Narcissus in Chains

Chapter 34



JEAN-CLAUDE ADMITTED ONLY to telling the absolute truth. But, he added, if because of that Monsieur Zeeman was jealous of Nathaniel, this wasn't an altogether bad thing. "He will share you with me, because he must, and he will share you with Micah also, because he must, but we are both alphas, dominants. To share you with someone like Nathaniel--that is different."



"You changed something about the story to make Nathaniel sound like more of a threat, didn't you?"



"No, ma petite, I merely told the truth without leaving anything out. He is not entirely happy with Jason either."



"Jean-Claude, you can't do this to Richard. You'll drive him mad."



"Mad enough, perhaps, to finally acknowledge that he cannot live without you, and that he must come to terms with our triumvirate."



"You Machiavellian shithead, you're playing with him."



"I am trying to maneuver him into doing what must be done if we are to survive. If that be Machiavellian, so be it."



"You are making things worse," I said.



"I don't believe so. I think, ma petite, that you still do not understand men. Many men will give up a woman if they are unhappy with her. But let another man try to claim her, and often, they find they still do want her."



"You and Micah aren't competition enough?" I asked.



"As I explained, we are his equals. Nathaniel is lesser, and that will prick his pride more."



"I didn't think Richard had that kind of destructive guy pride."



"I think there are many things you do not know about our Richard."



"And you do?"



"I am, after all, a man, ma petite. I believe I understand the male psyche a tiny bit better than you do."



I couldn't argue with that. "Well, give me a heads-up next time you plan to do any maneuvering. You could have gotten one of us killed."



He sighed. "I do keep underestimating the stubbornness of both of you. My apologies for that."



I leaned my forehead against the kitchen wall. "Jean-Claude ..."



"Yes, ma petite."



I closed my eyes. "Tell me exactly what you think Richard thinks about Nathaniel and me."



"I told him the absolute truth, ma petite, nothing more, and nothing less."



I turned around, put my back to the wall, looked out at the empty kitchen. Richard was in the downstairs bathroom getting stitched up. Nathaniel was with the other leopards. I'd given strict orders that he was not to be left alone. I just wasn't up to Richard and him actually having a fight. It would be too ... ridiculous, or pathetic.



"And what does that mean, that you told the truth, no more, no less?"



"You will not like it."



"I don't like it now, just tell me, Jean-Claude."



"I told him what had happened with the ardeur, and added my own belief the reason you so often find Nathaniel around when sex is in the air is that you find him sexually attractive."



"That did not make Richard come over here and start a fight."



"I do remember adding that you might find a less-demanding male refreshing after the two of us. Someone who did not make so many demands on you, someone who merely accepted you as you are."



"You do that," I said.



"So good of you to notice," he said. "But it is not I that has been living in your home for months, and from what I smell on Nathaniel when he comes into work, sharing your bed."



"Any of the wereleopards are welcome in the bedroom when they stay here It's like a big pile of puppies--it's not sexual."



"If you say so." His voice was soft, mocking.



"Damn you, Jean-Claude, you know I don't see Nathaniel that way."



He sighed, and it was heavy. "I think it is not me that you lie to, ma petite but yourself."



"I am not in love with Nathaniel."



"Did I ever say you were?"



"Then what are you talking about?"



He made a small exasperated sound. "Ma petite, you still believe that you must love every man that you come to physically. It is not so. You can have very pleasant, even wondrous sex with a friend. It does not have to be love."



I was shaking my head, realized he couldn't see it, and said, "I don't do casual sex, Jean-Claude, you know that."



"Whatever you are doing with Nathaniel, ma petite, it is not casual."



"I can't use him as my pomme de sang. I can't."



"Your morals have reared their ugly heads, ma petite, do not let them make you foolish."



I opened my mouth to protest everything he'd said, but closed it and just thought about what he'd said for a few seconds. Did I find Nathaniel attractive? Well, yeah. But I found a lot of men attractive. That didn't mean I had to be intimate with them.



"Ma petite, I can hear you breathing. What are you thinking?"



What he said made me think a new thought. "When we first married the marks I could almost read your mind, unless you concentrated to keep me out. Now it's not like that. Maybe the ardeur will be temporary, too."



"Perhaps, we can but hope."



"If I have the ardeur, I'll have to have sex. Isn't that what you wanted?"



"I would be a fool to deny that your enforced chastity is burdensome, but I would never willingly inflict the ardeur on anyone. It is a ... curse, ma petite. The blood lust that I feel can be sated. My body can only hold so much. But the ardeur, oh, ma petite, it is never truly satisfied. There is always that ache, that need. How could I wish that upon you? Though if our Monsieur Zeeman would cooperate, it might be the answer for the two of you to finally reach some permanent arrangement."



"What, move in together?"



"Perhaps." His voice was very careful when he said that one word.



"Richard and I can't be in a room for an hour without arguing, unless we are having sex. Somehow I don't think that makes for domestic bliss."



I felt the first emotion he'd let me feel over the phone--relief. He was relieved. "I want what is best for all of us, ma petite, but as things grow more complex, I am no longer certain what 'best' would be."



"Don't tell me your machinations didn't include some backup plan to cover every eventuality. You are the ultimate plotter, don't tell me you missed a trick."



"I watched Belle Morte fill your eyes with her fire. You are acquiring powers as if you were a Master Vampire, or a Master Lycanthrope. How could I have planned for any of this?"



There was a cold knot of fear in the center of my gut. "So you finally admit that you don't know what the hell is going on either."



"Oui, does that please you?" I heard the first stirrings of anger in his voice. "Are you happy now, ma petite? I am well and truly out of my depth. No one has ever tried to forge an alliance such as we have, an alliance not of master and two slaves, but of three equals. I do not think you appreciate how gentle I am when it comes to hoarding my power. The wolves are my animal to call. Many masters would have forced them to simply be an adjunct to their own vampires."



"Nikolaos's animal to call was rats, not wolves," I said. "By the time you took over as Master of the City, Marcus and Raina's pack was too strong for you to make them an adjunct to your power. Hell, until you replenished the vamps that I killed, they were probably more powerful than you and your vampires."



"Are you implying that the only reason I am not a tyrant is because I didn't have the strength of arms to make it so?"



I thought about that for a second, then said, "I'm not implying it, I'm saying it."



"You think so little of me?"



"I know what you were like two, almost three years ago, and I think then you would have consolidated your power base with very little regard for anyone that got in your way."



"Are you saying I am ruthless?"



"Practical," I said.



It was his turn to be quiet for a second or two, then, "Practical, yes, I am that, as are you, ma petite."



"I know what I am, Jean-Claude, it's you I'm not sure of."



"I would never willingly hurt you, ma petite."



"I believe you," I said.



"I am not sure the same can be said of you," he said, quietly.



"I don't want to hurt either of you. But Richard cannot harm my leopards, and if you do anything stupid, don't blame me for what happens next."



"I would never underestimate your level of ... practicality, ma petite, though I think Richard might."



"He told me I wouldn't kill him just for roughing up Nathaniel."



"How rough was Richard to little Nathaniel?"



"Don't talk about him like he's a child, Jean-Claude, and rough enough that I cut Richard's arm open."



"How badly?"



"The doc's stitching him up, even as we speak."



"Oh, dear," he said, and sighed, and this time the sound eased down my skin. I realized that he'd been behaving himself until now, at least about using his voice.



"No more games, Jean-Claude. I want to put Richard on the phone, and you tell him you did this on purpose."



"But I cannot tell him that I lied about Nathaniel, now can I?"



"You fix this, Jean-Claude, now, tonight. I need Richard to teach me how to call Gregory's beast. I don't have time for him to sulk."



"What am I to tell him, ma petite! What surety can I give him that you will not be in Nathaniel's arms tomorrow morning? I believe that I can maneuver Richard into staying the night, having him there at your side when the ardeur rises."



"Richard's already made his position clear, Jean-Claude. He doesn't let you, or Asher, or anyone, feed off of him. He doesn't see why the rules change just because it's me and sex, instead of blood."



"He said that?" Jean-Claude gave a questioning lilt to his voice.



"Yeah, he said that, almost word-for-word."



Jean-Claude sighed, and it sounded tired. "What am I to do with the two of you?"



"Don't ask me," I said, "I just work here."



"And what, exactly, does that mean, ma petite?"



"It means that we don't have a boss. It's great being equals, if that's what we are, but none of us knows what the hell is going on, and that isn't good, Jean-Claude. We are messing with some very serious stuff here, metaphysically and emotionally and just plain physically. We need some clue as to what we should be doing with all of it."



"And who should we be asking advice of, ma petite! If any vampire on the Council were to suspect that I have not given you both the fourth mark, they would destroy us, for fear that with the fourth mark we would become an even greater power."



"I've talked to Marianne and her friends. They're witches, Wiccan."



"So we find, what, a local coven, and ask their guidance?" He sounded patronizing.



"I resent the tone, Jean-Claude, especially since I don't hear you offering any better suggestions. Don't criticize unless you can do better."



"Very true, ma petite, and very wise. My deepest and most sincere apologies. You are quite right. I do not have a suggestion for whom we might turn to for advice, or guidance. I will think upon your suggestion to find a friendly witch to speak with."



"I have a friendly one to speak to. She just might need to see the three or us together to see how things work."



"You mean your Marianne?"



"Yeah."



"I thought she was more psychic than witch."



"There's not all that much difference," I said.



"I will take your word on that. I do not have much business with either."



I realized I'd been planning to call Marianne since I woke up sandwiched between Caleb and Micah. Funny how it had slipped my mind.



"Is there anything you can say to Richard that will help smooth things on this end?"



"Do you wish me to lie?"



"Damn it, Jean-Claude ..."



"I can point out to him that if he does not meet the ardeur's appetite that someone else must."



"I've already pointed that out to him." I thought about that for a few heartbeats. "He accused me of having ..." I found I couldn't quite say it. "He accused me of doing worse with Nathaniel than I've done, and he was crude about it. I'm not sure I want to have sex with him right now."



"You are angry with him," Jean-Claude said.



"Oh, yeah."



"So angry that if he asked, you would refuse his bed?"



I started to say yes, then stopped myself. I was tired. Tired of all of it, of both of them, if the truth be known. Couldn't live with them, or without them. I wanted Richard's body like an ache in my heart, but when he wanted to be, he could be ugly, and his mood tonight was ugly. I didn't want to have sex with him when he was like this. Hell, I didn't want to be around him when he was like this.



"I don't know," I said.



"Well, that was honest, and does not bode well. If you refuse Richard, and Nathaniel, and your Nimir-Raj does not return tonight, what will you do in the morning, ma petite? Please, think carefully on this. I beg you to choose the lesser evil, whatever that may be, rather than wait until the hunger overrides your common sense, or even your need for survival."



"What are you saying?"



"I am saying what I have said before--that to deny the ardeur is to worsen it. Deny it long enough and hard enough, and it will begin to erode all that you are, or thought yourself to be. I survived what I did to feed it in those first weeks, but my moral degradation had been accomplished years before I died. I say again, ma petite, that you will not take it as well as I did. I believe it will compromise your sense of who you are."



"And fucking Nathaniel isn't going to compromise me?"



He sighed. "Put that way, I do see your point. But how much more compromising would it be to seduce a stranger?"



"I would never do that."



"Is that not exactly what you did with the Nimir-Raj?" His voice was very quiet as he said it, very careful not to be accusatory.



I would have loved to have argued the point, but I hate to lose, and I was going to lose this one. "Alright, you've made your point."



"I hope so, Anita, I do hope so." He never used my name unless something was very wrong. Damn.



"You know, just once it might be nice to have normal problems."



"And what, exactly, is a normal problem, ma petite?"



Another point for Jean-Claude. "I don't know anymore."



"You sound tired, ma petite."



"It's only a few hours until dawn. I've been up all night, so yeah, I'm tired." Just acknowledging it seemed to bring it on in a rush that left me rubbing my eyes, which smeared the eye shadow I'd put on onto my fingers and probably around my eyelids. I wore makeup so seldomly that I often forgot I was wearing it.



Richard came back into the kitchen with his bodyguards and the wererats in tow. He gave me a look, and it was not a friendly one.



"I've got to go," I said to Jean-Claude.



"Do you wish me to speak to Richard?"



"No, I think you've done enough damage for one night."



"I meant only to help."



"Sure you did."



"Ma petite."



"Yes."



"Be careful, and remember what I have said about the ardeur. There is no shame in it."



"Even you don't believe that," I said.



"Ah, you have found me out. There is no shame in feeding, if you feed immediately on a person of your own choosing. If you fight, then you will find yourself feeding on someone not of your choosing, in a place not of your choosing. I do not think you would enjoy that, ma petite."



He was right about that anyway. "I'll talk to you tomorrow after you get up. I haven't forgotten Damian, you know."



"I did not think that you had, ma petite. I will look forward to your call."



I hung up without saying good-bye, mainly because I was angry, and scared. Not only did I have Richard to deal with tonight and Gregory to save, but tomorrow morning when I woke up, the ardeur would be there, waiting. There was a chance that it wouldn't be, that the one day was the only time I'd have it, but I couldn't count on that. I had to plan for the worst-case scenario. Worst case was I would wake up tomorrow and need to feed just like I had this morning. The big question was, who would I feed on, and could I live with myself after I'd done it?



Chapter 35



I HATE BEING awake at three in the morning. It is the godforsaken heart of darkness when the body runs slow, and the brain runs slower, and all you want to do is sleep. But I had promises to keep, and miles to go before I could sleep. Or at least a couple of miracles to perform before I could go to bed.



Dr. Lillian had unhooked Gregory's IV, but he was still bundled in the quilts. He sat on the picnic table on the deck, cradled between Zane and Cherry. Dr. Lillian kept touching Gregory, checking his pulse, how clammy his skin was. She was frowning and clearly not happy. Nathaniel stayed by them, keeping the picnic table between him and Richard. Richard hadn't tried to hurt him again; in fact, he'd ignored him studiously. The other cats milled around near the sliding glass doors. The two wererat bodyguards, Claudia and Igor, were standing to one side of me as I leaned on the railing. They started following me around when Richard came out with his bandaged arm and Jamil and Shang-Da at his back.



Richard's power crept on the summer darkness like close thunder, making the hot, sticky night even thicker and making it harder to breathe. I think it was the press of his power, the edge of his anger, that made the wererats start acting like bodyguards. I'd tried telling them that Richard wouldn't hurt me, but Claudia had shrugged, and said, "Rafael told us to keep you safe, and that's what we're going to do."



"Even if I tell you that there is no threat?"



She shrugged again. "I'd say, you're a little too close to this one to make a sound judgment call."



I'd glanced at Igor. "You agree with her?"



"I never argue with a lady, especially one that can beat me at arm wrestling."



Igor's logic was hard to argue with, but it meant that I had acquired two tall, muscular shadows, and it irritated me. But neither of them gave a damn whether I was happy or not. They were following Rafael's orders, and my wishes didn't count.



So Richard and his bodyguards, and me, with mine, stood on the deck, facing Stephen, who had stripped off in preparation for the change. If you made the change with clothes on, you ruined them. Shapeshifters either haunted the thrift shops, looking for old clothes to wear on the night of the full moon, or went nude.



We all stood there in the circle of Richard's power. The energy built around us like invisible lightning lashing around us. The power literally crackled, raising the hair on our arms, raising the hair on our heads, like the hackles on a dog.



Jamil said, "Richard ..." But one glance from Richard stopped him in mid-sentence. The power rose another notch, squeezing around us like some kind of giant hand.



"What's wrong, Richard? What's with the power display?" I asked.



He turned to me, and the anger in his face made me want to step back, but I didn't. I stood my ground, but it took effort.



"Do you want to save your cat?" he asked, voice thick with the emotion that showed on his face, that crackled in his power.



My voice was almost a whisper, "Yes."



"Then watch," he said.



He spread his hands in front of Stephen, keeping them about eight inches away from the smaller man's shoulders. The energy squeezed tight, and tighter until I had to swallow to try and clear my ears, as if there'd been a pressure change. But swallowing didn't help. It wasn't that kind of pressure.



Richard's hands convulsed, as if his fingers were digging into something invisible just in front of Stephen. He staggered towards Richard, one step, and I was close enough to hear a small pained sound come from him. Richard balled his hands into fists, and something shimmered between them like heat caught in the close summer darkness. The bones in my face ached with the building power. The air was almost too thick to breathe, as if it had weight.



Richard made one abrupt movement with his hands and the pressure broke, like a storm finally bursting to life. For a second or two, I thought the heavy, clear liquid that burst around us was rain, but it was hot like blood, and it didn't fall from the sky. It burst from Stephen's body. I'd seen dozens of shape-shifters change, but nothing like this. It was as if Stephen's body blew apart in a rain of hot, thick fluids and small bits of flesh. The beast usually pulls itself from the human body, like a butterfly from a chrysalis, but not this time. Stephen's body folded over on itself, and his man-wolf shape was just suddenly standing there. It collapsed to its knees, panting, shivering.



I was left standing, not even breathing, covered in the rapidly cooling bits and pieces of Stephen's body. When I could breathe again, I gasped. "Jesus Christ."



Stephen's fur was the color of dark, golden honey. He crouched, shivering at Richard's feet. Again, the change may hurt while the person is going through it, but once it's over, they usually stand up and start moving around. Stephen seemed disoriented, almost like he was in pain. What the hell was happening?



He crawled the last few steps to Richard, laying his long, teeth-filled snout against his wolf king's jogging shoes. He was almost in a fetal position, great, muscular arms wrapped around golden fur, lying at his Ulfric's feet. It was extreme submissive behavior, and I didn't know why. Stephen hadn't done anything wrong.



I looked up at Richard. His white shirt was plastered to his body with the thick fluids. He turned his face to look at me, and the faint light of stars glistened in the wetness on his face. A thick piece of something slid down his cheek as he glared at me. The look on his face was defiant, as if he expected me to be angry with him.



I raised a shaking hand and wiped the worst of the gunk off of my face, flinging it onto the deck where it hit with a wet splat. I looked at the bodyguards. They too were spattered with the thick stuff, but not nearly as messy as Richard and I. They hadn't been standing as close. They all stared at Richard, stared at him with a mixture of horror and anger and astonishment on their faces, which let me know that something was very, very wrong.



I had to try twice before I could speak, and even then my voice was breathy. "I've seen a lot of shapeshifters change into their beasts, but I've never seen anything like that. Was it different because you called Stephen's beast instead of him doing it on his own?"



"No," Richard said.



I waited for more, but that was all he said, and it looked like all he intended to say. But no just didn't cover it. I looked at the others. "Okay, someone tell me what just happened here."



Jamil started to speak, then stopped and looked at Richard. "With my Ulfric's permission." The words were polite, but the tone was angry, almost defiant.



Richard looked at him. I couldn't see his face, but whatever look he gave Jamil, it was something that made the other man flinch. Jamil dropped to one knee in the spreading pool of thick liquid. He bowed his head. "I mean no offense, Ulfric."



"That's a lie," Richard said, and his voice was lower than normal, just a tone or two above a growl.



Jamil darted a glance upward, then bowed his head again. "I don't know what you want me to say, Ulfric. Tell me, and I will say it."



Richard turned back to me, leaving Jamil kneeling. "I didn't just call Stephen's beast, I tore it from his body."



I glanced down at Stephen, who was still crouched at Richard's feet. "Why?" I asked.



"It's usually punishment to do it this way."



"What did Stephen do?"



"Nothing." Richard's voice was harsh, almost as harsh as the look on his face.



"Then why punish him?"



"Because I could." His chin lifted when he said it, and that arrogance was back.



"What the hell is wrong with you, Richard?"



He laughed, and the sound was so inappropriate that it made me jump. He laughed, but it was too loud, too harsh. "Didn't this teach you how to call Gregory's beast?"



"I didn't learn a damn thing except that you're in a foul mood and taking it out on other people."



"You want to know what's wrong? You really want to know?"



"Yeah, I do."



"Get out of the way, Stephen," he said, and Stephen didn't even ask why, he just crawled out from between us.



We were left staring at each other, not quite two feet apart. What he'd done to Stephen seemed to have taken the edge off his power, but it was still there like some great slumbering thing pressing against the surface.



"Open the marks, Anita, feel what I'm feeling."



"I opened the marks already. I figured I had to, to learn how to do this."



"So it's just my shielding?" He made it a question.



I nodded. "I can feel your rage, Richard, I just don't know why."



"Just my shields between us and ..." He shook his head, almost smiling, then he dropped his shields. It hit me like a physical force, drove me back a step. Anger so raw it filled my throat with bile; a self-loathing so deep that it drew tears down my cheeks in two hot lines. I stood there for a minute feeling Richard's pain, and it was suffocating.



I stared up at him, the tears still wet on my cheeks. "Richard, oh my God."



"Don't feel sorry for me, don't you dare feel pity for me!" He grabbed my arms when he said it, and the moment we touched, our beasts poured up from inside us and spread across our skins in a hot dance of power. His beast crashed through me, invisible, metaphysical claws ripping through my body. It was as if Richard's beast was trying to eat his way through my body. I screamed, and thrust my beast into his, and I felt claws ripping into meat. There was nothing to see with the eye, but I could feel it, feel fur and muscle and meat under claws and teeth. I screamed not just from the pain, but from the sensations of cutting Richard up. He hurt me, and I wanted to hurt him back. There was no more reasoning, no more thinking, just reacting.



Our beasts tore through each other, rolling, clawing, tearing. We collapsed on the deck, screaming. Dimly I could still feel Richard's hands locked on my arms as if he couldn't let go.



There was movement all around us. People hovering, but no one interfered, no one touched us. When we fell, they scattered, as if afraid to touch us. Voices shouting above our screams, "What's wrong? What's happening? Anita, Anita! Richard, control it!"



His beast was suddenly like a weight inside me, but it didn't hurt. The two energies lay quiet, leaning against each other, not mingling, just leaning. I could almost feel the solid push of his beast against something inside of me that had bones and fur, and wasn't me. I couldn't hear anything but the thundering of the blood in my own head. I felt Richard's weight on top of me, before I looked down to find him collapsed over me. His head rested on my chest. I could feel the pulse of the blood in his body, his heart racing against the skin of my stomach. I was covered in the cool slime from Stephen's body. One, I was lying in a pool of it; two, Richard had been covered in it, and he'd slid down my body. I was going to have to shower before I could go to bed, even if it was dawn. And I ached, ached as if I'd been beaten. I knew I'd be stiff when I moved.



Everyone was standing in a ring above us, staring down. I found my voice, hoarse, almost raspy, but clear. "Get off of me."



Richard raised his head, slowly, as if he hurt, too. "I'm sorry."



"You're always sorry, Richard, now get off of me."



He didn't move, in fact he settled heavier, hands curving at the edges of my waist. "Do you still want to help Gregory?"



"That's what this whole show is about, so yeah."



"Then let's try again."



I tensed, and started trying to wriggle out from under him. His hands tightened at my waist. "Easy, Anita, it won't hurt. I don't think."



"Says you. It hurt like a son of a bitch. Let me go, Richard." My voice held the beginnings of anger, and fear. I liked the anger, could have done without the fear.



"You fought me to a standoff. It's over," he said.



I stopped struggling and stared at him. "What are you talking about?"



"We're not the same kind of animal, Anita. They had to find out who's ... tougher."



I stared down the line of my body into those brown eyes. "Are you saying this was some kind of dominance display?"



"Not exactly."



Strangely, it was Merle who answered. "When two such different beasts meet, and they are both strong dominants--such as a true Nimir-Ra, and a true Ulfric--the two animals must fight and test each other. I have seen it before. It is a type of taming of one beast by the other."



I looked way up at the tall man. "No one tamed anyone."



Merle knelt beside us. "I think you are right. It is as the Ulfric has said, a standoff. He could have kept fighting until one of you won, or lost, but he chose to let it be."



I remembered someone telling Richard to control it, it being his beast. I looked at Richard. "You stopped, didn't you?"



"I don't care which of us is more dominant, Anita. Those kind of games have never meant anything to me, unless people forced me to play them."



"You said something about helping Gregory. What did you mean?"



He started working his way a little higher up my body, sliding his body along mine. I could feel the slime from his shirt recoating my bare stomach and nearly bare chest. My disgust must have shown on my face, because he asked, "What's wrong?"



"Your shirt is covered in slime, and I'm lying in a pool of it. I didn't just want you to get off me to be off of me, I wanted to get up out of this mess."



He came to his knees, his legs on either side of mine. I could feel our beasts stretched between us like something that should have been visible, as if each of their heads was buried in the other's chest. He offered me a hand. I stared up at him.



"I know you don't need the help, Anita. But our beasts are touching now. It's a close connection and physical contact will help us keep it until we finish Gregory."



I didn't need the earnest look on his face to know he was telling the truth, marks were still open between us. I knew he was telling the truth.



I took his hand and he lifted me to my feet. Standing up hurt, and either he felt it or saw it on my face. "I hurt you," he said softly.



"We hurt each other." I could feel that he was stiff, aching, but he moved like he wasn't, and I still moved human stiff.



He raised the bottom of his shirt, still holding my hand. "Touch me."



I looked up at him, and he laughed. "Just keep physical contact, Anita. I don't mean anything by it. But I need both my hands."



I laid a hand on his side, very tentatively.



He shook his head. "I'm going to take my shirt off."



If you can't touch a person's hands, arms, or much of their upper body, you run out of polite places to touch. I settled for sliding my hand under the wet shirt, touching the smooth firmness of his side. Even his skin was damp from the shirt having molded to it.



Richard drew the shirt over his head, and I was left standing inches from him as he revealed the flat plains of his stomach, the muscular swell of his chest, and arched his back to draw the shirt over his head. The sight of him, the pull of the lust that always came when I saw him without clothes pushed my beast against his. I felt furred sides roll against each other, a tentative roll of power that felt like someone had taken velvet and caressed the most intimate part of me.



Richard gasped.



I concentrated hard to stop the movement, but that I'd done it without thinking brought heat in a wash up my face. I looked at the ground; my hand was still only touching his side, just above his jeans, but the touch felt suddenly intimate. I wanted to take my hand away, and his hand covered mine before I could move. He pressed my hand to him, firm, but not forceful.



He touched my chin, raised my face until I had to look at him. "It's alright, Anita. I love the fact that just seeing me moves you like that."



The blush that had been fading, blazed harder. He laughed, soft, low, with that edge that a man's laugh gets when he's thinking intimate things. "I have missed you, Anita."



I looked up at him. "I missed you, too."



His beast moved through me in a wash of power and sensation that left me gasping. My beast responded to his. I couldn't seem to stop it. Maybe I didn't want to. Those shadow forms rolled in and out of each other, through us, until I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. It was Richard who drew back first, and said, "Dear God, I never thought ..." I felt the effort it cost him to draw back from me, to stop. His face showed a businesslike, no-nonsense look, but I could feel the trembling of other things inside him. His voice came out brisk. "I'll call Jamil's beast, the way it's supposed to be done. Feel what I do, how I use my beast to call his."



My voice was a little breathy. "Then I'll do Gregory."



He nodded. "Or I can call Shang-Da's beast, if you need to see it one more time."



I nodded. "Okay."



He slid a hand around my waist, drawing me against him. It didn't seem as intimate as the roil of our beasts inside us. Jamil stood facing us. He'd stripped off his shirt and shoes, but kept on his pants. It occurred to me for the first time that I'd never seen him nude, except when he'd been injured and near death. Jamil didn't do casual nudity. One of the few modest shapeshifters knew.



"I'm ready, Ulfric."



After what Richard had done to Stephen I thought Jamil was being awful trusting. But then, everyone trusted Richard; he was very trustworthy. No, lack of trust wasn't the problem.



"I don't need to physically touch anyone to do this, but it's easier that way, so I'll touch him, so you can understand better how it works."



I nodded, wrapped in the circle of his arm, the firmness of his body, the velvet roll of our beasts like another arm to hold us against each other.



Richard touched Jamil's bare shoulder, and I felt his power move outward like a warm wind. It caressed Jamil's skin, and Richard's beast flowed with it, pulling mine along for the ride. Richard's power teased along Jamil, coaxing, and the best analogy I could think of was like someone trying to lure a cat down out of a tree. Beckoning, talking sweetly, promising caresses, and treats, if only it would come down. But Jamil's beast didn't come down, it came out. It rolled out of the center of his being like a pale golden fog, an almost shape. I saw his beast like I'd seen Micah's earlier, for an instant, then Jamil collapsed to the deck, and his bare back began to ripple like water under a strong wind. The wolf drew out of his back in a long wet line, and his body dissolved into that dark furred shape, so that his human body became the wolf, like flipping over a coin, heads, tails, but still the same coin. I felt the rightness of it, the harmony of it. Jamil embraced what he was; there was no conflict between him and his beast. I'd never seen him in wolf form, man-wolf, but not this pony-sized black beast. He was like Little Red Riding Hood's worst nightmare.



The wolf shook himself, and I realized that his fur was dry. There was more of that clear goop all over the deck, but very little of it had clung to the wolf itself. Yet another metaphysical mystery: How do werewolves stay dry when shapeshifting is such a mess?



I turned without a word, drawing Richard with me. I went to Gregory, still sitting on the picnic table, only Cherry and Dr. Lillian with him now. Zane had come to see what the matter was when Richard and I started writhing on the deck.



Gregory looked at me, blue eyes silvered in the moonlight. I smiled and touched his cheek, cupped the side of his face against my hand. I reached for his beast, not with my hand, but with that shadowy thing that swirled through Richard and me. I sent it shivering across Gregory's skin, and he sat up, letting the quilt fall away from his bare upper body. Cherry moved away just enough so they wouldn't touch, as if she was afraid to touch him now.



I tried to coax his beast, to call it with sweet caresses and gentle persuasion, but it remained stubbornly just under the surface, trapped by the drugs that still made Gregory's body a prison and the shock that had further dampened everything I needed to call. But I knew that it didn't have to be gentle. I might not have been along for the ride when Richard brought Stephen's beast, but I'd seen it, and I knew enough of power to guess what he'd done.



"I'll try not to hurt you," I said, but I thrust my power into Gregory. I felt it hit his chest and sink into him like a large flesh-and-fur blade.



Gregory gasped, back arching, just a little.



I found his beast like a curled cat, asleep, sluggish, and I grabbed it in my hand, sank claws in it and pulled it screaming into the air. I ripped his beast out of him, and Gregory shifted, as Stephen had shifted in an explosion of blood, flesh, and fluid. I was covered in it, so thick I had to scoop it out of my eyes to see. To see that yellow and black spotted man-leopard lying hunched on the table. I watched Stephen come to sniff along his brother's shivering body.



"Gregory, Gregory, can you hear me?" I asked, and my voice was softer than I meant it to be.



Gregory blinked leopard eyes at me, but a growling voice came out of that furred throat. "I can hear you."



Stephen threw his head back and bayed. Jamil echoed him, and the leopards' screams of triumph filled the night.