger. He was feeling guilt and that surprised him.

“They could live up where your lair was and be among people who won’t shun them.”

“How do you know the villagers wouldn’t shun them?” he asked.

“I’ve asked,” she said, stunning him. “No one would turn them away. They all think the Lycants got a bum deal after the war.” She stroked his arm. “They didn’t ask to be made.”

“They are warriors, Mairi,” he protested. “They are killers! Maybe not trained assassins like me, but they have killed humans.”

“So did you.”

He let go of her hand to run his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know, Mairi.”

“Can you contact them?” she asked.

“Probably.”

“Will you contact them?”

He didn’t answer. He began walking again, his hands now thrust into the pockets of his jeans. His head was down and from the way his eyes tracked back and forth, it was obvious he was turning the matter over in his mind.

“They would never have killed a human without provocation,” he told her. “Or without being ordered to do so. It’s not like I’d have to worry about them going rogue and taking out a family.”

She fell into step beside him, her hands clutched behind her, keeping her counsel, letting him reason things out on his own.

“They are most likely in rural areas where they can keep to themselves and not be attacked by some hate group.” He sighed. “That would be a very lonesome existence.”

“Yes, it was,” she agreed quietly.

They continued on until they were only a few yards from the general store. When he stopped, he stood staring at the scaffolding that he had not allowed to be torn down. It was his memorial to Elspeth and even though the villagers had erected a stone slab in the Lamb’s Grove cemetery, the old woman’s body was not there. Though his woman had argued against leaving the ghastly thing standing, the Lycant would not agree to its removal. He stared silently at the wooden framework for a long time, then away.

“That needs to come down, I think,” he said.

She made no comment to his words, but slipped her arm through his and laid her head on his broad shoulder.

“Aye,” he said. “It’s time it came down.”

Yet still he made no move toward the general store. His head came up and his gaze went to the mountain ridge above the village.

“They would be with one another up there and at least have someone to talk to,” he said.

“And maybe find a mate among the single women of Lamb’s Grove?” she asked.

He nodded. “Maybe.” He looked at her. “Have you asked about that, too, while you’ve been selling hoop cheese and pop?”

She grinned. “There were a few single women who had their caps set for you but you never paid them any mind,” she said, further surprising him.

His eyebrows shot up and he grinned like a little boy. “There were women interested in me? Who knew?”

“Aye, Wolfman, but you’re taken, so unless you want to be a castrated wolfie, you’d best forget I even told you,” she said sternly.

His grin widened and he swooped her up in his arms and swung her around. “Mairi is jealous,” he sang as though he were a precocious child. “Mairi is jealous!”

“Shush!” she hissed at him though she doubted there was anyone about to hear them. Most everyone was up at the building site.

He carried her to the door of the general store and had to bend his knees so she could insert the key into the lock to open the door. When it swung back, he carried her through and kicked it shut. He headed for the back of the store and the stairs that led up to the apartment above.

“I need to lock the door!” she protested but he ignored her.

He took the stairs two at a time as though she weighed no more than a feather in his arms. Carrying her into their bedroom--what had been Elspeth’s spare room, for out of respect he refused to sleep where the old woman had laid her head--he laid his woman on the thick chenille spread and straightened up, looking down at her with such a tender expression, it made Mairi’s heart ache.

“You do know I love you, don’t you?” he asked.

“Well, I suspected as much,” she said as she removed her flats and bent over the edge of the bed to put them on the floor. She laid back and lifted her arms toward him. “Come here, Wolfman and let me show you how much I love you in return.”

His smile was beatific as he lifted one leg, yanked off a sneaker, dropped it then lifted the other foot. Tugging off his socks, his hands went to the waistband of his jeans, but then he paused and tilted his head to one side.

“How many girls were going to set their caps for me?” he asked.

His mate growled at him, arched her fingers into claws and snapped her teeth. That made him howl with laughter and he quickly unbuttoned the fly and dragged the zipper down. “That many, huh?” he teased.

She knew she would never get tired of looking at this handsome, virile man. With his broad chest and wide shoulders, bulging biceps and hard pecs, washboard abs and lean flanks, he was like a young, bronzed god as he stood there shoving his pants down his long legs. She put her hands under her head and let her gaze wander all over his taut, prime body from the thick dark hair tousled so becomingly to the full lips and very white teeth, the shading of beard growth along his chiseled jaw that made her ache to rub her fingertips over the stubble, to the indention of his navel to the ....

“Holy shite, Wolfman!” she said as his cock sprang free. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Did that thing grow overnight?”

His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth as he stepped out of the jeans and kicked them aside. “Full moon coming up, wench,” he reminded her.

There was just the right amount of hair on his body, she thought as he padded out of the room and she heard him open the linen closet in the bath. He was a fastidious man and always had a hand towel ready for after they made love though she loved the feel of his cum running between her thighs.

“Yuck. Sticky and cold on the sheet!” was his pronouncement. “No, no, no, no, no!”

But at that moment she noticed the hair between his pecs was thicker and extended farther down his chest. Likewise his arms and legs and the tigerline that ran down the center of his body from paps to groin looked darker and fuller.

“The moon,” he explained as he came back into the room.

“Please don’t tell me it’s growing on your back,” she said, her mouth puckered with distaste.

“Not yet,” he said.

Tomorrow night he would leave her to go into the seclusion of his cave somewhere up in the mountain and she would be without his warm body and strong arms for a couple of days. Where once she had looked forward to the beauty of a full moon, now she dreaded it, for it meant she would be alone.

He bumped her with his hip as he lay down on the bed. “Move, woman. My cock needs room to breathe here.”

She scrunched over then pushed herself up with her elbows to look at the marvel of meat that jutted like a battering ram from between his thigh. At his look of pride, she leaned over him and took him into her mouth, loving the sound of his gasp as he settled down with his hand in her hair.

“You’re such a bad, bad little girl,” he pronounced as he smoothed her hair.

“Umm,” she agreed as she drew upon his thick staff. She put one hand at the base of his cock and the other beneath his heavy sack to massage him.

Jamie reached up to wrap his free hand around the polished scroll of the brass headboard and closed his eyes, giving himself up to the tender sweep of her practiced tongue. Never had he ever imagined that one day he would have a woman to love and for whom to care, with whom to spend his life. It had never seemed possible that he would ever find a woman who would love him--much less as deeply, thoroughly and possessively as did his Mairi. She gave him everything, held nothing back, and showed him in every way possible that she held him as dear to her as each breath she took. He was as content as a man could be and he was humbled by her feelings for him.

She released him. “You’re up there thinking, again. I can feel you doing it,” she said. “Stop that thinking, Wolfman.”

He smiled, but didn’t respond to her order. He simply arched his hips up in invitation for her to return to her worship of his cock.

Mairi took him as deeply into her throat as she could but there was still a lot of him left untouched. She marveled at how his glorious shaft had grown since the evening before when he had rode her hard and well--so well she was pleasantly sore today. She eased back to flick her tongue across the broad head and dip its tip into the slit that was slick with a bead of his essence. She loved the way he tasted--salt and spice that was all man and as heady as the finest wine. She cupped his balls and lightly squeezed, slipped her middle finger upward until it grazed the puckered rim of his anus.

“Oh, baby, don’t be going there just yet,” he whispered.

She tweaked him with her fingernail and grinned when he writhed beneath her. “You like that, huh?” she and pressed into him just a little.

“Ahh ....” he groaned, tensing, his heels pressing into the mattress.

There had been a time he thought as she teased him along that very sensitive, private spot that he would have bellowed with rage had anyone dared to touch him where she was at that moment. Pain and degradation and humiliation had been handed to him in brutal agony long ago. He had hated what had been done to him but his woman’s gentle touch was healing the old wounds that had all but crippled him. He tried to relax beneath her touch but it was still a battle to do so.

Mairi circled his anus with the tip of her finger then withdrew, once more kneading his balls in her palm as she worked her other hand in a slow semi-circle around the base of his stiff cock. Her lips slid up and down his shaft then she began to move the hand that held him tight in counter rhythm, stretching the silky flesh of his shaft and releasing it. Stretching and releasing. Stretching and releasing.

“Baby, don’t!” he begged and jerked, much too close to coming and he wanted desperately to be inside her when he did. He clamped his hands to her shoulders and pushed gently, easing her away from him and to her back beside him. He pushed her skirt up and tugged her panties down in one smooth movement and tossed them carelessly across the room.

“Litterbug,” she accused.

He wiggled down in the bed to position himself between her spread thighs and had his mouth fastened to her sex, drawing upon her clit in little nips before she could take another breath. He swept his tongue up and down each warm, moist fold--tasting her as she had tasted him, loving every lap of his tongue across her honeyed flesh, licked at her core and pressed the tip of his tongue inside her heat.

As he did with her, Mairi buried her hand in his lush curls and held his head as he suckled her. She adored the way he made love to her. His hands were on the creases of her thighs, his thumb holding her apart. He had a lightening quick tongue that could be hard as steel one moment then soft as silk the next as he moved it over and around and in her. When he fastened his mouth to her and nibbled her clit, she lifted her hips against the invasion, feeling the spiral of release pushing to break free.

“Now, Jamie,” she said, breathlessly. “Now!”

He slid up her--his hard, taut, firmly muscled body pressing her softer one into the mattress. The weight of him upon her was a deliciousness that drew her legs up to encircle his lean flanks, her arms up to wrap around his neck.

Reaching down to guide his cock into her velvety warmth, he ran it up and down her slit--moistening her, teasing her--then pushed in just a fraction, his hips paused above hers.

“Jamie!” she warned, her eyes flashing as she locked gazes with him.

“Mairi,” he countered and pushed in a tad more. When she would have arched up to impale herself upon him, he drew back, preventing it.

“Ah, come on!” she protested.

“You want it?” he asked and lowered his head to plant fleeting little kisses along her jawbone and down her neck.

“Yes!” she answered.

He swirled his tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat. “You sure?”

“Fucking A, I’m sure!” she hissed.

His lips left a warm trail from suprasternal notch to earlobe. “You really sure?” He eased into the very rim of her sex.

“Goddamn it, yes!” she shrieked, clawing at his shoulders.

“Well, why didn’t you just say so, baby?” he asked with a sigh then shoved his long, thick, devilishly hard cock as far into her sweet heat as it would go, stretching her and filling her.

Mairi screamed with the sheer pleasure of having him seated so deeply and full within her. Her orgasm shot over her in wave after wave of delight and her fingernails dug into his flesh as she came and came and came upon his hard shaft.

Jamie pulled back then thrust into her again--hard and deep--and held himself there as the tiny little squeezes went on and on then with one final pulse, ceased. He heard her release a long, shuddering sigh.

“You ready for me, now?” he asked against her ear.

“Always,” she whispered.

He eased out of her then pushed until he was once more deep inside her moistness. He held still then began to stroke like a man possessed, driving her toward the headboard of the bed with each assertive thrust. She clung to him, tightened her legs around him and held on as he drove hard into her. When he came, he did so with a roar that brought his head back--the chords in his neck standing out as he strained to release the juices that flowed from him in thick spurts. With one last thrust forward, a muted grunt, he collapsed atop her, cradled in her arms, his head pillowed upon her breast.

She could feel his heart pounding against her own and smoothed a hand down his sweaty back. The feel of his flesh beneath her palm made her sigh with pleasure. His warm breath was flowing into the V of her blouse and she wished she’d removed her clothing so she could feel his skin pressed to hers, that breath tickling her nipples.

“I can undress you if you want me to,” he mumbled in a sleepy voice.

“You can get up and let’s go have lunch, too,” she told him as she stroked back a fallen lock of hair from his eyes.

“Nag, nag, nag,” he grumbled and rolled off her.

“I’m hungry, Wolfman,” she complained.

“Aye, well, I thought I stuffed you quite well,” he responded then bounded from the bed, scooping up his jeans to thrust his long legs into them. He shot her an impatient look. “You gonna get up or what?”

Mairi rolled her eyes. The man could be a royal pain sometimes but he was worth it. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Are you going to contact the others?” she asked.

He nodded as he sat down beside her to drag on his socks. “But they might not come,” he warned. “Lycants are a wary bunch.”

“They’ll come,” she said with confidence and leaned toward him to kiss his cheek. “You’ll see.”

He watched her as she left the room, mesmerized by the movement of her shapely ass beneath the confines of the long skirt. He liked her in such attire instead of jeans or shorts and was happy she liked to dress to please him. He was pulling on his sneakers when she came back with a wet washcloth.

Wedging between his legs, she ran the washcloth over his face and down his neck, across his shoulders, under and down his arms and chest. When she was finished, she told him to put on a fresh shirt.

“Don’t want them there horny women seeing me nekkid chest, huh?” he asked as he went over to the closet.

“No sense in teasing them with what they won’t ever have,” she replied, stuffing her feet into her shoes.

“Guess not,” he agreed as he took out a shirt then slung it around his shoulders, buttoning it into place.

Together--hand in hand--they went down the stairs and out into the bright wash of the young spring day. A cool breeze wafted over and around them and the sweetness of the perfume from the mountain flowers permeated the air.

From its perch on top of a concealing boulder, the Guardian watched its human friends strolling along, laughing and talking, looking upon one another with love. Its great heart swelled at the sight and it lowered a shaggy chin into the cup of a massive paw and sighed with contentment.

It was a damned fine day and soon enough it would have more friends on its mountain with whom to converse.

New Lycants would be coming for it to protect.

The End