The Shadows Of The Night

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eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. PO Box 2206 Stow OH 44224 Kindred: The Shadows of Night Copyright © 2006 by Ellen Fisher Cover by Scott Carpenter ISBN: 1-59998-016-9 www.samhainpublishing.com All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Excerpt Realm Immortal: King of the Unblessed © 2006 Michelle M Pillow Excerpt The Gripping Beast © 2006 Charlene Teglia First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: March 2006

Kindred: The Shadows of Night By Ellen Fisher

Dedication For Don—husband, father, superhero

Kindred: The Shadows of Night

Chapter One The woman sprawled before Hart, her thighs parted, her lovely body stretched out in an inviting position that permitted him to see every last inch of her. She was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. It was really quite unfortunate she was dead. Although, he thought grimly, staring at the naked body on the carpet of autumn leaves, perhaps it wasn’t such a misfortune after all. Beautiful or not, her kind were better off dead. They were much safer that way. Even so, as he gazed down on her body he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sorrow. She had been a lovely woman, by the standards of any Kindred. Her ebony hair, sprinkled with gold strands, spread around her like a fan, and her tawny skin stretched over taut muscles and smooth feminine curves. But her skin was badly marred by bite marks and lacerations, and the topaz leaves beneath her were stained rusty red by her blood. The smell of the blood matting the leaves rose from the damp earth. In his animal form, he could easily scent the sharp, coppery tang of blood, as well as the rank odor of her attackers, and it made him dance nervously. But despite his deep-rooted anxiety, he couldn’t totally tamp down his masculine appreciation of her loveliness. Which was absurd. She wasn’t a member of his Kindred. She was merely a barbarian, not worth a moment of his thought. The fact that she’d been brutally attacked sometime during the night and left here to bleed out her life on the leaves should mean nothing to him. And besides, she was dead. At least, she had certainly appeared to be.

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He shied back, startled, as she twitched and moaned slightly. Lowering his head to observe her more closely, he saw that her breathing was shallow, but she wasn’t dead after all. Not quite, anyway. But if he left her here, she would surely be dead before long. He shifted his hooves in the rustling dry leaves, irresolute. She was the enemy of his people, a barbarian, scarcely worthy of his notice. He should leave her to the vultures. And yet, with her naked body stretched out against the leaves, her golden-brown skin spattered with drying blood, she looked as fragile and helpless as any member of his Kindred. She didn’t look like an enemy, but like a badly injured and very vulnerable woman. He couldn’t leave her alone in the forest to die. If he abandoned her, then he would be the barbarian here. Mind made up, he shifted to his human form. It wasn’t the best way to embark upon a long walk through the wild forest, since it left him stark naked and utterly unarmed, but he couldn’t lift her in his other form. He bent down and picked her up, hoping he wasn’t worsening her extensive injuries as he did so, and slung her across his shoulders as gently as possible. She groaned but didn’t awaken. He set out for home. XXXXX Katara floated back to consciousness slowly, aware of the agonizing thud of a headache throbbing deep in her skull. She kept her eyes screwed shut against the pain, trying to regroup her scattered thoughts into a clear memory of what had happened. The last she remembered, she’d been hunting alone in the darkness of the forest. She vaguely recalled hearing a sound. A low, ominous growling that had seemed to come from every direction at once. She’d been attacked by the Fang Kindred. She was lucky to be alive, then, despite the vicious pain in her head, and the scattered sharp pains elsewhere. An ambush by a pack wasn’t something many people survived.

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She drew in a breath, expecting to smell the rich, dark scent of the forest, the soothing odor of leaves and fresh air. Instead she smelled a foreign scent—a sharp, artificial odor she’d never smelled before, which made her nose wrinkle and her lips curl in distaste. She’d been taken from the forest. By the Fang Kindred? No. Beneath the overpowering scent, there was another odor. Not rank enough for the shaggy coats of the Fang Kindred, but a more subtle smell. Antler Kindred. Startled, she opened her eyes to find herself in a large room. The walls were a burnished metal, lit by an overhead light that glowed brightly, without the flicker of flame, and the room was filled with strange instruments. The chamber was a sharp contrast to the rough bark walls, earthen floor, and thatched roof of her family’s longhouse, which was lit only by candles. According to the mythology she had learned as a child, humans had once been a single race, unable to shift, trapped forever in their human forms. But humans had left their doomed planet and traveled through the stars. They had come to this planet, which had no fauna of its own, aboard great arks that held the people, plants and animals of their world. Here, humans had discovered, the planet’s magic allowed them to shift into the form of whatever Earth animals they wished. Over the centuries, three distinct Kindred groups had developed. She had always heard that the Antler Kindred had retained the greatest amount of technology from those long-ago humans, but she had never had an opportunity to see it firsthand. Despite herself, she was impressed by her surroundings. She was aware that the Antler Kindred thought of her kind as barbaric, and for the first time she understood why they held that belief. This room, polished and clean and utterly artificial, was like nothing she had ever seen before. It made her feel oddly inferior. She reminded herself fiercely that she was not inferior to these people. Just the opposite, in fact. The Antler Kindred were weak, spineless creatures, cowardly and frail, and everyone knew it.

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A small gray-haired woman stood nearby, studying one of the instruments, which beeped quietly but steadily. The woman’s dark gaze happened to fall on Katara, and her eyes went wide. “You’re…awake,” she said in a timid voice. Despite the fact that Katara was in her human form, and although she was badly injured and not in any condition to hurt anyone, the woman was clearly afraid of her. It was typical of the Antler Kindred to react with fear, Katara thought with scorn. They feared everything, after all. It was in their blood. The faintest crack of a stick in the forest, the slightest stirring of the leaves in the wind, sent them leaping away, hearts pounding, in terror for their lives. “Why have you brought me here?” She meant it to be a harsh demand, intended to infuse her tone with all the contempt she felt for the woman and her people, but her voice emerged from her mouth as little more than a whisper. Despite that, the woman backed away, clearly frightened, her hands fluttering near her throat. Her rotund body was clad in finely woven cloth garments, totally dissimilar to the skins Katara’s people wore, when they chose to wear clothing at all. “I did not bring you here,” she quavered. The tone of her voice said the obvious—I wouldn’t have dreamed of bringing you here. “’Twas the eldest son of the monarch. Lord Hart.” The woman’s obvious terror brought out the beast in Katara. Her instincts urged her to leap to her feet, shift to her animal form, and intimidate the older woman into freeing her, but she found herself unable to move for some reason. It felt almost as if she were chained, but when she looked down at herself, she could see absolutely nothing confining her body except a pale green sheet, which was surely too lightweight to hold her down. Perhaps she was too badly injured to move. She willed her voice to grow stronger. “Your lord brought this disgrace down on me?” “Disgrace?” The woman looked distressed in the face of Katara’s anger. Her mouth actually trembled. “I know not what you mean, Claw.

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He saved you from certain death. Had you remained in the forest much longer, you must surely have died.” “He violated the code of my people,” Katara said sharply. “If we are injured, we must heal without intervention.” “But you would not have healed. You would have died.” “At least I would have died with honor!” “What does honor matter to a corpse?” At the new voice, deep and resonant, Katara looked toward the door. She discovered she was able to turn her head, although the rest of her body was still unable to move. Standing near the door was an exceptionally handsome man. His face looked as if it had been carved out of oak, sculpted with high cheekbones, a wide jaw, and a narrow, straight nose. His jawline was smooth, since Antler men, like all Kindred, did not grow facial hair in human form. His eyes were a rich, dark brown, and long, tawny hair fell loose around his face, falling past his broad shoulders. He wore a plain white tunic and breeches, and kneehigh tan boots. Engrossed as she was in his rather remarkable features, she noticed the small coronet of interwoven golden antlers on his head last. This, then, was Lord Hart. She narrowed her eyes and spoke harshly. “I have you to thank for my dishonor, I presume.” “I’m delighted you’re so appreciative,” he responded with a wry glint in his eyes. “Why should I be appreciative? You should have left me to die.” “There are many in this keep that agree with you.” He walked toward her, each measured stride a display of masculine grace and untamed dignity. His dark eyes met hers, compelling and irresistible, holding her gaze so that she was unable to look away. “Fortunately for you, I found you, rather than my father or younger brother. Either of them would have left you to bleed out your life in the forest.” She managed to look away from the dark depths of his eyes, reminding herself that regardless of his physical beauty, he was less than a man. The vivid sexual imagery that filled her head at the sight of

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him was wrong, perhaps even perverse. He was not the sort of creature a member of the Claw Kindred could consider wedding, or even taking to bed for sport. The very thought was revolting. At least, it should be revolting. But somehow, she thought, stealing another glance at his perfect face, she wasn’t revolted. Not at all. He stopped next to her and looked down. She was surprised to see how tall he was. She had always thought of the Antler Kindred as small, slender, and fragile, but he was the tallest man she’d ever seen, and one of the most strongly muscled. He looked as powerful as any man she knew, and every bit as imposing. “So,” he said, effortlessly capturing her gaze again. He had the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. “You believe you would have preferred to die alone in the forest.” She swallowed. The truth was, she wasn’t ready to die. She had only seen twenty-two summers, and if she were to be honest with herself, the idea of dying so young, dying before she’d had the opportunity to wed and bear cubs, terrified her. But she refused to let him see the truth he’d hit on. “It is the way of my people,” she responded. “Has it ever occurred to you that the ways of your people are foolish?” She felt her lips curl up in a snarl and didn’t attempt to suppress the reaction. “As if the Antler Kindred, with your warped sense of morals, might know what is best.” His mouth twitched with condescending amusement. The supercilious bastard. The humor on his face infuriated her, and she felt the savage urge to leap from the table, change in midair, and rend him with her claws, but again she discovered that she was trapped. She couldn’t change, either. What had they done to her? She fought down the rising feeling of panic and struggled to remain calm. He looked away from her, toward the old woman. “How is she, Otwa?” “Her injuries were extensive,” the old woman answered in her cracked voice. “She was obviously set upon by a pack of the Fang Kindred, and suffered numerous bites. But they are healing rapidly.”

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Healing rapidly? How could so many bites be healing quickly? She would expect to suffer for weeks as she recovered from such an attack, if the wounds did not fester and kill her. Katara attempted to move her arm so she could see the grievous injury that had been inflicted to her front right paw, but nothing happened. She gritted her teeth with annoyance. Lord Hart lifted an eyebrow as he looked back down on her, a trifle more respect in his gaze. “You were set upon by the Fang?” “At least ten of them,” she answered. “They ambushed me.” “You’re lucky to be alive, then.” A dark sorrow, the ancient grief of the prey, filled his eyes. “Over the course of the years, some of our people have not been so fortunate when attacked by predators.” “Hardly surprising, considering how weak your people are.” The door opened—it slid open, sliding right into the wall noiselessly, she noticed with surprise—and another man came in. He wasn’t as tall and well-muscled as the lord, and his tawny hair was streaked liberally with gray, but the resemblance was unmistakable, as was the heavy crown of golden intertwined antlers on his head. This was clearly the monarch of the Antler Kindred. “Weak, are we?” he responded, his voice rumbling with menace. “Simply because my son was foolish enough to bring you here doesn’t mean we might not yet choose to kill you.” Despite her helpless position on the table, she refused to show fear. “You haven’t the nerve to kill me.” The older man smiled, not at all pleasantly. “You think not?” “We are not killers, Father,” Lord Hart interposed sharply. The cruel smile slid from the monarch’s face, and he sighed. “Indeed, that is true, Hart. If we begin killing our enemies when they are helpless, we shall be no better than the Claw and Fang Kindred. We shall become barbarians, just as they are.” “She is not truly our enemy,” Lord Hart said. “We have never been at war with her kind.” “They menace us in the forest when we go too far abroad.” “Rarely. There was a time when they attacked us regularly, and there are still some vicious renegades among them, but on the whole, they

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leave us alone, and we leave them alone. As long as they do not join together to kill us, they are not truly our enemies.” “But they are not our allies, either.” The monarch looked down at her, his eyes narrowed. “Think you that she would hesitate to kill us if she were free?” “No,” Hart admitted. “She hates us. But I must confess, I don’t understand why. We saved her life, after all.” “She hates us because we are civilized, and she is a barbarian.” “Because you are weak!” Katara growled. “Because you are spineless, jittering creatures that run at the slightest sound. Because you live in boxes and have utterly lost your connection to nature!” Hart sighed. “We could discuss what we think is wrong with each others’ Kindred for days, and never change our opinion. Such a discussion will do nothing to bring our peoples closer together.” “You are quite correct, my son.” The monarch nodded. “Nothing can bring our peoples together. We are too different.” He turned to the old woman. “How long until she is well?” “A day, more or less,” the old woman said timidly. Hart looked down at Katara. “Be still, Claw. In a day you will be well again, and free to rejoin your own people.” “No.” The monarch set his jaw. “I’m afraid not.” Hart’s head jerked up, and he glared at his father. Katara had the distinct impression he was as surprised as she was. “What?” “She is our prisoner,” the monarch said. “And she will remain our prisoner. I have absolutely no intention of letting her go.”

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Chapter Two Hart blinked at his father, seeing the determination in the old man’s eyes. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, Father. She is not truly our enemy.” “Perhaps not. But we may be able to use her against the Claw Kindred if necessary. We are already being attacked by the Fang. On a random basis, to be sure, but their guerilla attacks may presage a fullscale assault. The Claw have been known to attack us, too. If they move against us as well, we will need leverage. A hostage.” “The Claw have never truly been our enemy,” Hart pointed out. “Nor have the Fang, until now. It would be best to ensure our people’s safety by keeping her here.” “I do not matter greatly to my people,” the woman said. Hart liked her voice, low and rumbling, like a purr. It was as attractive, as sexual, as the rest of her. “They care not for my fate.” “I can hardly take your word on that,” Hart’s father answered. “I know little about the Claw and their political structure. For all I know, you are a person of great import among the Claw. You would hardly volunteer the information were it so.” “Father,” Hart said. “With all due respect, this is the wrong decision. We cannot hold this woman hostage. Rather than help our position, you may set off a war if her people discover that we have imprisoned her. The Claw are very touchy about such matters.” “The Claw are touchy about everything.” “True enough,” the young woman responded. “We are indeed. But on the positive side of things, if you insist on keeping me here, at least I will eat well.” She bared her teeth at Otwa, who backed away.

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Hart sighed. “Perhaps you have attributed your inability to shift to your injuries, Claw, but there is a field in this room that inhibits shifting as it heals you. You will not be able to shift whilst you remain in this chamber.” Her eyes went wide, and he realized she’d never heard of such a thing. Hardly surprising, given the level of technology her people possessed. If one could call it technology at all. The tales he’d heard indicated they lived in crude shacks, wore animal skins, and cooked over fires. A regen field was several hundred years beyond their abilities. “You cannot mean to keep me from shifting for the rest of my life!” she snapped, bristling with anger. The monarch’s upper lip curled. “Surely you don’t think I would let you run free in your animal form? My people depend on me to keep them safe, after all. In your animal form, you are exceedingly dangerous.” “You’ll find I’m dangerous in my human form as well.” “I can easily believe that,” Hart said. “Father, please listen to me. This is a very bad idea.” His father lifted his head and glared. “I have spoken.” There was nothing more to be said. Hart bowed his head in acquiescence. “And you will be her keeper,” the monarch added. Hart’s head jerked up, and he stared at his father incredulously. “Her keeper? Father, have I displeased you somehow? Do you have some wish to see me gutted, or to see my throat torn out?” “No. But you are the one who brought her here.” “I brought her here with the intention of saving her and letting her go!” “Granted. Even so, you were the one to provide us with this opportunity. Therefore, she is your responsibility.” Hart looked down at the woman. Her slanted, green-gold eyes stared back with a dangerous glint. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. The thought of this wild, untamed woman kept inside for the rest of her days, never being permitted to roam the forest free again, caught at his heart.

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He knew how much his jaunts into the forest in his animal form meant to him. How much more must they mean to this woman, whose people lived closer to the wild, who had never been fully civilized? To keep her inside, trapped in her human form, forever unable to shift again, was sheerest cruelty. But his monarch had spoken, and he was bound to obey. “As you wish, your majesty,” he replied formally. XXXXX “I hear our father has gifted you with a beautiful woman.” Hart lifted his head from the ta’rsa board and regarded his younger brother with suspicion. Prong rarely introduced a subject just for the sake of idle conversation. But there was nothing on his brother’s face to give away his thoughts, nothing but smooth indifference. The brothers had always been close, and they played board games or cards almost every day. Today they sat together in the enormous living chamber. One of the silvery round drones floated by noiselessly, its mechanical arms dusting the surfaces despite the fact that they already shone. But for the drone, they were alone. No courtiers were about, and the room was so quiet that it echoed. Since most of their work was performed by drones, the Antler did little work. Board games and playing the harp were Hart’s two favorite ways of passing the time in his human form. And of course he spent much of each day in his stag form, wandering the forest, just as most of the Antler did. Hart had worried more than once that his life lacked any sort of purpose, any compelling interest. Though he was the monarch’s son, he did little to serve his people, because they needed very little. There were times he longed to do something worthwhile, something important. There were times he longed for something interesting to happen, in order to break up the quiet monotony that was so much a part of Antler existence.

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Saving the Claw’s life was the first worthwhile thing he had accomplished in years. And her presence certainly added an exotic spice of interest to his life. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “Father hasn’t gifted me with anything,” he replied. “He’s made me the Claw’s keeper.” “Keep her carefully, brother. You and I both know the Claw are not to be trusted.” Unbidden, a memory flickered through Hart’s mind. The memory of himself, smaller, his antlers not yet fully grown, and his brother, so young his hide was yet spotted, deep in the forest and surrounded by snarling Claw. The fear and horror he’d felt that day was burned into his brain and body, burned so deeply he could never hope to eradicate the scar. “Yes,” he answered, his voice grim. “I know well enough they cannot be trusted.” Prong moved one of the carved wooden pieces, an insignificant, small move that made no sense, as far as Hart could see. “And yet I hear Claw women are wild in bed,” he said. “Unrestrained. Violent. Like nothing you could imagine.” “I have absolutely no intention of imagining anything. She is our enemy, Prong. At least, our hereditary enemy. And she despises us.” “Pity,” Prong said. “It seems as if it would be an interesting experience. Hmm. Well, if you’re not interested…” Hart paused in the act of moving a wooden panther. He lifted it and pointed it at his brother instead. “Do not even think it, Prong. I am her protector, and I won’t permit her to be mistreated.” “Think you that I am in the habit of mistreating women, or that they object to my intentions?” Hart narrowed his eyes. Prong was handsome, disgustingly so, with features that were almost too beautiful to be real, surrounded by a mane of fiery red hair. Hart had never known of a woman to object to Prong’s intentions. But he wouldn’t permit the Claw to be taken advantage of, either.

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“She is our guest,” he said, moving his Panther piece to a blue square in order to defend his Monarch. “You will not touch her. Do I make myself clear?” “Cease pawing the ground, brother. I won’t touch your woman.” “She is not my woman.” “Are you quite certain?” Prong moved his Wolf a single space, then lifted his head and regarded his brother with a glint in his dark eyes. Hart studied the board for a long moment. “You’ve defeated me,” he said with a long-suffering sigh. Prong’s mouth curved in a smile. “I always do,” he said. XXXXX By the next morning, Katara’s headache had ebbed, leaving not so much as a dull throb in its place. The old Healer woman, Otwa, looked down at her. “It appears you are ready to be released from the regen field.” The regen field? Katara supposed that was the name of the magic that had kept her immobile and healed her wounds. A faint admiration for these people and what they could do tugged at the edge of her consciousness, but she forced it back. She did not want to admire the Antler Kindred. “Fine,” she snapped. “Let me go.” “One moment.” The woman lifted her hand, showing a wide golden collar studded with jewels, which she snapped around Katara’s neck. “There,” she said. “Now you will not be able to shift, no matter where you go.” “That will not prevent me from ripping you limb from limb,” Katara answered pleasantly. The woman paled. “Which is why I am going to step outside before releasing you.” She walked hastily toward the metal door, which slid out of her way, and disappeared into the hallway beyond. The door slid shut behind her, and a moment later Katara discovered she could move.

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Remembering the dreadful extent of her injuries, she sat up cautiously, expecting a wave of dizziness, nausea, and perhaps even pain. But her head remained clear and her body free of pain. She felt healthy, disgustingly so. Sliding her feet off the table, she dropped lightly to the floor and stood up, discovering she was steady on her feet. Experimentally, she tried to shift, but to no avail. She snarled and reached for the collar. Her questing fingers were unable to determine how it was fastened—it felt like a solid, unjointed piece of metal—and several minutes’ worth of work had absolutely no effect. It evidently required some sort of tool to be removed. Putting that problem aside for now, she stalked toward the door. Despite the respectful way it had slid aside for the old woman, it didn’t open for her. She attempted to force it open, but her prying fingers had no effect. Deprived of that avenue of escape, she began stalking restlessly back and forth across her prison, seeking another way out. There were no windows, no other doors, not even a closet. She was still prowling the room when the door opened and Lord Hart entered. He was every bit as handsome today as he had been yesterday, and since she was healthy and whole today, her body reacted much more strongly to his appearance. His features were stamped with fierce pride, his head held high, and he moved as if he ruled the world. His combination of authority and arrogance drew a reaction from the depths of her body, and she felt an unwelcome spasm of need between her thighs. He halted a fair distance away from her. “I see you are feeling better,” he remarked. “I am glad to see you on your feet.” The fact that she was entirely naked barely registered on her consciousness. She spun around and strode toward him, pausing mere inches away. A corner of her mind noticed that he was much taller than she was, but she refused to be intimidated by such an irrelevant detail as his size. Let her shift, and he would be the one intimidated.

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“I am much better,” she answered, glaring into his eyes, her chin held at a belligerent angle. “I demand that you set me free.” “You overheard my discussion with my monarch yesterday. You know I cannot do that.” “You cannot expect me to live in this chamber for the rest of my life!” “No. This is a medical chamber. I will gladly escort you to a more comfortable room. I will even allow you to walk the keep, provided that I am with you at all times. But first you must agree to harm no one here.” She snorted. “You spread out a feast before me and then tell me I may not eat? That is like penning an Antler in a meadow and telling him he may not graze.” “You will give me your word you will not hurt any of my people,” he said between his teeth. “Only then will I permit you to leave this chamber.” She hesitated, thinking about the offer. It was evident that she wasn’t going to get out of this chamber. Maybe if she was able to study the keep, she could find some way of escaping. Perhaps she could even convince him to remove the collar if she behaved. At any rate, despite his obvious belief that she was a barbaric animal—a belief she admitted she’d done nothing to change with her threats—she wasn’t in the habit of killing innocent people. Animals, yes; the Claw Kindred ate meat almost exclusively. But she’d never eaten a Fang or Antler. People were not animals, even if they took animal form. Her mother had taught her that from a young age, and struggled to convince the other Claw prides of that belief, with reasonable success. A few prides still attacked the Antler when they ranged too far abroad, but they were decidedly in the minority among the Claw. “Very well,” she answered. “You have my word.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a genuine smile. The expression altered the planes of his face somehow, making what had been handsome utterly beautiful. She stared at him, thunderstruck. “Thank you,” he said. “Then I will show you to your chamber. But first, I brought you some clothing.”

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He extended a bundle of cloth, and she suddenly recalled she was stark naked in the presence of the enemy. Naked…and standing inches away from a man. Her people usually went nude to facilitate shifting, except in the coldest depth of winter, so this was not an unusual situation, yet her body’s response was totally unfamiliar. Heat burned between her thighs, and a startling rush of flame filled her veins, flushing her skin. Whether the flush was embarrassment or arousal she was uncertain. She took the cloth from him with an impatient swipe of her hand, then hesitated, studying the unfamiliar clothing. “These are the breeches,” he said with elaborate unconcern, pulling out a dark green garment made of fine, silky cloth. She noticed that he was very carefully making eye contact, refusing to look below her chin. “And…the undergarment.” He handed her a small scrap of fabric. “And the tunic.” The tunic was the pale green of spring leaves. He turned his back, allowing her privacy. Inexplicably irritated by his show of indifference to her body, she was seized by an imp of mischief. “Thank you,” she answered, then pulled on the undergarment. “I fear this may be too tight,” she said. He didn’t turn. “When you are installed in your chamber, I will see that the attendant brings you a selection.” “But how will I know if it fits properly? This type of clothing is unfamiliar to me.” She smiled as she saw his back stiffen, and added, “I would be grateful for your assistance.” He turned his head and regarded her over his shoulder. She stood, legs braced wide and shoulders back, clad in nothing more than a scrap of unfamiliar fabric, and awaited his reaction. His eyes burned with a dark flame, and she saw the muscles of his throat move as he swallowed convulsively. He looked at her for a few seconds longer than necessary, then suddenly jerked his head away and stared at the wall.

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“It appears to fit you adequately,” he said. She noticed that his voice was harsh, with a clearly sexual undertone, and the heat in her veins intensified. “Thank you,” she said, and pulled on the pants. “And what of these breeches? I believe they may be a trifle long.” “Roll up the legs,” he responded, his voice a low rumble. “I would very much appreciate your opinion—” “Roll up the legs,” he repeated. Realizing from his unyielding tone that he wasn’t going to look at her again, she pulled on the tunic. The fabric was soft against her skin, a surprisingly sensual sensation to a woman who was accustomed to wearing skins or nothing at all. “I am ready,” she said. He turned his head cautiously, as if afraid she might still be unclothed, then turned and regarded her appraisingly. His expression was unmoved, but unmistakable lust still shimmered in his dark gaze. “The clothes suit you,” he said. “The green emphasizes the color of your eyes.” She had never been complimented on her appearance, and she was tempted to thank him, but she would be skinned of her pelt before she thanked the man for forcing her to wear these clothes as a prisoner. She lifted an eyebrow instead and spoke with the haughtiness that befitted the daughter of a Pride Leader. “May we leave this chamber now? I find the smell revolting.” “Of course,” he said. “Perhaps you would like to break your fast?” Her mouth watered, and she abruptly became aware of her stomach rumbling. “Yes,” she answered. “Food would be welcome.” XXXXX “What is this?” Hart regarded the Claw’s shocked face with amusement. He had heard her people ate plain, coarse fare, cooked over fires, so he had ordered the kitchen drones to produce the most exotic, sumptuous fare available. Judging from her reaction, she was suitably impressed. -21-

Ellen Fisher

“My people call this a’pala,” he said, pointing to the substance arranged artistically on a silver platter. “It is a cooked wild grain, sweetened with honey and maripa flowers. And these are wild carrots, a vegetable the Ancestors brought from Earth.” She blinked at the food. A drone floated by and poured more water into her goblet. Thus far, her water glass was the only thing she’d touched. “What is that?” she demanded, recoiling from the silvery machine. “It is a drone. They do much menial labor for us. They gather food, prepare it, care for our buildings, and make our clothing.” “It sounds as if you have little to do with your time besides graze,” she remarked acidly. Hart felt a stab of irritation, all the stronger because the thought was one he’d had himself more than once. In human form, the Antler did little with their time besides eat, talk, and share mugs of ale in the evening. More than once he’d wondered if this meaningless existence was really what men had been made for. He pushed back his annoyance with an effort. Naturally the barbarian was intimidated by their way of life and felt it necessary to bare her claws as a result. “Try the food,” he urged, picking up his own spoon and scooping up the sliced carrots. “It’s delicious.” She dropped her gaze and stared blankly at the plate again, then looked up. “But there is no meat!” Ugh. His stomach roiled at her words. The mere thought of consuming meat was enough to send revulsion over him in a nauseating wave. As if the Antler would ever kill. “We do not eat meat,” he answered stiffly. “Surely you do not expect me to subsist on this—this grass.” The arrogant tone of her voice grated on him. He dropped his spoon— the only eating implement the Antler used—onto the glistening surface of the wooden table with a clatter and glared at her. “Perhaps you would rather subsist on air. I can assure you that those are your only options.

-22-


Because no one in this keep is going to go out into the forest and kill an innocent animal, simply to fulfill your barbaric taste for blood.” She made a low growling sound, then picked up her spoon and began to eat with a look of disgust on her face. Hart went back to eating his own food, wondering precisely how he would react if he found himself at a Claw table and offered nothing but meat. The thought made his stomach roil, and he wondered if she felt that same visceral revulsion. “It isn’t so bad, is it?” he asked, a little more sympathetically. “It is tasteless, bland and disgusting. I suppose it will keep me alive, but there is little more to recommend it.” She was impossible. His brother and father were right—she was a barbarian. And a rude one, at that. “Tell me something,” Hart said. “I must confess to a certain curiosity. How do the men of your Kindred manage to avoid killing their women?” “Tact is not a necessary virtue,” his brother said, “among a people whose women are so very lovely.” Hart looked up, seeing Prong clad in his finest raiment. Ordinarily he wore the same casual tunic and breeches that Hart wore. But this morning he wore robes, heavily studded with jewels. A court outfit, totally inappropriate for breaking his fast, and obviously intended to impress the Claw. Which was strange, given that Prong loathed the felines as much as he did. Obviously he’d been blinded by the woman’s beauty. Well, Prong was always a fool when it came to women. And women were always fools when it came to Prong. Hart stole a glance in the Claw’s direction and noticed from the slack surprise on her face that she was in fact impressed. No real surprise there. Even when he wasn’t clad in sparkling jewels and shimmering satin, his brother’s face was enough to seduce any woman. Indeed, the women of the court often compared him to an angel. Which, Hart thought wryly, his little brother might resemble on the outside…but certainly not on the inside. Prong took Katara’s hand in his and bowed over it. “It is a true pleasure to meet so lovely a woman, my lady.”

-23-

Ellen Fisher

Hart felt a brief spurt of something very like jealousy, which turned to pleased amusement when she yanked her hand from Prong’s grasp and speared him with a sharp glance of those green-gold eyes. “Touch me again,” she snarled, “and I’ll bite off your hand.” Surprise flickered in Prong’s eyes, followed very quickly by a hot flash of anger. His younger brother had ever possessed a fiery temper, which occasionally caused trouble among the Antler Kindred. He was not diplomatic by nature. “How dare you speak thus to a lord of the Antler?” “She speaks that way to everyone,” Hart volunteered helpfully. Amused by his brother’s fury, he leaned back in his chair and observed the two of them with interest. “I don’t believe our rank impresses her greatly.” Prong’s face was still red with anger, clashing unpleasantly with his coppery hair. “You will need to teach her her place.” “I am her keeper,” Hart answered, “not her tutor. I doubt very much she would thank me for endeavoring to teach her anything.” “There is nothing you are qualified to teach me.” “Except the rules of polite society,” Prong snapped. “In my society, men do not touch women without their consent.” “Your society is comprised of barbarians.” Katara leaped to her feet, rage flashing in her eyes, her hands outstretched. Hart had the distinct impression she’d momentarily forgotten the collar and had intended to shift in midair, her sharp claws extended toward Prong’s throat. For his part, Prong looked as if he might shift at any moment and impale her on his antlers. Amusing though the by-play had been up until now, Hart decided he must intervene. “Prong,” he said. “Recall your manners and stop insulting the lady.” Prong made a show of looking around the dining chamber. “I see no lady here.” “Enough,” Hart said, more forcefully. “She may be required to stay here by the monarch’s command, but she is to be treated like an honored guest. I will tolerate no more of your ill manners.” Prong turned his glittering, angry gaze on him. “Do not treat me like a child.”

-24-


“Do not behave like one, and I’ll consider your request.” Prong stared at him a moment longer, anger and resentment still glimmering in his eyes, then his skin began to ripple, and the ornate robes ripped asunder. The jewels that had decorated them cascaded to the floor as he dove toward Hart. Hart leapt out of his chair, shifting as he did so, and met his brother’s angry charge head on. XXXXX Katara shrank back as the two men shifted into their stag forms. She saw her own Kindred shift on a daily basis, but she’d never before seen a member of the Antler Kindred change form. She had to admit it was an impressive sight. Their torn clothing dropped to the floor and their coronets fell onto the stone with a clatter, as their skin and muscles rippled and their bodies changed shape, almost too quickly for the eye to follow. Hart’s body elongated, his neck stretched out, and his face lengthened. His golden-brown skin and hair rippled, transforming into a sleek, tawny hide, and from his head sprouted an enormous rack of antlers with wickedly sharp prongs. He was huge—taller and heavier by far than any true deer she had ever seen in the woods. She suspected he might weigh as much in his stag form as her father did in his lion form, or perhaps even more. She shot a glance at the other brother—Prong?—seeing that in his stag form he was slightly smaller than Hart, but still quite large. His hide was reddish rather than tawny brown, and his rack was nearly as big as Hart’s. He flung himself forward, head down, and Hart met the charge. There was a horrific crashing sound as the stags’ antlers met. Katara staggered back against the wall, shocked by the force of the blow, startled by the casual nature of their violence. She’d always thought of the Antler Kindred as a peaceful, timid race. It had never occurred to her they might solve everyday disputes with deadly violence, precisely as the Claw Kindred did.

-25-

Ellen Fisher

The Antler prided themselves so greatly on being civilized, but beneath the veneer of civilization, it seemed they were as much animals as the Claw. The stags sprang apart, their cloven hooves clattering on the wooden floor, then leapt at each other, their forelegs rising and meeting in midair as their antlers slammed together again. The force of their collision propelled them sideways, into the table. Dishes flew, shattering against the floor. The stags strained together, hooves thrashing, each struggling to throw the other to the ground. The red stag backed away, then flung himself toward the tawny stag again. Hart met the charge without staggering, then abruptly twisted his head to the side, throwing his brother off balance. The red stag’s hind hooves slipped on the jewels scattered over the floor, and he scrambled for balance, then fell heavily to the ground. Hart stood over him and lowered his great head, his antlers gleaming, sharp and menacing, just above Prong’s shoulder. Katara braced herself to watch the killing blow, expecting to see the antlers tear into the fallen stag’s flesh, ripping him to pieces. Instead, the red stag’s hide began to ripple, and seconds later Prong lay on the floor, gazing up at the great stag with a rueful expression. “Peace, brother,” he said. “I yield. You’ve defeated me.” The great stag hesitated only a moment. Then Hart’s hide rippled as well, and he shifted back to his human form. A cocky smile curved his mouth. “I always do,” he said. It was the first time Katara had seen him naked, and she couldn’t help but notice that his human body was as well-formed as his face, and as massive among humans as his stag body was among deer. His arms and legs were as thick as tree trunks, and powerful with muscle and sinew. His shoulders were broad, his wide chest lightly furred with tawny hairs, tapering down to a slender waist and hips. His abdomen was heavily corrugated, and a line of tawny fur ran down it, pointing the way to…

-26-


Abruptly she became aware that both men were watching her, identical expressions of masculine amusement on their faces, and she looked away hastily. “Perhaps we should cover ourselves in the presence of the lady,” Hart said, bending to pick up the ruined clothes. He tossed the robes at his brother, then picked up his plainer clothes and held them in front of his hips, concealing himself. “Another good set of robes ruined,” Prong grumbled, scrambling up off the floor. Katara felt the need to say something in order to cover the way she’d foolishly gaped at Hart’s nudity. As if she’d never seen a naked man before. “My people rarely wear clothes, for this very reason,” she remarked coolly, wanting to make sure that he realized the sight of a male body was no novelty to her. Even the sight of a gorgeously sculpted, perfectly muscled male body. “We don’t ordinarily shift indoors,” Hart said. “But my brother needed to be taught a lesson.” She had been shocked by their sudden transformation and the apparently vicious fight, but now she understood that it was merely a spat, a way of working out minor grievances and establishing dominance and hierarchy. Her people sometimes fought the same way, although among the Claw even a minor dispute could turn deadly. She had the feeling that wasn’t likely to happen among the Antler. Because they’re weak. She pushed the reflexively scornful thought aside. There was nothing whatsoever weak about Hart. In his human form, he was physically a match for any man she knew, and she wasn’t sure a single member of the Claw Kindred could pull him down in his stag form, either. Nor was his behavior that of a weakling. He didn’t permit his brother to challenge his authority, and he was willing to fight to protect the dignity and honor of a woman he scarcely knew. She was beginning to wonder if perhaps the Antler Kindred were not the timid, fearful people she had always believed them to be.

-27-

Ellen Fisher

But courageous man or not, Hart’s next words showed he feared at least one member of the Antler Kindred. He looked over the ruins of breakfast, at the shards of dishes scattered across the floor, chairs tipped over, and vegetables ground into the carpet, and spoke in a low voice. “Mother is going to kill us,” he said.

-28-


Chapter Three “This is your chamber,” Hart said a few moments later. “If there is anything you find not to your liking, you have but to let your attendant know.” “With the exception,” Katara said dryly, “of the food.” He shrugged a big shoulder. “With that single exception, yes.” Katara walked into the spacious, round chamber. An enormous, circular bed sat in the center of the room, atop a brightly colored rug. The floor and walls were of a roughly hewn rock that glittered silver in the sunlight streaming through the tall, arched window. A window. Feigning casual interest, she walked toward the expansive window and looked out. She was distressed to see how high this chamber was, though not particularly surprised, considering the long spiral stairway they’d climbed. They were evidently in a high tower. Even if she could somehow shift, she could never hope to jump safely. “I trust you won’t leap,” he said. She jolted, startled by the sound of his deep voice just behind her. Turning, she found herself looking right into his dark eyes. “I’m not a fool,” she said shortly, trying to ignore the throbbing sensation of need between her thighs. It had been too long since she had bedded a man. Surely that was the only reason she reacted to him so strongly. “I’m sure you’re not a fool. But I suspect you may suffer from overconfidence.” “Perhaps. My parents have often said as much. But it is clearly too far to jump, even in my other form.”

-29-

Ellen Fisher

“And you won’t jump for any other reason, I hope.” She stared up into his face, at the concern in his eyes, and felt a peculiar warmth in her chest. He cared what became of her. It had been a long time since any man other than her father had truly concerned himself with her fate. She reminded herself firmly that the reason he was concerned for her was because his monarch had ordered him to keep her safe. Obviously it would not reflect well on him if his charge leapt to her death. Surely that was all that mattered to him. And yet the small flicker of warmth didn’t go away. He was standing close to her, too close, really. Even in her human form she was aware of his scent, the odor of human skin and male musk, and beneath that, the sweet smell of the Antler. His odor wasn’t as pungent as the men of the Claw Kindred. Oddly, she liked his scent. It was different. Exotic. Sexual. Her breath came faster, and her heart pounded heavily as she looked up at him, seeing the heat gathering in the dark depths of his eyes, reflecting the heat building in her body. The urge to rub her body up against him, to feel his hot, sweaty skin pressing against hers, to feel his erection moving against her abdomen, probing between her thighs, thrusting inside her, became overwhelming. And she knew he felt the same way. His heavy-lidded expression and the tension in his muscles promised everything she imagined…and more. She backed away with a strangled gasp. Her people became aroused easily and made love casually, but she’d never had so wanton a response to a man in her life. She didn’t want to desire this man, regardless of how well-formed he was, regardless of how good he smelled. He wasn’t her kind, and furthermore, he thought she was a barbarian. She’d best remember that before she got hurt. He seemed to come to himself at the sound of her gasp. He took a step back and looked away. “So,” he said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “So. You find this chamber to your liking?”

-30-


She lifted a shoulder and spoke with as much contempt as she could muster. “It will suffice…for a prison.” His brows drew together. “I am glad you approve,” he said with heavy sarcasm. “If you need anything, speak into the air, and an attendant will come to you. I will leave you now, but I charge you to remember your vow not to hurt any of my people.” He turned his back on her and stalked from the room, leaving her alone. XXXXX Hooves and antlers, but she was a gloriously sensual creature, Hart thought as he flung himself down in the living chamber. A drone was floating back and forth, dusting the wood surfaces of the furniture, but he hardly noticed it. He picked up his harp and began strumming at it, scarcely aware of what tune he was playing. The Claw woman filled his mind. He remembered the sleek, curving lines of her body before she’d clothed herself yesterday. Nudity meant little among his people, since they necessarily removed their clothing before shifting, but they rarely went unclothed inside, and the sight of her lovely, naked body had shaken him. And today, he’d found himself strangely affected by the way she’d responded to his nearness, her heart pounding audibly, her breasts rising and falling with each rapid breath. He’d been able to smell the scent of her arousal, even in his human form. Claw women didn’t smell the way Antler women did. She didn’t have a sweet, dainty fragrance. When she was aroused, she smelled quite plainly of sex. He thought of the moisture that must have gathered between her thighs, imagined touching her there, running his fingers through her liquid heat, caressing her most intimate flesh… Abruptly he realized the harp was shaking because his hands were trembling. He dropped the instrument in disgust, and the drone immediately zipped across the chamber and placed it back on a table.

-31-

Ellen Fisher

What had the woman done to him? He’d never had such a strong reaction to a woman in his life. She was a stranger to him, not even a member of his society, yet he longed to bed her. Vivid sexual images rioted in his mind, and his body was so hard it ached. He drew in a long breath, trying to steady himself. His reaction was all the more puzzling because he loathed the Claw. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the circle of half-grown Claw, various kinds of great cats, their mouths open, displaying their savagely sharp teeth. He could still feel the fear and rage that had filled him as a black panther lifted its paw and struck its claws deep into Prong’s shoulder… He shuddered and flung the memory away with an effort, but the loathing he felt remained. So why did he ache for this particular Claw? It must be her very strangeness that he found exciting, he decided at last. Everyone believed Claw women were wild in bed. Antler men laughed raucously and told vulgar tales about them over ale, though he suspected it was mostly myth—he had never heard of a true Antler/Claw mating. It was all rumor and innuendo. The potent lure of the unknown. And it was ridiculous. He had no real desire to bed the woman. There were plenty of Antler women who would be more than willing to lay with him if he so much as crooked a finger in their direction. He didn’t need a savage, half-wild woman who was probably at this very moment trying to escape. As if on cue, an alarm went off, and he grinned. If nothing else, the barbarian was predictable. He headed for the stone spiral stairs that led to the tower. XXXXX Finding herself locked into a chamber, even a spacious one, made Katara feel anxious. Restless. She needed to escape. She craved the freedom of the forest, the fresh smells of the open air. She wanted to shift, too, but she’d have to worry about that later. Getting the collar off seemed an impossible task. Escaping this tower did not.

-32-


She approached the large window, which was open to the sky, with no glass or screening that she could see. Beneath her spread out the green meadows that surrounded the keep, where a few Antler grazed in their animal forms, and beyond them sprawled a mass of buildings built of the same silvery stone that surrounded her. She assumed they were houses, although they looked nothing like the crudely built longhouses of her people. The Antler Kindred must be quite numerous, she thought, observing the thickly clustered buildings and the people bustling in the streets, with an unwanted feeling of awe. Her own people lived solitary lives, only one Pride occupying a single longhouse, and the dwellings scattered widely through the forest. She guessed there must be at least a hundred buildings in this town. The people in the streets presented a problem. She wasn’t sure how she could make her way through the streets of the town undetected. But she’d worry about that after she determined a way out of this tower. Leaning out the window, she studied the way the wall was constructed. The outer wall was built of the ubiquitous silvery stone, and there were jutting stones that she could use as handholds. Even in her human form, she was a good climber. She thought she could descend to the ground without falling. If she did fall—well, it was best not to think about that. She scrambled up onto the ledge of the open window and began to swing her legs out to the right of the window. Suddenly she encountered an obstruction. She paused, puzzled. It felt as if there were a wall just a few inches outside of the window’s edge, blocking her access to the right side of the window, and yet there was nothing there. She could see there was nothing. It was very strange. She was obviously overwrought, she decided, so that her imagination was conjuring up walls where there were none. She tried to move toward the outside wall to the left of the window, but her legs struck an obstacle there, too. There was definitely something in the way.

-33-

Ellen Fisher

Irritated, she reached out a hand and shoved, hard. The something didn’t move. But a blasting sound erupted. As the noise ripped through her eardrums, Katara cringed, realizing she’d tripped an alarm of some kind. Below the high-pitched wailing, she heard the thud of booted feet on the stairs and realized her opportunity for escape was evaporating. She looked out of the window, then reached outward, feeling no mysterious obstruction. Jumping forward appeared to be a viable option. There was a roof below her, but it was a good ten feet away and thirty feet down. In her animal form, she wouldn’t hesitate. But she wasn’t sure she could make it in her human form. If she missed, she’d fall to her death. And even if she made it, she could easily break a leg. Thirty feet was a very long way to drop in human form. But if she didn’t escape now, she’d be trapped in this tower, and in human form, for the rest of her life. Behind her, the heavy metal door slid open. She scrambled to a standing position on the ledge, gathered her legs beneath her… And jumped. XXXXX When Katara slid back into consciousness, she felt a throbbing in her skull. Not as agonizing as the pain she’d felt last time, but certainly not pleasant, either. It appeared she was doomed to headaches as long as she dwelt among the Antler Kindred. She opened her eyes to see Hart looming over her, his dark eyes filled with anxiety. “What happened?” she said foggily. Some of the anxiety faded from Hart’s eyes, to be replaced with irritation. “You tried to jump to your death,” he said in a low growl. She thought for a minute, trying to remember exactly what had happened. “I did no such thing,” she said at last, haughtily—or as haughtily as she could manage, considering she was supine on a cold stone floor. “I was attempting to jump to the roof below.” -34-


Hart blinked at her. “Are you mad? It was too far away.” “I think I could have made it.” “In your animal form, possibly. In human form? Impossible.” He sighed. “I knew you would try something insanely reckless. I knew it.” “I intended to climb down the tower,” she said with dignity. “Oh, well, that was certainly not in the least insanely reckless.” “It wasn’t reckless!” she retorted. “There were numerous handholds. But I couldn’t get out of the window for some reason.” “A force field. The windows of our buildings have them, to prevent children from falling to their death, or despairing lovers from taking their own lives. A sensible safety precaution, designed by the Ancestors when the keep was built. It also keeps out insects.” “A force field?” she repeated, perplexed. “You cannot see it, but it behaves like a wall.” She was impressed by the Antlers’ ability to create such a thing, even though it had thwarted her attempt. “A magic wall,” she said, unable to keep the awe from her voice. “It is not magic.” She could see condescension in his smile. “It is technology handed down to us from the Ancestors.” “I see,” she said, although she did not. An invisible wall sounded like magic as far as she was concerned. “Well, I was unable to get to the wall beside the window, but I could reach forward. When I heard you coming, I decided to jump to the roof below.” “So you jumped forward with a great deal of force, only to encounter another force field.” She reached up and rubbed the aching lump on her forehead. “Is that what happened?” He nodded. “There is enough space for a person to lean her head out of the window, but if you attempt to throw yourself from the window, the force field will prevent it.” “I see.” Another escape plan thwarted, she thought ruefully. Getting out of the Antler keep was going to be more difficult than she had originally anticipated. “What you tried to do was incredibly stupid.”

-35-

Ellen Fisher

“It wasn’t—” She broke off, remembering the distance to the nearest rooftop far below. Very well, she decided sullenly. It had been stupid. “Yes, it was indeed stupid. But I had guessed you would try something, so I left you alone to discover for yourself that you cannot escape.” Rubbing her head, she began to sit up. He caught her other arm and helped her to a sitting position. “Shall I take you back to the medical chamber?” She cringed, remembering the sharp smells of the room. “I am fine.” “You seem all right. But I will have Otwa come up and look you over, just to be on the safe side. Were anything to happen to you, my father would impale me on his antlers.” “And that would be a terrible pity, I’m sure.” Hart grinned at her sarcasm, lifting her into his arms and dropping her onto the circular bed in the center of the chamber. He looked down at her with a mocking smile. “You wound me, Claw.” “I’d certainly like to,” she said.

-36-


Chapter Four Later that afternoon Katara sat at the window in her tower, the setting sun bathing her in golden rays. She heard the door open behind her and didn’t bother to turn. “Am I to be afforded no privacy?” “It had not occurred to me that you would wish privacy. Do your people not live crowded into small, one-room huts?” At the unfamiliar voice, Katara turned to see a tall, regal woman regarding her with frank curiosity. The woman wore no coronet on her head, but a heavy silver bracelet on her upper arm appeared to be constructed of interwoven antlers. She guessed this was the monarch’s consort. A doe, in human form. “We live with our Pride in a longhouse,” Katara admitted. “It is a bit crowded when all ten or twelve members of a Pride are inside. But we spend most of our time alone in the forest. It is the trees that afford us the privacy we crave.” The woman walked into the chamber. Like Hart, she moved smoothly, with the cool arrogance that befitted her station. Katara stood up and took a few steps forward, standing stiffly, almost belligerently, her chin held high. The woman walked around her in a circle as if she were an object to be studied, displaying none of the fear that had been so evident in Otwa, the old woman. Perhaps she believed the collar rendered Katara helpless. If so, she was a fool. Because even in her human form, Katara was very far from helpless.

-37-

Ellen Fisher

“My sons seem very impressed with you,” the doe said at last. “They tore the breakfast chamber apart this morn, shifting and locking antlers as if they were in rut.” “I did nothing to incite such behavior. Indeed, I did not realize the Antler behaved thus. I had always believed you prided yourselves on being civilized.” “Rarely do our men behave so poorly. Obviously you have brought out the animal in them.” Katara let her upper lip curl back. “I suppose you think that is because I am but an animal myself.” The other woman did not flinch at her snarl. “Not at all. But you are a lovely woman, and they are but foolish males.” Katara gave a disbelieving snort at the assertion that she was lovely. Her hair fell loose and tangled over her shoulders, because she had not been offered a thong to tie it up with, and she wore the odd alien clothing that the Antler affected, rather than the animal skins her people wore in the cold season, or the nudity they preferred in the heat. She felt far from lovely today. When she looked in the mirror, she saw a stranger. “They need not compete for my attention,” she said. “Neither will ever win it.” The woman lifted her eyebrows. “You do not find either of my sons attractive?” Katara thought of Hart, his long, golden-brown hair falling around a face of rugged masculine beauty, and her cheeks heated. “You need not answer,” the woman said. “Your expression gives you away. My sons are very handsome, are they not?” “I would sooner mate with a creature of the forest as with a member of the Antler Kindred. You are weak, sniveling, leaf-eating creatures.” The doe raised an eyebrow at Katara’s haughty tone. “I see. I am sorry you feel that way. I wonder, is there any chance you will ever change your mind?” Katara lifted her chin. “Never.”

-38-


“Perhaps you simply don’t know us well enough to judge us. Certainly I believe we don’t know you well enough to pass judgment on you.” “I know you well enough. You are keeping me prisoner, even though I have done nothing to harm any of your people. It is the behavior of cowards.” The woman dropped her gaze. “Indeed,” she said softly. “I have said as much to my husband, but he will not listen.” Katara blinked in surprise. It appeared she had an ally. The idea that this Antler might be opposed to her captivity startled her, and she lowered her voice and spoke in a more moderate tone. “I thank you for your attempt at intercession on my behalf, madam.” “Alas, it did little good. My husband can be very stubborn, and his word is law. But my son Hart does not believe you should remain here, either. Perhaps the two of us working together—” Booted feet sounded on the spiral staircase, and a man Katara hadn’t seen before stepped quickly into the chamber. “My lady,” he gasped, a note of stark urgency in his voice. “You must hasten downstairs. The prince has been injured.” The royal consort lifted her head in a gesture that reminded Katara of a doe sniffing the breeze. Her dark eyes went wide. “Excuse me,” she said to Katara and, lifting her heavy skirts, ran for the staircase. Despite her years, she was fleet and graceful, just as she probably was in her animal form. The man followed with heavier, more measured steps. The door started to slide shut behind them. Inspired by a sudden thought, Katara bounded toward the bed, grasped a pillow, and flung it at the door. It landed on the floor noiselessly, and the door suddenly stopped, leaving a gap of a foot or so, and slid open again. No alarm sounded, and neither the guard nor the monarch’s consort looked back as they hastened down the stairs. Katara stood still for a long moment, her heart pounding. The echo of footsteps faded, then receded into silence. At last she stalked lightly to

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Ellen Fisher

the door—since she wore nothing on her feet, not even sandals, her stride was noiseless—and peered cautiously out at the small landing. There was no guard. Doubtless there was a guard at the foot of the staircase, but perhaps he would be distracted by the commotion. If not, she was confident of her ability to render him unconscious, as long as she sneaked up behind him and struck him before he had a chance to shift form. It seemed like a good chance for escape—the best she was likely to get. The desire for freedom clamored in her brain and body. And yet she hesitated. The prince was injured. But which prince? And how badly? She started down the staircase, her bare feet silent on the rough stone risers. It was a very long descent. At the bottom she found, as she had hoped, that the guard had abandoned his post, presumably because of the commotion caused by the prince’s injury. It was a golden opportunity. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to flee without finding out which prince had been injured. The sound of worried voices drifted to her ears. Gliding silently down the long, dimly lit hall, she peered around a corner. A knot of people speaking in anxious tones stood ten feet away, and the scent of blood was strong enough that she could smell it even in her human form. One of the group moved slightly, and she saw that the motionless body on the ground had long red hair. Prong, then, not Hart. Hart was all right. The unfamiliar, clutching sensation in her chest eased a bit. She turned and strode noiselessly for the door at the end of the hall. XXXXX The door slid aside for her, and no magical wall impeded her progress as she slipped through it. She walked across the wide swath of grass that surrounded the keep. There were still a few Antler grazing on the meadow, their tails flicking contentedly, but she stayed far away from them, keeping to the twilight shadows cast by the large oak trees, and none of them saw her. One of the silvery drones floated past her with a

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heavily laden basket of food, which it had presumably collected from the forest, but it did not seem to notice her presence either. There were guards at the gate, so she stood in the darkening shadows of the great stone wall, considering how best to get past them. She was hesitant to try to get through the gate, even if she managed to distract the guards. There might be another magical wall, or some other impediment. The best option, she thought, was to go over the wall. But it was so high that she could not have leapt over it even in her animal form. Which made sense, as it was designed to keep the enemy outside. And she was the enemy. Undaunted by its height, she gave serious thought to the problem. Near the wall stood an enormous tree with a thick trunk and spreading branches. In her animal form, she could have scaled it in an instant. In her human form, it was more challenging. But she was a fair climber even without her claws. She shimmied up the trunk, digging the arches of her feet into the rough bark to aid her progress, and quickly got to the first branch. She scrambled higher, aided by the branches, until she was higher than the great silver stones of the wall. Concealed by the amber and crimson leaves, she slid carefully along the branch—her human form wasn’t as well-balanced as her cat form, and she had no claws to help—until she was well past the wall. Then she looked down at the ground. Unfortunately, it slanted down from the wall in a rather steep hill, making it a very long drop. Not a problem in her cat form, but extremely dangerous for a human. But there was no help for it. She contemplated the distance for a moment, then dangled from the branch and dropped lightly to the ground beyond the wall. She let her legs crumple as she hit the turf, rolled, and came to her feet easily, uninjured. She considered trying to sneak through the town by sticking to the shadows, but realized that there was little in her human form to mark her as a Claw except for her gold-streaked hair, which wasn’t obvious in the gathering darkness. Her scent was that of the Claw, but as long as no one passed her too closely, they would not notice in their human

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form. Though the Kindred had a keen sense of smell, human noses were not as acute as animal ones. She walked through the town as if she were just another Antler, her long hair carefully draped to conceal the collar as much as possible. She held her head high, as if she belonged in the town, but took care to keep a substantial distance away from anyone who passed. No one looked twice at her. Odors assaulted her nostrils, the smells of ale and unfamiliar foods. Even the smell of vegetables and cooked grass was enough to make her stomach rumble. She ignored her hunger and went on. She wasn’t yet hungry enough to eat more grass. Half an hour later, she left the outskirts of the town behind, crossed the vast emerald meadows that surrounded the town, and struck out into the forest. XXXXX It felt good to be outside, in the night air. It was a long distance back to Claw territory, particularly in her slower human form, but she settled into an easy lope that she could sustain for many miles. The cool breeze brushed her cheeks as she jogged, and the familiar stars brightened above her as the sky darkened. The smaller moon was three quarters full, but the greater moon had not yet risen, which was unfortunate because her human eyes did not have the night vision she needed for the trip. But if she were to avoid capture, she must travel at night. The Claw Kindred were the only people who generally went abroad by night, so by traveling at night she hoped to avoid the Fang. Of course, the Fang Kindred had attacked her in the night once before. But she put that thought out of her mind. Prong, after all, had been attacked in the daytime. She must travel sometime, and nighttime seemed like the better choice. For the first time, she let herself wonder exactly what had happened to the younger lord. She hadn’t gotten a good look at his injuries, but the strong smell of blood suggested he’d been quite badly injured. She had -42-


assumed he had been attacked by the Fang Kindred, just as she had. But he might just as well have been attacked by her own people, who would certainly seek retribution for her capture if they had somehow discovered it. Either way, he was lucky to have survived. It mattered not to her, she assured herself. The Antler meant nothing to her. She hated them for their attempt to keep her, to use her as leverage. She loathed them for putting a collar on her, as if she were a pet, and preventing her from using her shifting abilities. People, after all, weren’t meant to stay in one form forever. If the myths were true, perhaps humans had only had a single form, once upon a time, but that had been centuries ago. She wanted to shift. She needed to shift. The wild animal seethed inside her, frustrated, hungry for release. Despite her anger at the Antler, she found herself thinking about the lord. Not Prong, but his brother. How did he feel now that his brother had been so badly injured? What if the brother died? Surely Hart would mourn. Would he weep? Somewhere in the depths of her soul, she found a sympathy for Hart that surprised her, and a curious longing to comfort him. She reminded herself that she hated him, but the thought had lost much of its force. He had treated her well, and if his mother were to be believed, he hadn’t wanted to keep her as a prisoner. Certainly that was the impression she had garnered from his conversation with the monarch. He had only been doing his duty—something she really couldn’t hold against him. She had been jogging through the underbrush at a steady pace for an hour when she heard the faint sound of hoofbeats behind her. Cursing, she broke into a full run, knowing all the while that it was fruitless. She couldn’t outrun an Antler in human form. Sure enough, the hoofbeats grew steadily nearer. She was fairly certain by the sound that only one Antler was in pursuit. She was surprised the Antler had managed to track her so readily— since they were not predators they knew little of tracking, and their noses were not as sensitive as the Fang and Claw. She’d done what she could to throw them off her trail, but obviously she’d failed.

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More out of instinct than anything else, she shimmied up the nearest tree and crouched on a limb. Moments later, a large and magnificent stag came into view, a barely visible shadow in the moonlit darkness. Katara looked down at him, feeling a strange tightness constrict her throat. It was Hart. She was certain of it. Before yesterday, she would have said that all Antler looked alike to her in their animal form, but she knew with every fiber of her being that this stag was Hart. It was evident in the graceful stride, the powerful, sleek lines of his body, and the confident, almost arrogant way in which he held himself. In a strange way, she was glad he had followed her. The thought of never seeing him again had been niggling at her mind, an unpleasant cloud hanging over her freedom like a dark thundercloud on the summer horizon. He paused directly beneath her tree and looked up at her. In his animal form, he couldn’t speak, but the message was clear. Come down. Now. She held still, barely breathing, just in case he wasn’t sure of her location. He pawed a hoof in an angry gesture and made a bugling noise. “Fine,” she said under her breath. “I’m coming.” She scrambled rapidly down the tree, jumped to the ground, and stared into the dark eyes that seemed to look straight through her, right into her soul. She noticed he was holding a small metal object in his mouth, and wondered if that was another piece of magic, one that had allowed him to track her. “I want to go home,” she growled. He lowered his antlers in a threatening gesture. Faced with the sharp prongs, she was tempted to back up against the tree trunk, but she held her ground. “I am sorry about your brother,” she said in a more conciliatory tone. “Really. I wish him no harm. But all I want is to return to my people. I know your monarch told you to imprison me in the keep, but could you not just tell him you were unable to find me in the forest?”

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The great stag tilted his head as he looked at her consideringly. At last he swung his antlers side-to-side in a clearly negative gesture. “Please,” she said softly. “I just want to go home.” The last words were uttered in a hoarse tone, and she realized her throat was clogged with tears. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life imprisoned in a tower, unable to shift, trapped amongst strangers. For a brief time, as she ran alone through the forest, she’d imagined that she was going home to her Pride, and the disappointment was almost more than she could bear. The stag regarded her, his head cocked to one side. Abruptly his hide began to ripple and his features to melt. His antlers seemed to withdraw into his head, his front legs left the ground, and his body grew upright. The changes happened almost too quickly for the eye to follow. A scant second later, Hart stood before her in his human form, naked and magnificent in the dappled moonlight. He reached up and removed the small metal object from his mouth, gripping it in his hand. “My brother was just attacked by the Fang Kindred,” he said, his deep voice soft but forceful. His eyes were dark with anger, but she sensed it was not aimed at her, but at the Fang. “The bites were unmistakable. You were attacked by the Fang but two sunrises ago. Both attacks occurred in neutral territory, and their attacks are obviously becoming more frequent. Surely you do not seriously expect me to leave you out here in the forest all alone? And in your human form, no less?” “I am sorry about your brother. Will he survive?” “Otwa believes so. I certainly hope so. I do not know what I would do without him. He is frequently annoying, but he is my brother.” “It is strange that both of us should be attacked by Fang and survive. That is very unusual.” “Yes, it is. Few have lived to tell of a Fang attack. But my brother was able to make it back to the keep on his own. You would likely have died had I not found you.” “I am not certain of that. My people are strong, and I have survived severe injuries before. But I cannot understand why they didn’t tear my throat out, or your brother’s. It is their usual way.”

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“I wonder if perhaps the Fang Kindred are trying to send us a message.” “You mean that they are threatening both our peoples?” “It seems a likely theory. They could have killed both of you, but they chose not to. I believe they had a purpose in leaving you alive, and that it was intended as a warning.” Katara considered that. “My people cannot stand against the Fang,” she said. “We are too solitary in our habits, and our Prides too scattered. If they really intend to declare war, my people will be destroyed.” Hart frowned. “My people are in danger as well. The Fang are more numerous than we are, and brutal fighters. If they attack in force, they may be able to take our keeps and our villages.” “I cannot believe your people are in any real danger, with your magic walls and your technology. Surely you can easily stand against the Fang.” Hart shrugged a big shoulder, and his gaze dropped. “We are not accustomed to fighting, and we do not ever kill. It is not our way. I do not know that we could stand against an attack.” “My people will not shun a fight, but we tend to fight alone,” Katara said. “There is little interaction among the various Prides. All the more reason I need to return home. I must warn my people of this possibility, so that they may join together if necessary.” “Do you really believe your people will listen?” Katara hesitated, thinking of her fierce, stubborn mother. Even in her human form she rarely took the counsel of others. In her lioness form she was even less likely to listen to a young female. The other Pride Leaders were similar—haughty, arrogant, and unlikely to pay heed to warnings uttered by a young, litterless woman they still thought of as a cub. “I doubt it. But I must try.” “I have a better idea,” Hart said. “We need more information. I suggest we work together to spy on the Fang. Then we can go back to our respective peoples with facts, rather than speculation.” Katara lifted an eyebrow. “What thinks your monarch of this idea?”

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“He knows nothing of it. I doubt he would approve. The notion of working with a Claw, for any reason, would appall him.” “Is this why you followed me? To convince me to work with you?” Hart shrugged. “I am not a hunter, nor are any of my people. The Claw are much more capable of subtlety than we are.” “You claim you are no hunter. Yet you tracked me more readily than a Fang pack could have.” “I used this.” He held up the metal object. “There is a tracking device in your collar. It enabled me to follow you easily enough.” She wasn’t sure what a tracking device was, but guessed it was another piece of the magic the Antler wielded. But the mention of the collar reminded her of something else. “Your idea is interesting. But I dare not approach Pack territory. I have no hope of defending myself against the Fang in this form.” “I realize that. I will remove your collar if you give me your word not to attack me.” The desire to be free to change, whenever the mood took her, struck her again with an almost physical force. She had never before realized how important shifting was to her, how much she valued the ability to shift to her animal form whenever she wished. She would promise almost anything to be free of the cursed collar. At any rate, what he was asking for was very little. Only the veriest fool would attack Hart in his animal form. It would take a full Pride working together to pull him down. By herself, she doubted she could injure him even if she took him by surprise, leaping on him from above, and she would likely be skewered in the attempt. And he could shift so quickly that it would be nearly impossible to successfully attack him in his human form. “I promise,” she said. “Very well.” Hart took the small piece of machinery he held in his hand and waved it toward the collar. She heard an audible click, and the golden collar dropped from her neck and fell to the ground. She was free. XXXXX -47-

Ellen Fisher

Hart saw Katara’s skin begin to ripple, and he hastily shifted himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her to keep her word. Not exactly. But it had been several days since she’d had meat, and he didn’t want her to be tempted. The outline of her body blurred. A second later, her torn clothing fell to the ground, and she stood in front of him on four paws. He looked down at her, surprised by how small she was. He’d always thought of the Claw as gigantic—huge, muscular creatures armed with enormous teeth—but she was dwarfed by his animal form. Unlike his people, all of whom assumed a similar deer form, the Claw Kindred assumed the forms of various feline species. Her form was a leopard, one of the smallest of the great cats. Despite the obvious strength of the muscles rolling smoothly beneath her hide, she was nowhere near as large as a tiger or lion. In fact, she looked almost dainty, and strangely…beautiful. Programmed by instinct as he was to dislike the Claw, he’d never before thought of one as beautiful. But he was surprised to realize that Katara was as lovely in her animal form as she was as a human. Her fur, more golden than his, glistened in the moonlight, and the black spots would help her blend into the shadows of night that mottled the forest. Despite her total physical transformation, her eyes looked much the same as they did in her human form, large and green-gold. She turned from him and began to glide noiselessly through the forest, and he followed, mesmerized by the sheer lithe grace of her motion, the play of powerful muscles beneath her sleek hide. He was surprised to realize he’d never admired a woman in her animal form so greatly as he admired Katara in her leopard form. No doe among his own people had ever attracted him as strongly as this feline did. In the hope of putting as many miles behind them as possible, neither of them stopped to eat, though he knew she must be hungry. He trotted through the woods behind her. She seemed to know where she was going. At least he hoped she wasn’t leading him to Claw territory so

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her Pride could pull him down and break their fast with him. He shoved the thought away, aware that he was going to have to trust her if they were to work together. They jogged through the darkness for hours, their path lit only by moonbeams and the glimmer of the stars through the canopy of trees. Hart began to recognize his surroundings, though he had not come this way often. They were still in neutral territory, but perilously close to both Claw and Fang lands. His people rarely ventured this far from their own territory. The greater moon rose, then began to fall again. As the moons set and the faint light of dawn approached, Katara leapt lightly into a tree and looked down at him. He understood the wordless message. She was going to hunt. Revolted, he trotted on without her, pausing every so often to nibble at leaves. He supposed she really needed meat, especially in her cat form, but he didn’t want to be an accessory to the killing of animals. The thought disgusted him, reminding him that although she looked as human as his own people did, she was very different. His people never killed, for any reason. He browsed as the light grew stronger, and eventually she appeared, licking her lips, a satisfied expression in her eyes. He looked at her for a moment, then decided he might as well discover if he could trust her now. Besides, since she’d just eaten, this was probably the safest time to test her. He shifted to his human form. “We need to find a safe place to rest,” he said. Green-gold eyes regarded him thoughtfully. Then she shifted, and the same eyes gazed back at him from a human face. “I can climb into a tree. That is safest for me. But your people don’t climb trees.” “No, we don’t. But I believe there is a safe house nearby.” She blinked. “A safe house?” “A building we use to sleep in when we discover we’ve ranged too far afield. The safe houses were built by the Ancestors centuries ago, and we still use them for protection when we find ourselves in the neutral

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territory at nighttime. It’s not always feasible to return to Antler lands before the sun sets.” Her upper lip curled with scorn. “So you wander in the woods, playing at being wild, but you daren’t sleep there? How very far from the forest your people have grown.” Anger bubbled up within him, along with the memory of being surrounded by snarling Claw. He’d roamed the forest since he made his first shift to animal form at age five, and only been attacked once, but the memory of that day was more than enough to make him cautious. “We don’t enjoy being eaten.” “We take our chances,” she replied. “We live. That is what taking an animal’s form is all about. Otherwise you might as well remain in your human form all your days.” He snorted. “Perhaps you like to risk your life, but I don’t. This close to Pack land, I prefer the safe house.” She looked disgusted, almost contemptuous, but she shrugged. “Very well. Lead on.” He had rarely come this far into the forest, but his memory was excellent, and he found the safe house in moments. It was disguised so that it appeared almost a thicket in the woods, yet once they were inside a light flashed on automatically, and stout silvery stone walls stood between them and predators. Katara looked around with disdain. “This is the residence of cowards.” Annoyance made his skin ripple involuntarily. With an effort, he managed to stop himself from shifting again. “What you see as cowardice,” he said, barely keeping his voice even, “my people see as prudence.” “Prudence is but another word for cowardice. My people would rip me to pieces if they knew I had slept in a place such as this. They would say it proved I had lost my claws. And they would be right.” Hart grinned coldly, refusing to let her contempt irritate him into shifting. He didn’t want her to know that her opinion meant anything to him. “I have no claws to lose.”

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“That,” she responded with ice in her voice, “is more than obvious.” Hart felt his skin ripple again. He turned away from her, looking at the small room. It was but sparsely furnished, with two small chairs and a table in the middle of the room, and a lone narrow cot against the wall. An odd litter of sticks, rocks, and rope cluttered the floor, but it was the cot that drew his attention. The idea of sleeping in a small chamber with the Claw caused lust and fear to struggle deep within him like two stags battling for supremacy. The lust won. “It appears we’ll be sleeping together,” he said.

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Chapter Five At Hart’s words, a startling eddy of lust swirled through Katara’s veins. Being enclosed with this extremely attractive man excited her on a primitive, visceral level. She’d been aware of her arousal since the door had closed behind them. The thought of sleeping on that narrow cot with him, her naked body pressed up against his muscled chest, sent heat slicing through her like a striking fang. She reminded herself firmly that he was an Antler, and thus beneath her. “Perhaps I will sleep outside after all,” she said. “No,” he responded firmly. “We stay together.” “Then I will be happy to sleep on the floor,” she answered, tamping down the heat in her veins as best she could. She could tell by the dark glow in his eyes that she hadn’t been entirely successful. Doubtless he could scent her arousal, even from across the small room. “Don’t be absurd,” he said curtly. “I’ll sleep on the floor. You can have the cot.” “I am not one of your fragile does. I don’t need protection or chivalrous behavior. Chivalry is not an idea my people value.” “Fine,” he said between his teeth. “If you prefer to sleep in the dirt, that is perfectly all right with me.” Having won an argument she wasn’t certain she wished to win, Katara looked dubiously at the floor. In human form, her people generally slept on a crude mattress of skin stuffed with leaves. The hard dirt floor looked uncomfortable. She decided she’d shift to her animal form, assuming that she could. It was impossible to change to animal

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form when one was in a state of sexual arousal, and there was no denying that she was. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm herself so that she could shift. “No,” Hart said instantly, divining her intent. “I will not be able to sleep if you shift to your leopard form.” “Afraid?” “Cautious.” She lifted an eyebrow. “I could wait until you fell asleep and then make a meal of you, Antler.” “Believe me, such an idea has already occurred to me. Perhaps I should have brought the collar along, rather than leaving it on the forest floor. But we made a pact, Claw. Will you not abide by it? Did you not tell me your people believe in honor?” “We also believe in dinner.” At his scowl, a flicker of humor glimmered in her eyes. “I am only jesting. I will abide by my word.” “I can only hope your sense of honor is better than your sense of humor,” he grumbled. He headed for the cot and sat on the edge, looking up at her. It creaked under his weight. “If you truly prefer to bed down in the dirt, be my guest.” She looked down at him for a long moment. Stark naked, hair falling around his massive shoulders, he was nearly irresistible. She’d never needed to resist an attractive man—her people mated almost as freely as they hunted—and the heat curling in her belly was difficult to ignore. She reminded herself of all the reasons she shouldn’t lust after the man. He was a leaf-eater. An enemy. A man without claws. He was also courageous and strong, and much more of a man than she’d expected. Her kind didn’t spend a great deal of time on decisions—thinking too long about a decision meant giving dinner a chance to escape. She made up her mind with the quickness of a predator. She stalked toward him, swaggering a bit and rolling her hips. “I suggest we share the cot,” she said in a sultry voice. His eyes went darker than before. “I don’t think that is a wise plan.” “Perhaps it isn’t wise. But it is an appealing thought, isn’t it?”

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“Appealing isn’t the word for it,” he responded, running his hungry gaze over her body. His gaze burn everywhere it touched. She walked forward, dropped a hand, and let her finger trail over the strongly etched sinews of his shoulder, admiring the solid bulge of muscle and bone. At the light brush of her hand, a shudder ran through him. “We can’t be intimate,” he said, his voice low and husky. “You are not a doe.” “No. I’m not. And that excites you, doesn’t it?” His eyes regarded her thoughtfully. She could see lust and a touch of fear tangled together in his gaze. “I should be revolted by the thought of having sex with you.” She dropped onto his lap, her legs straddling his, and pushed him over backward. “You’re not revolted,” she whispered. “Don’t even try to pretend that you are.” Between her thighs, she felt the proof of her statement, hot and hard. He wasn’t revolted by her…and she wasn’t revolted by him, either. She felt her own moisture on her thighs, felt an aching need, a longing, deep within her body. She reached for his wrists, pinned them to the mattress, and lifted her hips slightly, so that her hot moisture stroked lightly against his erection. “Your does don’t make love like this, do they?” she purred. “No.” In one smooth move, he wrenched his arms free and rolled over, pinning her beneath him. His big hands wrapped around her wrists, holding them fast. The corners of his mouth curved up as he flashed a wicked smile. “They make love like this,” he said softly. XXXXX Hart was amused to see Katara’s green-gold eyes glittering with mingled lust and anger. Evidently the whispered stories he’d heard in the taverns were true. Claw women liked to be on top. Dominant. -54-


He wanted to show her the benefits of submission. Bending his head, he took her lips with his. She stiffened beneath him, and her lips didn’t yield. He reminded himself that she seemed to prefer to dominate, to control men sexually. Perhaps she was shocked by his domineering attitude. He’d have to seduce her. He backed off a bit, brushed her lips with his own in a softly persuasive caress. He persisted, stroking, kissing gently, until her arms wrapped around his neck and she responded, kissing him back eagerly, hungrily, her tongue delving between his lips and seeking his own. Sweat broke out on his skin, as if he’d just run ten miles in the hot season. Heat grew between their bodies and his erection swelled, throbbing with a relentless need he’d never felt before. He thrust his tongue into her mouth in a hungry, forceful motion that mirrored what he ached to do with his body. In a sudden movement, she rolled over and pinned him like the predator she was. An unwelcome memory pierced the pleasant cloud of lust that had enveloped him, the memory of his small brother pinned to the ground by a Claw, its teeth at his throat. He opened his eyes, looked up at her with annoyance bordering on anger. “Persistent, aren’t you?” “Is that how does mate? Always submissive? Meek? Always permitting you to be in control?” Her eyes glittered down at him, golden in the artificial light. “No wonder you’re bored with them.” Her words struck a raw nerve. He’d never thought of his sexual experience in quite that way, never thought of the numerous sexual encounters he’d experienced as dull, but in hindsight, he could barely remember any of them. All he could seem to remember was a vague succession of women, lying beneath him placidly, almost motionless, scarcely reacting no matter how he touched them. No single woman stood out in his mind. No doe had ever stirred his body and soul the way this Claw did.

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And yet the idea of letting her dominate, allowing her to be on top, terrified him on a visceral, primitive level. She could shift, tear his throat out with a single bite. Tear him to ribbons with her claws… He knew his anxiety was irrational, that she couldn’t shift to animal form while sexually aroused any more than he could, but that didn’t make the terror he felt any less real. With an effort, he forced back his fear. For now, he’d let her win. Let her control this encounter. Who knew? It might be…exciting. “Fine.” He surrendered, letting the muscles in his arms relax and allowing her to pin him. “Show me how your people make love. Convince me that your men don’t find you boring.” She sat up, so that his erection was cradled beneath the warm, wet entrance to her body, her gold-streaked black hair falling loose around her shoulders, cascading over her breasts. Her coral-tipped nipples peeked from between the gold and black strands, teasing him, taunting him. He lifted a hand and stroked his fingers lightly over one of those tempting nipples, and she shivered. The warm, sensual fragrance of her arousal drifted to his nostrils, and he grew harder. He wanted her in a way he’d never wanted another woman, his body wracked with an intense need he’d never known before. The instinctive fear he felt of her people added a sharp edge to his lust. She was the farthest thing from boring he could imagine. “Tell me,” he said softly, “do the men of your people take the time to touch you? To make you ready? Do they care for your pleasure as much as for their own?” Wordlessly, she shook her head. He continued to brush his fingers across her nipple until it puckered, growing rigid beneath his touch. “How do your people make love?” Her eyes smoldered. “Feline couplings are rough and quick,” she said in a hoarse voice. Rough and quick sounded good to him right now. A hard, fast coupling, leading to a violent climax, in order to assuage the desperate

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need he felt. But he couldn’t do that to such a lovely woman, a spirited woman, who deserved to be treated so much better. She deserved to be made love to, to be touched and kissed until she ached as badly as he did. She deserved as much pleasure as he could possibly give her. He was taken aback by his thoughts. For the first time he realized he had begun to see her as a woman, and not just as a Claw. To his surprise, his fear of her had subsided, almost lost beneath his need for her. He lifted his hands and ran them down her arms, feeling the texture of her skin beneath his fingers. Her skin was soft, and almost as warm and silky as he imagined her pelt must be. “My people make love more slowly,” he said. “But the men are always dominant, and perhaps we spend less time on the woman’s pleasure than we should.” She moved restlessly against him, bathing him in her slick heat. Her hands clutched his shoulders, the nails long and sharp, a reminder of her animal form. Yet her fingers touched him with surprising gentleness. She spoke in a hoarse voice. “I think it would be pleasant to see what making love slowly is like.” “And I think it would be enjoyable to see what letting the woman take control is like.” He flashed a grin. “Perhaps there is something to be said for both our people’s methods of lovemaking.” “Perhaps. Let us see.” She lifted her hips, moved her hand between them, and captured his shaft, guiding it into the hot, moist entrance to her body. “Remember,” he said through gritted teeth. “Slowly.” She lowered herself onto him, letting just the tip slide into her wet flesh. “Are you certain you want me to go slowly?” He wasn’t certain in the least. In fact he was reasonably sure he was going to die if she didn’t move faster. But he ground his jaw together and tried to speak as if he were in control of himself and his reactions, rather than on the verge of utterly losing his self-control. “Yes. Go slowly.”

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She sank slowly onto him, taking in a bare inch of him at a time. He felt her body stretching as it encompassed him, felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into her warmth, and he had to resist the impulse to thrust hard, to fill her totally. A shudder of pleasure ran through his erection, and his balls drew up against his body, so taut they hurt. She paused when he was only about halfway inside her, letting him savor her heat, letting his ache grow to unbearable levels. “Slow enough?” she purred. He was about to explode. He couldn’t decide if he wanted her to go even more slowly, to draw the pleasure out further, or faster, to bring him to a climax right now. He’d never yearned for release so desperately in his life. And yet he wanted to enjoy the moment, to revel in the feel of her hot body surrounding him, to feel the throbbing of her interior muscles and know that she, too, was fully aroused. Slowly, she slid downward again. She was so wet that she slipped easily along his length, so aroused that she stretched to accommodate him easily. At last he was fully embedded in her, right to the hilt. She sat atop him, motionless, her mouth curved in a distinctly feline smile. The sensation of her body clutching his, squeezing him, surrounding him in warmth and moisture, drove him to the edge of madness. He gritted his teeth, struggling not to lose control, but she tightened her inner muscles around him, and he groaned as a climax slammed into him. He convulsed beneath her, throwing back his head, shockingly intense pleasure surging through him in waves. Afterward he opened his eyes to find her watching him with that catlike expression, her eyelids heavy. “That wasn’t as good for you as it was for me,” he said softly. She shrugged a slim shoulder. “It was fine.” “No.” He lifted her off his thighs and sat up. “It wasn’t fine. Not for you. Let me please you.” Her eyes widened with surprise. “But you are finished.” He wasn’t sure of that, actually. He had an odd certainty he could make love to her for the rest of the day, over and over again. “But you are

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not,” he said firmly, and pushed her back onto the cot. This time she didn’t resist. He heard her sigh of pleasure as he nuzzled her shoulder, then moved his mouth lower and drew her nipple into his mouth. She moaned, then began to twist beneath him, digging her fingers into his hair, letting her sharp nails sink into his bare shoulders. A tendril of fear slid through him in response to the mild pain, but he shoved it away and continued to suckle, pleased by her responsiveness. Does tended to be very passive in bed. This Claw was far from passive. He sucked hard on one nipple and rolled the other between his fingers, and suddenly she jerked beneath him and uttered a long, gasping cry of pleasure. At last she collapsed back against the mattress, and he lifted his head and regarded her curiously. “You found that…satisfying?” She gave a long sigh of satisfaction. “I have never…” She hesitated. “That has never happened before.” It had never happened to a woman he’d made love to before, either. She was so responsive, so eager, that he felt a stab of lust in his groin. Many Antler men would regard her sexual enthusiasm as animalistic, or simply barbaric, but he found it surprisingly pleasing. It was enjoyable to make love to a woman who responded so readily. “Let’s do it again,” he suggested, and lowered his head. “I couldn’t…” she began, then broke off with a moan as his lips moved down the flat, strong planes of her stomach. He kissed the shallow indentation of her belly button, then let his hand drift lower, through the dark, curling hair at the juncture of her thighs. His finger delved into her soft moisture, parting her until he found her most sensitive spot, and stroking her there in a gentle, deliberate rhythm. She was wet, from his moisture as well as her own, and his hand moved easily against her. He listened to the soft gasping sounds she made, and his arousal grew, swelling within him, until he was hard again. “Please,” she whispered at last.

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He shook his head. “It’s my turn to torment you, Claw.” She spoke through her teeth. “I…can’t…wait.” “Yes. You can.” He moved down her body, lowered his head, and stroked his tongue across her wet flesh. She sobbed, arching her hips right off the bed. “Now. Now.” “When I permit it, and not a moment before,” he said softly. “You are too accustomed to being in charge.” She lifted her head and glared at him. “I am going to shift and devour you, antlers and all.” “Really?” He stroked her lazily with his tongue, and she moaned. “Yes,” she whispered. “Immediately…after we are done here.” “Surprisingly enough, that doesn’t provide me with much incentive to hurry.” He stroked her again, and again, relishing the sweet taste of her, the spicy scent of her arousal, the desperate sounds of need she made. He was teasing her as much as she had teased him earlier, and finding it just as pleasurable. At last he decided she had been teased long enough. He lowered his head and sucked gently on her sweet flesh. Almost instantly, she cried out, thrashing violently against the cot, her fingers sinking into his hair and hanging on for dear life. He forced her to ride out the storm, and only released her when she collapsed, boneless, against the mattress. He moved up the cot and stretched out next to her. She cuddled against him in a way that surprised him—he had always understood the Claw Kindred were more or less loners, and not at all the cuddly sort, even as kittens. Yet here she was, rubbing her cheek against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. Her eyes widened as his erect penis nudged her thigh. “Now you are the one who is not finished.” “I’m fine,” he said. “We must sleep sometime.” “Must we?” She looked up and smiled wickedly. “It seems to me there are other activities more enjoyable than merely sleeping.” “I agree. But we are going into a dangerous situation, and we will need our wits about us.”

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Her hand wrapped around his erection. “Nevertheless, you will sleep better if you are fully sated.” He considered that. “You make a persuasive argument.” “I can make it even more persuasive,” she said, and began to move her hand up and down his shaft. Leaning back his head, he allowed himself to be persuaded.

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Chapter Six The smaller moon was rising in the sky, washing the forest with silver, as they stepped out of the safe house into the shadows of the next night. This time Hart led the way. In his animal form, it made him nervous to have a predator right behind him, but he forced his clamoring instincts into silence. Even in his stag form, his brain remained essentially human, and he knew he had to trust this woman. After the way they’d made love, over and over again, he had to trust her. Not that their lovemaking meant anything, he reminded himself. Among both their peoples, sex could be a bonding, an important sharing between wedded mates, or it could be merely a form of entertainment. He knew intellectually that Katara had chosen to make love to him because he was a novelty, a new taste for her palate. And yet he couldn’t stop himself from thinking of her as his mate. It was a ridiculous notion, of course. She would no more agree to mate permanently with him than she’d mate with a bald eagle. Nor would either of their Kindred accept such a pairing. A rancid odor drifted to him on the cool night wind, and he slid to a halt, digging his hooves into the leaves littering the ground. Katara leapt to his side in an instant, her ears erect, her eyes scanning the murky shadows. Then her ears pressed flat to her head and her lips drew back in a silent snarl, exposing her wickedly sharp teeth. The shadows moved, and dark shapes emerged from the undergrowth. As they moved into the moonlight, the shapes resolved themselves into enormous wolves. The long-ago memory of being caught in the forest by predators flashed into his mind. The memory of fear. Of death. He pushed the

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vision back and tried to focus on this situation. If he didn’t focus, they were unlikely to survive. As the wolves slunk forward, the odor was so strong that Hart wondered he hadn’t caught it before. But the wolves had been downwind, and hidden in a thicket of strong-smelling masala bushes, which had helped to mask their scent. He caught a glimpse of Katara’s fearsome, snarling visage out of the corner of his eye. The sight of her long, curving teeth ought to frighten him. Yet the only fright in his heart at this moment was not fear of her, but for her. The thought of her lying wounded or dead on the leaves, the way he’d found her just a few days ago, sent a stab of fear and rage through him. He wouldn’t permit her to be injured that way again. Lowering his head so that his imposing antlers threatened the wolves, he pawed the ground in warning. At his side, Katara crouched in a battle-ready pose, and a low growl pulsed from her throat. The wolves circled them warily. They’d taken Katara once before, and injured Prong, who was almost as large as Hart himself, but both of them together evidently posed a greater threat. There appeared to be ten wolves—not an entire Pack, but as many as usually hunted together—all huge, imposing beasts. If this had been an ambush, it had been a poorly designed one, Hart thought. The wolves should have attacked them without warning, not circled them in such a fashion, giving them the opportunity to defend themselves. Perhaps the wind had shifted and given him an unexpected advantage. Or perhaps the wolves had something else in mind. The largest wolf, a huge silvery male, suddenly stopped circling and lunged for Katara. Protective fury erupted inside Hart, and he leapt forward, antlers down. He felt the shock as his antlers dug into the wolf’s shaggy, muscular body, cutting all the way to the bone, heard the beast’s anguished yelp of pain. He’d felt that peculiar shock once before, and the memory still chilled him. Yet he couldn’t hesitate, couldn’t let the memories overwhelm him with horror, or Katara would die. He jerked his head to the left, flinging

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the badly injured wolf aside, and lowered his head again. In his animal form, he was unable to speak, but he knew his belligerent posture sent an unmistakable message: Anyone else care to try? The wolves backed up a bit, glancing at each other. Another one, smaller and with an ebony coat, feinted forward, but Hart jerked his head toward her, and she pulled back with a yelp as a pointed antler ripped through her thick coat, into the muscles of her shoulder. Another wolf dashed toward them. Katara’s growling rose in pitch, and she bounded forward, formidable teeth exposed. A single blow of her paw ripped across his muzzle, barely missing his eye. He tucked his tail between his legs, turned, and melted into the shadows. The other Fang Kindred followed. Even the huge silvery wolf staggered to his feet and limped away, leaving a dark trail of blood behind him. Breathing hard, Hart and Katara stood listening, but the noise of the wolves’ padded feet, the sound of their panting, receded into the forest. Hart tilted his head, then decided it was safe, and shifted into human form. “Is that the same pack that attacked you?” he asked. She shifted as well, standing naked before him in the silvery moonlight. She looked like a goddess, too starkly beautiful to be flesh and blood. “I believe so. I recognize the alpha, the large gray male. And I recall the black bitch as well.” Hart became aware that he was trembling. She must have noticed too, because she suddenly looked at him, concerned. “Are you all right?” “I am…fine,” he said in a hoarse voice. She stepped forward, placed a hand on his shoulder. “You are shaking. I forget. Your people do not fight as we do.” “It is not that,” he said. “It is…” He hesitated for a long moment, feeling the shudders wrack his body. “When I was young, barely more than a fawn, my brother and I were caught in the woods by a roving pack of young Claw. They had Prong on the ground—he didn’t even have antlers—” She lifted her head and stared into his eyes with understanding. “No wonder you fear my people.”

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“No. It is not your people that I fear.” “I don’t understand.” He swallowed. “I had to protect my brother. His hide was still spotted. He was young. Defenseless. But I had antlers, though they were small. A panther had Prong pinned, was about to rip his throat out. And I…defended him.” “Just as you defended me tonight.” “Yes.” Hart shut his eyes, feeling the horror of it as if it had happened yesterday. “But unlike the wolf, the Claw was young. Small. And the blow from my antlers…killed him.” She squeezed his shoulder in a reassuring gesture. “But they attacked a defenseless fawn. Such a thing is frowned on by my people, even those that consider it acceptable to attack grown Antler. Our code of honor forbids us to attack the small and weak. That panther deserved to die.” “The Claw were all young and foolish. Perhaps it was but a game to them. At any rate…” Hart swallowed against the bile in his throat, remembering the thud of the body against his antlers, remembering how it had flown through the air and crashed into a tree trunk to collapse lifeless and bleeding to the ground. The way the other Claw had fled from him as if he had suddenly become the predator. “My people do not kill. Ever.” “Not even in the defense of those you love?” She lifted her hand to his cheek and gazed into his eyes. “You had no choice, Hart. Just as you had no choice today. You did the right thing both times.” He let out a shuddering breath. “Of course you would think so. You are a Claw.” “You disagree? Would you rather have seen your brother dead? Or seen me torn apart by the wolf pack?” “No,” he admitted in a whisper. “I could not let either of those things happen.” “Then you had no choice, Antler. Don’t blame yourself. My people do not hesitate to fight to protect themselves and the ones they love. I may have been almost killed by the wolf pack, but do not think that I failed to

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defend myself. More than one of them felt my claws before they overwhelmed me.” “But they must have taken you by surprise.” She nodded. “I never smelled them until they were on me. They used the scent of masala bushes to mask their odor, just as they did tonight. But it didn’t work as well tonight. The wind must have shifted unexpectedly.” “Either that, or they wanted us to know who was attacking our people.” “We already knew that.” “But perhaps they wanted to make it obvious. Like a declaration of war.” “They fight well,” Katara admitted grudgingly. “Because they attack in packs, whereas both our peoples tend to travel alone, the Fang might have a chance in a guerrilla-style war. But in a declared war? I think it unlikely they could defeat us. Even your people, cowards though they are, can fight well when you must.” Hart thought about that last sentence and finally decided to take it as a compliment. More or less. “Perhaps they have something else in mind.” “Perhaps they do.” Her eyebrows drew together in a frown. “There was something odd about the way the wolves attacked tonight. One at a time, rather than in a pack. Had they attacked me that way, I might have been able to defeat them.” “Why do you think they changed their method of attack?” “I am not certain. But this encounter may help us locate their village.” She crossed the clearing, knelt, and studied the dark spill of blood staining the leaves. “Yes, this will be easy to follow.” “Perhaps that is what they intend. Perhaps it is a trap.” “Mayhap it is. In fact, it seems likely. But we cannot turn tail and flee.” She shifted into her leopard form, lowered her head and sniffed at the ground, then headed off into the woods in a graceful leap. Hart sighed, then shifted into his stag form and bounded after her. XXXXX

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They raced through the thick woods, side by side. Katara was impressed by the Antler’s fleetness, although she really shouldn’t have been surprised. Naturally his Kindred had to be fast, or they’d wind up as someone’s dinner. The trail of blood grew ever fresher, indicating that they were gaining on their quarry. Doubtless the pack was moving slowly because of its injured members. When the scent of blood became almost overpowering, she slowed to a walk and proceeded more cautiously, aware that they’d crossed into Pack lands. They were now trespassing, and the wolves would consider themselves entirely justified in killing trespassers. They paused at a clearing, seeing broad cultivated fields spread out before them, smelling the scents of plowed dirt, woodsmoke, and domesticated animals. Katara blinked in surprise at the houses. She had never ventured into Pack territory, since to do so was tantamount to suicide. As a result, she hadn’t realized that the Fang lived thus. Their houses didn’t have the advanced appearance of the Antler Kindred’s dwellings, but they weren’t primitive longhouses like the Claw Kindred built, either. And it appeared the Fang farmed the land, unlike either of the other Kindred. “They are almost as civilized as we are,” Hart said from beside her. She turned her head and realized he’d shifted. Irritated, she quickly changed to her human form. “I wish you would cease using that word,” she grumbled. “My people are not barbarians. We simply choose to live close to the forest. To value our animal forms as much as our human ones.” “Not to mention the fact that your people have no notion of how to build better houses.” She growled deep in her throat. “I would rather be uncivilized than a coward who has forgotten how to commune with nature.” He shrugged the insult off, returning his attention to the dwellings. “Strange,” he said. “It is quiet and dark. Perhaps the village is uninhabited?” “More likely they are simply sleeping. We know the Fang tend to go abroad in daylight and sleep at night, like your Kindred.”

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“But there are at least ten who must be awake,” he pointed out. “Yet they have not approached us, not even to drive us from their land.” “They hope to lure us closer, perhaps. So that they can attack us with the strength of the full pack. Let us go forth and spring the trap. We sent them yelping into the night once. We can do it again.” “We sent but ten wolves fleeing from us. We cannot fight an entire Pack.” “True enough,” she admitted grudgingly. “But perhaps there is no need for us to do so. Let me go forth covertly and see if I can determine the nature of the trap.” Hart hesitated. “Something about this does not feel right.” She spoke impatiently. “It is an easy matter for me to go closer. My coat camouflages me to a certain extent in the tall grass that they grow.” She shifted back into cat form, dropped low to the ground, and began to slink through the cultivated grass toward the houses, leaving Hart on the edge of the forest. She was the best for this sort of work, anyway. He was too big, and in the moonlit field he would stand out like an enormous oak in his animal form. She, on the other hand, blended into the tall wheat rather well. She was more or less invisible from the town. At least she thought she was. But she had only made it halfway to the houses when she heard a peculiar whooshing sound, and a pain slashed through her shoulder, cutting into her like a blow from an unsheathed claw. Bowled onto her side, she roared in pain and startlement. Instantly Hart rippled into his stag form and leapt for her, reaching her in four great bounds. He shifted quickly to his human form, slung her leopard body over his shoulders, and ran for the trees. Another whoosh sounded in the darkness, but no pain cut through her this time. Inside the shelter of the trees, he dropped to his knees, panting, and laid her down on the leaves. Lifting her head, Katara saw a strange feathered shaft protruding from her shoulder, blood oozing around it. Hart cursed and reached for the shaft. He pulled at it gently, but it seemed to be imbedded in her flesh somehow. He yanked a little harder, and Katara gave an involuntary growl of pain.

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“I cannot remove it,” he said. “You need to shift.” Any foreign object in her body would be expelled when she changed form. But it was easier said than done in her condition. Under pain and stress, her body didn’t want to give up its natural defenses. She concentrated, doing her best to ignore the fiery pain in her shoulder, and managed to shift into human form. The shaft dropped onto the ground, but the wound remained. She reached for the wound on her shoulder, and her fingers came away wet with blood. “They bit me,” she said in blank surprise. “How did they do that?” Even in the dappled shadows of the forest, she could see his lips press together with anger as he studied her wound. “It is said that our Ancestors could bite and claw one another from a distance.” “But why—” She tried to sit up and bit her lip against the resultant stab of pain. “Why would anyone want to do that? Why create artificial fangs? That is why we have taken on forms with fangs and claws and antlers, in order to defend ourselves.” “According to myth, the Ancestors were trapped in a single form. Human form. Since they were defenseless, perhaps they needed to create their own fangs.” “But that is merely legend.” With a grunt, she managed to heft herself to a sitting position. “You are suggesting the Fang Kindred have invented such a thing? No one knows if such a weapon ever existed. And if it had, why would the Fang need it, any more than we do? They already have fangs. And they cannot carry such a thing in their animal form, so to use it they would need to remain in human form. That is the sheerest folly.” “Perhaps not,” Hart said, studying her wound with eyes that appeared almost impassive. Then he looked up, and she caught the spark of anger deep in his gaze. “It appears that this could be a very effective way of killing one’s enemy.” “For cowards, perhaps.” She swallowed against the pain. “Your people have a great deal of impressive magic. Do you possess such a device?” “No. Even if we knew how to make such a thing, its creation would be against the deepest-held beliefs of our society.” She heard the selfloathing in his voice, the bitter sorrow that he had violated those beliefs

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in his youth. “We do not kill, Katara. We fight only to defend ourselves, and only to wound, never to kill.” They did not kill, but they could be killed. She suddenly recalled the second whoosh she’d heard, and looked him over. She saw no evidence of an injury, but fear squeezed her heart anyway. “Did they bite you?” “No.” Hart shook his head. “Not yet, at any rate. But if they have a fang that strikes from a distance, we need to get away from here, Katara. We do not wish them to strike us again. Next time their aim might be more true. Can you walk?” She rose to her hands and knees, swaying a little, then shifted back to her feline form. The pain was somehow less intense in her animal form. She’d always been able to endure more as a leopard. She started at a trot through the woods, favoring her right foreleg a bit. Hart shifted and settled into a steady gait beside her. They traveled for half an hour, but her movements became more and more uneven, and her pace slower. Her animal stubbornness kept her going, even as she felt her body growing steadily weaker, saw the world growing darker, felt blood oozing from her shoulder in a sluggish stream. But even feline tenacity could not keep her on her feet forever. At last she stumbled, then sank down to the ground, senseless. XXXXX Hart cursed lividly beneath his breath as he carried Katara into the safe house. They’d gotten within a quarter mile of the building when she collapsed, and he’d managed to bring her the rest of the way in his human form. Her body was wracked with chills, and he wished desperately for Otwa. But he would have to make do on his own. He couldn’t let Katara die. He placed her carefully onto the bed, noticing as he did so that the fang seemed to have cut more deeply into her muscles than any natural wolf bite could have. The wound appeared very deep. Fortunately the fang appeared to have missed striking anything vital. But the wound was bleeding, and probably already infected, judging from the heat of her skin. -70-


He hunted through the few cabinets for first-aid equipment, and finally found the small handheld regenerator he sought. It wouldn’t heal her as well as the regen field in his keep, but it would stop the bleeding and help the muscles and sinew begin knitting together again. He held the device over her wound, and gradually the bleeding stopped and the hole grew smaller. Only then did he breathe freely again. For the first time, he let himself think of what could have happened to her. The fang could have drilled cleanly through her heart, killing her instantly, beyond the help of any medical technology the Antler possessed. It could have gone through her eye and buried itself in her brain. She could have been dead in his arms. The image of her sprawled dead in the wheat made his heart squeeze painfully. For that matter, his brother could have been killed, too, although he suspected the fang would have to be very well aimed to fell a full-grown stag. It was curious that with this fang at their disposal, the Pack had opted to attack Prong in the more traditional fashion. It was almost as if he hadn’t been enough of a target. As if they’d wanted to lure a more prominent member of the Antler Kindred to their territory. And that, he realized, was very probably their motive. They’d wanted to show him what they could do, impress upon him the new danger they represented. It had worked. He was impressed. And not in a good way. Despite his Kindred’s superiority in other technological areas, they were now at a very real disadvantage. The Claw, who had retained none of the Ancestor’s technology, were in an even worse position. It did not take a great deal of imagination to envision a full Pack of twenty or thirty wolves in human form, all armed with numerous fangs that could strike from a distance. They could destroy a large number of Antler and Claw Kindred in a few heartbeats, before the other Kindred could ever get close enough to defend themselves. Even if the Antler and Claw managed to put aside their differences and fight together, even if the Antler could bring themselves to kill their

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attackers, it would all be for naught. Their natural defenses were nothing against a fang that could kill from a distance. They were all as does, utterly without antlers, without any means of defending themselves in the face of this threat. At last the regenerator in his hand stopped whirring. He felt Katara’s forehead, finding that the device had destroyed the infection at the same time it healed her wound. She felt cool to the touch now, and her respiration was even and normal. He dropped onto a chair and watched her. A few moments later, she opened her eyes. “Where are we?” Her voice was low and hoarse, still rough with grogginess, and his body stirred in an instinctive response to the husky tone. He tamped down the reaction, reminding himself that she had just been badly wounded. There was nothing sexual about this situation. “I brought you back to the safe house,” he said. She blinked sleepily. “But the wound…” He held up the regenerator. “I healed you.” She sighed, and her eyes drifted shut. He knew she needed to sleep in order to recover fully. But she seemed to be clinging to consciousness. Her voice was a bare whisper. “We have a problem.” “Yes,” he agreed. “A big problem.” “We must warn…our Kindred.” “Yes, we must. When you have recovered, we will do so. We must convince our people to join forces against the Fang Kindred. Only by working together do we have any chance of countering this threat.” “My people…will not work with yours. They would rather die.” He blew out a breath. “My people will feel much the same. But somehow we must convince them to work together. If we do not succeed, death is indeed what we all face.”

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Chapter Seven Hart had never dreamed of walking voluntarily into a Pride’s territory. The Kindred all respected the boundaries of each other’s territory and stayed on their own lands, or in the neutral border lands. It was the only thing that had prevented bloodshed for all these years. And yet, with Katara at his side, he found himself walking toward a crudely constructed longhouse. The afternoon sunlight dappled the grass of the clearing with golden light, and the scent of cooking meat rose from the chimney along with a plume of wood smoke, all but nauseating him. It was a grim reminder of how different these people were from his own. The Antler Kindred would never consider eating meat, let alone burning it to a crisp first. It was an entirely repulsive thought, and it turned his stomach. He had originally planned to return to his people first, but Katara had pointed out that Claw territory was much closer. While he understood the logic of her argument, Hart couldn’t feel comfortable walking into the heart of Claw territory. At least he wasn’t approaching in human form. Katara had suggested he assume his stag form, both for self-defense in case the Claw became hostile, and because her people respected the wild. Even if they saw him as dinner on four hooves, they at least would respect the fact that he traveled in animal form. Despite his wide, branching antlers, he felt naked, particularly when he saw several feline shapes slink out from the longhouse, their eyes narrowed, their bodies close to the ground in an unmistakably hostile posture. Unlike his people, the Claw took on many different feline forms, varied in size and species, although each person only assumed one form.

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He saw a tawny lioness, much larger than Katara, a black panther even smaller and sleeker than she was, and an enormous orange and black striped tiger. Behind them slunk a puma, a black-maned lion, and a thick-coated snow leopard. If they chose to attack as a Pride, he knew he didn’t stand a chance against them, even with Katara by his side. And even though he and Katara had shared an unbelievable night of lovemaking, even though he’d cared for her like one of his own Kindred both times she’d been injured, he had no real proof that she was truly on his side. It was not impossible she’d brought him here to trap him, or even to kill him. What her motive for such a betrayal might be, he couldn’t imagine. But then, he’d never truly understood the feline mind. Predators didn’t think the way his people did, and he couldn’t guess what she might do. The lioness stalked forward, her long tail twitching, her lips curling back from her teeth. Hart debated lowering his antlers in a threatening gesture, but before he could do so, Katara leapt in front of him, her ears flattened back, crouching in a defensive posture that said quite plainly, He is here under my protection. The lioness raised her head and studied Hart with her amber eyes. Her tawny hide rippled, her body changed shape, and she shifted into a woman. She was older, with gray streaks in her brown-and-gold hair and lines etched deeply around her eyes and mouth. Her bare belly showed the stretch marks of childbirth, and her breasts hung low from feeding children, yet she was still an attractive woman. There was something about the breadth of her jaw and the narrow blade of her nose that made Hart think of Katara. “Explain yourself, daughter,” the woman snapped. Katara shifted. Standing just behind her, Hart observed the interesting sight of her tail shrinking and disappearing, and her sleek flanks shifting into round, shapely human buttocks. He tried not to let the sight distract him overmuch. In Claw territory, and facing a half dozen savage cats, the last thing he needed was to allow himself to be distracted by a woman’s curvaceous rump, no matter how lovely it was.

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“Mother,” Katara said formally. “I bring you Lord Hart, eldest son of the monarch of the Antler Kindred.” The woman’s nostrils flared, and her amber eyes flashed fire at Hart. “Why has this Antler set hoof into our territory?” Hart felt a vague surprise that this woman appeared to be in charge, then recalled that Pride leaders were always female. Among the Antler, the monarch of the Herd was always male, and he’d heard that amongst the Fang, an alpha male and female shared the leadership of the Pack. It was just another reminder that, although they looked alike in human form, the three Kindred had entirely different customs and beliefs. “He has twice saved me from the Fang Kindred,” Katara said. “But even though I owe him my life, I would not have brought him here for less than a matter of grave import. We come with news, Mother, news that you must hear.” The woman’s eyes shone with contempt as she glared at Hart. “Does the Antler not possess his own voice? If he wishes to speak, let him speak for himself.” Hart understood the challenge. He was unable to speak as a stag. Faced with half a dozen Claw, most of them in cat form, did he have the nerve to effectively disarm by shifting to human form? To shift was foolhardy—he would likely be unable to shift back quickly enough if they attacked him. And yet he must prove his mettle before these people somehow, if he was to have the slightest chance of earning their respect. Drawing in a deep breath, he forced himself to change. It wasn’t easy to shift to human form. In any dangerous situation, with adrenaline pumping through his veins, he shifted automatically into stag form. Faced with the scent and sight of half a dozen felines, he was instinctively nervous, and his body didn’t want to give up its natural defenses. But he concentrated, forcing the change on his unwilling flesh, and seconds later he stood before them, stark naked and utterly unarmed. He thought he glimpsed approval in the woman’s eyes as he stepped forward and bowed deeply, a mark of respect he ordinarily wouldn’t

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demonstrate to anyone other than his monarch. Exposing the back of his neck to a predator was not something he enjoyed doing, and he had to fight his body to avoid shifting back to his animal form. “I am Lord Hart of the Antler Kindred,” he said, imbuing his voice with the respect he usually reserved for his father. “I apologize for entering your territory, but Katara and I bring news.” “It must be startling news indeed, to make you risk so much.” “It is certainly not good news. The Pack have developed a fang that wounds from a distance.” The woman’s eyebrows lifted. “Ridiculous. Such a thing is nothing but myth. A tale told to children.” “It is more than myth,” Katara said. “It is reality. I have experienced it. It bit deeply into my shoulder.” A flash of concern lit the amber eyes as the lioness studied her daughter. “You do not seem to be seriously wounded.” “Only because of the healing abilities of the Antler,” Katara said. “Were it not for him, I would have bled to death.” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You permitted him to heal you?” The tiger and panther growled, taking a step forward, and Hart remembered the words Katara had uttered in the keep. If we are injured, we must heal without intervention. She had called it the code of her people, and suggested that to rely on artificial healing left her without honor. He imagined that the Claw, barbarians that they were, might deal with such a situation by killing her, and he wondered if they were both about to be torn to pieces. He had to struggle to prevent himself from reverting to stag form. “It is my fault, not hers,” he said quickly, taking a step forward, so that they stood shoulder to shoulder. Whatever her fate was to be, he would share in it. “There are healers among my people, and they help us recover from injuries. I knew not that such a thing was considered improper among your people. Katara was unconscious—she had no way of refusing treatment.” He saw the flash of surprise in Katara’s eyes as she glanced at him. She appeared startled that he’d taken the blame for her dishonor. Her

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mother still looked displeased, but she motioned the great cats back. “I am not surprised by your actions,” she said tartly. “We have long known your people are without honor.” “We are not without honor, madam. But our notions of honor are quite different from yours.” With the crisis averted, at least for now, Katara stepped forward. “You can still see the scar on my shoulder, Mother.” The older woman’s eyes narrowed as she examined the ragged, round scar. “It looks like a minor injury.” “Yes,” Hart agreed. “It is a narrow fang. But it passed readily through muscle and sinew. It is slender, but it cuts very deep.” The lioness studied the scar for a long moment. Her brow wrinkled. “I have never seen such a wound. This is indeed new.” “We believe the Fang Kindred have plans of war,” Hart said. “They have attacked Katara and my own brother within the space of a few days. When we followed them to their lands, they struck us with this fang. We suspect they intended this as a threat to both our peoples.” “We have always lived in peace with the Fang. Certainly they are not our allies, but generally speaking, they leave us alone, and we leave them alone.” “That no longer seems to be the case,” Katara said. “They ambushed me.” Her mother frowned. “You are lucky to be alive, then.” “She was just as lucky to survive this single fang,” Hart said. “It could have killed her as easily as a Pack ambush. And more of your people will likely fall victim to this fang, unless we find some way to counter this threat with one of our own. We must work together if we are to find a way to defend ourselves.” “Why? We have nothing to do with the Antler Kindred.” “Perhaps in the past you have not. But you need us now. Or can your people create a fang that strikes from a distance?” “No. Nor would we create such a thing if we could. There is no honor in it.”

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Hart chose his words carefully. “When one confronts an enemy with no honor, one cannot be too particular about one’s own code of honor.” “I disagree. One’s honor is most important when one is facing a dishonorable enemy.” The woman sounded haughty, arrogant, utterly sure of herself and the code she lived by, and Hart sighed. It was this attitude that was going to lead the Claw to destruction if he couldn’t convince them of the need to defend themselves against the Fang. “There is no honor in allowing oneself to be slaughtered from a distance,” he said. “Which is what will happen if we do not find a way to prevent it. We must work together to find some way to counter this threat.” The woman snorted. “What can the Pack do with a single fang?” “We left this particular fang on the forest floor, but I doubt very much it was the only one they possessed, or they would not have wasted it on us. It is quite likely that they have numerous fangs, perhaps as many as several for each wolf. I pray you, madam, think of how easily they could slaughter our people if there were but thirty of them armed with these fangs. We would stand no chance of getting close enough to defend ourselves.” The woman’s frown deepened, as did the furrows on her face, and Hart sensed he was getting through to her. “Why would they do such a thing? After all, the only time they have used it thus far was to bite you for trespassing upon their land.” “I doubt they will use this weapon only for defense. Already they have showed themselves to be aggressive, ambushing those who roamed neutral territory. If they attack us with these fangs, we will all be destroyed. As to the why of it—perhaps for land, perhaps for power. These are the things that have motivated men since our ancestors came to this world from the stars.” “What exactly do you suggest we do?” “I wish to propose an alliance between our peoples.” The cats snarled, and the woman made a noise of disgust. “An alliance with leaf eaters? Impossible.”

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“You would prefer to die at the hands of the Fang?” The woman looked him straight in the eye. “Yes. We would prefer to die than ally ourselves with you.” XXXXX “I warned you that this would be their attitude.” Hart blew out his breath in what Katara was beginning to recognize as his characteristic sound of annoyance. “It is what I expected as well. Yet I hoped they would be amenable to reason.” “I am fortunate they did not tear me limb from limb when they realized I had been healed by your people. But to expect them to listen to me, when I have lost my honor, is beyond the bounds of reason. And to expect them to listen to you—” “Yes, I know. A leaf eater.” Hart spoke with audible disgust. His shoulders slumped as they walked through the forest, away from the Pride’s territory. “It is the way of things,” she said gently. “And my people are not that different from your own. Yours will not join with mine because we are barbarians. Isn’t that true?” “Very likely,” he admitted grudgingly. “The truth is, my own father may not listen to me, either. My people do not rip each other apart as the Claw do, but I may well find myself exiled.” “Why?” “Have you forgotten that I was charged to keep you prisoner?” So much had happened in the past few days that she truly had forgotten. She inclined her head. “But—” “I relaxed my attention and permitted you to escape, and then I went with you to Pack territory rather than returning you to the keep. I failed in my duty, not once, but twice. My monarch may not choose to overlook my lapse.” “But you had good intentions.” “My intentions are irrelevant. I am sworn to obey my monarch.” Katara nodded. She understood that. In some ways, the Antler Kindred were not that different from the Claw. They had their code of -79-

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honor, too. The unwanted feeling of respect for him that had taken root deep in her heart over the last few days swelled. “And then there is the fact that we have been intimate,” she said softly. “Both our peoples would despise us, if they knew. The very idea is considered revolting among my people.” “As it is among mine. And yet I do not regret it. Not in the least.” “Nor do I.” She was surprised to realize it was the truth, that she would not have traded these last days with Hart for all the honor in the world. “What should we do next?” “We approach my people.” “But you just finished saying that they will most likely not listen to you.” “That is irrelevant. It is my duty to warn them. If it leads to my exile, so be it.” The respect in her heart grew warmer, like a flame gaining strength as it fed on tinder. “Surely your people will easily be able to counter the threat,” she said. “You have the magic walls.” “The force fields?” He shrugged. “The royal family and the courtiers will be safe enough in the keep, and each house has force fields on the windows, but we will not be able to venture out of doors, not even into the streets, without the fear of attack. That is no way for a people to live.” She thought of how she’d felt, confined in the tower of the keep, and nodded. Some other solution would be needed in the long term. “I will come with you,” she said. “Good. Strangely enough, I find that I do not wish to part from you.” An involuntary smile curved her lips. “That is peculiar, since a mere two days ago you seemed to find me irritating. I distinctly recall that you asked me how the men of my Kindred managed to avoid killing the women.” He gave a wry smile. Then his body and face elongated as he shifted into stag form, and she assumed her leopard body. Shoulder to shoulder, they turned toward the Antler domain. Just then a roar of agonized pain rumbled from the direction of the Pride’s longhouse. And another. And another.

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No words were necessary. They exchanged glances, then spun and ran at top speed for the longhouse.

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Chapter Eight A grim sight greeted their eyes as they approached the bark-walled dwelling. The cats that had surrounded Katara’s mother lay in the clearing, paws outstretched, feathered shafts protruding from their sides, all quite clearly dead. Hart felt a moment of horror at the fangs that could kill so cleanly and from such a distance. His people, who were not carnivorous, did not believe in killing anyway. But to kill in such a cowardly manner, to slaughter from a distance—it shocked him clear down to his hooves. Rather than leaping recklessly out into the clearing, he lifted his head, scenting the breeze, trying to determine if the danger had passed. Katara attempted to press past him, fear and distress clear in her wide green-gold eyes, but he shouldered her back. Enough Claw had died already. She snarled with mindless fury, lifting her paw and raking her extended claws across his shoulder. He threw up his head in pain, but didn’t try to defend himself. He would never use the wickedly sharp prongs of his antlers on her. At any rate, he could only imagine how much this sight hurt her. The thought of being exiled from his people, sent away by his own father, had cut into his soul. But seeing one’s own people slaughtered from a distance was enough to drive anyone mad. Of course, being Claw, she wanted to charge into the clearing and avenge her people. But it wasn’t a fair fight. The Fang were hidden in the trees, probably still armed, and if she showed herself, all that would be accomplished was her death. In a moment, she seemed to calm down. He kept a wary eye on her and was surprised when she shifted. They might need to flee at a

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moment’s notice. In his opinion, this was no time to take their human forms. “My mother and father,” she said in a voice that was barely audible, even to his acute animal hearing. “They are not on the ground.” Startled, Hart turned back and observed more closely. She was correct. There were only four felines on the ground. The lioness who was the leader was missing, and so was the black-maned lion, whom he inferred was Katara’s father. Unable to speak in his current form, he nodded toward the longhouse. “I don’t think they’re inside,” she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulders, presumably to comfort herself. Her hand landed just above the rents her claws had slashed into his fur. Had he been in his human form, he would have winced. “They wouldn’t hide behind walls while their people were slaughtered. It is not our way.” Based on everything he knew of Katara, he could well imagine that was true. He turned his head, looking in the trees around the clearing. The lions were either hunting their assailants, or they’d been abducted, though he had difficulty imagining the hot-tempered lioness allowing herself to be captured. Moments slid by, and nothing happened. Hart raised his head, testing the wind, and decided that the thick, rank smell of wolf was receding. He shifted to human form, Katara’s hand still on his shoulder. “I think they’ve gone,” he said, ignoring the blood that seeped from the claw marks on his shoulder blade. Despite her mindless anger, she had not hurt him badly. The marks were little deeper than bramble scratches. “You’re right…they are cowards. They struck from a distance and then fled.” She looked up at him, her eyes huge. “What about my parents?” “They may be in pursuit of the wolves, or they might have been abducted,” he said. Or they may well be lying dead in the woods. He left the thought unspoken. He didn’t want to distress Katara any more than he needed to. Emotional distress led to costly mistakes. He needed her alert, and as calm as possible.

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She swallowed and lifted her chin. “Let us find out.” They shifted back to animal form, and she slid carefully along the border of the clearing, keeping to the trees. Hart followed. Eventually she paused, sniffing carefully at a patch of bent underbrush. Hart drew in a breath tainted with the thick scent of wolf. Even in their human form they stank, he thought with distaste. The trail led away from the clearing. They followed carefully, their passage making no sound in the underbrush. Barely a leaf stirred as they passed. About twenty yards away from the clearing, Katara suddenly froze, every muscle in her sleek body going taut. Hart lowered his head, scenting the sharp odor of lion. Lion and wolf had crossed paths here, yet judging from the untouched look of the surrounding vegetation, no struggle had taken place. He wondered if the wolves had aimed their fangs at the lions and forced them to come along. And yet something about that theory didn’t ring true. Based on what he knew of Katara, the Claw Kindred would never tamely submit to capture. They would die first. Therefore, something else must have happened here. More likely, he thought, the lions were in pursuit. He saw by Katara’s posture that she was relieved to discover her parents were still alive. Yet four of her Kindred would never hunt again. He saw in her eyes that knowledge still weighed on her heavily. Bending his head, he touched his nose to her ear, trying to tell her without words that it wasn’t her fault. She’d tried to warn her people, but stubborn folk that they were, they hadn’t listened. Not that he expected his own Kindred to listen, either. That thought caused him to wonder if his own people had already been attacked, just as the Claw Kindred had been. The thought of his own Kindred lying dead on the ground, feathered shafts protruding from their chests, sent a stab of dread through him. That horrible vision led to another thought. Why had Katara’s Pride been attacked so soon after he and Katara had arrived? The answer was obvious—and heartrending.

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They’d led the killers to this place. Pride dwellings weren’t easy to find, scattered as widely as they were. The Fang had doubtless needed help to find this longhouse. They’d trailed him and Katara at a distance in order to locate this place and attack the Claw. Hart’s people, unlike the Claw, lived in large towns. His own town, where the royal family lived, was the largest, but there were ten other Antler towns scattered across this world’s single continent, all populated by people going about their business, walking the streets, strolling in the forests. People who wouldn’t expect to be suddenly attacked by flying fangs. Unless they stayed in their dwellings at all times, they would be utterly defenseless against such an attack, and blood would run in the streets. He had to warn his people. Not just the people of his own town, but all his people. Or this slaughter might happen again, but on a much greater scale. XXXXX Katara tried to calm herself, but her leopard soul blazed for revenge. The sight of her Kindred lying on the ground, dead, slaughtered, was burned into her brain for eternity. She wanted to tear the Fang apart, one by one, slowly. She wanted to hear their yelps of agony as her claws slashed into their muscles and ripped their sinews from their bones. The scent of her parents reassured her, calmed her a bit. Knowing them as well as she did, she could smell rage, but no fear, so she was fairly certain they had come this way voluntarily. She guessed they were in pursuit of the wolves. There was a very real danger that the wolves would hide themselves and shoot her parents in an ambush. But she doubted such a concern would enter into her parents’ minds. Like her, the feline spirit within them would be hungry for revenge. And neither of them had really had the time to internalize the threat, to understand exactly what the Fang Kindred could do now. They were caught in an old way of thinking.

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All of them would have to change their way of thinking now or they wouldn’t survive their next encounter with the Fang. Hart trotted along next to her. She wondered how often an Antler and a Claw had journeyed shoulder to shoulder. Never before in the history of the world, she suspected. And yet they’d done it so often over the past days that it had begun to seem natural. Ordinary. Right. A fierce growling came from somewhere ahead, along with a shrill yelping. Katara and Hart exchanged a quick look, then shifted into a run. They slid to a stop at the sight of two lions, mouths wide open in snarls, angry growls pulsing from their chests. They loomed over a black wolf. Katara recognized the wolf. It was the bitch who had participated in both attacks on her. Nearby a wooden object lay on the ground, an object she’d probably been clutching in human form and dropped when she’d shifted to wolf form in a hopeless attempt to defend herself. But a lone wolf had no chance against two angry lions. She lay on her back, paws in the air, yelping for mercy. Judging from the lions’ growling, she wasn’t going to get it. Hart’s hide rippled, and he transformed into human form as he lunged forward. Naked and unarmed, he threw himself between the lions and the wolf. He knelt there in the dirt, looking up into the lions’ amber eyes. “We must not kill her,” he said urgently. The lions stared at him as if he were mad, and Katara was inclined to wonder about his sanity herself. She raised her head, scenting the crisp fall air, and smelled no nearby wolves. But they were still an easy target in this clearing. She doubted the wolves would send their fangs through the air when they might accidentally slay one of their own, but at this point she really wasn’t sure what the Fang might do. Katara’s mother opened her mouth in a snarl and emitted a bloodcurdling growl, obviously warning Hart to get out of the way. Hart didn’t flinch.

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“We need her,” he said. “If we can take one of them prisoner, we may be able to force her to explain how it works, so that we can figure out how to create fangs of our own. It’s the best hope for both our peoples.” The lioness took a step forward, looming over Hart threateningly, her ivory fangs only inches from his face. He lifted his chin and stared at her. He must surely be afraid, but it didn’t show. “Do you want to see more of your people lying dead on the ground?” he demanded. The lioness hesitated, then her fur began to ripple. A second later she stood before Hart, glaring down at him. Katara’s father remained in his lion form and looked up at both of them, growling. “My people do not take prisoners,” Katara’s mother said. “There is no honor in it.” “There may not be any honor in it, but it is the best option in this situation. Surely you realize we can’t stand against this—this flying fang.” The woman hesitated. Katara saw a movement behind Hart. The black wolf was bleeding from several slash wounds, but she visibly gathered her strength, rolled over, and lunged for him, naked and defenseless though he was. But Katara was faster. She leapt forward and slashed at the wolf’s hind leg with her claws, cutting the tendon deeply. The wolf collapsed to the ground with a yelp, rolling over onto her back, and Katara pinned the wolf on the ground again, growling. Hart turned and looked at the wolf, lifting an eyebrow. “Not that I think it would necessarily be a bad idea to kill her.” The wolf whined. “Typical,” the woman said. “They have no honor. You, on the other hand…” She looked approvingly at Hart, who had risen to his feet and stood with no show of fear, mere inches from the black-maned lion. “There is more to you than I had expected. Perhaps I have misjudged your people.”

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Hart inclined his head to her. “I am certain that I have misjudged yours. But that is in the past. I know better now, and I will not allow my prejudices to blind me to the virtues of your people again.” The lion shifted into human form. Katara looked up at her beloved father, his hair as long and black as it was in his lion form. His face was more weathered and lined than she recalled, his features slack with sorrow and anger, but she was relieved to see he looked as strong and vital as ever. Although the Claw were a solitary people, they nevertheless had strong family ties. “How do you suggest we keep her captive?” he asked in his deep voice. The wolf’s black fur rippled, and Katara found herself standing above a small woman with short, spiky black hair and an angry expression on her lovely face. Her leg was bleeding profusely from the gash Katara had given her, and there were other bite marks here and there, but she still managed to look defiant, despite being pinned to the ground by a growling leopard. “My people will be back for me,” she informed them haughtily. “Perhaps they will, although they left you behind readily enough.” Hart stood up and looked down at her. “But by the time they return, we’ll be gone.” He bent and picked up the wooden device. “And we’ll have this.” A whooshing noise was their only warning. With the reflexes that allowed his Kindred to avoid predators, Hart flung himself to the ground, and a flying fang embedded itself into a tree trunk just behind him. Katara’s father shifted into lion form and bounded in the direction from which the arrow had come. “Go back to the longhouse!” Katara’s mother snapped, then shifted and followed her mate. There was a crashing in the underbrush, which rapidly receded. Hart came to his knees and grasped the fallen Fang by the arms, dragging her into the woods. Katara picked up the wood and sinew implement in her mouth and followed him. Once they were in the cover of the trees, Hart started to gather the woman into his arms, but she instantly shifted, leaving him with an armful of very angry wolf. She

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snapped at his upper arm, and only his quick reflexes saved him from an ugly bite. He dropped her onto the leaf-littered ground, less than gently, and she yelped again. Hart looked at Katara, clearly perplexed. Katara understood his problem—the Antler Kindred were not in the habit of taking carnivores prisoners. They had only managed to imprison her because she had been unconscious. They didn’t even keep tame animals as the Fang did, so he was naturally unsure how to proceed, especially without the collar that prevented shifting at his disposal. Unable to speak in her feline form, she opened her jaws, dropping the wooden implement to the ground, then nudged at it. Hart nodded slowly, looking at the strip of sinew that held the wood in a bent position. “Not a bad idea,” he said. “But I don’t want to break it.” Katara shrugged her shoulders, as well as she could in leopard form, telling him as clearly as she could that it appeared to be their only option. Hart’s big fingers worked rapidly at the implement. He managed to get the sinew loose, then bent to wrap it around the wolf’s muzzle. She snarled, showing her ivory teeth, and Katara placed a big paw on her neck, lowered her head, and growled a warning of her own. The wolf fell silent, and Hart looped the sinew around her muzzle several times, then tied it behind her ears. The wolf promptly shifted back to human form, but the sinew remained wrapped tightly enough around her jaw that she could barely open her mouth. Hart picked her up, flung her over his shoulder unceremoniously, and headed toward the longhouse, with Katara close behind, still in leopard form, in case the woman managed to struggle free of her bonds and shift again. XXXXX Hart was relieved when Katara’s parents returned unscathed. They reported that there had been five other wolves in the woods, and all of them had been killed because they had panicked and run, rather than -89-

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standing their ground and flinging their fangs. Or perhaps they had run out of fangs. Hart had no way of knowing, but he was heartened by the fact that the Fangs’ numbers had been reduced. Unfortunately, the alpha male had not been among the wolves in the woods this time. With any luck, they could make it back to Antler territory by morning, before more armed Fang ventured out into the forest. After much debate, Katara’s parents agreed to come to the Antler keep. The four other members of their Pride were hunting and might not return for days, or even moons. They recovered an intact fang from the body of one of the dead Claw, and found one of the wood and sinew implements in the woods. They would have to be carried by mouth, since they would all have to travel in animal form. Hart couldn’t hope to keep up with the cats in human form, and he doubted he could carry the Fang that far as a human, anyway. Even if he could, it would take him days to cover the distance. Accordingly, he shifted to his stag form, and Katara and her parents tied the Fang onto his back with coarse rope from the safe house, so that even if she did shift into canine form, she’d be helpless to move. In his animal form, it made him extremely nervous to have a predator tied to his back, but he managed to fight down the feeling of anxiety. Within moments the woman went limp against his back, and he knew she’d passed out from the pain. They traveled through the shifting shadows of the night, their path through the forest lit by both moons. They were, Hart thought, a very unusual procession—representatives of all three of the Kindred traveling together. Admittedly, one was not traveling voluntarily, but this was nevertheless an unusual chapter in the history of their world. As the sun rose, they emerged from the forest, seeing the silvery houses of the Antler village spread out before them. Hart hesitated on the edge of the meadow and glanced in their direction. Katara shifted to human form so she could speak. “Perhaps it would be best if we all shift?”

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Hart nodded. If three Claw walked through the streets of the village in feline form, there would be terror and panic, leading to chaos. It would be obvious to anyone who got close enough to smell them that they were Claw, but hopefully few people would be up and about so early. And hopefully no one would take note of the curious implements the older Claw now held in their hands. They walked down the main street of the town and arrived at the keep without incident, much to Hart’s relief. The guards at the gate bowed their heads respectfully to Hart, recognizing him easily as a stag. He had passed through this gate many times in deer form. Suddenly the guards lifted their heads, obviously catching the scent of the Claw, and instantly shifted to stag form in an involuntary reaction. They had been chosen for this post because of their size, and they were nearly as large as Hart, big, burly stags with branching antlers. Hart lowered his head in a gesture that said, These people are under my protection. Do not harm them. The guards looked wide-eyed with terror, but determined. They stepped in front of the gate, heads down, showing plainly that they would do their duty, no matter how frightened. Lord or no lord, Hart had no authority to bring predators into the keep, and they well knew it. At the sight of their antlers lowered in a threatening gesture, Katara’s parents shifted into their lion forms. Hart would have groaned if he could have. The situation was deteriorating rapidly, and he hadn’t even managed to get inside the keep yet. He hated to think what would happen when he brought the Claw into an audience with his father. He had a feeling claws would be bared, teeth shown, and antlers brandished. He turned his head toward Katara, giving her a look that asked plainly for assistance. Once again, she did not fail him. Naked and unarmed, she stepped directly between the growling lions and the pawing stags, holding out her hands in a gesture that pleaded for peace. “Do nothing yet,” she said to the stags. “Give me a moment and I will free your lord so that he may shift and speak to you.”

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The stags lifted their heads slightly, showing that they would wait, although they kept a wary eye on the lions. Katara stepped to Hart’s side and began to deftly untie the ropes. Moments later the Fang slid to the ground. Katara retied the ropes around the unconscious woman’s body while Hart changed form in order to speak. “I bring these emissaries of the Claw to meet with my father about a mutual threat we must confront,” he said to the stags. “Step aside and let us pass.” They hesitated. He knew they were only doing their job, that he had no right to bring predators inside the walls of the keep, and that they must be concerned he was being coerced somehow. Yet he felt irritation flow through him, fueled by his exhaustion, and his skin rippled. “Move aside!” he commanded more sharply. The guards attempted to shift back to human form, but clearly had difficulty doing so in the presence of their ancient enemies. Their outlines kept blurring and rippling in a rather peculiar way. Finally one of them managed to shift. “Lord Hart,” he said diffidently, “surely you cannot mean to allow Claw and Fang Kindred into the presence of the monarch?” It was a reasonable question. If by some chance the Claw had the intention of betraying them and killing the Antler monarch, he must not allow them to do so. “The Fang will go into the medical chamber, both to heal her and to make certain she cannot escape,” he said. “The Claw will be shown to a chamber and will await the monarch’s audience.” The lions growled, annoyed, but he ignored their reaction. He would not compromise the safety of his monarch, no matter what. The guard swallowed. “Very well, my lord. But let us summon other guards to accompany you, in case of…” His gaze slid to the snarling lions. “Difficulties.” “That will be acceptable,” Hart said. So it was that they entered the keep, Hart and Katara walking together in human form, flanked on either side by a great cat and a stag. Hart carried the bound Fang, still in her human form, in his arms. Her

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head lolled against his shoulder, and her bare skin felt hot to the touch. He suspected she was growing ill. “Show the Claw leader and her consort to our best chamber,” he said, emphasizing the last words slightly, trying to convey both to them and his guards that this was not imprisonment, but courteous treatment accorded to honored guests. He went toward the medical chamber with Katara, making certain the Fang was immobilized on a regen table, and then went in search of his monarch. He had had a long, tiring two days, and he wished very much for a hot meal, a bath, and court clothes before approaching his father, but his duty was to warn his monarch of the danger immediately. Not to mention the fact that he very much doubted the lions would brook any sort of delay. Still naked and bedraggled, he strode into the private audience chamber with Katara at his side, only to pause in surprised delight when he saw his brother there, standing on his own two feet and looking as disgustingly handsome as ever. “Prong!” he exclaimed, striding forward and gripping his brother by both arms in the customary gesture of greeting used by their people. “I am relieved to see you whole and well.” Prong lifted an eyebrow. “I seem to have weathered the past two days better than you, my brother.” Indeed, it was true. Prong was dressed in his usual impeccable white clothing, his hair brushed so thoroughly it gleamed like polished copper in the light. Hart, on the other hand, knew he was filthy, scratched, and his hair was probably filled with leaves. “It has been a difficult two days,” he admitted, then turned to his father, grateful that they were alone in the chamber. “My monarch, I would speak with you.” The monarch frowned. “You certainly will. You will explain why you permitted this Claw to escape. And why you have brought more of her uncivilized, barbaric kind into my keep. And you had best speak quickly, my son, lest I lose patience. I wish not to exile my eldest son, yet it appears my clear duty in this instance.”

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Hart swallowed uncomfortably, knowing that his father’s excessive formality in speech bespoke a genuine anger with his son. To be dressed down in front of his brother stung like the lash of a branch, and he felt much as he had when he was a child and in trouble with his father for loosing snakes in the keep. But he was in much greater trouble now, and the thought of exile unnerved him. He took a deep breath to steady himself and spoke. “There is a new danger to our people, my monarch. The danger is faced by the Claw as well, which is why I brought the leader of this one’s Pride and her consort to speak with you. We must work together if we are to protect our peoples.” “I assure you, Lord Hart, I have less than no interest in what might happen to the Claw. Were their entire Kindred to be destroyed, I would not shed a single tear.” Hart was aware of Katara’s skin rippling with annoyance beside him. He shot her a warning look before continuing. “This Claw’s Pride was decimated yesterday evening, my monarch. The Fang slaughtered them.” “Little surprise there,” Prong said, sounding petulant. “The Fang almost killed me the day before, and this Claw a few days earlier. Obviously they are in a warlike mood for some reason.” “Yes, but they attacked you and Katara in a pack, as Fang usually do. This was a different sort of attack, a cowardly one. They have a new sort of fang, one that kills from a distance.” The monarch rose slowly to his feet. In his dark eyes was an expression Hart had never seen there before, an expression of deepest alarm. “What sort of fang?” Hart held up one of the fangs, which they had managed to recover from one of the fallen Claw. “The fangs look like this, Father. This is the tooth—” He pointed to the sharp end, made of crudely formed metal. “I assume the feathers at the other end of the shaft help it fly through the air.” Prong scowled. “It hardly seems that it could fly without wings.”

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“We believe it is shot from this.” Hart held up the wood and sinew implement they had recovered in the woods. “It bites with a great deal of force and does a large amount of damage from a distance, my liege. If aimed well, it kills instantly. This woman was struck by a fang, and only recovered because I was able to take her to the safe house. Several members of her Kindred were not so lucky.” “Why do we care what toys the Fang Kindred have developed?” Prong drawled. “What have they to do with us?” “They have attacked us, and the Claw, several times in the past few days,” Hart said. “Indeed, they lured myself and the Claw to their lands and then attacked us with these fangs. I believe they are trying to draw us out, to make us march on their territory en masse. Failing that, I fear they will approach our villages and attack us from a distance, slaughtering our people. They could kill us by the score, perhaps even by the hundred, before we realized we were under attack.” His father scowled. “The Fang have left us alone for years. Why would they attack us now?” Hart shrugged. “I know not. Prong, when they attacked you, had you done something to anger them? Did you perhaps encroach upon their territory?” “Think you that I have a death wish, brother? Of course not. I was on neutral land when they ambushed me.” Hart shook his head, baffled. “I admit I do not know what their motivations are. But I do know that our people are in very grave danger. We of the royal family are safe enough, within these walls, and our townspeople will be safe within their own dwellings. But our Kindred could be slaughtered, in any of the Antler towns scattered across the continent, unless they are aware of the danger. We must warn our people, Father.” The monarch shook his head slowly. He still looked stunned, as if such a development had never occurred to him, and Hart felt a brief spurt of annoyance. They didn’t have time to waste while an old man came to grips with a new reality.

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The thought stunned him. An old man. He’d never before thought of his father as old. But standing before them all, his gray hair shaggy around his lined, weathered face, the monarch did indeed look old. “What of the Claw?” the monarch asked at last. “Why did you bring them into my keep as guests? They do not deserve our hospitality. They are barbarians.” “We must work with them,” Hart said firmly. “It is wrong to allow them to be slaughtered, and we may find them a valuable ally. Already I have discovered they are not as barbaric as we have always supposed.” The monarch’s gaze slid to Katara, glorious in her nudity. She was a sight to turn any man’s head, no matter what his Kindred. His gray eyebrows drew together. “I wonder if your feelings in this matter are entirely without bias.” Hart felt color stain his cheeks. He opened his mouth to deny the insinuation, but paused, realizing he couldn’t deny his relationship with Katara. He couldn’t pretend she meant nothing to him, no matter what the consequences. She deserved better than to be denied. “I am certain they are not,” he replied evenly. “The Claw and I have mated.” The monarch’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. Prong looked almost as surprised, then he grinned. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. “And you said you’d never mate with a Claw. So tell us, brother. Are Claw women as hot as the stories suggest? Was it like bedding an animal?” Hart spun toward him, hot rage in his chest. His skin rippled. “I will not countenance that sort of question,” he snapped. Prong lifted his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you’ve actually developed feelings for her.” “Feelings?” the monarch echoed, clearly outraged. “For a barbarian?” Hart lifted his head, meeting his father’s angry gaze with a level look of his own. “I am not certain what I feel for the Claw,” he said. “But I do know that it was no casual coupling, and that I have never felt so much for a woman before.” XXXXX -96-


The last thing Katara had expected was for Hart to admit to the intimacies they had shared. Even more surprising was his admission that their time together had not been casual. Their lovemaking had meant something to her, but she hadn’t been sure it had meant anything to him. She was shocked to realize he was willing to risk exile by admitting feelings for her. For a “barbarian”. I have never felt so much for a woman before. The words made her heart swell. The monarch stared at Hart, apparently as much shocked by his admission as she was. Then his skin began to ripple. His robes rent asunder, and an enormous, gray-headed stag appeared. He was even larger than Hart, and his branching antlers were huge. Hart held out his hands in a gesture of supplication. “Father,” he said. “Please. I do not wish to fight you.” The gray-headed stag lowered his head and charged. Hart flung himself against the wall, barely eluding the sharp points of the antlers. The stag spun and charged again, and Hart scarcely had a chance to shift and brace himself before their antlers crashed together. Katara drew back against the wall, Prong next to her. “So,” he said in a conversational tone, barely seeming to notice the violent scuffle going on in front of them. “You have managed to win my brother’s heart.” “I wouldn’t go that far,” she answered wryly, not taking her eyes off Hart as the stags drew back, then lunged again, slamming their antlers together and seeking to knock each other to the ground. “Perhaps not. But he seems to have captured yours, judging from the way you’re watching him.” The monarch lunged forward with such fury that Hart slipped, almost falling. The stags’ antlers locked together. Katara started forward, her hands outstretched to take her weight as she shifted, but Prong caught her arm before she could transform.

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“Do not think to interfere,” he said quietly. “Among our people, a man must fight his own battles.” The gray-headed stag twisted his head, and Hart fell to the ground with a resounding thud. Katara yanked her arm away from Prong’s restraining hand. “Among my people,” she snapped, “a woman fights at her man’s side.” She jumped forward, shifting mid-leap so that she landed on all fours in her leopard form, just in front of Hart. She flattened her ears back and let her lips curl up menacingly, showing her teeth. The monarch shied back with the natural instinct of his kind, then dropped his head in a clear threat, too angry to pay heed to his instincts. She growled and crouched, refusing to move, even as the monarch bolted forward, his antlers aimed directly for her. Behind her, she heard the clatter of Hart’s hooves as he regained his feet. As the monarch lunged at her, Hart went over her in a leap, meeting his monarch’s charge with so much force that his father was knocked over backward. Still in leopard form, Katara watched with surprise, realizing for the first time that Hart hadn’t been putting his full effort into the fight. He hadn’t wanted to injure his monarch, or perhaps he hadn’t wanted to shame the older man by defeating him. But he was willing to fight in order to protect her. The knowledge filled her with joy. Hart loomed over his father, his antlers down. Abruptly he shifted back to human form, still standing over his father, his chest heaving with effort. His dark eyes flared with anger, and every line of his muscular body radiated protectiveness and determination. “I do not wish to harm you, Father,” he said between his teeth, “but I will kill you before I allow you to harm Katara.” The gray-headed stag’s hide rippled, and a second later the monarch lay on the floor, looking up at his son. To Katara’s eyes, he suddenly looked old. Old…and beaten. “Now I have more reason to exile you than ever,” he said in a low, angry voice.

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“Not so,” Prong said from the side of the chamber. He walked across the carpet and stood next to his brother, shoulder to shoulder. “He is merely protecting the woman he loves, Father. By our laws, he has the right to protect her from anyone. Even the monarch.” The older man looked up at the two younger men ruefully, then struggled to his feet. Katara noticed he was favoring his right leg, which had obviously been twisted in the fall. His naked body resembled Hart’s, she thought, although some of the weight had shifted downward from shoulders to waist. But he was still a strongly built man, if no match for a young man in his prime. “There is no precedent in our law for an Antler who wishes to mate for life with a Claw,” he said. “How fortunate that, as the monarch, you can make a new law,” Prong said wryly. Katara shifted to her human form in order to speak. “I do not think that the question of whom Lord Hart chooses to mate is quite as pressing as the other matter we face,” she said in a tart tone. Hart looked at her, affection clear in his eyes, and nodded. “True enough.” He turned to the monarch. “Father, we must discuss this threat with the Claw leader. Perhaps we can come up with a weapon of our own.” Prong looked revolted by the idea. “We cannot kill anyone, Hart. If we were to do so, we would be as barbaric as they are.” “We must defend ourselves,” Hart insisted, “or our people will die. You didn’t see how easily the Fang killed those Claw, Prong. I did, and I can see in my mind’s eye our own people lying dead in the streets. The vision appalls me. Although I hate the idea of killing as much as you do, we must take action.” “And how are we to develop such a weapon?” Prong demanded. Katara stepped forward. “It should be an easy matter for a people such as yourself to duplicate the weapon we recovered. You have beds that heal wounds in a matter of hours, invisible walls, silver floating devices that do your work for you… This weapon is crude by comparison.”

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Hart exchanged a look with the other two men. Once again Katara had the impression they had been keeping something from her. At last Hart cleared his throat. “The fact is,” he said, sounding embarrassed, “we did not develop any of this technology, Katara.” Katara blinked. “I do not understand.” “This keep was built by the Ancestors when they first arrived on this planet. All the technology we possess was invented by them. Over the years, the knowledge of how to create it was lost, probably because the Ancestors discovered their ability to shapeshift and lost interest in creating machines. We have no idea how to replicate any of the machinery that enriches our lives. We do not even know how to repair it. Fortunately it was well-built and has worked for many years, but if it ever ceases to operate, there will be absolutely nothing we can do to fix it.” “But the silver machines—you told me they make your food and clothing. Could they not make something as simple as this?” “The drones collect and cook our food, make our clothing, brew ale, and do every menial task we could wish. But their tasks were given to them long, long ago, by the Ancestors, and those are the very same tasks they still carry out today. We have no idea how to use them to create something new, or how to create something with our own hands. We cannot so much as carve a new ta’rsa piece.” Katara blinked in astonishment. For a long moment she could find nothing to say. “And yet you call my people barbarians,” she said. “You are as much barbarians as we are. Barbarians…with better toys. Toys that you do not even understand.” The monarch’s shaggy eyebrows drew together. “You dare to compare our people to the lesser Kindred?” Hart waved him to silence, a rueful expression on his face. “She is right, you know,” he said. “Despite our conceit, our arrogant belief that we are the greatest of the Kindred, we are no better than the Claw and the Fang. Perhaps we are even less. We are not even able to gather our own food, whereas the Fang grow wheat and vegetables in their fields.

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The Fang have managed to invent this new weapon, but we have invented nothing in centuries.” “Not true,” the monarch snapped. “The fang was invented by us, not by the wolves.” Hart went very still, and for a moment there was silence in the room. At last he said softly, “Invented by us? What do you mean?” The monarch looked uncomfortable. “A man from the village came to me with an idea. He had been studying the legends of the Ancestors, and he thought he could make a fang that would fly, a fang to kill from a distance. I charged him with the task of creating one.” Hart suddenly recalled the odd things that had been scattered about the safe house. “You sent him out to the safe house near Fang territory, didn’t you?” The monarch shrugged. “He had to go out to the woods to collect the raw materials. At any rate, I was afraid that if he remained in the village, he would talk. I didn’t want him to speak of this to anyone.” “Because it is entirely against our way of life!” Prong said sharply. “A fang? Something deliberately designed to kill? Father, why would you want to create such a thing?” “Because our people dare not walk the forest after dark,” the monarch growled. “Despite all the technology we possess, we cannot protect ourselves against predators. We should be able to enter the woods without fear. We are the greatest of the Kindred, yet we must cower behind walls. Such an invention would allow us to walk the shadows of night without fear, just as the predators do.” “I understand your motives, even if I disagree with the notion,” Hart said. “But if it was an Antler who designed this shaft, how did the Fang obtain the weapon?” “I know not,” the monarch admitted. “When the villager did not return at the appointed time, I went to the safe house myself. He was gone, and so were many of the materials he had been using. It was obvious he had been gone for some time, but there was no smell of the Fang in the safe house. I suspect he was attacked by the Fang in the forest. They took his feathered fangs and learned to replicate them.

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Perhaps even to improve them. The fang he was developing had a stone tooth. This one has an iron tooth. And this—” He pointed to the other implement. “He was trying to construct it with rope. The Fang seem to have used sinew.” “But it is similar to the fang he had envisioned?” The monarch looked at the flying fang a long moment. “Yes, it is very similar to the drawing he showed me. This is very like the fang I charged him to make.” “Then this crisis is of the Antler monarch’s own making.” At the new voice, they all turned. Katara’s mother stood in the doorway in her human form, the black-maned lion growling behind her. “My people are dead because of you, Antler,” she said. “Tell me why I should not kill you where you stand.”

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Chapter Nine Katara’s mother shifted to her lioness form. Faced with two lions, the monarch and Prong instantly transformed to stag form. Hart sighed, holding his human form with an effort. It was unfortunate the lions had not remained in their chamber, but not really surprising, considering the impulsive nature of the Claw. Stepping between the two factions, he held out his hands. “We do not have time to argue amongst ourselves,” he said. “Argument” was a ridiculously faint word, considering he was standing between two growling lions and two angry stags. He had to struggle to prevent himself from shifting. The lioness snarled, and his skin rippled involuntarily. “My father intended the fang to be used as a defensive mechanism, a way of protecting ourselves,” he said, as calmly as possible. “The Fang are the ones using it to attack. They are the enemy here. The enemy of both our peoples.” “He is correct,” Katara said, stalking to his side and facing her parents, her chin held high. “The Fang have attacked both Claw and Antler in the past few days, and they will likely strike again very soon. We need to work together.” The lions tilted their heads in thought, then shifted back into human form. The stags transformed as well, although with obviously greater effort. “Very well,” Katara’s mother said grudgingly. “Have you come up with a plan?” “Not yet,” Hart said. “We need information. First, we will interrogate our prisoner.”

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XXXXX The bitch lay on the regen table, her eyes closed, her short black hair rumpled. In human form, she looked very small and vulnerable, and very unlike the savage black wolf who had attempted to sink her fangs into Hart’s shoulder. Her eyes flickered open when Hart and Katara entered. “How is she?” Hart asked Otwa. The old woman shrugged. “She seems to be recovering well.” “Is she strong enough to talk?” “I have nothing to say to you,” the bitch said. Her voice was high and sweet, at odds with her savage canine nature. Otwa shrugged. “She seems strong enough.” Hart nodded and walked over to the regen bed, Katara at his heels. He glared down at the bitch. “How did your people obtain the flying fang?” Her brilliant blue eyes slitted, and he got the impression she was trying to shift. “You cannot transform while on this table,” Katara said. She smiled slightly. “Believe me. I found out the hard way.” The Fang looked at her, her eyes narrowing further. “Why are you allying yourself with this leaf eater?” “Should I ally myself with your people instead, when you tried to kill me five sunrises ago?” “Your people value honor. There is no honor in allying yourself with cowards.” “True,” Katara said tartly, “which is why we have no intention of allying ourselves with the Fang. Your recent actions have marked you as cowardly, more cowardly by far than the leaf eaters.” Hart interrupted. “Trading insults gets us nowhere.” “But it is an enjoyable way to pass the time,” Katara drawled. Hart narrowed his eyes at her, warning her to silence, then turned his attention back to the bitch. “What is your name?”

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“Evening Star,” she said, her voice full of arrogance. “I am the daughter of the alpha of the Fang. If you do not let me go, you will suffer his wrath.” Hart felt his eyebrows shoot up. He was surprised that she had volunteered that information. But although he didn’t know much about the Fang, he did know that rank meant everything to them. “The alpha is your father?” “Yes. He will do anything to protect me.” “And yet he left you behind easily enough.” “My father was not among the wolves in our group last night,” she said, her eyes all but shooting blue sparks. “He would have died rather than leave me behind. Believe me, he will kill you if you do not set me free.” “It seems he plans to kill us anyway,” Katara said thoughtfully. Hart glanced at her. The same notion had struck him. “If true, this information gives us a certain leverage,” he said slowly. He watched the bitch’s eyes go wide with dismay as she followed his train of thought. Katara smiled down at the bitch. It was not a pleasant smile. “Indeed it does. Perhaps we can convince him that killing our peoples is not in his best interest.” Hart nodded. “We will need to get a message to the alpha.” XXXXX “I should be the one to go,” Katara said moments later in the audience room. Her parents, now wearing the fabric clothing of the Antler, were seated across from her, as were Prong, the monarch, and the monarch’s consort. “What if the bitch is lying? If she means nothing to the alpha, the Pack will pull you down and tear you to pieces.” Hart shook his head. “I will not allow you to risk yourself that way. I will go.” “No. I should be the one to go. I can get closer to the village before I am seen.”

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“You will have to be seen eventually. And over long distances, I am faster than you. The sooner our message is delivered, the fewer people may die.” Katara hesitated, seeing the logic in his argument but not wanting to acknowledge it. “I do not wish to risk you,” she murmured at last. “You must.” The corners of Hart’s mouth lifted in a faintly mocking smile. “It is a matter of honor.” “The Antler is correct,” her mother said. She could tell Hart had earned the respect of her parents. And he had earned hers, as well. His willingness to sacrifice himself for his people, and her own, made her heart swell with strange new emotions, emotions she’d never felt for a man before. “Besides, his people speak the language of diplomacy in a way our people cannot. He should be the one to go.” Katara hesitated a long moment. “Very well,” she said at last, in a bare whisper. Hart nodded. Rising to his feet, he stood up, pulled her to a standing position, and kissed her, pressing his mouth to hers in the presence of both their families. It was a quick, firm kiss, obviously meant to make his intentions clear, to both her family and his own. To stamp her as his, and to reassure her that he would be back for her, no matter what. She could read all that in the fast, hard pressure of his lips. And then he lifted his head and stripped off his clothes, dropping them into a pile on the floor. He shifted and bounded from the room without a backward glance. Katara walked to the great arched window and stared out. A few heartbeats later she saw him cantering for the gate. He passed through the gate and into the streets of the town. Moments later he galloped into the meadows that surrounded the town. She watched until he disappeared into the forest. A hand on her shoulder startled her. She had been so engrossed in watching Hart that she hadn’t heard footsteps on the wooden floor. She looked up to see Prong gazing down at her, a sympathetic expression in his dark eyes. “He will return,” he said, with absolutely no doubt in his voice.

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“I hope so,” she answered, hearing her own voice clogged with tears. “He will return,” Prong repeated, and she heard the hero worship of the younger brother in his voice. Remembering what Hart had told her, she imagined Prong as a small spotted fawn, pinned on the forest floor beneath a panther, and envisioned Hart leaping to the rescue. Small wonder that Prong admired his brother so greatly. “My brother has never failed when it matters. He will succeed.” Beneath the unwavering confidence in his gaze she saw a flicker of the same uncertainty she felt. She swallowed and pushed the uncertainty away. “Yes,” she answered staunchly. “He will succeed. He must.” XXXXX Hart cantered through the forest at his top speed, his ears swiveling in every direction, listening for the faintest sound. He sniffed the air alertly, on guard for the scent of wolf and avoiding the clumps of masala bushes they used to mask their odor. He couldn’t carry out his mission with an arrow through his heart. The moons hadn’t yet risen, and the darkness helped conceal him as he sped through the trees. He arrived at the Fang’s village as the smaller moon was rising, causing shadows to shift and flicker. The fields around the village provided no concealment for his passage, despite the tall wheat that grew in them. The tops of the wheat stalks did not even rise to his shoulder. He stood at the edge of the forest a moment, shifting his hooves nervously, then bounded out into the moonlight. Speed, he thought, was his best chance. He bolted into the field at top speed, the soft, plowed dirt shifting beneath his hooves. He darted first to the right, then lunged to the left, hoping that if anyone shot a fang at him, they would be unable to aim accurately. His mad dash seemed to work. The wind in his ears, and the swishing sound of the wheat as he galloped through it, obscured any sounds. But if a fang was thrown at him, it didn’t bite into him. Moments later he arrived at the village. -107-

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He dashed onto the road that led between the dwellings. The road was cobbled, not unlike the stone floors of the Antler keep, and he skidded slightly at the change in footing, then steadied himself and continued to gallop. His hooves clattered against the cobbles, and lights began to flicker on in the dwellings as he passed. The smells of the Fang village revolted him. He could smell the wood smoke the Fang used to heat their houses against the light chill of the autumn evening, as well as the disgusting odor of burned flesh they cooked for their meals and the sweet scent of herbs they grew in pots on their doorsteps. He smelled the live animals they kept for food and farming purposes, unlike any of the other Kindred. The odors of hay and manure filled his nostrils as he passed a stable, and an animal made a whinnying sound. He galloped on, wondering where to find the alpha. Unfortunately, the leader of the wolf pack didn’t seem to live in a large, grand dwelling as the Antler monarch did. But he was certain that if he sought him long enough, the alpha would come to him. He skidded to a halt as the shadows began to move, and several dark figures skulked out of the moonlight. Wolves, all large and gray, though none big enough to be the alpha. He took a deep breath, forced himself to calmness, and shifted into his defenseless human form. Their lips curled up to show their teeth, and they crouched to spring. “I have a message for the alpha,” he said steadily, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart. “It concerns his daughter, Evening Star. I suggest you escort me to him without harm.” The shadows shifted again, and the enormous, shaggy wolf he’d seen leading the pack slunk forward. He stared at Hart a long moment, eyes glittering in the moonlight, and then he shifted. In his human form, he was powerful and silver-haired, with the unmistakable arrogance of command, reminding Hart a bit of his own father. Mere days ago, he never would have admitted that thought. But he had come to understand that the Kindred weren’t as different as he had once believed. This man was a leader, just as his own father was.

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“I come with a message,” Hart said steadily. “We have your daughter, Evening Star, and we hold her prisoner. If you use your flying fangs to bite another Antler, or another Claw, we will kill her.” The man actually flinched. Family clearly meant as much amongst the Fang as it did to the Antler. “The Antler Kindred do not believe in killing,” he growled. “You don’t have the teeth to kill my daughter.” Hart smiled slightly. “I admit, killing is not our way. But you would be surprised at what I am willing to do to protect my people. I will kill her myself if I must. Trust me.” He met the older man’s gaze unwaveringly. At last the man’s gaze flickered away. “Then you leave us with only one choice. We will hold you prisoner.” “No. If I do not return by sun’s fall tomorrow, your daughter will die.” The older man’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I will not allow you to hurt my daughter.” “I have no wish to harm your daughter,” Hart answered. “My people are not killers. But we will kill her if we must, in order to protect our own Kindred.” As he spoke the words, he realized that he truly meant them. In his head, he heard Katara’s voice. My people do not hesitate to fight to protect themselves and the ones they love. She was right, he thought. The notion of killing again still appalled him on a deep, visceral level, yet if that was what he must do to protect his people, he would do it without hesitation. The man tilted his head. “Once you kill her, you will have no leverage against us.” “True. But once she is dead, she will be dead. Do you wish your daughter’s lifeless body thrown into the forest to be devoured by animals, Alpha?” The older man flinched again. All at once he looked much older. “Go, then,” he hissed. “Go, Antler. We will not harm you or your people, nor the Claw, again.” Hart inclined his head. Still in his naked, human form, he turned his back on the growling wolf pack. His skin rippled involuntarily, but he

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refused to show fear by shifting. He walked slowly down the main street of the town, away from the wolves. No one molested him. He maintained his human form until he had crossed the field. Once in the forest, he shifted into his stag form and into a gallop. Not because he feared retribution, but because he was eager to see Katara again.

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Chapter Ten “I do not think this tactic will prevent the Fang from attacking us for long,” Hart said late the next morning. They had all gathered together in the monarch’s private audience chamber to discuss the situation when he returned. “Sooner or later, they are bound to mount an attack to recover the bitch. But hopefully it will buy us enough time to replicate the flying fang we recovered and create new ones, enough to protect ourselves.” Prong sighed. “I do not like the idea of having to kill anything, even if it is necessary to protect our people.” “Nor do I, brother. But it is something we cannot avoid any longer. The world has changed, and we must change with it, or find ourselves destroyed.” “We kill for our dinner every day,” the lioness remarked. “And our pride does not consume any Kindred, yet we do not hesitate to kill anyone who threatens us. I do not understand this squeamishness you have about killing.” “I know that you do not,” Hart said. “And perhaps it is not necessary for our two Kindred to agree on everything.” He glanced at Katara, who was in her leopard form, sprawled out on the stone floor in a patch of sunlight. She looked warm and contented, and distinctly non-savage. “Perhaps we can build on the bonds between our people another way.” Katara’s ear twitched toward him, then she rolled over. As she rolled, she began to transform, so that by the time she had rolled all the way toward him, she was fully in human form. He did his best not to gape at the shapely lines of her body. “What ways did you have in mind, Lord Hart?” she purred.

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Hart felt a reaction that was embarrassing, considering the proximity of both their relatives. At least he wasn’t as bare as she was, or he would have been truly embarrassed. As it was, his mother smiled knowingly, and Prong grinned outright. Only his father looked annoyed. “Hart,” he said in a cold voice. “I forbid an alliance between you and this…woman.” Hart lifted his chin. He had made up his mind, and he refused to let his father’s prejudices deter him from the course he had decided to follow. “Then I shall go live among the Claw, Father.” “You would bring dishonor on us all by living with these—” “Do not say animals,” Hart snapped. “They are no more animals than we are. She is a woman. My woman.” At Hart’s overt defiance, his father’s skin rippled, and his robes tore and fell to the ground as he transformed and lunged forward. Hart started to jump aside, then paused, amazed, as his mother shifted into her doe form. She was still slender and graceful, despite her years, and she leapt in front of Hart, presenting her side, so that the monarch had no choice but to skid to a halt. The monarch bugled and pawed the ground, but she turned her head and regarded him with sorrowful dark eyes. It was not the way of Antler women to involve themselves in the affairs of men, and Hart couldn’t help but be impressed by her courage. Glancing to the side, he saw Katara’s wide-eyed expression and realized she was impressed as well. The monarch shifted back into human form abruptly, naked. “What would you have me do, then?” he roared. The consort shifted as well. Lifting her chin, she met his gaze without flinching. “I would have you respect your son’s choice. He has done our people a great service, risking his life for his Kindred. Would you reward him by sending him into exile?” The monarch hesitated and Prong stepped forward, laying a hand on Hart’s shoulder. “If he goes into exile, Father,” he said quietly, “I go with him.” The monarch shook his head in anger. “Very well,” he growled at last. “Do what you must, Hart. But do not expect my blessing in this matter.

-112-


What sort of children do you expect from this mating? Can an Antler and a Claw even have children?” “I know not,” Hart said. He smiled at Katara. “But I intend to find out.” Prong rolled his eyes. Hart rose and offered his arm to her. “Katara. Walk with me.” She came to her feet in a graceful motion and moved to his side. Together they stepped out into the long hallway, passing curious courtiers, who had clearly been eavesdropping on the royal family’s argument. He pulled Katara some distance down a lesser-used corridor, then bent to kiss her hungrily. She returned his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck, then gazed up at him. “I missed you yesterday, Antler.” “And I you, Claw.” He looked down into her eyes. “I never thought a woman could come to mean so much to me, let alone a Claw. I do not intend to let you out of my sight again.” She rested her head against his shoulder. “Nor I you.” “Will you mate with me, Katara?” She lifted her head. In her green-gold eyes he saw doubt. “You mean forever?” “Yes. I mean forever.” “Do you want to mate with me because it will strengthen the bonds between our people?” He heard the quiver of pain in her voice, and he shook his head. “No, Katara. There are other ways to bond our people together. It is not my duty to wed you. It is simply what I desire. You have brought meaning and purpose into my existence, for the first time. You are the woman I’ve been waiting for.” At his impassioned declaration, her eyes brightened. “I am glad to finally hear you admit it.” “Then you will mate with me?” She lifted a slim shoulder. “I am not certain I can live among your Kindred, Hart. I must eat meat, which revolts all of you.”

-113-

Ellen Fisher

“As long as you do it in the forest and not at the table, we will endeavor to overlook that particular flaw in your character.” “Furthermore,” she pressed on, “your father does not care for me, and is quite clearly not pleased with the idea.” “He will come around. My mother and brother like you. Their opinion means a great deal to him.” “Your mother defied him bravely. Yet I care not for the way women generally behave among your people. Amongst the Claw, women are leaders. Here they seem to be expected to be meek. Quiet. Biddable. None of those words describe me.” He laughed softly, capturing a wrist in either hand and pressing them back against the wall. “No, none of those words can be used to describe you. You are anything but submissive, and truth be told I prefer you that way.” He smiled. “But before we marry, I intend to show you the benefits of submission.” She showed her teeth in a mock snarl. “Are you certain you’re man enough, Antler?” “Quite certain,” he said, shoving her back against the stone. XXXXX The silvery stone was cold and rough against Katara’s bare back, but she didn’t care because Hart’s hot body was pressed against her front. She had spent the last day worrying about him, and the relief that had poured through her when she’d sighted his proud antlers late this morning had staggered her. She’d never expected any man to wrap his claws around her heart so tightly…particularly a man with no claws whatsoever. He held her pinned against the stone, lowered his head, and took her nipple into his mouth. She gritted her teeth against the impulse to cry out, knowing as she did that they were in a public hall, and that the courtiers could well be listening avidly around the corner. He kept suckling until warmth trickled between her legs, a tide she couldn’t control, any more than she could control the tides of the ocean.

-114-


She wanted to run her hands over the smooth skin of his body, to dig her fingers into his hair, but he wouldn’t loose her hands. She tried halfheartedly to wrench free, but it was like struggling against iron bands. She was certain he’d let her loose if she asked, but she was startled to discover that she rather enjoyed being dominated. Relaxing against him, she let him have his way. He evidently sensed her capitulation, because he lifted his head, his eyes lit from within by hunger, and captured her mouth again, plunging his tongue deeply inside. His body pressed hers against the wall, her wrists still caught firmly in his unyielding grip, his hot erection swelling between them. Despite the barrier of his clothing, she could feel it, hard and demanding, against her bare lower belly. Hart lifted his head and looked down into her eyes, his gaze full of dark fire. “We did it slowly last time,” he said. “This time, let us try it the feline way.” She remembered her own words to him. Feline couplings are rough and quick. The thought sent a delicious shiver through her, and she nodded wordlessly. He let go of her arm in order to unfasten his breeches, then his hands slid down to her hips. Without any preliminaries, he lifted her and impaled her on his erection. She cried out, heedless of anyone who might be listening. He felt like stone in the sunlight, unyielding and smooth, yet radiant with warmth. He slammed upward into her, as deeply as he could go, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms around his shoulders, and surrendered utterly to the sensations his body created in hers. He thrust into her over and over again, and she climaxed endlessly, sobbing out her releases. At last she heard his deep voice utter a low curse, felt his body shudder as he, too, found his release. Afterward, she clung to him, her legs still wrapped around him. Finally his arms began to shake from the strain, and he put her down on her own two feet, and gave a rueful smile.

-115-

Ellen Fisher

“I truly wish never to leave you again,” he said softly. “But I must warn my people of the danger they face. It is my duty to journey to the other Antler towns.” “I will go with you,” she said. He shook his head. “We have discussed this, Katara. I am faster.” “But you need a protector, Antler. Someone armed with tooth and claw, to stand at your side and fight. You told me earlier that the quickest route to many of the Antler settlements lies across Claw territory. You dare not pass across Claw lands without an escort, and it will provide me the opportunity to warn my own people as well. At any rate…” She stared up at him, trying to convey everything she felt for him without words. “I refuse to let you go forth alone. I cannot bear the waiting.” He drew in a long breath. “Very well. We will go together. But we must visit ten separate Antler villages, and there is still danger from the Fang as well. Keeping the bitch prisoner will not keep the wolves at bay forever.” “Hopefully it will give us enough time to warn your people, while Prong and the others attempt to create a new weapon.” Hart uttered a long sigh. “I wish there was a way of protecting the people in this village. They will be safe in their houses, but they will not stay confined forever. We are a social people, and they will miss visiting each other. Sooner or later they will venture out in spite of the danger.” Katara leaned her nose against his shoulder, breathing in his clean scent. “Could they all come to the keep and remain here?” “No. This village is too numerous, and it would be too crowded.” He sighed again. “At least the force fields will keep them safe in their dwellings.” “The magic walls,” she said. “I told you before, they are not magic. They are technology handed down from the Ancestors.” She lifted her head and frowned. “Technology. Not magic.” Pressing her lips together, she thought about that for a moment, then spoke.

-116-


“Could the force fields be removed from the keep and…expanded somehow to surround the town?” Hart blinked. “They are only wide enough to cover the windows.” “Yes, but could they be…altered, somehow?” “I have no idea. No one knows how they work.” “Technology is simply another word for a machine, is it not? Where is the machine that makes it work?” Excited by the idea, she unwrapped her arms from his neck and strode toward the nearest room, which happened to be the living chamber. She stalked to the wide arched window and reached out, feeling for the force field. “Look at this,” she said, pointing to a small metal device on the stones, on the near side of the force field. “Is that what creates the wall?” Hart looked slightly stunned. “I have no idea. I have never wondered what makes it work. It is enough that it does.” “Your people are singularly lacking in curiosity.” She stared at the device a moment longer. “Let us try to remove it.” “Will it continue to work if it is removed from the wall? Does it not draw energy from somewhere?” “Energy?” She blinked at the unfamiliar term. “I have no idea.” Hart shrugged, looking as baffled as she felt. She remembered he had no more idea how the magic wall worked than she did. “Perhaps it makes its own energy somehow. The drones seem to, after all.” “The only way to tell is to try, I suppose. If it can be removed, perhaps the force field can be enlarged.” “How could it possibly be enlarged?” “The windows of the keep are different sizes. Perhaps this device can make force fields of various sizes. What if we could convince it to make a very large wall?” “If we could, we could put several around the village and render it safe from attack.” He frowned as he considered the device. “There is a small slot here, which looks as if a tool could be inserted. Perhaps it could be removed that way. But we do not have any tools.” She considered the matter for a moment, then held up her hands, with their long nails, and smiled. “What of my claws?”

-117-

Ellen Fisher

XXXXX “There are no gaps in the wall,” Hart said as twilight fell. The monarch frowned as he paced down the main path of the village, his consort, Prong, and the three members of the Claw Kindred behind him. The Antler lined both sides of the path, watching and listening. “How can you tell?” the monarch asked at last. “The force fields cannot be seen, any more than they could be seen when they covered the windows of the keep.” It had taken only a few minutes to remove the device from the wall, using Katara’s sharp nails as a tool, but Hart and Katara had spent hours trying to figure out which of the tiny controls would sufficiently enlarge the force field. They had used twenty force field generators, gathered from the lower windows of the keep, and the keep and village were now totally surrounded by the invisible walls. “When Katara and I discovered the controls that enlarged the force field, we also found that the force field becomes visible when its size is changed. The effect lasts for an hour or so. We were able to set up the devices around the village and ensure there were no gaps between the fields whilst they were still visible.” “Hmmm,” the monarch said. “And you are certain this wall you have constructed will prevent the flying fangs from injuring our people?” Hart nodded. He was confident this wall would protect the town. “It is tall enough that no arrows can be shot over it, and nothing can come through it. If it can keep a person in, it can keep weapons out.” The monarch turned and grasped him by the upper arms in a rare gesture of affection. “Our Kindred have many reasons to thank you today, my son. I am grateful that I did not exile you.” “This wall was actually Katara’s idea,” Prong pointed out helpfully. “You should give credit where credit is due, Father.” The monarch turned to look at Katara, who stood next to Hart. He hesitated a moment, then grasped her by the arms as well and looked into her eyes.

-118-


“I thank you for the services you have rendered my people,” he said formally. “I would be pleased to welcome you into the Antler Kindred.” A murmur of surprise went through the Antler lining the path, and Hart felt his heart lift at his father’s acceptance. Katara inclined her head. “I thank you,” she responded, just as formally. “I plan to reside among the Antler Kindred once Hart and I return. We must let the other Antler villages know of the threat, and show them how to protect themselves. We will contact as many Claw Kindred as we are able, too.” “Your people may take refuge here, for as long as they like,” the monarch said. “We thank you for that,” the lioness drawled from behind him. “But it is not our way to hide behind walls, and we wish not to eat grass and vegetables. We must have access to the forest in order to hunt. Our people will continue to take our chances in the forest. But if you need us to join in the fight against the Fang, you have but to ask.” The older woman stepped forward and put her arms around Katara. “But before we return to Pride territory, my daughter, I bid you goodbye. Run swiftly, and let nothing stand between you and honor.” She hugged her daughter tightly. “And be careful.” “I will take care of your daughter,” Hart said. The lioness looked him over approvingly. “I know.” Hart bent and pressed a button on one of the force-field generators, which lay on the ground behind the force field, and the wall flickered, momentarily visible as a rainbow of color, then disappeared as it turned off. “Remember to press this button again when we leave,” he told his brother. “You should not need to open it again until we return. The drones can float over the top of the wall without difficulty, so food will not be a problem for the village. Check every day to make certain all the force fields are functioning. If the red light is on, the force field is operating.” “You’ve explained it to me three times, brother. Quit stalling. The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll return.”

-119-

Ellen Fisher

Hart smiled and grasped his brother by the arms. “Goodbye, Prong. We will meet again soon.” He shifted into his stag form. Beside him, Katara changed to her leopard form. Together they darted out into the darkening gloom of the meadow, and from there into the forest. Hart glanced back over his shoulder, seeing the rainbow wall of color as Prong raised the force field again. A wall that he hoped would protect his people and his family until he returned. In his stag form, Hart couldn’t speak, but everything that needed to be spoken between himself and Katara had already been said. Despite the danger that threatened his people, he was warm with contentment. For the first time in his life, he was doing something that truly mattered, something important. Serving his people, and the people of his mate. And Katara was by his side, as she would be for the rest of his life. The smaller moon began to rise in the sky, its silvery light filtering through the tree branches, as Hart ran through the shadows of night with the woman he loved.

-120-

Ellen Fisher To learn more about Ellen Fisher, please visit www.ellenfisher.com. Send an email to [email protected] or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Ellen! http://groups.yahoo.com/group/EllensEpistle

Realm Immortal: King of the Unblessed By Michelle M Pillow

A thrilling fantasy romance available in ebook now from Samhain Publishing and in print May 2006. Immortality has a way of changing fate. Merrick, dark elfin King of Valdis, had once been heir to all that was good—happiness and pleasure his domain. Now, trapped as the ruler of mischief, king of necessary evil, he stands on a precipice of choice. On one side, his estranged brother, now ruler of what should have been Merrick's and, on the other, King Lucien of the Damned. Both would sway him. Damnation is winning. Lady Juliana of Bellemare is from a human family, protected by the blessed, coveted by the damned. Betrothed to an old friend of her father's, Juliana is resigned to living out her days close to her childhood home, longing for an adventure, never dreaming she’d get what she wished for. When her fiancé is murdered and the children of Bellemare are stolen, Juliana is sent on a quest in a strange realm where appearances are deceiving. Merrick brings more adventure and passion than any woman could want. Can she withstand the temptations of the unblessed king? The spell she weaves over him is more than he can resist and, desperate to be the one to rule her, Merrick offers her a choice; either come with him until he tires of her...or die. “You tricked me into giving my word. You manipulated me, Merrick.” Merrick sighed, looking at Juliana’s back. She lay on his bed. The room was his, but he’d been letting her sleep there. Now that she had pledged her body, he would not be staying away. He’d been up most of the night with Lord Kalen and his men. After the guests had left, they sat around talking, strategizing. The bonfire was abandoned. It was just a simple warning that Ean’s men had been there.

“You look uncomfortable.” Merrick motioned his hand, giving her a nightdress. Her gown changed to a loose-fitting silk chemise with sheer sleeves. She’d already taken off the jewels and he saw them on the table next to her toiletries. She tensed, pushing up from the bed. “I’m tired of you doing that. I want to dress myself. I want to pick my own clothes. I’m tired of looking like a…” Juliana’s mouth worked as if she tripped over the words. “Like a woman of low morals.” “I dress you in the materials of an elfin queen,” Merrick stated. As he lay down, his clothing disappeared, leaving him naked. His crown faded into nothingness. He rested on his back, folding his hands behind his head. “Whores have no need of clothing.” Juliana’s mouth worked, as she eyed his naked body. He winked at her, smiling. Fighting the urge to laugh, she asked, “Are you…saying you’re a…?” “Man of low morals?” he prompted. “Most definitely. It comes with the crown.” Juliana giggled, covering her mouth. She hit him lightly on the arm. “I’m angry with you. Stop making me laugh.” “What is it I have done now?” Merrick sighed. Would she never be pleased? “That old woman tonight, the one with the missing eye. She said that you kidnapped me to start a war.” He said nothing. “So it is true?” she said. Merrick reached for her. She was always so quick to think the worst in him. But could he blame her? Everyone expected the worst out of him. He’d long ago stopped explaining himself, knowing it would do no good. For some reason, even as he resolved to let her think what she would of him, he found himself saying, “A war has started because I’ve taken you. I did not take you to start a war.” “Then why did you take me?” She moved closer to him. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in a messy array of curls. She’d taken it down

on her own, but he found he liked the messy imperfection and did not change it. “Kiss me,” he said instead of answering. He expected her to refuse, but she didn’t. Crawling over to him, she lightly brushed her lips onto his, making a soft noise as they touched. “I shouldn’t want you,” she said. “I don’t want to want you.” “I know.” “You killed my intended.” Juliana didn’t open her eyes. Her hair spilled along his face. “You’ve tricked me and manipulated me.” “Don’t look to the past. It will never bring you peace.” Merrick closed his eyes. His body was aroused, but that was nothing new. He was always aroused by her. Her smell surrounded him, so sweet, so soft. She was so beautiful, the one thing he enjoyed looking at in his world of goblins and trolls. “Touch me, Juliana. I want you to make love to me.” Merrick wanted her to get used to him, wanted her to touch him when she had the urge to do so, to not hold back. Juliana feared her feelings for him. Humans were strange creatures when it came to passion. They treated it like a curse. How could something that felt so wonderful, so completing, be a curse?

The Gripping Beast by Charlene Teglia A novel of erotic time-travel romance, available now in e-book from Samhain Publishing. Coming to print in May 2006. The wild magic that brought them together is nothing compared to what they find in each other's arms. Lorelei Michaels, flamboyant lead vocalist of the all-female rock band The Sirens, has a passion for myths and legends. She just never expected to find herself actually living one. While touring with the band, a Viking armband with an interesting history and a design known as the gripping beast throws her into a time warp—full of Norsemen, macho attitudes and a lamentable lack of modern amenities. Upon seeing the strange, beautiful woman being auctioned off, Erik Thorolfsson was mesmerized. Until the slave trader put his hands on her. With a roar of rage and sword drawn, he charged forward to take that which he wanted for his own. But he discovers owning her isn't enough, he has to make her his—for all time. "You would do well to look for an advantage in trade, not battle," Erik lectured as he kept a firm grip on Harold's broad shoulder and drew him along. Harold would do even better to learn to think before acting, he continued silently. Harold responded with the crooked smile that never failed to charm a woman and was indirectly responsible for the fact that Erik was stuck with him for the summer. "Brother, where is the fun in that? Four long weeks I've spent, watching you haggle in the marketplace. It lacks excitement. If that is all

you come to Hedeby for, you may continue alone. I for one must have some sport before I find myself at sea with you once more." His intent was clear in the longing gaze he fixed on a curvaceous wench. Erik sighed inwardly. A woman was the reason for Harold's banishment from home for the summer. Apparently, he had failed to learn a lesson from the beating Gudred's brother had given him for stealing a kiss. The reminder that Harold was not alone in his needs irked him further. But duty must come first, Erik reminded himself. While he had nearly completed his trading, he thought he might still find some small and profitable items to add to the goods already loaded onto his longboat in exchange for its former cargo of rich Northern furs, amber and falcons. "There will be time for that when the ice keeps us home." Erik delivered the firm reminder with a stern look. Then he cursed his choice of words inwardly. If Harold did not learn to behave himself at home, his penchant for indiscriminate wenching and brawling would soon have him outlawed and banished permanently. Their father, Thorolf, might be jarl, but he could ill afford failure to enforce the laws on his own family. The northern summers didn't last long, and it was only once a year that they could venture out on the long trading voyages so vital to the prosperity of the Norse settlements. Cloth they couldn't weave themselves like the fine brocades from the Byzantine, patterned silks from China and the blue wools dyed with woad from Frisia were much in demand, as were the spices, metals and leather goods to be found in the large trade centers. "You are well acquainted with ice," Harold muttered under his breath in reply. But he followed Erik's wide strides along the wooden planking that covered the muddy streets.

Then he brightened, seeing the direction Erik was taking, a direct route to a slaver displaying his wares. "Ah, I take it back," he teased. "I see we think alike after all." Erik paused to shoot a mistrustful glance at Harold. "You have an interest in trade now?" "Of a certainty," his brother vowed. Erik shook his head. He did not believe for the time it took to take one step that Harold shared his interest in the Egyptian glass works in the temporary tent set up between the town's permanent traders and the outer ramparts. The flattened glass oblongs were used to press pleats into linen skirts. The opportunity to supply such a fashionable novelty struck him as a good choice to round out his return cargo, likely to prove highly lucrative. "Oh, by Thor, what a fine idea," Harold continued. He gave Erik an affectionate clout which that recipient longed to return in force. "I like the look of that one." Harold waved a cheerful hand towards a group of girls that stood between the two men and their goal. Erik sighed inwardly again. He might have known. The day Harold grew interested in serious matters, Loki would be running loose and Ragnarok would begin. He doubted that Harold had even noticed the Egyptian's tent the previous day. "So does the crowd," Harold went on. "He is offering her up first. What an odd dress she has on," he added in surprise. "Perhaps she comes from the far east." Distracted from his purpose, Erik stared first at his brother, then at the object of his attention. The foreign woman was indeed dressed oddly. And very beautifully. The flowing green gauze hid little and the upper part of the dress, if it was a dress, revealed even more. Erik felt his heart slam against the wall of his chest and stop. Beautiful. She was a vision of loveliness. Erik had never seen a woman with the look she had, not in any part of the world he had visited. Sleek black hair fell in a glossy swath to her narrow waist and light green eyes sparkled like emeralds above exotic high cheekbones.

He didn't realize he had come to a complete halt and was gaping at the dark woman like a man ensorcelled. He knew only that she was beauty come warmly to life, and at that moment he wanted nothing more than to simply look at her for the rest of his days. That was his only thought, until he realized that every other man, save a blind beggar, was looking at her, also. And that the slaver, probably thinking to get a higher price for her, had ordered her to strip. He wasn't quite certain what happened next, and perhaps it all happened simultaneously. The man put his hands on her. She started to shriek and fight like a berserker. And Erik drew his sword. He didn’t notice when his brother and the crew, trailing behind them, followed suit. He didn't know they took up his roar of rage and charged into the fight at his lead. He only knew he would kill every man standing who saw what he wanted for himself alone. The hapless slave trader might never know what provoked the Vikings to charge down on him, but he demonstrated an instinct for selfprotection as he thrust the woman between his own body and the crazed Norse giant ready to cleave him with a sword. Through a red haze of fury, Erik caught the woman around her waist and yanked her against his side as he thrust the point of his sword against the coward's throat. Then a thread of sanity returned and stayed his arm. He could not start a bloodbath in the trade port. He could not set such a terrible example for Harold. As it was, he cursed inwardly at the sight of his delighted sibling exchanging blows with a burly Moor. And his men. They lived in adjoining farmsteads. They looked to his father for leadership, and expected him to prove himself a worthy leader. He would not lead them into lawlessness. The days of going Viking were in the past. With the establishment of the Danelaw and the treaty with Alfred of Wessex, as well as the settlement in Normandy by conquering raiders, peaceful trade replaced plundering as a means for gaining wealth.

Decided, Erik flipped a silver coin in the air and slashed sideways with his sword. The halved coin fell at the slaver's feet. He felt at his throat as if checking to be certain it was intact before he reached down for the coin. "Half," Erik grated out in rough Arabic. "All," the man returned slyly, glancing around. "I'll need to replace the girl. Do you think I can make an honest living in this way?" It was the wrong tactic. A flash of the ornate sword hacked the coin again and left one quarter lying in the dirt. The rest he handed to Harold. "The bargain is done," he stated, holding the cowardly little man's eyes. Defeated, the man nodded. Erik scanned the crowd gathered around the fighters with equal directness. There were no challenges. They'd witnessed the bargain struck. Satisfied, he turned and strode to the tent displaying the flat glass oblongs and pointed at them. "I want some of these," he informed Harold, speaking Norse once more. "Take care of it and deliver them to the ship." Then he left the Egyptian merchant facing the band of Vikings and made for his longboat with the woman under his arm like an unwieldy package.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd. It’s all about the story… Action/Adventure Fantasy Historical Horror Mainstream Mystery/Suspense Non-Fiction Paranormal Red Hots! Romance Science Fiction Western Young Adult http://www.samhainpublishing.com

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