She laughed, the sound making the air sparkle between them. "It's a duffel."

He felt those sparkles inside him. Goddess, when was the last time he'd felt so . . . free? "Give me the bag, Smiley."

"Smiley?" Though her smile remained, something about it changed.

His own dimmed. "I shouldn't have called you that."

"No, it's okay. I just . . . haven't heard that name since I was a child. One of my human friend's dads used to call me that."

He'd hit a memory, if not a nerve. He was sorry for that. "Give me the duffel, and I won't do it again."

As he'd hoped, her grin returned full force, even as she rolled her eyes. "You're relentless."

"You're stubborn."

"Always." With a sigh of mock resignation, she pulled the duffel off her shoulder and handed it to him. "I'll give you the duffel, but . . ."

Slinging the small bag over his own shoulder, he waited, watching her intently, not sure he was going to be able to pull his gaze away when he had to. "But what?"

Her teeth tugged at her lower lip in a move that was at once shy and charming. "But you don't have to stop calling me Smiley. I like it."

Warm pleasure burst inside him. "Good," he said quietly, as their gazes locked in a way they hadn't . . . quite . . . before now. He felt himself sinking, felt the ground turning soft and unsteady beneath his feet as he stared into those twinkling brown depths. His pulse accelerated with the strange feeling that he was losing his balance even as he knew his boots were planted firmly on the pavement.

She was the first to look away, confusion clouding her eyes.

What was he doing? She was about to become the new fox shifter's mate. And even if he thought that was insane, he had nothing better to offer her. With a shake of his head, he grabbed three suitcases and started forward, Faith falling into step beside him as they started up the brick walk.

"Did you have a good flight?" he asked, trying to find his footing again.

"It was wonderful." The smile she tossed him was nothing short of brilliant.

The ground beneath his feet tilted precariously. "As good as that?"

"I've never flown before."

He looked at her with surprise. "Never?"

"No. I loved it, rising through the clouds, seeing them floating below." She looked at him with wonder. "I can't imagine what it must be like for you to fly as a bird, the wind in your face, soaring under your own power."

His gut tightened. "It's incredible." And he'd lost the ability. Not since he'd left that spirit trap had he been able to fly and retain his awareness of it. And he missed it bitterly. But that wasn't something he needed to share with her, not now. Not when she was smiling. "I wish I could take you up there with me. If I could upsize like some of the animals can, I'd grow to horse size and carry you on my back." A fanciful thought for a man facing disaster, but she made him feel . . . light as air.

An impish gleam leaped into her eyes. "Or shrink me to bird size. Blue-haired Barbie."

He threw back his head and laughed so loud, he startled the birds out of the nearby trees. Tighe stepped through the front door, meeting his gaze with a curious smile and a speculative glance at Faith.

As they started up the steps, Tighe grabbed one of Hawke's suitcases, glancing at Faith. "I'm Tighe."

"The tiger shifter?"

Tighe sketched a quick bow, flashing his dimples. "One and the same."

"I'm Faith. Maxim's soon-to-be mate."

Tighe lifted his chin, as if to nod, but the downward tilt came slowly, his gaze cutting to Hawke, his smile disappearing. "After you, Faith." Tighe motioned Hawke to follow her, but as he drew beside him, Tighe threw him a look of sympathy and frustration. A look that said, You can't catch a break, can you, buddy?

Hawke shrugged. It didn't matter. Even if Faith were as free as the wind, he wasn't. His connection with his animal spirit was a screwed-up mess, and he was a danger to anyone in his vicinity.

He followed Faith into the foyer, where Maxim stood with Lyon and Paenther. In his white silk turtleneck and black suit jacket, his hair slicked back with some kind of styling cream, Maxim stood with his chest puffed out and chin lifted as if he thought himself too good for the lot of them. The new Feral met Hawke's eye, his mouth tight, his gaze hard as he held out his hand to Faith. She went to him without a backward glance or a moment's hesitation.

Jealousy slid like a blade between Hawke's ribs.

But even as Maxim pulled Faith tight against his side, his gaze remained locked on Hawke, sharp with warning.

Hawke's jaw hardened, anger sparking inside him, ignited by a jealousy he had no right to feel.

Tighe nudged him from behind. "Upstairs. This suitcase is heavy."

Which was a lie, but Hawke took the hint and moved toward the stairs, tearing his gaze from the couple. But even as he climbed, he remained intensely aware of the woman below him, every sense tuned to Faith.

He'd never believed in love at first sight, but infatuation was another matter. And he was suddenly, inescapably, drowning in it.

In the space of a handful of minutes, he'd fallen for the woman destined to become another Feral's mate.

Chapter Three

Excitement trilled inside Faith as she joined Maxim in the foyer of Feral House. Feral House. It was every bit as grand as she'd imagined from the stories she'd heard of it as a child. The spacious foyer, lit by a huge chandelier, soared a full three stories, hung with lovely wallpaper. Along two curved walls, twin stairs rose. And on one of those stairs two warriors climbed. Hawke preceded Tighe, both men laden with Maxim's luggage, yet their muscles barely flexed. A small smile tugged at her mouth as she watched Hawke's sure, light stride, grace and power in every step.

Maxim's grip on her waist tightened, and she tore her gaze away from the stairs and back to the men to whom Maxim had been talking. Two more Feral Warriors. Her pulse raced with excitement. Sweet goddess, she was really here, standing among the rock stars of the immortal world.

One of the men, a broad-shouldered blond with a look of authority eyed her with curiosity, his gaze dropping to her shoulders and the blue-dyed ends of her hair.

"Hello." She gave him a cheery smile, wrenching her right arm out from between hers and Maxim's bodies and thrusting it out to him. "I'm Faith."

She'd always had a way with people, men and women alike, and expected them to like her. But it wasn't until her hand was thrust forward that she really looked into the man's eyes and saw the coolness there. For a moment, she wondered if she'd made an error. But as she watched, his eyes warmed, a small, if genuine, smile lifting his mouth.

"It's nice to meet you, Faith. I'm Lyon, Chief of the Ferals."

"The Chief?" The words were out before she could stop them. She wrinkled her nose. "Sorry, I'm afraid I'm a little starstruck. I wish I had an autograph book."

Lyon's smile widened.

"You will be living here," Maxim said coolly beside her. "She is to be my mate."

When Lyon released her hand, she turned to the other man, extending her hand again. He turned an assessing gaze on her, his expression revealing nothing of his thoughts. He was at once darkly attractive and dangerous-looking, his hair long and black, his skin and features those of a Native American. Across one eye ran scars, like the claw marks of a large animal.

She gaped at him. "Are those feral marks?" Belatedly, it occurred to her that Maxim must have the marks somewhere on his body. All the Ferals did. "That is so cool."

Amusement lit the black-haired Feral's eyes, and he nodded. "I'm Paenther." He released her hand and straightened, his amusement fleeing as his expression took on a hard edge. His gaze flicked to Maxim. "I should warn you both, my mate is Mage."

Faith's eyes widened as she felt Maxim's hand flex. "I've never met a Mage." Like the Therians, the Mage were virtually immortal, but while the Therians had once all been shape-shifters, the Mage were the magic ones. Both races had lost the bulk of their power millennia ago in a joint and desperate effort to overcome the Daemons. But the truce hadn't lasted. The Mage were the enemies of the Therians. Yet a Feral Warrior had married one.

As if reading her thoughts, Paenther met her gaze. "Skye is as pure of spirit as anyone you'll ever meet. She'll be a good friend to you."

"Skye is a powerful ally and asset." Lyon's sharp gaze landed on Maxim and stuck. "You'll find we are a diverse group. All will be treated with the utmost respect, from the cook and her helper to your chief."

The hard edge on the last two words made Faith wonder what she'd interrupted when she'd walked into the foyer. And what Maxim had said that had the Chief warning him instead of welcoming him.

Faith caught Paenther's eye and smiled. "I look forward to meeting Skye."

The lift of Paenther's mouth told her he believed her. "You'll meet her soon enough. She and the other wives are preparing a welcome reception."

A cute blonde joined them, sliding her arm around Lyon's waist as if he belonged to her. By the soft look in the Chief of the Ferals' eyes when he glanced down, sliding his own arm around her shoulders, Faith suspected he did. "I'm Kara." The woman's smile was warm and genuine, a crooked eyetooth lending her smile charm. She thrust out her hand to Maxim. "I'm your power plug."

"My what?" Maxim asked.

Lyon reached up and gave Kara's ponytail a gentle tug. "She's your Radiant."

Faith stared at her in wonder. The Radiant was the one woman in all the world with the ability to pull the Earth's energies that empowered the Ferals. Just as there was only ever one of each of the nine shape-shifters, there was only ever one Radiant. When one died, another was marked to take her place. Faith had always imagined the Radiant to be a queen among immortals, reserved, royal. Kara stood in bare feet, a pair of jeans, and a T-shirt that read TEAM JACOB across the profile of a howling wolf. And called herself a power plug.

Faith grinned. Everything about Kara appeared open and genuine and friendly, and Faith liked her at once.

Kara returned her grin. "I like your hair."

Faith dipped her head, still smiling. "Thank you."

"Would you like me to show you to your room so you can freshen up before the reception?"

"Faith will share my room." Maxim's autocratic tone had her stiffening. His words had her pulling away. She barely knew the man. Coming to America with him was bad enough. But sharing a room? A bed?

Kara seemed to read her thoughts. "You could borrow my room for a while." She glanced up at Lyon, a smile lighting her eyes. "I never use it."

I belong to Maxim. The thought hit her again, accompanied by a sudden, odd need to stay near him. Should she share his room? That connection pulled so strongly, she almost said yes. But . . . no. She needed to shower and change, and the thought of doing those in front of him, let alone anything else, didn't appeal. Not . . . yet.

Faith nodded. "Thank you, Kara. I'd appreciate the use of your room." She felt Maxim's disapproval and turned to meet his hard gaze. "For now. Until we know one another a little better."

Maxim didn't argue, but his expression turned glacial, and she knew she'd embarrassed him by rebuffing him in front of the other men. A small frisson of unease slid over her flesh. Unhappiness twisted her gut. This wasn't the right way for things to be starting between them. The thought of sharing a room with him should excite her, shouldn't it? If Hawke had asked her to share his room . . .

The thought sent a sudden and startling flush of heat spiraling through her body. Her cheeks grew warm with dismay.

"Ready?" Kara asked, then turned and led them up one flight of stairs and down the hall to the biggest bedchamber Faith had ever seen. A huge bed took up a fraction of the room, dark red velvet curtains hanging from the rails across the top and tied at each of the four bedposts. The bedspread was gold silk, the walls papered in deep greens, reds, and golds. Even the ceiling had been decorated - a full mural of cherubs - making her heart pinch with the thought of how Paulina would love such artwork.

"It's beautiful," Faith murmured.

"It's a bit much." Kara shrugged. "But it's been the Radiant's room since Feral House was built."

"I assume the Chief's is larger," Maxim said stiffly.

Kara gave him a bemused look. "No. Actually, mine is the largest. The Feral Warriors want their Radiant to be happy here. They shower her with luxuries." She gave Faith a wry smile. "If she wants them. My tastes are much simpler than the previous Radiant's." She glanced at Maxim. "Your room is on the third floor. We thought we'd give you an hour to freshen up before the reception. Is that enough?"

"That is adequate." Maxim turned to Faith. "Wait for me to collect you."

Faith nodded, then suddenly remembered . . . "My duffel. It's with your luggage."

"Just a duffel?" Kara smiled. "I'll bring it to you on my way back down."

A few minutes later, Kara returned, Faith's duffel hanging from her shoulder. "Here you go. Do you need anything else?"

Faith hesitated. It wouldn't take her more than twenty minutes to shower and dress for the reception and dinner. Sitting in here by herself for an hour was the last thing she wanted to do when Feral House was just waiting to be explored.

"Is there a kitchen where I could find something to drink? Perhaps fruit juice or a Coca-Cola?"