"Are you well?" the woman asked.

"She shared the munin with two of us," Jamil said.

"By accident, I take it," the woman said. She sounded faintly amused.

I was not amused. I got to my feet, a little unsteady, but standing. "Who are you?"

"My name is Marianne. I am the vargamor for this clan."

I remembered Verne and Colin talking about a varga-something last night. "Verne mentioned you last night. Colin said he'd left you at home to keep you safe."

"A good witch is hard to find," she said, smiling.

I looked at her. "You don't feel Wiccan."

Again, I knew she smiled at me. Her peaceful condescension grated on my nerves. "A psychic then, if you prefer the term."

"I'd never heard the term vargamor before last night," I said.

"It's rare," she said. "Most packs don't have one anymore. Considered too old-fashioned."

"You aren't lukoi," I said.

Her head cocked to one side, and the smile was gone, as if I'd finally done something worthwhile. "Are you so sure?"

I tried to get a sense of what had made me so sure she was human, or at least not lukoi. She had her own energy. She was psychic enough for me to notice. We'd have recognized each other without any introductions. We might not have known the exact flavor of each other's abilities, but we'd have recognized a kindred or rival spirit. Whatever power moved her, it wasn't lycanthropy.

"Yeah, I'm sure you're not lukoi," I said.

"Why?" she asked.

"You don't taste like a shapeshifter."

She laughed then, and it was a rich, musical sound that managed to be wholesome and earthy all at the same time. "I like your choice of senses. Most humans would have said I didn't feel right. Feel is such an imprecise word, don't you think?"

I shrugged. "Maybe."

"This is Roland. He is my bodyguard for this night. We poor humans must be watched over for fear that some overzealous shapeshifter might lose control and harm us."

"Somehow I don't think you are that easy a prey, Marianne."

She laughed again. "Why, thank you, child."

Her calling me child made me add about ten years to her age. She didn't look it. It was dark, but she still didn't look it.

"Come, Anita. We will escort you to the lupanar." She held out her hand to me like I was supposed to take it and be led like a child.

I looked to Jamil. I hoped somebody knew what was going on, because I was lost.

"It's all right, Anita. The vargamor is neutral. She never fights or takes sides in challenges. That's how she can be human and run with the pack."

"Are we involved in a challenge or a fight that I don't know about?" I asked.

"No," Jamil said, but he sounded uncertain.

Marianne interpreted for me without being asked. "Introducing two outside dominants to a pack can lead to fighting. Having someone as powerful as Richard is raising the hackles on our younger wolves. Having him sleeping with our pack's only two dominant females makes it worse."

"You mean we may get into a pissing contest," I said.

"A colorful phrase, but accurate enough," she said.

"Okay, now what?" I asked.

"Now, Roland and I escort you all to the lupanar. The rest of you may go ahead. You know the way, Jamil."

"I don't think so," I said.

"No to what?" Marianne asked.

"Do I look like Little Red Riding Hood?" I said. "I'm not taking a stroll in the woods with two strangers. One of them a werewolf and the other a ... I don't know what you are yet, Marianne. But I don't want to be alone with the two of you."

"Very well," she said. "Some or all may stay. I was thinking that you might like privacy to speak with another human tied to the lukoi. Perhaps I was wrong."

"Tomorrow in the light of day, we can talk. Tonight, let's just take it easy."

"As you like," she said. Again, she held out her hand to me. "Come. Let us talk as we all troop to the lupanar as one big, happy family."

"You're making fun of me now," I said. "That won't put you on my A-list."

"I make fun of everyone a little," she said. "I mean no harm by it." She waggled her hand at me. "Come, child, the moon is passing above us. Time wastes away."

I walked towards her with my five bodyguards at my back. I didn't take her hand, though.

I was close enough to see the condescending smile clearly now. Anita Blake, the famous vampire hunter, afraid of some backcountry wisewoman.

I smiled. "I'm cautious by nature and paranoid by profession. You've offered me your hand twice now within just a few minutes. You don't strike me as someone who does anything without a reason. What gives?"

She put her hands on her hips and tsked at me. "Is she always this difficult?"

"Worse," Jason said.

I frowned at him. Even if he couldn't see it in the dark, it made me feel better.

"All I want, child, is to touch your hand and get a sense of how powerful you are before we let you inside the boundaries of our lupanar again. After what you did last night, some of our pack fear you within the boundaries of our lupanar. They seem to think you will steal our power."

"I can tap into it," I said, "but I can't steal it."

"But the munin already reach out to you. I felt you call your munin. It traveled through the power we have called tonight in the lupanar. It disturbed it like plucking on a thread of a spider's web. We came to see what we had caught, and if it were too big to eat, we would cut it loose and not take it home."

"The spider metaphor worked for maybe two sentences, then you lost me," I said.

"The lupanar is our place of power, Anita. I need to get a sense of what you are before you enter it this night." The laughter was gone from her voice. She was suddenly very serious. "It is not just our protection I am thinking of, child. It is yours. Think, child, what would happen to you if the munin within our circle rode you one after another? I need to make sure you can control at least that well."

Just hearing her say it made my stomach tight with fear. "Okay." I held out my hand to her like we were going to shake hands, but I gave her my left hand. If she didn't like it, she could refuse it.

"Offering the left hand is an insult," she said.

"Take it or leave it, vargamor. We don't have all night."

"That is more true than you know, little one." She put her hand out as if to touch mine but stopped with her hand just above mine. She spread her hand above my skin. I mirrored her. She was trying to get a sense of my aura. Two could play at that game.

When I raised my hands up in front of my body, she mirrored me. We stood facing each other, hands spread wide, not quite touching. She was tall, five-foot-seven or five-foot-eight. I didn't think there were high heels under that long dress.

Her aura was warm against my skin. It had a weight to it, as if I could have wrapped her aura in my hands like dough. I'd never met anyone with such weight to their aura. It confirmed my first sense of her. Solid.

She pushed forward suddenly, wrapping her fingers around my hand. She forced my aura back in upon itself like a knife thrust. It made me gasp, but again, I knew what was happening. I pushed back and felt her waver.

She smiled, but it wasn't condescending now. It was almost as if she were pleased.

The hair at the back of my neck tried to crawl down my spine.

"Powerful," she said. "Strong."

I spoke around a tightness in my throat. "You, too."

"Thank you," she said.

I felt her power, her magic, move over me, through me, like a rush of wind. She pulled away so abruptly it staggered both of us.

We were left standing a foot away from each other, breathing hard like we'd been running. My heart thudded in my throat like a trapped thing. And I could taste her pulse on the back of my tongue. No, I could hear it. I could hear it like a small ticking clock. But it wasn't her pulse. I smelled Richard's aftershave like a cloud that I had walked through. When the marks were working through Richard, it was often scent that let me know what was happening. I didn't know what had caused them to act up. Maybe the power of the other lycanthropes or the closeness of the full moon. Who knew? But something had opened me to him. I was channeling more than the sweet smell of his body.

"What is that sound?" I asked.

"Describe it," Marianne said.

"Like a clicking, soft, almost mechanical."

"I've got an artificial valve in my heart," she said.

"It can't be that."

"Why not? When I lean forward to the mirror to apply eyeliner, I can hear it through my open mouth, echoing against the mirror."

"But I can't hear it," I said.

"But you are," she said.

I shook my head. I was losing the sense of her. She was pulling away from me, putting up shields. I didn't blame her, because, for just a second I could feel her heart beating, limping along. The sound hadn't made me sorry for her or empathetic. The sound excited me. I felt it pull things deep inside my body. It was almost sexual. She'd be slow, an easy kill. I looked at this tall, confident woman, and for a split second all I saw was food.

Fuck.

 

 

 

25

 

We followed Marianne and her guard, Roland, through the darkened trees. I'd have caught that damn dress on every twig and deadfall. Marianne floated through the woods as if the trees themselves let her and the dress pass gently through. Roland paced at her arm, gliding through the woods like water down a well-worn channel. Jamil, Nathaniel, and Zane moved just as gracefully. It was the rest of us that were having trouble.

My excuse was that I was human. I didn't know what Jason and Cherry's excuse was. I tried to step on a log and missed. I ended up on my stomach, arms scraping along the rough bark. I straddled it like a horse and couldn't seem to get my leg over the other side. Cherry tripped on something in the leaves and fell to her knees. I watched her get to her feet and trip over the same damn thing. This time she stayed on her knees, head down.

Jason fell in a tangle of dry tree roots at the end of the log I was sitting on. He fell on his face and cursed. When he got to his feet, there was a scrape on his chest deep enough to show blood, black in the moonlight. It reminded me of what Raina had done to him. She'd cut his chest to rags, and there wasn't a scar on him from it.

I closed my eyes and leaned over the log, resting my forearms on it. My arms hurt. I raised myself slowly and looked at them. I'd scraped them up enough so that blood was slowly filling the wounds in spots. Great.

Jason leaned against the end of the log, far enough away that we wouldn't touch. I think we were all still afraid of that. Didn't want a repeat.

"What's wrong with us?" Jason asked.

I shook my head. "I don't know."

Marianne was just suddenly there. I hadn't heard her come up. Was I losing time? Was I that out of it?

"You cast out the munin before it was ready to release you."

"So?" I said.

"So, that takes energy," she said.

"Fine, that explains me stumbling around. What about them? Why do they feel like shit?"

She gave a very small smile. "You are not the only one who fought the munin, Anita. It was you who called it, and if you had not been willing to fight it, then the other two would have been helpless before it, but they fought it as well. They struggled against the memories. That costs."

"You sound like you know," I said.

"I can call the munin. These chaotic flashes are what happens when you have a munin that hunts you, and that you do not want to embrace."

"How did you know it was chaotic?" I asked.

"I caught a glimpse or two of what you saw. The merest touch," she said.

"Why don't you feel awful?" I asked.

"I did not struggle. If you simply allow the munin to ride you, it passes much more quickly and relatively painlessly."

I half-laughed at her. "That sounds like the old advice of lie back, close your eyes, and it'll be over soon."

She turned her head to one side, long hair sliding over her shoulders like a pale ghost. "Embracing the munin can be pleasant or unpleasant, but this munin hunts you, Anita. Most of the time, a munin that tries to bond with a pack member does so out of love or shared sorrow."

I just looked at her. "It isn't love that motivates this one."

"No," she said, "I felt both the strength of her personality and her hatred of you. She chases you out of spite."

I shook my head. "Not just spite. What little is left of her enjoys the game. She's having a really good time when I channel her."

Marianne nodded. "Yes. But if you would embrace her instead of fighting, you could pick and choose among the memories. Strong ones will come easiest, but you could control more of what comes and how strongly it comes. If you would truly channel her, as you put it, then the images would be less like a movie and more ... like wearing a glove."

"Except that I'm the glove," I said, "and her personality overwhelms mine. No thanks."

"If you continue to fight this munin, it will get worse. If you will cease struggling and meet her even partway, the munin will lose some of its strength. Some feed off of love. This one feeds off of fear and hatred. Was this the old lupa? The one you killed?"

"Yeah," I said.

Marianne shivered. "I never met Raina, but even that small touch of her makes me glad she's dead. She was evil."

"She didn't see herself that way," I said. "She saw herself as more neutral than evil." I said it like I knew, and I did know. I knew because I'd worn her essence like a dress more than once.

"Very few people see their own actions as truly evil," Marianne said. "It is left to their victims to decide what is evil and what is not."

Jason raised his hand. "Evil."

Cherry echoed him. "Evil."

Nathaniel and Zane and even Jamil, raised their hands.

I raised my hand, too. "It's unanimous," I said.

Marianne laughed, and again, it was a sound equally at home in the kitchen or the bedroom. How she managed to be both wholesome and suggestive in the same breath puzzled me. Of course, a lot of things puzzled me about Marianne.

"We'll be late," Roland said. His voice was deeper than I thought it would be, low and careful, almost too old for his body. He looked peaceful enough, but I could look at him with things other than my eyes. You couldn't see it, but you could feel it. He was a mass of nervous energy. It danced along his skin, breathing out into the dark like an invisible cloud, hot, almost touchable, like steam.

"I know, Roland," she said. "I know."

"We could carry them," Jamil said.

A thrill of power flowed through the trees. It caught at my heart as if some invisible hand had touched me.

"We must go," Roland said.

"What is your problem?" I asked.

Roland looked at me with eyes that were a nice, solid darkness. "You are," he said. He spoke in a low voice, and it sounded like a threat.

Jamil moved between us so that my view of Roland was almost completely blocked, and I assumed, his view of me.

"Now, children," Marianne said, "play nicely."

"We will miss the ceremony entirely if they do not hurry," Roland said.

"If you were a true lupa," Marianne said, "you could draw energy from your wolves and give it in return like a great recycling battery." It sounded like she'd given this lecture before. I guess every pack needs a teacher. I know ours needed one sorely. I was beginning to realize that we were like children that had been raised by neglectful parents. We were grown-up, but we didn't know how to behave.

"You're psychic enough that you might be able to do it in a small way without being lukoi," Marianne said.

"I don't think I'd call being a necromancer the same thing as being psychic," Jamil said.

Marianne shrugged. "It's all much more alike than most people wish to acknowledge. Many religious groups are comfortable with psychic ability but not with magic. But call it what you will, it's either that or we call some more wolves and throw you across our shoulders."

The real trouble was that I only knew two ways to call power. One was ritual, the other was sex. I'd realized a few months ago that sex could take the place of ritual for me. Not always, and I had to be attracted to the person involved, but sometimes. I didn't really want to admit to strangers that sexual energy was one of the ways I performed magic. Even though no actual sex was involved, it was still embarrassing. Besides, doing anything sexual seemed like putting out the welcome mat for Raina's munin.

How could I explain all this to Marianne without sounding like a slut? I couldn't think of a way to explain it that didn't make me sound bad, so I wasn't going to try.

"Go on without us, Marianne. We'll get there on our own. Thanks, anyway."

She stamped her foot under that flowing gown. "Why are you so reluctant to try, Anita?"

I shook my head. "We can discuss magical metaphysics tomorrow. Right now, why don't you take your wolf and go. We'll get there, slow but sure."

"Let's go," Roland said.

Marianne looked to him, then back to me. "I was told to see if you were a danger to us, and you are not, but I don't like leaving you out here like this. The three of you are weak."

"We'll get over it," I said.

She cocked her head to one side again, hair sweeping like a white veil to frame her face. "Are you planning some sort of magic that you don't wish me to see?"

"Maybe," I said. Truth was, no. No way was I voluntarily touching Jason or Cherry again, not tonight. But if Marianne thought we were going to do something mystical but private, she might go away. I wanted her to go away.

She stood looking at me for nearly a full minute, then finally smiled, dim in the moonlight. "Very well, but do hurry. The others will grow impatient to greet Richard's human lupa. You have everyone's curiosity piqued."

"Glad to hear it. The sooner you go, the sooner we can start."

She turned without another word and started off through the trees. Roland trailed her, then took the lead. We all stood around waiting for Marianne's white dress to grow distant and ghostlike through the forest.

Finally, Jason said, "Start what?"

"Nothing," I said. "I just wanted them gone."

"Why?" Jamil asked.

I shrugged. "I don't want to be carried like a sack of potatoes." I started walking, slow but sure, towards the lupanar.

Jamil fell into step beside me. "Why not try what she was suggesting?"

I walked carefully, paying a lot more attention to my feet than I usually did. "Because outside of raising the dead, I'm still an amateur. It will probably take less time for us to walk to the lupanar than for me to do something mystical."

Jason agreed with me, which made me frown at him, but it was still true. I was like someone with a loaded gun that didn't know how to shoot. I would be struggling to figure out how to undo the safety while the bad guys shot me a million times. About two months ago, the only other necromancer I'd ever met had offered to teach me real necromancy, not this voodoo dabbling I was doing. He'd ended up dead before he could teach me much of anything. Funny how many people ended up dead after they met me. No, I didn't kill him.

Cherry stumbled and went down again. Zane and Nathaniel were just suddenly there, one on either side of her. They helped her stand, hugging each other for a moment. Cherry slipped a hand around the waist of both men, leaning her head for a second on Zane's shoulder. They walked this way through the treacherous dark, Cherry leaning heavily on her fellow wereleopards. There was a camaraderie between them that hadn't been there before. Had I done that? Had just having someone to protect them forged some sort of bond? Or had it been Richard's prickling energy? I had a lot of questions and didn't even know if there was anyone who would know. Maybe Marianne would know, if I decided I could trust her.

Jamil offered me his arm. I waved him away. I knew that Raina had slept with him, and I did not want the memory. "Help Jason," I said.

Jamil looked at me for a second, then went and offered his arm to Jason, who refused the offer. "If Anita doesn't need help, neither do I."

"Don't be a hard case," I said.

"Now, that's the pot calling the kettle black," Jason said.

"If I offered you my arm, you'd take it," I said.

"An excuse to hang all over a pretty girl? Sure." Then he seemed to think about it. "But maybe not tonight. I can't call the munin, but there's something in the air tonight." He shivered, rubbing his hands along his bare arms. "Of all the memories Raina had of me, why that one?"

We were both slowly walking as we talked. "The three things Raina liked best were sex and violence and terrorizing people. Making you lukoi hit all her buttons."

Jason stumbled, fell to his knees, and just stayed that way for a second or two. I waited with him, wondering if I should offer to help him up. "I know you wondered why I never did any of her porno movies."

"I guess. I mean you're not exactly the shy type."

He looked up at me, and even by moonlight, there was a sorrow in his face that was deeper and wider than most people ever saw. He was too young for the look in his eyes, but there it was. Innocence lost.

"I'll always remember the look on her face when she killed me."

"She didn't kill you, Jason."

"She tried. It didn't matter to her whether I lived or died. It really didn't."

That one shared memory, and I couldn't argue with him. Raina's pleasure had been more important to her than his life. Like a serial killer.

Jason hunched in upon himself. "But she was my sponsor, and I had to stay with her until my probation period was over. When I could, I got away."

"Is that why you went to stay with Jean-Claude, as his lapwolf? To escape Raina?"

Jason nodded. "Partly." He looked up suddenly and grinned. "Of course, Jean-Claude is way cool."

I shook my head and offered him my hand.

"Think we can risk it?" he asked.

"I think so. I'm not feeling particularly muninish right now."

He took my hand and it was just a hand. His hand in mine. I helped him stand and he staggered just a bit on his feet, which made me wobble. We clung to each other for a second like two drunks leaving a party. I hugged him, and he hugged me back. It was quick. He pulled away first, and looked almost embarrassed. "Don't tell anyone I didn't take my chance to grope you when it was your idea."

I patted him on the back. "Not a soul."

He gave me his usual grin, and we started through the woods, walking close enough to catch each other if we fell. A breeze blew through the trees, rustling everything. The woods were suddenly alive with sound. I turned my face to the wind, hoping it would be cool, but it was hot like the air from an oven.

Jason's baby fine hair moved gently in the breeze. I heard him take a deep breath, then he touched my arm. He spoke low. "I smell the man that I threw into the truck yesterday."

We kept walking as if nothing were wrong. "Are you sure?" I asked.

I saw his nostrils flare as he tested the air. "He smelled like peppermint Lifesavers and cigarettes."

"A lot of people smell like peppermint and cigarettes," I said.

We kept moving, his hand on my arm now. "I also smell gun oil."

Great.

Jamil was waiting for us just up ahead. The three wereleopards waited among the trees. Jamil came back to us, smiling, and enveloped both of us in a big, hearty hug. "You guys are so damned slow tonight." He hugged us against him and whispered, "I smell two, maybe three, to our left."

"One of them is a guy I beat up yesterday," Jason said, smiling as if we were talking about something else entirely.

"Revenge maybe?" He made it a question.

"How far away are they?" I asked.

He drew back with a big very un-Jamil grin. He whispered, "A few yards. I can smell the guns."

I encircled his slender waist with my arm and whispered against his chest. "We don't have any guns. Any suggestions?"

Jason leaned in, laughing, and said, "I don't feel good enough to outrun them."

I patted his arm. "Me, either."

"If they're here for revenge," Jamil said, "then maybe they'll settle for just the two of you."

I drew back from him. I wasn't sure I liked his reasoning. "So?"

"You stay here and make out. They move up to get you, and I get them."

"They've got guns. You don't."

"I'll send Zane and Cherry to the others. They'll bring reinforcements. But we can't let them follow us to the lupanar. We can't take danger there."

"Some werewolf rule?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"All right," I said. "But don't let them kill me, okay?"

"What about me?" Jason said.

"Sorry. Him either."

Jamil leaned into both of us. "I suggest the two of you get a lot more cozy, fast, or they're not going to buy it."

I transferred my arm to Jason's waist, but said, "How long have they been watching?"

"Make them think you're drunk, just in case they saw the screaming. Make out, but get on the ground as soon as possible in case they just decide to shoot you." With that comforting thought, Jamil went back to the others. He walked away into the dark with the wereleopards. Zane looked at me as they walked away, but I nodded once, and that seemed to satisfy him. He turned and let Jamil lead him away. I really was going to have to find the leopards a true alpha. They were all so damn submissive.

Jason pushed me up against a tree.

"Watch it," I said.

He grinned at me. "We want it to look real, don't we?"

"I thought we had a moment of real friendship bonding back there," I said.

Jason leaned in towards me as if he were going to kiss me. "Just because we're friends doesn't mean that I don't want to sleep with you." He kissed me, a soft brush of lips.

I frowned at him, not kissing back. "Please tell me that you don't want to sleep with all your female friends."

He put a hand on either side of my head, propping himself against the tree. "What can I say? I'm a guy."

I shook my head. "That's not an excuse."

He leaned his whole body into me in a sort of standing push-up. The muscles in his arms swelled with the effort. "How about because it's me."

I smiled. "That I'll buy." I put my hands on his waist. He was leaning against me but not too hard. He could have been taking a lot more advantage of the situation than he was. I realized that he was being a gentleman. There was a time not long ago that Jason wouldn't have made the effort. We were friends. But we needed to get down on the ground, and this wasn't getting us there.

I glanced, as casually as I could, at the others. I could still see Zane, and Cherry's hair gleamed through the trees. I had a sense that Jamil and Nathaniel were still with them, but it was all that blond hair that made them so visible. If the bad guys had a high-powered rifle, they could shoot us both through the tree. Once the others got out of sight, they might do just that.

I slid my hands up Jason's chest. The skin was soft, but underneath, he was very firm. I knew what that smooth flesh felt like shredding under claws. It wasn't the munin coming back. It was just me flashing on the vision. I balled my hands into fists and forced my hands to his face. I didn't want to do anything that would remind either of us of what we'd just shared. There was always the extra danger that it could bring Raina back. No, I didn't want to be channeling Raina with armed goons in the woods.

I cradled Jason's face in my hands, moving just my head towards him. As I leaned into him, he leaned more into me. I was suddenly very aware that his body was pressed down the length of mine. It made me hesitate, but when his lips brushed mine, I kissed him. I ran my hand back through his hair, until I had a handful of it.

I whispered into his mouth, "We need to get on the ground as soon as possible."

He kissed me harder, hands dropping to my belt. He slid his fingertips inside the belt, and knelt in front of me, pulling me down with him. I let him. He fell back into the leaves and pulled me down on top of him. I propped myself on my scraped forearms against his chest, sort of startled. I just wasn't a good enough actress for this.

I could feel his heart thudding under my hands. He rolled me suddenly, and I let out a little yip of surprise. He ended very firmly on top, and I didn't like it.

"I want on top," I said.

He put his lips next to my cheek. "If they shoot us, I can take a bullet better than you can." He rubbed his cheek along my face, and I realized he was doing the werewolf greeting. Maybe it was their version of a handshake, but I'd never been tempted to shake hands while making out.

I whispered into his ear, which was very close to my mouth, "Do you hear them?"

"Yes." He raised his face enough to kiss me.

"How close?" I kissed him back, but we were both listening, straining to hear. Here we were, lying on top of each other, bodies perfectly matched up, and we were both tight enough that I could feel the muscles along his back knotting.

"A few yards," he said. "They're good." He rested his cheek against mine. "They move quietly."

"Not quiet enough," I whispered.

"Can you hear them?" he asked.

"No."

We were both just staring at each other. Neither of us was making much of an effort to kiss or anything else. I could feel that his body was happy to be pressed up against mine, but it was all secondary. Men with guns were coming. Men who didn't like us very much.

I stared up into his eyes from inches away. I knew they were pale blue, but by moonlight they looked almost silver. "You're not going to do anything stupid like shield my body with yours."

He pushed just a little with his hips and grinned. "Why do you think I'm on top?" The grin and the hip movement were to distract me from how very serious his eyes were.

"Get off of me, Jason."

"Nope," he said. He propped himself up on his arms, pressing into me, leaning over like we were kissing. "They're almost here."

I slid a knife out for either hand.

He whispered against my mouth. "We're supposed to look helpless, remember? Bait doesn't go armed."

I could feel how very smooth his cheek was, smell his cologne. I stared past the pale halo of his hair. "We just trust that Jamil and the rest will save us, is that it?"

He licked my chin, then my mouth. I realized he was doing the submissive greeting. He was begging me to go along. His tongue was very wet and very warm.

"Stop licking me, and I'll do it," I said.

He laughed, but it was high with an edge of tension to it. I couldn't resheath the knives with him pressed on top of me, so I laid them down in the leaves. I kept my hands on them, lightly, but tried to relax and look harmless. With Jason pressed on top of me, kissing down my neck, it was easy to look helpless. The relaxed part wasn't going to happen.

I heard them now, moving through the dry leaves. They were quiet. If I hadn't been listening for it, I might have thought it was wind, an animal moving through the undergrowth. But it wasn't. It was men moving heavy and secretively through the forest. Hunting. They were hunting. They were hunting Jason and me.

I saw the first one round the tree, and I wasn't a good enough actress to look surprised. I just stared up at him with Jason on top of me, still kissing the side of my neck.

He'd looked big yesterday. From flat on my back, he was enormous, like a two-legged tree. The rifle in his hand looked long and black and hostile. He didn't point it at us, just held it in the crook of one arm. A big smile split his pale face.

I heard the second man before he touched Jason's shoulder with the tip of a double-barreled shotgun. The moment I saw the shotgun, I knew they'd come to kill us. You didn't go after people with shotguns if you just meant to scare them, not as a general rule, anyway.

If it were silver shot at this range, he could have killed both of us. I wasn't scared yet. I was pissed. Where the hell was our backup?

Jason raised his face slowly. The shotgun tapped his cheek almost gently. "My brother Mel sends his regards."

I rolled my eyes to look past the shotgun. The man was wearing a black T-shirt with a Harley logo on it. His belly hung out over his belt. There was a family resemblance.

I said very calmly, each word careful but not scared, "What do you want?"

Mel's brother laughed.

The first man joined him.

They stood over us with the guns and laughed. Not a good sign. Where the fuck was Jamil?

"Get off of her real slow," the first man said. The rifle was at his shoulder now, snuggled against his chin like he knew what he was doing.

Jason leaned over me until I was as hidden as I could get under his body. Being short made it hard for him to shield me completely.

I told him. "Get off of me."

"No," he said. He'd seen the shotgun, too. And I realized he understood what it meant. I was not going to let him die a hero. I was certainly not going to let him die by spattering his brains all over me. Some things you recover from. Some things you don't. Wiping Jason's brains off my face might be one of the latter.

I let go of the knife in my right hand, letting the blade lie in the leaves. It took everything I had not to tighten my grip on the one in my left. I tried to keep my hand very still. In the dark, they might not notice. They hadn't, so far.

"Get off of her," the man repeated, "or I will shoot you both where you lay."

"Off, Jason," I said softly.

He moved enough so we could see each other's eyes. I looked to my right at the rifleman. Then I touched my chest and looked at Mel's brother. I was trying to tell him that the rifle was his problem and the shotgun was mine. I hoped he understood. Either he did, or he had his own plan, because he raised very slowly and got to his knees. I sat up, not too fast, not too slow. I kept my left hand in the leaves, knife gripped tightly.

The rifleman said, "Hands on your head, boy."

Jason didn't argue. He just clasped his hands on his head like he'd done it before.

No one told me to put my hands on my head, so I didn't. If we were lucky, they'd treat me like a girl. The rifleman had been unconscious when I hurt Mel. The one with the shotgun hadn't been there. What had Mel told them?

The rifleman said, "Remember me, asshole?"

"Is he asking you or me?" I asked. I scooted in the leaves a little closer to the guy with the shotgun.

"Don't get cute, chickie," the rifleman said. "We came here for both of you, but I want my piece of this one first."

Jason flicked his eyes to me. "You must be losing some of your charm, Anita. He wants a piece of me instead of you."

The rifleman had the rifle aimed very steadily at the middle of Jason's chest. If it were silver ammo, he was gone. The rifleman said, "Chuck."

Chuck, the one with the shotgun, grabbed my left arm. I opened my hand and let the knife fall before he raised my hand free of the leaves. The rifle was too steady on Jason for me to try stabbing Chuck. If I were lucky, I'd get another chance. If I wasn't, I was going to come back and haunt Jamil.

Chuck's hands were big and meaty. Thick fingers dug into my arm enough that if I lived, I'd be bruised.

"If you don't do exactly what I say, your girlfriend gets it."

I wanted to say, "Who writes your dialogue?" but I didn't. The shotgun hovered about an inch from my cheek. Pretty clear what it was. I could smell the oil in the gun barrels. It had been cleaned recently. Nice to know of Chuck took care of his weapon.

The rifleman did two things almost at once: He stepped forward and reversed his gun. The rifle butt smashed into Jason's chin. Jason swayed but didn't fall.

The rifle stabbed at him again, catching him high on one cheekbone. Blood spilled in a black line.

I must have moved, because the shotgun was suddenly pressed against my cheek. "Don't do it, bitch."

I swallowed and spoke very carefully with the cool metal against my face. "Do what?"

"Anything," he said. He jerked my arm for emphasis, grinding the shotgun into my cheek.

The rifleman said, "The doc said you could have broken my spine. Said I was lucky. I am going to hurt you, asshole, then I'm going to kill you. If you take it like a man, I'll let the girl go. You wimp out, and I do you both." He smashed the rifle into Jason's mouth. Blood and something heavier flew shining in the moonlight. The beating began in earnest.

I'd seen people hurt on the judo mat. I'd gone to martial arts tournaments. I'd even been knocked out a couple of times for real by bad guys. But I'd never seen a real beating, not like this. It was methodical, thorough, professional.

Jason made no move to protect himself. He never cried out. He just knelt in the leaves and took it. His face was covered in blood. His eyes fluttered, and I knew he was close to passing out. I had to do something before he lost it.

Through it all, Chuck had kept the shotgun pressed to my face so hard I knew I'd have the imprint of it on my skin. He never wavered, never gave me any chance to do anything. I was beginning to think that Chuck wasn't an amateur. I'd given up on Jamil or anyone else. It was just the four of us in the darkened woods. Just the smack of the rifle hitting flesh. The sound of the rifleman's grunt of effort as he tried to make Jason cry out.

Jason finally slipped to his side. He tried to keep his hands up, but he couldn't.

He leaned on his arms in the leaves. There was a fine, visible trembling in his upper body. He was fighting to stay upright.

"Beg me to stop," the rifleman said. "Beg me, and maybe I'll just shoot you. Beg me to stop, or I will fucking beat you to death."

I believed him. I think Jason did, too, because he just shook his head. He knew if he gave the man what he wanted, he would finish it.

I felt something, a prickling rush of warmth. It was Richard. He was out there somewhere. He opened the mark inside my body. It flowed over my skin and across Chuck's hand. "What the fuck was that?" he asked.

I didn't move or say anything.

"Answer me, bitch, you trying some magic shit on me?" He pushed the shotgun in even harder. If he kept it up, he was just going to shove it through my cheek.

"Wasn't me," I said.

He jerked me to my knees, and the shotgun wasn't pressed into me anymore. It was pointed out into the darkness for just a second. It was one of those moments. Everything slowed down, as if I had all the time in the world to draw the big knife down my back. The knife cleared the sheath. The shotgun and Chuck turned back towards me. I used the momentum of drawing the blade to swing it down and across. I felt the tip catch Chuck's throat, and knew it wasn't a killing blow. Something fell from the trees above us. A shadow only a little more solid than the rest. The shotgun's barrels were like two dark tunnels pointed at my face.

I heard the rifle behind me, but there was no time to look for Jason. There was just the gun pointed at my face, the shadow that I didn't have time to look up and see.

The shadow fell between us. The shadow had fur. The shotgun exploded on the other side of that furred shadow. The lycanthrope staggered backwards but didn't fall. The shotgun exploded again, both barrels. Before the echoes died, I was scrambling through the leaves, around the lycanthrope. Chuck's eyes were wild, showing white, but he had the shotgun broken down across his left arm. The two spent shells were gone and two more were being shoved into the breech. He was good.

I shoved the blade just under his big shiny belt buckle. A shudder ran through him, but he slid the shells inside the breech. I shoved the blade in until it grated on bone, spine or pelvic girdle, who knew. He slapped the breech closed against his arm like he was skeet shooting. I pulled the blade out of his body in a gout of blood.

He fell in slow motion, straight down to his knees. I lifted the newly loaded shotgun from his hands, and he didn't fight me. He knelt in the leaves and blinked out into the darkness. He didn't seem to be seeing me now.

Someone was screaming, high and wild. I glanced behind me, and it was the rifleman. He was sitting on the ground with one arm pointed up in the moonlight. The arm was missing from the elbow down. Jason was lying very still in the leaves. Zane was sitting beside him with blood on the back of his yellow T-shirt.

I stood and moved away from Chuck. He fell face forward into the leaves. He was alive enough to put his face to one side, but not to catch himself with his hands. The werewolf that had saved me was lying on his back, gasping for air.

There was a hole in his gut bigger than my two fists. There was a bitter smell almost like vomit but ranker. His intestines had been perforated. The smell told me that. The gut wound wouldn't kill him. Even if it was silver shot, it wouldn't kill him right away.

The second wound was higher up in the deep, broad chest. His black fur was wet to the touch, soaked with blood. I could have shoved my hands in the dark, wet hole, but I couldn't see shit. I couldn't see if the heart was damaged.

His breathing was wet, sloppy, almost strangled. I could hear bubbling coming from the wound. At least one lung had been compromised, that's what I was hearing. He was still struggling to breathe, so his heart had to be working, didn't it?

Real werewolves look sort of like movie wolfmen, but the movies never quite capture it. He, very definitely a he, lay on his back, gasping. It was like watching a dream breathe, except this dream was dying. I thought it was one of Verne's wolves, that I didn't know him. Then I saw the remnants of a white T-shirt caught on one shoulder like a bit of forgotten skin. I pulled gently on the cloth, and saw the smiley face on it. I stared into yellow wolf eyes. Stared down at Jamil. He'd done what a bodyguard is supposed to do. He'd taken my bullet. I took off my shirt and packed it into the hole in his chest. It took both my hands to cover the wound, to try and make a seal so he could breathe again. So he wouldn't bleed to death.

I whispered, "Don't die on me, damn it," then I started screaming for help.

 

 

 

26

 

My hands were wet with blood. The shirt had soaked up what blood it could, but more was pouring out. It was soaking into my jeans, covering my forearms. He stared at me with yellow eyes, mouth open, trying desperately to keep breathing. Long-clawed hands made small convulsive movements in the leaves. A prickling warmth spread under my hands. His skin moved under my hands like warm, furry water.

Shapes appeared out of the darkness. They looked like people, but I knew it was a lie. Werewolves -- I was eyeball deep in werewolves.

"He needs a doctor," I said.

A dark-haired man with small, round glasses knelt on the other side of Jamil. He opened a large brown satchel and pulled out a stethoscope. I didn't question it. Most packs had a doctor. Never knew when you'd need some confidential medical care.

He pushed my hands from the wound. "It's healing. It wasn't silver shot." He shone a penlight into the wound. "What the hell is in there?"

"My shirt."

"Get it out before the skin heals around it."

The wound was healing. My hand barely squeezed into the opening. I got a handful of blood-soaked shirt and pulled. It came out in a long wet sloppy mess. Blood poured in a steady stream from one corner of the shirt. I let the shirt fall to the leaves. I would not be wearing it tonight. I had a thought that I was wearing nothing above the waist except a black bra. I didn't care.

"Is he going to live?" I asked.

"He'll live."

"Promise," I said.

He stared at me and nodded. Stray moonlight made his glasses look like blank silver mirrors. "I promise."

I looked down into Jamil's wolfish face. I stroked the fur across his forehead. The fur was both rough and thick and soft. "I'll be right back."

There were other people with Jason and Zane. Cherry with Zane, cradling him. Nathaniel was kneeling by them, but his eyes were for me. There was even a man leaning over the rifleman. He was tying a belt off on the stump of his arm. Good. I wanted him alive. I had questions for him but not yet.

I knelt by Jason. He lay in the leaves on his side. A woman was tending his wounds. She was dressed in short shorts and a halter top, dark hair tied back in a loose ponytail. It wasn't until she turned her head that I realized it was Lucy. She held a penlight between her teeth and was searching Jason's wounds with sure hands, as if she knew what she was doing.

She answered my question before I asked. "He'll heal, but it's going to take a couple of days." Which meant if Jason had been human, the beating would have been fatal.

She looked at me then. Our eyes met from inches away. The makeup was a little less severe, but the face was still pretty by moonlight.

I turned away from her first. I didn't want to see what was in her eyes. I just didn't want to know. I knelt over Jason, started to touch his face, then stopped because the blood was still wet on my hands.

He said something very soft. I had to lean over him to hear it. "Let me lick the blood," he said.

I stared down at him, eyes just a little wide. "You're not dying, Jason," I said. "Don't get cute."

Verne said, "It's fresh blood, Anita. It's pack blood. It will help him heal."

I stared at him. The local Ulfric stood off to one side, tall and straight and slender, letting his medical personnel do their jobs. I started to ask him where the hell he had been while we got cut up, but Zane made a sound.

Zane seemed to be healing just fine from a rifle blast that would have cost a human his arm. But it hurt, and he made small pain sounds while the doctor worked on him.

"The blood will help them heal," Verne said. "Especially blood from someone as powerful as you are. Marianne feeds the pack sometimes."

Lucy said, "It really will help him." Her face was neutral as she said it.

I looked down at Jason. His face was a mask of blood. One eye was swollen completely shut. He tried to smile at me, but his lips were so badly swollen that the smile didn't work. It was like part of his face just didn't work right now.

I touched those wounded lips with my fingertips, brushed the fresh blood across his lower lip. He rolled his lip under, tasting the blood. But the movement made him wince. It hurt.

I laid two fingers against his lips and slid them gently into his mouth. He tried to suck them, but his mouth wouldn't work right. He licked the blood, swallowing almost convulsively. I drew the fingers out, and his hand came up to grab my wrist. I let him guide two new fingers into his mouth.

Richard spilled into the clearing, going to his knees in the leaves. Shang-Da was at his back like a good bodyguard. Richard's gaze met mine, and just the glance opened me up to him a little more. Without Jean-Claude to act as a buffer, the marks between Richard and I were stronger. He knelt there, his breathing coming in near-painful gasps. I could feel his chest rising and falling, almost as if I were breathing for him. I felt him look at the woman beside me. I saw Lucy for a second as he saw her. I saw the rise of her breasts swelling under the halter top.

The line of her cheek half in shadow, half in moonlight. She raised her face to meet my eyes like she could feel me looking.

"He still wants you," I said.

She gave a very small smile. "But not as much as he wants you."

The marks between Richard and I quieted. I couldn't feel him breathe or what he was thinking. He had cut me off. Afraid of what I'd see, maybe. "What happened, Verne? They were supposed to be safe in your lands," Richard said.

Cherry answered, "Jamil sent the three of us for help. He" -- she pointed to a shadowy figure on the other side of the clearing -- "wouldn't let us pass into the lupanar. He wouldn't take our request for aid to Verne."

The man stepped forward so a patch of moonlight showed him: tall, muscular, dark-haired, pale. "They are not pack. They have no right to demand passage."

Verne was just suddenly there, and the tall werewolf was on the ground. I hadn't seen him move. It was a speed that was dreamlike, impossible. But I'd almost seen it.

"I am Ulfric. I decide who is worthy and who is not, Eric. You are only Freki, third in the pack. You have one more battle before you can even challenge me."

Eric touched his hand to his face and came away with something dark and liquid. "I am not challenging you."

There was movement behind me in the leaves. Zane was crawling towards me, the wounded arm held close to his chest with a makeshift sling. "I came back to help while Cherry and Nathaniel argued with their watchwolf." I could feel an intensity to his gaze, even in the dark. "The blood's going to dry before he gets to it all." He stayed there in the leaves, just out of touching distance. His shirt had been ripped off one side of his slender chest. It hung in rags to one shoulder. He stared at me and even by scattered moonlight, I could see the need, not in his face but in his body, the way he held himself. He was asking for more than the healing of his body. If he hadn't been there, Jason would be dead now. Even a lycanthrope has a limit to the damage he can take.

Jason held the palm of my hand to his mouth, licking with long, lingering movements.

"You need the other hand?" I asked.

"It will be dried before he can use it," Lucy said.

I stared at her and hated her just a little. Hated her for having been in Richard's bed. Hated her for doing things with him that I'd never allowed myself to do.

"The wereleopard doesn't need the blood," Richard said. "He'll heal without it."

I just stared at him and held my hand out to Zane. He crawled to me on his knees and his good arm. I stared at Richard while Zane took my fingers into his mouth. He sucked on them like a hungry child licking the last bit of cake from a spoon.

"He's mine, Richard, mine as much as Jason is. I am Nimir-ra and lupa."

Richard stood. "I know what you are, Anita."

I shook my head. "You have no idea what I am." The moment I said it, I felt that warm, growing presence. Munin rising inside of me like a pool of warm water, spilling upward. Richard's mark seemed to bring it on sometimes. Or maybe it was just the way he made me feel. Lust or anger or both. I didn't fight the munin.

Marianne had said if I stopped fighting, that it would lose some of its control over me. I wasn't even sure I could fight it off completely. The best I could do was control it. I let it flow over me, down my arms into the two men.

Jason had worked his way to my wrist, tongue moving over the veins there. He'd been hesitating over the smell of fresher blood so very close to the surface. Now his good eye stared up at me, wide, a little scared.

I smiled down at him, and I knew that it wasn't just my smile. I was still here, but I wasn't exactly alone. Raina's thoughts lay over mine like a veil. I could see out, but it colored everything I saw. Her body, our body, wanted things, craved things that made me want to run screaming. But if I were careful, I could use her as she used me. It was like walking up a flight of steep, narrow stairs with a cup of scalding coffee filled to the brim. Careful, oh, so careful or it spills over the edge and you get burned.

The alternative to letting the munin have a little fun was what happened in the woods earlier. I did not want another full-blown memory with Jason and Zane hanging onto me. Not tonight, not ever. Jason couldn't handle it, and neither could I.

I looked down at Jason. "It's all right, Jason. Enjoy the blood while it lasts. I don't think you're going to get this offer twice."

He ran his tongue up my arm, working hard against the skin like a cat washing its own fur. Zane had sucked my fingers clean and had raised my hand up in front of his face, cradled in his good hand. He was licking very slowly, very thoroughly up my palm.

There was a sound behind us. I turned to see the rifleman. He was conscious and in some pain. The doctor with the round glasses was about to give him a shot.

I called, "Bring him to me."

The doctor and the werewolf with him looked across the clearing to Verne and Richard. Richard had moved across to the other Ulfric. They were discussing how everything had gone wrong. They could discuss things all night. I wanted answers.

"Don't look at them. Look at me. And bring him to me!" Raina's munin swelled outward and burst over me, over Jason, over Zane. It spilled over Lucy and brought a gasp from her throat. Everyone in the clearing got a taste, a preview if you like. It was getting harder to hold together. Harder to think.

They dragged the rifleman over to me. I knew what I looked like. I was wearing a black underwire bra that hid more than most bathing suits, but it was still a bra. I was still covered in blood. Jason and Zane were licking blood from my naked skin. It was strange and macabre and would work as a threat very nicely.

The doctor and the other werewolf threw the rifleman down in front of me. Jason and Zane ignored him, mouths on my skin. Zane slid his mouth along the edge of my skin, teeth grating ever so gently on the skin. His eyes slid to the rifleman, and I knew we would put on a show for him.

I felt Raina's munin like a warm glow. She, it, whatever, wanted to cover Zane's mouth with ours and taste Jamil's blood. Wanted to rip the bandage off his shoulder and lick the wound. With the thought came the knowledge that licking the wound would make it heal faster. Surely not.

The rifleman stared at me, his eyes showing mostly white. I could feel his breath, smell his fear. I could smell his fear like a miasma of sweat. I could taste in his scent how injured he was. I knew his skin would be cool to the touch from blood loss. All this from a smell. Shit.

"What's your name?"

The question seemed too hard for him.

"We can check your wallet. What's your name?"

He made an involuntary move to his back pocket with a hand he didn't have anymore.

"If we get him to a hospital soon," the doctor said, "they might be able to reattach the arm."

"If he answers my questions truthfully, you can take him to the hospital."

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Terry, Terry Fletcher."

"Okay, Terry. Who sent you to kill us?"

"I wanted to pay you back for making us look bad. That's all. Nobody was supposed to die."

Jason had cleaned my arm to the elbow. I could feel the passage of his tongue like a cool line running over and over my skin. Hot where he still touched me, cool where he'd just been.

"Lies won't get you to a hospital, Terry. Lies won't save your arm. Who paid you to hurt us?" I asked.

"He'll kill me."

I looked at him and laughed. The laugh was rich and thick enough to hold. It rolled out of my mouth and it wasn't my laugh. The sound raised the hairs on the back of my neck and made Jason hesitate, mouth pressed to my arm.

"Do you really think I won't kill you?"

A breeze had finally come up, hot and stale. Jason's mouth was cooler.

His mouth had healed enough to suck at my skin, but there was an edge of swelling to the side of his mouth. I wanted to kiss the wound, lick it, see if what I was being told was right. Could I really heal him?

I looked at Terry. "Tell me who paid you to hurt us. Tell me who sent you to kill us. Tell me everything I want to know, and the good doctor will take you to a hospital where they may save your arm. Lie to me, and your arm is just so much meat. Lie to me, and you die tonight, here, in this clearing. You think it over, Terry. I've got all night."

I leaned over Jason, drawing his mouth away from my arm. We kissed, and I could taste Jamil's blood, my skin, the faint remnant of the perfume on my wrist, and Jason's blood. His mouth had bled, and I could taste that, too. But it wasn't bleeding now. It was healing, and I could make it heal faster. It took everything I had not to press my mouth hard against his and force that warmth into him, everything I had not to press Jason's wounded body into the leaves and ride him.

I drew away from him, eyes closed. I opened my eyes and looked at the man. Jason moved to my stomach, licking along the top of my jeans. They were soaked in blood, and wouldn't really dry while I was still wearing them. Zane curved around to my back, licking along my spine. There was no blood there, and he had to stop at the spine sheath, but it looked good for our captive audience.

"Talk to me, Terry. Once I start fucking one of them, I really don't want to be interrupted." I leaned towards him just a little, and he flinched. I drew away from Jason and Zane and crawled towards Terry. I made the movement everything it was supposed to be: fluid, dangerous, sexual. Even now, his eyes kept flicking to my breasts so white against the blackness of the lingerie. Even now, he was still a man. I felt Raina's utter disdain of men. All that sex, and it was mostly hate. How terribly odd.

She was enjoying terrorizing the man. His wide eyes, the quick breath, the pounding of his heart. I could hear it. Hell, I could almost taste his skin on my tongue. Food, he smelled like food.

"Who sent you, Terry?" I made it a whisper, intimate, for his ears only. I reached out to him, and when I trailed my finger down his cheek, he whimpered. I leaned forward and licked a quick line the length of his face. "You taste like food, Terry."

I could feel the others at our back. Verne's pack responding to Raina's call. To my call. Through Richard, I was more lupa than I wanted to be. But now, tonight, it had possibilities. They came from every side, moving like shadows. Creeping closer, nearer, drawn by my desire and the man's terror.

He stared at them, watched them coming closer with wide eyes. He turned his head to watch them moving in. I kissed his cheek while he wasn't looking, and he screamed.

"Oh, God, please don't."

Raina's laugh fell from my lips. "Names, Terry, names."

"Niley, Franklin Niley. He paid us to run you off, said the cops wouldn't be a problem. Then he said kill you. You especially. He said kill that bitch before she queers my deal."

"What deal?" I whispered. Frank Niley was the employer of the muscleman Milo Hart. I hadn't seen him since. He was here for land speculation. Was he the buyer for Greene's land?

Terry's eyes flicked around to the waiting werewolves. "I don't know, honest to God. I don't know. He paid us five hundred apiece to hurt you. He made it five thousand for Chuck and me to kill you."

"Five thousand apiece?" I asked.

He nodded.

"It wasn't enough," I said.

"We didn't know you was a werewolf. We didn't know what you were." One of the shadowy throng was sniffing his leg. Terry's voice rose a little higher with every word. His next "I didn't know" was almost a scream.

Raina's munin was like a warm pulse behind my eyes. I leaned into the man, as if I'd kiss him. He backed away but bumped into the good doctor. My mouth hovered over the man's, but it wasn't a kiss I wanted. I stayed there, hovering over his mouth, frozen, fighting not to lower my mouth to his neck. Fighting not to sink teeth into his throat and tear. Fighting not to draw first blood and let the pack feed.

I started crawling back from him, as if I were the one that was afraid. "Take him to the hospital."

"You can't let him live," Zane said.

"I promised him if he talked, we'd take him." I caressed Zane's face. We stayed kneeling in the leaves, close enough to embrace when I didn't remember moving that close. "Take him, take the arm. And Terry," I said.

The man wasn't looking at me. He was staring at the waiting wolves.

"Terry," I said again. I was still caressing Zane, one hand buried in his short, white hair.

The man looked at me, eyes flicking back and forth madly as if he were trying to keep all of us in sight at once. "What? What do you want? You said I could go to the hospital."

"If you tell Niley about tonight, about what I am and what happened, I'll kill you." I lowered Zane's face until I planted a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"I won't tell. I won't tell anyone. Niley'd kill me if he knew I gave him up. He'd fucking kill me."

"Good," I said. I cradled Zane against me. He began to lick down my neck. He passed over my shoulder, licking a small line down my collarbone. He went lower, and I pushed him away, rough enough that he fell on his wounded shoulder. The world was narrowing down. I was losing the fight with Raina.

"Get him out of here -- now!" I felt like I was going blind. I could see, but it was all different. I was fighting her and she didn't like it. She'd asked for violence, and I'd refused. She'd asked for sex, and I'd refused. Even dead, she was a hard lady to say no to.

I covered my eyes with my hands. I heard someone moving towards me. "Don't touch me."

"It's Marianne, child. Tell me what's happening."

I lowered my hands until I could see Marianne. She was still in the white dress with her long, pale hair. "You never met Raina, did you?"

"No, child."

I reached for her hand, and it was just a hand. There was no memory attached to it. No horror that the munin could share. "Help me."

She gripped my hand with both of hers. "It's too late to force the munin out. It must be made to want to leave."

I shook my head. "She won't leave."

"She's left you before."

I shook my head harder until my hair slapped my face. "You don't know what she wants. You don't understand what she wants. I can't. I won't."

Richard was there. He started to touch my shoulder, and I fell back into the leaves. One hand raised as if to ward off a blow. I did not want to know what Raina had done with him or to him. That was one image I did not need.

"What's wrong?"

"The munin will not leave until Anita does something it wants."

"You knew Raina," I said. "Tell her the kind of thing Raina enjoyed." It was rising inside me. I couldn't stop it. It rose higher and higher until the power spilled out of my mouth in a shriek.

He started to touch me and I crawled away from him. "No, no, no, no."

Marianne caught me, held me against her. She smelled like Ivory soap and lilacs. I knew I could have broken her hold, but I didn't want to. I wanted to be held. I wanted help. I needed help.

She smoothed my hair, rocking me like I was a child. "Anita, you must give in to the munin in part. You've done it before. Richard has discussed past events with me. When the munin leaves you this time, we will work together to make sure this does not happen again."

I raised up enough to see her face. "Can you really stop this?"

"I can teach you how to stop it."

I stared into her pale eyes for a space of heartbeats. I could hear the strange click of her artificial heart valve. The munin was hinting that food would do as well as sex. Not as well, but it would do.

I pushed gently away from Marianne. "You're just food to her." I crawled back from her, slowly.

Marianne just watched me, kneeling in the leaves in her white dress. She was the only one in the clearing that was more than a shadow. All that whiteness caught the moonlight and glimmered. She looked like a target.

I stood, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I could taste my heart in my throat like a ball that I could have touched and played with. I looked around the clearing, desperate for a way out. Something that Raina would be content with and I could live with.

Zane was staring at me. Raina wanted him. But what she wanted had very little to do with sex. I went to him. He knelt in the leaves, staring up at me with large eyes gone silver with moonlight.

I fell to my knees in front of him and ripped the sling off his shoulder. He made a small grunt of pain, and Raina liked it. The problem with doing something to get the munin out was that the munin had to be in control enough for me to be willing to do what it wanted. Giving her more control seemed like a bad idea. But what she wanted was to plant our mouth over the wound in his shoulder, and I couldn't do it sober. There wasn't enough Raina in me yet to put my tongue in an open wound.

I crawled away from Zane and found Jason. I stared at him. He was almost a safety zone for me when the munin had me. The munin liked him, and I wasn't afraid of him.

I went to him, kneeling on all fours in the leaves, but knew if I touched him and I was still fighting the munin, we'd get another rush of horror. If I went to him, it had to be for real. I had to be willing to give in, at least a little.

His mouth was almost completely healed. The swelling in his eye was better. The blood or the munin -- it really was working. He was healing. I knew the munin could be used for healing on lycanthropes. I'd done it once before, but not like this. That was back when Raina first made an appearance, and I hadn't realized how much trouble I was in. Now I knew, and I was scared and hated it. Raina thought that was hilarious, that dead, she scared me more than she had when she was alive.

I could feel her pleasure like a line of warmth through my body. The echo of her laughter chased through my mind and made gooseflesh on my arms. Being possessed by anyone would have scared me. Being possessed by a sociopathic nymphomaniac sadomasochist that I had killed personally was too frightening and too ironic for words.

Jason lay back in the leaves. I was very careful not to touch him as I crawled over his body on all fours. I knelt there on hands and knees and stared down at him, legs and arms wide so that we didn't accidentally touch.

His voice came hoarse, rough, as if something in his throat were still hurting, "You have a plan?"

"If I don't fight the munin, Marianne says no memories, just power."

He stared up at me. "You going to kiss it and make it all better?"

I nodded, my hair sliding over his face. "All better." I leaned my face towards his in a sort of push-up motion. Our lips brushed in a trembling line, and what not an hour before had been chaste and a little uncomfortable was suddenly changed. I broke the kiss and held my body off of his with fingertips and toes, my body above his. I could feel the trembling energy of his aura underneath me, pushing against the power of my aura, the power that was munin. I stayed above him, not touching, staring into his face. When we kissed again, the power poured from my mouth into his in a warm breath that burned through our bodies.

I let my body drop against his in an abrupt, violent movement that brought a cry of pain from him. The sound fell into my mouth and was swallowed in a wave of heat and power. I poured the munin into Jason. I poured me into him. I poured in through his mouth, down through my pores. Everywhere that skin touched skin, I seeped into him. I felt as if I were draining away into his body.

He behaved himself at first, hands at his sides, but the power rode us both. His arms locked behind my back. His mouth searched mine as if he were climbing inside. I straddled his body and felt him hard and ready even through our jeans.

He rolled me over suddenly so that he was on top. My body did nothing to protect itself. I locked my legs around his waist, and felt him pumping against me. Each thrust made things low in my abdomen jerk and tighten.

I swam upward through the power and started pushing at his chest. We were not doing this again. I was not doing this. "Off. Get off." My voice was strangled, hoarse. I swallowed the munin back enough to struggle inside and out.

Jason froze over me, then collapsed on top of me. His heart beat frantically against my chest. His breathing was rushed. He swallowed and managed to say, "If I said it was too late to stop, would you believe me?"

I started crawling out from under him. "No," I said.

He rolled onto his back, freeing me to stand. The bruises were gone. His face stared up at me as clean and innocent as it started. If I could only get this shit to work without the sex.

"My turn?" Zane asked. I turned, and he was kneeling in the leaves. He'd stripped off the remains of his shirt. I never really thought of Zane as a guy, not like that. But now he was kneeling in a splash of moonlight so that the shadows and light showed the muscles in his chest and stomach. His arms were lost in darkness. His face was a pattern of strong, clean flesh, gleaming pale, one half caught in shadows, like pieces of darkness. His nipple ring glinted silver, like a wink of an eye, an invitation. And that was all it took.

I stood in front of him, staring down, and did what the munin wanted. I grabbed his wounded arm and jerked it upward, forcing the shoulder to its fullest extension. He cried out in pain. The skin had closed over the wound, but it was there below the surface. I pressed my mouth to the wound and felt the muscles torn. The bone already knitting, broken. I bit him, sinking teeth in enough to leave a mark and blew power into his skin. I healed it and fought Raina. She wanted to take a chunk out of his skin. A sort of joke, heal him and hurt him at the same time.

I pushed away from him before I could give in. I stumbled to my feet and realized that each time I used it, the power was growing. It was filling me like another person, something growing inside of me, pushing at my skin.

I staggered to Jamil and fell beside him to my knees. He'd changed back to human form, which meant he had been very hurt. I stared down at his nude body and fought with Raina not to touch him. Not to do what she wanted. Or not to do everything she wanted.

I ran my hands over Jamil's chest until I touched the wound. The skin was closed, but soft. I knew I could force my fingers inside him. I knew I could reach in and snatch his heart. Instead, I lowered my face to his chest and kissed the wound, gently, softly. I closed my eyes and took in the scent of him, the feel of his soft skin. Healing skin was always so soft, like a baby's flesh, tender and smooth. I put my hands over the wound and thrust that warm building power into him like a sword.

Jamil's eyes flew wide, and his spine bowed. He tried to scream, and I stole it with a kiss. I rode his body, straddling not his groin but the second, lower wound. I drew back from his lips and forced my hands low on his body. I healed him. I felt it leave my body in a warm rush. My hands slid lower. I brushed him and he was beginning to grow hard. I threw myself off of him. She'd healed him. Raina felt somebody owed her something for the healing.

I fought it until I fell back into the leaves and screamed. My body writhed and it was like my left side wasn't talking to my right. Like something was breaking inside me. That large, warm presence, that second body was trying to rise to the surface, trying to break the surface. Raina's beast was trying to come out. Trying to make me lupa in truth, but my body couldn't hold it. Couldn't give it a home. I was human, and no matter how much power you shoved into me, that didn't change.

Hands held me down. Richard's voice as if from a great height. "What's happening to her?"

"She's fighting the munin." It was Marianne's voice. I heard her voice close to my face, but I couldn't see her. It was like the world was vanishing into the dark. "Don't fight, Anita. Whatever happens tonight, tomorrow I can help you. Give in and live, or the munin will kill you."

"Anita, please, please!" Richard again.

"She will kill you if she can. She will kill you from the grave itself, Anita. Stop fighting. Embrace it, or it will destroy you."

I screamed, "No!" Then, suddenly, I could see again. I stared up into the tree-lined darkness. There was a sparkle of moonlight through the leaves. It seemed as bright as sunlight, only softer. I lay very still, blinking up at them all. Richard had my shoulders pinned. Verne had my legs. Shang-Da had my right arm. Lucy had my left. I'd been having convulsions. I remembered that.

Marianne was kneeling near my face, keeping my face still between her hands. "Anita?" she made it a question.

"I'm here." My voice was quiet but clear. I felt light and empty, but not alone. I wasn't fooled. The munin hadn't left. It wasn't finished.

"Is the munin gone?" Richard asked.

Marianne shook her head. "It's still here."

It made me think better of her that she wasn't fooled.

"Do we let her up?" Verne asked.

"Anita?" Marianne asked me.

"Let me up."

They let me go, slowly, as if almost afraid. Afraid of me or for me, I wasn't sure which. They moved away from me. Only Richard stayed kneeling. I leaned my back against him and let him hold me in his arms. I closed my eyes and let him take it all away for just an instant. I'd never had anyone's arms feel as safe as his. No one's.

My leg brushed something in the leaves. I pulled away from him enough to find my knife. I sheathed it.

From across the small clearing, Jason said, "Here's the other one." He held it up by the blade.

I went to him, taking the blade from his hand. I could feel all of them watching me. Like I was something new and uncertain that had just appeared. I sheathed the second blade.

Jason grinned up at me. "Don't take this wrong, Anita, but someday I'd like to do that for real."

"Why not tonight?" I said.

Jason stared up at me. "What did you say?"

I walked back across the clearing. I felt their eyes following me as I moved. I smelled of blood and power and flesh, and there was nothing better than that for attracting werewolves.

Richard stood there in his jeans and T-shirt. His hair foamed around his shoulders, a soft, rich brown in the moonlight.

I grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt and forced his face low enough for me to kiss. The kiss was long and full, and he tasted all the blood I'd had. Every skin I'd touched. I pulled his shirt out of his pants in a long motion, running my hands across his bare stomach, across the smooth hardness of his chest.

He grabbed my arms and pulled my hands away. "What's wrong with you?"

"Is she not good enough for you either?" It was Lucy striding towards us. Her impressive breasts strained against the white material of her halter top. Either she had very large nipples or she was cold, because the outline of her nipples was clear, even in this dim light.

I stared up at Richard. I'd been sleeping with Jean-Claude. He'd been sleeping with Lucy and Mira -- mustn't forget Mira. It was fair that he had other lovers. Really. But I hated it and hated me for minding. Hated me for wanting him. Hated me for being with Jean-Claude and not being happy with it. Hated me for knowing that even if I'd been with Richard instead, I'd have been missing Jean-Claude. I was fucked no matter what I did.

I knew as I stared at her that the hands that held my arms with such tender strength had cupped those large, round breasts. I knew that she'd touched him, all of him. That she'd held him naked inside her. And I knew jealousy so strong that the only word for it was hate.

I pulled away from Richard and unsheathed one of the knives.

Shang-Da moved forward as if to step between us, but Richard stopped him and made him step back. He just stared at Shang-Da until he stepped out of reach, but you could tell from his face that he was really unhappy about it. I didn't blame him. Richard turned back to me, stared at me, but made no move to protect himself. I don't know if he didn't believe I'd hurt him or was sure I couldn't. I was sure I could.

My hand was already on the downward stroke before I could stop myself. I sliced through his shirt, not deep, but the wound bled.

He winced, eyes so lost, hurt. Fuck him.

Shang-Da was there, and it was Richard who struggled with him. Richard who kept him from grabbing me, disarming me, hurting me.

I put the tip of the blade against my chest and drew downward over my heart. The pain was sharp and immediate, but it was shallow. I wasn't hurt. The blood trickled down between my breasts like tickling fingers. The blood was very dark against the whiteness of my skin.

Richard started towards me, and Verne caught him. "It's her choice," Verne said.

"It's not her. It's Raina," Richard said.

But in a way he was wrong. Raina had finally found something that called to both of us. We both wanted him to suffer. We both felt betrayed. And neither of us had a right to it. We'd both betrayed him in our own ways.

Words that I didn't know spilled from my lips. "Your heart to mine, mine to yours. Lupa to your Ulfric. But not to your bed, nor you to mine." I threw the knife into the ground so it stuck, thrumming. I could feel the blade in the earth as if I'd disturbed some large, sleeping beast. The power burst over me from the ground, from me, and something let loose in a liquid rush inside me. I was dizzy and on my knees without meaning to fall.

I stared up at Richard, still struggling, and said, "Help me." But it was too late. I felt the munin blow outward like a wind. And every man it touched caught the scent. I could almost feel their bodies react. I knew what Raina had done, and if it were to be her last night in the driver's seat, she couldn't have chosen better. Short of killing me, it was the perfect revenge.

I fell to my knees, fighting not to finish the ritual, but I could feel them in the dark, eager. I was giving off scent, and it wasn't just the blood. The words were pulled from my throat as if by a hand. Each word squeezed out until it hurt to speak.

"Claim me again if you can, my Ulfric." I stared up at him and saw the look on his face. It was wild, and part of me was pleased. God help me. My own jealousy had given her the keys to me. I stared around at the shapes in the dark. I could feel them like a growing tension in the air. It was like the air before a storm, so heavy it was hard to breathe through the growing power. You could feel the lightning growing in the air, coming closer, but this storm was waiting for me. Waiting for me to move.

Marianne was beside me. "Get up," she said.

I struggled to my feet, and she helped me.

"Now, run," she said.

I stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

"You've declared yourself Frejya. Now, run, before they lose patience and take you here."

I knew what she meant, but I had to have her say it out loud. "Take me?"

"If the munin does not come to the front, it will be rape, but it will still happen. Now, go!" She pushed me towards the dark. I stumbled and stared around the clearing one last time. Richard's face was tormented, horrified. Shang-Da was at Richard's shoulder, and he was angry. Angry with me. Jason's face was as neutral as I'd ever seen it as if afraid to show me what he was feeling. I caught Roland's face, too. I'd met him an hour or two before, but his face wasn't neutral. His face was hungry, anticipatory. And I knew that they'd do it. That someone, somewhere would have me unless I killed them. Two silver blades and an entire pack of werewolves. Not good odds. And Richard would do everything he could to save me -- everything.

"Shang-Da," I said.

The tall bodyguard stared at me. I could feel the weight of his gaze in the moonlit dark.

"Richard's life means more to me than my own safety, Shang-Da. Don't let him die," I said.

He stared at me, then gave one sharp nod.

Marianne grabbed my arm and said, "Go!"

I went. I flung myself into the trees, into the dark beyond, and ran. I ran as if I could see in the dark. Flinging myself into half-perceived openings, trusting to the forest the way you trust to water, knowing it will part before you without question. I gave myself over to the night woods like I'd learned to do as a girl. You don't run in the dark in the forest with your eyes. You run with the same part of your brain that makes the back of your neck prickle. I ran and leaped and dodged, and knew it wouldn't be enough.

 

 

 

27

 

A howl cut the night in a long, mournful line. There were growls and a sharp whimper, cut so short I knew someone was hurt, maybe dead. Would they really kill each other for the privilege? Real wolves didn't do this shit. Only people could take a nice, sane animal and screw it up this badly.

I slipped going over a log that was bigger around than a small car. I fell, sprawling. I lay there for a moment on the ground, catching my breath, and I didn't have the faintest idea what to do. I didn't so much hear the werewolves as feel them in the ground under my hands. I knew they were out there in a way I hadn't before the munin invaded. I pressed myself against the huge log, and my hands found an opening. It was partially hollow. I crawled into the black opening, hand with knife in front of me, half expecting to meet a raccoon or snake, but there was nothing but the feel of the cool, rotted wood under my bare stomach and the weight of the great fallen tree above me.

I knew they'd find me. That wasn't the point. It would take them a little time to get me out of the hole. I was trying to buy time. I wasn't even sure time for what. I needed a plan, and I didn't have one. The munin thought that Richard might save us. That thought scared me all on its own. Richard was sort of squeamish when it came to killing. The thought that he might get himself killed trying to save me was almost worse than me getting caught. I would probably survive being raped. I wasn't at all sure I'd survive Richard's death. Of course, having never been raped, maybe I was jumping to conclusions. Maybe I wouldn't survive.

I heard them moving around the log. More than one, more than two. Three, four? Shit.

Claws ripped at the rotted log, and I screamed, one of those short yips that is almost exclusively a girl sound. I heard one of them rolling around on the ground. I felt the rush of energy as he shifted into wolf form. And just like that, he was out of the running. If you lost human form before the lupa you were chasing, you couldn't mate with her. You went furry, you lost. The rules about going Frejya had never been written for a human who had no other shape. We'd lose the lesser wolves to their beasts, this close to full moon with sex and violence in the air.

We'd maybe lose half a dozen, maybe a dozen, to their beasts. Fifty wolves in Verne's pack altogether, a dozen helped.

Something heavy hit the side of the log. I managed not to scream. At least that was an improvement. I heard the sounds of scuffling. At least two of them were fighting. But I was almost sure there was a third.

The fighting stopped, and there was a loud crack as if something brittle and wet had broken. The silence was so heavy, my heartbeat was thunderous.

The log moved. I froze as if just holding very still would save me.

The end of the log near my feet lifted into the air. The cavity that had hidden me kept me trapped as that one end raised slowly into the air. The fallen tree was at least six feet around. I didn't know how much it weighed, but it was heavy. A tall, bearded man was lifting it. He pushed it overhead, palms flat against the wood. He smiled down at me, his teeth white against the beard.

His voice was more growl than words, "Come out, little one."

Little one? I crept very carefully out from under the huge log. It was a crushing weight. A fine trembling ran through his body all the way to his feet. It was not effortless to hold the fallen giant up. I stayed crouched just beside his leg. He'd have to put the log down before he could touch me. His smile widened, as if not moving away from him was a good sign for him.

I shoved the knife into his belly and rolled away from him, tearing the blade along the meat of his stomach as I moved. He looked surprised as he fell to his knees and the tree fell on top of him. It pinned him to the ground, and I didn't wait to see if he could get out from under it. There were two bodies on the ground. One man's skull was smashed open, and thicker things than blood licked onto the ground. In the dark, everything was grey and black. The second guy might have had a pulse, but I didn't check. I ran.

I felt the rushing of air and looked in time to see a blur of motion. A man hit me from the side in a flying tackle. I was on my back with him on top of me, one arm pinned between us. I had a second to recognize Roland, then I slashed at him with the knife. He jerked back too fast to see, and his fist was suddenly connecting with my chin.

I didn't pass out, but my body went limp. The knife fell from my fingers, and I couldn't stop it. Part of me was screaming silently. The other part was saying, "Oh, what pretty trees." When I could move again, my jeans were halfway down my thighs. The only thing that kept me that much dressed was the jeans were tight and wet with blood. Wet jeans peel slowly.

"Roland, don't do this."

He kept pulling on my jeans like I hadn't said anything. I didn't want him to hit me again. If I passed out, it was all over. He was having trouble getting my jeans over my Nikes, because the jeans won't go over my Nikes.

I raised up on my elbows and tried to be friendly, reasonable, and wondered where the hell my knife was. "Roland, Roland, the shoes have to come off first." Maybe if I were helpful, I'd get brownie points. At least maybe I could stall. Where was Richard?

Roland wrapped my jeans in one hand, effectively trapping my feet. "Why help me?" he said. His voice was still too deep for his slender chest, his words still carefully spoken. That nervous energy still crawled along his skin, vibrating like summer heat on a road. He was no different, but everything else had changed.

"Maybe I just don't want you to hit me again," I said.

"I don't want to be stabbed, either," he said.

"Fair enough."

We stayed that way, staring at each other, me propped on my elbows, him kneeling at my feet. It was almost as if he didn't know what to do next. I think he hadn't expected me to be calm. Crying, anger, maybe even eagerness, he was ready for, but I gave him nothing. I was friendly, helpful, as if he'd asked me directions to a restaurant I knew. I even felt calm, strangely. It had a faintly surrealistic air, as if it wasn't really happening. If he touched me, it was going to seem all too real, but as long as he stayed where he was, I was fine.

He pinned my jeans with his knee and started taking off his shirt. The shirt was okay. I was fine with that. He had a nice chest, pleasant to look at. As long as his pants stayed on, I was fine. Where the hell was Richard?

He undid the snap to his pants, and my nerves just weren't that good. I didn't want to try and contact Richard in case he was fighting. Using the marks was distracting. But I wanted some help. I was betting that Roland didn't wear underwear. I won my bet.

I sent out a call to Richard, and he was fighting. I saw through his eyes for one dizzying second. He was fighting Eric. Great. I broke contact as quickly as I could, but I knew it cost him a second of concentration. I was on my own.

Roland pushed his jeans to his knees and seemed to think that was sufficient, because he started to crawl up my legs. Oh, this was romantic.

It wasn't Richard who came to the rescue. It was a man I didn't know. He tackled Roland, much as Roland had tackled me. They rolled off me and down a small incline into a hollow. I started pulling my pants up as fast as I could.

There was a movement behind me, and I turned, pants just above my knees and no weapon in sight. It was Zane, one arm held tight to his chest. Nathaniel came out of the dark behind him. Nathaniel held out his one good hand to me. "Hurry."

I hurried. Nathaniel took my hand and pulled me into the trees. He ran like liquid spilling through every crack and shadow. I tried to stay behind him, trusting that if his body could go through the openings, so could mine. I jumped when he jumped, weaved when he weaved, even if I couldn't see the obstacle. His night vision was better than mine, and I didn't question it. I had a sense of Zane behind us, following like smoke in our wake.

A chorus of howls broke out to our right. Nathaniel pulled me faster through the trees until I fell headlong, and a jagged branch sliced my cheek open. It missed my eye by a wish. "Shit, Nathaniel."

"They're coming," he said.

"I know." I touched my hand to my cheek and came away with blood. "Fuck."

"I won't let them take you," Nathaniel said.

I stared up at him. He was only three inches taller than I was. He couldn't have outweighed me by thirty pounds. It was muscle, but he was small. Size counts if everyone you're fighting can lift large trees.

"They'll kill you, Nathaniel."

He didn't look at me, just kept staring out into the dark as if he could hear things I couldn't.

Zane leaned against a tree, looking at me. His good hand was rubbing his bound arm like it hurt. I bet it did.

"If they take you, you'll fight," Zane said. "They'll kill you." He closed his eyes. "This is one time when you can't protect yourself, but maybe we can."

"You'll both die," I said.

Zane shrugged with his one good shoulder, casual, like it didn't matter.

The thought came that it would all be over if I had sex. It would end then, and only then. Raina came back in full force, spilling through me. She wanted Nathaniel, and that she could not have, not with my body. Fucking Nathaniel would be like child molesting. I wouldn't do it.

Zane. Zane would do. Raina had always been fickle. I got a sudden visual so strong it made me blush. Was there anyone that Raina hadn't slept with? I wasn't going to do either of them. No way.

Then they'll die. I wasn't sure if it was my thought or the munin. Either way, we were right.

Jason limped into sight. I knew him just by the shape of his shoulders and his hair. Either I hadn't healed him completely, or he'd been in a fight. Maybe both. I'd broken contact before I finished. The munin was saving the deeper healing for sex. For her it was the toll to be paid for services rendered. No payment, no healing. Like a drug dealer giving just a taste.

Jason gave me a very strange smile as he entered the trees near Nathaniel and Zane. He slid down until he was sitting with his back against a small tree trunk. He let out a sigh.

We all looked at him. A scream tore our gaze back to the woods. Out there, close, they were fighting. Another howl rode the still, hot air. The sound was close enough to make my scalp prickle.

The trees we had stopped at were at the bottom of a hill. It was familiar. "Are the cabins just up there?"

"Yes," Zane said.

"If you go to the cabins, they'll follow," Jason said. "Can't have the tourists seeing it."

"Fuck that," I said, "Some of them won't follow to the cabins because of the tourists. I say we go and board ourselves in."

"It won't end until someone wins," Jason said. He sounded tired or maybe discouraged.

"And up there are two vampires who are on my side." I started up the hill. Nathaniel and Zane followed at my heels. Jason just sat there. We were a quarter of the way up the hill before he pushed to his feet to follow. When all this shit was over, I'd ask what was wrong. Right now, there was no time.

Figures appeared through the trees. Zane gave a little push to my back. "Run," he said, "I'll delay them."

Nathaniel turned with him, facing down into the dark and the danger.

"No," Zane said, "you go with her, Nathaniel." He looked at me. "I'm learning what it means to be an alpha. Nathaniel doesn't know how to fight."

Nathaniel looked from one to the other of us. He finally settled on me. "What do you want me to do?"

I thought about that for a second, studying Zane's so-careful face. "I'd say come with me, but I'm not leaving Zane behind."

I reached back and touched Zane's hand. "I won't leave you to die."

"Damn it, Anita, if you're not here, they won't kill us. They'll just hurt us and go after you," Zane said.

"I'm sort of bait," I said.

"Yes."

"Don't die on me, okay?"

"I'll do my best," Zane said.

I squeezed his hand. "Don't do your best, just don't die. You, either," I said to Jason.

He shook his head. "I have to stay with you. Richard's orders."

"Why?"

He shook his head and glanced back at the dark figures moving through the trees. Closer, always closer. "Later. Now, we move."

He had a point. We moved and left Zane alone in the dark with at least five figures gliding through the trees. They put on a burst of speed as we neared the crest of the hill. I cleared the hill on my knees, and we were at a flat-out run across the gravel parking lot.

I thought, Damian. He opened the door as if I'd spoken. He was standing there with a surprised look on his face. It isn't often you see a thousand-year-old vampire shocked. I had a moment to think how we must look. Me bloody, in just the black bra and blood-soaked jeans. Jason running with a noticeable limp. Nathaniel running full out behind us.

We cleared the doorway. Damian shut the door behind us. He locked it without being told. Smart vampire.

"What -- " he started to say.

"Block the windows and door," I said.

Asher grabbed the heavy wooden desk like it weighed nothing and shoved it over the window. "Do we have nails, or am I forced to hold it in place."

Something struck the window, shattering glass around the edges of the desk like glittering rain. Asher was staggered backwards. Damian joined him, and they shoved the desk against the window. The door shuddered as something heavy threw itself against it.

"He's not going to make it in time," Jason said.

Nathaniel stood in the center of the room like he was lost. "What now?"

The door shuddered again.

Jason went to the door, leaning against it. "Nathaniel, help me!" Nathaniel joined him, putting his shoulder against the quaking wood.

Hands pushed past the edge of the table. Asher took one hand off the table to break the wrist like match wood. There was a scream, and the hand pulled back.

He spoke as if he wasn't using almost all his strength to hold the table against the broken window. "May one ask why the local werewolf pack is trying to kill us?"

"They're not trying to kill us," Jason said. "They're trying to fuck her." He leaned his entire back against the door. Whatever was at the door left abruptly, and Jason almost fell against the suddenly quiet door.

The window cleared, too. It was suddenly terribly quiet, too quiet, as the old saying goes.

"What is going on?" Damian said.

"Later," Jason said. His eyes looked almost wild. "Ask me why Richard told me to stay with you."

I stared at him. "Okay, why did Richard tell you to stay with me?"

"This ends when you have sex with any of the lukoi."

I stared at him harder. "Come again."

"If it looks like someone else will get there first, he told me to do it."

"Do it?" I said. I walked around to the nightstand. "You mean, do me."

Jason had the grace to look down. He nodded.

I opened the drawer and took out the Firestar. I tucked it down the front of my jeans. I took the Browning out next and clicked off the safety. "Nothing personal, Jason, but I've got a different plan."

"I didn't say I liked the plan," Jason said. "I may joke about it, and I would love to be with you, but Jean-Claude is my master, too. He'd kill me."

I glanced at Asher. He gave a very small nod. "Probably."

"And if you let someone else get to me because you were squeamish?" I let it be a question.

"Richard doesn't kill easily," Jason said, "but if I let someone rape you, for that he'd make an exception."

I waggled the gun in the air, barrel pointed at the ceiling. "Lucky for you I'm armed."

Jason nodded.

Glass broke in the bathroom. "Shit!" We'd been stupid. "Stay at the doors," I said. I kicked the bathroom door in, already sighting down my arm. I had a glimpse of a man trying to squeeze a large body through the small window. I hit the wildly swinging door with one hip and fired into the mass of the man. He screamed and fell back through the opening.

I yelled, "I've got this window covered."

Sounds of fighting came from outside the cabin. Screams turned into growls. I felt the rising energy and knew that people were losing human form. I could feel them slipping away, slinking through the trees. I could almost smell the musk of their fur. The munin swam back up so suddenly and so purely that I staggered against the door that I was using to steady my aim.

I turned away from the window to stare across the room at Jason. Raina was fine with that. She didn't care who. If it caused Jean-Claude distress or cost Jason his life, that was dandy. I slid down the door slowly, eyes closed, the flat of the gun barrel pressed to my forehead.

"Someone else needs to do this window," I said. I hoped I'd spoken aloud. I was having trouble telling.

Jason must have filled them in because no one asked what was wrong. I felt Damian brush my legs as he went into the bathroom. The feel of his passing caused things low in my stomach to clench. I glanced up at him, and he was frozen in the doorway as if he'd felt my body's reaction.

He stared down at me with his cat green eyes, and I knew as surely as I knew anything that if I told him to come to me, he would have done it. What I didn't know for sure was why.

"Damian," Asher said, "the window."

Damian stayed where he was, staring down at me. "I can't."

"Order him to watch the window, Anita," Asher said.

I went to my knees, free hand sliding up Damian's pants leg. I slid my hand up his thigh and shook my head. I grabbed a handful of his green silk shirt and pulled him down to me. He stayed on the balls of his feet, knees on either side of my body. I went to my knees and kissed him.

I slid my tongue between the delicate points of his fangs. I'd perfected the art of French kissing a vampire. Practice, practice.

He tried not to kiss me back. He drew back enough to whisper, "You taste like blood, other people's blood." Then he locked his mouth to mine like he would breathe me into himself. His long, pale hands cupped my face, slid behind my head in the warmth of my hair.

I pressed my body against him. The Firestar was still in front of my pants. The gun pressed into his groin. I ground it into him until he made a small pain sound. The Browning was lost on the floor.

There was a sound at the bathroom window. I drew back from the kiss, and Damian began to run his lips down my neck. I saw the man crawling through the window as if down a long crystalline tunnel.

I tugged the Firestar from my pants and pointed it. I sighted at the center of his forehead. His eyes widened, and he suddenly spilled backwards into the night. Not so far gone that he didn't want to live. The question was, how far gone was I?

Damian's mouth hovered over the big pulse in my throat. His tongue curled over it, caressing. He was asking for permission. But it wasn't that kind of blood I wanted to donate tonight. Raina had no interest in just opening a vein.

I wrapped my free hand in his long, blood-red hair and jerked his face up to me. "Don't bleed me, fuck me."

Asher yelled, "Jean-Claude will kill him."

"I don't care." The moment I heard myself say it, I swam back up. It was like pushing aside a wet curtain that clung to my face, suffocating, trying to mold itself to my body and keep me, drown me.

I crawled away from Damian into the room. I said, "Watch the damn window, Damian, and stay away from me."

He stood in the doorway, uncertain.

Asher said, "You heard your mistress. Do as you're told."

I heard him walk into the bathroom. Heard his boots crunch on the broken glass. I stayed on all fours, my head hanging down, my breath coming in gasps. The Firestar was still gripped in one hand. I squeezed it tight until my hand ached. I ground the feel of the gun butt into my skin. This was real. This was real. Raina was dead. She was just another kind of ghost, damn it.

I heard someone crawling towards me. I raised my head to find Nathaniel staring at me with lilac eyes. I screamed and scrambled back from him. He was a victim and Raina liked victims. I held my hand out to him as if to ward off a blow.

I ended with my back against the bed, gun squeezed in both hands, rocking back and fourth.

Nathaniel crawled towards me. He crawled like he had muscles in places he shouldn't have, in a graceful roll that was almost snakelike, as if his spine had too many parts. He put his face so close to mine that when he spoke, I could feel his breath on my face. "I'm yours, Anita. You are my Nimir-ra. My queen." He was very careful not to touch me. He stayed that last fraction of an inch away, so that it was my decision. But it wasn't mine.

I tried to tell him to get away from me, but my voice wouldn't work. I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. All I could do was hold onto that last ragged edge of control and not move my mouth that last space. I fought with all I had left not to kiss Nathaniel. Because whoever I fell on next was it. The munin was wearing me down. Even my self-control wasn't limitless. I didn't want it to be Nathaniel. That helped me hold on.

There was a knock at the door. It was so unexpected that I screamed. The scream pushed Nathaniel back to his knees, a little farther out of reach, but still too close.

Asher asked, "Do you open it?"

I shook my head, not as a no, but I couldn't say. I couldn't think. I was fighting too hard to not throw my clothes off and fuck something in the room. That was taking about all my concentration.

Maybe Asher figured that out for himself, because he said, "Who is it?" Very civilized.

The answer shocked us all, I think. "It's Richard."

Jason was on his feet, opening the door, before anyone could tell him to do it. The outer surface of the door was clawed and broken. Richard stood there in the doorway. His T-shirt was in rags, still clinging to his shoulders but so ripped apart that you could see the bloody wounds in his tanned skin. He walked through the door a little unsteadily. Zane and Shang-Da came behind him.

Zane looked unhurt, but Shang-Da's face had been opened from forehead to chin. His eye sat in a mask of blood. He closed the door and looked at me with cool eyes.

I was glad to see all of them. But I couldn't move. If I moved, it was over. I was putting everything I had into just staying where I was. If I moved anything, the control was gone. A tear squeezed out of one eye and fell in a hard, hot line down my cheek. I stared up at Richard and wanted to say so many things and couldn't say any of them. Words would break me into a million glittering pieces.

Richard walked to me. He stood over me, staring down. I didn't look up. He didn't so much kneel as collapse to his knees in front of me.

I put out a hand to steady him, and the munin spilled across my skin like a flame. The Firestar fell to the floor with a thunk. I grabbed a handful of the torn T-shirt, balled it into both my fists, and pulled him those last few inches into a kiss.

His lips were dry. I licked his mouth, running my tongue over his lips until they were like wet, rubbed velvet to kiss. I slid my hand inside one of the tears to trace the cut I'd made over his heart.

His breath came out in a sharp hiss as if it hurt. He grabbed my wrist. I slid my other hand inside the tear and found another wound to probe. He grabbed both my wrists in his hands. You forget how large Richard is. He doesn't seem intimidating physically, but he could have held both my wrists in one hand. He forced my arms back at my sides. I tried to pull my hands free, and his grip tightened. He leaned over me, but not for a kiss.

He licked the edge of the knife wound on my chest.

I gasped, half in pain, half in pleasure.

He ran his mouth down the wound until he came to the soft upper part of my breast. He bit gently into my flesh, not hard enough to leave a mark, just hard enough that I felt his teeth. I made a small moan.

He raised his face to look at me. He let go of my wrists and put a hand on either side of my face. He trapped my face between the strength of his hands and forced me to stare into the perfect chocolate brown of his eyes.

"Anita, can you hear me?"

I tried to move forward for a kiss, but his hands held me trapped. My hands found his chest, explored the smooth flesh, the torn wounds. I tried to press my body forward against his, but his hands held my face, and I couldn't go closer.

"Anita, Anita, talk to me. Are you in there?" The grip on my face was almost painful.

I didn't push the munin aside. It fell back. I felt Raina leave me enough for me to answer. "I'm here." It was a whisper.

"Do you want this?" he asked.

I started to cry; huge, silent tears slid down my face.

"Do you want me now, like this?" He shook my face between his hands, as if he could shake me back to myself.

I slid my hands over his, cupping him against me while I cried. Did I want him? "Yes," it was a whisper.

"Now, like this?"

The question was too hard for me. I curled my fingers against his hands, trying to move them from my face. I started tugging at his hands. "Kiss me, please, kiss me. Please, Richard, please!" I was crying again and couldn't have said why.

He leaned into me, hands still on either side of my face. He kissed me. His lips pressed against mine like heat. His tongue parted my lips, and I tried again to move forward, but his hands held me. He leaned into me, pressing his mouth against mine. He kissed me like he was tasting me, as if he'd reach into my mouth with his tongue and his lips and pull me inside out.

I shuddered in his hands from the feel of his mouth. Eyes closed, my hands limp at my sides, letting him do it all. His hands slid, very slowly, from my face. He never stopped kissing me as his fingertips slid down my bare shoulders. His hands hesitated over the shoulder straps for the spine sheath, as if he didn't know what to do with it.

I opened my eyes, started to lift my hands up to help him. He grabbed my hands and held them down at my sides. "I'll figure it out," he said softly.

I stared up at him. I could barely breathe around the need. I wanted his naked skin pressed against mine. I grabbed one of the tears in the T-shirt and ripped it wider. "Off."

He shook his head. "Not yet."

I wanted to fall on him like a ravening wolf, and he was so controlled. I could feel his need. Feel his need as great as my own, and yet he could kneel there, so close, so very close.

"Everyone out," Richard demanded.

I'd forgotten that we still had an audience. I hid my forehead against Richard's chest. My hands slid behind his back, trying to press myself against him.

Asher said, "What of the other wolves?"

"I made a pact with Verne. It's over except for this."

I stared past Richard's broad shoulder into Asher's scarred face. His face was carefully blank, empty, unreadable. I had a thought: what was he hiding? But most of my thoughts were the scent of Richard's skin. The smell of fresh blood. The clinging scent of earth and pine and leaves. The light, salty dew of sweat on his body. There was no room for regrets. There was only the warmth of his body pressed against mine.

"If you take her like this, it will be very like rape," Asher said.

"I'm going to try very hard for it not to be," Richard said.

Asher gave a small sound that might have been a laugh. "Bonheur," he said, and left. Good luck, he'd said. He'd said it in French, and it made me think of Jean-Claude.

So close to the warmth of Richard's body I could feel him hard and ready, and I thought of Jean-Claude. I wanted to wrap myself in Richard. I wanted to pull him around me like a blanket, but what would my other lover say? That thought pushed the munin away better than anything else had.

Months in Jean-Claude's bed, and I still wanted Richard. I wanted Richard, not Raina, not munin. I wanted him. I wanted him so badly I couldn't think about anything but the feel of him in my arms. But it wasn't fair, not like this. Not with Raina riding me.

She poured over me like a warm bath. This was her price. This. That she be here with us for the first time. That even this would always be part hers. My skin ached to be touched. My body hurt with a need I'd never known.

When the door closed behind them, Richard pulled me away from his body. He held me away from him with his hands on my forearms while I struggled to get closer. I needed him. Needed him.

I reached for him, crying, "Richard, please, please."

He spun me around until I fell against the foot of the bed. He put a hand in the middle of my back, keeping me turned away from him. He slipped the shoulder straps of the spine sheath off, sliding them down my arms. He threw the sheath across the room to bang into the wall. Then he leaned over me, a hand on either side of the bed. He leaned his face over until his hair brushed my face. He molded his body against mine, arms wrapping my arms against my chest. He held me with his body and his arms, pressing us so close I could feel his heart beating against my back.

He whispered against my cheek. "If at any time you want to stop, say so, and it's over. I'll go."

I made a small sound very like a whimper, and said, "Fuck me, Richard, fuck me, please."

A shudder ran through his body from toes to head, and his breath fell out in a long sigh. He pulled back enough to undo the back of my bra, then he slid it slowly off my shoulders. He used the bra straps to lower my arms to my sides again. He pushed the bra off my arms, and it fell to the floor.

His hands slid over my waist. His hands felt hot. He slid upward slowly, so slowly that I wanted to cry out. His hands spilled over my breasts, cupping them, kneading them. His fingers rolled my nipples, and I did cry out.

He turned me to face him, almost throwing me against the bed. His arms locked under my buttocks, and he lifted me, still on his knees. His mouth found my breasts. His tongue flicked across my nipple, fast, quick, wet.