J'Tar

PIRACY WARNING

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She wanted him, and she wouldn’t leave him until they’d made love… Curran lay with his back to her. The firelight kissed his bare bronzed skin with a darker hue. His butt curved tight and firm. She wanted to squeeze it while he pumped his cock inside her. His lower limbs were long and lithely muscled. Her stomach clenched with want. She burned with the desire to lie in his arms. He rolled over and unerringly found her with his darkened green eyes. They smoldered with desire. His thick cock lay on his belly like an offering, more proof of his desire. She needed to stir his lust into an inferno. “Do you want something, Amara?” His voice was deeply husky. “Yes, you.”

To my editor, Linda Kichline,

who believed in me and gave me a chance.

To Rita Sable and Barbara Karmazin,

who dared me, then critiqued me to make it better.

To my friends, writers and non-writers alike,

who supported and encouraged me.

To MVRWA, who bullied me to submit, and to members

Denise Lynn and Tori Carrington who mentored me.

And to my husband,

who provided an anchor so that I could soar.

J’Tar

***

Shay Lacy

The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed.” Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book.”

J’Tar Published by ImaJinn Books, a division of ImaJinn Copyright ©2004 by Shay Lacy Printed and bound in the United States of America. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of both the copyright holder and the above publisher of this book, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. For information, address: ImaJinn Books, a division of ImaJinn, P.O. Box 545, Canon City, CO 81215-0545; or call toll free 1-877-6253592. Trade Size Paperback ISBN: 0-9759653-4-4 Adobe PDF Format: No ISBN Assigned 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Books are available at quantity discounts when used to promote products or services. For information please write to: Marketing Division, ImaJinn Books, P.O. Box 545, Canon City, CO 81215-0545, or call toll free 1-877-625-3592. Cover design by Patricia Lazarus

ImaJinn Books, a division of ImaJinn P.O. Box 545, Canon City, CO 81215-0545 Toll Free: 1-877-625-3592 http://www.imajinnbooks.com

PROLOGUE Oberroth stood stiffly erect between his father and his Uncle Bilek. In the deep square pit below, his younger brother Curran stood equally stiff, trying to be brave. Curran’s white tunic and pants set him apart from the smooth gray, umber and tan stripes of the twenty-foot stone walls and the tan stone floor. Curran’s fifth birthday was today. In a way, it would be his last. Oberroth’s stomach clenched. He didn’t want to watch what would happen next. His eight-year-old heart wasn’t strong or hard enough to bear seeing his beloved brother suffer. He must have made a sound or movement, because his father put a hand on his shoulder and frowned at him. His father’s black hair and blade-like nose gave him a fierce appearance. Oberroth swallowed and looked down in the pit again. Curran was his playmate, friend, confidante, and his brother of the soul. He wanted Curran to remain as he was at this moment. Rather, he wanted Curran to remain as he’d been before today. Curran’s appearance had changed, with his black braids shorn to above his ears. Oberroth fingered one of his own chest-length braids. From the pit’s alcove came a loud creaking sound and a clank as a metal door opened. Oberroth jerked. His Uncle Bilek’s hand clamped down on his other shoulder. Curran lost the bronze color from his face, now white against the white of his tunic, and stark against his black hair. But he didn’t turn to investigate. Instead, his green eyes locked with Oberroth’s. A young Jaxtar cat prowled out of the alcove, scenting prey. If the cat had played a different part this day, Oberroth would have found him beautiful, with his spotted gray on black coat. The cat froze when it sighted Curran and dropped into a crouch. Oberroth’s heart raced with a spurt of fear. The cat pounced, easily spanning the eight feet to Curran in one bound. It stood almost as tall as Curran and weighed

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easily twice as much. His brother fell down on his side under the weight of the large cat. He made only one effort at selfprotection. He flung a skinny bronze arm over his face. The cat bared its teeth and in one quick, fatal motion sank them into the boy’s slender neck. Both Curran and Oberroth shuddered. Scarlet blood spurted on the cat’s mottled fur as the strong jaws slashed through the boy’s throat. Curran’s body went lax as his blood emptied onto the floor of the pit. Oberroth found it hard to breathe. How long would they wait? His uncle’s fingers dug painfully into his shoulder. From the alcove, an old man dressed in a long purple robe emerged. Oberroth willed him to hurry. The ground around Curran flowed crimson with blood as the cat crouched over its prone victim. The man stopped to survey the scene of carnage. “What is he waiting for?” Oberroth cried in his young boy’s voice. “Patience,” his father admonished. “The Aurekar knows what he is doing.” His Uncle Bilek growled deep in his throat. The Aurekar raised his hands towards Curran. His brows furrowed. A blue light surrounded Curran and the Jaxtar cat, making the blood appear dark purple. The blue light thickened and became a haze, obscuring the two in the center of the pit. Sweat dripped down the side of the old mage’s face as he worked. His jaw was rigid with his effort. The haze became opaque. Oberroth strained to see inside. His heart pounded painfully in his chest. The Aurekar dropped his arms to his sides, the opaque circle thinned, and then the mist dissipated. The young male Jaxtar cat lay on its side in the pit, but Curran had disappeared. Oberroth held his breath. The cat raised its head. It struggled to its feet where it stood wobbling for a moment. Oberroth had to know. “Curran!” he shouted. The cat looked up, straight into Oberroth’s eyes. Its eyes were green, like Curran’s. Oberroth broke free of his father and uncle and darted through the archway that led to the stone stairs. Down he scampered, on winged feet, with his beaded braids bouncing

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hard on his back. He ran past startled guards until he reached the lower level. A guard pulled the alcove door open as Oberroth advanced. He dashed through the dim alcove and out into the pit. The cat turned at his approach, probing Oberroth with bright green eyes. Oberroth threw his arms around its silky fur. The cat nudged its head into the curve of Oberroth’s neck. Suddenly Oberroth’s arms were full of skinny naked boy, and he crushed his brother to him, feeling Curran’s human form with a soaring heart. “Curran, Curran, you are all right!” Oberroth hugged his brother again. “I am J’Tar now, Oberroth,” the boy piped. The once clear voice sounded husky. Oberroth held Curran away from him. “I saw.” He studied his younger brother. Curran’s neck was scarred from below his right ear to mid throat with deep gore marks. Oberroth touched the ridged skin on Curran’s throat. “I did not want you hurt, Curran.” “I did not cry out, Oberroth. I was brave as a J’Tar should be, even though it hurt.” Curran glanced over Oberroth’s shoulder. “I was brave, Father.” Oberroth released his brother so Curran could run to their father. Their father threw a black silk robe around the boy, then crouched and held Curran tightly, their two black heads pressed close together. Oberroth’s eyes slid past them to the dark form of his Uncle Bilek. His eyes traveled up fitted silky clothes, past long black braids to the collar of his uncle’s tunic. His throat displayed the Jaxtar scars that had transformed his human life. The scars were just one of the things that marked his uncle as J’Tar. Curran would gain the neck tattoos as he grew older and his uncle trained him in the ways of the J’Tar. Oberroth swung his gaze back to his father, who spoke to the Aurekar while his hand rested on Curran’s shoulder. The mage’s shoulders slumped with weariness and his eyes were dulled. “You did well, Aurekar. I seem to remember it taking longer

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when you made J’Tar Bilek.” The old man’s face cracked in a smile. “You have a young boy’s memories, Zanath.” Oberroth’s father slid his free hand onto Bilek’s shoulder and addressed the mage. “You did well in the making of J’Tar Bilek. I hope J’Tar Curran becomes just as good a J’Tar to Oberroth as Bilek is to me.” The Aurekar smiled down at the boy. “Curran will be an exceptional J’Tar, I predict.” The little boy preened under the old man’s words. The mage nodded to Oberroth and left through the alcove. He hobbled a little as he moved with either weariness or old age. Oberroth waited until they were alone before he addressed his father. “The Aurekar will not live to make more J’Tars, thank the gods. The process is barbaric.” His father gave him a disapproving frown. “Each Zanath needs a J’Tar for protection and council from one who is blood bound to him. The Zanath cannot rule without such a strong right hand.” “Guards can protect a Zanath. Wise advisors can provide council. There is no reason to destroy a brother’s life.” His uncle spoke up. “Curran’s life is not destroyed, just as mine was not destroyed. Altered, yes, but for the better.” “It is better to be an animal?” Oberroth demanded. “It is true that Curran and I are part Jaxtar cat, but we are human, too. We can do everything that humans can.” “You cannot take a wife or bear heirs. You cannot give Curran and me cousins to stand by us. Father told me so.” Bilek drew in a deep breath. “My life is given in service to the Zanath, as is right for a J’Tar.” “Curran will have more than service in his life, by the gods I swear it,” Oberroth promised with fervor beyond his eight years.

One

Three days ago, Curran had escaped the castle into the woodlands, spurred by his restlessness into running with the wild Jaxtar cats. It was the only way he felt peace anymore. He could race for miles with the pack and outrun what haunted him in the castle. If he was not sworn to serve the Zanath, the ruler of Rubiya, now his brother Oberroth, he believed he would stay permanently with the Jaxtars. But he’d made his choice twenty-five years ago, and there was no going back now. He’d timed his return to coincide with the arrival of the delegation from Mabrelle, the country to the northeast. He loped silently through the forest near the eastern edge of the castle grounds, intent on catching a glimpse of them before he had to attend the Zanath. He needed to stay clear of Oberroth until the last minute. His brother would be angry with him for a short while, explosively angry, as was his way. But he never stayed angry at Curran for long. He was like a fast-moving summer squall that quickly blew over. Oberroth would cuff Curran’s neck, and then draw Curran to him for an affectionate embrace. Curran would breathe in the spicy scent of his brother and know that he was loved. But before he took up his duties in the castle as protector and confidante of the Zanath, he wanted to see the diplomatic delegation. That was also one of his responsibilities as J’Tar. He stood between potential danger and Oberroth. He was Oberroth’s first and last defense. The line of trees led up to a little hill overlooking the road. Curran paused in the shadow of a tree to let the cool fall breeze ruffle his fur. It had kept him from sweating when he ran with the Jaxtars. Not that he sweat much when he was a Jaxtar. He was a healthy, sleek-looking cat. His black and gray spotted fur held a silky sheen. His muscles flexed smoothly and easily, made to run. A movement to his left attracted his attention. He scanned

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the road. A banner waved, blue and gold for Mabrelle. Their brown and gray horses had silver harnesses and blue and gold saddlecloths. He counted ten people, including six guards in Mabrelle livery. Curran evaluated them as they approached. A man with iron gray hair in the center of the group would be the ambassador. He wore royal blue in fine, rich fabrics, and a furred cape. Next to him sat a matronly woman with gray curls. This would be the ambassador’s wife. Her thick brown cloak was edged in animal pelt. Curran bristled at the use of fur in both hers and the ambassador’s clothing. He was sensitive to the destruction of animals for their fur because of what he was. He was glad that killing Jaxtars was illegal here. A slender man rode behind the ambassador, bespectacled and discomfited. Probably a secretary or clerk. The final rider was blocked by the ambassador. Curran moved forward into the sunlight and sat down. It would not do to frighten the horses with his presence. Even though he was half human, horses reacted to him as though he was a cat. *** Amara saw movement to her right and leaned in her saddle to peer around the ambassador. There was nothing but trees on the hillside, half barren of their foliage this late in the autumn. Then her eyes detected a color not usually seen in fall foliage: gray and black. The mottled coloring made it hard to discern, and when she did she couldn’t believe it. A Jaxtar cat! Without meaning to, she pulled on the reins and her horse shied to the left. Karan’s horse startled as well, upsetting the secretary’s composure. He pulled on the reins, making his horse circle completely around. On the second circuit, Amara reached over and caught the reins from Karan’s hands. The horse calmed and stood still. She handed the reins back to him. “Do not pull on the reins,” she instructed. Then she felt like a hypocrite because she’d done the same thing. He nodded, pushing his round spectacles up his bony nose. Amara scanned the hillside, but saw no Jaxtar. Had the

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noise of the horses frightened it away? She searched the area to the left and right, prepared to sound an alarm if needed. Leaves moved as the breeze ruffled through the trees, but there was no cat. They were sacred in Rubiya, allowed to roam wherever they chose. Rumor had spread over the border to Mabrelle that royal children were sacrificed to them. She shuddered. It couldn’t be true. Yet another rumor said a creature called J’Tar, half man and half cat, stalked the countryside terrorizing the peasants. Amara checked the knife at her waist. No Jaxtar would threaten the ambassador, not while she lived. Her gaze returned to the closer terrain, and that’s when she saw the man. He stood tall and straight with long black braids that were the style of Rubiyans. His dark tunic and trousers absorbed the sunlight. His eyes were pale in his bronzed face, although she couldn’t tell what color they were from this distance. He stood motionless. The breeze blew around him, moving his braids but not his clothes. His stillness was remarkable. Then she realized he was looking at her. She straightened in her saddle, experiencing a strange fluttering in her belly. How odd it was to be stared at so intently. And how brazen. Who was he? She looked away, breaking the connection with him. No man of Mabrelle stared at a maiden like that. She turned back, but the place where he’d stood was empty! Like the cat, he’d vanished. She felt a strange emptiness inside her without his intent gaze. As her party rode on, she inspected the passing hills and trees, but the silent sentry was gone. *** Curran entered the castle through the front door. He would have preferred coming in through the kitchen, but some of the serving women were skittish of his cat form. So the Zanath had banned him from using the kitchen entrance. The guard at the front door let him in, bowing with a knowing little smile. That smile meant Curran was in for a tongue lashing from the Zanath. Curran bobbed his head, gave a feline grin, and padded down the hall to Oberroth’s office.

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Servants in the stone hallway flattened against the wall to let him pass. Six generations of J’Tars could not eliminate the natural human fear of large wild animals. The office door was open. Inside, the Zanath waited behind his desk. His brows drew down and his face became stormy as he pushed himself out of his chair. “Curran. Where have you been?” It was like hearing thunder, but Curran crossed the room to his brother’s side. Oberroth placed his hand on Curran’s head and stroked the fur from forehead to neck. Curran changed into his human form under the Zanath’s hand. It was J’Tar ritual for them. First the cat, then the man were acknowledged by the man they served. Curran bowed his head. “I ran with the wild cats.” Oberroth sighed, drawing Curran’s head to his shoulder. He spoke without anger. “That is the third time this month. What drives you to them?” Curran shrugged against his brother’s shoulder. The restlessness had begun when Oberroth married and had grown progressively worse with the birth of each of his three children. There were two girls and the son who would be the next Zanath. There would be no J’Tar among Oberroth’s children unless a daughter became J’Tar. But it seemed unthinkable to end a daughter’s life that way. Curran was unsure if it was the end of the J’Tar line that caused his restlessness, but he didn’t burden Oberroth with his worries. “You have needs that you deny,” Oberroth murmured. “I mate with the female Jaxtars.” Oberroth laughed. “You are brave to take the females under the males’ noses.” “The females do not complain.” Jaxtars were one of the few large cats that mated outside of breeding time. They were sexual animals and it was Curran’s misfortune that he shared their hunger. Oberroth sobered. “Have you sired kits then?” “I do not mate when the females are in heat.” Curran winced at the toneless sound of his voice. J’Tars died without issue. That was their fate.

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“Curran…” Curran interrupted. “The delegation will be here soon. I saw them at the edge of the castle grounds. I would like to wash and change before they arrive. Will you give me leave to do so?” Oberroth sighed again. Then he embraced Curran and released him. “Go. We will talk again later.” Curran changed into the Jaxtar and trotted down the hall. He would avoid any such talk with his brother. *** Amara studied the surroundings of what they’d been told was where the ruler held audiences. It was a medium-sized room with double doors at the front and a single door at the back. Beautiful tapestries on the walls depicted scenes of battles and hunts. In all of them, there were Jaxtar cats. In her opinion, the room was too small to be a ruler’s audience hall. Mabrelle’s ruler had a huge hall that echoed and a throne on a raised dais. The man who rose to greet them sat behind a large ebony desk with carved animal feet that looked like claws. He had bronze skin and black braids with brightly colored stones twined into the ends. He was tall and broad across the shoulders, although the fine tailoring of his midnight blue tunic prevented him from appearing bulky. Surely this man was a secretary or minion like Karan? His deep blue eyes went from person to person in her party, until they seared their way into her. She thought he stared at her the longest, but that was surely just her imagination. The men in this country did not take concubines, although there were other ways in which women interested men. If such was his intention, he would not find her a willing participant. She turned her face from him and saw the other man standing behind him and to the right. She hadn’t seen him when she’d entered the room. All her warrior-trained senses came alive. Where had he come from? And so quietly, too, moving with something akin to stealth. He wore black silk tunic and trousers and stood perfectly still, only his light eyes tracking movement in the room. It was him, the man from the hillside!

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She was sure of it when his eyes came to rest on her. Bright green, like lake water in the sunlight. They seared her as they’d done earlier, warming her insides before finally moving away. Amara let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. The two men were intense. “I am Oberroth, the Zanath,” the first man said. “Welcome to Rubiya.” The liquid Rubiyan language rolled off his tongue. So he was the ruler of this wild land. He looked civilized. Why did he shun ostentation in his clothing and audience chamber? Where were his bodyguards, his servants, and his secretary? The ambassador stepped forward and bowed his head. “Zanath. I am Ambassador Forian.” The Zanath walked around the front of his desk. “Thank you for coming, ambassador. This problem with poaching has grown intolerable. I hope to be able to work out a treaty with Mabrelle to curtail it.” Forian raised his chin. “I do not know how you think Mabrelle can be of assistance. We do not allow carnivorous animals to roam free to destroy life and livestock.” The Zanath’s face darkened. “Neither does Rubiya.” “Your pardon, Zanath, but traders say otherwise.” Oberroth took a deep breath. His next words were calmer. “You have had a long journey. You should rest before we begin these tedious negotiations.” He smiled. “Would you introduce me to the members of your party? Is this your wife?” Forian graciously acceded to the change in topic. He reached out and his wife took his hand. He drew her forward until she was even with him. “My wife, Herrah.” Oberroth took her proffered hand and shook it. “My wife looks forward to meeting you.” “It would be my pleasure, Zanath.” Herrah was expert at Mabrelle court manners. Forian gestured Karan forward. “My secretary, Karan.” Oberroth shook Karan’s hand. Karan dropped his eyes and stepped back immediately. Then the ambassador signaled her forward. She glided to his side.

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“Zanath, my wife’s assistant, Amara.” As the Zanath took her hand, his palm caressed hers, startling her. He clasped her hand firmly, refusing to release it while his blue eyes bored into her. She froze under his intense scrutiny. “You perform other services for the ambassador’s wife,” he murmured for her ears alone as his palm stroked hers again. It took a moment after he released her hand for her to realize the Zanath knew what she was. Her eyes widened in shock. Part of her effectiveness as a bodyguard was that no one knew. And he’d learned her secret from the calluses on her palm, the ones she got from practicing with knife and short sword! How could he be so perceptive? Oberroth spoke to the other man. “J’Tar, come here.” She wasn’t the only one who jerked at the title. The members of her group swiveled their heads in her direction. J’Tar was the name of the half man, half cat. Surely it couldn’t be true. But she’d seen a Jaxtar cat on that hill, and then she’d seen this man. Her heart beat crazily. The green-eyed man moved to the Zanath’s side with a smoothness and grace of motion unusual in a man, but not unusual in a feline. When he was side by side with the Zanath, the familial resemblance was unmistakable. The Zanath was taller and broader, but the J’Tar had an aura of wildness about him, like a wild animal. The Zanath gestured to her. His other hand lay with affection on the J’Tar’s arm. “This is Amara. She assists the ambassador’s wife.” Amara held out her hand and the J’Tar took it. He, too, caressed her palm, and his gaze became intent. The calluses on his palm were the same as hers! Oberroth spoke again. “Amara, this is my brother, Curran.” Curran had deep Jaxtar teeth marks across his jugular. Surely no one could suffer such wounds and live? Tales of royal sacrifices screamed through Amara’s head. An intricate dark green tattoo ringed his neck, which at closer scrutiny turned out to be Jaxtar cats in various hunting poses. Her eyes rose and she could not look away from the green fire of his

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eyes. Why did he look at her like that? “Is J’Tar your title? What does it mean?” Her voice was husky. Curran released her hand slowly, sliding his palm off hers. “It is not my title. It is what I am. You have heard the rumors?” Her brows puckered. “Yes, but they cannot be true. You are not part Jaxtar.” “I am.” It was a flat statement. Her breath stalled in her throat. Her thoughts circled to a halt. Impossible! He seemed as human as she was. The Zanath drew Curran away. “I need to introduce my brother to the ambassador.” Curran gave her one last intent look before following his brother. He could take the shape of a cat. He’d been on the hill earlier, surveying them. Why? What role did Curran play in this country? Clearly he had a role. Why else would he be in this room? He was more than a brother to the Zanath, but what? Was he an enforcer of some kind? Amara watched Curran when the introductions were completed. He moved to a position behind and to the side of the Zanath, a position at once subservient and protective. Curran was his brother’s bodyguard! Her body hummed with startled awareness. To make his own brother serve him, and in such a dangerous way! Yet Curran was armed with only a knife. How effective a bodyguard could he be? Did he become the Jaxtar in defense of his brother? As though he sensed her thoughts, Curran’s eyes strayed to her and stayed. Amara felt the wildness in him from where she stood. Curran was dangerous in a way not at first apparent. Was it the Jaxtar she sensed in him? Did he control it or did it control him?

Two

“What will prevent the J’Tar from murdering us in our sleep?” Herrah asked as they unpacked garments from their baggage. She gave a delicate shudder that shook the ruffles on the sleeves of her russet-colored velvet gown. The three of them were alone in the bedroom of the suite assigned to the ambassador and his wife. Amara’s smaller suite was next door. Their guards were to bunk in the barracks with the Rubiyan guards. Supposedly they weren’t needed now that the ambassador was ensconced behind the castle’s defenses. “I will protect you,” Amara promised. She took a rosecolored gown from Herrah and shook it out. The servants would press it for the reception that evening. She laid it across the thick, dark blue bedding. “Even with all your training, you cannot fight a raging beast with sharp claws and fangs.” Herrah shuddered again. She set a pair of matching evening slippers next to the bed. Amara bristled. Herrah had never doubted her skills before. But they’d never encountered a shapechanger. She remembered his intent green eyes and a tremor that had nothing to do with fear passed through her body. Curran compelled with his eyes. But what did he compel—her obedience, her mindless following, her seduction or her destruction? The ambassador’s gray brows drew together. He looked troubled. “If the J’Tar planned to murder us, he would have done so already. But the Zanath wishes a treaty with Mabrelle. He will not allow his brother to harm us.” The J’Tar was wild. Amara wasn’t sure how much control the Zanath had over him. Perhaps the ambassador needed her skills more than his wife did. There was a knock at the outer door, and Amara drew her knife. “Put that away,” Forian commanded. “Murderers do not knock.” “Sometimes they do,” she countered. She strode into the

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outer sitting room, pulled the heavy wooden door open and placed her body in front of the gap to protect her charges. Her mouth dropped open in surprise to find a beautiful woman on the other side. “I have come for the ambassador’s wife,” the woman said in a voice that brought to mind singing instead of speaking. “I am Raya, the Zanath’s wife.” She had long, glossy black hair, dark eyes etched in kohl and flawless light bronze skin. Raya looked down at the knife still clutched in Amara’s hand. “You have nothing to fear here.” Amara sheathed the knife. “You are the one like the J’Tar,” Raya said in a soft voice that didn’t carry past the two of them. Amara jerked her chin up. “I am no shapeshifter.” “You serve as he does,” she corrected. Amara nodded. “Yes, like that. Did the Zanath tell everyone about me?” Raya shook her head. “Only me. The Zanath keeps no secrets from me.” How unusual for a ruler to treat his wife as a confidante. Herrah stepped into view and Amara noted that she had tidied her gray hair. “What shall I call the wife of the Zanath?” Herrah asked. Raya smiled, her teeth very white against her bronzed skin. “Raya. In Rubiya only the Zanath holds a title.” “What can I do for you, Raya?” Herrah asked. “I would like you to meet my children. They will be asleep later tonight when we hold the reception.” Herrah’s face lit. “I would love to meet your children.” She turned back into the room and the ambassador gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. He bowed his head to Raya. “I am Ambassador Forian.” “I pray to the gods that your country will be able to help us,” Raya said. Her dark eyes glowed like those of a zealot. Forian’s chin jerked up in surprise. “I…will listen hard to the words of the Zanath.” “And I will continue to pray hard.” She nodded to him.

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Herrah walked next to Raya, and Amara followed a pace behind them. The long corridor was constructed of tan stone, the floor polished smooth with age. At regular intervals curved arches soared over their heads. “How many children do you have?” Herrah asked. “Three, two girls and a boy who is the Zanath’s heir. They are aged five, three and one.” Love glowed from her face as she talked of her children. They crossed into another wing and continued walking. Herrah looked surprised. “Little children!” Raya smiled. “Yes, Oberroth and I have not been married long.” Two guards stood at attention at a wooden door on their right, and here Raya entered. The sound of children’s squeals filled the air. The sight of a Jaxtar cat aiming for the throat of a small child froze Amara’s heart, but her muscles reacted out of habit. She’d drawn her knife and leaped forward to attack before she even thought. The Jaxtar turned and snarled. The children and Herrah screamed in fright. But Raya’s shout silenced them and stopped Amara mid-step as the hall guards burst through the doors behind her. “Hold! Amara, put away your knife! J’Tar, show yourself.” As the children cringed behind the cat, the black and graysplotched fur turned to human flesh and black clothing, and became Curran crouched on all fours. He picked up a tiny child, a boy, who clung to his tattooed neck. Curran’s eyes were the dark green of wet leaves and his face held no expression. As he rose, he kissed the child’s cheek, his eyes never leaving Amara’s. The older child, a girl, held onto Curran’s leg and peered out with large dark eyes. “I thought the children were in danger,” Amara stated. Her heart still raced, pumping blood for the fight that wouldn’t take place. Her mind could not grasp what she’d just seen. It was not possible! “No child of mine is ever in danger from the J’Tar,” Raya reproached her. “He is sworn to protect their father and them.”

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“He was a Jaxtar, a wild animal,” Amara protested. “No, not a wild animal,” Raya corrected. Curran glided to Raya, the girl-child riding his bare foot as he moved. “Would you denounce and destroy me because I am not fully human? Are these the ways of Mabrelle?” “No.” Amara sheathed her knife. “Curran, these are our guests,” Raya chastised him. “She would have killed me in my own home in front of those I love. Where the children could see my life taken from me.” “No! Not Uncle Curran!” The boy-child clinging to Curran’s neck piped. Then he burst into tears. His black braids mixed with Curran’s as he snuggled into his uncle’s neck. The girl-child stepped in front of Curran, her face red with anger. “You are a bad woman.” Her lower lip quivered, which should have diminished the effect of her rebuke. What it did was tear at Amara’s heart and make her question her actions. Raya took the crying child from Curran’s arms. “Hush, Bilek. No one is going to hurt Curran.” She cupped Curran’s cheek. “You were not in danger, J’Tar. Why do you distress the children this way?” He continued to watch Amara with dark, brooding eyes. “She wishes me dead. I am an abomination to her.” Was he? Did she wish him ill? Amara didn’t know. “Go to the Zanath,” Raya ordered softly. “So I am to be banished from her sight?” “Go to Oberroth. I cannot help you while you are like this. Go now.” Raya stroked his cheek, as though to soften her words. He bowed his head to Raya, patted the girl-child and stalked from the room. The guards bowed and closed the door behind them. “You hurt my brother,” Raya scolded Amara. “I did not touch him.” “Still you hurt him. He cannot help what he is and you are wrong to pass judgment on what you do not understand. The J’Tar is proud and honorable. His life is service to the Zanath.

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There is no greater honor than that in Rubiya.” Anger and regret warred within Amara. This woman had no right to pass judgment on her. “How is he a shapechanger?” Raya gestured them to red and gold cushioned lounges in the sitting room. “Magic. It is how J’Tars have been made for six generations. Curran is a magical creature now, able to change shape at will.” “But why would anyone want to be part Jaxtar?” “Six generations ago, the Zanath needed a strong protector. He took the rule when he was not much more than a boy. His brother offered to undergo a spell to become stronger, faster and more lethal. He was joined with a Jaxtar cat. Since that first one, there has been a J’Tar made in each generation.” Raya faltered. “Bilek has no brother to become J’Tar.” Amara was fascinated in a horrified way. Herrah sat beside the girl-child while the girl studied her. Amara was glad to see Herrah’s color returning after the scare with the Jaxtar, although her eyes were wide as she listened to Raya. “Will your next son become J’Tar?” Amara asked. A mask of sadness dropped over Raya’s face. “I can have no more children. I had a difficult birth with Pierin, the baby. She will be my last. We do not know if someone not blood bound to the Zanath can become J’Tar, and Oberroth does not want to try. So Curran will be the last of his kind.” “You said he was your brother. The Zanath said the same thing. But he looks like the Zanath.” “He is my brother by marriage, almost as close to my heart as Oberroth is. Oberroth loves him deeply. They have always been close. So when you hurt my brother, you hurt me. I do not wish you to hurt him further.” Amara bowed. “I will try.” Treat an animal like a human? How was she to do that? *** Curran strode the castle corridors toward his brother’s office. He did not change form as he wanted to. His run-in with Amara still stung, her feelings about Jaxtar cats burning into his soul. They almost made him wish he were fully human. Then guilt assailed him. He was half Jaxtar and loved that

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half as much as he loved being human. He would not give up being Jaxtar for anything or anyone. Not even for the woman who fascinated him beyond reason. He pictured once again the moment when she drew her knife and attacked. Her long sable hair flew out behind her. Her hazel eyes blazed like gold fire. Her cheekbones shone starkly beneath her skin. Her body moved with one purpose, all grace and coiled lethal strength. His erection still burned against his lower belly. He’d never wanted to claim a human woman before. But in the moment when Amara attacked, he’d wanted to turn her passion into another form, one that would ride his body to fulfillment. He’d wanted her fire to brand him and consume him, until he couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. Curran had not mated with the Jaxtar cats in weeks. Perhaps this passion was the effect of sexual deprivation. It felt like betrayal to Oberroth and his vows as J’Tar to desire Amara like that. His Uncle Bilek had had several lemans who serviced his sexual needs. Curran used the Jaxtar females the same way. Was his attraction to Amara because she embodied the same traits as Jaxtar cats? He shook his head. The why didn’t matter. He couldn’t use Amara sexually. He wouldn’t use any human woman that way. It was a risk he wouldn’t take. His illusion of clothes wouldn’t hide his state from the Zanath. The magic served to protect his modesty and that of other humans when he changed form. He’d left his clothing in Bilek’s bedroom, when he’d stripped to become the Jaxtar for the children. He’d have to detour to his own bedchamber to don clothing. Once there, he could alleviate his state of arousal as well. He needed that more than he needed the Zanath’s presence. Curran turned around and retraced his steps. His suite was in the wing of the castle adjacent to Oberroth’s. He entered his rooms, but for once the sight of his possessions didn’t lighten his heart. The smooth onyx statue of a Jaxtar held no appeal, even though he’d stroke it for hours sometimes to calm his mind. Neither did the scarlet velvet seating arrangement, so soft to the touch. He headed for his bed and the Jaxtar fur that

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covered it. It had been the old alpha male who hadn’t survived Curran’s second winter as a Jaxtar. His Uncle Bilek had skinned the dead cat and made a fur pelt for the boy. It comforted Curran, no matter what form he held. He banished the illusion of clothing, and then stared at his naked throbbing cock. It needed a female’s body for surcease. He climbed onto the bed and lay face down on the fur. Then he rubbed his cock back and forth across the silky pelt. It aroused him further, swelling his cock and testicles. He gripped his cock in his hand and imagined mating with a female Jaxtar, thrusting into the depths of her wild, hot body as animal passion ruled both of them. A Jaxtar had always been enough for him before. But not this time. His imaginary lover shifted into a human woman with long sable hair. As he sank into her tight body, his flesh against hers, she welcomed him with fierce need. Her breasts cushioned his chest, her thighs gloved his hips. This is what he wanted: a warrior maiden who could match his own strength and wildness. She sheathed him so tightly that he exploded, filling his hand with semen. As he lay on the pelt, crushing regret burned in the back of his throat and his stomach. Curran could not have Amara…ever. He’d chosen his life’s path at age five. And because of it, Amara would always consider someone half Jaxtar as less than human. There would be no mate for him. He carefully erased all evidence of his passion from his body, changed into black clothing and donned his emotionless mask before he attended his brother in the Zanath’s office. “I thought you were with the children,” Oberroth quizzed, looking up from his desk. Curran shrugged. “Raya brought the ambassador’s wife to see them. She sent me to you.” Oberroth quirked a dark brow. “I sense more to this story.” “Amara tried to kill me. She does not like Jaxtar cats.” He paced the office. Dredging up the memories made him feel even more restless. Oberroth laid down his quill and rose. He captured Curran by the arm on his next circuit of the room and drew him into

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his embrace. “You are not so easily defeated, even if she is skilled with a knife. Does it bother you that she does not like Jaxtars?” Curran shrugged into his brother’s shoulder. “Why should it bother me? Even the castle servants quail at my presence. I am not here to be loved, but to serve you.” The bitterness in his own voice amazed him. Oberroth stroked his hair. “Even you need love, brother.” Curran broke away. “You love me, and so do Raya and the children.” “I want you to have what I share with Raya. That kind of love.” Curran threw his braids back. “I cannot. You know that.” Oberroth’s face darkened. “I know you refuse to look for a mate even when both sides of your nature demand one. Jaxtars mate for life, Curran.” “So you want me to take a Jaxtar as my mate?” Oberroth threw up his hands. “May the gods save me from stubborn fools. You know very well I mean a human mate.” “Humans do not wish to become mates.” “The right one will, if you would but look for her,” Oberroth said with some exasperation. Curran turned his face away so that Oberroth would not see how his thoughts had gone to Amara. If ever there could be a mate for him, it would be her. But she would not have him, nor he her. “Curran?” Oberroth sounded uncertain. A knock on the closed doors saved Curran from having to explain. “Yes?” Oberroth shouted. The hall guard opened the door. “The ambassador is here, Zanath.” “Send him in.” Oberroth sounded resigned. He looked at Curran, and Curran wiped all emotion from his face. His brother was too canny and they were too close to have secrets between them. But this secret only had the power to destroy, so Curran kept it locked away.

Three “Mabrelle will not give wild beasts license to murder at will,” Ambassador Forian objected. “Nor will we refuse to allow our people to defend themselves against them.” “That is not what I am asking,” Oberroth soothed from his chair beside the settee. He leaned forward to emphasize his point to Forian. “I need Mabrelle to eliminate the market for Jaxtar pelts in order to stop the poaching. Rubiya has the largest population of Jaxtars, so it is only a matter of time until poachers look here for them. If they had no market in which to sell the pelts, there would be no need to kill Jaxtars.” Forian opened his hands. “I understand your need, believe me, it is now clear.” He glanced up at Curran, who stood next to Oberroth’s chair. Curran clenched his fists. In the previous five generations, there had been no need for a treaty to protect J’Tars. But now the wealthy wished to clothe themselves in beautiful Jaxtar fur as the newest fashion. Rubiyan traders brought word of Jaxtar pelts for sale in the marketplaces of Mabrelle and their other neighbor, Durrior. It was an abomination! Curran had always been a strong J’Tar. He did the protecting, not vice versa. It made him feel emasculated to need laws to protect his life. But he couldn’t deny his nature and never run as a Jaxtar again. So who was the civilized one in this standoff? Him and his kind who only killed for food, or the people who killed for greed? “But you are asking my king and his troops to question each kill,” Forian continued. “How is a man to prove that his or his family’s life were in danger when he killed the Jaxtar?” “A trader with pelts would not be protecting his family,” Oberroth said in a cold voice. Forian bowed his head. “That is true. But how do we know whether the trader did the killing or bought the pelt from someone else?” “It does not matter when they are profiting from the sale

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of the pelt. I need Mabrelle to close its borders to Jaxtar pelts and not allow them to be traded in Mabrelle under any circumstance. Mabrelle must enact strong punishments for persons caught breaking these laws.” The ambassador glanced furtively at Curran. “Zanath, the fashion has come to Mabrelle as well.” Curran stiffened and so did Oberroth. Oberroth laid a hand on his arm. “We cannot and do not condone that practice here. There is a death penalty in Rubiya for killing a Jaxtar. Only my soldiers may hunt and destroy a rogue Jaxtar at my command.” Forian swallowed. Only the sound of Karan’s quill scribbling notes across the paper broke the silence. He glanced at Curran, and Curran could swear there was hatred in the light brown eyes for a second before Karan dropped his gaze. So Amara wasn’t the only one who thought he was an abomination. Oberroth would not easily forge a treaty with Mabrelle on the issue of Jaxtar cats. “Zanath,” Forian continued, “these are animals we discuss. The J’Tar knows not to cross the border into Mabrelle.” “Curran knows,” Oberroth agreed, “but he must be safe in Rubiya as well.” “Zanath…” the ambassador began. “Does your king have children?” Oberroth interrupted. Forian lifted his chin. “Two sons.” “I have two daughters.” Curran stiffened. No! Oberroth could not mean to trade his children’s happiness for Curran’s safety. The Zanath’s children had always married for love. He clamped his hand on Oberroth’s shoulder, and his brother covered his hand with his own. Forian’s forehead spotted with perspiration. “You wish to form an allegiance with Mabrelle over this issue? It is that important to you?” Oberroth nodded. “If that is what it takes to secure the safety of the J’Tar. Besides, it is time our two countries forged stronger ties. How old are his sons?” “Prince Hanock is the heir, just turned eighteen and in

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training to the king. A marriage is already arranged for him in the country of Shreelaste across the sea. We share the water with them, so peace must be kept between our countries. We depend heavily on our fishing industry for food, oil and other products. Prince Bryal is fifteen and unattached.” “My daughter Saria is five. She will need more than ten years to come to a husband.” Oberroth seemed to have trouble speaking for a moment. “Is he a gentle boy?” Forian’s face softened. “He keeps two large dogs and a horse he loves. The dogs sleep in his room. His mother despairs of it.” Oberroth nodded. “Saria is lovely, like her mother. She can be strong-willed but she is fiercely loyal. She prefers cats.” When he looked at Curran, pain filled his eyes. Curran died a little inside. No man should have to sell his children for such a price. There must be another way! It was Curran’s job to protect the Zanath. Oberroth needed protection now from this awful thing. But what could Curran do? He gripped Oberroth’s hand hard and stared at the ambassador. His mind sought a solution like a torch blazing through the night, but none came readily. In his peripheral vision, Curran caught the narrowing of Karan’s eyes. When Curran looked directly at the secretary, Karan turned his face slightly away, but not enough to hide the ruddy hue on his cheeks. Was it anger or something else? Curran tensed. Did the man object to an alliance between Rubiya and Mabrelle? Why? Curran slipped his hand from under Oberroth’s. Who knew what drove men when they were thwarted? Although the secretary looked harmless enough, Curran vowed to watch him more closely. *** When they were alone again, Curran exploded. “You cannot give Saria in marriage this way! It is barbaric!” Oberroth tossed his quill on his desk. “You do not think the stakes are high enough to warrant such a gesture?” “I would rather be dead than see her sold into slavery this way.”

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Oberroth paled and his face froze like stone. Then his anger broke free like a thunderhead throwing lightning. His cheeks grew ruddy red. He pointed a finger at Curran. “Do not ever say that again! “Someone must say something before her life is ruined.” “Her life will not be ruined. The people of Mabrelle are civilized…” Curran snorted. “They wear animal furs for fashion. They hate and fear that which they do not understand, without even trying to understand.” Oberroth waved that away. “Overall they are civilized. Ambassador Forian is an intelligent and cultured man. Their society is on a par with ours. We have lived beside them in peace for more than a generation. It is time we strengthened our ties with them. Saria will have years to form a friendship and grow to love this boy. During that time we will host him here in our home. We will get to know him and familiarize him with our ways.” Curran rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. “You cannot do this thing, no matter how you rationalize it. The Zanath’s line is a passionate one. They marry the one they cannot resist. Father and Mother were enamored of each other until the day they died. You and Raya are the same way. How could you wish less than that for Saria?” “Once Saria loves this boy, she will see no other.” Curran made a slashing motion with his right hand. “You cannot guarantee she will love him, or that he will love her in return. You condemn her with your actions.” Oberroth crossed his arms over his chest. “Saria knows how to love. Everyone who meets her loves her. How can this boy do any different?” “Will you listen to what you are saying? You are speaking as a dreamer instead of the Zanath.” Curran grabbed Oberroth by the arms. “This is not a wise decision.” Oberroth gripped Curran’s arms in return. His blue eyes blazed. “The Zanath decides what is best for Rubiya and its people.” “You cannot say my needs outweigh hers. To do that is to

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curse me forever. I will not be happy knowing she must pay for my life with her own.” Oberroth took Curran’s face in his hands. “You are my beloved brother, my faithful servant and one of my people. I have a responsibility to care for you. More than any other in this land, I must look to your well-being. I have vowed to do so.” Curran shook his head. “I can care for myself. I am a strong J’Tar.” “You gave up your life to be J’Tar and gave it into my keeping. Have I not taken good care of you all your life?” Curran rested his forehead against his brother’s. Memories slipped through his mind of times uncounted with Oberroth. His brother had been older, stronger and wiser than him for years. He’d grown to manhood in Oberroth’s shadow, at Oberroth’s side. His brother had been the leader because he was first-born and the heir but Curran had lacked for nothing by Oberroth’s side. Until now. “Please find another way,” he asked. Oberroth’s warm breath gusted over Curran’s face, making his braids swing. “I will consider all things.” He hugged Curran and released him. “Now go get ready for the reception.” *** Amara watched the whirling dancers in their jewel-colored clothing pirouette inside the large ballroom. This was a room she could picture as an audience chamber, with its soaring ceilings held up by green-veined marble columns. The slick marble floor made dancing easy. It seemed all of Rubiyan nobility had turned out in festive clothing to celebrate the Mabrelle visit. All except one. Curran was dressed in his usual black, although his tunic had midnight blue insets in the sleeves. It seemed his only concession to fashion. He was a pool of dark stillness in the swirling melee except when he was dancing. He’d danced with Raya, Herrah and two women she didn’t know, but the majority of his time he spent observing with intent eyes. Like her, he was forever on guard against danger. Curran was a joy to watch as he danced with innate grace

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and perfect balance. He moved with no waste of energy, all sinuous flow. His lithe musculature was that of a Jaxtar, she knew that now. Amara felt a stirring of something low in her belly she couldn’t identify, but she knew it had to do with how he moved. She’d heard of women who danced like that to attract men to their beds. Was that how Curran attracted females to him? She studied him and his current partner, a pretty young woman in a green dress. He did not smile, nor did he flirt or entice. Yet her face opened to him like a flower. Curran was a striking man, even Amara could admit to that. He was also a royal and carried an intriguing sense of danger around him. So she could understand the young woman’s attraction. But he simply held her as he danced, as though it was a duty. How odd. He was of marriageable age. Why didn’t he court his partner? The green eyes captured hers as he passed and Amara felt pinned to the spot. He was all interest now. By lowering his head a fraction, he transmitted that interest to her. Her body heated and her breath came in fast, shallow pants. Was he using his magic on her? Did he control that like he controlled what form he took? He turned with his partner and she lost eye contact. Her breath whooshed out of her lungs. She’d have to stay away from him if she expected to maintain a clear focus during the evening. The music ended and Oberroth caught her attention across the room. His arms were wrapped around Raya’s waist and hers were looped around his neck. She lifted her face and he kissed her passionately. People around them smiled and then she saw Curran look away. A muscle in his jaw bunched. Was he jealous? Was he in love with his brother’s wife? Is that why he remained unmarried? Such a love seemed out of character for him, though. The music began again, a slow, sensuous ballad. She’d never heard the tune before and noted the movements of the dancers with interest. It seemed achingly like the actions of knife fighting.

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“Would you like to try this one?” Curran asked from beside her. Amara turned to refuse, but his green eyes blazed and the words died in her throat. She allowed him to take her hand and lead her out onto the floor. He clasped her around the waist, his hip against hers. Her heart pounded hard. Curran stepped away from her, retaining hold of her hand. She mimicked the other women, moving out and swinging back to him. She knew this movement in another guise. His eyes widened at her proficiency. She smiled. They turned body to body, gently brushed together, changed hands and spun outward and away. Curran switched hands and swung back to her. This time, instead of brushing against her, Curran turned slightly and Amara fit into the vee of his hips. She inhaled as his warm fullness pressed into her groin. He moved away with the music and she was left to wonder what she’d felt. In a moment, the stanza repeated and once again she fit into Curran’s groin. This time there was no mistaking his erection. A thrill ran through her. Over and over they spun out and came together again in a blatant parody of lovemaking. The music’s tempo increased and with it the rub of their lower bodies. Amara’s loins clenched and moistened with her first taste of sexual desire. Her body heated, her heartbeat pounded, her breath came in pants. Curran breathed just as hard and his eyes darkened with arousal. His hands slid across her hands and arms in a caress. Amara’s hands caressed his hip and brushed his erection. She licked her dry lips. She swung back into the cradle of his pelvis and the music stopped. Loud applause greeted the end of the dance. Curran held her pressed to him, his chest heaving, and his eyes almost black. He lowered his head and her breath caught. Would he kiss her? Did she want him to? What she wanted was to be alone with him in a most wanton way. She wanted to give herself to him until they were sated. Her thoughts appalled the modest part of her mind. Curran moved past her lips and his warm breath brushed her neck. He inhaled, but his lips didn’t touch her. Then she realized he’d smelled her, as a Jaxtar would! He lifted his head,

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staring at her from lowered lids, and his nostrils flared. Amara stood frozen. He seemed to have difficulty controlling some emotion. Did he want to change shape right here? She held her breath. His head jerked up and his eyes turned wild. A tremor passed through him before Curran tore himself from her arms. He threaded his way through the dancers and out of the hall. She had the oddest feeling she’d just frightened him. She felt pretty frightened herself. *** Amara exited the ballroom and stopped short in the corridor. The door closed behind her, muffling the strains of music. Curran paced the stone hall like a trapped animal. When he turned and saw her, his nostrils flared, his green eyes widened and he stilled. She froze because he was wild. His pose was that of fight or flight, and she did not want to trigger either. He quivered with tension. His eyes burned with some intense emotion she’d swear was need in someone else. But Curran barely knew her. In most of their confrontations, he stalked from her presence with his emotions seething. Curran was a contradiction—cool to the point of iciness on the outside, but molten emotion on the inside. Was the dichotomy tied to his two natures? He moved towards her in a feline glide that changed to a stalk. “You did not get enough of me inside? You came to suffer further torment?” Amara lifted her chin. “I came out to get some fresh air. Every movement I make does not concern you.” He’d reached her. She could feel the disturbance in the air around him, as though his skin could not contain all that he felt. “I think I very much concern you,” he said. She chose to respond to one of his meanings. “So I think about you. It is a natural curiosity.” “Curiosity.” He said it derisively. Amara realized he had taken the most negative view of her statement, that he was a curiosity. He was, but not like a

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butterfly pinned in a collection. “You are like no man I ever met before, and not just because you are J’Tar.” Curran’s eyes darkened. The wall sconce bathed his taut cheekbones in stark relief. He reached out a hand and closed his fingers around her arm in an iron grip. “I feel the same way about you. Let me indulge my curiosity.” He pulled her down the hall, turned right into a smaller hall and moved further down a ways to a nondescript wooden door. He opened the door and pulled her inside. Amara had no idea where they were in the castle. She went willingly with Curran because she wanted to know more about him. As she looked around the medium-sized room, Curran shut the door. Thick bound books lined the shelves on one wall. Jars, pots and glassware lined the shelves on yet another. A work table took up a third wall. A fire burned low in the fireplace, softening the edges of the furniture and throwing deep shadows into the furthest corners. The air was thick with something she couldn’t identify. It tingled on her skin. She rubbed her arms to lessen it. “What is this room?” she asked. “The Aurekar’s workroom. He is the Zanath’s mage. That tingle you feel is magic residue. He works spells here and hones his craft.” No amount of rubbing lessened the tingle. “I have never felt magic like this before.” Curran stepped toward her. “Have you not?” Amara looked into his face. The firelight made him starkly beautiful. She felt the pull he exerted on her without even touching her. Yes, he was magical, whether due to what he was or enhanced by what he was, she didn’t know. “Are you working a spell on me?” she asked. He crooked one black brow and reached a hand up to caress her cheek. “I am no mage. Magical, yes, and able to transform myself and my clothing. But I am doing nothing more than touching your skin and looking at you.” That was enough, where he was concerned. Amara tried for a safer topic. “Would you dance with me again?”

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The corner of his mouth curled up. “The same dance?” “If you like, or another of your choosing.” “I would choose to be closer.” Curran wrapped one arm around her waist and took hold of her hand with the other. She wrapped her free arm around his neck, under his silky hair. He fitted her into the vee of his thighs. His hard erection pressed against her abdomen. A sensual thrill ran through her, and it appeared to pass into him, because he shuddered. He stepped forward, moving her backwards at the same time. His penis rubbed against her as they moved. He turned. She caught the rhythm, following the clues his hips telegraphed to hers. They turned again. His eyes caught the firelight, and Amara drew in her breath. They held heat as blazing as the flames! Their dance covered a small square in the center of the room. On the second circuit, he pressed her back over his arm. His penis fit into the notch of her thighs, and she felt his hard heat in her slit. Her sheath moistened. He thrust twice against her before letting her up. Amara swallowed around a dry throat. He was seducing her! Twice more he dipped her during a twirl. Each time he pressed further between her thighs. She felt the hard ridge of him against her labial lips. His thrusts grew more urgent. His breath came in harsh pants. She was breathless, too, but not from dancing. In the next turn, he brought their joined hands between their bodies to his groin. “See what magic you wrought in me?” Amara had never felt a penis before, although she’d seen the bulges in men’s pants when they were aroused. Curran’s was firm, yet it gave when she caressed it. The thin silk of his trousers allowed her to feel the shape of the shaft and bulbous head. He groaned. “Does it hurt?” she asked in a coy way she’d seen used by woman at court. “It aches for you.” He moved her hands up and down his hot length. Just

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touching him made her vagina weep, and she shifted a little to ease the ache he aroused. So that’s what he meant. She could not admit how he affected her. She feared if he knew, he’d lift her dress this moment and drive his aching length into her. She feared even more she might let him. “I do not even know you.” “You know enough.” He groaned and pressed their hands harder to his cock. “I know what men and women do together.” She’d been no shrinking virgin, but an intelligent woman with a healthy curiosity about everything…including sexual things. “Show me.” He thrust into her hand in example. She had no intention of having sex with him after only one day’s acquaintance. “I will show you while we dance.” Curran raised her from the dip and flowed into the next turn, keeping her hand between their bodies. Amara gripped his cock and rubbed up and down quickly. The silk heated as it moved over his flesh. He groaned deep in his chest. Amara pressed harder and rubbed faster. His arms held her close to him, but they allowed her to do as she wanted. His hips bucked against her during the next turn. The skin on his cheeks tightened. The look in his eyes was too intense to bear until he threw back his head, breaking the connection. He growled, a rough, animal sound. He stopped dancing suddenly and pulled her tight against him. His penis jerked over and over against her hand. His silk trousers became soaked with seed. So this was what it felt like when a man came. Amara’s vagina clenched with desire. What would it have felt like inside her? “That is not how I wanted to spend myself, but I thank you,” Curran said. When he stared at her, the heat in his green eyes was banked, but there was another kind of hunger there now. “It is all I can give without knowing you better,” she demurred. “And then?” he prodded. “Let me learn about you first before I make promises.” ***

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Curran climbed onto the bed between Amara’s pale, spread thighs. She widened her hips to display the glistening slit below her dark pubic hair. Good, she needed no more preliminaries. She was ready for claiming. Her breasts stood up, the brave nipples tight and proud. She reached her pale arms to him. He crawled to her center, fitted his penis to the fleshy opening of her vagina and thrust inside. Amara’s hands grabbed at his body, trying to pull him down to her. She was so tight. Her body fought the penetration, and then he was in where he belonged. He let her pull him down to her. It was a place he hadn’t known he needed until he was in her arms as her lover. Her hands slid down to his butt as he withdrew, and she gripped his cheeks to prevent him from going far. She pulled him to her as he pushed back inside her. Curran began a rhythm intended to measure his length and her depth as many times as possible before he came. Soon her hips rose to meet his thrusts. He buried himself to the hilt. She made little groans that drove him wild. She ground herself against his pubic bone. Gods, if she didn’t come soon he was going to climax alone. Her hot vagina gloved him tighter than a second skin. His cock burned, and his balls tightened. It wouldn’t be much longer. He slammed into her depths. All he could think about was the rightness of the act. It was as natural as breathing to be inside her. His mate. Slick. Heated. Tight. Joining. Oneness. Completion. Curran threw back his head and growled. He’d changed shape in order to claim Amara as his mate before he realized what he was doing. Her body was even tighter this way. The mate bond screamed at him to claim her. He thrust harder. But Amara was screaming as well while she beat on his chest. He came with a rush of hot semen. His feline scream matched hers. Almost bonded! But she looked at him with horror and loathing, not love or need. He withdrew from her moist depths. Sticky white semen leaked from her vagina and covered the head of his cock.

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Amara scrambled away from him, falling off the bed in her haste. She grabbed the blanket and attempted to cover herself. “Beast!” she hurled at him with vitriol once she’d reached the wall. “Monster!” Curran awoke with a rush. His heart ached. His cock throbbed with orgasmic aftershocks. He shook with a knowledge that made him die a little inside. He could not and would not hide his Jaxtar nature from Amara, and she hated that part of him. She would never accept it, or him. She would be repulsed to mate with half of his nature, half of his soul. Was that part of him to go without while his human half was sated? He would wither and die if he denied his Jaxtar self. It had needs that a woman like Amara could fill if she would try. But she wouldn’t. She had the potential to be his mate. But she would never love him. No woman would.

Four

The knife glinted in the early morning sunlight as it slashed through the air. It acted as an extension of her hand as Amara moved through the forms her master had taught her, both those of attack and defense. The chill dawn kept her from sweating as she performed her exercises in the empty castle courtyard, wearing the forbidden split skirt her stepfather detested. Her soft boots made no sound on the flagstones. The morning ritual brought peace after the upheaval of the past week traveling from Mabrelle and her clashes with Curran yesterday. She feinted left, the knife swishing almost soundlessly through the air. Her braid flew out behind her as she moved, then slid over her shoulder onto her chest as she turned yet again. She swung to the right, leading with the knife, but instead of air, the knife struck metal. The impact stung her hand, but she held onto the knife as she’d been taught. Her heart thundered as adrenaline flooded her system, preparing her for battle. She continued moving into her attacker and closed with Curran. It didn’t surprise her that he was here. He spun to his left, his braids flying, and she spun with him. It reminded her of the dance last night. She came face to face with him, their knives crossed between them. She felt the animal heat of his body, and something else. His feet were bare and he wore fitted black clothing. His green eyes were very bright in the pale morning light. “Again,” he ordered in a husky voice. She pushed against him, and then spun away to her left. He followed. She turned quickly and engaged. Their knives pinged as metal touched metal. A quick flurry of thrust and parry ended when she ducked under his right arm and eluded him. They turned to face one another. “Now defense,” he ordered. He lunged for her. She blocked, parried and spun away. He chased her. She turned, blocked another thrust, feinted left, and then spun right.

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“You are well trained,” he said. There was admiration in his voice. “So are you,” she panted. “You are the Zanath’s bodyguard.” He nodded as he closed with her. She got her knife up to block, but his slid off hers and proceeded on to her neck. She held completely still, lest her inadvertent movement cause his knife to slip. His head lowered to hers, the eyes luminous green. “You see much,” he murmured. She held her breath. Her heart pounded from exertion and more as his face moved closer. Would he kiss her this time? He moved to her neck, and she heard his indrawn breath. He’d smelled her again. Slowly he moved backwards, brushing his cheek against hers. Something else a cat would do. She wanted to lean into his touch, but she controlled the strange desire. He stopped retreating with only inches separating their faces. He stared at her lips and her mouth went dry. Would he kiss her now? He looked into her eyes and she wanted to drown in the green pools. They were fathomless depths, as deep and secretive as he was. “What are you?” she whispered. “I am J’Tar.” His expression closed and he withdrew from her literally and figuratively, sheathing his knife. She felt a physical wall rise between them. He looked away and down. His jaw clenched, then relaxed. He turned back to her. The green eyes were now stark and cold. “May I practice with you each day while you are here?” She swallowed, feeling hurt by the coldness in his eyes. She sheathed her knife, giving herself time to answer. “Why?” His chest moved outward in a breath. “I want this time with you.” “Why?” He looked desperate. “It is the only thing I can share with you.” “I do not understand.” Was it because she wasn’t Rubiyan? He shook his head. “I will be here tomorrow morning.

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Come and share this beautiful dance with me.” Amara swallowed her frustration. “All right.” He held out his hand, palm up. She placed hers on his. He caressed her palm, watching her face as he did it. Then he released her hand and strode quickly away without looking back. Her palm tingled and she closed her fingers over it. Curran was a strange man, but so very compelling. What would she have done if he’d kissed her? Her heart beat faster just thinking about it. *** “The Zanath wishes a marriage alliance between Rubiya and Mabrelle,” Raya told Amara and Herrah that afternoon. The breeze played with the long red skirt of her dress. For an insane moment, Amara wondered if Raya meant between Curran and herself. But that was impossible! “Whom does he propose for this alliance?” Herrah asked. Her dress was royal blue with silver piping. It went well with her gray curls. “My daughter Saria and the youngest son of your king.” Raya turned to watch her two oldest children run down to the lake. Their black hair flew out behind them. Their squeals disturbed the ducks and geese that floated on the still water. The ducks quacked and flapped their wings while the geese honked, creating a cacophony of sound. “It is a good match,” Herrah offered. Raya’s dark eyes were troubled. “The Zanath’s line loves long and well. I wished that for Saria. I wanted her to have a man like her father, a man to be the other half of her heart.” “So you are against the marriage?” Herrah asked. Her voice was gentle, one mother to another. Raya twisted her slender hands together. “I do not go against the Zanath. He is wise and cares deeply for his people.” Herrah reached out her hand and Raya took it. “Yet this is your daughter. It is natural to feel anxious.” “I know little of Mabrelle. Tell me where she will go and how she will live.” Herrah headed slowly down towards the lake. “We have less forest than Rubiya, more flatland, and of course we have

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the long seacoast. Our coastal men are excellent fishermen. Prince Hanock will be king someday and in charge of the soldiers and ships. Prince Bryal, as the younger brother, will be responsible for inland trade. He will travel far and wide throughout Mabrelle and move between the castle and the other royal residences. “We are civilized people, Raya. We have healers to care for the sick, wise men to teach the village children and scholars to ponder important questions. There is plenty of work for able-bodied men and women to do. The weather is fair, although storms do blow in from the coast. We trade with neighboring countries and with Shreelaste across the sea. We have laws to govern and protect us. Mabrelle is a good country. It prospers under King Durvan.” “And you, Amara. What do you think of Mabrelle?” Raya asked. “I have a good life in the ambassador’s service. I have been to places and met people I would not have had the chance to in Mabrelle.” Raya turned her dark eyes full upon Amara. “That answer tells me nothing of Mabrelle, and I wonder why you chose it.” Amara looked away to watch the children run along the water’s edge. “I will not be the one to speak out against a treaty that benefits two countries. I will say that a woman does not have to stay where she is unhappy.” Raya probed, “You speak from experience? Women are unhappy in Mabrelle? Is that why you travel with the ambassador?” Amara glanced at Herrah. The woman would not divulge her secret. She was too close to the court of Mabrelle and Amara’s parents to jeopardize Amara. “I travel for the freedom it gives me.” “And is there not freedom in Mabrelle?” Raya asked. “Women are not free in any country, are they? Else your daughter would be the Zanath’s heir and not your son.” Raya sucked in a breath. “I begin to see why you treasure freedom so much.” She turned to the children. “Saria, Bilek, come in now. It is time for your lessons.”

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As the children scampered up the grass, Raya smiled secretively. “I believe we will join the Zanath’s treaty discussions this afternoon.” Amara hid her horrified look as Raya turned to gather her children to her. What had Amara started? *** Raya pushed both doors open and led the way into the Zanath’s office with an assertiveness that amazed Amara. The four men inside turned at her entrance, their faces displaying various expressions. Then the seated men stood. At first Oberroth glowed with love. Then he frowned and both black brows pulled together. Ambassador Forian glanced at Raya and then at his wife with an eyebrow raised in question. Karan looked nonplussed, more so than usual. He adjusted his spectacles and straightened his tunic. Curran gave Raya and Herrah cursory glances, and then zeroed in on Amara. Once again her breath caught. He wore silky black clothes with no adornment, not even in his black braids. Everything about him was a black frame for the clear green eyes that seemed to eat her up and draw her to him. “Raya, do you need something?” Oberroth asked. She glided to him and he slid his arm around her waist. “I have a vested interest in today’s talks. I would like to hear what the ambassador has to say.” There was a fraught pause, during which Amara waited for the Zanath to reprimand his wife. Instead, he seated her in his chair and strode to the other side of the room to carry another chair over. Karan slid over on the settee and Herrah settled beside her husband. Curran took a step away from the group, as though to fetch a chair, but Amara signaled him to cease. If he stood to protect his charge, so would she. Oberroth watched the charade with interest. “You may sit, Amara.” “I prefer to stand.” Oberroth stared at her, and then looked as keenly at his brother. Finally he seated himself next to his wife. Amara was intensely conscious of the animal heat of Curran’s body and the scent of Jaxtar fur. Her nostrils flared. Had he changed

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shape recently? But he hadn’t smelled different yesterday when he’d changed shape in front of her. Of course, she hadn’t gotten this close to him. Amara peered at him out of the corner of her eyes and found he was looking back. When she turned her head, his green eyes bored into her as though he could read her thoughts. She lifted her chin and faced forward once more. “We were discussing the proposed alliance,” Oberroth explained. Raya leaned forward toward Forian. “This boy, Bryal, how does he treat his mother?” Amara kept her mouth clamped shut so her bottom jaw wouldn’t drop. This was a line of questioning she hadn’t expected. The ambassador’s chin jerked up. “Why, with respect, of course.” “And love?” she prodded. “Yes, of course he loves her.” “Does he think she is wise?” Forian glanced at Oberroth, but the Zanath steepled his hands below his chin. “He listens to his father the king’s counsel. He obeys his mother.” “But not his mother’s counsel. Why not?” Excitement swirled through Amara’s chest and made it hard to breathe. She’d never seen a woman question a man like this, like a judge seeking the truth. Sweat beaded on Forian’s brow. “She is a woman, Lady Raya. The king holds power in Mabrelle as the Zanath does here.” Raya held out her hand and Oberroth took hold of it. “How do you respond to that, my husband?” Amara held her breath. Would the Zanath destroy all that Raya had hoped to accomplish? “There is a difference between power and wisdom. My wife is an intelligent woman. I value her counsel. So do my children.” Amara let out her breath. She’d never seen anything so amazing.

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“My daughter Saria is a bright girl,” Raya continued. “She should be a man’s partner and helpmate. Her children should look to her for guidance.” Forian opened his hands. “What would you have me do, Lady Raya?” “Would you foster Bryal with us next year? Let him learn the ways of Rubiya. Let him become brother to Bilek and Pierin and future husband to Saria. I would have him learn to understand the environment that molded Saria.” Forian shook his head. “Bryal will be sixteen next year. Too old to foster.” “He will be old enough to choose,” Oberroth mused. “Ask your king to give Bryal such a choice.” “What if he decides not to come?” the ambassador asked. “Then we will have the answer to my wife’s question,” Oberroth answered. He turned to Raya. “Does that satisfy you?” She nodded, a small smile on her lips. “For now. What about the Jaxtar pelts?” “The marriage alliance should further that discussion,” Oberroth explained. Raya frowned. “But there is no guarantee that it will. And our need is great.” She directed her next question to the ambassador. “Is your need for fashion as great as our need to preserve the wild Jaxtars?” Forian’s gray brows drew together. “I thought you needed to keep the J’Tar safe from poachers.” “The J’Tar needs the wild cats for the health of that part of him which is not human. Without them, he might sicken. Jaxtars are not solitary creatures, ambassador.” Amara noted the ruddy hue on Curran’s cheeks and the tensing of his jaw. He didn’t like being discussed and dissected this way. Raya’s words were enlightening, yet Curran was a man, a prince of sorts, and he should be treated with greater respect. “Lady Raya, I must be frank. The stories we heard of the J’Tar terrified Mabrelle’s people. Even when I tell what I have seen with my own eyes, few will believe it. It is beyond our

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understanding that a member of the royal household would permit himself to be…mutilated…in such a way. It will be difficult to express the Zanath’s wish to safeguard the J’Tar, even knowing he is part human. His animal needs will not be considered.” “So we must educate an entire country,” Raya mused. “A generation’s work.” “Saria’s generation?” Oberroth asked. “Perhaps.” Raya rose. Everyone seated rose as well. Raya moved to the ambassador and held out her hand. He took it. “I think the gods want me to work on this problem myself. Two civilized countries should be able to agree on this issue to everyone’s satisfaction. I will think hard about how to bring about this accord.” Ambassador Forian bowed over her hand. “I am at your disposal to discuss new ideas. Mabrelle wants to continue its peaceful coexistence with Rubiya.” Oberroth backed up so his wife could exit the seating arrangement. He blocked Amara’s view, so that only the glint of light on metal caught her eye. A knife! Why would Karan have a knife? She’d drawn her own knife out of reflex before she even took a step forward. Oberroth was in her path, and only now did she sense he was the intended victim. She had to get between the Zanath and Karan! Amara grabbed the Zanath’s arm with her left hand and yanked with all her strength. She used his momentum to swing past him. A woman screamed. Karan lurched forward, his face a mask of rage. Her knife clanged against his. He pushed her hard and she fell back a step. He tried to sidestep her. She threw herself between him and Oberroth. Karan’s knife pinged on hers. She heard a roar. Something large and furred knocked her aside. Karan screamed. Amara spun around and leaped on the Jaxtar, who had Karan pinned on the floor. She jammed her fist into the cat’s jaws. Pain sliced her hand. “No!” she shouted. The Jaxtar snarled. She brought her knife around, but a hand grabbed her wrist. “You will not hurt the J’Tar,” Oberroth gritted. His face

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flushed red with anger. “Let go of me before he kills Karan!” Amara cried. “Let him kill the cur,” Oberroth snarled as he leaned over her. “No!” She whipped the back of her head against Oberroth’s face. With a cry of pain, he released her. She swung her fist with all her might. The hilt of the knife connected with Karan’s jaw with a thud. His eyes rolled up in his head and he sagged into unconsciousness. “Unless you intend to kill an unarmed man, you had better release him,” Amara said. The Jaxtar snarled with rage. It twisted furiously to the left and threw her off. As she landed on her butt, its razor sharp fangs lunged for her throat.

Five The Jaxtar meant to kill her! Amara flung up her arm to deflect the sharp teeth. It knocked her flat on her back. A woman continued to scream to her right. Amara fought the large head, but knew she was losing with her lesser strength. “Is this how you reward my help?” she got out through gritted teeth. The Jaxtar paused. Amara tried to scoot out from under it, but it planted a big paw in the center of her chest. The air left her lungs in a rush. Oberroth’s face appeared over the Jaxtar’s shoulder. It was still ruddy with anger and blood ran from his nostrils. She’d obviously hit him in the nose with her head. “Let her up, Curran. The guards can lock her in the cellar until she and her coconspirator are tried for their crimes.” What? Of all the ungrateful beasts! She had no breath to yell epithets, so she aimed and kicked Oberroth in the leg, careful not to break the bone. Take that! “Ouch!” Oberroth cried and jumped away from them. Amara jerked her knee up into the Jaxtar’s stomach. It yelped and relaxed its grip. She rolled over and tried to climb to her feet. But it pounced on her and flattened her to the floor once more. This time it lay on top of her. She still had the knife, so she thrust it backwards over her shoulder. The hilt connected with the cat’s face and caused another snarl. This time it gripped her by the back of her neck with its teeth. She stilled, waiting for the fatal strike. Black boots walked into her line of sight. She couldn’t look up at Oberroth while the Jaxtar had hold of her. The Zanath wrenched the knife from her hand. “I ought to let my brother kill you now and save me the aggravation of a trial.” His voice was a growl. “I should have let Karan kill you,” she threw back at him. “Had I known how you show your gratitude, I would have!” “You tried to help him escape,” Oberroth denounced. He

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knelt where she could see him but not reach him. “For that you will be punished.” She shook her fist at him. “You bastard, I tried to prevent that damn cat from killing him before we learned who hired him to kill you!” His eyebrows climbed his forehead. “What?” “Are you so stupid you think he acted on his own? Somebody was behind his actions.” The Jaxtar bit her a little harder. “Ouch! Get this animal off me. As soon as Karan wakes up, we will be able to question him and find out what we need to know.” “Curran, I think she is telling the truth. You had better let her up.” Oberroth rose and walked out of her sight. He spoke to someone she couldn’t see. “Tie this man so he cannot escape.” “Zanath,” Amara reminded him. “Curran, I said let her go.” Oberroth’s voice held command. The Jaxtar released its painful grip on her neck and lifted its weight from her back. But it continued to stand with its legs on either side of her. She got her knees under her and sat up in front of it. It moved its head along her hair, snuffling as it moved. She held perfectly still as it smelled her neck, as Curran had done twice before. It blew warm breath down the front of her dress. The air tickled the sides of her breasts and made her nipples contract. Its mouth moved up her cheek, its fur tickling her skin. She shuddered. It bumped her back “Stop that!” Amara remonstrated. She pushed at the furred face. It drew back, but then the Jaxtar padded around in front of her. Intent green eyes devoured her. Curran’s eyes. It got right up into her face until she pushed it away. Then it dropped its head to her neck and smelled down to her bodice. Amara slapped it. It hovered, looking at her, aquiver with some desire she couldn’t fathom. “Get away from me,” she ordered. Whatever it wanted was disturbing. “Curran, what are you doing? I need you over here,”

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Oberroth ordered. Then Curran was there, crouched in front of her. The change was instantaneous. The green eyes were just as intense as the cat’s had been. He wore the tight black clothing she saw each time he’d been the cat. He stood and walked away in bare feet. She had the most ludicrous thought: where had his other clothes and boots gone? Amara let out her breath. Then she began to shake. She’d just faced death. Had she not fought, the Jaxtar would have torn open her throat. Her chest and neck muscles tightened. Tears threatened, which she refused to shed. She felt too weak to stand. It was the aftereffect of danger, she knew, although she’d never faced this real a threat before. Black heeled boots moved into her view. “Are you all right, Amara?” the ambassador asked. His sympathy was almost her undoing. Only now did she become aware of quiet sobbing and Raya’s gentle voice attempting to soothe Herrah. Amara’s neck and hand hurt. She raised her trembling hand in front of her. It was the one she’d jammed between the Jaxtar and Karan’s throat. Two long bloody scratches marred the surface. She shook harder. Those fangs could have done much worse damage. Ambassador Forian took hold of her hand. “You need a healer. Zanath, would you send for the healer?” “It is just scratches,” Amara denied, although they were beginning to burn like fire. “Let me see,” Oberroth demanded, his voice coming closer. He touched her hand and made a sound of pain. “Curran did not mean to do this.” She looked up at him and his tall form wavered, or she wavered. She couldn’t tell which. “I did it to save Karan. To save the knowledge in his mind. So he could name his conspirators.” It was becoming hard to think and even harder to speak. “Lie down,” Oberroth commanded. “Before you faint.” “I am all right,” Amara insisted. But she wasn’t. Her head felt stuffed with thick fog.

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Someone pushed her onto her side. Gentle hands probed her wounds. She moaned in pain. “Get your hands off her. Have you not done enough damage?” the ambassador insisted. “The scratches are not deep.” Curran’s voice. His hands touching her. How could he be a violent animal one moment and a caring man the next? “What kind of savage are you to hurt a woman like that? And you ask me to beg my king to protect you.” Forian’s voice held the bite of anger. “The J’Tar protects me,” Oberroth explained. “He had no way of knowing she was innocent.” “He could have killed her,” Forian sounded a bit hysterical at the thought. He was probably wondering how he would explain her death to her parents. Amara raised her arm with difficulty and waved her hand. Curran caught it. “I am all right.” The words sounded odd, as though someone else was speaking. “Someone help me up.” “You are not recovered enough to stand,” Curran said. “I am not an invalid.” She tried to sit up, but she lacked the strength. “Help me up.” Ambassador Forian tried to supplant Curran by her side. “Move out of the way.” “I will help her,” Curran growled. He scooped his arms under her back and legs and lifted. Then he rose to his feet with fluid grace. “Put me down,” Amara objected. “I can stand.” The warmth of his firm chest seeped through the side of her body pressed against him. “Your cheeks are as white as snow,” Curran said. “Give her to me,” the ambassador demanded. “I think you have handled her more than enough.” Someone moaned. “The traitor awakens, Zanath,” one of the guards said. “Ambassador, I need you to witness your secretary’s confession,” Oberroth ordered. Forian turned to where Karan lay on the ground. His cheeks grew red with anger and his eyes hard. “I want to hear who

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bought him.” “Then it is settled. Curran, take Amara to her room and let the ladies and the healer attend her. Then return here,” Oberroth instructed. “I want to hear his confession,” Amara managed. Her nose filled with the scent of Jaxtar fur and musky male. Her cheek pressed against silky black braids. But Curran strode towards the double doors. “Stop. Put me down.” “You are in no condition to witness what may become nasty. Sometimes the guilty refuse to confess.” “You mean to torture Karan to make him talk?” “He will die anyway. That is the penalty for trying to kill the Zanath. Even your ambassador cannot save him from that.” “At your hands?” “No. I am not the Zanath’s instrument of justice. I am his protector.” Arches passed quickly overhead as Curran carried her without effort. Behind them Raya and Herrah hurried to follow them, their soft shoes making scuffing noises as they walked. “I am sorry I hurt you,” Curran said suddenly. “It was not you. It was the Jaxtar.” “I am the Jaxtar. I could not reason why you acted as you did. I thought only to protect the Zanath.” “Jaxtars cannot think.” “Do you not understand? It is my brain inside the Jaxtar’s body.” “The Jaxtar acts differently toward me than you do.” Amara thought of the large cat sniffing her cleavage. Ruddy color climbed Curran’s cheeks. “I am freer as a Jaxtar than I am as a man.” “What do you mean?” They’d reached the door of her chamber. Raya hurried past them and opened the door. Curran strode through the sitting room and into the bedroom. He laid her on the soft bed and slid his hands from under her. It was a sensuous caress. She bemoaned the loss of his body heat. Curran took hold of her injured hand and studied it with

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pursed lips. When he looked up, his green eyes were dark with pain. Raya bustled around the bed, and he seemed reluctant to leave. Finally Raya stood beside him. “I need to undress her. You will have to leave.” His gaze was like a touch that stroked down her body and between her legs. Her lower belly clenched inside. He wanted to undress her! Amara wasn’t sure how she knew that, but she was absolutely certain of his desire. He hummed with it. The same desire slammed into her lower body and she became wet between her legs. She wanted Curran there, taking what she had to offer. “Curran,” Raya prodded. “The Zanath needs you.” “I did not mean to hurt you,” he said. “I forgive you,” Amara replied. His hand slid from hers in a caress. She nearly cried out when their connection was severed. He turned and strode out of the room. But her body still hummed from his touch. “Thank the god of calm seas he has gone,” Herrah exclaimed. “That foul beast.” “He is not a beast,” Raya rebuked in a sharp tone. “He savaged Amara.” “I am not hurt badly, Herrah. I think it was all the fear I experienced. First for the Zanath’s life, then for my own.” “It terrorized you,” Herrah insisted. “Yes, I was afraid, but I understand what motivated the cat. It protects the Zanath first.” “Wild animals do not belong around people. If we had lost you…” Herrah voice caught. “We did not,” Amara hurried to fill the silence. Herrah might not guard her tongue while she was overwrought. “I will be just fine after I have a little rest.” A young, brown-haired man entered the room. “The Zanath said you needed a healer. I am Healer Blanath. How can I help?” “She has Jaxtar bites and scratches that need tending,” Raya explained. He moved to the bedside and took Amara’s wounded hand.

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His brown brows pulled together. “The J’Tar did this?” “She and the J’Tar foiled an assassination attempt. She got between the J’Tar and his target,” Raya said. He nodded. He sat his healer’s pouch on the bed and began pulling out packets. “The J’Tar would never hurt an innocent.” Amara stared into Herrah’s eyes. Denial and denouncement brewed there but remained unspoken. Although Amara wanted to believe the Rubiyans, she’d been under the J’Tar, had its teeth in her neck, and been only moments away from having her throat ripped out. In Mabrelle, uncivilized men acted like beasts, but they didn’t turn into them.

Six Curran had almost killed Amara. The Jaxtar had been a breath away from taking her life. The thought plagued him. It had driven him out of the cellars after the traitor Karan had confessed and been sentenced to death. It had chased him from his human form into the nightmare that was now his other half. He’d run into the lake, trying to wash away the memories in the cold water, dived deep hoping to cleanse the crime. But he could not change the past. The woman he would claim as his mate, if he could, had almost had her throat torn out. There would have been no Aurekar’s spell to make her live again. Curran would have held her as her breath left her body, while her blood ran over his hands, staining them for all time. He would have been a murderer. And half of him would have died with her. It devastated him that he could not claim Amara. He hadn’t known what it was he lacked before her arrival, yet now he thought of almost nothing else. He throbbed with the need for her, both sexual and deep within his heart. The sexual hunger gnawed at him and kept him in a state of at least semi-arousal. Had they been alone in her bedchamber earlier, he might have taken her and the consequences be damned. And then he would have been foresworn. If he claimed Amara, his loyalty would be to her, and not to the Zanath who held his oath. Curran felt torn in too many directions. He knew his duty, but how could he perform it knowing his heart would travel back to Mabrelle with Amara? How could he let her go? Surely she would marry one of her countrymen? No! Never! He wouldn’t permit it. Yet, how could he stop it? And didn’t she deserve a husband and children? She wouldn’t get that in Rubiya with him. If she was Rubiyan and a woman of easy virtue, he could make her his lover, like his uncle had done with women. But she was neither, so that choice was closed to him.

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Curran gnashed his teeth. He wanted her to leave so this agony would cease. Yet he wanted her to stay almost as much. He perched on the stone wall that surrounded the garden and let the sun dry his fur. He could see in every direction from his position—the garden, castle, stone courtyard, lake and forest. There were no humans around, and the dogs had been taken off to hunt. Bird song from the forest was his only companion. Curran sensed Amara before he saw her step into the courtyard from the castle door. His ears pricked up and his tail swished wildly from side to side. Her sable hair hung unbound, the long curls very feminine. Her tan dress and matching soft boots should have made her look dowdy. What they did was help her blend into her surroundings, the tan against the sand color of the castle walls and courtyard. She rarely stood out. It was part of her bodyguard persona not to draw attention to herself. He admired that talent about her. She strolled across the courtyard, heading for the lake, purposeful in her stride. She hadn’t taken more than a dozen steps when her eyes locked with his. Her steps faltered. Every muscle in his body tensed. He’d wanted her and here she was. Maybe she sensed his feelings. Amara began to walk again, never taking her eyes from his. When she passed directly across from where he crouched, she turned her head, lifted her chin and kept going. Curran waited until she headed towards the forest before he jumped down from the wall and trotted after her. As she reached the edge of the trees, he caught up to her. She glanced down at him, her hazel eyes more green than brown, her expression unfathomable, and then she walked on. When they were out of sight of the castle, Curran changed shape and grabbed her hand. He tugged and she turned towards him. With his other hand he lifted her face. He ran a finger across her soft lips and she opened them. She licked her lips, stroking his finger with her tongue Curran lowered his head. Although he gave her time, she didn’t move away. He touched his lips to hers and a sigh escaped her. His heart thudded heavily. He pressed her lips

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more firmly and gripped her around the waist. Her hands climbed his back, transmitting her desire for him. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss. There was roaring in his ears. A flame of need burned in his throbbing erection, to join with her and make her his own. He pressed his penis to the juncture of her thighs. Her warm female body felt good against his own. But the clothing that separated them frustrated him. He backed her against a tree and began to thrust against her. “Curran,” she panted. “I am here.” He kissed his way across her cheek and down the side of her neck. “I ache.” She gripped his buttocks and pulled him harder into her groin. “As do I. It will not be long until I fill you.” He gripped her long skirt and began to lift it. If he didn’t become one with her soon, he’d explode. Curran fused their lips again. How had he known her this long without enjoying the wonder of her kiss? He felt connected to her in a small way. Her lips sucked at his and her tongue pressed against the seam of his lips. He opened his mouth and Amara’s tongue darted inside to rub sensuously against his. He chased it back into her mouth to explore the moist depths there. He got the front of her dress up, dispelled the illusion of his clothes while he found the opening in her drawers and inserted his penis between the damp folds of her labia. Amara broke the kiss. “Curran, we must not!” He slid the head of his penis back and forth along her slit. “I will be gentle the first time.” She gripped his bare hips and prevented him from thrusting. “I am not what you think. I am of noble birth. I cannot do this unless it means something.” He froze, the words noble birth searing his brain. Not a leman, not a woman to use only for passion. Then the rest of her sentence penetrated his thoughts. “It means something.” He rubbed in incremental movements along her slit. Amara moaned. “What does it mean to you?”

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“That I will become a part of you, and you a part of me. That we will be one and that you will be mine. I need this. I need you.” “The needs of a man,” she derided. Curran shook his head and pressed his whole body along her length. “Not the needs of a man. This is more.” She pressed her cheek to his. “The needs of a J’Tar?” He stilled. His name echoed in his brain, sounding the call to service. Damn her for reminding him that he was already bound. Damn him for wanting her despite his vows. “Yes,” he replied. Curran pulled away from her and let her skirt drop. He restored his illusion of clothing and then turned to study the autumn colors while his loins throbbed to complete the act of joining. Inside his head the Jaxtar screamed for its mate. He clenched his fists to keep from reaching for her. A smaller hand covered his. He turned his hand to twine his fingers with hers. It was how he wanted their bodies to be. Amara leaned against his side and rubbed her cheek along his bicep. “Why did you stop? I would have given myself to you.” He laid his cheek against her hair. “I cannot give you what you want.” “I want you. Is it because you are J’Tar?” Curran stiffened. “Yes, and because you are noble. I would give myself to you and let you sate yourself on me for the rest of our lives. But that is all I can give you.” Amara turned so that she faced him. “You are noble, too. You must make a marriage and sire children. It is the way things are done.” Her voice sounded bitter. “It is not the way for J’Tars.” She touched his arm. “Why? Is it because you are not fully human?” Curran shook his head. “No. It has to do with service to the Zanath. I am bound by that service. I cannot marry.” Amara frowned. “I do not understand. Do you mean service precludes taking a wife? How cruel.” “It was my choice.” In an instant he replayed the scene in

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the pit when he’d become J’Tar. He hadn’t made that choice lightly. “When did you become J’Tar?” “When I was five.” She gasped. “But you were far too young to understand what you were doing. You cannot be held to promises you made as a child.” “You want me to break my sworn word? You wish me to live without honor?” “No!” Amara gripped his arms. “You could not know at age five that you might meet a woman who wanted to share your life. If you had known, you might not have chosen to become J’Tar.” Curran shook his head. “It was my destiny. I knew from my earliest days, and I would not have chosen otherwise. Oberroth needs me.” He gathered her warm body against his. Why was fate so cruel to him now? Was this his reward for a life spent in honorable service, to be kept separate from his other half? Amara clutched him tightly to her. “Why, Curran, why?” “I am J’Tar. I will die J’Tar.” Although now he would die slowly and alone. “Then we are doomed.” Her breath shuddered out of her. “I wish I had never come here.” Curran grabbed her arms and held her away from him. “Do not say that. I would willingly trade decades of my life for the minutes we have shared, and I will spend every minute I can with you while you are here.” “But if there is no future for us, would it be less painful not to see each other?” He shook his head. “You are mine for now. You will stay mine while you remain.” Amara bowed her head against his chest. “I am yours.” Curran hugged her tightly. His erection prodded her lower belly. He released her slowly. “Walk with me. Tell me of yourself.” She took his hand and they began to stroll along the forest path. “I am twenty-one years old. I live with my mother,

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stepfather, two half-brothers and one half-sister. My stepfather is a high noble in the court of Mabrelle.” They startled a brown hare into flight. It jumped over a fallen log and disappeared behind a thick grouping of trees. “How did a woman of noble birth become bodyguard to the ambassador’s wife?” Amara looked at him and then away. “I wanted freedom. There were things I wanted to do, but was not allowed because I am a woman. So I withdrew from the court for a year of seclusion, where my master trained me in the art of the knife and short sword. When my stepfather found out, he was angry, but I was already trained. He had to let me go. I will not be caged.” She was like him in so many ways. “I would never cage you.” Amara stared into his eyes, as though searching for a lie. Apparently not finding one, she nodded. “I believe you. I would not cage you either.” Curran’s heart pounded hard. She was so perfectly his mate. This was dangerous territory for them. He turned the conversation to safer ground. “Have you known Karan long?” he asked carefully. Their feet made swishing noises in the dry leaves. There was a flash of pain in her eyes before she looked down. “Since I came to serve the ambassador. But I do not know him well.” She took a breath. “What did he confess?” Curran squeezed her hand. “He named his conspirators. The ambassador said he recognized some of their names. Karan was paid by the poachers. They do not want their lucrative trade stopped.” Amara sighed. “What will happen to him?” She missed the scarlet flame of the semicircle of trees nicknamed the ring of fire. The glorious autumn wardrobe was wasted on her at the moment. Curran regretted bringing up the subject of Karan. “You understand that it is a death sentence?” he asked. She nodded. “In three days he will be put to death. The ambassador

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will witness it so that he can report to your king that it was quick and humane. He says your king will punish the people Karan named. I do not know if I believe him.” Amara bristled. “Ambassador Forian does not lie.” “He may believe the king will act as he says, but he does not speak for the king in this matter. Your king may have other allegiances.” “Do you believe King Durvan is in league with the poachers?” Her tone dripped disbelief. Curran spotted a deer among the thick trees. It froze and then bounded off. “I do not know. I have never met him.” “Well I have met him. Although he has flaws, he does not consort with poachers.” Her tone was defensive and Curran wondered why. “He would not be the first person to turn a blind eye when money fills the coffers.” Amara stopped and jerked her hand from his. “You admit you know nothing of our king. You know little of Mabrelle. Who are you to judge our ways and our people? By our standards, what was done to you was barbaric.” Curran cupped her face in his hands. “Why are we fighting? We have so little time together. Must what we have left be unpleasant?” She gripped her hands over his. Her eyes were more gold than green and filled with despair. “Hold me, Curran.” He gathered her tightly in his arms and pressed her flesh against his. It was not enough. It would never be enough. He cursed the gods for this torment. He could see no way to compromise, nor could he imagine how to live with a decision made either way. *** Amara didn’t know what woke her, for she heard no sound. Perhaps it was a change in air pressure, presaging a storm outside. But all at once she knew she wasn’t alone. Her heart pounded hard as her hand slid under the pillow towards the knife she kept there. The fire had gone out, so she searched the darkness for the intruder. There, a lighter patch than what surrounded it!

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She inhaled and stilled all movement. She scented Jaxtar fur. “Why are you here?” she whispered to Curran. The cat made no sound as it approached on padded feet. Only the lessening of the darkness told her where it was. Then it entered the spill of moonlight coming through a gap in the wooden shutters on the window. Its eyes gave an eerie chatoyant gleam in its furred face. Amara inhaled. The cat looked sexually hungry, like it had in the Zanath’s office after it attacked her. She pushed up with her arms and slid her legs toward the edge of the bed, intent on sitting up. But the mattress bounced and sagged as the cat leaped up on it. It knocked her flat and straddled her body. It took a moment to catch her breath and remember that she needn’t be afraid. “Get off me,” she growled. The Jaxtar’s furred face brushed her cheek and then across her mouth. Her lips tingled after it passed. Hot, sweet breath blew across her skin. She pushed it away, but furred lips blew air against the side of her neck. Sharp teeth grazed her skin. She shuddered, torn between unwanted arousal and trepidation. What did it want? Amara rolled to her stomach and tried to escape to the side. But the cat pinned her flat on her belly. Warm breath moved the hair on the back of her neck. “Stop it,” she ordered. It climbed around her on the bed. The soft mattress gave under its weight as it moved. Then her blankets were torn away from her body. Cool air touched her back and buttocks. What? The Jaxtar straddled her once more and this time lay down on her. Its weight made it hard to breathe. Fur brushed the crack of her naked butt. It had bared her! Then Amara felt something hot, hard and unfurred press her butt. Its penis! It was aroused! Did it intend to finish what Curran had begun earlier in the forest?

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“Do not dare!” She fought to get out from under it. It prodded between her buttocks, getting closer and closer to her slit. “No! Curran, you cannot do this to me!” It stilled, less than an inch from her slit, pressing hard into her flesh. She was mortified to feel dampness in her vagina and between her inner thighs. This cat shouldn’t excite her. Teeth grazed the back of her neck…and then warm, human lips kissed her. Warm flesh pressed along her back. The wiry hair around his sex and on his legs tickled her butt and inner thighs. “The Jaxtar wanted to make amends, and I had to see if you were all right,” Curran murmured. His voice was dark and husky. “I did not want you to have nightmares.” “That is not the way to go about it,” she rebuked. “Oh? There is another way?” He slid his knees inside hers until her thighs opened and he pressed between them. “What are you doing?” She wasn’t frightened, only a little nervous. He was a prince, after all, and compelling. She was a princess. If he wanted to bed her, she might oblige him. They could discuss royal alliances afterwards. But suppose he turned into the Jaxtar while he was inside her? She shuddered. He wouldn’t do that. “I am…” Her breath caught as he pressed harder. “I am not sure I am ready for carnal love. I thought I was this afternoon, but now…” Curran stilled once more. “Is it the Jaxtar?” “Yes.” “The Jaxtar would never hurt you. His cock is like mine.” “I have never had a man,” she admitted. Only the sound of his harsh breathing broke the stillness of the night. What was he thinking? Her nipples pebbled. Her vagina moistened further while his warm body covered her so intimately. He smelled not unpleasantly of musky Jaxtar fur and male. “You need to become accustomed to me. Tonight we will get to know each other.” He lifted off her back. His hands gathered her sleeping gown on either side of her and lifted it

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over her head. “But you said…” she began as he pulled the garment off and tossed it aside. Curran leaned over her and placed a finger on her lips. “I will not place my cock in you tonight, but I will acquaint myself with you.” “And I have no say?” His fingertips traced a pattern on the skin of her back. “Are you curious about me?” She shivered. “Yes.” “And I you.” Curran moved her hair away from her neck and placed a kiss there. Amara shuddered delicately. He bit gently, thankfully missing the bite from earlier that day. Was biting something he couldn’t help because he was part Jaxtar? His human teeth didn’t break the skin like his Jaxtar fangs had. He licked below her ear, and she shuddered again. His tongue traced the vein where the pulse throbbed in her neck, and he bit it lightly. Amara’s hands gripped the sheets on either side of her. Curran’s strong fingers slid over hers and she intertwined hers with his. She was surrounded by the warmth of his firmly muscled body as he nibbled her neck. She wished they were face to face. Curran’s mouth moved to the back of her neck again and slowly he laid kisses down her spine, stopping to nip the skin along the way. Amara wriggled under him. It tickled and excited at the same time. When he reached her mid back, his hands slid from hers. She tried to grab them back, but he’d already moved them to her hips. His sensuous caress slid inward towards the vertical crack in her butt. It stirred a fire deep in her loins and made her vagina clench hard. When his lips reached her buttocks, his hands slid between her spread thighs to part the lips of her sex. Amara cried out in surprise, and then stuffed a fist in her mouth to block further sound. “You like my touch here,” he purred. His voice was almost a Jaxtar growl.

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“Yes.” He stroked the labial lips, barely grazing the slit within. Amara moaned. Her vagina wept liquid to ease Curran’s way inside. When he touched the folds inside her slit, she cried out again around her fist. It felt so good, so wonderful. She wanted much more. Curran’s fingers explored her slit, sliding upwards towards her mound over and over until he found the spot that made her jerk. Her clit engorged with blood as he rubbed it, tingling with arousal. Her vagina throbbed in time to his movements, the ache growing with each stroke. One finger of his other hand trailed down and circled the mouth of her vagina. Her hips bucked against his mouth, where his tongue traced lazy circles on her butt. The fingers at her clit rubbed faster and harder. His other fingers rubbed the outer tissues of her vagina. Her vagina clenched and clenched. Why didn’t he use his penis? She was ready. She’d take anything to ease this wonderful ache. She needed so much and knew Curran could give it to her. It was like releasing an arrow from a bow when orgasm claimed her. She cried out into the sheets while the throb resonated in her vagina. Curran stroked her until she was too sensitive to take his touch any longer. Then she tried to move her hips away from him, and he stopped rubbing. He kissed her spine. “Curran, I am ready for you, if you want me.” “Not yet, I think.” Curran rolled her over and climbed between her thighs. There was just enough moonlight for his eyes to gleam. He had cat eyes, even when he was human! Amara tried to cover her breasts. She’d forgotten what he was while in the mindless grip of passion. His hands stopped her. “No. I will not hurt you, but I must do this.” He leaned down and took her left breast into his mouth. “Curran!” Desire streaked to her loins, making her vagina clench all

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over again. Her breast swelled even while the nipple grew taut. His tongue lapped the sensitive skin. Amara almost screamed with pleasure. She drove her fingers into his silky hair to press him closer to her breast. She lifted her chest so more of her breast pushed into his mouth. Oh gods, this is wonderful! He bit down gently, and she welcomed even that sensation. He licked the tip to soothe the pain. “Harder,” she begged. His hand moved to her right breast, where it caressed up the slope and flicked the tip with his fingernail. She jerked in surprise. The slight scratch electrified the nipple and sent sensation streaking to her lower body. He did it again. She moved restlessly under him. His touch made her vagina ache. Then he flicked one nipple and bit the other harder than the first time. Amara cried out. Her loins tingled. Her vagina clenched. Her body came closer to orgasm. She knew what the tightening sensation meant now. But she didn’t want to remain empty while it happened. “Please, Curran, fill me.” “There is more to know here.” “I ache. Please, I am not afraid.” Green eyes gleamed at her. Then they lowered as he licked her right breast. “Curran,” she begged. Let him end this interlude as nature intended. “As my lady commands.” But instead of inserting his penis, he moved slowly down between her legs. What did he intend, more of his fingers? When his warm lips touched her clit, she bowed off the bed. A moan escaped her tightly closed lips. Curran sucked the nub. The tightening sensation in her vagina increased. His tongue caressed it. Each stroke felt more like he licked inside her. Then he licked her slit. Her loins quivered, on the brink of an explosion. He feathered strokes across the entrance to her vagina. She tightened further inside. “Take me please, Curran. I need you!”

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He plunged his tongue inside her vagina. She shrieked into her closed lips, muffling part of the sound. Her hips came off the bed, thrusting her body onto that dancing flame. When convulsions seized her lower body, she threw her head back against the pillow. Her hips rode his tongue. The pleasure was so intense she could barely think to wonder how he probed so deeply inside her. Amara thought she felt fur between her legs, but then Curran probed deeper and she came again fast. She lost all thought as his tongue stroked her inner tissues, prolonging her orgasm. Her soul took flight away from her spasming body. Finally his tongue withdrew, and she dropped limply to the mattress. Curran crawled up her body until his hard cock prodded between her legs. At last! “Close your legs,” he ordered. Amara didn’t understand, but she did as he asked. Curran thrust his hot penis into her slit. She gasped and tightened her thighs around him. He thrust in and out in the tight space, riding her slick slit. On the sixth thrust, he growled like a Jaxtar. His penis jerked and warm, sticky fluid covered her slit and thighs. Then he lay heavy on her, his chest heaving with breaths. Amara tried to catch her own breath and her scattered wits. “Why did you spend your seed that way?” she asked. “I gave you leave to have me.” Curran raised his head. His green eyes gleamed in the dark. The silky ends of his braids dangled on her chest. “You would take all of me?” What did he mean? “Yes, I would take your penis inside me.” “In what form?” She swallowed, a memory of fur on her inner thighs threatening to panic her. He couldn’t have done that to her. “As a man.” “Not as the Jaxtar?” Amara pushed away the surety his words caused. “No. How could you ask me that?”

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“The Jaxtar is part of who I am. When you said you would take all of me, you were not telling the truth.” He lifted from her and slid off the bed. When his warmth was gone, the chill autumn night felt colder than before. Goose bumps pebbled her bare flesh. She held out her hand towards the pale shape in the darkness. “You cannot expect that of any woman.” “No, why would any woman love all of me?” His tone was hopeless and full of despair. Amara felt his pain as her own. Her heart ached for him. A slight breeze signaled his departure from her room. She covered her shivering body and lay trembling. Her vagina still throbbed with sensual aftershocks. The residue of his seed was sticky between her legs. Could she allow him to take her in his Jaxtar form? She shuddered. No decent woman mated with a beast. Was that the only way to win Curran the man? He was worth winning, but his price was so high. Was it too high? *** The morning light glinted off their short swords as Amara and Curran engaged in battle. She was beginning to know his moves and react to them. And yet he would test her skills with a sudden twist or feint. He was almost as adept as her master. Of all Curran’s traits, the one Amara loved the most was that he treated her as an equal with a weapon. He pulled no punches and withheld no skill. He understood the importance of why she needed to practice daily. Who had he practiced with before she came? She knew he had because of the way he moved with well-oiled precision. They had the courtyard to themselves, the same as yesterday. But it felt different between them than it had yesterday, more intimate and more poignant. These were stolen moments to be stored up for a lifetime without him. Amara spun to her right but immediately turned back. Curran jolted against her, not expecting the move. She pressed fully against him. Her loins thrummed with his nearness. Her lower body ached constantly now, wanting to be filled with him, wanting to be one with him.

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“It is all right,” he whispered.

“Kiss me,” she begged.

“Someone is watching.”

She pushed off and a furious volley followed, the clanging

of the short swords coming faster and faster. Her heart pounded with the rush of joy and excitement. Curran smiled, all teeth, like a cat. He tried to go under her thrust and she spun away. The expected attack didn’t come, however, and she turned to look at him. He stood with his chest heaving, a satisfied little grin on his face. She liked seeing him happy. She relaxed and allowed her lungs to draw in needed air. “We will go riding. I know a place that is private,” he said. “Is that wise?” “No, but we will go anyway.” *** The horses’ hooves were muffled by fallen pine needles. As they crushed them, the sharp scent of pine permeated the air. The trail widened and Curran stopped his horse. Amara pulled her horse abreast of his. Both horses were brown and placid-natured. She wondered why he hadn’t chosen more spirited animals. “Ride with me,” Curran begged.

“I am.”

He patted his saddle. “In front of me.”

“All right.” It was wicked, but she wanted to do it.

She reached out and Curran pulled her from her saddle.

As he gripped her arms she climbed across the horses until she could slide down in front of him. So this was why he’d chosen the horses he had. It was a tight fit with both of them in the saddle. He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck. “That is better,” he murmured.

“Umm, much better.”

She turned her head and Curran lowered his. The kiss began

and set a fire simmering between her thighs. His hard erection prodded her buttocks and lower back. He kissed her and it was just as wonderful as the first

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time. Maybe more so, since now she knew she wanted more of him. His arms were a vice around her. She wished they were face to face. She wished a lot of things. Curran’s hands rose from her waist and cupped her breasts. Amara gasped with pleasure as he molded her flesh. Her nipples tingled and contracted. Excitement sizzled down her belly to pool low between her legs. Her drawers became wet. She ached with emptiness. His hands moved with eager appreciation. He rumbled his pleasure into her mouth. His erection prodded her buttocks insistently. He wanted her, and she wanted to give herself to him. “You should not touch me like that,” she protested. “Not if we cannot be together.” “I need this. What about you?” he asked in a husky voice. “I need more than this, Curran. I need to belong to you fully.” “I will give you what I can. Take what you want from me.” “I feel so empty.” Her body clenched in need. His hands left her breasts. She almost cried out with need. He gathered up her skirt and exposed her drawers. Did he intend to give himself to her this time? She held her breath. He probed through the opening in her drawers. She jerked when his warm fingers touched her flesh. Then she leaned back against him so he would have more room. He prodded the front of her slit. Her muscles jumped and an arrow of pleasure shot into her body. She moaned. “More. Please, more,” she begged. His fingers eased down her slit to where her body opened. He slid a finger inside and she groaned. “Ah, nectar for the gods,” he murmured. His other hand glided down her belly and entered her drawers. He rubbed a finger over her clitoris as the other hand thrust in and out of her body. She rocked on his hands. “Please, Curran.” “Ride me, Amara.” He kicked the horse into a trot. They both bounced in the saddle. As she rode his fingers, pleasure

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built inside her. He thrust a second finger into her and rubbed her clit harder. She grabbed the saddle horn to hold herself in place for his penetration. She groaned again. Her sheath clenched over and over on his fingers. When he inserted a third finger, it was too much stimulation. She cried out as her body undulated deep inside. It was glorious. But she’d experienced it alone. “Curran, please, take me. I need you.” “I cannot,” he growled. “Please, I want it. I want you.” “And I want you. But it cannot be.” She reached behind her into his lap. His penis was firm and hot. She stroked him hard. Perhaps if he was carried away by passion, he’d enter her body. He thrust urgently into her hands and began to move his fingers inside her. Faster and faster they pushed each other toward pleasure. He cried out, deep and guttural. His penis jerked and his trousers grew wet. A tingling spiral crawled up her sheath and touched off a similar cataclysm. She cried out too. When she could catch her breath, she begged, “Please, Curran, make us one.” “I cannot. This is all I can give you.” In that moment, Amara knew she would never give herself to another man. She would be alone for the rest of her life. She’d fallen in love with the J’Tar. *** Amara glanced quickly behind her. The dim corridor remained empty at this hour of the night. The castle inhabitants slept, unaware of her furtive movements. Because Curran was J’Tar, there was no need to guard his door or his section of the castle. She took a deep breath for courage. She had to do this. Curran just needed the right impetus to take her virginity. She intended to see that this sexual encounter was a satisfactory one…for both of them. Amara opened the door and slipped into Curran’s sitting room. A red glow illuminated his bedchamber beyond. She

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crossed the darkened sitting room until she stood in the doorway of his bedroom. The fire’s warmth brushed her cheeks. It was too warm to wear her cloak any longer. She’d only worn it to cover her nudity anyway. She untied the lacings at her neck and stepped out of her soft slippers. Curran lay with his back to her. The firelight kissed his bare bronzed skin with a darker hue. His butt curved tight and firm. She wanted to squeeze it while he pumped his cock inside her. His lower limbs were long and lithely muscled. Her stomach clenched with want. She burned with the desire to lie in his arms. He rolled over and unerringly found her with his darkened green eyes. They smoldered with desire. His thick cock lay on his belly like an offering, more proof of his desire. She needed to stir his lust into an inferno. “Do you want something, Amara?” His voice was deeply husky. “Yes, you.” He waved a hand over his body, holding it a moment over his cock. “You may have whatever you like.” Oh, she’d like all right, but so would he. This feeling couldn’t be one way, not when her desire threatened to engulf her. She moved forward, dropping the cloak off her shoulders. It fell with a rush of cloth behind her. Curran’s eyes gleamed bright, hungry and possessive. Her nipples contracted under his gaze and thrust forwards towards him. His scrutiny was almost physical and under it her slit grew wet. Amara walked to the foot of the bed and climbed up on it. Then she crawled to his groin. Curran watched her so intently, she almost lost her nerve. No. They had to do this. She couldn’t take their love games any more. He had to consummate their union. He reached out to touch her. She held up a hand to stop him. “No. I do not want you to distract me.” Or touch her. Her mind had to be clear while his was muddled with passion. It was the only way she could get him to have sex with her.

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Curran laid his arms by his sides. “Do with me as you wish.” Oh, I will. Amara leaned over his groin and wrapped both hands around his balls. He jerked and then lay still. She caressed their hairy firmness, and stroked where they were attached to his cock. Every touch to his body made her wetter. She kissed his balls. When she lifted her head, his eyes burned like green fire. “What else would you like to kiss?” he murmured. Until that moment, she hadn’t known the answer. She took his cock into both hands and measured its length in a caress. This part of him was so foreign, so male. Yet it was made to slip inside her. It was smooth and silky soft, yet at the same time held a core of steel. As she explored his penis, Curran’s slight hip and leg movements betrayed his restlessness. This was the way to give him mindless passion. And this. Amara leaned down and kissed his cock. It jerked and so did Curran’s body. His eyes were burning orbs. He wanted her mouth there badly, so she obliged him. She licked the length of his cock. He had a taste like male and musk, with a hint of saltiness. The head of his penis was interesting to explore with her tongue. The slopes and ridges provided a curious playground. But the crevice in the head gave a unique, salty sweet taste of liquid. She explored the crack avidly while her hand caressed his balls. Curran groaned and strained upward towards her mouth. She took the head inside her mouth and sucked it. He groaned again. His hands clamped onto her head, driving his fingers into her hair. He held her to his cock, although she had no intention of drawing away. Amara took more of his length, sucking and licking it as she slowly released it. Then she slid her mouth down on it again. His hips bucked upwards, penetrating deeper into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around him. She released his cock slowly until she was able to lick the head and probe the crevice. He moaned and his hands clenched in her hair.

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She slid her mouth down on him once more. She feathered her tongue around the sides of the shaft. Her fingers massaged his balls and the base of his cock. Suddenly Curran took control and began thrusting into her mouth. She tried to suck his cock as it moved past her lips. She was supposed to be in control. His balls tightened and his cock began to spasm. He came in her mouth, filling it with his salty sweet essence. He groaned like he was in pain. No, he couldn’t be done! They hadn’t had intercourse yet! Amara swallowed his seed along with her hopes. Men could come more than once in a night, but she didn’t think she had the courage to try again, nor did she think she could take more disappointment if she failed once more. Obviously Curran had more control than she thought. Amara released Curran’s cock from her mouth. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick. He stroked her cheek with his fingertips. “You could have come inside me,” she said. “Is that what you intended by coming here? To bed me?” Amara would not look away in shame. Instead, she lifted her chin. “Yes.” “You know my feelings, yet you would dishonor me?” She did look down then. Trickery was dishonest and dishonorable. “I want to be yours.” He let out his breath in a long sigh. “You are mine. And I am yours.” Amara looked up to beseech him. “But we could be so much more than we are.” Curran’s green eyes clouded. “You tempt me to throw away all that I am, to grab something for myself.” His black brows drew together in a troubled frown. “I cannot do it. I cannot knowingly betray my vows. But know that I will never give myself to another.” “That is cold comfort.” She’d failed. Despair stripped the joy from what they’d just done. She slid from the bed, chilled from more than the autumn night and the cold stone floor. “Will you not stay with me?” he begged.

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Amara gathered her cloak and tied it at her throat. “For eternity, yes. Just to hold you and give you comfort, no. It hurts too much.” “Then you should not have come.” His words sounded bitter. Amara stepped into her soft slippers. She knew he lashed out because of the pain in his heart. Well she hurt, too. She left without a word and didn’t look back. How could she, when she knew they were tearing one another apart with their love?

Seven Oberroth was troubled as he watched Curran pace his office. The frenetic movements reminded him of a caged Jaxtar he’d once seen. There was wildness about the J’Tar he’d never seen in the man before, although he’d seen it often in the cat. Curran clenched and unclenched his fists. His eyes searched everywhere but rested on nothing. “What is wrong?” Oberroth asked. “There is nothing wrong,” Curran snarled, then took a deep breath. “I need to run with the Jaxtars.” “No, not while the delegation from Mabrelle is here. I forbid it.” “I cannot stay here.” “You must. You cannot desert me now. Your service as J’Tar prohibits it.” Curran growled and paced towards him. His green eyes were wild. Oberroth stepped forward and caught his brother in his arms. Curran stiffened, but Oberroth pressed Curran’s face to his shoulder. “Tell me what has made you so restless.” He tried to soothe the savageness he felt in Curran’s body. “I do not know.” Curran’s voice was raw with a desperate note. “Please let me go to the Jaxtars.” Oberroth felt the erection his brother could not hide. “You can have almost any unmarried female in the castle or the village. There are few who would refuse you. I know you do not take advantage of the women in this country, but it would give you relief.” “I cannot.” The words were torn from Curran’s throat. “I want the Jaxtars.” Oberroth’s thoughts turned. A short while ago one of the servants told him Curran had been seen riding with a female that morning. The stable master confirmed it was the second day in a row Curran had borrowed two horses, although no woman had been with Curran. The woman’s identity was

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unknown, but Oberroth had a suspicion. Curran wanted a human woman, but he would not take her, even though he was wild with lust. He’d never gone riding with a woman before. His restlessness, so marked since Oberroth’s children were born, had increased significantly in the days the Mabrelle delegation had been here. But Oberroth had to be sure. Oberroth knew Curran had trained with Amara that morning. Oberroth had watched them practice for a few minutes and thought their aggression was competitiveness. But maybe it was thwarted passion. He tried to make Curran admit it. “You must stay here. Perhaps some weapons training with the guards will make you less tense.” “I have trained already today,” Curran murmured. “It will not hurt to train again.” “No,” Curran growled. He broke from Oberroth’s arms and began to pace again. “Then go chase the dogs. Go down to the lake for a cold swim,” Oberroth ordered. “I do not care what you do as long as you do not leave the castle grounds.” Curran whirled and stalked from the room. The air lost its electricity when he left. Oberroth breathed deeply and signaled a guard forward. “Send for the Aurekar and then the young woman Amara from the delegation.” That Curran was interested in a woman at all was a blessing from the gods. Oberroth did not intend to waste this opportunity the gods presented him. The vow he’d made at age eight could be redeemed at last. *** When the Aurekar arrived, Oberroth sent the guard outside the room. He laid his quill on his desk as he watched the mage approach. The young man had the dark brown hair of people who lived near the Mabrelle border. He still wore the blue robes of a journeyman mage, even though his teacher, the old Aurekar, was dead. Oberroth hadn’t liked the old Aurekar because he made J’Tars, but at least the man had been an adeptlevel mage. This young man lacked skill. The Aurekar bowed his head. “Zanath,” he acknowledged

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in a tenor voice. Oberroth waved the mage to a seat on the settee at the side of the room. While the mage took his seat, Oberroth came around to the front of his desk and leaned back against it. “I need you to do something for me,” Oberroth began. He’d underutilized the mage because he’d been angry at this man’s master. He would now correct that oversight. The Aurekar looked eager, like a puppy waiting to please its master. “Anything.” “A young woman will be here soon. I need you to probe her mind for how she feels about Curran. I will get her talking about him first.” The mage nodded. “That is easy enough.” “The next part is harder. I need to know if she is fertile now. And if she is not, do you know a spell to make her so?” The brown brows pulled together. “Zanath, that is an unusual request.” “Can you do it?’ “Yes, I know how.” The mage cocked his head. “Why?” “I cannot tell you yet. How long would a spell take to make her fertile?” “Almost immediately, but it might be painful for her. A slow-acting spell would be pain-free, but would take at least six hours.” Oberroth stroked his chin. “If she is not fertile, I will need the spell tonight, along with a sleeping potion.” The Aurekar’s brows drew together. “Zanath, I am a white mage. I will not hurt innocents.” “It is not my intention to hurt the young woman. You will understand everything later.” Oberroth turned at the sound of a knock on the door. “Come in,” he called. The door opened and Amara stood there dressed in a green gown. Her sable hair was twisted in a braid down her back. “You sent for me, Zanath?” Oberroth straightened from the desk. “Yes. Come in and close the door.” Amara approached, looking from him to the Aurekar. “This is the Aurekar, my mage. Aurekar, this is Amara of

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Mabrelle.” The Aurekar rose and took hold of her hand. Oberroth felt the working of magic. When the spell ended, Oberroth waved Amara to a seat on the settee. The Aurekar returned to his place beside her, and Oberroth settled in the chair. “Why did you need to see me, Zanath?” she asked. “I am worried about Curran. I thought you might be able to help me.” “But he is your brother, Zanath. You know him better than I do.” “He has a secret he will not share with me,” Oberroth probed, pretending innocence. Amara’s face flamed and she ducked her head. He knew he was on the right path. “I think you might know what that secret is. Do you?” She looked up again. “Curran does not share secrets with me, although I know he has them.” “Perhaps he has told you what it is but you do not realize it. What do you talk about with him?” Amara’s chin came up and she stared at him, her eyes more gold than green. “Why do you not ask Curran?” He felt her stony will. “He will not tell me. I did not even know he had gone riding with you today until the servants told me.” Again Amara’s face flamed. “It was innocent, I assure you.” But her voice hitched. What was she hiding? “I believe you. Do you like Curran?” Amara smiled. “Yes, I like him.” He thought her feelings might go deeper than that. “Would you like to marry him?” Her body jerked and her eyes grew wide. She breathed in deeply. “He said he could not marry, that his service as J’Tar prevented it.” They’d discussed marriage! Oberroth restrained the joy jumping through his veins with difficulty. “Curran can serve me just as well married. Do you want me to give him to you in marriage?” Amara swallowed. Her breath quickened. She licked her

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lips. “Can you do that? I did not think one brother could give another in marriage.” “I am Zanath, as well as Curran’s brother. Do you want him?” He knew she did. “Where is Curran? Does he know you are talking to me about marrying him?” The woman was perceptive. It was time for some truth. “It is my responsibility as Zanath to see to his happiness. If you will make him happy, I will give my blessing to the marriage.” Amara looked away. “I would prefer it if he asked me.” Oberroth sighed. “I will speak to Curran and let him know I approve of the marriage.” He stood. Amara stood, too. She nodded to him and walked to the door. She turned when she reached it and her face was troubled. She opened the door and left. Oberroth turned to the Aurekar. “Well?” “Her mind is full of thoughts of Curran, highly emotional thoughts. Some sexual ones, too. I think she and the J’Tar know each other better than she admits. She is not fertile, though, so I will have to use a spell. When do you want me to do it?” “Tonight. I will invite her here for a glass of wine before bed. You provide the sleeping potion I will put in her wine. You can use the spell once she is asleep.” “And then?” the mage insisted. “Then I will make sure there is a wedding.” *** The next morning, Oberroth waited in his office. He looked up at the Aurekar’s step. “Well?” “The girl is fertile. A mating now will produce heirs.” “You are sure the J’Tar is able to produce heirs? None before him have.” The Aurekar swallowed. “As a Jaxtar cat, yes. As a human, no.” “Are you saying Curran cannot father human children?” Oberroth demanded. Were all his plans for naught? “No, Zanath, that is not what I meant. With this girl, his children will be part human. I meant that he can only make

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heirs as a Jaxtar. It is part of the spell that makes a J’Tar. Without heirs, the J’Tar will be loyal to the Zanath and serve faithfully his whole life. The J’Tar line has always been sterile because no human female will mate with the J’Tar in his feline form.” Oberroth ran his hand over his face. His Uncle Bilek had taught Curran too well. His brother would not take a mate voluntarily and break Bilek’s conditioning to serve the Zanath. He’d told Amara that. But Oberroth had felt his brother’s desire for Amara. And now that he’d spoken to her, he knew she felt the same way. Curran was experiencing human emotion for a female for the first time. What he needed was to be with her with no option but to mate. Oberroth flinched at his own manipulative thoughts. Then he firmed his resolve. Once Amara was with child, Curran would have the life Oberroth had sworn he would have twenty-five years ago. “Aurekar, I need a love potion and a spell to keep Curran in Jaxtar form until the girl conceives an heir.” The mage blanched. “Zanath, the cat and the girl?” “There is no other way. Curran will not hurt her.” He prayed not. “But to force them to mate…” the mage argued. Oberroth interrupted, “It is what they both want. Go now. I want them together within the hour.” The mage bowed his head. “Yes, Zanath.” When Oberroth was alone, he asked the gods for forgiveness. He prayed that the girl would not be savaged during the mating and that she would swell rapidly with Curran’s heir. He hoped that the love he sensed Curran and Amara felt for each other would rule their mating passions. *** Amara awoke disoriented with a thick fog in her mind. What was wrong? Was she ill? Her bed was cold and hard. She rose up on her arm, the hardness hurting her elbow. What…? This wasn’t her bedroom, was in fact no bedroom, nor even a room! There were four sheer rock walls several stories high, colored in stripes of gray, umber and tan. Daylight drifted

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down from windows set high in the walls above. One wall had a shadowed alcove leading somewhere. She sat up and that’s when she saw she was naked. She gasped and flung her arms over her breasts. Had she been raped? She dared a look down, but felt and saw no signs of violence between her legs. Who took her clothes and why? The last she remembered was having a drink of wine with the Zanath. There was no memory after that. Had someone kidnapped her from Oberroth’s office? Where was the Zanath? High up the walls she saw an arch like the ones in the castle. But where was this place? Close by her was a small wooden tray with a goblet of liquid and some bread. She looked towards the alcove, but saw no one. Her mouth felt cottony. She was hungry and thirsty. She sidled to the tray, attempting to keep her breasts and crotch covered. She snatched up the goblet and sniffed the contents. Wine. She sipped cautiously. Watered down wine. She drank thirstily. She snatched the bread with her other hand and scooted to the corner where she was a little less exposed. As she ate and drank she vowed to fight anyone who tried to rape her. She didn’t have her knife, but she was a trained warrior. She would hurt any man who thought she was an easy victim. The wine warmed her inside and began to spread strangely. Her nipples tingled, like an itch. The area between her legs grew uncomfortable, and she felt empty inside her sheath, like when she felt sexual arousal for Curran. She changed position to relieve the ache. She pressed her legs together, but that only made the aching worse. Someone had drugged the wine! But for what reason? Did they think to humiliate her by baring her and giving her sexual stimulants? She changed position again. The need grew to press her loins to something to get relief. She wanted pressure on her breasts, stroking pressure. She wanted Curran. Badly. She knew how to satisfy the ache, but she wouldn’t do it here where someone might witness it or walk in on her. When she heard the clank of a bolt being shot back, her heart beat frantically in her chest. Someone was coming to rape her, and she feared she would welcome it now. She stuffed

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her fist into her mouth and bit down on it, hoping pain would give her strength. Then she waited for her tormentor to appear. *** Curran accepted the goblet of wine from his brother. Perhaps the dark liquid would quench his thoughts of Amara. Uncharacteristically, he took a large gulp. She hadn’t shown up for weapons training this morning, although he’d waited almost an hour. Perhaps she preferred to avoid his company now that she knew there was no hope for them. He tipped the wine down his throat again. Oberroth seemed tense about something. His brother stared intently at him. Curran hoped his feelings about Amara weren’t apparent to his brother. “Curran, you know I have loved you all your life?” Oberroth asked. “As I have loved you, brother.” “I never wanted you to be J’Tar, to be different from me. I wanted you to have a normal life.” Curran took another hefty swig of wine. Had someone seen or heard him with Amara? Had that someone reported to Oberroth? If so, what did Oberroth expect? Curran was J’Tar. He couldn’t take a wife. He gulped more wine. It was sweeter than usual, headier too. His senses swam. His brain was on fire. Slowly he became aware that his penis was on fire, too. The goblet fell from his nerveless fingers. “What have you done?” he demanded of his brother. “I need your service, J’Tar,” Oberroth intoned. “Will you give it?” Curran’s thoughts slowed, slogging through the miasma of heat in his body. But he heard the call to the J’Tar and he obeyed. “What would you have me do, Zanath?” “I need the Jaxtar, Curran. Take off your clothes.” Curran disrobed and made the change without thinking, then he stood before his brother on all fours. Someone entered the room, but Oberroth knelt before him and encircled his neck in a hug. Curran nuzzled his brother’s neck, as he’d done since the day he became J’Tar. “I love you, Curran,” Oberroth said.

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Before he could ponder the odd note in Oberroth’s voice, his brother moved away from him. He saw the Aurekar with his arms raised. Curran was a magical creature, so he felt the magic touch his fur and flesh. He was being bound! He yelped, lunging for Oberroth, but it was too late. The spell was complete before he reached his brother’s arms. He whined a question against his brother’s neck. Oberroth stroked his fur. “It is necessary, Curran, but it is not permanent. Come with me.” Curran followed his brother, fighting down panic. He loved the Jaxtar form, but he loved being human, too. Oberroth had never lied to him before, but he had never tricked Curran, either, nor plied him with spells or potions. Curran trod the well-known path of the cool stone steps down to the pit. He and Oberroth had come this way often after he became J’Tar. He felt no uneasiness, just his brother’s love. A guard opened the door to the pit’s alcove. Curran looked at Oberroth. His brother stroked the fur on his face. “Go in, Curran. I am giving you a life.” The words made no sense, but Curran was used to obeying the Zanath. He walked inside the alcove and the door was bolted behind him. He prowled forward into the light of the pit, and then stopped dead with shock. Oh, no! What had Oberroth done?

Eight Curran willed his human form back, but the change would not come. Panic coiled in his gut. Had someone hurt Amara? She sat on the ground in one corner of the stone pit, attempting to cover her pale nudity with shaking arms and her long unbound hair. Her darkened eyes opened wider. “Curran?” Her voice was shaky. Relief and hope shaded that one word. He nodded, wanting badly to hold her and comfort her. Wanting desperately to explain what little he understood. But all that was denied him in his Jaxtar form. Her voice strengthened. “Curran, what is going on?” He only shook his head. “I need your help. Will you not change back into a human?” He shook his head again. Her sable brows pulled together. “Is it because you cannot change form? Has someone done something to you?” He nodded, glad that she wasn’t hysterical. She was thinking logically even under these terrifying circumstances. “I see. Curran, someone gave me a drug to make me want sex. It was not you, was it?” He shook his head furiously. Gods, his brother had planned a grotesque scenario! Oberroth somehow knew how Curran felt about Amara. Curran wanted to mate with her, desperately wanted it, but this situation was untenable, unthinkable. He would not take her by force. He swore Oberroth would pay for this treachery. Curran approached Amara slowly, but she scooted in the opposite direction. Her lovely rose-tipped breasts with their budded nipples were fully displayed as she retreated from him. They were round, firm mouthfuls. He knew how delicious they tasted. The dark thatch between her legs flashed as she moved. He knew the joy there as well. His Jaxtar senses smelled a female in heat and he quivered all over with desire. Amara held out a hand to stop his advance. “No, do not

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come any closer. I cannot have sex with you in your current form, no matter how hungry my body is for you. I would gladly give myself to you in human form, but not this way.” He turned away to stalk the walls of the pit. His erect penis bobbed as he moved. His testicles hung heavily between his hind legs. His loins were on fire to sink into Amara’s body. But she was human. Even if she gave him permission, if he went too fast and didn’t prepare her beforehand, he would hurt her. He cursed Oberroth and the Aurekar with their drugs and spells and foul plans. Why did they need him to be a Jaxtar? He would have taken Amara as a man under the prod of the drug and she would have accepted him readily. There had to be a reason why he should remain a Jaxtar. But lust clouded his mind, preventing clear thought. His pacing brought him suddenly to Amara. Her breasts were puckered, the nipples begging him. The air around her was full of the scent of a woman aroused. She scooted once more, opening her legs as she moved. He saw the pink flesh of her genitals, her lower lips open and inviting, and was hit by the musky scent of her. Desire slammed into him and need so primal he had to fight his own body not to mount her. But when he looked into her face, she was staring at his erect cock. Her expression was pained. “They drugged you too?” she asked. He nodded. “Why?” He shook his head. Damn the spell! “Are you to have sex with me?” Her voice dropped to a whisper on the last few words. He nodded. She licked her lips. He wanted to lick where her tongue had just passed. “We can help each other assuage the effects of the drug. We can do the things we have done to each other in the past few days.” She swallowed. “I will…allow you between my legs. I know you were there the other night. You can do that to me again. And I…can use my mouth on you.” It was a struggle for her to get the words out. Curran’s heart ached that she was forced to make the offer.

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He would give her pleasure like she’d never known at his touch before. He would make sure she didn’t regret allowing the Jaxtar intimacy. He nodded his assent. He padded toward her until he was only a breath away. Her eyes were wide with nervousness, but her pupils were almost black with arousal. She trembled all over. Her nipples bobbed provocatively as she shook. He leaned forward and licked the pulse in her neck. She went still, her attention arrested, hopefully remembering the other night when he had done the same thing. He brushed his mouth over hers, wishing he could kiss her. She looked at him with a curious expression on her face. He nuzzled her again and then licked her lips. She was slow to respond, but eventually she did, nuzzling him in return. He brushed his nose across hers and willed her to accept him. He wished he was human to experience all of the wonder of her full and succulent lips. When he lifted his head, her hand reached out as though in supplication. “Curran, it is you, right?” He nodded his head and nuzzled her again. She rubbed her face against his. Her hands gripped both sides of his face. There was desperation to their movements, since they were unable to kiss. Finally he broke off and they both gasped for breath. He trailed his tongue down her neck to her breast. She gasped. “Yes, there. Please, suck me there.” She lay back against the ground and he followed her down and climbed between her thighs. Careful of his fangs, he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked heartily until she writhed beneath him. He moved to the other breast to suckle. She moaned. What a feast her rounded breasts were. He returned to the first breast and took the nipple into his mouth again. Her hands moved to his face, in his fur, holding him to the ruby berry. “Harder, please, make it stop aching.” He lowered his cock between her legs to rub it against her slit while he suckled. When he bit carefully with his shorter front teeth, Amara gasped and arched towards him.

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“Again, please, Curran,” she panted. He bit down harder, and then licked the nipple with his long, rough tongue. He bit and licked again. She squirmed under him and clutched him desperately. He took the other nipple in his mouth and bit it. “Oh, Curran, more.” Her hips moved restlessly against his hindquarters. Curran licked her nipple and bit it once more. What she needed tended was between her legs, not on her chest. He licked down to her belly. She wriggled under him. Then he moved between her legs. She opened her legs farther to him, watching what he did with wide darkened eyes. “Yes, please!” His big tongue licked her slit. She gasped while her thighs danced. His weight held her prisoner for intimate explorations of her slit and its surrounds. Over and over he tongued that pink flesh, from her clitoris to below her vagina. Arousal swelled the tissues surrounding her precious sheath. “Oh gods, that feels good!” She clamped her thighs around his head as she fought the sensations. He licked hard with his rough tongue. She screamed with pleasure and arched upwards. The little thrusts of her hips told him she rode an orgasm. He forced his big tongue into her vagina and she screamed again. Her thighs flew open as rhythmic groans escaped her lips. She squeezed his probing tongue in tempo with her groans. Then she lay still, her gasping pants the only sound in the pit. “Now you,” she said finally. Her voice was strained. He moved over her until his cock pointed at her mouth. She looked at it for a long moment, and then grasped his cock with both hands and directed it to her mouth. The first lick of her tongue almost made him come. He growled deep in his throat. She licked around the head and then sucked it. His body quivered as he tried desperately to hold back. Then she took him inside her mouth and began to suck. Her hands molded his testicles with sure, knowing strokes. Pleasure burned in his loins. He pumped into her mouth. With each suck, the tension in his balls escalated. She nibbled on

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the head of his penis, scraping her teeth along the bottom edge. Then she sucked him again. He exploded into her mouth, his orgasm burning from his balls all the way out the tip of his cock. His Jaxtar scream echoed off the four stone walls. She swallowed all he gave her, milking the final dregs of his orgasm. She lay gasping under him. He just tried to breathe. Her hands stroked his sides and then her arms circled him. “Curran.” Her voice sounded strained. “I still ache.” He moved backwards until his mouth could touch her genitals. Her legs already moved restlessly and she opened them wider for him. Her labia and clit were swollen, her pink vagina stretched and opened. Gods, he wanted inside her. He licked her clit, pushing the nubbin hard with his tongue. Amara moaned with each touch. He tasted the salty lubricant that moistened her slit. He plunged his tongue into her vagina. She screamed and lifted her hips to impale herself further. He plunged in and out and she rode him. She grunted with effort. “I need more!” she cried. He rubbed his tongue across her clit. Her hips lifted to each lick. She strained against him. “Please help me. Please. Take me as a Jaxtar and make this ache go away.” Curran looked up at her. She stared into his eyes. He’d wanted to hear those words since the day they met. He thought he’d never hear them from her. He hated that she was forced to say them. But they both wanted it. “Put your penis in me,” she begged. He rolled her with his paw, but she landed on her side with a squeal. He rolled her again and then a third time until she was on her hands and knees. Her legs were open, her genitals swollen and wet. He covered her, trapping her under him with his front paws. He thrust his penis between her legs. She tensed as he prodded for entrance. “Curran, try not to hurt me.” He leaned forward and nuzzled her cheek. She turned her face and nuzzled him. The head of his penis rode her slit. Soon she began to wriggle her butt against him.

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“Curran, please, take me now!” Amara begged. He found the place where her flesh gave and sank his penis into her. She groaned as he thrust completely inside and tore through her maidenhead. He winced inwardly. His woman did not deserve to be taken like this. He swore again that his brother would pay for this treachery. But, gods, it felt good to be joined with her! Her sheath molded him tightly. “Please move in me. The pain is gone now and it aches.” Curran hunched against her back, filling her body over and over with his cock. He was so primed, he didn’t last long. He prodded her womb and filled it with his seed. Amara quivered under him. She hadn’t come yet. He took her again immediately, thrusting into her until she began to move with him. She rocked on her hands and knees, pushing her hips against him as he thrust. She grunted with his size and the strain to reach her own fulfillment. Her vagina clenched over and over. He knew she needed to come. He sank deeply into her and she screamed in pleasure. Her convulsions milked his sex of seed. He took her once more, then a fourth time. She rode him eagerly, making hungry little grunts. Afterwards he pulled out of her body and stalked the pit. Oberroth had wanted them to mate. They’d done so. So why was Curran still a Jaxtar? The deed was done, but his penis was still heavily erect. He knew cats in heat mated for days. Is that what Oberroth intended? Did he think to force a marriage between them if Amara was despoiled over several days? Curran came to her again where she lay on her side panting. He rolled her onto her back, folded himself to the floor and took her breast to suckle. “Curran,” she moaned. He thoroughly wet her breasts and neck with licks and nuzzles and nips. When her legs opened and closed with hungry need, he rolled her over and mounted her. There was a small amount of maiden blood between her thighs. He felt a pang of regret before he submerged his throbbing flesh into hers to begin mating. He had to make her his own.

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*** Amara’s vagina throbbed with pleasure and the neverending need. Would this wanting never stop? She’d lost track of the number of times she’d shamelessly begged Curran to take her. His stamina was amazing as he thrust tirelessly into her body, sliding in and out in a way she hoped would placate her need. But it didn’t. He was pacing again, but she knew he’d return soon. His need was as desperate as hers. His thick black cock was still erect with the effects of the drug. He gave her temporary relief while he was inside her, but he seemed to know she needed a break from mating after awhile. She simply rested on her hands and knees between the times they mated. This time her head was down, her hair dragging on the ground. Whose idea was this…orgy? Was it a Rubiyan tradition, like the royal sacrifices? Was the royal J’Tar supposed to ravage a maiden as part of some ritual? What part would Amara then play afterwards? Another sacrifice? She wished she could laugh at these near-hysterical thoughts. She wished even more that Curran could talk to give her the answers. Was this some strange torture someone had conceived, to force her to mate with a huge cat? Was it to discredit the Mabrelle delegation? Was part of the torture that she be ashamed because she had participated? Too bad their sick plans were ruined because the cat was Curran and he saw to her pleasure. She loved having sex with him, even if he was a Jaxtar. Why she had feared allowing Curran to take her this way, she couldn’t remember. She loved Curran in both his forms. She felt silky fur against her back as he mounted her. “Gently, Curran.” He entered her slowly and she hummed her pleasure, arching her body against his silky fur. Her vagina stretched fully around the long, thick cock. He thrust vigorously inside her, making her whole body jiggle. He thrust hard, pushing her into his front paws. The fur on his legs rubbed against her breasts, arousing the nipples to tight nubs. Pleasure streaked into her already tingling core. She moaned. He knew how to

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make her come by using his fur to stimulate her body. It didn’t take much with the drug burning in her veins. His big head came down to sniff around her neck. Warm breath blew across the side of her face. His breath smelled of sweet wine and her own body. His mouth prodded her cheek so she would turn for another nuzzle. It was still strange to realize the Jaxtar was Curran. He was in animal form, yet he wanted affection like a man. His insistent searching made her turn her head to give him her lips for what passed as a kiss. His were so much bigger and surrounded by fur. A heavy thrust made her body clench and she gave him her orgasm. She groaned against his mouth. He rode her deeply through it, stroking the lips of her womb. Then he filled her with seed. She was glad she couldn’t conceive from Jaxtar seed. His body slipped out of hers. It was a relief not to be stretched so full, but she liked being filled with him. It eased the effect of the drug. And she wanted some kind of connection with the man she loved, even if it was with his other half. He rolled her to her back, prodded between her legs, and then his huge penis thrust inside. She gasped. The penetration was greater from this angle. As he thrust, she pushed against him. “Not this way! It is too much!” He stopped, staring at her with intelligent green eyes while she panted. He pulled out of her, to her relief. But then his paws moved her legs until her feet were against her buttocks. He leaned over her and entered her again. She gasped at the fullness. “Still too much.” He rose to his feet, pulling her hips up with him. The angle of penetration eased. She raised her buttocks higher to receive his thrusts. She groaned. His face lowered to hers and his green eyes stared at her as he possessed her. It was difficult to keep looking. She wanted to close her eyes because the pleasure was so great. She felt consumed by him. A sense of belonging to him grew stronger as the strange mating continued. He lowered his chest to hers, giving her part of his weight.

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Her breasts rubbed against his fur, silk against satin. His mouth descended and rubbed across her lips. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart raced frantically. He was taking too much, plunging too deeply, all the way to her heart. This was madness. She exploded into ecstasy, giving herself fully to him. The Jaxtar took her again, more fiercely than any other mating. She arched under him while his cock branded her body as his. She found breathing impossible as he took more than their last time. He stole more than sex. He stole her ownership of herself. She tried to cling to her independence, but he joined her to him. She could not belong to a Jaxtar! But the sense of joining overwhelmed all other thoughts as he brought her to cataclysmic orgasm once more. She was his to do with as he chose. The third mating followed immediately, before she could even catch her breath. A sense of Curran filled her mind, as though he was trying to break free of the Jaxtar’s shell. She wrapped her arms around the furred body, but it was Curran who rode her now. He seeped into her heart, this man she’d grown to love over the past week. She welcomed him there next to the cat. He owned her too. She reveled in Curran’s claim. He pressed his furred face to her cheek. They shared a long, seemingly endless loving. Afterwards, he was heavy on her. She felt possessed by him. “Please, Curran, I have had enough. Will you not stop?” His head drooped beside hers and he rubbed his nose against hers. Then he pulled out of her and paced like the wild animal he was. She lay there panting, overwhelmed by mating face to face with him. He passed close by and she saw his cock was still erect. He wasn’t finished with her. He paused on his next pass, and then stretched his face to hers. She raised her lips and he rubbed his furred ones over hers in a parody of a kiss. He paced again, returning for another caress. Several more passes meant several more nuzzles. Then he lay down next to her and his mouth latched onto a breast to suckle. His mouth was big and the suction powerful. She arched her chest and thrust her breast into his mouth. Only mating

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felt this good. His head moved lower. His fur tickled her belly. She knew what he intended and welcomed it. He moved between her legs and she opened them wide. His big tongue licked her overstimulated slit. It did things between her legs that caused stars to explode in her brain. He intimately explored every inch of the juncture between her legs. Her vagina clenched over and over. She screamed in pleasure as the sensations became too much, convulsing under the slide of the rough tongue. He did not release her, but stuck his tongue into her vagina and drove her up another pinnacle of pleasure and pushed her over the edge. Her scream echoed off the stone walls. Her convulsions had barely ceased before he rolled her over and hot flesh filled her once more. He became wild, almost desperate, using her hungrily past the point she thought she could endure. The first scratch was a painful shock, for he’d been so careful up to then. He rubbed his face against hers, seemingly in apology, but the red blood that trickled down her arm awoke her to the relevant fact that he might be Curran, but he was also a wild cat. She was unprepared when he bit her neck where it connected with her shoulder. She screamed. Her tired mind conjured pictures of him savaging her now that he’d spent his lust. Despite logic telling her this was not so, she waited for the quick, painful rending that would end her life as she was sacrificed. But he simply continued mating with his fangs sunk slightly into her flesh. He had claimed her as a Jaxtar male would claim a female. Why would Curran allow the Jaxtar to do such a thing? When her arms and legs quivered with fatigue from holding herself up, and her thighs quivered from being spread around pistoning flanks, and her vagina throbbed from ceaseless penetration, he stopped all movement. She was too weary to notice anything different at first, but then she felt flesh against her back instead of fur. His weight was lighter. What? She turned her head to the side. Black braids hung to the ground. A bronze cheek was in her sight. He turned and searing

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green eyes looked into hers. “Curran!” She was happy to see him, yet he had much to explain. She became aware of his penis filling her body and his warm flesh pressed to hers. His testicles hung against her slit. Slowly he pulled out of her body and she turned to face him. His naked body was gorgeous—wide shoulders, a muscular chest, rippled abdomen, and lying against his abdomen was his impressive cock. He was a beautiful male specimen…only he wasn’t fully human. She gathered her wandering thoughts with difficulty. Curran was even more magnetic to her now that they’d had sex. “Whose idea was it to drug us?” “The Zanath’s. He intends to force a marriage between us. Somehow he found out that I care for you. He wants me to have a mate but he knew I would not take one on my own.” “You made that quite clear to me this week. But why did you remain a Jaxtar?” “I was held in the Jaxtar form with a spell. I believe I had to remain that way to get you with child. It is the only reason that makes sense. I believe you carry my heir.” “That is impossible. You were a cat.” Amara stared down at her belly. There could not be a Jaxtar kit inside her! “I am half human. My seed is half human.” Seemingly against his will, his hands caressed her breasts with possessive hunger. “I fought so hard against taking you. I am J’Tar. I serve the Zanath. I cannot have a personal life. But…” She gasped with surprise and sensual pleasure. Before he could finish his sentence, she interrupted. “The Zanath said you could serve him even if you were married. In fact, he asked me if I would marry you!”

Nine Curran’s breath stopped. “And you agreed to marry me? Without me asking you?” Had his fate been sealed with a marriage contract before they entered the pit? Then why was this forced mating necessary? “No. I wanted you to ask me.” Amara’s love shone from her eyes, but it was dimmed by the pain his rejection had caused her. He sighed and reluctantly let go of her tight nipples. So that was when Oberroth decided to betray two people instead of one, when they refused to act as he ordained. “We need to find out if you are with child.” If Amara was pregnant, Curran had to marry her. Even if she wasn’t, he had to bind himself to her in marriage. He had taken what she willingly offered him. Despite the drugs, he knew she hadn’t offered herself lightly. She was an honorable woman who made love only to the man she loved. Her chastity proved that. He had given himself to her in the same way: wholly and absolutely. He’d held nothing back. She owned him now. He didn’t think she’d considered the diplomatic ramifications, but he did so now. She was noble, so he had to treat the gift of her virginity as an offer of alliance. Mabrelle and Rubiya would gain stronger ties, while he…he would lose his honor. He would give up his singular loyalty to the Zanath and replace it with the loyalty to his wife and children. He would be foresworn. It was bitter knowledge to replace one loyalty with another without being able to choose to do so. He placed his palm low on her abdomen and slid it down to the edge of her mound. Her body tensed. He closed his eyes and felt for a magical spark inside her womb. There! Faint but throbbing with life. Curran sighed again. Their fate was sealed now. All that was left was for him to accept it. “You carry my heir.” She paled slightly. “Are you sure?” she whispered.

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“Yes. I am magical, and so is my child. I can feel it within you.” She swallowed. “Is it human?” He smiled. “Half human. I do not know how much Jaxtar will be in its blood. There has never been a child born to a J’Tar before.” “What will we do?” “The Zanath expects us to marry. We get dressed, leave this place and seek him out.” At the reminder of their nudity, Amara looked around the pit and raised her hands to cover her swollen breasts. “No one can see us. Even as abhorrent as the Zanath’s plan was, he would not plant witnesses.” Curran covered Amara’s hands with his own. He could not seem to keep his hands off her. “Amara, before we face our fate, will you love me once as myself?” “I am sore,” she reminded him. But her eyes were hungry. Curran didn’t think it was the drug in her system any longer. He thought they might be bound by an unbreakable tie. “I will be gentle. Just once?” Amara bit her lip. He leaned down to lick where she’d bitten. Her arms came around him and she pulled him down with her as she lay back against the floor. He kissed her and her lips were every bit as wonderful as he’d remembered. Her breasts pushed into his chest. He slipped his hands between them and rubbed the nipples. “Curran,” she murmured. “I am here.” He took her lips again. Amazingly, his cock throbbed with desire, even after all he’d done to her already. He was under her spell. He moved between her legs. “Careful,” she warned. Her voice was strained. Curran aligned the head of his cock with her vagina and slowly, slowly, with incremental movements, he filled her. When he was in all the way, he sighed. Amara relaxed. He lay on her body and slid out and then back inside. It was heaven, better than when he was a Jaxtar. Amara slid her arms around him. “We have done this

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before.” “Once.” He sensed the connection with her as he had that other time. She arched, pressing her body tightly to his. “Why did it not feel like you the other times?” “I am not fully human. The Jaxtar mated with you, not me. Except that one time.” Her voice was breathy. “But you are the Jaxtar.” It was odd to feel jealousy about his other half, but he did. “Yes. Do you prefer the Jaxtar? I can change.” She clutched him. “No. I want you to be like this this time.” He moved fluidly inside her, like liquid pleasure. He belonged there, sensed it, felt it, and knew it. “I…need to come,” she breathed. Curran moved his hand between them and stroked her swollen clit. She screamed, bucked and came with rhythmic pulses against his cock. She was his. He gave her his sterile human seed. When they’d caught their breath, Curran disengaged from her and climbed to his feet. “I will ask the guard for your clothes. Stay here.” Curran stalked into the alcove and rapped on the door. “What?” came the muffled voice. “Bring our clothes.” The lock unlatched. The guard handed in two colored bundles of cloth. His look was speculative and curious. “Where is the Zanath?” Curran demanded. Had everyone in the castle been in on the Zanath’s dastardly plan? The guard straightened. “The Zanath said to come to his office immediately. The girl, too.” Curran nodded. Anger seethed in him like a volcano about to explode. The door closed behind him as he walked through the alcove and out into the pit. Amara huddled on the ground in a ball, trying to keep her nudity covered. Her vulnerability made him even angrier. He dropped the more colorful bundle in front of her, and then turned his back to give her privacy. Seeing her naked once more called to the animal inside him. Mate to mate, he thought. But he did not want to touch her

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while he was consumed by anger. “The Zanath wishes to see us,” he told her. He pulled his silky tunic over his head and belted it in place. The silk felt wonderful against his lately sated flesh. “I would expect so. I have a few things to say to him.” Her voice promised retribution equal to Curran’s. He heard the rustling of cloth behind him as he pulled on his silk trousers. The silk was arousing against his now flaccid flesh. He hoped not to experience a rebirth of his passion. Amara wouldn’t be so accommodating any time soon. That thought brought his head up and stilled his hands. His braids bounced against his chest. Her sweet body was his for the rest of his life. Hers was the only body he ever wanted to be in again. She owned him now. And it was more than likely he owned her. This was why J’Tars did not take mates, because it left no room for thoughts of others. He pulled on his boots. “Are you ready, Amara?” “I just need to tie my hair. I really need a bath.” Curran turned to see her wearing a jade green gown with a pale green bodice. Her dress matched the green insets in his black outfit. It was not the clothing he’d had on this morning. It was more evidence of plans and treachery. His rage burned hotter. He caught the ribbon from her hand and stepped behind her. She stood still as he gathered the long curly strands. It was like warm silk in his hands. He wrapped the ribbon around her hair and tied it. The scent of musky sex and rose petals mingled in his nose. She smelled like Jaxtar fur and spent semen. His hands clenched in her hair as his lower body stirred. Amara was right, they needed to bathe. He wore the scents of sex and well-loved woman on him as well. But they would get no bath until after the audience with the Zanath. Curran turned Amara to face him. She looked up at him with curious eyes. He lowered his head, giving her time to move away, but she didn’t. He sealed his lips to hers and drank deeply. She clutched his tunic in both hands and kissed him back. She had been the best lover he’d ever had, human or

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Jaxtar. When he lifted his head, her hazel eyes had darkened. “I belong to you in some way,” he whispered. “And I feel like you are mine.” Her eyes widened and he kissed her again possessively. He fought down the urge to lift her dress and take her once more. She was sore enough. He placed her hand on his arm and led her from the pit. The two greatest transformations of his life had happened here. He hoped never to see it again. Slowly, they climbed the stone steps, exchanging kisses at each turn. Down the corridor servants they passed gave them curious glances, but Curran ignored them. Through the window he saw the sun on its trek to the far horizon. His breath caught. He’d spent most of the morning and part of the afternoon loving Amara. At the door to Oberroth’s office Curran paused to look them over. There was no hiding what they’d been doing for hours. Amara’s lips were swollen, her hair uncombed, her dress wrinkled. She had teeth marks on her neck, now bruising on her fair skin. Curran’s clothes were wrinkled, his braids were partly unraveled, and he was sure his pupils were still dilated like hers were. “Ready?” he asked. She lifted her chin. “Yes.” Curran nodded and the guard opened the door. But what Curran thought would be a private audience with his brother was something else entirely. Amara’s delegation was present, as were Oberroth’s wife and three children, the Aurekar, the healer and a number of other people. What was going on? An ugly suspicion filled his mind. More betrayal. “Curran, Amara, come in.” Oberroth gestured as he stood behind his desk. Curran walked forward, stopping in front of the desk. He looked neither left nor right, but concentrated on the betrayal he read in his brother’s eyes. Oberroth cleared his throat. “Is Amara a maiden?” Curran’s answer was stony. “You know she is not.” The females in the room gasped.

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“Is she with child?” So his brother had known that Curran had to be a Jaxtar to impregnate Amara. Again Curran answered with coldness. “You know she is.” There were more gasps from the females and a male protest, probably from the ambassador. Oberroth swallowed. “Then your course is clear. You will marry her.” Curran would not admit the truth yet. His brother had to pay for his treachery. “J’Tars do not marry.” Curran’s words fell like shattering glass, stilling those present to silence. “You will marry,” Oberroth declared. “My purpose is to serve you. I do not serve myself.” “My will is that you take this woman as your wife. In this way you serve me.” Oberroth studied Curran’s face. Curran knew he looked as stony as a wall. Oberroth came around the desk to stand before him. There was an air of almost desperation about him. “I believe you two love each other. Amara is attractive, intelligent, strong and brave. She wants to marry you. She will make you a good wife. You enjoyed your time with her, did you not? It was what you both wanted.” Curran’s rage exploded out of him. “I was drugged. By you. Betrayed in my service to you. By you. I betrayed her. I hurt her. You made me hurt her.” He threw his accusations at his brother like knives. Oberroth flinched at each direct hit. “I have done what is best to make you happy, Curran. As Zanath, I make such choices for my people.” “Do these people,” Curran spread his arms to encompass those in the room, “know what your choice entailed? Do they know how I savaged this woman in your service? Do they understand what I did?” Where Curran had stood was a snarling Jaxtar in a puddle of black clothing. It shook loose of them and circled the hem of Amara’s dress, rubbing against the juncture of her thighs in a suggestive way. It reached higher to rub her breast. Then as it paced around her, it caressed her ass. Amara’s delegation gasped. Amara stood stiffly as the cat

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circled. Then Curran stood beside her once more in his nonreflective black clothes and bare feet. “I am not fully human.” “You are human enough,” Oberroth snapped. “You love me, so you are capable of human love. I believe you love this woman. You are loyal, faithful, obedient and honorable. Those are traits most women desire. I believe Amara wants those traits, as she wants you. She stands beside you now, even after your objectionable behavior. She will accept you, half human that you are.” Curran ground his teeth. “Is everything I have ever been a lie? Is my whole life up to now to be erased, so that I must start again as someone else? Do you not value that I gave my life for you to become J’Tar?” Oberroth paled. “I value your sacrifice. There is no one who means more to me than you. But I swore an oath when you became J’Tar. I swore you would have a life. A life in addition to being J’Tar. I will not be foresworn.” “Yet you ask me to be,” Curran replied quietly. Oberroth sucked in his breath audibly. “You go too far! The marriage ceremony will commence. I will see you bound to this woman before the sun sets.” Curran wanted Amara with every breath, but he would not be forcibly bound to her, nor see her tricked into a life with him. He would not make vows before the gods when he felt bitter, angry and betrayed. Marriage vows should be made with joy. He held up his hand to halt his brother. “A moment. I require time to make peace with this fate.” “You can make peace after the ceremony.” “No. If you force me into a ceremony now, I will say nothing. Then no power will bind me.” Oberroth’s face reddened. “Damn you, Curran! Why are you fighting me on this?” “Because I am J’Tar.” Oberroth sighed. “Very well. Three days, and then you marry.” Curran nodded and turned to Amara. Her face was white and frozen. “Because of what I am, I require this time to set

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my mind to a new fate. I must resign myself to being foresworn and to replacing one love with another. But I will come to you in three days and give you my chain. The Zanath will not own me any more.” Amara’s eyes widened in shock, then horror. “I will not take your service from the Zanath!” “I can serve only one. In three days that one will be you.” He kissed her quickly, uncaring that others saw. “Curran,” she objected. But Curran became the cat, and in this form he felt dangerous and wild. He rubbed against her, feeling the pull of her, wanting to stay with her, but unable to. Curran heard Oberroth’s shout as he fled the room. But for the first time as J’Tar, he ignored the Zanath’s call.

Ten A startled, uneasy silence filled the room in the wake of Curran’s passing. Amara had felt Curran’s deep hurt in the moments before he left. It made her so angry she saw everything in a red haze. She hurled her rage at Oberroth. “How could you do that to your own brother?” “He needs a wife,” Oberroth snapped. “You, in fact. He could not hide how he felt about you because he had never felt that way before. I gave him the opportunity to have you.” “You betrayed him,” she snarled. “What you did is unforgivable.” Oberroth paled, but clenched his fists. “I gave him a life.” “Curran had a life. One of honor and love. You stripped him of that. How could you do that?” “Honor does not keep his bed warm. That is what you are for. Honor does not give him children. Again, that is what you are for. And love? Let us discuss love. My brother had no eternal love, no all-consuming passion. Curran had an empty life. I filled it with you.” Amara glared at him. He’d twisted words until it appeared as though what he’d done had been for Curran’s benefit. She could not think of a response. Into the void by her side Ambassador Forian strode, his skin taut across his cheeks. “Are you all right, Amara?” She remembered her disheveled state with dismay. “Yes, ambassador. I am sorry to be derelict in my duties.” His voice was harsh but controlled. “I do not think you had any choice, did you?” Amara would not feel ashamed for what she and Curran had done. If so, she’d never be able to lift her head again. “No, I did not.” “And what was said is true, the J’Tar lay with you?” “Yes.” Such a polite way to describe the carnal activities

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she and Curran had acted out. “In his animal form.” Forian’s face twisted as though he’d bitten into something sour. “Yes. He bred me.” Several females in the room gasped. One moaned in dismay. Forian’s face darkened. He turned to Oberroth. “I demand an explanation!” Oberroth looked unruffled as he leaned against his desk. “My brother will marry Amara in three days.” “How dare your brother touch her, and as an animal! She is not a common woman. His actions may have jeopardized the proposed treaty.” “Curran is brother to the Zanath. He is a prize for any woman,” Oberroth said with a touch of familial pride. “Amara is…” “Ambassador, do not say it,” Amara warned, cutting him off. She didn’t want her secret exposed, not here and not now. Forian turned to her. “He must know. Just because he wants the marriage, does not mean it can happen.” “What do you mean?” Oberroth demanded. He stepped forward from his desk, his pose of nonchalance gone. “What secret are you keeping?” “I want to marry Curran, ambassador,” Amara said. Forian took hold of her elbow. “Your father has not agreed. You cannot make alliances without his permission, nor can anyone force you into doing so.” “I am of legal age,” Amara declared. He shook his head. “Because of who you are, your father must agree.” “Who is she?” Oberroth demanded. “No,” Amara warned Forian. “I will speak,” he insisted. He turned to Oberroth. “She is first-born daughter to King Durvan.” Again the onlookers gasped and murmurs ran through the crowd. Oberroth’s black brows pulled together and his face hardened. “You said the king had only two sons.”

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“Two legitimate children. Amara is not the queen’s daughter. She was born to the king’s mistress before he married. But she is his acknowledged child. She is royal, but not legitimate.” Oberroth looked smug. “I see no problem with the alliance. My brother is royal, too.” Forian shook his head. “Only the king can approve a marriage alliance for her.” “She carries the J’Tar’s heir,” Oberroth said. “There will be a marriage.” The ambassador thrust his shoulders back and stood up taller. “She lay with a Jaxtar. We do not know that she has quickened. We know only that she is no longer a maiden.” “My brother is a magical being. He would know if Amara carried his child.” “In a month we will all know whether their time together bore fruit. It will take weeks to obtain the king’s permission to wed. Meanwhile, we can take no action.” Oberroth placed his hands on his hips and stood in an aggressive stance with feet apart. “We are in Rubiya, where I decide when the J’Tar is to marry. I promised him a wife and Amara is willing.” He turned his attention to her. “You did not find your time with my brother unbearable, did you, despite your anger on his behalf?” Amara narrowed her eyes and let him see her displeasure. “I despise your methods, but I do not hold them against Curran. However, I do not think he wanted to be trapped into marriage. I did not, either.” Oberroth seemed unfazed by her anger now. “It is done, and it is for the best. I know how you and Curran feel about each other.” The ambassador interrupted. “Personal feelings cannot take precedence over the king’s wishes.” “The J’Tar took this woman to his bed.” Oberroth gestured towards Amara. “It is possible he may have taken her as his mate. If that is the case, he is already bound and it cannot be undone. Jaxtars mate for life.”

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“Amara is not a Jaxtar,” the ambassador argued. “She is not bound.” But Amara realized with a start that the pull she’d felt during her face-to-face mating with the Jaxtar had been some sort of binding between them. Had the Jaxtar made her his mate? How was that possible when she was human? But it explained why she felt owned by the cat. She caught Oberroth’s keen look. He must not find out! Those blue eyes bored into her. “Are you the Jaxtar’s mate?” he asked. “I am human, not a Jaxtar.” “That did not make a difference when you were mating, when you took his male body into yours.” “How dare you talk to her that way,” Forian fumed. “She conceived a child. You know how a male would place his seed in her.” Oberroth turned those intense eyes back to her. “You were with the J’Tar a long time. I expected you back hours ago. Did he spend that time binding you?” Amara lifted her chin. “I would not know.” “I think you do,” Oberroth accused. “Are you calling her a liar?” the ambassador stormed. Oberroth stroked his chin. “I think she has her reasons for concealing the truth. I think it has to do with why she and Curran kept secret that they were courting.” “We were not courting,” Amara denied. No, they were making love with their eyes, hands, lips and minds. They were weaving themselves into each other’s hearts with every touch and glance. Courting was too mild a word for what they’d done. “How many times were you intimate with my brother before today?” Oberroth demanded suddenly. “Zanath, I must protest!” the ambassador thundered. “How many times have you shared stolen kisses with him?” Too many, yet not enough. Amara said nothing, but clamped her lips shut and glared at the Zanath. “How many times have you been in his arms, out of sight of probing eyes?” Now even the ambassador looked at her, his face frowning

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in disbelief. “How many times before today did Curran touch a part of you that respectable maidens do not share?” “Amara?” Forian asked. “Is it true?” “Did you welcome the loving today?” Oberroth probed. “Do you love my brother?” “Yes!” Amara shouted. Then more softly she continued, “I love Curran. I want to be his wife and bear his heirs.” Forian spoke in a subdued voice. “But your father may not approve.” “I will marry no other.” It was a vow, and Amara knew Forian took it as such when he closed his eyes and bowed his head in defeat. “When Curran returns in three days, there will be a wedding,” Oberroth announced. “Amara has given her heart to him for all time. He will take her as his mate, if he has not done so already. We will legitimatize their union.” *** Curran ran for hours across the countryside and farmland of Rubiya as afternoon gave way to evening. Then he dodged through the forest of tall trees that made up the northern part of the country. He’d come this way so many times that he didn’t need much light to pick his way through the forest. His Jaxtar form was swift and tireless, the muscles toned and efficient. At first he tried to clear his mind of Oberroth’s betrayal. He burned with anger every time he thought of what his brother had done. Curran had given service freely and without question for twenty-five years. He’d accepted his role of J’Tar without complaint, willingly giving up half of his human life to do so. And this was how the Zanath repaid him. He ran faster, funneling his anger into speed. The wind felt good through his fur. If only he could leave his troubles behind as easily as he’d left the castle and his brother. And Amara. His stride faltered, and then he threw himself on the ground to pant. Gods, he wanted her as his mate. He feared he was her mate already. He was bound to her somehow. Both his human and feline halves wanted her, wanted to live with her, mate with her, have children with her and grow old with her.

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The Jaxtar wanted her physically in a deeply carnal way, wanted to thrust into her body forever. Curran wanted her kisses, her breasts with their ruby nipples and to have her arms around him. He wanted to look at her, talk to her, see her smile, hear her bubbly laughter, and to practice the art of weaponry with her every morning. The cat wanted her pinned between his paws, rubbing her back against his belly while he filled her. Gods, he was hard again just thinking about mating with her. He got to his feet and pushed on faster. It was nearing sunset but he recognized this part of the country. This was where the wild Jaxtar cats lived. His pack claimed a particular region of the forest. He loped off to the left to find them. He would run with his kind for the next two days. Curran caught the scent of the others and sped up. He was eager for the cats, wanting them in a way similar to how he wanted Amara. He saw a flash of gray and black ahead of him to the left and chased after it. It was the smaller female of the group. He’d sated his lust in her body many times. He was half again as big as her and easily caught her. They rolled into the underbrush, nipping and cuffing. When they were still at last he found he’d positioned her under him and was preparing to thrust. He leaped away from her, shaking in every limb. She was not his mate! She came to him, circling and sniffing his genitals. Then she bristled. Belatedly he realized he was unwashed and carried the scent of mating with Amara on his loins. The shecat darted away, stopping to give him a last baleful glare. He doubted any spell would allow him to mate with her again. Not that he ever would. It would only be Amara from now on. Curran continued through the forest searching for the male cats. There were two, one alpha and one beta. Curran was somewhere between the two when he ran with the pack, no threat to the alpha male, but not the least of the males either. He approached a clearing where he saw gray and black splotches. He identified the beta male and advanced towards it. But there were two alphas when he broke through the cover of the trees. A strange Jaxtar cat!

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His first thought was to leave and let the two alphas settle leadership of the group between them. It was the natural way of things that the strong survived. But he still seethed at Oberroth’s treachery. Here was another instance of someone powerful thrusting his will on someone less powerful. He leaped at the strange cat, snarling angrily. The cat attacked. Curran feinted to the right, trying to get behind its line of sight. A vicious swipe of claws across his right flank made him yelp and turn his head. The home turf alpha male had attacked! But turning from the strange cat was a tactical mistake. It leaped, sinking its fangs deep into Curran’s neck. Curran shook violently, trying to break its hold. The pack’s alpha attacked, biting his spine. They were trying to paralyze him! He threw his body to the left, pushing all his weight into the strange Jaxtar. While he was on his side, the pack alpha scored his vulnerable belly with sharp claws. Pain gave him strength and he leapt to his feet running for all he was worth. The pack came after him, scenting blood and weakness. He was bleeding from at least three places, but he dared not stop to see how badly he was hurt. The vicious snarling behind him told him the cats had joined forces and he would not survive another encounter with them. The ground became rocky, then hilly, and then he had to jump from boulder to boulder. He sprang onto a small ledge nine feet off the ground. The cats leapt at him with their claws extended trying to scratch him and knock him down. For a moment he considered changing into his human form, but a close swipe told him he’d more easily survive as a cat. There was another ledge twelve feet above him and to the left, out over the precipice of a cliff. Below that he heard roaring water. He judged the distance and angle of the ledge, ignored the snarling below and jumped. His claws scrabbled in the loose rock. He began to slide downwards. His back claws found purchase in the rock. He pushed off with his hind legs. His front legs were up. He scrabbled furiously with his claws. Then he was completely on the ledge. He looked back as he prepared to leap the last few feet to

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the cliff top. The pack had turned and was running away with the strange Jaxtar in the lead. The beta male in the rear yelped suddenly and fell over on its side, writhing. The pack left him where he’d fallen. What had happened? A hiss of wood through the air warned him almost too late. As he twisted around he saw the bowman, but the arrow had already been released. He didn’t see the arrow that slammed into his chest up to the quarrels. It would have killed him in his human form. As a Jaxtar, it barely missed his heart and lungs. It tore through his chest muscle and broke a rib. Curran screamed in pain, and then threw his body to the left. Too late he saw the edge of the ledge, but the archer’s bow had another arrow nocked. Curran allowed his momentum to carry him off the ledge and out into the air. There was nothing between him and the river two hundred feet below. He got three of his feet under him by the time he hit the icy, swiftly moving water. It struck him with a shock that stole his breath. He came up gasping and paddling with three legs in time to be swept into the rapids and bounced from rock to rock. He kept one paw in front of the arrow’s quarrel trying to protect his chest. Curran was plunged beneath the icy water several times, but as a cat he was capable of floating more easily than had he been a human. He floated through a calmer stretch of water, but there were sheer cliffs on both sides of the river and no place to climb out. He bounced through two more sets of rapids, grateful for his fur in the chilled water. He saw an eddy ahead of him and paddled towards it. The current pulled at him, not wanting him to leave, but he jerked free of it. He swam to the edge of the land where there was a little lip of rock. He scrabbled with his claws, but couldn’t pull himself from the water. As a cat he was too dependent on using both front paws. He’d have to change form. Curran became human and almost passed out from the pain. His sight darkened. He breathed through his mouth until his eyes cleared and he looked down at his chest. The quarrel stuck out at an angle above his nipple on the left side. It would

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be better to pull the arrow out now while his body was partly numbed from the cold water. He gripped the quarrel with his right hand, took a deep breath and pulled with all his strength. The arrowhead tore a burning path on its way out and he screamed in agony. The scream echoed off the rock walls around him and reached him through a haze of darkness. His cat instincts screamed at him to hide. But I am human. I don’t have to hide. But he did have to hide. An arrow wound couldn’t be mistaken for any other type of injury. His body had chilled rapidly in his human form. He needed fur. And as a Jaxtar he needed to hide. The river flowed north from Rubiya through the neighboring country of Durrior. He was pretty sure he had crossed the border while in the water. They hunted Jaxtars for their pelts here. He was in danger every moment he stayed in Durrior. He let the arrow sink below the water’s surface, and then pulled himself from the river, gritting his teeth to do it. As soon as he lay prone on the bank he changed back to a Jaxtar. The fur helped, but he’d become too chilled. His breathing came in great puffs that pulled on the broken rib. He climbed to his feet and took a step forward. He muffled his cry of pain in the earth. The left foreleg could not bear weight. Curran became human again and climbed to his feet. His first steps were stumbling, but he grew steadier as he moved. There was a long scratch down his left hip and leg that made his gait stiff, but he was moving. He could feel the wounds in his neck and back where the cats had bitten him. His belly was scratched from his ribs to his hipbone on the right side. In all his years as a Jaxtar he’d never suffered injuries like these. He staggered into the forest, glad to be in the shelter of the trees. He clutched his left arm tightly to his chest. His injuries were serious. He needed a healer. But he had no idea where the nearest house or village was, and he could not trust the Durrior people anyway. He continued walking back towards Rubiya, keeping his senses alert. He smelled no wood smoke. He heard no crashing footfalls, no voices, no human sounds at all. He saw no houses, no axes, nothing made by human hands,

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no human tracks. As he walked he thought his consciousness was slipping because it became harder to see. Through his muddled brain he finally realized it was the onset of nightfall. He found a group of closely grown trees and crawled into the bracken between them. He became a Jaxtar without thinking about it. That was good, because thinking was difficult. Although he was cold and hungry, he curled up and fell into a doze immediately. A noise awakened him, but Curran was too disoriented to identify it. Where was he? Something was wrong, very wrong. He lifted his head, and then laid it down when it swam alarmingly. He shivered. Fever! The word made his heart pound with fear. People often died of fever. He heard a noise again, a gentle shuffling sound. He changed into human form even though his hearing was less acute that way. At least he’d be able to get up and run if he had to. The ground was very cold beneath him. The air that touched his naked skin was icy. Curran moved his hand carefully through the bracken and listened to the crackling of the frost. He shivered again. There was rustling to his left. He rolled his head and stared in that direction until he saw the movement of a brown hare. His stomach rumbled. Before he even thought, he was on three legs and pounced. The bloody hare dangled from his jaws. He devoured it in moments. Then he moved away from the carcass and dropped panting into the bracken. His heart rate slowed as unconsciousness sucked at him. He wanted his mate. Where was Amara?

Eleven Amara escaped to the courtyard, gripping her knife like a talisman to ward off the seething unease and restlessness that pervaded the people and atmosphere within the castle walls. Some weapons practice might siphon off her agitation and maybe allow her a few moments peace from the feelings that stalked her. As she moved through the aggressive strikes of attack, she missed Curran. He brought out the best in her during practice. She felt unbalanced without him across from her. Training wasn’t the only place where she missed him in her life. She thrust the knife outwards, spun to the left and retreated to assess her next attack. She missed Curran’s lovemaking. Last night she’d writhed in bed, wanting him to fill her in whatever form he chose to use. Cat or man didn’t matter, she loved them both equally. Other people, like the ambassador and his wife, would be appalled if they knew she pined for her Jaxtar lover. Herrah had let Amara know in vivid denouncement how she felt about Amara having sex with a Jaxtar. But even now Amara throbbed inside with want. Amara channeled her frustrated desire into her next attack, a downward slash to the weapon arm of her enemy. She caught sight of her new guard as she pulled back. Anger gave her energy, and she engaged her imaginary partner in a serious of fast clashes. It wasn’t the same without the clang and ping of Curran’s knife. Damn him for leaving her. “You,” Amara shouted to the guard. “Come here and practice with me.” “I am to guard you, nothing more,” he responded in a quelling manner. “Get over here before you make me angrier than I already am,” she ordered. The man came forward until he stood three feet in front of her. He was in his mid-thirties, burled with muscles, had four

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braids on each side of his face, and brown eyes. “Your name?” Amara asked. “Grinwar,” he replied. So her keeper had a name. Oberroth wanted his brother’s future wife and progeny kept safe. Amara needed neither keeper nor guard. What needs she had, Grinwar could not fill, except one. “Unsheathe your knife and practice with me,” Amara demanded. Then she added, “You do know how to knife fight?” “Yes I do.” Grinwar frowned. “But men do not train with women.” “My future husband trained with me. He did not think me weak or unskilled. Do you believe either of those things of me?” She lifted her chin and waited. “No. But I am not your husband-to-be. He may touch you however he wants. I may not.” Amara raised an eyebrow in challenge. “You think you will be able to touch me?” He smiled. “I have watched you. You are well trained. I think you are a match for any man. But…” “No buts. Since you feel I am skilled enough for you, we will practice. I need a competitor. Draw your knife.” Grinwar complied. She thrust her knife towards him and his eyes widened. He deflected her strike to the right. Then he tried to use his bulk to unbalance her. But Amara moved with his weight and stepped lightly away. She turned back and thrust again. He engaged with his knife. He had weight behind his thrusts. She had quickness and speed. The ping of the knives was an uneven sound. Each time he tried to press his weight advantage she stepped away to attack from another angle. Amara darted in and out with her knife. She could not win against Grinwar because he was too skilled. But sparring with him tested her skills in a new way. She felt invigorated to pit herself against a different kind of adversary. But every moment with him reminded her that he wasn’t Curran. She felt no attraction to him, no awakening of desire. Finally she stepped back and completely disengaged. Sweat dampened the back of her neck and between her shoulder

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blades. It pooled in the valley between her breasts. Her chest heaved with breath. “Thank you,” she panted. Grinwar looked at her with new respect. “I am glad to be of service. You practice like this with the J’Tar?” “He is lighter weight than you and more of my style of fighting. But, yes, I practice this hard with him.” “Then he is a lucky man.” Grinwar frowned, stared at her as though considering, then he spoke in a quiet voice. “Lady, the J’Tar is lonely. He has no one of his own. I never noticed it until I heard the gossip about the two of you. He always stands apart and aloof. He needs a wife and children, like his brother.” Her heart went out to Curran. Yet she was glad this man cared enough to plead with her. “I plan to marry him when he returns.” “But I have heard your father may not approve. What will the J’Tar do then?” Gossip was very widespread in the castle. “Do not worry, Grinwar. I gave myself to Curran. There will be no parting us now.” He smiled, content. If only her own problems could be solved so easily. “Now that you know I can defend myself, would you please return to guarding the Zanath?” Amara asked. “I cannot. The Zanath commanded me to guard you.” Anger burned through her veins. She could not be shadowed every moment until Curran returned. She thrust back her shoulders. They’d see whose will was stronger, hers or the Zanath’s. She strode towards the castle and entered the nondescript door that opened from the courtyard. A servant bowed his head to her, and then he stood watching her with interest as she climbed the stairs to the castle’s main floor. As she turned at the landing, the man looked away and continued on with his duties. It was odd to be the focus of so much scrutiny. Had she and Curran carried out a traditional courtship, she didn’t think so many people would be curious about her. But she knew her introduction to womanhood had been so out of the ordinary,

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people couldn’t help wondering about it. She couldn’t picture it in her mind, either, but it had happened. Her loins, inside and out, were still tender. Amara strode down the stone hall to the Zanath’s office where his guards stood at attention. “I wish to speak with the Zanath,” she said in an imperious voice. The guard knocked, received a muffled summons and entered the room. He returned a moment later. “You may go in.” Amara entered. Oberroth was alone. His desk was covered with papers. She wasn’t cowed by sight of the man running his country. The door closed behind her with Grinwar on the outside. Good. She fired the first shot. “I do not need a guard or keeper.” Oberroth raised a black brow. “You are to marry the J’Tar. That entitles you to protection.” She pointed at him. “Your wife does not have a guard.” He sighed. “Raya does not have a guard while in the castle.” “Nor on its grounds either.” Amara added. “If it is safe here for your wife, it is safe for me. More so, because I am trained to defend myself and others.” “Amara, I do not want anything to happen to you before you marry Curran.” She narrowed her eyes. “You think someone will spirit me away, or that I will run away?” “Curran is not the only one who has time to think before the wedding. The shock may have worn off and you might decide a Jaxtar lover is not for you.” “So I am a prisoner here?” Anger made her words sizzle. “No. I just do not want you to be frightened off.” Amara placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I do not frighten easily.” He laid down his quill, rose, and then walked around the front of the desk. “May I speak frankly?” “That has never stopped you before.” Her rejoinder was tart. “My brother is two beings, human and Jaxtar. When you

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marry Curran, you also marry the cat. Jaxtars are sexual animals, like humans, so I would not be surprised if half the time Curran will mate with you in his Jaxtar form. That thought might make a woman hesitate to commit herself to a J’Tar.” “You did not consider that relevant fact when you forced us to mate,” Amara snapped. “I wanted to make sure there was a wedding. The rest occurred to me afterwards.” Amara walked toward the settee and turned back. “I will admit I was horrified at the idea of mating with a Jaxtar. And I was a maiden.” She looked up to see him pale. Satisfaction zinged through her. He’d thought she and Curran had lain together previously. She paced back to him. “But I accepted the Jaxtar because I knew it was Curran. It occurred to me this morning that Curran will mate me sometimes as a Jaxtar. I will let him do what he wants because I love him.” Oberroth nodded and let out a long breath. He’d regained his bronze color once more. “That is good. You are much more open-minded than I imagined you would be.” She folded her arms across her chest. “So I do not need a guard.” “Amara…” “Do you want me to feel welcome here or not? I need freedom in order to feel at ease. Otherwise, it is just a cage, and I escaped one cage already.” “Do you mean your life as the illegitimate heir of the king?” “Yes. To know I am first born is hard enough. To be raised by my mother and her noble husband, who is not my real father, is even more stifling. My real father loves me, but his wife does not. My real mother loves me, but my stepfather only tolerates me because he loves my mother. I am trapped no matter where I am because I am a product of a love that flew in the face of tradition. I have half brothers and half sisters on both sides, but I do not think any of them are comfortable with me, especially not the king’s heir. I am female, yet I am his older sister. In some countries where they respect women, I would be the next ruler. Even here women are less than men.

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Look how you are treating me.” “It is not because you are a woman. It is because you are the answer to my prayer.” Amara cocked her head. “What do you mean?” “Curran never met a woman who interested him until he met you. As far as I know, he has only had carnal relations with one woman other than you. That was with one of the tavern wenches when he reached puberty. I wanted him to experience sex with a human woman, so I paid for him to have her time. He did not like it.” Amara was still reeling with the news that Curran was practically a virgin. Then something Oberroth said sunk in. “Human woman? Do you mean Curran has sex with the Jaxtars?” “Since puberty. I thought he had given it up as an adult, but a few days ago he admitted he still does it.” “Do you think he will continue to mate with the cats even after he is married?” She could fight another woman, but how could she fight a Jaxtar? How could she go into a marriage with Curran knowing he felt a sexual pull towards female Jaxtars? Oberroth shook his head and his black braids swung around him. “No. Curran will take you as his mate, as a Jaxtar would. He will be bound to you that way and will never seek another female, either human or Jaxtar.” She let out her breath on a sigh of relief. “He will always run with the cats, though,” Oberroth cautioned. “Part of him is a wild animal and always will be. Our uncle Bilek, the last J’Tar, ran with the Jaxtars until he died.” “I can live with that,” Amara said. “I am glad you came to Rubiya,” Oberroth said. “I want Curran to be happy.” “Do you think he will come back early?” she asked. She cringed at the hopeful note in her voice. She was pitiful. “I do not know. I did not think he would react this way.” His words ignited her smoldering anger once more. “You did not think at all.”

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His blue eyes snapped with an answering anger. “I thought it out well enough to get you the husband you love. I got you bedded well enough that you are already pregnant. And do not think I have not noticed how gingerly you sit down or the sated expression on your face when you think of your lover. Your anger is misplaced, Amara. You only have to wait a few days to be reunited with the man you love. Once Curran’s anger cools, he will return to you and spend the rest of his life making you happy. Some day you will thank me for giving you to him as I did.”

Twelve The silver sword sliced downwards and ended Karan’s traitorous life. It ended his high-pitched, frightened scream just as effectively. Amara’s stomach twisted, threatening to unseat breakfast. He’d tried to kill the Zanath, therefore, he didn’t deserve mercy. Yet he hadn’t succeeded. Did he deserve death as his punishment for failure? Amara knew little about his personal life because he didn’t inhabit the same social circles she did. He’d been a competent secretary and a quiet man. How had he gotten involved with poachers? Had they bought him with gold? He’d thrown away his life for nothing. His death was as wasteful as those of the Jaxtars the poachers killed. Ambassador Forian’s face was pale, his mouth set in a grim line. He took hold of her elbow. “You should not have watched this,” he chided. It wasn’t his first protest over her attendance in the castle cellar. “I needed to see with my own eyes how Rubiya punishes wrongdoers. If I am to live here and become one of them, I want to know all about this country.” “Your fate is not settled yet,” he reminded her. “Even if I was willing, which I am not, do you think any man of Mabrelle would have me as a wife knowing that I mated with a Jaxtar?” He frowned, and then his face lit. “We could keep it a secret.” She grimaced. “Herrah knows. She has barely spoken to me since it happened. She looks at me with disgust, when she looks at me at all, and makes sure she does not touch me. Do you think she will keep quiet about it?” The ambassador looked stern. “She will obey me if I tell her to remain silent.” “How long until word leaks across the border? Enough Rubiyans know what was done to me. Everyone in the palace is talking about the upcoming marriage. It is not a secret here.

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It will not remain a Rubiyan secret for long.” “I am not saying I am against the match, Amara. I have grown accustomed to the idea. The Zanath wants a tie between the royal houses. Your match with the J’Tar would take the place of Prince Bryal’s marriage to the Zanath’s young daughter.” “But would the match be as strong to support a treaty?” He smiled. “Can you not see, Amara? It would be stronger. If the J’Tar is your husband, and if he sires human heirs on you, the people of Mabrelle will learn that he is not to be feared. They will have a reason to protect your husband. Now I only have to argue this point of view to the king.” Oberroth walked up to them then. He had a big smile on his face. “I overheard part of what you said, Ambassador. It is very good that Amara is royal, then. Good for both our countries.” Forian nodded. “Yes. But if Amara is not with child, she will be free to choose another husband.” “Ambassador,” Amara protested. “Curran wants her,” Oberroth denied. “She will stay and bear his heirs, including the one she carries now.” “Assuming the king agrees to the match, and assuming the J’Tar made issue on Amara, how can it be human? He was Jaxtar at the time she conceived.” “My brother is both human and Jaxtar. His seed carries the ability to be both human and Jaxtar. In a human woman, his issue will remain human until it is born. He will teach his child to shapechange.” “But it has that ability already,” Amara interjected. She pictured herself being ripped to shreds by the claws of her own child. Oberroth took hold of her hand. “Do not be afraid. A human cannot birth a Jaxtar. The child will maintain a form conducive to remaining alive.” His words reminded Amara of the death they’d just witnessed. “Do you expect Karan’s death to send a message to the poachers?” “Yes. And your marriage will send another. The treaty will

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send a third. Rubiya and Mabrelle stand allied against the destruction of Jaxtars.” “That has not been agreed on,” Forian warned. “It will be. The gods have answered one of my prayers. They will be generous and answer the other.” *** Karan’s death and the talk of a marriage alliance to stop the poaching consumed Amara’s thoughts all morning and into the afternoon. She had the power to unite two countries toward one goal. Her womb already carried the fusion of Mabrelle and Rubiya. She only needed time alone with Curran to convince him their marriage wasn’t a catastrophe but a blessing. But the waiting was almost intolerable. Restlessness prowled her body. Her vagina was empty. Her loins needed proximity to Curran’s. Her heart ached for his love. Her arms were empty and her soul cried out for her mate. She wandered the castle from one end to the other, from pit to parapet, seeking her mate. She knew Curran had bound her to the Jaxtar part of him as his mate, knew it in the very fiber of her being. She needed to be with him. Oberroth watched her pace. “Come and sit down.” “No.” She felt mulish and obstinate. “You are wearing yourself out.” “I can do that if I want to. You do not own me,” she snapped. His eyes narrowed. “I think someone owns you.” Damn his intuitive soul. She didn’t want Oberroth to know she was bound. “Leave me alone.” “You miss your mate.” “I miss Curran. I wish he would come back.” “I think I know something that will help.” “What?” If anything could assuage this need, she wanted it. “It is in Curran’s room.” “Show me,” she demanded. “Come with me.” Oberroth led her up the stairs and down a corridor opposite to where the Mabrelle party was staying. He opened the door and ushered her inside. Then he led

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into the bedchamber. “There.” On the bed was a Jaxtar pelt. She hadn’t noticed it the night she tried to seduce Curran. She turned to give Oberroth a questioning look. “He sleeps with a Jaxtar pelt? Does that not seem odd to you?” “When he was a young cat, it helped to soothe him. I think perhaps the cat’s memories were strong then. Now there are only Curran’s memories.” “What do you want me to do?” “Lie down on the pelt. In fact, I would recommend you take your clothes off before you do it.” Amara jerked, startled. “Why?” “Since I believe you are missing your mate, the fur will remind you of when he bound you to him.” “I am not bound.” The lie was getting harder to say aloud. “I think you are. Why not try the pelt? No one will disturb you. You can touch yourself where he touched you. It might give you needed relief.” Amara felt her cheeks heat. “What are you suggesting?” “You know very well. You need your lover, who is not here. But while you wait for him, you are capable of giving yourself satisfaction.” “I think you are much too familiar with me.” “And I think you need a man between your legs. That is not going to happen until Curran returns. I will leave you alone to deal with your frustrations as best you can.” After he left, Amara seethed with righteous indignation. How dare he suggest such a thing to her! She ran a hand over the pelt. It brought to mind her time in the pit, when the Jaxtar’s fur brushed her nipples and aroused her. The memories made her nipples contract to tight nubs. She climbed onto the bed and lay down on the pelt. She nuzzled her face into it, as she had Curran’s face. She stretched out her arms to hug the pelt, as she had Curran when the Jaxtar mated face to face with her. It wasn’t enough. Oberroth’s suggestion to undress tantalized her. What would it hurt? Quickly Amara shimmied out of her dress and drawers. Then she lay back down on the pelt. Oh, that felt marvelous.

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This was what she needed. She rubbed her breasts against the pelt. Her nipples tingled with desire and need. “Curran.” Amara imagined again their time in the pit. The Jaxtar’s heavy weight lay on her, his furred chest rubbing against her aroused nipples. Her loins burned with arousal. She grew damp between her thighs. What would it hurt? She slipped a hand between her legs and made contact with her clitoris. Her legs jerked. She pressed on it and pleasure bloomed in her empty vagina. She rubbed it. That felt so good. She imagined Curran using his fingers there. He would move them down to her vagina and enter it. She probed her own body with a finger. She moaned softly. More! She thrust a second finger inside and slid it in and out. She raised her hips so the Jaxtar could take her. Three fingers felt more like the Jaxtar’s penis. Her other hand slid down to rub her clitoris. Her cheek lay against the pelt. Her breasts rubbed the fur, while both hands worked furiously between her spread thighs. Faster and faster they moved in and out of her vagina, back and forth across her clit. Her hips began thrusting. Inside, her vagina and womb clenched tighter and tighter. So close. When the spasms started, the Jaxtar continued to thrust. Amara turned her face into his fur to stifle her groans. She had a mouthful of fur and still he thrust into her receptive depths. She pressed deeply on her clitoris as she rubbed and the contractions began again. He ruthlessly claimed her vagina as she clenched on him. The spasm seemed to go on and on. Finally she lay spent on him with the echo of his thrusts and her orgasm pulsing inside her body. Thank the gods he’d returned. She would have gone crazy without him. Amara sobered and spread out on the soft pelt. Imagination was all well and good, but the reality of waiting for Curran was tearing at her heart. A sob caught in her throat. She shoved a fist in her mouth to stifle it. She was a grown woman used to being alone. She didn’t need a man to complete her. Maybe if she said it enough times, she’d believe it. ***

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Curran swam up from a foggy, heated dream of mating with Amara to find leaves and bracken under him instead of the pelt on his bed. Instead of her warm, giving flesh surrounding him, he was ringed by trees and the cool autumn wind touched his fur. He’d spent himself inside her. His penis still pulsed with post-orgasm shocks. He’d felt both her orgasms glove him with sensual pleasure. It had felt so real, but reality was the brand-hot fire in his chest, and the burning ache of his other wounds. He needed his mate, but he was all alone. Somehow he’d lost the ability to be alone and selfsufficient. Amara was as necessary to his good health as breathing, water and food. Now he was incomplete and suffering. Was he alone in this terrible need or did she feel any of the torment he did? She loved him, he knew that much. She wanted to marry him. But was it enough to equal his sacrifice? Were his feelings a bigger share of the whole that made up their bond, or was she his equal? Thought was difficult. It circled around and around through the murk of pain and discomfort in his brain. One moment he thought she was with him, the next he was alone. Which was real? If she were here, wouldn’t all his needs be filled? His thoughts slowed to just one: Amara, where are you?

Thirteen “I protest your brother’s treatment of Amara,” Ambassador Forian complained. “Even though King Durvan has not approved the alliance, to ignore her like this is an insult. He said he would return in three days. It has been four. Is this the J’Tar’s way of telling her he does not intend to marry her?” Oberroth’s black brows drew together. “Something must have happened to Curran. He would never ignore his responsibilities like this.” “He has left you for four days. Is it not his responsibility to be by your side?” the ambassador pointed out. Oberroth’s face darkened. “Curran has served me faithfully for twenty-five years. I tell you something must have detained him. We should wait another day at least. He will be back. He will not leave Amara for much longer.” Amara wished she could put faith in what Oberroth said, but her need rode her hard. “Let us go and look for him.” “Where would you have me look?” Oberroth asked. “I know where he usually roams, but what if he sought out some other part of Rubiya? We would not be here when he returned.” “I need to start for Mabrelle,” the ambassador said. “So I need to know which marriage alliance I am to present to the king.” “There will be a wedding,” Oberroth insisted. “But if there is not, there must be a penalty paid for Amara’s deflowering and her loss as a marriageable alliance.” “I am not a commodity!” Amara snapped. Oberroth’s eyes narrowed as he stared Forian down. “Are you purposely trying to anger me? According to your timetable, Curran has almost a month to return to Amara.” “I cannot leave her here if the J’Tar has not returned.” “She stays here, no matter what. I will not allow you to take the J’Tar’s heir to Mabrelle.” Amara was disgusted with the two men. “I am not a bone for the two of you to fight over. I will wait here, Ambassador.”

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Forian’s face mottled with anger. “No, you will not. In this you will obey me as you would the king.” Amara lifted her chin. She didn’t like men ordering her about. She was a free woman. “I…” “She stays or else you will not be allowed to leave,” Oberroth said in a fierce voice. “You cannot threaten me like that!” Forian objected. “I can when you threaten my niece or nephew. Amara stays where the J’Tar can find her.” “King Durvan will hear about this! It may not help your plea for a treaty.” Oberroth pointed a finger at the ambassador and narrowed his flashing blue eyes. “Do not threaten the work we have done this week because of your ruffled feelings. Amara is quite safe here. This is her home now and we are her family. We will treat her as a sister by marriage.” Forian looked at her, clearly torn between duty to the king of Mabrelle and Oberroth’s threat. Finally he bowed his head. “I will wait one more day. Then I will travel back to Mabrelle and Amara will stay here. I will return within the month with an answer from the king.” He strode out of Oberroth’s office. Amara wanted to scream. She stood with her hands clenched in impotent anger. When Oberroth passed by her, heading out of his office, she followed him. He climbed to the castle parapet. As he surveyed his kingdom from this high vantage point, he finally looked worried. It was about time! The twist of worry in her gut was constant now. She was almost sick with it. She was sick with the inaction on Oberroth’s part. He turned from his survey of the countryside. Amara kept her eyes faced forward, desperate for a sight of Curran. “Where is he?” she asked. “Something has happened. I feel it.” She turned to see him rub his fist over his heart. Fear stabbed her own. “Then do something! Do not just watch from the battlements each day. Go out and find him.” Her frustration boiled over at him. “If I knew where he was, I would. I have a general feeling of something being wrong, but it has no direction.”

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“You owe him. How must he have felt to be betrayed by his own brother?” She was angry on Curran’s behalf, had been angry for days. “I would not have interfered had Curran taken you to wife on his own initiative. But he would not do it, so I was forced to intercede,” Oberroth snapped. She felt her face burn. “I did not know I was bait for a trap. I would not see Curran caged. He is wild.” “I want him bound to you. You can let him roam free after the ceremony. But first he commits his life to yours.” “I do not understand you. He wants to serve you, yet you refuse him. Why?” “He is my brother, not my servant. I cannot have everything while he has nothing. I never wanted his sacrifice. I wanted my brother! He has served me twenty-five years. That is enough. He has a child on the way. Soon he will have a wife and the scales will be made equal, as they should be. Do you understand?” His dark eyes beseeched her. She let out her breath. Oberroth clearly loved his brother. “I think I do.” From below came the fast clopping of hooves on cobblestones. She looked over the battlements at the same time Oberroth did. A rider approached up the road at such speed that his brown horse was lathered with white froth. When he reached the stone courtyard surrounding the castle, he shouted, “Poachers! Zanath, poachers among the Jaxtars!” Oberroth paled and raced for the rooftop door. His black braids flew out behind him. Amara picked up her skirt and ran after him. She kept one hand on the wall as they descended the stone steps to the ground floor. The Zanath’s clattering approach startled the guards. “Poachers!” he cried as he passed them. The guards paled. Amara flew past them and heard their running boots behind her. Oberroth sped through the guest hall scattering servitors in his wake. Amara didn’t care that her legs were viewed by many as she dashed through the hall after him. Curran was

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missing and poachers were killing Jaxtars. They couldn’t have killed Curran, couldn’t have! The guard at the front door barely got the door open before Oberroth pounded through it. He tore down the ramp to where the rider now waited. Oberroth caught himself on the stirrup before he flew past, causing the horse to shy. The man’s eyes widened. “Zanath!” “Where? Where are they poaching?” Oberroth demanded. “The northernmost quadrant, near the border. A fisherman found three skinned carcasses on his way home.” “What sex?” Oberroth questioned. The man’s brows knit together. “What?” “The cats. Male or female?” “Two male, one large, one smaller, and one small female.” The man gabbled out the information quickly. Oberroth doubled over with his arms around his stomach. “Oh gods!” His bronzed face leeched of all color. Amara reached her hand out to him. “What is it?” she whispered. Cold dread filled her. “Curran runs with a pack near there.” Oberroth panted, still bent over. “He runs wild sometimes. He leaves for days and lives with the Jaxtars in that quadrant.” Amara looked towards the north. Not Curran! “It cannot be him.” Oberroth straightened. “Guards! Mount up. We ride north. Get this man a fresh horse.” He shouted commands to the staring guards as he strode for the castle. His black braids bounced behind him as his stride quickly ate up the ground towards the front door of the castle. Amara raced after him. “I am coming with you.” “You are staying here.” He continued through the door into the castle. The stone courtyard behind them echoed with many boots and shouts. “I want to find Curran just as much as you do.” He stopped and pivoted on his boot heel. His face was cold. “Finding dead animals is not for the fainthearted or those with delicate stomachs.” “But…”

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“And if Curran is dead,” Oberroth loudly overrode her, “his heir will be safe within these walls.” “I mated with a Jaxtar. I am not a frail flower!” “You mated with my brother. He wanted to claim you, not hurt you.” She lifted her chin. “I am still not a frail flower.” He pointed his finger at her. “You cannot go. Shall I order you tied to your bed?” She gritted her teeth and tried again. “I can help.” “No. I have enough to worry about with finding Curran.” She stomped her foot. “You are being unreasonable.” “I am Zanath. It is my prerogative to be unreasonable.” He turned and stalked away. Amara fumed at the arrogance of the man. *** Within fifteen minutes a company of armed guards accompanied Oberroth north with the rider who brought the news of the poaching. There were spare horses carrying tents, food, equipment and a litter. Oberroth hoped they wouldn’t need the litter, but he preferred it to tying Curran’s lifeless body to a horse. They rode all day, reaching the area of the dead, skinned cats just before sunset. By torchlight Oberroth examined each carcass. He checked the smaller cats first, knowing they wouldn’t be Curran. He drew a deep breath before checking the larger cat. It was the right size. He looked at its eyes and let out his breath. Curran had green eyes. This cat had light brown. “It is not Curran,” he announced. The guards sighed loudly and thanked the gods. “But I think it is Curran’s pack,” he told the guard captain. The captain, a big man named Jamarcus, studied the carcasses and then looked around. “The poachers only want the pelts. If they caught Curran, they would not have taken him far.” “And he would have become human,” another guard reminded them. “Unless he was injured,” Oberroth murmured. “Make

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camp. There is not enough light to search the area tonight.” *** Curran swam out of unconsciousness. His face felt tight. His mouth was parched. His chest hurt, both the wound that burned and his lungs that strained to take in air. He shivered and the movement made his wounds hurt worse. Where was he? It was cold wherever this was. Where was Oberroth? His brother never let him get this cold. Oberroth watched over him. Not always, his brain reminded him. Recently he betrayed you. Not Oberroth! Oberroth loved him unconditionally. Not any more, his brain disagreed. There were conditions now. No marriage, no love. No wife and children, no brotherly camaraderie and no place by Oberroth’s side. No, he groaned. He’d been tough for years, a strong J’Tar. Where had that strength gone? He couldn’t raise his head or move his arms and legs. He hadn’t had food or water in days. He hadn’t felt well in days. Where was Oberroth? If this sickness was his punishment for refusing marriage to Amara, he would relent and be married. If being separated from Oberroth was punishment for his stubborn refusal to obey the Zanath, he would repent and obey from now on. Where was his brother? Curran would even allow that traitorous Aurekar to give him potions, if only someone would make him stop hurting. He would give himself to Amara if she would lay her cool palm on his hot forehead. He would give her a houseful of children if she would bring him water. He would devote his life to her fulfillment if she would lie down with him and warm him. Where was Oberroth? *** Oberroth lay sleepless in his tent, disturbed by a niggling memory of five-year-old Curran calling out to him for help. The Jaxtar had gotten tangled in a fishing net in the old cellars. Neither boy nor cat could extricate themselves, although the cat shredded much of the net with its claws trying. The despairing cries of boy and cat had finally penetrated the part

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of the castle where Oberroth was, and he’d run to his brother’s rescue. It had taken a sharp knife to cut his brother free. Curran and the cat had clung to Oberroth for days afterward. Why would that memory surface now?

Fourteen By first light Oberroth directed a search of the cat compound for evidence of Curran. “There was a fight here some days ago,” said a guard as he crouched close to the earth. “Are you sure it was not poachers?” Oberroth asked. “No. Cat fight. Several big males.” “How many?” “At least two.” “Were they fighting over a bitch?” Oberroth wondered. “No sign of any cat in heat. And if it was Curran, he spent a day in the pit with his own woman. Your pardon, Zanath.” There was a shout from deeper in the forest. Oberroth and the guards ran to where another guard knelt on one knee. He signaled them back from the tracks in the loose soil. “Curran. You know how sometimes he presses hard with the third and fourth toes on his right forepaw?” Oberroth nodded. “What do the tracks tell you?”

“He was running. Fast.”

“Was he chasing or being chased?”

The guard looked up. “There is blood. I think it is his. I

think the cats were chasing him.” “Why? He ran with them for years,” Oberroth argued. The guard shrugged. “Packs change when the leadership changes.” “Where do the tracks lead?” He pointed north. “Towards the cliffs by the river.” They followed the tracker up through the rocks. They boosted one guard onto the ledge with the claw marks, and then several swarmed up to boost a man onto the ledge above. “Blood!” the guard cried down to them. He searched all around the ledge and finally Oberroth called up to him. “What is the matter?” “The tracks disappear, but they do not go up or down. I

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think the cat must have jumped or fallen in the water.” *** The afternoon was waning as they searched the river’s edge for signs that a cat had come out of the water. A shout brought Oberroth’s head up. “Here!” a guard shouted. “He came out here.” Oberroth and the other guards raced to the place indicated, but were careful not to get too close. “Cat or man?” Oberroth demanded. “Both,” the man looked at Oberroth with shining blue eyes. “Curran,” Oberroth breathed. But where was he? The tightness in Oberroth’s chest loosened enough for him to breathe easier. “There is blood here too, Zanath,” the guard added. Oberroth nodded. “Find him.” Within hours they found the thicket with the cat half buried in the bracken. Its fur was matted with dirt and dried blood. “It is so still. Is it him?” a guard whispered. “There is only one way to find out.” Oberroth moved forward until his captain halted him. “He may be wild if he is hurt, Zanath,” Jamarcus said in his deep voice. “If my brother bites me, so be it.” He brushed the captain’s arm aside. He knelt by the cat and watched its sides rise and fall too slowly. He placed his hand on the muscled shoulder to find the fur cold. Fear gripped him. “Curran?” There was a shudder of breath from the cat, and then a naked man lay where the cat had been. There was a long bloody scratch on the back of his thigh. “Curran?” Oberroth touched his brother’s white face. It was dry and burning hot. “Water!” he shouted. Several guards knelt in the bracken around Curran. One handed Oberroth his water pouch. Oberroth lifted his brother’s head into the crook of his arm and tilted the water pouch to Curran’s mouth. An ugly wound in Curran’s chest was revealed. It was white around the edges, angry red and inflamed, with dark bruising below it.

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Curran coughed and opened feverish green eyes. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He shivered. “Bring blankets. Get the tents up. We cannot move him tonight. Where is Healer Blanath?” Oberroth demanded. “Here.” The thin young man soon knelt next to Oberroth. “That is a nasty wound and infected by the look of it. What else is wrong with him?” “Fever, chills, there is a lot of dried blood but I cannot tell where it all came from.” “I will work on the fever while they get the tents up.” *** The healer probed the wound, making Curran moan. He writhed on the cot, trying to move away from the source of pain. “Arrow wound. From the direction of entry, not while he was human,” Blanath reported. “Poachers,” Oberroth snarled. “What damage?” “Tissue damage, there is infection, a rib is broken and he has taken ill from the cold. The drenching in the river probably did not help.” “But you can heal him?” Oberroth demanded. Blanath shook his head. “He needs the Aurekar.” Oberroth jerked. His heart missed a few beats. “Why does he need magic?” The young man looked stricken. “He is too ill for my skills, Zanath.” Oberroth ran a hand over his eyes. “For Curran’s sake we must travel slowly. Can you keep him alive until the Aurekar can heal him?” “I believe so, yes.” Oberroth left Blanath to his herbs. He strode quickly from the tent. “Pastrel!” A young guard ran to him and stood at attention in front of Oberroth. He had a single braid framing each side of his face. He looked eager. “Yes, Zanath?” “Pastrel, take the swiftest horse. Ride as fast as you can without risk to you or the horse. Find the Aurekar. Tell him…” Oberroth faltered and cleared his throat. “Tell him the healer

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says Curran needs magic to live.” The young man paled. “Ride back with the Aurekar at speed. We will travel in a straight line to the castle, going at a pace not to jostle a litter too much. We will be easy to find. Take whatever supplies you need. Do you understand what I want you to do?” “Yes, Zanath. I will ride as quickly as I can.” The guard ran off towards the horses. Oberroth looked up through the treetops. It was almost dark and the first stars were visible. Oh gods, save my brother, he beseeched the powers. He returned to the tent to hold Curran’s hand while the healer catalogued Curran’s other injuries. Blanath looked up from the long scratches on Curran’s body. “Cat fight, definitely.” “I do not understand why they would turn on him,” Oberroth mused. The healer spread herbs on a cloth for a poultice. “He is not a real Jaxtar, Zanath. The cats must know it. I am not even sure he smells like a cat.” “He does,” Oberroth assured the healer. “I played with the cat when we were boys. Those bites look nasty. Cats bite the spine to paralyze and bring down their prey.” Blanath applied the poultice to one of Curran’s wounds. “Thank the gods they did not succeed.” “Yes. Curran is lucky to be alive and I intend to see he stays that way,” Oberroth vowed. *** Blanath fed Curran broth and tea, but Curran didn’t take much before he fell into a restless doze. He shivered under the pile of blankets so that his teeth chattered. He didn’t remain human for long, although the cat seemed just as uncomfortable. Its tongue hung out of its mouth while it panted. Oberroth smoothed the fur on the cat’s face. It leaned into his touch, trying to move towards him. Oberroth knelt by the cot and the cat moved its face to nuzzle the crook of Oberroth’s neck. Oberroth stroked the silky fur. “You are going to be all right, Curran.”

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In the middle of the night Oberroth snapped awake to Curran calling his name. “Oberroth, help me!” Curran’s voice was weak and hoarse. Oberroth knelt by Curran’s cot with a blanket around his shoulders to ward off the night’s chill. “I am here, Curran.” “Help me. Why will you not help me?” Oberroth took Curran’s hand. “What do you need?” “I need help. Why will you not come? Why are you punishing me?” “No one is punishing you. You are wounded and sick.” He felt Curran’s forehead. His brother was burning up. Oberroth gestured the healer to his side. “His fever is up again.” Blanath moved to his satchel and drew out packets of herbs. Then he lifted the tent flap and slipped outside to the fire. “Help me, Oberroth!” Curran begged again. *** Through the night Oberroth and the healer fought Curran’s fever. They won little battles, but Oberroth watched the war being lost as Curran strained for breath. His brother clutched at him, begging, while he stared through glassy eyes. They propped Curran upright when his breathing grew ragged. Oberroth sat on the cot and held his brother up. He willed his own strength into Curran while he prayed to the gods to spare his brother’s life. Curran had cheated death once already when he was made J’Tar. Oberroth hoped the gods weren’t trying to collect the life that was owed them. “Amara.” Curran’s voice was almost a whisper. His right hand opened and closed in a grasping manner. “She is not here, Curran.” “Is she angry?” Oberroth brushed aside a damp lock of hair from his brother’s forehead. “No. I made her stay behind.” “Need her.” It was a wisp of sound. Curran’s eyes were closed. “You will see her when we get back to the castle.” Glassy green eyes opened and stared at Oberroth. “Please.” It was a huff of air. “Tomorrow.”

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Curran leaned away from Oberroth, changed form, and the cat jumped down from the cot. It fell on its left shoulder, and then its belly flattened to the earth. It rose on three unsteady legs. It staggered towards the tent flap, but the healer moved to block its way. It snarled, although weakly. Oberroth laid his hand on the cat’s haunch. It snarled again. “Curran, you are ill. Lie back down.” It limped forward several steps, crowding the healer. Blanath swallowed but remained rooted in front of the doorway. Oberroth slid his hand up the cat’s back, while the fur bristled, until he reached the cat’s shoulder. It snarled again, shying away from him. “Curran.” Oberroth used his authoritative voice. The cat turned its head and snapped at Oberroth’s hand. Oberroth reached out again, and this time the cat bit him. Crimson blood welled from Oberroth’s hand. “Zanath!” the healer cried. He leaped between the cat and Oberroth, and pushed the cat away with his body. The cat yelped. Blanath grabbed Oberroth’s hand and pressed on the wound to staunch the flow of blood. Oberroth grimaced and held back his cry of pain. The cat had never bitten him before. But it was sick and hurt, and more animal than human right now. The guard captain, Jamarcus, threw back the tent flap and surveyed the scene. Two more guards stood behind him. They had their swords drawn. “Put your weapons away,” Oberroth ordered. He hissed as the healer spread herbs on his hand. “My brother is sick with fever.” Jamarcus looked at the cat. “He is wild, Zanath. Let us tie him before he does you more harm.” “You are not tying my brother,” Oberroth gritted as the healer bound his hand. “You are not safe with him right now,” the captain argued. “He is my brother. He is J’Tar.” Jamarcus’s face was set like stone. “He is neither at the moment, Zanath.”

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Oberroth turned to see the cat pressed against the tent wall. It looked trapped and wild. It shook with fever and weakness. There was no intelligence in its eyes, and Oberroth’s heart clenched with fear. “Curran?” The cat didn’t respond, continuing to watch the guards warily. “I will make a sleeping potion,” the healer offered. “We will have to hold it down.” “Nobody has to hold Curran down.” Oberroth faced the cat. “Curran, change into your human form.” But the cat stayed pressed to the tent wall, looking even wilder. It backed a few steps, limping badly. “We will need blankets and rope,” Jamarcus ordered in an authoritative tone. The healer went outside the tent to make his potion. The junior guards left to do as the captain bid them. Jamarcus moved between the cat and Oberroth. Oberroth tried to assert his power. “I am Zanath here. I say you will not use rope on my brother.” “I will not permit it to hurt you again, Zanath. I am sworn to protect you, and I will do so while the J’Tar is incapacitated. Sleep will be best for the beast right now. But it is not going to allow us to put it to sleep without a fight. You must not think of the Jaxtar as your brother at this moment.” Oberroth could not use logic on the situation like Jamarcus, even with the burning sting of the bites in his hand telling him what was real. Oberroth had grown up with the Jaxtar. He loved the cat. “He is hurt,” Oberroth insisted. “You cannot use force on him.” “I am sorry, Zanath,” Jamarcus said. He looked with pity on the cat. “But we must do this for the cat’s health.” Jamarcus was a mountain of a man. Oberroth had promoted him to captain of the guards not only for his skill but because he showed great intelligence and insightfulness. Oberroth gave in to a cooler head than his. The guards returned with reinforcements. They had a rope

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with a noose tied in the end of it and numerous blankets. Behind them came Blanath with his sleeping potion. Jamarcus directed the guards what they were to do. The one with the rope moved behind the cat. The cat snarled and snapped, but found new threats advancing towards its head. It tried to lunge, but became off-balance with only one useable front leg. Before it regained its balance, the guard had slipped the noose around its neck and drew it tight. His two companions held on while the cat pulled and snarled furiously. Two other guards threw blankets over the cat’s head, which made it fight harder. The other guards wrestled it down on its side with its claws pinned in the blankets. The snarls turned to feline screams. Blanath moved in close to the cat’s head with his potion. Oberroth fought desperately to uncover the cat’s mouth. He got his hand in the fur on the cat’s face. “Curran, stop fighting. Curran!” The screams tore him up with guilt. Two guards got the cat’s mouth opened, covering the fangs with part of the blanket. Blanath pushed the potion into the cat’s mouth and Oberroth rubbed the cat’s throat to make it swallow. It sputtered and spat as the healer emptied the cauldron into its mouth. When Blanath was finished, the cat began keening, a sound that raised the hairs on the back of Oberroth’s neck. He gritted his teeth, hoping the potion would work soon. When he thought he would go mad from the sound, it was cut off mid-note. The cat’s limbs relaxed and it simply panted. “Let go,” Oberroth ordered. The guards uncovered the cat and moved back. Oberroth loosened the noose and lifted it over the cat’s head. The neck wound had broken open and was bleeding again. The fur was scarlet over the wound. “Blanath, get bandages,” Oberroth ordered. Guilt clawed at him. Captain Jamarcus surveyed the wound. “I am sorry, Zanath.” Oberroth nodded, not taking his attention completely from

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the cat. It was lax, its green eyes dull and glassy. Soon the lids lowered and the only movement was its heaving sides as it breathed. “Help me get him on the cot,” Oberroth ordered. The cat hung limply in their arms as the guards helped lift it onto the cot. Oberroth covered it with a blanket, pulled blankets around his body and sat beside the cot to keep watch during the night. Death would have to go through him to reach his brother.

Fifteen “A rider approaches!” the sentry bellowed. “He is moving at speed!” Amara lifted a hand above her eyes to shade them from the sun and stared in the direction the sentry pointed. From the castle parapet she could see for a mile down the road. Dust clouds marked the trail of the rider of a brown horse. He wore the Zanath’s livery! Her heart beat a strong tattoo. It must be word of Curran! She turned and headed for the door leading down into the castle. Eagerness leant her feet wings as she took the stone steps at a run. Pounding feet behind her told her one of the sentries followed her down. She flew into the castle hall, using her hand on the corner to slingshot her way around it. A female servant squawked in surprise. A guard jerked to attention. “Rider coming!” Amara yelled. She raced for the front door. The guard got it open before she reached it. Then she was barreling down the ramp just as the rider rode into the cobblestone courtyard. “Get the Aurekar!” he shouted. “What word?” Amara gasped. The young man dismounted and patted his horse’s neck. “It is not good, lady. The J’Tar was gravely wounded by poachers.” Amara felt the world slip out from under her. She grabbed the horse’s bridle to keep herself upright. Curran had to be all right! She couldn’t bear it if he died. “What is it, Pastrel?” a gruff voice demanded. A strong male arm supported her. “The Zanath demands the Aurekar come to him immediately,” Pastrel replied. “He says the J’Tar will not live without his skill.” Amara moaned. “No.” The arm around her tightened. “Get two fresh horses, the fastest we have.” It was the voice of the second in command,

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Bernath. He was in charge of the castle defense while the Zanath was away. “Three.” Amara dragged the word from her throat. “What?” Bernath asked. “Get three horses. I am going with them.” He shook his head. “The Zanath said you were to remain here.” “The gods themselves will damn Oberroth if I am forced to remain here while Curran dies.” “The Aurekar will save him. You can be assured of that.” “I will be there to witness it,” she said with the force of a hurricane from Mabrelle’s seacoast. She glared at Bernath and dared him to argue. Still, he tried. “I have my orders.” Amara straightened and became the imperious daughter of a king. “I am not a citizen of Rubiya. I answer to the king of Mabrelle. You have no authority over me. If you think to assert power over me, you will have to fight me for it.” He sighed. “Lady, I will not fight you over this. Go to the J’Tar.” Relief made her legs feel shaky. The Aurekar skidded up to them, his blue robes flapping around him. “What is it?” Pastrel looked relieved. “The Zanath bids you come with all haste. The J’Tar was wounded by an arrow. He is very ill. The healer says he will die without your magic.” “How far away are they?” the mage asked.

“They are traveling towards us at the speed of a litter. Less

than a day’s ride.” “Where are the horses?” the Aurekar demanded. “Coming!” someone yelled. “Where is the wound?” Amara asked. “The chest,” Pastrel replied. He pointed to a spot above his heart. “When he was a Jaxtar.” Stable boys brought three sleek brown horses forward. They snorted and stamped their hooves, eager to run. Amara thought longingly of her split skirt, but she didn’t want to waste precious time changing into it or risk being left behind. Every

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second counted. As she caught the reins of a horse, someone grabbed her arm. She looked up into Ambassador Forian’s face. “Where are you going?” he demanded. “Curran is grievously injured.” She turned the horse to mount. He kept hold of her arm. “What do you think you can do to help him?” “I can be there for him.” They didn’t have time for this argument. “I do not want you going off into the wilds of this country without a chaperone.” Amara exploded. “I do not care what you want. Poachers wounded Curran in his own country. He may be dying while we argue over propriety. I am not going to stay here during what may be the final moments of his life. If he dies…” Her voice broke. She took a deep breath and began again. “If he dies, it will be in my arms.” Forian had paled. “Poachers?” “Yes. They wanted the pelt of the Zanath’s brother. They did not care that he was part human. He was a commodity to them. If Curran dies, I will spend the rest of my life hunting those men down and making sure they pay with their lives. I will stamp out the pelt trade with my last breath. And if my father refuses to enter into a treaty, I will cease to exist for him. He will become my enemy, just like the poachers. You have my sworn word on it.” Forian inhaled. “You cannot mean to cut your father out of your life.” “I do. I will. Curran is my life now, part of my heart. I will force him to live if I can.” She tore her arm from Forian’s grip, grabbed the pommel, placed her foot in the stirrup and swung her leg over the saddle. She settled her skirt as modestly around her as she could, tucking it beneath the saddle horn. The Aurekar mounted in a flourish of blue robes. His robe ended up rucked around his knees. His face was set in hard lines. “I will see you when you return from Mabrelle,” Amara told Forian.

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“I will stay here until I know if the J’Tar lives.” She nodded. Pastrel had turned his horse and kicked it into a gallop. The Aurekar aimed his horse after the young guard. Amara turned her horse and urged it after the other two. Wind blew her dress up around her knees, but she didn’t care. The trees looked like one continuous body as the horses flew past them. Amara wanted to urge her horse faster. In her head she felt the minutes slipping away. Curran hadn’t come to her because he’d been wounded. How many days had he been ill? She wished she could ask Pastrel. Her little doubts about why Curran hadn’t returned were all vanquished. Her heart swelled with love for him, love that needed a lifetime to pour into him. Why couldn’t the healer help Curran? Why did they need a mage? Was it because Curran was a magical creature? She watched the Aurekar ride and marveled at his skill. He seemed so unassuming around the Zanath, but the line of his spine showed assertive control of the animal under him. Thank the gods he could ride swiftly. The hours droned on. Twice they stopped at farmhouses to water the horses and answer the call of nature. Each time Amara made sure she wasn’t a burden to the group. Each of them had enough to do in caring for their horses and themselves. During their first break Pastrel had told them what the healer had found. After that, Amara and the Aurekar focused on getting to Curran. Rubiya was a beautiful country. Amara wished she could appreciate the thick forests with their remaining leaves of rust, yellow, umber and red. The farm fields were mostly harvested, except for some late wheat. The farmers seemed to care about their land because their fields were cleared of rocks and stumps and laid out carefully. The villages they passed were small clusters of houses around a tavern and a few shops. She wished she had the time to talk to the Rubiyans and learn about life outside the castle walls. But time was something they didn’t have. Towards mid-afternoon they met an outrider from the

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Zanath’s group. He was a middle-aged soldier whose face was lined with worry. He turned his horse to ride beside the mage and lead the way. “Thank the gods you have come, Aurekar.” His voice floated back to Amara. “How is he?” the mage asked. “Very ill with fever. The wound is infected. The Zanath sat with him all night.” Amara’s heart froze with fear. Had the Zanath sat a death watch? This man’s fear was palpable. She kept up with the Aurekar as he raced to save Curran. Let them be in time! *** At first, Oberroth was so relieved to see the mage that he paid no heed to the third rider behind the guard, Pastrel. But as the three drew nearer, he almost exploded with rage. “Whose decision was it to bring her along?” he blasted at the guard and mage. Amara rode forward, facing him squarely. “I decided. I came to be with Curran.” She lifted her chin and rode past him. Oberroth stared after her. That little she-cat! What a match she was for Curran. Oberroth turned his attention back to the Aurekar. “Curran is very ill.” “I will heal him,” the mage assured him. Oberroth and the Aurekar dismounted and walked back to the litter that hung between two horses. Amara stood by the head of the litter, where the cat’s furred head was visible out of the blankets. She looked up at Oberroth, her eyes full of worry. “Is it Curran?” “Yes. He has been in this form since the middle of the night.” He held out his bandaged hand. “He went wild, so the healer put him to sleep. He has barely moved today.” Amara reached her hand out slowly and touched the furred face. Her expression grew tender and the touch became a caress. Oberroth’s breath caught as he watched her. She loved the cat! The Aurekar touched the cat from the other side of the litter. He closed his eyes and his brow furrowed. He opened

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his eyes at last and focused on Oberroth. “Something is very wrong. I sense the cat, but not Curran.” The bottom dropped out of Oberroth’s stomach. “What! How can that be? It is Curran, I tell you.” “He is not in the body of the cat.” Oberroth’s sight darkened and he lost physical touch with the world. Life would be unbearable without his brother. He became aware of strong arms supporting him, of the sun on his face and the tingle of magic on his skin. He opened his eyes. The Aurekar knelt in front of him. He was just taking his hands from Oberroth’s face. Oberroth sat on the ground with the guards supporting him. “Is Curran dead?” He forced the words out between numb lips. Amara gasped from beside him, but he ignored her. He also ignored the guards’ protests of denial. “Is the J’Tar no more?” Amara’s hand gripped his shoulder, her nails dug sharply into his flesh through his tunic. The Aurekar shook his head. “I do not know that he is dead. I know only that I cannot sense him.” The guards helped Oberroth to his feet. He hung onto the litter for support. “I do not understand. The cat and Curran cannot be separated because they are one. Yet you say they are separated.” “Let me heal the cat, and then we can locate Curran.” The Aurekar placed his hands on the cat. As sweat beaded on the mage’s brow, a sparkling shimmer surrounded the cat. The shimmer faded, and he lifted his hands. The cat raised its head. Its green eyes were wary. It stood and leaped from the litter, making the horses dance nervously. Once on the ground, it darted towards the nearest trees. “Curran!” both Oberroth and Amara called to the cat. The cat stopped, looked around, then its gaze swung to Amara. She reached her hands out to it. It slowly turned towards her, then cautiously made its way back to her. It stopped in front of her, staring at her with vivid green eyes. She leaned down and it moved into her arms. It rubbed its head against her cheek, and then nuzzled her lips. She caressed its fur. It rubbed its head and mouth against

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her breasts and the juncture of her thighs, seeking. Then it circled her, rubbing as it went. It tried to get under her dress, but she batted down the material. It returned to rub its nose against hers. She nuzzled it back. Oberroth, who’d stood frozen while the cat made carnal advances to Amara, broke free of his astonishment. The cat’s penis jutted hard and full between its legs. It wanted its mate! He reached her side and grabbed her arm. “Come with me. Aurekar, follow me.” He tugged, and she went where he pulled. “Dismount,” he shouted. “We rest here.” He dragged her into the forest with the cat loping at her side. When they were far from sight of the camp, he stopped. “Take off your dress,” he instructed her.

Sixteen “I will not undress!” Amara’s face flamed. She looked at the Aurekar, then back at Oberroth. The Jaxtar pressed his nose to the front of her crotch. She pushed his face away. “Get your dress off so the cat can mount you. He wants you,” Oberroth ordered. Gods, why hadn’t he realized? Curran had wanted her last night, needed her in fact, so much that he was dying without her. Just as Amara had needed Curran desperately these past five days. They both needed their mates! Oberroth had guessed what had happened between them in the pit, but Amara had denied it. She hadn’t wanted him to know she was bound. Amara’s gaze dropped to the Jaxtar. Its green eyes were hot and hungry. She looked back up to Oberroth. Her face was still red but her pupils had darkened. She sputtered, “I will not do anything here. Not in the forest or with you and the Aurekar watching.” “Get your dress off or I will take it off you myself. Either way, you are going to mate.” “You cannot do this!” She clutched the bodice of her dress. The cat rubbed harder against her crotch. Oberroth spun her around. He’d been married long enough, and was passionate enough about his wife, to know how to get a woman’s clothing off quickly. Amara fought to hold onto the dress, but he was stronger and more determined. This was for his brother. The cat helped distract Amara by probing her crotch. Oberroth got one of her arms out. She fought like a wildcat to retain the bodice over her breasts. The Jaxtar paced excitedly around her skirt. Suddenly it dipped its head and dived under a fold. Only its tail remained outside. Its head rose under the front of her skirt until it reached the vee of her legs. Then it ducked between them. Amara’s body jerked and she shrieked. “Curran!”

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The front of her skirt bobbed rhythmically. The tail wagged back and forth in extreme agitation. Oberroth was pretty sure what the Jaxtar was doing with its mouth between her legs. Her groan confirmed it. “Spread your legs,” he ordered. “Give him room.” “Let me go. You should not watch this,” Amara gasped. She groaned deeply again. “Let him prepare you so he can mate.” “Please,” she begged. But she widened her stance. The Jaxtar pressed deep into the notch of her thighs. She gasped and threw her head back against Oberroth’s shoulder. Her eyes were closed. Her hips thrust in time to her cries. They sounded almost painful. Oberroth had seen the length of the cat’s tongue. He assumed it was using it inside Amara’s body, making her almost incoherent with pleasure. Oberroth squirmed with unwanted arousal. It was indecent for him to get excited by watching Curran and Amara’s sexual activities. He wished he could leave the lovers alone, but he still had no guarantee Amara would mate. Until she was filled with the Jaxtar’s penis, he would do what he could to help his brother. Amara gave a keening cry, stiffened and then her whole body shuddered. She sagged against him. He took the opportunity to pull down the dress. He had one taut breast bared and Amara bent slightly at the waist when the cat appeared from under her skirt, lifted up its face and took her breast into its mouth. She groaned. The cat suckled eagerly. Oberroth held her tightly with one hand while he pulled the material down to bare her other breast with its tightly pebbled nipple. The cat moved immediately to suckle the nipple. Oberroth let go of the arm still trapped in the cloth. Amara’s hand went around the Jaxtar’s neck to hold its mouth to her breast. She groaned and pressed forward. Oberroth pulled the fabric off the arm and bared her to the waist. Then he released her other arm and tugged the dress and her drawers down to the ground. He tried not to notice how shapely her white naked body was. She was his brother’s mate. “Please do not watch,” Amara begged him.

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“Mate with him,” he ordered. Oberroth pushed her down to her hands and knees. The Jaxtar wriggled immediately between her and Oberroth. It mounted her in an instant, imprisoning her beneath it. It slid its erect penis between her legs and probed for entrance. Oberroth jerked the dress and drawers away from her feet, which opened her legs wider. He stepped away from the lovers. “Curran, stop it!” she ordered, “Your brother is watching.” But it thrust between her legs, probing hard. “Curran!” There was a soft wet sound, Amara squealed, and then she grunted as the cat began to thrust up into her. Her body jerked rhythmically in time to the inward thrust of the Jaxtar’s haunches. Her breasts jiggled wildly. Her head rested against the cat’s foreleg. Her eyes closed and she groaned. The Jaxtar made hungry growling sounds, then its thrusts quickened. Amara made little muffled sounds until the cat thrust deep and then stilled. Its testicles spasmed. Then it began to thrust again. It lowered its head to hers and nuzzled her mouth and cheek. Satisfied that the J’Tar would mate with her awhile longer, Oberroth turned to the Aurekar. The mage watched the mating with an expression of surprise on his face. “She accepts the cat as though it is a man. She has stopped fighting.” “It is Curran.” The Aurekar’s head snapped to Oberroth. “How can you tell?” “You know what it was doing to her with its mouth when it was under her dress. You saw it suckle her breasts. You saw it try to kiss her. Only a man would do those things. And Amara would only allow one man to do them to her. She was with Curran when she last mated. She is with him now.” The mage turned back to watch, and so did Oberroth. Amara’s white breasts jiggled wildly as the cat pistoned in and out between her legs. She rocked with him while he nuzzled her face. “How did you know that mating the cat to her would bring your brother back?” the mage asked. “Amara and the J’Tar are mates. She is mate to both cat and man. I sensed something different after they returned from

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the pit, but I was not sure until now. The Jaxtar is her mate and lover. But it is Curran who directs the cat’s tenderness towards her because he loves her. There are three presences mating over there, and Curran is at the center of it.” Oberroth glanced back at the lovers. He should not watch his brother make love with his mate. Although it was an erotic sight seeing the large cat thrusting its dark cock in and out of her pink flesh, hearing her groans and the cat’s growls. “She and the J’Tar will never give themselves to another being, either human or Jaxtar. I do not think the king of Mabrelle will understand and I do not want to risk him trying to separate her from Curran. I wish we could make their bond stronger.” “Zanath, do you mean like how your brother and the Jaxtar were joined together?” Oberroth studied his mage. The man had an enlightened expression on his face. “Yes, like that.” Slowly a smile spread over the Aurekar’s face. “I know a spell.” “Then do it now, while they are mating. Bind the J’Tar to her.” *** Curran felt the magic like heat on his skin. It seared through the heart of him and he felt himself being joined with Amara. It was like when he became J’Tar, where he and the Jaxtar became one. As the spell worked, he and Amara lost their individual identities. He strained, distracted from the joy of joining with her by his imminent orgasm. My mate, my mate. *** Amara felt the tingling sensation though the haze of animal passion. Her sense of Curran became more intense than just him thrusting into her yielding body. He filled her, seeping into her deepest parts. She cried out several times while her heart and soul were torn apart and reformed to include him inside. Her heart overflowed with love. Then the cat’s presence penetrated her, deeper than its thrusts. It was hungry for her and devoured her in the joining

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of her body to its. She cried out again as mate and lover became one with her. She knew she was bound to the J’Tar. She could feel both Curran and the Jaxtar were a part of her. She almost cried out at the contentment she felt from Curran. Then his human arms were around her and his cheek pressed to hers. “Curran.” His name was filled with love. “I am part of you now, Amara. I am your mate.” “I love you, Curran.” She rubbed her cheek against his. “Umm, I will face my death loving you, and after death if I can. There will never be a time when you are not a part of me.” “No. We will never be separate again. Will you love me once more?” “With pleasure.” Curran began the process of claiming his mate. *** Oberroth threw his arm across the Aurekar’s shoulders and drew him towards the camp, away from the two humans making love. Behind them there was a masculine growl from his brother and a feminine squeal that changed to a moan. “I am glad you knew that spell,” Oberroth said. One corner of the mage’s mouth quirked up in a strange smile. “My master taught me. He said you would need it some day.” Oberroth jerked in surprise. “How could he know such a thing?” The Aurekar’s smile widened. “He had heard of your vow towards the J’Tar. He knew you would never make another J’Tar. I wondered why he taught it to me, and now I know. In this way the J’Tar line continues.” “The conniving wretch,” Oberroth exclaimed. Then he laughed. Yes, there would be more J’Tars. Through Amara the line would continue. Through her his vow was redeemed. Through her the Jaxtars would be saved. When the gods gave, they gave in abundance.