Notes: I'm sure the Hungarian I've used doesn't literally translate to The White One, but that was my intention. Sorry. The line, "Chance is the fool's name for fate" comes from The Gay Divorcee. Thanks to Athea for wanting to see where this fandom goes, and to Wolfsbride, also. A special thanks to Gail for her kind words, and as always, for the beta.

Chapter 3 Note: ~~~ indicates the story being told. This story takes place before the necessity of safe sex. Unless you're going to have sex with an extraterrestrial, the management recommends the wearing of rubbers.

Chapter 4 Note: ~~~ indicates the story being told. An Ymir is the creature from the 1957 movie Twenty Million Miles to Earth. The giant ape is of course King Kong, the '76 version. Yeti is the abominable snowman, and the shark is Bruce from Jaws. Guarini is the currency of Paraguay; Real is the currency of Brazil. Thanks to Wolfsbride for finding all those anaconda sites. Now we know there's a town, several stores, and a law firm!

Chapter 5 Note: The name St. John in pronounced Sinjin. Tatt's is Tattersalls, the leading auctioneer (according to their site) of bloodstock in Europe.

Chapter 6 Note: #### denotes change of POV. Boxing Day, just as a reminder, is December 26. Ray Harryhausen did the visual effects for both Twenty Million Miles to Earth and The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad.

Chapter 7 Note: Face like a slapped arse is Brit slang, which can be found at this address: http://www.peevish.co.uk/slang/ It means miserable looking.

Chapter 10 Note: Since we've got some conversations between David and Ric'u, // indicates their communication.

A Predestined End
by Tinnean

Prologue

She never asked about her natural parents. The two men who raised her from birth waited expectantly for the questions, but as the beautiful little girl grew into lovely young womanhood, never once did she bring up the fact that instead of having a Mama and a Papa, she had a Pere and a Papa.

They would have told her about her mother, Jennie Williams, who had run a shop in the village of Upper Uncton and died in childbirth. They would have been harder pressed to explain about her father.

Lawrence Talbot, son of a baronet, had been bitten by a werewolf, and the dark desire that was the bane, as well as the salvation of the shape shifter, drove him to attempt an attack on Thomas Fortescue-Smythe, a former army captain, who had been his lover when they were youths. It had failed, due in part to the silver chain worn by Tommy as a symbol of his commitment to his partner, Roddy Sayer.

The night the child they had named Shani Amala had been born, her father had been seriously injured in his form as the wolf, and so had lost a good deal of his memory. The gypsy fortune teller, Maleva, had foreseen all this years before and had informed her vista that they would take the unconscious man to their homeland in the shadow of the Carpathian Mountains.

For many years, no word was received of any of them. And then the Second World War erupted. Eventually rumors filtered back to that little corner of Kent, of very strange things that occurred under the glow of the full moon. Of course, no one had believed the tales of werewolves defending the local populace. It was just a clever ploy to undermine the enemy's morale.

Still, the fact had remained that German soldiers had been on the point of revolting against their commanding officers rather than go anywhere near that area of Carpathia.

Thomas Fortescue-Smythe and Roddy Sayer had looked at each other, and had known it hadn't been a ploy.

****

The first time she heard the voice calling to her she had just entered puberty. Always it spoke to her at the time of the full moon. She looked forward to it, and rather missed it on the nights when the silver orb was waning.

As she grew older, it began to have a strange effect on her; it whispered to her, and she felt the need to touch herself. She started by fondling her nipples. She progressed to stroking the moist folds between her thighs. Eventually the need grew so desperate that she penetrated her passage with a single, curious finger.

But the need also brought shame with it. On the mornings after nights when she had pleasured herself, she would be unable to meet her parents' eyes. She promised herself that she would stop, that the last time *had* been the last time. And she would keep that promise, until the night of the next full moon.

The two men who raised her noticed that something was troubling her; how could they not notice? But she insisted nothing was wrong, and they didn't press her.

On the night of her eighteenth birthday, the voice called her once more. It drew her to her bedroom window, and she stood there, staring at the moon, which was full and bright.

Out of the corner of her eye, a flash of movement caught her attention, and she dropped her gaze. What appeared to be an enormous black wolf stood at the edge of the lawn, watching her with unwavering eyes.

She blinked, and when she looked again, there was nothing there. Her nightgown felt constrictive, and she stripped it off and returned to her bed.

She began to dream. In her dream she awoke to find herself tangled in her sheets. Once freed, she bounded to her feet, *four* feet. She needed to be out of the house, needed to be bathed by the cool light of the moon, and she bolted out of the pretty bedroom. The freedom of the night beckoned her.

Ben Tipton was on his way home from a night at the village pub. Afterwards he would swear he'd been stalked by a large white wolf that had knocked him off his feet. He would never reveal, however, that he had become shamefully aroused, and she had curiously nuzzled his crotch. He might even have undone his fly and released his prick for her to lick, but the she-wolf had been driven off by an even larger black beast, and the abruptly sober man had nearly fainted from fear.

The two animals disappeared into the woods, and Ben managed to get to a nearby home, but he couldn't persuade them to call out the local constable. Everyone knew there had been no wolves running the English countryside in forever, and he was advised to go easy on the drink next time.

Meanwhile, the she-wolf slowed her headlong flight, lured by the enticing odor of the male. She glanced back flirtatiously at the huge animal, slowly waving her plume of a tail. He raised his head, and his nostrils flared at the scent of a female willing to be covered.

//Not yet!// The words echoed in her mind.

//When?// she demanded impatiently. It seemed as if she had waited forever for this moment.

//Soon! The time is not yet ripe. When it is, you will come to me, and then, my beauty, *then* I shall give you what you want. I will bury myself in you, and I will mate with you long and hard. Until then, do not seek out another male!// He nipped her hip sharply in warning, and vanished into the shadows.

The scene changed, and she was back in her bed, panting and drenched in sweat, on the edge of an orgasm. Her fingers wandered over her body, squeezing, stroking, exploring. She imagined a big, dark-haired man standing at the foot of her bed, watching as she pleasured herself, their eyes locked, and as he watched, he changed into the black wolf. With a moan she rolled onto her belly. Her legs were spread wide, and she waited to feel the animal to bury his prick deep inside her, waited to feel the softness of his fur against her back and thighs.

She slid two fingers into her channel while her thumb rubbed the swollen bit of flesh at the top of her sex, and lost herself in the fantasy of the wolf doing this to her, of his knot swelling inside her, tying her to him while he filled her with his semen. With a muted cry, she came.

In the morning, she awoke from the confused dreams to find what appeared to be dog hairs on her comforter. Her hip was sore, and when she examined the spot there was a purple bruise in the shape of a full moon marring the pristine paleness of her skin.. She touched it uneasily, then convinced herself that she must have bumped herself the day before or sometime during the night and never realized it.

Resolutely, she buried all thoughts of the dreams, and the wolf, and the bruise at the very bottom of her mind.

A Predestined End
Part 1

The girl who entered the sitting room hovered on the cusp of womanhood. She was beautiful, with white blonde hair and pale blue eyes. At eighteen, she had known nothing but love and indulgence from her family and the people of the surrounding farms and villages, and although she knew there was a deep mystery surrounding her birth, she had never felt the need to pursue it.

She had been denied nothing, and she was used to getting her own way. That was why she couldn't understand why the man she called Papa was refusing to allow her the trip to the Continent. Didn't he realize how very important this trip was to her?

It had been decided, long before the tiny girl child first began to speak, that Tommy would be called Pere and Roddy would be Papa. Collectively, she would call them the Papas.

"Pere." Her tone was wheedling, but her expression was purposeful. She replaced it immediately with a teasing one. She wasn't sure how he would react if he knew the real reason behind her desire to journey to the Continent.

The man in the armchair in the sitting room glanced up from the newspaper he was reading. "Shani." He let the monocle that magnified the vision of his left eye fall to the end of its ribbon. His right eye, which had been blinded in the Great War, was concealed by a black silk patch. His lover had once confessed that he found that patch exceptionally dashing, not to mention arousing. That was all Thomas Fortescue-Smythe needed to hear to determine never to remove it.

He smiled at the girl who had been placed in his arms on the night she was born by the ancient gypsy woman, Maleva, and who he and his lover regarded as their own. Shani sat in his lap and took the newspaper from him, dropping it to the floor beside the chair.

"Papa has said that if you agree, I may go to France." She wasn't above trying a little divide and conquer. It was imperative that she be on the other side of the English Channel as soon as possible. The voice was making that more than clear. The time was finally ripe.

"Did he now?" Tommy knew his lover very well, and knew Roddy Sayer would never attempt to undermine his authority, just as he wouldn't if their positions had been reversed. His daughter dropped her eyes and began to worry a button on his vest.

"Well, Grandmama doesn't see why the two of you are being such fuddy-duddies about this."

"So now you're bringing Lady Genie in on this?" Roddy Sayer limped into the room, his weight supported by a cane. He had broken his ankle when a gelding he had been schooling over a series of jumps had balked and thrown him, and it was taking a long time in healing. His eyes, as they raked over his lover, were warm. Tommy licked his lips.

Oblivious, Shani pouted. "Everyone is going, and Mrs. Burrell-Higgins will be along as chaperone."

Mrs. Burrell-Higgins was a near neighbor of Lady Eugenia Fortescue-Smythe, Tommy's mother. The two men exchanged glances, remembering the squire's feather-brained wife from a disastrous dinner party years before. "This is not confidence-inducing information, dear girl."

Just then the phone rang, and Roddy picked up the extension that was on a console table by the door. "Almeria Hall. Ah. Lady Genie, how splendid to hear from you! Yes, Shani was just informing us of your feelings on this matter. Yes, we know things have gotten much calmer on the continent since the War ended. Yes, we know we can't keep her tied to... Yes, but..."

He stared helplessly at his lover. Tommy eased their daughter off his lap and rose to take the phone from the other man. "Mother... Yes, it's good to hear from you, Mother. No, it hasn't been that long. I spoke with you just a couple of ... Yes, it was that recently. No, Roddy and I don't think...We *really* don't think... But Mother... But..."

Roddy slid his arms around him. "I think we've been routed, horse and guns, sweetheart."

Tommy rolled his eye and nodded. "Mother, I'll need to discuss this further with Roddy. However, if we agree to this, someone more reliable than Alice Burrell-Higgins must go with them. Oh, she has?" Tommy tried to stand firm. "Very well, Mother. I'll let you know as soon as we've come to a decision. She'll need to be at Fortescue Manor when? That soon? Very well. Yes, I love you too, Mother. Yes, I'll give Roddy your love as well. Good-bye, Mother."

Shani stood there, holding her breath.

"I assume Lady Genie has talked us into allowing our only child to go to the Continent?"

Tommy nodded again. "Why do I feel as if I've been steam-rollered? The woman doesn't even come up to my shoulder!"

Roddy chuckled. "She does have that effect on one, doesn't she? Who did she say would be going along?"

"Dinah."

A sensible, no-nonsense woman, as well as a diamond of the first water, Dinah was Lady Fortescue-Smythe, the wife of Tommy's older brother. If she was going along, one of their strongest objections was no longer valid. However, "I thought Dinah was involved with planning Hal's wedding." Hal was the couple's oldest son and heir. After cutting a swath through the season's latest crop of debutantes, he had surprised everyone by proposing to a nurse he had known while serving in the army and had unexpectedly run into again in Town.

Tommy shrugged. "That's what I thought also, but apparently not. What do you say, love? Shall we let this minx go?"

"If she promises not to get into any mischief," Roddy agreed with reluctance, and she gave a squeal of delight.

"Shani, it appears you will be going abroad. Hurry up to your room and pack, but pack lightly. Your grandmother intends to fund an entire new wardrobe for you when you reach Paris. I think we'll need to build a new room just for the frocks you'll be bringing home."

The girl hugged both her parents and began to enumerate all the things that needed to be done in preparation for this momentous trip. "I must make sure Mrs. Daniels will serve you all your favorite foods while I'm gone. And I have to remind her to make sure the laundress doesn't put starch in your shirts. And..." Shani took her position as lady of the manor very seriously. "Make sure you don't put too much pressure on that ankle, Papa. Pere, don't read when you're tired, you know your vision gets blurry. Oh! I'll have to find Mr. Daniels! The big trunk needs to come down from the luggage room." She hugged them again, almost dancing with excitement, and ran out of the room.

"The big trunk? I did tell her to pack light, didn't I?"

Roddy smiled, but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere. "You'd think she was never coming back. I have an odd feeling about this, sweetheart," he murmured as he regarded the place where their daughter had been, his gaze thoughtful. "I ..."

"What is it, love?" Tommy held the other man snugly in his arms. "You don't think she'll be in danger, do you?"

Roddy shook his head hesitantly. "Not danger. It's just that... I'd feel happier knowing the Channel was between them."

Tommy didn't have to ask who his lover wanted as far as possible from the girl they loved as their own flesh and blood. "Lawrence wouldn't hurt her," he insisted. "And besides, their itinerary isn't supposed to take them anywhere near that part of Europe."

"No, of course not, sweetheart. I'm just being a fuddy-duddy as Shani has claimed. Of course she'll be fine. Of course nothing will happen to her."

But Tommy knew his lover would worry anyway. They both would.

****

The voice continued to call to her, no longer restricted to the nights of the full moon. It grew stronger the further she got from the island of her birth. It was seductive, a siren's song, with its promise of delights of the flesh that she longed to experience.

If her companions noticed her preternaturally bright eyes and nervous excitement, they assumed it was the giddy reaction of a girl away from home for the very first time, and in the glamorous city of Paris.

But Paris wasn't where she needed to be.

Shani pleaded to be taken to Vienna, ostensibly to see the Lipizzaner stallions perform, and perhaps pay a visit to the stud at Piber with an eye to buying one of the amazing animals for the Papas, but Austria was simply that much closer to where she wanted to go. Once they were there, the girl had no trouble eluding her guardians, who were busy with the other girls they were shepherding on the tour. She simply vanished. Mrs. Burrell-Higgins was reduced to hysterics. Lady Dinah put in a trunk call to home, and within twenty-four hours her husband and brothers-in-law were there.

Before a search party could be launched, an ancient, wizened woman appeared. "Grandmother!" Tommy felt his blood turn cold.

The gypsy smiled kindly at him. "Young sir. I am so very pleased to see you again after all these years."

He went to her and brought her hand to his lips. "Our daughter, Grandmother?"

Maleva ran her fingers over his white blond hair. "She is well, young sir. She is with my people, and will return to you before too much longer." Her voice lowered. "She will be with child."

"She's ruined!" Mrs. Burrell-Higgins moaned, and she dropped into a chair and buried her face in her hands. "Ruined, I tell you!"

"Bloody hell!" Tommy swore, glaring at the distraught woman.

"Bugger!" Everyone turned to stare at Roddy, who had never been heard to use that word in any company, much less mixed. "If she comes back to us in one piece, that's all that matters. Everything else can be taken care of in its own good time."

The gypsy came to stand before him. "You... You were always the strong one, the one who stood firm." He would have brushed her words aside, but she drew him a little away from the others and spoke softly. "A Feher Ember, The White One, will not be ruined. The one who is for her will come, and he will nurture the child she will bear as his own." She went back to Tommy. "Do not worry, young sir. All will be well, I promise you!" She brought his head down to her, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and left.

"Bertie, you'll see the ladies and their charges return safely to Paris? Roddy and I will wait here for Shani."

His brother nodded, and by the end of the day they were on their way west, leaving the two men behind. Roddy was looking slightly shell-shocked. "And Maleva said I'm the strong one. Oh, god, Tommy, I'm so worried for our girl."

"Do you want to go after her? You know I will, if that's your choice." Tommy stood behind his lover and pulled him against him. He rested his chin on Roddy's shoulder.

"Maleva seems to feel it is necessary for Shani to return to us on her own. Bugger!"

"You're repeating yourself, love." He turned Roddy into his embrace. "Never mind. You need to eat. Come along, I'll take you to Palais Schwarzenberg, and you can order whatever you like."

"And when we get back?"

"Time enough to decide in the morning."

****

Tommy was unable to fall sleep. His lover tossed and turned restlessly beside him in the big bed. Finally Roddy settled on his stomach, his night shirt rucked up around his waist. Uncertain, but needing to be connected with the other man, Tommy slicked his erection, parted Roddy's arse cheeks and slid into the welcoming heat of his body.

****

The white she-wolf ran through the countryside, the big, black male close beside her. She knew he wanted her, the scent of his arousal was heady in her nostrils. Beneath his belly, the pink tip of his prick was emerging from his sheath. Her deadly jaws parted in a grin, and she turned sharply to the right, as if to evade him.

His grin matched hers. With a sudden bound, he knocked into her, sending her tumbling into a pile of leaves. Before she could leap up to escape him, he was on top of her. His sharp teeth closed gently but firmly around the folds of fur at her neck, keeping her imprisoned. She raised her rump to accept him, and his thick prick penetrated her.

****

A surprised, "Oh!" escaped Roddy's lips. Tommy settled himself on his lover's back, twining their fingers, and resting his cheek on Roddy's hair. They stayed like that, possessing and possessed, until the urge to move became too great. Tommy pulled Roddy back onto his knees and started the rhythm that would bring them satisfaction.

****

She couldn't believe how huge he was. His bulk would have been painful if she hadn't been ready for this. She felt surrounded by him, by his maleness, by his power, by his need to dominate her. She whined and held still as his hips pistoned urgently, needing to plant his seed deep inside her. He began to come, and his knot swelled, plugging her passage.

****

Roddy spread his legs and bowed his back, and moaned as Tommy found the angle that brought him into contact with his lover's sweet spot. The pace became more frantic, more erratic, and Roddy took his weeping prick in his hand and began pumping. With a surprised groan, Tommy spilled himself in his lover's channel, the heat of his semen triggering a matching orgasm. The spasms of Roddy's inner muscles milked the last of his lover's climax from him.

****

The mating completed, the two wolves sank to the ground, and the black male rested on her back. She turned her head to lick his muzzle, and he nipped her throat. Eventually his knot shrank, and as she fell asleep, he slipped from her.

When she woke, she was alone, lying naked on the leaves. She shivered, finally free of the moon madness. The ancient gypsy woman came toward her and covered her with a woolen cloak. "I had the strangest dream, Grandmother!"

Maleva smiled and helped the girl to her feet. "You have done well, my child." The old woman stroked Shani's white blonde hair away from her face. "Come with me now. We must prepare you to return to your fathers." They started to walk slowly back to the gypsy caravan.

From the far end of the camp, a black haired man watched as the two entered a wagon. His eyes clashed with those of an older man, and then he turned on his heel and vanished.

Lawrence Talbot sighed. It was only by chance that they had learned of the younger shape shifter.

Chance. It was a fool's name for fate.

****

They had agreed to wait twenty-four hours before taking any action, but that didn't mean they would sit twiddling their thumbs waiting for the time to expire. Tommy used his knowledge of the workings of governments throughout Europe to track down the contacts he would need. Before they could complete the arrangements to travel into Romania, however, an exhausted Shani appeared in their suite.

Both her fathers turned pale at the sight of her. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, and when she unwrapped a high-necked cloak from around her, they could see the fair skin of her throat was marked with numerous love bites.

Shani's lips curved into a smile, but it was a wobbly one at best. "Papa. Pere. You're here. Can we go home now?" Her voice cracked. "I really want to go home."

Questions could wait for another time. They opened their arms to her, and she ran to them. And the three of them stood in the center of the room, holding one another.


A Predestined End
Part 2

Errol Dorincort had come to Almeria Hall only in part because he had heard the owners bred the finest horseflesh in southern England. Their stud routinely produced hunters and racers that were worth every penny of their exorbitant price.

But Dorincort was not there for a thoroughbred, or even one of the Arabians that he'd learned were also bred on Almeria Hall Farm. However, when he called to arrange this meeting, he did not reveal that. Instead, he explained to Mr. Smythe, one of the owners of the farm, that he'd seen the breed when he'd been stationed in the Near East during World War II, and was interested in buying one if a price could be agreed upon.

He parked in the circular drive and got out of his car, then walked to the front door and tugged the bell pull. Light footsteps hurried toward the door, and it was thrown open. His breath snagged in his throat as he beheld the vision before him.

She must have been a half dozen years younger than he, and her fair hair was confined at the nape of her neck by a blue satin ribbon that matched her eyes. "Yes?" she asked cheerily. Her eyes widened, and he saw that they were even bluer than they had at first appeared. A warm blush covered her cheeks. Did she remember him?

"I'm... I'm Dorincort. I have an appointment to see Mr. Smythe about the Arabian colt."

"How... how do you do? So you are the gentleman who is the cause of this ruckus!"

"I beg your pardon?"

Hesitantly she linked her arm with his. "Papa was quite cross when Pere told him you would be coming to see Amon-Ra. He hates to sell any of the Arabians. They're the descendants of the ones Papa brought home with him from Egypt, and it's like parting with a child." She smiled up at him shyly. "Come along, Mr. Dorincort. I'll take you around back and introduce you to the Papas."

She was more striking than he recalled. He was so enthralled by her beauty that he barely paid any heed to what she was saying. She led him past the back of the rambling house, to a large, airy stable. "Pere? Papa?"

Two men strolled out of the stable, and Dorincort noticed there was straw sticking in their clothing and their hair. They were a striking pair. One was as fair as the young lady at his side, with white blond hair. His strong good looks might have been marred by the black patch that covered his right eye, but instead they were enhanced. The man at his side was compactly built, with brown hair and blue eyes.

Suddenly the beautiful girl clapped a hand to her mouth. "Pardon me," she mumbled in embarrassment, and raced back toward the house.

"You'll have to excuse our daughter. She isn't feeling quite the thing just now."

"Your *daughter*? *You* are Sayer and Smythe? I beg your pardon, but neither of you looks old enough to have a child who is in her late teens."

"Really? That's very odd," the brown-haired man said, dismissing the words as an attempt at flattery. He extended his hand. "I'm Sayer. This is Captain Smythe."

Captain Smythe bumped his partner's shoulder. "I haven't been a captain in donkey's years, Roddy. How do you do, Dorincort? So you're interested in seeing Amon-Ra?"

"Yes, sir, I am." The black-haired man couldn't resist glancing back toward the house. "And that's not all I'm interested in!"

****

"And that's how your mother and father met, my boy."

"And they fell in love and were married, and then I came along!" I crowed. I loved hearing the story, and Papa would patiently tell it to me whenever I asked.

"That's right, Drew. And then came you." He patted my cheek.

I was too young at the time to realize the tale had been highly censored for young ears. "See?" I teased Robin, my younger brother. "I came first! That's why Mum and Dad love me best!"

Papa gave a snort of laughter. "Your parents love you both the same. Young scamp!" He ruffled my midnight hair, and then leaned over to do the same for Robin, his hand lingering on the white blond curls. I always regretted that I wasn't as fair as the rest of the family. "Time for both you young gentlemen to go to bed now. When you wake in the morning, you'll have a brand new brother or sister."

Papa and Pere were minding us while Mum had the new baby. We weren't certain what was involved in having a baby, but since we got to stay with the Papas, we didn't really mind that our normal routines were disrupted. And I got to ride horses instead of ponies.

"Tommy!" Papa called. "It's bedtime!"

Pere was suddenly in the doorway, looking at Papa the same way I'd seen Dad look at Mum when he thought I wasn't paying attention. "Oh, yes?"

Papa blushed, which was something Mum would do also. I rather wondered about that. "The boys are going up to bed. Come help me tuck them in."

The four of us trooped up the stairs, with Robin riding Pere's shoulders, and my hand tucked in Papa's.

When all the nightly rituals were completed, when we'd washed our hands and faces, when we'd brushed our teeth and said our prayers, we climbed into the two little beds that were in the room across the hall from the Papas, and they kissed us good night.

After the light had been turned out and the door closed behind them, Robin whispered, in a very little voice, "Drew?"

"Come on." I raised my covers, and he hopped out of his bed and scooted into mine. He nestled against my side. I put my arm around him, and he sighed in relief. Even though we had been to Almeria Hall many times before, and had even stayed as far away from home as Fortescue Manor with Grandmother, Robin didn't sleep well in any bed but his own. So I let him sleep with me. He was such a little boy, and Dad said it was my job as the big brother to look after him.

I pretended it was a chore, but I did it because even though I might tease him unmercifully, I loved him.

****

The next morning, Robin and I finished dressing and hurried downstairs to the breakfast room. Although at home in Dorincort Place we would have our morning hot chocolate in the schoolroom that was in our wing of the house, the Papas said they liked us joining them for breakfast.

Mrs. Daniels bustled in and placed bowls of steaming oatmeal in front of us. She poured cream over Robin's, and sprinkled it with sugar, but I was able to do that for myself. I had a spoonful of cereal in my mouth when my brother announced, "I had that dream again last night, Pere."

"Oh? Which one was that, Robin?"

"The one where I got to sleep with a puppy."

Before anyone could remark on that, Mrs. Daniels came rushing back in. "Miss Shani had the baby, sirs! It's another boy!"

The Papas grinned at each other. "Well, she hasn't her little girl yet, but it looks as if Shani has finally gotten her Thomas, love." Papa winked at Pere. Mum had insisted that if she had a boy again, this time he was to be named after Pere.

And the topic of Robin's dream was forgotten.

****

By the time Mum and Dad were satisfied with the number of children they had, there were five of us all told. Another boy, Alan, followed Young Thom, and then, when I was twelve Mum had Ariane, the little girl she'd been yearning to give Dad.

Whenever any of the younger ones had nightmares, they would insist on crawling into bed with me, claiming that then they only dreamed of a dog that stood guard over them and protected them.

Because it was the tradition in the family, when I reached the appropriate age I was sent away to attend public school. It was one that every Dorincort male had gone to. I worried about the Siblings, but Mum and Dad were there, and they wouldn't let anything happen to them.

During my last year in school, strange things began happening. I'd begun waking to find dog hair all over my pillow, and my sheets shredded. I had been invited to a friend's house for the hols, but I decided I'd better talk to Dad about it, and declined.

It was rather late when I drove the little MG my parents had given me for my seventeenth birthday up the winding drive of Dorincort Place. Everyone had already gone to bed. I let myself into the house and went up to my bedroom.

Perhaps it was being in my own bed, surrounded by my family, but for the first time in months, I slept well.

The sun was just peeking through the curtains. Squeals and shouts were the only warning I had. "Drew's home! Drew's home!" Three bodies landed on me, and I 'oofed', and pushed my hair out of my eyes. From the doorway, Robin stood, regarding us with a mock frown.

"Don't just stand there!" I roared at him. "Rescue me!"

With a whoop, he hurled himself at the pile of Dorincorts that covered me. As if they had rehearsed this very action, our younger brothers and sister rolled out of the way, leaving me at the mercy of Robin's attack. He landed square on my stomach.

I flipped him off and growled, and the four of them froze, surprise on their faces. Then Ariane giggled and snuggled her head under my chin. "You sound just like the woof, Drew."

"What woof, peanut?"

"The woof that keeps the bad dreams away." My little sister dreamed of a wolf protecting her? Before I could wonder about that, she distracted me by planting a sloppy kiss on my chin and bouncing up. "I'm hungry!"

And just like that, I was alone in my room, having been abandoned for food. I chuckled as I slid out of bed. It was nice to know where I ranked with my family. I dressed quickly. I was hungry myself.

I walked into the breakfast room and went first to Mum, kissing her cheek. "Did you tell me you would be coming home for the holidays, Drew?" she asked as she watched me greet Dad with a kiss also.

"No, Mum. I was supposed to spend a week with Merivale, but... but I really need to speak with you, Dad."

"Of course, Drew." Dad raised an eyebrow. "Now?"

"No, sir, finish eating. After breakfast will be fine." I filled my plate with eggs and sausages from the side board and sat down at my place on Dad's left.

"I dreamed of the wolf last night, Drew." Robin glanced up, a slice of sausage suspended from his fork, and grinned. "It's rather queer, you know. I never have those dreams when you're away from home."

Mum and Dad both turned sharply. "How long have you been having those dreams, Robert?"

Robin looked surprised. He was never called by his proper name unless he had done something that displeased the parents. He shrugged. "I've always had them."

Our parents looked toward Young Thom, Alan and Ariane, who were listening with varying degrees of interest. "And you?"

"Ditto." "So have I." "Me, too." The Siblings chimed in one after another.

All eyes focused on me, and I hunched a defensive shoulder. "Well, *I* haven't."

"Now, that's very interesting," Dad murmured. "Why did none of you ever say anything?"

"It's just a dream, Dad," Robin maintained. "And none of the others mentioned it. I didn't know they had a similar dream."

I swallowed hard and faced my father squarely. "*I* knew." Somehow, I had always known.

Mum reached for Dad's hand. "Errol?"

He squeezed her fingers gently. "We should have had this talk sooner."

I could feel a blush heat my cheeks. Although I was the only one of the Siblings with dark hair, my skin was fair enough to betray emotion. "You're not going to tell me about the birds and the bees, are you, Dad?" I tried for a diversion. "I assure you, there's no need."

He looked interested at that, and I bit my lip and blushed harder. I had no intention of telling him that I had learned the fascinating difference between boys and girls, and even boys and boys, on my own a couple of years before.

"No, Andrew, but there's something else I must tell you. I should have spoken of this to you sooner, but your Mum and I weren't sure when it would be necessary." He rose from his chair. "Let's go into the library, shall we?"

The Siblings looked as if they were about to follow us. "*No*," Mum informed them in a tone of voice she rarely used, and which was therefore all the more effective. They subsided in their seats and resumed breakfast. "I'll bring some coffee in after a bit, Errol. I'm sure you're both going to need it."

****

Once we were in the library, Dad seemed at a loss as to where to start. Finally he said, "You know the story Papa tells of how your mother and I met."

I raised an eyebrow at that. Around the time I'd started getting interested in the opposite sex, I'd done a little arithmetic and figured that my own parents must have jumped the gun and had sex before they were married. Then I'd forgotten about it, because we, all the Siblings, knew that when Mum and Dad got a certain look in their eye and disappeared into their bedroom, something was going on.

"Yes, Dad."

"I think I can assume by the look on your face that you have more or less put two and two together." He smiled wryly. "Has the very expensive public school to which I've been sending you taught you enough geography that you've heard of the Carpathian Mountains in Romania?"

That was a non sequitur if ever I'd heard one. "Wasn't that Dracula's stomping ground, Dad?"

"And this is what passes for modern education." He ran a hand through his midnight hair. "You know you're different from other boys, different from your own brothers and sister."

He was so serious that I grew frightened. "You're not going to tell me I'm adopted, are you, Dad?"

"No, son."

"I'm not from Krypton, am I?"

"No, Drew, you're not a 'strange visitor from another planet'." A small smile flitted across his face, to vanish. He gripped my shoulders.

All I heard was the 'no'. I chuckled in relief. "You scared me, Dad. I thought for a second you were going to tell me... I don't know *what* you were going to tell me!" My relief was short-lived.

"Listen to me, Andrew. During the War, I was vetted to the Underground in Romania. I can't, and won't go into the work that was done behind the lines, but I will tell you that I encountered a young gypsy, and we formed a strong friendship. It was through that friendship that I met Lawrence Talbot, your mother's natural father." He released me, and I sank numbly into a chair. "Years ago, in Kent, he had been bitten by a werewolf. Talbot passed that on to his daughter.

"Don't ask me how they learned that I also carried the wolf's strain. The wise woman, most likely. When I was reassigned to the Near East, Talbot managed to keep track of me. And then after the War..." His eyes got a faraway look. "I used to dream. I dreamed of your mother..."

I rose jerkily to my feet, pacing the carpet in front of Dad's desk, and thought of the hairs on the pillow, and the torn sheets. My mind tried to shy away from the only conclusion I could draw. "You're saying I'm a werewolf? Dad, I can't be a werewolf! I'd have to be bitten by a werewolf to be one, and I haven't been bitten!"

My father shook his head. "You were conceived under a full moon in the Carpathian Mountains, by two people of the blood. You *are* a shape shifter, Andrew."

I forgot myself and swore. "Oh, *fuck*!" I started to shake. Dad put his arms around me and held me tightly. "I'm going to turn into Rin Tin Tin every month and eat people?"

"No! Drew, *no*! Listen to me! It won't be like that for you!"

I yanked myself free, dashing a hand under my eyes to wipe away the moisture. "Can you promise me that?" I demanded furiously.

"Of course I can't promise you that, no more than I can promise that you won't grow up to be Jack the Ripper. But what are the odds that you'll become a serial killer?" Dad raised his arms, as if he would pull me into his embrace again, but I backed away from him, and he dropped them.

I blinked rapidly. "Am I going to be a danger to the Siblings, Dad?"

He turned to a chest where Mum had placed the coffee service and poured us each a cup. I hadn't even heard her come in. She sat in Dad's overstuffed easy chair and watched us with concerned eyes.

"Drink this, Drew." It was too sweet and too hot, but I drank it gratefully. "They are your blood, your kin. Your pack. You've guarded them, even in their sleep. You will never harm them. *You* are the alpha male, and even if you were challenged by one of your brothers, you would *not* hurt them. The Siblings carry the line, and they'll pass that on when they have children."

"Will they turn?"

"It's a possibility, but we just don't know. A situation like this has never come up before."

"No one having been conceived under a full moon in the Carpathians?" His expression grew wary. "What? Is there something else you've neglected to tell me? The icing on the cake would be for you to tell me you and Mum were wolves when you fucked."

The sound of his palm connecting with my cheek was loud in the room. I stared at him in shock. His face was pale, and there was a white line around his lips. "You will not use language like that in your mother's presence!"

"No. No, of course not." I turned to face her, but she was already beside me, taking me in her comfortable embrace and petting my hair. "Mum, I'm sorry." I burrowed my head against her shoulder. "What do I do?"

Dad put his arms around the both of us. "*We*, Drew. You are not alone in this." I shifted my head to his shoulder, and he stroked my hair. "Spend some time at home, son. I'll teach you all I know."

A Predestined End
Part 3

Growing up in the Black Lagoon was everything anyone could hope for. My days were often spent in the company of my father, David Reed, a renowned ichthyologist, scouring the bottom of the Lagoon for any traces of the creature that had once called this place home. Dating back to the Devonian era, a hundred and fifty million years ago, it seemed to have been as comfortable on the land as in the water.

Other times they were spent with Ric'u, the big, green Brachian who was my other father, who taught me how to coexist with the inhabitants of our little slice of paradise, to distinguish predator from prey, and to protect what was ours.

Almost seven feet tall, the extraterrestrial had established a mental bond with the young David, a bond that was nearly severed when his ship crash landed on Earth. The boy had buried it so deeply in his subconscious that it was only reestablished when the scientist, as an adult, came to the Amazon to continue his studies of lungfish.

The two mated, and my Pop, to his unending surprise, became pregnant and produced me. A combination of Terran and Brachian genes, neither of them was certain how I would result. They learned early that I could take on the characteristics of whichever parent I was with, but as I grew older this happened less and less frequently. Dad offered the premise that it was perhaps because of the atmospheric and geophysical conditions of Earth. I shrugged. I was what I was.

I was quite young the first time I met my Terran grandparents. They had come to the Amazon searching for their son, and had been amazed to find him finally settled down with his heart's desire. And a child.

They had pleaded with my fathers to permit me to visit, and finally, when I was almost ten, Pop took me to their home in California, in the United States. I found everything intriguing, and was looking forward to finally meeting children my own age, until I discovered how very helpless they were. I shook my head in amazement.

"Papa, they can't even do this!" I clenched my fists and razor-sharp claws extended from my knuckles.

Gently, Papa opened my fingers, and they retracted. "No, Da'ric, they can't. And please don't let anyone see you do that." He stroked his hand over my hair. "It will be safer for you if people don't realize how different you are."

I shrugged. "Okay, Papa." I'd had this same conversation with Dad, and I had promised him to be as unobtrusive as possible. That was why I wore glasses with tinted lenses, to conceal the vertical pupils of my eyes. "Will we be going home soon?"

"Da', how would you feel about staying with Gram and Granddad, and going to school here in the States?"

"Oh, *yes*!" I'd heard Papa speak of the time he'd spent at school, and I was extremely curious about the place he remembered with such fondness. "But ... will you and Daddy be here also?"

"No, tadpole. Daddy can't leave the Lagoon. People might be afraid if they saw him."

"That's stupid! Why?"

"Have you seen anyone who looks anything like him, Da'?"

"Well, no."

"Do you remember that movie we watched on the television in our hotel room in Miami?" We'd had a layover there, waiting for the flight to California. I'd been fascinated by the stories that unfolded on the small screen.

"Frankenstein, Papa? But he was human. He was ugly, but he was a man."

"But what happened to the creature in the movie, tadpole?"

"The people in the town went after him, and ... and they killed him!" I had been appalled.

He nodded. "Because they were afraid of him."

"They would hurt Daddy, Papa? Because he's Brachian?" I knew in the Lagoon that those who were different did not survive.

"The first time I saw him, when I was swimming in the Lagoon, *I* was almost scared out of my swim trunks!"

"You were?"

His smile was one of warm reminiscence. "He never told me what he looked like. All of a sudden he was there in the murky water, and I bit my regulator right through."

"Silly Papa."

"Very silly, Da'. I love your daddy more than anyone. Except for you, tadpole." He gave me a hug. "So you'll be careful. Now, I have to meet with some former colleagues at the university. Would you like to come along?"

We got into Granddad's car and drove to the campus. I stayed close to my father, a little intimidated.

"David!" Papa stiffened before he turned toward the tall, blond man who was striding across the commons. "David Reed! It's been years! Where had you disappeared to?"

"Mark. I didn't expect to see you here. Are you no longer affiliated with the Instituto?" Papa held out his hand.

The blond man ignored the hand extended to him and pulled Papa into his arms. "Everyone thought you had fallen off the face of the earth! I must say, you're looking very fit!" He reached down to pet Papa's backside, and in spite of myself, my hands fisted. I was about to strike out, when Papa looked at me.

"Da'!" he said sharply, his tone a warning. He moved out of the other man's embrace. "This is Dr. Mark Williams. Papa used to work with him."

"*Papa*? This handsome young man is your son? Oh, David, you sly devil, you! Does he have your eyes?" Before I could prevent him, the man removed my sunglasses. "*What*...? David, what's wrong with his eyes?"

Papa took the lenses from Dr. Williams and slid them back on my face. "There's nothing wrong with my son, Mark. And I'd appreciate it if you kept this information to yourself."

"Well, yes. Certainly." He couldn't take his eyes away from me, studying me intently. "I... uh... I guess this means you wouldn't be free for dinner ... and dessert... afterwards?"

"Is Kay here, Mark?" Later Papa told me the blond scientist had married an associate he had met at the Instituto de Biologia de Maritima at Moragio Bay in Brazil.

"No, she's attending a conference in San Francisco. And I imagine your wife wouldn't approve, either." He sighed and shook his head regretfully. "My usual rotten luck. I have to run, David. Maybe we can get together another time." He grabbed Papa to hug him again, and this time turned his head and got his mouth on Papa's. "Oww! What the...?"

While the man rubbed his backside, Papa freed himself and casually wiped his mouth. I pretended to be examining something on the ground with studious intent. "I'm late. Good-bye, Mark." He grabbed my arm and hustled me away. He didn't say anything until we entered one of the buildings. By that time his face was quite red, and I was afraid I had misjudged the situation and had angered him, but he began laughing, and laughed until he was out of breath and tears were streaming down his cheeks. "I hope you pulled your punch, Da'. It wouldn't be easy explaining a puncture wound!"

"I just jabbed him a little bit. You're not mad at me, are you Papa?"

"Not at you, tadpole."

"Why did he try to kiss you?"

"Mark never did know how to accept a polite refusal." He led me down a corridor to the chancellor's office. His next words were so spoken so softly, I knew I wasn't meant to hear them. "I just hope he knows how to keep his mouth shut about your eyes."

****

I was intrigued by the snakes that lived in our part of the Amazon rainforest. If I was to follow in Pop's footsteps and become, not an ichthyologist but a reputable herpetologist, I needed a documented education. I had no problem being placed in the California school system; Pop and Dad had taught me well.

And so each September I would fly to California, and each May I would fly home. It was in my records that I suffered from some obscure genetic condition that resulted in an extreme sensitivity to light, and so I had to wear tinted lenses at all times.

Once I reached high school, I also needed to be excused from physical education. I would have had to strip in the locker room, and while I passed for Terran while I was dressed, my Brachian heritage was obvious when I was naked. My cock and balls were encased in a sheath of soft skin at my groin, and I had no navel. There was a faint pattern of scales over my belly and chest, and my toes were webbed.

A good friend of Granddad's, who was a doctor, was pleased to do him the favor. I wanted to ask what reason my grandfather had given him to explain my need to be excused from gym, but he just grinned and looked mysterious.

****

It was my last year in high school. I'd gone through the formality of applying to Pop's alma mater, but they scrambled all over themselves to be sure I was accepted. Meanwhile, there was no reason to slack off. A vast warehouse of knowledge was out there, and I relished dipping into it.

I drove the little yellow VW Bug that Gram and Granddad had bought for me, once I'd obtained my driver's license, into the student parking lot of Andrew Burnett High School and found an empty spot.

"Day-O! Wait up!" Den Moskowitz came rushing up to me. "Want to come over this afternoon? I've got the place to myself. We could practice," he offered shyly. "If you want."

I smiled. I hated being called that name; it made me sound like a calypso song, but from kid who lived next door to Gram, I accepted it.

We had first met when I started school in the States. Gram encouraged me to play with him. It was too cold to go in the pool, and I had no clue what to do with him. He was skinny and short and needed to wear a patch over one eye for the longest time, because some kid had thrown dirt in his face when he'd tried out for Little League.

I took him in the kitchen for a snack. He stared at me in fascination.

"Is there milk on my lip?" I asked him.

"No," he'd said simply. "I've just never seen anyone with eyes like yours before."

I clapped a hand to my face, but obviously I'd removed my glasses and had forgotten to put them back on before Den came in. I found them and slapped them on. "Shit!"

He gaped at me. "You're allowed to say words like that? My mother would have a heart attack, and my father would beat the..." He grinned at me mischievously. "... the shit out of me. Don't worry, Day. I won't tell anyone, I promise! About your eyes, I mean."

Just like that. He didn't ask for anything in exchange, not friendship, not respect, nothing.

So of course, I had to give him at least that back. He deserved nothing less.

Originally we went to different schools, but each afternoon, he would come over, and we would finish our homework.

Den told me that he wanted to write stories. He submitted articles to kids' magazines and school publications, and whenever one was printed, he would run over to show me.

His pleading with his parents finally paid off, and at the beginning of this term, he had been allowed to transfer to Burnett.

Some days after school, he would join me in Granddad's study. Some days I would go to his house. He would sit on the big leather sofa by the window, telling me stories.

Usually I'd sit at the other end, not saying a word, just watching his face and listening to him.

~~~

The gentle kiss of the tractor beam against the hull of the transport brought The Protector to full awareness, Den began.

Sitting up in his bunk in Security, he sent out tendrils of thought, cautiously searching out the corridors of the now motionless ship.

There! A Marauder was silently disgorging a small band of ship-techs to burn open the lock in the rear hull.

He'd just have time to round up his charges. With one hand he slapped the silent alarm he had installed himself before leaving the home planet of his cargo of brides, sending a mayday through space. With the other he triggered the ship's intercomm and ordered the women to the control deck, which was the most heavily fortified place on the ship...

~~~

By the time he reached one of the periodic climaxes, I'd swung my legs up onto the couch and pulled him back into the notch of my thighs. My fingers smoothed over his torso, finding and arousing his nipples into pebble-hard bits of flesh. He sighed and leaned into me.

"Go on," I whispered, and my breath in his ear made him shiver. I could see his dick was starting to tent his sweatpants. I eased my fingers under his waistband and took the hot length of him in my hand, surprised to find him naked. "Oh, Den, you're so bad! Did you forget your underwear this morning?"

"And if I said yes?"

"Oh, baby, I'd just have to let you fuck me senseless!" My cock started to slide out of its sheath, and he could feel me against his back. We'd done everything but, and he moaned at my words.

"Really, Day? I have everything up in my room!" Laughing excitedly, he scrambled off the couch and pulled me after him. We ran up the stairs to his bedroom, and I locked the door behind us as he hurried to his night stand and removed a tube of lubricant. And then he turned toward me hesitantly, biting his lip.

"What is it, Den?" I had placed my tinted glasses on a dresser and was grasping the hem of my Andrew Burnett High sweatshirt, but I paused. "Did you change your mind?"

He came to me, pushing the shirt up out of the way. "Your body is so beautiful!" Over the past summer, I'd had a growth spurt, and reached what was probably my adult height of six feet three. Den didn't come up much past my heart. His arms went around my waist, and he held me tight, resting his head on my chest, while his hands stroked up and down my back, lingering on the curves of my ass.

"Den? You didn't answer me. Would you ... would you rather not do this?"

He tipped his head back. "Are you kidding? I'm just trying to romance you!" His hands furrowed through my hair and dragged my head down to his. "Open your mouth!" he ordered, and helplessly, I obeyed him. He ran his tongue over my lips, and then dipped past my teeth and teased my tongue.

Den did this to me every time, reduced me to a puddle of raging lust. I wrapped my arms around him, lifted him off his feet, and turned to fall backwards across his bed, cushioning his body with mine.

His fingers were frantic on the buttons of my jeans. I kicked off my running shoes and wiggled my hips to help him get the snug denim down over them and off my legs. I didn't have underwear on either, but I had taken the time to remove my briefs at home, before I showed up at my friend's front door.

"Oh, Day!" he moaned. "I love your cock!" It was completely out of its sheath and glistened from the precome that was oozing from the tip. He dragged his tongue over the promise of a knot, and then dragged it over the flushed head. My hips jerked uncontrollably, and suddenly I was in the wet heat of his mouth. His fingers dug into my hips almost painfully, and he held me still as he swallowed my entire length. I could feel the rippling of his throat muscles. His head bobbed up and down, and he suckled voraciously.

"De... Den, I'm ..." I tried to warn him, but my orgasm overtook me, and I began to spill myself into his mouth. He didn't pull off, but swallowed what I gave him, and I wallowed in boneless satisfaction, enjoying the minute licks he used to tidy me up. "Thank you, Den. You didn't have to do that, though."

"I wanted to. I love how you taste, Day. The first time I sucked you off I thought you'd taste like the ocean, salty, slightly bitter, but instead you taste like the sweet milk bubbling up from the earth's hot heart. Roll over, baby. I want to see how hot you are this way." He levered himself off me, and I rolled onto my stomach.

At some point Den had stripped out of his clothes, and now was as naked as I. His muscles were lean and tight. He might be short, but he was strong. I knew I'd have bruises where he'd gripped my hips earlier. He picked up the slightly squashed tube of lube and squirted some onto his fingers

He stroked the crevice between my buttocks, searching for my puckered opening. I hummed with pleasure as he found it. A fingertip pressed forward, and the muscle relaxed enough to accept it. "Oh, god, Day! You're so hot!" He scattered kisses across my back, edging higher and higher. The wiry hair of his groin tickled the sensitive skin where thigh and ass joined, and suddenly I felt something broad and blunt pushing into me.

Den was big, and I had to breathe through the discomfort of his bulk stretching me. I spread my legs further and bowed my back, taking him deeper. The different angle brought him into contact with that spot inside me, and I forgot the burn and moaned from the pleasure.

"Is that it, Day? I'm not hurting you, am I?"

I couldn't answer. This felt even better than him sucking me off. I thrust back, encouraging him to go faster, harder, deeper.

Den set up a steady rhythm, almost pulling out, only his cock head still within me, and then slamming forward, hitting my prostate. I whined and begged and groaned, and before he came, I was hard again. He reached under me to take my dick in his slicked hand, and he jerked me off while he fucked me. I couldn't hold out, and came again. With a hoarse cry, Den followed me, his hot semen filling my passage, and I shuddered under him.

I sprawled across his bed, with him plastered to my back, and still buried inside me. We dozed for a bit, and when he became too soft, he slid out of me. He rested his cheek on my shoulder blade, occasionally flicking his tongue out to taste a patch of skin.

He shivered. "It's getting too cool for us to stay like this," he sighed. "Let's take a shower."

I smiled at him. "Are we going to do it in the shower, Den?"

"God, you're insatiable!" he grumped, then spoiled it by winking at me. "You bet your ass!"

He took me braced against the tile of the shower stall, the hot water beating down on us. He fucked me so hard that I was limping a little as I went around his room gathering my clothing.

We'd cut it really fine. Den's mother was just coming in the front door as we came down the stairs. She worked for a real estate company, and had been out all day selling residential properties. Her eyebrow arched as she eyed our damp hair, but didn't say anything. "Hi, Mom."

She ruffled her son's hair.

"Hi, Mrs. Moskowitz." I pushed my glasses firmly back against the bridge of my nose.

"David." I'd long since stopped trying to correct her.

"We ordered a pineapple bacon pizza. Mom. Want some?"

"Save me a slice, Denny. I'm going to soak in a hot tub. What a day!" She started past us. "Seems like you two had quite a day as well." She disappeared up the stairs.

I swallowed hard. "Den!" I said urgently. "We left that bathroom in a shambles! Your mother is going to have a fit when she realizes what we've been up to!"

"Nah. The master suite has its own bath. You worry too much, you know that, Day-O?"

I grabbed the Burnett High sweatshirt that he had put on and dragged him up on his toes until we were chest to chest. "You know I hate that name?"

He ran his palm over my jaw and kissed me. "Yeah, I know." Just then the doorbell chimed. "That'll be dinner."

I was tempted to deepen the kiss, but released him instead, and took the white box that held the pizza while he paid the delivery boy. We went into the dining room and took a slice of pie each.

"Okay, now where had I left off?"

~~~

Ah! The cargo mate! In his excitement at the completion of his mission, he was failing to shield his thoughts as well as he should have.

As a hound follows a scent, The Protector traced the mate's unconscious broadcast, making him easy to track. He was preparing to trigger the cargo bay locks, which led to the outer skin of the ship where the Pirates were entering.

Silently The Protector drew his laser saber and flicked it on. And almost audible vibration ran up his arm as the saber hummed to life. A faint train of luminescence marked its passing, and then there was a thud as head was separated from shoulders and the body slumped to the deck.

He shook his head, his sculpted lips curled in a derisive grin. "Should have known better than to fuck with The Protector!" He left the body as a warning, hoping the Pirates would get the message and leave, but strongly doubting it.

~~~

"Nice touch, having the cargo mate lose his head," I murmured as I nibbled the crust of my last slice of pizza.

"You don't think it was too much, beheading the jerk?"

"Nah. He deserved it. Oh, man. Look at the time! I've got to get home." Den walked me to the door. "Listen, you think your Mom would let you sleep over tomorrow night? Chiller Theater is having a werewolf marathon."

"Are we actually going to watch the movies?"

"No."

"Good. Then I'll be there."

A Predestined End
Part 4

The story Den told me had no title, and the hero was only known as The Protector. We lay tangled together in the aftermath of hot, sweaty sex. My friend was buried deep inside me, still half hard, and I clenched inner muscles to keep him there for as long as possible. He licked the skin over my heart and began to recount the latest episode.

~~~

The plate that permitted access into the control room, where the women had gone for safety, needed to be short-circuited. The Protector powered up his laser saber and drove the glowing tip into the center of the plate. A flare of blue-white light encircled him, and he was hurled across the corridor to slam violently against the opposite wall. The breath was knocked out of him, and he slid down to the deck, struggling to remain conscious. Pain radiated from his ribs to his toes, and roared through his skull. He touched tentative fingers to the back of his head, and he drew them away to stare dazedly at the blood that coated his hand.

//Fool!// he castigated himself. //This should have been checked out when you first boarded this ship!// Obviously the plate had a protective device encoded into it. If he'd had enough time, and a clear head, he could have gotten around it, but the sound of footsteps pounding toward him told him that he was out of time. The Pirates rounded the far corner and were charging down the corridor.

The Protector lurched to his feet and managed to stagger to the door of central control. He braced himself and switched on his saber. To his dismay, the fluctuating glow of the weapon indicated the extent it had been damaged by the blast of electrical power.

The Pirates laughed, certain they had won. They would use The Protector's own palm print to gain access to the women who were huddled defenselessly in the control room.

The taste of defeat was like bitter rue in his mouth. His charges would be left at the mercy of this scurvy band of cutthroats. He would have failed his imperative. His eyes began to burn with determination. He would find a way to defeat them.

No matter what the final cost, he *would*!

~~~

"Why'd you stop there, Den?" I asked when I realized he wasn't just pausing to take a breath before continuing.

"That's as far as I've gotten." For a long moment he didn't say anything, and then, "I can't figure out what he would do, how far he would go to protect those women. What would you do, Day? If you were in the same situation as The Protector?"

"I'd let the Pirates have 'em," I teased, and he nipped my chest in punishment. "Hey! Watch it, short stuff!"

"Seriously, Day! I'm stuck here, man!"

"Seriously, Den?" I rubbed my cheek against the soft mass of hair that tickled my throat and chin. "If the ones I was charged with protecting were in such danger? If the baddies were going to use me to get to them? I'd cut off my own hand."

He braced his arms on either side of me and leaned up, and I hummed in pleasure as the angle of his penetration shifted a bit. His eyes enormous, he stared into my face to see if I was putting him on. "You would?"

"Sure."

"But if they could still use the palm from your severed hand to gain access to the control room, it would be a wasted sacrifice."

"I'd make sure I found a way to destroy it."

"But the pain, Day?"

"Pain only reaches a certain intensity, something like placing your hand on a hot iron, and then it's all the same. Anyway, that's what I'd do." I blew into his ear and laughed softly. "So you're going to make me wait until I come back in the fall to tell me the rest of the story?" We had graduated earlier in the afternoon, and these were our last hours together.

Den had been accepted to Brown, a prestigious Ivy League college, and his parents insisted on showing him off to all his relatives. By the time he returned home, I'd be on a jet bound first for Miami, and then to Manaus, in Brazil, where Pop would meet me in the Desejo do Coracao. From there, we'd sail home. To the Black Lagoon.

"The fall semester starts early in September, and I'll have to leave for Brown in August to get settled in. Will you be back here before I have to leave?"

"I'll make sure I do. Den..." I sighed as he tilted his head forward and bit my neck.

"Hmmm?"

I nudged his face up and took his lips in a kiss, which threatened to get out of hand. Reluctantly I broke it off. "I'm going to miss you, Den."

"Geez, Day. You talk as if we'll never see each other again! You'll be back in the late summer, and if I don't see you then, well, I'll be home for the holidays." He tightened his arms around me. "Day?"

"Yeah, short stuff?"

"Nothing. Just... Day." He rocked forward gently, aroused once more. I moaned and raised my knees to grip his waist, and we made love one last time.

****

Three years flew past. I'd completed my course of studies as an undergrad early, and now would be beginning the serious work that would bring me an advanced degree in herpetology.

My relationship with Den had fallen back into simple friendship, time and distance working to temper the heat to a comfortable warmth. The last time I'd seen him, he told me of the forensic science student with whom he was living. I told him of Esme.

Now I was returning to the States once more and had to say good-bye to her.

"Esme, you *know* I love you, but I have to go!"

Green-gold eyes stared unblinking into mine.

"I'm serious, pet." I hugged her. "You *can't* go with me! I explained that to you already! And you know it's breaking my heart to leave you." That was true. I would miss her enormously.

She wrapped herself around me and rubbed her head under my chin.

"Oh, it wasn't so bad the other times I went to the States, but this time..." I let my fingers caress her sides. Her skin was soft and supple. "You won't forget me?" Her forked tongue flicked out to taste the skin of my neck, and I shivered. She always found my sensitive spots and didn't hesitate in taking advantage of them.

Dad appeared silently beside me. //Good thing she's so fond of you, son.// While anacondas were constrictors and generally suffocated their prey by squeezing until the lungs had no room to expand, the bite could be painful in the extreme. Their temperament also had a tendency to be very uncertain, and one never knew it they might choose to strike. He leaned down and stroked Esme's head. //Da'. We're losing daylight.//

I sighed and uncoiled the water boa. She gazed at me one final time, then slithered down the bank and into the still waters of the Black Lagoon. A ripple was all that marked her passing.

// Pop is waiting in the Jo, Da'ric.// The Jo was Desejo do Coracao, Heart's Desire, the boat Pop had sailed up the Amazon, looking for Dad. //Do you want to sail with him, or swim with me?//

I bounced to my feet. This semester saw me one step closer to never having to leave the Black Lagoon again, and that was what I wanted. That and someone with whom to share the beauty of that spot.

//Swim with you, Dad! There'll be plenty of time to sail with Pop as we get closer to civilization.// I'd also need to put some clothes on. //And you know the Jo can't keep up with us!//

We dove into the warm water and began to swim after the twenty-seven foot boat. Before very long, we had outpaced it and were out of sight around a curve in the river.

Abruptly, my Brachian father stopped. Anxiety radiated from him in waves. //Dad?// I had learned at a very young age to respect my fathers' mental connection, and not to peek unless invited. I had reached out for them late one night, and interrupted a private, sexual moment. I waited now to see what had disturbed him.

The frill around Dad's neck turned a brilliant red, and a blast of mental fury erupted from him, affecting even the animals on the shore. The backwash flashed through my mind, sending me foundering beneath the surface. He was gone before I could recover from it, back toward the Desejo do Coracao. I sent a thread of thought on ahead to link with him, and as I arrowed through the murky waters of the Amazon, I 'saw' Dad propel himself onto the deck of the boat. I 'saw' him hurl himself toward Pop.

And then, as I rounded the bend in the river, I *saw* the Jo explode in a roar that seemed to reverberate unendingly, gouts of flame reaching toward the sky, signaling her total destruction. //Papa!// I sent out frantic mental calls. //Dad!// There was nothing.

Before I could strike out toward where the remains of the Jo were sinking low in the water, the rumble of an inboard motor broke through the sudden quiet. It was a beat-up old riverboat, and on her deck was a rocket launcher, still smoking from having fired the rocket that had destroyed the Jo. A hard hand reached down, closed over my shoulder and jerked me upwards.

With a sinuous movement I sent him flying over me and into the water. I dove to intercept the man. I had no idea why he was on this stretch of the river, and I couldn't have cared less, but I wasn't going to permit him to leave it alive. I extended my claws and sliced him from groin to gullet. He surfaced, screaming, a trail of entrails waving like ribbons in the bloody water.

The screams became more piercing as little silver harbingers of death converged on the scene. I made sure I was out of their way, and the water became turbulent as the piranhas fed.

"Get him! Get him!" Cries from the boat indicated they were speeding toward me, full throttle. Something slammed into the side of my head. A pinwheel of fireworks exploded behind my eyes, and I was flung into a black well of unconsciousness.

****

I slowly resurfaced to a painful throbbing in my head. My mind was fuzzy. I knew the rocking beneath me meant that I was on a boat, I knew by the heavy moisture in the air that I was in the Amazon, but I didn't know how much time had passed. I forced myself not to panic as I realized that wasn't all I didn't know. I didn't know *who* I was.

A sandaled toe kicked me in the ribs, rolling me onto my back. My pupils were so widely dilated that a stray beam from the setting sun felt as if a knife was slicing through my brain. My stomach roiled in protest, and I curled onto my side.

Thick, blunt fingers twisted in my hair and yanked my head back. "What a pretty boy we have here," the sandy-haired man gloated, but he barely spared me a glance. He seemed to be looking for something else. He scowled at the men who stood at a cautious distance, and his voice sharpened. "Where is the other?"

"Gone in the explosion, jefe. We did as you ordered us and destroyed the boat. But we only caught this one. This was what you wanted, no?"

"*No*! Tolos! Fools! I needed David Reed alive, to know I had his son! What am I do to with him if his father is dead?" He threw me away from him, toward his crew of half breed scoundrels and bastards, and with a dirty laugh, one of them reached for my cock, no doubt thinking it was encased in some sort of swimsuit.

Papa was dead? Abruptly, I remembered everything, and I was overwhelmed by the need for action. In blind vengeance, I closed my hand and lashed out, hearing a satisfying cry of pain from whoever had grabbed me. "My balls! El tiene un cuchillo! He has a knife!" he howled in fear and anguish. Blood spilled onto the deck, and he collapsed onto it, clutching his lower body.

"Madre do Deus, he has cut Julio's balls!"

If I could only get back into the water I'd be able to escape these men, but before I could get over the side of the boat I was seized.

"Where did he get a knife? He is naked! How did you let him get his hands on a weapon?" the one called 'jefe' demanded. His accent was a mixture of Paraguayan Guarani and Brazilian Portuguese.

"*Ai*! Look at his hand!"

There was a growl of fury from the jefe. "Keep it fisted like that!" I heard the whistling of something heavy as it was swung overhead, and then there was a splintering sound, and pain radiated up from my hand. I gasped, almost in shock as the claws that had emerged from my knuckles were shattered, leaving bloody stubs behind. "Now the other one!"

I bit back a moan. Fingers dug into my chin and raised my head. I stared into the face of the man who had destroyed my defenses.

"Was that necessary, Sarone?" A white man had stepped onto the boat from the yacht that was tied up beside it, and which I hadn't noticed before.

Sarone didn't answer; he probably felt it was a stupid question. Instead, he responded with a question of his own. "How can this be the son of David Reed, Halliwell? Look at him! He is a freak!" The jefe's eyes narrowed as they finally categorized the differences in my body.

"I happened to run into a certain scientist, a Mark Williams, one night in a bar in Curacao. It was rather titillating to learn that we had both sampled the charms of the same lover." The one called Halliwell put a cigar to his lips, and his cheeks hollowed as he sucked in a mouthful of smoke. "Williams bemoaned the fact that David Reed had married and produced a whelp with very unusual eyes." He blew a series of perfect smoke rings.

Sarone's grin became evil. "Ah, so this *is* the son of my little baby bird!" he said with satisfaction.

"What do we do with him, jefe?" his men demanded. "He is a demon! His eyes, they are snake's eyes! And see! He has webbed feet, no nipples, no ombligo!"

"Demons are not born! They do not have navels, estupido! You do not want to fuck a demon?" The men crossed themselves and quickly backed away from me. I cradled my injured hands to my chest, and their leader's expression grew cunning. "Yes, look at him. I have a friend who supplies someone in London who runs a freak show. Juan just happens to be in Manaus, and I think he will give me a nice price for this one. If his pai is dead, I have no use for this baby bird!"

"If you don't, then I do, Sarone. You promised me a chance at his father's ass if I bankrolled you, and if I can't have the father, then by god, I'll have the son!" The white man crouched down next to me. "Secure him, and have your men take him to my cabin on the yacht."

They did it, but by the time they succeeded in tossing me face down on the bunk in Halliwell's cabin, mine wasn't the only blood that was covering them. They hadn't realized I would fight back so desperately.

****

The white man stood beside where I lay, my arms bound tightly behind my back.

"Who are you?" I asked through gritted teeth. "Why are you doing this?"

"My name is Jack Halliwell." Blue-eyed and blond and probably not too much over forty, he might have been quite handsome at one time, but his looks had been dissipated by too much alcohol and rich food. Spider veins crawled over his once classic nose, his eyes were pouchy and bloodshot, and his gut spilled over his belt. He seemed disappointed that his name meant nothing to me.

Halliwell began undressing fastidiously, putting his white suit neatly out of the way. "I knew your father many years ago. I wanted to marry him." He paused. "Did you know your father is a slut? *Was* a slut? David Reed would sleep with anyone with the right equipment between his legs." He turned to study my face. Blood seeped from my nose, my lip was badly cut, and I could feel a bruise forming high on my cheekbone. His mouth made a moue, and then he shrugged. "Well, it isn't as if I want to make love to you," he mused. Before I could sigh in relief, his lips turned up in a smug, self-satisfied smile. "I'm going to fuck you."

Naked, he was even more unappealing than clothed. His dick was like a fat, white slug. The idea of rape excited him; he quickly grew aroused.

The door to the cabin was thrown open, and Sarone stalked in. Halliwell cocked an eyebrow at him, unconcerned that he was unclothed.

"I have decided that what you said was true. Since the father is no longer available..." Devastation swept through me at the knowledge that both my fathers were gone. I wanted to close my eyes to shut out Sarone's gloating, but forced myself to keep them open. "... I will have the son." He examined me critically, tugging on the rope around my wrists. "He will need to be restrained." Sarone shed his own clothes.

"You thought, perhaps, I was unprepared?" Halliwell chuckled, and produced a couple of sets of handcuffs from a drawer built into his bunk. "This is my own little pleasure barge," he leered as he snapped them around my wrists, and at his nod, Sarone untied the cords that restrained my arms. I struggled, but it was futile; he was very strong, and I wound up manacled to a hook that had no doubt been placed at the head of the bunk for that purpose.

A bolster was shoved under my hips, raising my ass, and then Halliwell climbed up behind me. "You will take him dry?" Sarone asked idly, while he made sure my ankles were secured as well, and the other man frowned.

"Of course not. I'm not a barbarian!" And then he spoiled it. "Do you think I want to chafe myself?" He coated his dick with lubricant, pulled apart my ass cheeks and shoved roughly into me. I had managed to relax enough so the discomfort was minimal. Halliwell grunted as he rutted into me. He must not have had sex in a while, because after not more than six or eight strokes he was filling my passage with his semen.

Halliwell pulled out of me, and come dribbled down my thighs. He was puffing like a steam engine as he tried to regain his breath. Sarone licked his lips in anticipation. He didn't bother to use the lube, but Halliwell's come worked well enough so I wasn't torn when Sarone slammed into me. I bit my lip, and winced as I bit down on the spot that was cut. Sarone was determined to last longer than the other man, and each time he came close to coming I felt him grip the base of his cock to stave off climax one more time.

Finally he couldn't hold off any longer, and his cock pulsed as he came.

"How long will it take us to get to ... where did you say your friend was?" Halliwell asked as he cleaned himself off and began to dress again.

"Manaus. In this pretty little sailboat of yours? I would say about three or four days."

"Really?" His hands paused, and then he let his trousers drop to the floor and stepped out of them. "In that case, I believe I'll have another go at him."

Sarone got off the bunk and politely gestured toward my ass. "Enjoy him, amigo. I will speak with my... *your* crew, and set the course."

But I don't think Halliwell heard that ominous slip. He was busy fucking me again.

****

It was five days before we reached Manaus. Sarone and Halliwell took turns using me, but I didn't care. The pain in my hands was a nagging reminder of the loss I had suffered, and those bastards fucking my ass was nothing compared to that.

Only once did Halliwell try to get me to suck him off. "Your mouth is made for being fucked!" he informed me smugly. "And I'm just the man to do it!"

Sarone watched in amusement as Halliwell waved his dick in my face. The glitter in my eyes was only partially from the fever I had developed from the untreated injury to my hands, and he quickly decided it wasn't a good idea after all.

Sarone's friend was a Colombian named Zolo, who dealt in endangered species. He had a contact in London who ran a storefront exhibition. It was the sort of place that at one time might have displayed bearded ladies, Siamese twins, giants or elephant boys, but now it had on view bug-eyed monsters, out-sized sharks, a giant ape, a Yeti, and an extremely rare Ymir.

If I showed to advantage, he'd be gaining a snake boy as well.

Sarone insisted I clean myself up, and I was permitted a shower in the yacht's tiny head with him watching. I washed the stink of their come from my body and tended to my hands, carefully removing the stubs of my claws. They would eventually grow back, but it would take quite some time. I found a bottle of aspirin in the first aid kit and swallowed a handful.

Zolo arrived at the yacht, dressed in scruffy jeans and a Harley Davidson vest that had somehow found its way to South America. He paced around me pinching the flesh of my chest to see if there was something concealing nipples. "They could have been surgically removed," he offered, glanced at Sarone, then shook his head, dismissing the possibility. He scraped my abdomen, searching for a belly button, and studied the pupils of my eyes with growing avarice. "He is la cosa verdadera, amigo? The real thing?"

Sarone's mouth twisted in a sly grin. "Have I ever cheated you, Juan?" Zolo snorted and cuffed his shoulder.

"We will not discuss all the times you *tried* to cheat me, Paul. Very well, I think we can do a deal. How much?"

Sarone named a figure, but I was unfamiliar with the conversion rate of guarini to real and had no idea how much it was. Zolo haggled with him for some time before the other man growled in irritation. "Basta! This is getting us nowhere. Olvidese de el.. Forget it! Miguel! Senhor Zolo is leaving. Escort him to the dock!"

"Paul, Paul. You are too serious." He shook his head in mock despair. "Very well, amigo, you have me by los pelos cortos, by the short hairs." He reached for a wallet in his vest and began to count out bills.

Halliwell had been standing to the side, watching with sullen interest. He sidled over to Sarone. "I want him one last time, Paul," he whined.

Sarone eyed him sardonically. "And I want to marry Farrah Fawcett-Majors, hombre. Which do you think is most likely to happen?"

When Zolo left, I went with him, dressed in garments Sarone had ordered one of the crewmembers to go ashore to buy. I was sure he included the cost of the ill-fitting sneakers, shirt and jeans in my price. I was also sure that at some point on the trip to London, Zolo would find a reason to get into those jeans.

It turned out that Juan Zolo was an unregenerate heterosexual who had no desire to troll the other side of the river. He was passionately in love with his fiancee, and spent the entire flight to London showing me pictures and telling me about her. I imagined he didn't often have a captive audience.

I sat back in my window seat with my eyes closed and let his words wash over me. My hands ached. My bowels ached. And for the first time I was able to dwell on what had befallen my fathers. When I had tried again to contact them through the mental link, there had been nothing, only an echoing void. I was forced to accept that they were dead, and a single tear trickled down my cheek.

A Predestined End
Part 5

"Drew."

"Papa?" I looked up in surprise from the paperwork I'd been concentrating on in the study of my London townhouse. "What are you doing in Town? Have you brought Pere along with you?"

"He's gone to Tatt's to see about some promising yearlings." I had to smile at his disgruntled tone. "He knows I hate London in December."

"You could have let him come to Town by himself, Papa," I teased.

"He's too handsome for his own good!" he humphed. "Do you think I want to beat off his admirers with a stick?" But I could see the warm glow in his eyes.

"You know he'd never look at anyone else." All those years together, and I'd never seen another couple as passionately devoted; I envied them that abiding passion. I changed the subject. "Is he looking for another Egregious Folly?" In her maiden year, the black filly had more than earned back her purchase price in the purses she brought home. Now, within a month or so, she would be delivering her second foal, having already produced a winner.

He nodded. "Did he tell you we actually traced a descendant of Anubis? It seems he managed to sire a number of colts before the idiot who had been his previous owner had him gelded."

Papa had told me as a boy of the blood bay who had shared some amazing adventures with them after they had returned home from Egypt years before. "I just hope no one at the auction realizes how much Pere will be willing to spend for one of Anubis' get.."

Papa cocked an eyebrow at me. "Are the coffers to let, my boy?"

"Of course not. You sold off the diamond mines just before they played out, and the investments have kept the family nicely. But I like it better when we get a large return for a small expenditure."

"I know. I do also. I rather think it has to do with my Methodist upbringing." He propped a hip against my desk. "Would you mind putting us up for the interim?"

"You know you and Pere are always welcome. And not just because if it hadn't been for you two taking me in after Dad told me ... well, you know. I probably would have gone more to hell with myself than I did." I'd scattered my seed that year, fucking any girl who would spread her legs for me, and as a result there were a number of children who carried my distinctive bloodline. That had shocked me back to my senses.

"Drew..."

"I don't blame Dad, Papa. It's that goddammed destiny thing." I shook off the feeling of melancholy. "I'll really enjoy spending time with the two of you. So will Robin." My younger brother had gone in on the purchase of this townhouse with me, although I could have afforded it on my own. I glanced at the clock on the wall near the door. "He should be home from work soon."

"How has Robin been?"

"Well, Papa. Cutting a swath through the male population."

I hadn't concealed my depression as well as I thought. "Does that bother you, that your brother is gay?"

"No, you know I've walked both sides of that street myself. He seems content with his lifestyle. It's just... Robin is happy loving many. Young Thom is happy loving one. And I..."

"How do you feel about Thom becoming engaged to a girl you dated?"

"That's just it, Papa. Shouldn't I be upset that Cilla took one look at my younger brother and threw me aside without a qualm?"

"And it disturbs you that you're not? Why?"

"I want to be in love, Papa. I want what you and Pere have, what Mum and Dad have. Do you know I haven't gotten laid in two years?" He was the one I had gone to the first time I'd found myself attracted to a member of my own sex, and I didn't feel uncomfortable talking about these things with him.

He looked startled. "But *you've* been cutting quite a swath yourself."

"It's just too much of a bother, Papa. Most of them have been nice enough, but I don't have the energy to pursue them into bed."

"What about this young man you're seeing now?"

I hunched a shoulder. "And how did you find out about St. John Ashford? I've only been dating him for a few weeks."

If he had been standing closer, I knew he would have ruffled my hair, an act I had never protested, not even when I was going through my independent stage. "A little bird keeps Pere and me up to date."

"A robin, perhaps?"

"Do you mind that he tells us these things? He's concerned about you, you know."

"I don't mind, Papa. I would have told you myself if anything came of it."

"You think nothing will?"

St. John Ashford was one of the most startlingly handsome men I had ever seen, with green eyes and chestnut hair that fell in glossy waves to his shoulders. "He's spoiled. His father is a viscount, and he thinks anyone below that rank isn't worth his notice."

"But he's noticed you," he remarked. I avoided his steady gaze, and he sighed. "Why not break it off then?"

"It would take too much effort, Papa. St. John will grow tired eventually, and move on." I could see my grandfather was gently disapproving. He wouldn't understand anyone being plagued with ennui, he and the man he had lived with for so long both having led such interesting lives. "How long will you be staying with us, Papa?

As I had hoped, the change of subject worked. He smiled. "Probably until Boxing Day, if you have no objection. Your father felt the need to spend some time alone with your mother. Your sister has accompanied us, and Alan will be down for the hols."

"Good god! We're being descended upon, en masse!"

"Yes, well, you're not the one who's going to need to keep those two amused! What am I going to do with them?"

We knew that Pere would lose himself at the auction house, leaving Papa to bear the brunt of entertaining the two youngest Dorincorts at liberty. I rose from my desk and walked around it to hug him. "We'll come up with something, Papa."

****

Pere caught a chest cold, and Papa spent the days nursing him. I had the feeling that Pere secretly enjoyed being fussed over, and while I was convinced the two of them kept portraits up in the attics of Almeria Hall, neither was getting any younger.

I left the two older men to their own company, tried not to worry, and ushered my siblings around Town. I took them to Carnaby Street and Portabello Road; we saw the crown jewels and the rooms where the young princes were kept in the Tower.

The evening before Boxing Day we were all seated around the dining room table finishing the sweet, the Siblings, the Papas, Priscilla Danvers, Thom's fiancee, and St. John Ashford. Ariane flopped back in her chair. "I'm about to bust," she said with some satisfaction.

St. John, who I had finally invited to meet the Papas, looked down his nose at her. "Anne, young girls should not use such vulgar terms."

"My name is *Ariane*," she glowered at him. "And if Drew don't care what I say, why should you?"

"*An*drew," he corrected pointedly. He sent a frown in my direction, and when I failed to comment, he turned back to my sister. "I am sure your brother would have said something eventually."

I grinned at St. John lazily, the wine I had consumed leaving me feeling too mellow to quarrel with him.

Not Robin, however. He threw a piece of roll at him. "Lighten up, Singe. She's only thirteen." The redhead scowled at him, then pointedly looked away. Robin turned to his sister. "Ariane, don't say 'bust', it's vulgar."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "What are we doing tomorrow, *Drew*?" The minx emphasized the diminutive of my name.

"It will be your last day here before going home to Dorincort Place, brat. What would you like to do?"

Her eyes lit up. "All my friends have been to Marconi's House of Oddities. May we go? Please, Drew, please?"

"Oh, bother, that is such a ridiculous farce!" St. John complained. "Not in the least bit edifying, I assure you!" He realized everyone's attention was focused on him, and he blushed. For someone with his complexion, he did it very well. I noticed that Robin seemed to appreciate the effect. "Well, I mean, really. A snake boy? It was so obviously someone got up with contact lenses!"

"You've been there, Singe?" Robin asked, intrigued. "Ain't that beneath your son-of-a-viscount dignity?"

St. John looked uncomfortable for about two seconds, then tipped his head back and glared at my brother. "What I, as an adult, choose to do is certainly none of your affair, Robert Dorincort!"

Robin sat forward, leaned an elbow on the table and reached for a walnut in a bowl in the center of the table. He cracked it neatly between his fingers and began to eat the meat. "Adult? Affair?" he gently mocked the younger man. "Now that's any interesting choice of words for you, Singe." I kicked him under the table. "Oww! What did you do that for, Drew?" He followed my glance to our baby sister, and a dull red crept up his cheeks. He was the fairest of all the Siblings, and the flush looked almost painful. "Beg pardon," he mumbled, and he straightened in his chair.

"Well, Ariane, what else do they have there, aside from a fake freak?" I asked as I took a walnut myself.

"He's not a fake!" She grew belligerent. "He's *not*! His eyes have vertical pupils, and he has scales all over his body!"

"And how would you know that, peanut?"

"He's *naked*, Drew! Elizabeth, my particular friend at school told me! And she told me they keep him in a big, glass tank with a Real. Live. Snake!"

"I am sure that was simply an animatronic beast." St. John sniffed. "You will have nightmares."

Ariane opened her mouth, saw the tiny shake I gave my head, and subsided for a moment. The family breathed a sigh of relief, having no doubt that she would have announced that the 'woof' would keep the nightmares at bay. Although my brothers no longer needed the protection of the wolf, our little sister still did on occasion.

She threw a sulky look toward the redhead, then continued. "They have a whole floor with displays from the flicks, too. Please say we may go, Drew!"

"It is not a good idea," St. John insisted mulishly.

The line of my mouth tightened, and the Papas groaned. "Not a smart thing to say, young Ashford." Where my family was concerned, no one outside our close-knit group told me what to do.

"What time will you be ready to go, peanut?" I asked, daring the younger man to challenge me. He had never seen me anything other than easy going, and was somewhat taken aback.

Ariane bounced in her chair, clapping her hands.

"Sounds like a good idea, Drew. Count me in," Robin said, and suddenly everyone was chiming in, declaring their intention to come along.

"Do you know, it sounds as if you will have such fun that I believe I must come with you!" St. John stated brightly.

"*I'd* like to make you come," Robin murmured under his breath, his eyes hot on the other man, forgetting my hearing was exceptional. I gazed at him thoughtfully as the others began to make plans for the next day. Was his bickering with the viscount's son a sign of... *interest*?

Perhaps I would not have to wait for St. John Ashford to move on. Perhaps he would be whisked away by my brother.

I glanced from one to the other, then sat back, smiling.

A Predestined End
Part 6

Boxing Day was to prove a turning point in all our lives.

Thom drove round to his fiancee's house to bring her back to have brunch with us. I went to pick up St. John Ashford. He talked the entire drive home. What would it take to shut him up? A cock in his mouth might do it, but I had no desire for it to be mine.

It was early afternoon before everyone was ready to leave for Marconi's House of Oddities, a nasty day, spitting sleet, and by the time I found parking for my MG and escorted Ariane and St. John into the dreary building, I was regretting I had let my contrary nature lead me into this situation.

The Papas had taken one look at the inclement weather and had politely declined to accompany us. I muttered that they would probably spend the afternoon in bed, and Papa had smiled sweetly at Pere, while Pere had leered playfully at him.

Robin and Alan were already there ahead of us, Alan having ridden with him. Thom had the foresight to bring his own vehicle, no doubt with the intention of slipping away at some point with his pretty fiancee. Once again I pondered the fact that neither her beauty nor St. John's had done anything for me.

The Siblings waited for me, knowing that as the eldest I would procure the tickets of admission. I laughed at the gambit, but St. John lectured them, particularly Robin, about taking advantage of me.

The man behind the counter was in his forties, sloppily dressed, wearing worn trousers and a stained shirt. His hair was confined in a horse's tail, and when he opened his mouth to speak, I was overwhelmed by the odor of the beer and garlic sausage he no doubt had for lunch. "The 'Ouse is rather empty today, sir, the miserable weather and the 'oliday, and all." His eyes seemed to crawl over Alan, but when they landed on Ariane, they became avid. "Whot a pretty little lady! I do 'ope you won't be frightened, miss. If you are, just give a shout, and Titch will come a-runnin'." He grinned, and my sister reached for my hand and took a step closer to me.

"That will not be necessary," I informed him stiffly. "She has her brothers with her."

"Of course, sir." For a moment his expression darkened, but then it was wiped smooth, and he said, in his best Uriah Heap impression, "Just an 'armless little observation, I'm sure."

I took my change, and we went into the first hall.

St. John proved surprisingly knowledgeable of the flicks that were represented, going into detail about the Ymir, comparing it to Ray Harryhausen's later stop-motion work with a Cyclops from one of the Sinbad movies.

We actually had the entire place to ourselves, and wandered from floor to floor, examining the exhibits with varying degrees of interest. Alan was particularly fascinated by a diorama that contained a mannequin representing the cave people of One Million Years B.C. The bounteous model was clad in a skimpy fur bikini. He grew rather flushed, and I knew if I dropped my gaze, his trousers would be tented. I angled myself to conceal his reaction until he was ready to move on.

Ariane grew restless. "Where is the snake boy? He is what I truly wanted to see!"

We found the corridor that led to his display, but it was cordoned off, a small placard saying, 'Closed until further notice.'

"Well, we've seen everything, I believe. Are we ready to go?"

"I'd just like to freshen up a bit, if we'll be leaving," Cilla murmured. "Ariane, would you care to come along with me?"

"Oh, yes, please!" Ariane was overjoyed at being invited to partake in the female ritual of trooping off to the loo. "I think I saw one on the floor below."

"We'll just wait for you by the exit, then, shall we?"

####

They weren't happy with me. The men employed by Callisto Marconi to run his House of Oddities weren't the sharpest tools in the shed, and they'd screwed up royally. Titch, who usually took care of the feeding of the livestock in this place, had taken an extended vacation, leaving Simmons to handle it.

Henry Simmons was the man who stood out front. He accepted the paying customers' money and handed out the attractive brochures that gave no hint to the conditions behind the scenes. Through careless handling the number of live exhibits had dwindled to just me, and on occasion, Chloe, the bad-tempered Burmese python. A little she-wolf who was also on the premises was being kept under wraps. Because it was against the law to keep a predator in the city, if the authorities ever learned about her, Marconi risked losing his permits to operate this place.

Simmons had no idea about the amount of drugs that were supposed to be put in my food, and fortunately for me, they grew less and less until I was totally free of the sedatives that had kept me controllable.

When Titch finally returned, it took another few days before he realized what the situation was. He darted me, and the two of them carried me down to the holding tanks in the basement. He thought it was amusing to throw me in with Chloe. Fortunately, I had a way with reptiles.

She was too large for that tank, and her living conditions made her even more irritable, but there was nothing either of us could do about it. I had every intention of getting us out of there, however, and I bided my time, refusing to eat the doctored food that Titch tossed through the small hinged door in the wall. I hid it away behind the plastic pool that was supposed to provide the python with enough water for her to coil up and submerge in, but the water hadn't been changed in days.

"Dinner, my pets!" he snarled, emptying a sack through a small door in the glass. "Goddamn Simmons' soul. I wanted to watch that little girl, and 'e sends me to feed you lot. 'Ow's about a little ratatouille?" Chloe raised herself swiftly until she was at eye level with him, and he jerked back in startled fright. It took him several minutes to stop trembling and recover from his apprehension. His lip curled in a sneer, and he smacked the glass. Chloe sank back down and wound her coils around the rat, quickly constricting it. Titch had given her a live one this time, and I watched carefully to make sure she wasn't bitten. Such a bite could have resulted in serious injury, or even her death. He turned a little green as she began to swallow the rodent head first.

Furious that his discomfort had been observed, Titch banged on the cage next to us, startling the little she-wolf who was kept there, tossing a chunk of organ meat to her and watching as she gobbled the drugged food. I'd tried to persuade her not to eat it, but she was too hungry. "I like little girls. Maybe I'll shag this little bitch when the drug's taken effect!" Titch left, laughing uproariously.

I clenched my hands into fists. My claws were regenerating slowly, due of the poor quality of the food I'd been fed and the drugs in it, but they were still razor sharp. If I could just get my hands on one of them...

Thoughtfully I considered the rock that was in Chloe's sleeping quarters. It looked as if it had been there for years, and I wondered if Marconi had it placed there when he had first obtained the python. If he'd gotten her as a juvenile, this tank would have been more than adequate for her, but she was almost twenty feet long now, and not in good health. She was suffering from infectious stomatitis, commonly known as mouth rot, and respiratory distress. She wouldn't be able to recover without medication.

If I could break the glass of this tank by the small access hatch, which had to be the weakest point, perhaps I'd be able to find some clothes. Once we were out of this place, I'd need to locate a veterinarian who could treat her. Even then I wasn't sure she would survive.

The opening to her sleeping quarters was very narrow, but I was able to wriggle my way through it. On the other side of the wire mesh that separated this tank from the cage, the little she-wolf watched with shamed eyes. Next to her was the regurgitated meat. She had eaten it so rapidly that she hadn't been able to keep it down. "That's okay, precious." I slid a finger through the wire and rubbed the spot beneath her chin. "Just don't try eating that again." I retrieved the rock and went back into the front of the tank, then settled down to wait for the lights to go off, signaling the departure of those two bastards for the day.

****

The temperature in the basement had dropped enough to become a little uncomfortable. I curled up beside Chloe and began to vibrate, the sub-dermal muscles rippling and producing a measure of heat. If I hadn't been afraid that the python might view the little she-wolf as dinner, I would have found a way to bring her into the tank with us.

The door to this room opened and I sat up cautiously, uncertain who was coming in. It was a young girl, dressed in an ankle-length coat with white fur at the collar and cuffs. A matching muff hung from her wrist, swinging gently as she tiptoed into the room.

Her eyes grew enormous as she saw me staring at her. "Oooh! Are you the snake boy? I sneaked away to find you!"

Before I could warn her that it was dangerous to be down here alone, Titch eased in.

"What 'ave we 'ere?" he asked in a smarmy tone, advancing as she retreated further into the room. "If it ain't the little miss. I like little misses."

Simmons followed him in and locked the door behind him. "Titch, this ain't smart. She's got family here!"

"Shut your gob, Simmons." He grabbed the girl, slapped his hand over her mouth and began dragging her toward an outside door. "By the time they realize she's gone, I'll be out of 'ere, and they won't 'ave any idea where I'll've taken 'er. I was planning on leaving Marconi, anyway."

Suddenly he cursed. She had sunk her teeth into his hand, and as he jerked it away, blood droplets spattered over the floor. The girl screamed.

I picked up the rock and hurled it toward the glass partition, which shattered, sending shards of broken glass onto the floor. Simmons fumbled in his pocket for a gun. I bounded forward and slammed the heel of my hand against his chin. He staggered backward and fell, dropping the gun. Chloe slithered out of the tank, moving rapidly toward Titch, sensing his fear. Titch flung the girl aside and backed away, screaming, "No! Get away from me! Get away from me, I tell you! Simmons, 'elp me!"

The girl had hit her head and moaned. I was crouched over her, trying to make sure she was all right when the door burst open, hanging from the lock as the destroyed hinges gave way.

There was a sound like an animal's growl, and then something barreled into me. Long-fingered hands wrapped themselves around my throat, cutting off my oxygen supply. I would have to do something fast, or I was going to die.

I applied some moves my Brachian father had taught me and rolled free of him, sending him hard against the wall. Chloe was just coiling in on herself, preparatory to launching an attack on Simmons, who had found his gun and gotten to his feet. The gun wavered wildly in his trembling hand. "No! No! Chloe, no!" I cried in a desperate attempt to stop her, but I was too late. Simmons fired, and the python's big, yellow body dropped to the concrete floor.

Simmons turned a pasty white when he saw the dispassion with which I regarded him. The hammer clicked uselessly on the firing pan as the gun misfired, and he backed away from me, still trying to get the gun to fire. I clenched my right fist and stubby claws emerged. He was unable to tear his eyes away from the opaque claws, and he whimpered in abject fear. The whimpers rose to screams as I drove them into him, feeling the drag as I forced them up, slicing as deeply as possible through skin and muscle.

Then I reached into his chest and ripped his beating heart out, and stuffed it into his mouth, stopping his screams.

####

St. John was casting silent daggers at Robin. My younger brother had been sniping at him for the past quarter hour, and I was tempted to ask Robin to go on home instead of joining us at The Grenadier off Belgrave Square, where I'd intended to treat everyone to tea.

Cilla finally came down the stairs, fluffing her hair and smiling at Thom.

"Where is Ariane?" I asked, not too happy we'd have to wait longer.

"She isn't with you? She told me she was going on ahead and left a few minutes before I did."

Ariane was a trifle headstrong and had a tendency to do as she pleased. We often teased her that her husband would need a strong hand to keep her in line. She would just turn up her pert nose and walk away from us with a haughty air.

It shouldn't have been a big deal that she had wandered off. This time, however, I was getting strange, disturbing vibrations. A hollow feeling settled in my gut, and I could see it was shared by Robin. "Drew?"

Before I could send them searching for their sister, a shrill scream filtered up from the floor below. "*Wolf*!" I bolted for the stairs and pounded down them, the rest of our party right behind me.

From behind the locked door we heard a strange, slithering sound, like dry leaves blowing over a walkway, and then masculine shouts. "No! Get away from me! Get away from me, I tell you! Simmons, 'elp me!" And then there was a garbled, choking sound.

Our combined weight proved too much for the flimsy hinges of the door, and it crashed open.

Crouched over my sister was a naked man. With a howl of fury I hurled myself at him, hitting him and knocking him away from Ariane, rolling both of us over onto the concrete floor. I was on top, and I got my hands around his throat and began to squeeze.

Growls spilled from my mouth. I maintained enough control not to change into the wolf that lurked beneath the surface, but I saw nothing beyond the red haze that enveloped my vision. Ariane screamed again, and there was a loud hissing. The man under me slid his arms through mine, and the heel of his hand jammed my chin up, snapping my head back. With one smooth, sinuous motion, he curled his legs in on himself and swung them around, catching me in the side and throwing me away from him. My head slammed into a wall, and I lay there for a moment, stunned.

An unfamiliar voice was shouting hoarsely, "No! No! Chloe, no!" A gun was fired, sounding like the crack of doom in the enclosed space. Something fell to the floor with a heavy, sodden thud.

The silence seemed to echo in that room, and then the screams started. Escalated. Abruptly ceased. They seemed to last for an eternity, but it really couldn't have been more than sixty seconds.

Robin grabbed up Ariane and whirled her around so she couldn't see. He shoved her into Alan's arms and pushed them both toward the door. "Get her out of here! Thom..."

"Right-o, Robin. I'll get them home!" He hurried them back the way we had come.

"St. John, you'd better go too..."

"I am not leaving, Robin." His lips quivered in a parody of a smile, and his face was ashen, but he was desperately holding himself together. "You will need a hand to... a hand to..." He shuddered and looked into my brother's eyes. "I am not leaving," he repeated.

Robin gripped his arm in silent gratitude before turning to help me to my feet. "Are you all right, Drew?"

"I think so." I staggered and almost went down again, but managed to steady myself. I gave my head a shake to clear it, then brought my fingers up to probe the sore spot. There was a fair-sized goose egg just behind my right ear, but I wasn't seeing double, my stomach wasn't pitching a fit, and I felt it safe to assume I wasn't concussed. "Bugger."

I glanced around in growing horror. This was a room that hadn't been opened to the public, and it was squalid in the extreme. Streaked glass partitions and wire mesh seemed to divide it into a number of holding pens, tanks and cages. They were all approximately the same size, about two meters by three. The glass of one tank had been broken, and I spotted the large rock that must have been used to accomplish that feat. In the confined area was a plastic kiddie pool filled with scummy water. A rotting tree branch was propped against a corner and the corpses of several rats littered the dirty floor. In the back of the enclosure was a shadowed opening.

A few feet away was the body of the man, Titch, his face twisted in a rictus of terror. Beyond him was another man I didn't recognize. His shirt was shredded, and four parallel gouges were deeply scored in his chest. On the left side was a gaping wound, almost as if someone had reached in and ripped his heart out. Blood was smeared thickly over his mouth, and I didn't want to look too closely at the cause. The stench of death filled the air.

"I rather think you attacked the wrong person, Andrew." Robin cupped his hand over his nose and mouth to filter out the foul odor. He made sure he positioned himself between St. John and the naked man, who knelt over the remains of a very large yellow snake, his arms encircling it. The snake's head had been blown off.

"What was Ariane doing down here?" I demanded, trying to breathe shallowly.

"She came looking for me," the young man cradling the snake's carcass croaked in a rusty voice. "She wanted to see the snake boy. Titch and Simmons found her. Titch had a taste for young girls. He told Simmons he'd take her out through the delivery door. His hand was over her mouth to keep her quiet. Somehow she managed to bite him, and her scream alerted you, I assume. I broke the glass of the tank, and we got out. Chloe took care of Titch. Simmons had a gun. I knocked him down, and he dropped it, but he got it while I was trying to make sure your sister was all right."

"Bloody, fucking hell!" I watched as the man I had been strangling stroked the side of the snake, murmured something that sounded vaguely familiar, and then carefully laid it down. He rose stiffly. His smooth, hairless chest was dotted with blood spatter. Involuntarily, I tracked a droplet down his body, staring at the sheath that encased his cock snug against his groin. As if feeling the caress of my gaze, his golden eyes, eyes with vertical pupils, widened in shocked dismay.

He whirled around, holding himself tensely. The view from the back was just as intriguing. Patterns of scales covered him from his shoulders to the curve of his arse. I was amazed by the life-like quality of the make-up that had been applied to his body, and wondered that it hadn't smeared.

I moistened my lips. I wanted to tangle my hands in the thick, black hair, that concealed the nape of his neck, lift it out of the way and press openmouthed kisses over it. What was happening to me? I hadn't been this aroused in years! I tried to convince my body it was caused by the adrenaline that had surged through it. "Is this your snake boy, St. John?" I asked in another attempt to distract myself.

He nodded, his mouth working as he struggled to keep from spewing the brunch he had eaten with us all over his shoes. His gaze kept flinching away from the bodies on the floor.

"Robin, take him home, will you?"

My brother was watching me with interest. He put a hand on the other man's upper arm and urged him out of the room. He threw me a glance over his shoulder. "Drew?"

"I'll handle this, Robin. Go."

They left through the door, which swung crazily on the lock that was all that kept it upright, leaving the two of us with the dead men and the decapitated snake. The naked young man leaned heavily against an unbroken portion of glass, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed, shivers rippling his skin. I shivered myself, just then noticing the chill, and looked around. "You can't stand here like that. Where are your clothes?"

"I don't know." Again I noted the rusty quality of his voice, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time. "They took them away from me when I was brought here." He saw my expression and laughed bitterly. "You thought I did this for a living? Oh, yes. 'What do you want to be when you grow up, little boy?' 'I want to be a freak in a sideshow. I want to be kept naked and drugged and have people gape at me.'"

What had been going on in this place? I took my jacket off and handed it to him, when what I wanted to do was put it around his shoulders myself. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I choked you, and I'm sorry your snake is dead. Look, we have to get out of here before I call the police."

"You're not going to leave me here?" He expected to be abandoned? It occurred to me that while he wasn't as old as I had first thought, perhaps not much older than Thom, he didn't have Thom's certainty of his place in this world.

"No. This place is starting to resemble a mortuary." He stared at me blankly. "Sorry. Poor attempt to lighten the atmosphere. Come along, there has to be something around here you can wear. I'm Drew Dorincort, by the by." He followed me out of the room, saying nothing. "Look, are you going to tell me your name? Or do you prefer being called Snake Boy?" I looked back in time to see his gaze appeared to be fixed on my arse. Wishful thinking, I hastened to assure myself.

"My name is Da'ric."

"You're not British." There were a few other doors in the basement, behind which were things best not examined too closely, and we finally found one that opened into what appeared to be a changing room, lined with metal lockers.

"No." It was like pulling teeth. "I carry American citizenship."

"That's an odd way of putting it." It became obvious he wasn't going to respond to that either. "Very well. Do you intend to tell me how you got yourself into a jam like this?"

He shrugged. "The man who snatched me wanted me out of the country. He sold me to a friend of his who brought me here. You see what I look like. They thought I'd bring in more business."

"You were kidnapped? Couldn't you ask for help?" His look questioned the level of my intelligence. "Oh, right, you were drugged." We scrounged up some trousers, a flannel shirt, a pair of shoes with the soles wearing thin, enough articles of clothing to get him out of the building and to my car without freezing his arse off. He dropped the trousers and bent over to retrieve them, and I stood staring at his arse, ashamed, after the events of the afternoon, that I wanted to bury myself balls' deep in it..

"Why weren't you on display today?"

"I haven't been for a while. They screwed up." One at a time he got his legs into the trousers and fumbled with the fly. "Titch thought Simmons was putting the drug in my food. Simmons thought Titch was. When they realized how badly they'd fucked it up, that I'd actually be able to plead for assistance from anyone who came into the habitat, they sedated me and dragged me down here."

"How long ago?"

He shrugged. "I kind of lost track of time." He seemed to be having trouble buttoning the shirt. I stepped close to him, brushed his hands away, and took over the task. As I slid the buttons into the button holes, the backs of my fingers came into contact with his skin. I found myself taking my time, and he stood there docilely. "A week? Ten days? I don't know. They figured if they starved me, eventually I'd get hungry enough to eat." The sound he made was a sardonic one. "Even Chloe wouldn't touch the food, and they kept her hungry enough that she couldn't be too choosy."

Those rats? Were the drugs in those rats? I felt sick. "Why not inject the drug into you?"

"Would have left tracks on my arms. You can't have a snake boy with a drug problem, it takes away from the illusion." He sat down and struggled to get the shoes on his feet. I saw his toes, and my mouth went dry with the desire to suck one into my mouth and probe the webbing between them with my tongue.

He stood up, flinching a little from the pressure the too-tight shoes put on his toes. "We can't leave yet."

"Why not?" Abruptly I looked around. "What was that?" I would have sworn I heard someone calling to me.

Da'ric ignored me, spotting a tool box that had been left in a corner. He rummaged in it for a minute. "Ah! This should do it!" He held up a pair of wire cutters. "I have to go back and get the wolf. She comes with me!"

That forlorn, little voice. Was that the wolf?

Da' limped back into the first room, ignoring the bodies on the floor. He cut an opening in the wire mesh of one of the cages and eased his way past it, went down onto his belly, and crawled through the opening in the back wall. I could hear him speaking softly, lovingly, and his tone made me hard. I wanted it directed at me. "Come on, precious. It's all right. Da"s here now. That's it, baby. We're leaving this place and never coming back. The ... the nice man is going to take us away from here. That's the good girl. Come along now." He wriggled out, legs, ass, shoulders, head, and when he straightened, he was holding a bundle of fur that threatened to spill out of his arms. She was licking his face frantically. "Okay," he turned to me, "let's haul ass!"

I shrugged into my jacket and went on ahead of them, making sure no one would challenge us. Outside, the sky had darkened ominously, and a few stray snowflakes were drifting down to land on the bonnet of my car. I opened the passenger door of the MG and held the little she-wolf while Da'ric folded himself into the front seat. I repeated his name in my mind, savoring the taste of it, then leaned down to give her back to him. She looked into my eyes, whined, and swiped her tongue across my cheek.

*Bugger*! She was one of us!

A Predestined End
Part 7

The little she-wolf wasn't in the front part of her cage. I cut the wire mesh and went in. This cage wasn't quite as filthy as Chloe's tank, but then they had plans for the little wolf. I stuck my head and shoulders through the opening and spotted her huddling in a corner. She was trembling, from the effects of the drug that had managed to enter her system before she'd regurgitated the meat, and from the sounds that had assaulted her sensitive ears while the trash was being dealt with. I'd have to go in and get her.

I began talking in a soft, crooning voice. "Come on, precious. It's all right. Da"s here now. That's it, baby. We're leaving this place and never coming back. The..." I thought of the dark-haired man who had burst into that room to save his sister. I thought of the way his eyes had felt on my body, and how my body had reacted. If I hadn’t turned when I had, he would have seen how aroused his scrutiny made me. My cock had been sliding out of its sheath, and I’d been stunned to realize that in the midst of the carnage, I was getting turned on by him. " ... the nice man is going to get us away from here. That's the good girl. Come along now." I backed out and rose with her in my arms. "Okay," I said to the man who was watched me with fathomless eyes, "let's haul ass!"

He led the way to his little sports car. I'd seen something like it once, driving down Rodeo Drive in Los Angeles, but that one was nowhere near as dashing as this one, with its midnight blue finish, and dazzling mahogany and chrome accessories.

It was starting to snow. I'd never come into contact with the white stuff before, and I shivered as he opened the door. He took the little wolf from me until I could get myself into the car. I reached for her blindly, unable to tear my eyes off him as he put her back in my arms.

She licked his cheek, and he stared at her, stunned. It was almost as if he ... recognized her? No, that was impossible.

The cold knifed through the ratty shirt I wore, and I couldn't suppress a massive shudder. He stood and stripped off his jacket. After he tucked it around my shoulders, he slammed the door shut, hurrying around to the driver's side. It was so strange, watching him get in what would be the passenger side in the States. He put the key in the ignition and turned on the heater, but didn't wait for the small vehicle to warm up before reaching for the stick shift to put it in gear. He wasn't watching, and his hand fumbled on my knee. I liked the warmth of his fingers there, but he yanked it away and threw the car into first. It was a good thing the street was fairly deserted, because it seemed as if he was determined to break every speeding violation on the London books.

I watched dumbly as the snow began to fall harder, and the shops and houses flashed past in a veiled blur. The little wolf whined and wriggled, trying to get closer to the driver. "No, precious," I murmured, rubbing her ears. "You'll distract him." A stray thought ambushed me. *I* wanted to distract him. "I haven't survived all that crap to die in a car wreck!" She glanced over her shoulder, her expression reproachful, but she settled down on my lap, her head on her paws, and contented herself with watching him.

He braked to a sharp stop in front of a quietly elegant townhouse and hustled us inside. Even though it wasn't very many steps, by the time we got into the house, snowflakes were clinging to our hair and eyelashes. I was unable to control my shivers by this point, and clutched the little wolf to me, hoping to share some of her warmth. She whined in protest.

I was close on his heels as he entered the hallway of his house, and I came to a dead halt. Too many people, there were too many people. This was too much like being in that tank, being stared at and pointed at and not being able to escape. I began backing away.

"Thank god!" An older man with white blond hair and a patch over his eye grabbed Drew and hugged him fiercely. "Oh, thank god!"

"Pere, what are you doing out of bed? And dressed to go out in this weather?"

"We were about to come looking for you! It's just come over the telly that Marconi's House of Oddities is ablaze. The footage is horrifying. Word is nothing can be saved!" The man Drew called Pere took a deep breath and released him, and removed his coat. Another old gentleman took it from him and hung it up, then removed his own coat.

"Robin!" Drew sounded irritated.

A young, fair-haired man I vaguely remembered as also being in that cellar room grinned wryly. "I *know* he shouldn't have gotten up, Drew. When you find a way to make the hard-headed old so and so mind you, pass the secret on to me!"

"Hullo, who's this?" the man called Pere asked, his faded tourmaline eye running over me.

My hand went to my face and froze as I realized I no longer had the shaded lenses that concealed my eyes. I dropped it to my side, turned my head away, and waited tensely to see their reaction to me.

"It's the snake boy!" The young girl who had come looking for me in the basement of the House of Oddities started to run toward me. "Drew, you've brought home the snake boy!"

I continued backing away. The door wasn't too far behind me. If I could reach it, I could...

"Da'." I tore my gaze from the mob in front of me to the man who placed himself between us. "It's all right." His hands were on my arms, and I relaxed into his hold. "I promise you, it's all right."

####

By the time we arrived back at my townhouse the heater in the MG was finally cranking out some decent warmth, but even with my jacket around him, Da'ric was shivering so hard I thought his bones would fracture. I took the wolf from him and set her down. She trotted docilely at our heels as I hurried him into the house. We came to a startled halt at the crowd that greeted our eyes, and she put herself behind me, peeking cautiously around my legs.

The Papas were in the front hall, bundling up to go out into the storm. Flanking them were the Siblings, including Ariane, also dressed to go out, and Priscilla Danvers and St. John Ashford.

"Thank god!" Pere exclaimed as he dragged me against him. In spite of his age, my ribs were in danger of bruising from the strength of his hug.

"Pere, what are you doing out of bed? And dressed to go out in this weather?" He was just recuperating. He should never have come downstairs, let alone be on his way out into that storm.

"We were about to come looking for you! It's just come over the telly that Marconi's House of Oddities is ablaze. The footage is horrifying. Word is nothing can be saved!" Pere took off his coat, trying to appear casual about it. Papa took it from him and hung it in the hall cupboard.

"Robin!" Why hadn't he stopped Pere from getting out of bed?

"I *know* he shouldn't have gotten up, Drew. When you find a way to make the hard-headed old so and so mind you, pass the secret on to me!"

Pere pretended he didn't hear us. He studied my companion with his good eye. "Hullo, who's this?"

"It's the snake boy!" Ariane cried excitedly. "Drew, you've brought home the snake boy!"

He was backing toward the door, and I had no doubt that storm or no storm, if I didn't prevent him, he would bolt out into it. "Da'," I said softly. "It's all right. I promise you, it's all right." He was still shivering, and I slid an arm around him, pulling him close to me. "That will do, Ariane," I frowned at my sister. "This is Da'ric. He is our guest."

She blushed. "I beg your pardon." She stepped closer to him and extended her hand. "Thank you. Thank you for saving me from that dreadful man."

Da' stared at her and swallowed hard, leaning into my side. I wondered if he realized he had shifted even closer to me. He took her hand tentatively. "You were doing quite a good job on your own," he said softly in his rusty voice. "If he had survived, Titch would have borne the scars for the rest of his life."

Ariane's eyes grew cold. "I'm sorry your snake died, but I'm glad she killed him."

"Drew, what went on after we left?" Robin demanded, jabbing me in the ribs, his gaze straying from the young man to the young wolf.

Papa had also been observing the two. "Explanations can wait, I think. You need to be fed. I am Roddy Sayer, young man, and this is Thomas Fortescue-Smythe. You're not likely to remember any other names, so I'll introduce the rest of them after you've eaten. If you'll come into the kitchen, I'll see what we have available."

"How do you do, sir?" He tried to clear his throat. "I am a little thin in the skin, but if it wouldn't be too much trouble, would it be all right if I had a shower first? It's been a long time since I've felt clean."

The image of him naked in the bath flashed through my mind, and my cock swelled. I knew he could feel me nudging his hip. "Sorry," I whispered, and stepped away. He looked into my eyes, and I suddenly realized he was actually a few inches taller than I. His fingers tightened on my sleeve, then opened, and he dropped it.

"No imposition at all, young man," Papa told him. "Come along. I'll show you where the bath is, and then see if I can find some decent clothing for you as well." Da'ric removed my jacket and held it toward me. I took it, my fingers registering how little warmth he had left behind. "Robin," Papa called over his shoulder. "See about getting dinner started, please." They disappeared up the stairs.

Robin turned to cock an eyebrow at the Siblings and guests. "All right, you lot! Kitchen duty! Alan, see if you can get the little wolf to abandon her hiding spot?"

"Surely you do not intend to bring her into the kitchen! Filthy, disgusting animal! She probably has fleas as well!" St. John asserted prudishly. "Andrew, I want to go home!"

It was hard to believe this was the same person who had stood firm in that dank cellar. I shrugged. "The storm has gotten too bad, St. John."

"If you will not take me home..." He seemed to be winding himself into a temper.

"Put a cork in it, Singe. Drew said it's too nasty out there, and you already called Your Father the Viscount to let him know his baby boy was safe and sound." Robin scowled at the younger man, and I heard him whisper under his breath, "Don't make me want to wallop you more than I already do!"

His lush mouth in a moue, St. John complained, "That beast is a wild animal! If it bites me..."

"It's a *she*, St. John," Alan growled, "and if you don't shut up, *I'll* bite you!" My youngest brother went down on one knee and spoke softly to the wolf. "Come along, little one." Almost flirtatiously, she approached him, and he stroked her carefully. "Her coat's a mess, Drew! I'll get her cleaned up first, shall I? We don't want to stress her stomach any more than necessary."

"Good idea, Alan. Off you go, then." I watched as he rose to his feet, the little wolf rubbing her head trustingly against his knee, then following him to the kitchen.

I ran a hand over my hair, surprised to find it damp from the snowflakes. "Do we have enough beds?" I mused, trying to settle the logistics. "Cilla can stay with Ariane. I want Da'ric in my room." Robin made a rude sound. "To keep an eye on him." From the look in his eye, I didn't think Robin was buying that excuse. We exchanged grins.

"What about me?" St. John demanded petulantly, having missed the by-play. "*I* should be the one in your room!"

"You can sleep on the daybed in the room Thom and Alan share, Singe," Robin said. "Or you can sleep in my room."

A gamut of expressions crossed the younger man's face; shock, desire, and then hurt. They were abruptly replaced with by an unusual glower. He hunched his shoulder and turned his back on my brother. Robin saw me observing their interaction. A tide of color swept up his cheeks.

"We'll just pop on upstairs and make sure there are fresh sheets on all the beds," Thom said, smiling at his fiancee. She blushed and took his hand, and I had no doubt that Thom would steal a kiss as soon as they were out of sight.

Robin crooked his finger at St. John Ashford. I wondered idly if Robin would consider kissing the sulky line from the younger man's mouth.

That brought me to thoughts of Da'ric's mouth. I hadn't realized I'd noticed so much about it, the full curve of his upper lip, the firm support of the lower one. I wanted to run my thumb over the smooth flesh. I wondered what he kissed like. I wondered if I'd find out.

Setting that tantalizing fantasy aside for the moment, I turned to pick up the phone. I rang a friend of mine with whom I had gone to school, and who worked at the Yard. "Jack. It's Drew Dorincort. Fine, thanks, and you? Good to hear that. Listen, I'm sorry to disturb you today, but I need a favor. Are you familiar with Marconi's House of Oddities? Yes, that's the one. I understand there may have been some shady dealings going on there. Drugs, exotic animals probably brought in illegally, I don't know what all else. It would be grand if you could look into it. Oh, and Jack? Have them keep an eye out for a couple of bodies. I think the fire may have been set to conceal them. Right. Ta, Jack." I rang off.

Pere had been listening in silence. "Drew, I'd like to speak to you. In your study, if you don't mind?"

I nodded and followed him into the light-paneled room. Pere frowned at the sight of the books I kept for the Almeria Hall stud, which were scattered over my desk. I'd worked on them earlier, and most likely would be working on them again later in the evening.

That wasn't what he wanted to talk to me about. "Drew, what happened? Ariane was going on about bad men and a yellow snake and..."

"We got to her before that bastard could hurt her, but between her and our guest, the bleeding buggers didn't seem to stand a chance! The one who grabbed her had his hand mangled pretty badly before the snake wrapped her coils around him. The other one... Pere, Da' killed him. I don't know how. I didn't see any knives lying around, but then again, I wasn't really looking for any."

My grandfather looked concerned. "Who is this young man, Drew? What was he doing in such a place?"

"I don't know the whole story, Pere. Apparently he was kidnapped and drugged and kept as an exhibit in that place. He told me that much back in the House of Oddities. If I ever get my hands on Marconi... You didn't see what they did to him, how they marked his body! All to make him look like a reptile! What a sodding bastard to do that to Da'! I don't even want to think of what else they may have done to him!"

He shook his head. "Poor boy!"

I gazed at an oil of Papa's Arabians, George and Hubini, but I wasn't really seeing them. "I don't want the police to know about what happened there today, Pere."

"Of course, my boy. We'll keep this strictly in the family." Something was bothering him. He worried his lip, and I was afraid he had qualms about the young man upstairs. However, when he spoke it was about something else entirely. "I think I may need to speak with your father about Ariane. When she began telling us the story, she started to change. I was able to distract her, and I don't think she realized what was happening, but we'll need to keep an eye on her."

"Bloody hell! She's never done that before!" I was shocked stupid, and ran my hands through my hair. "There's no full moon, either! This is proving to be a Boxing Day the likes of which we've never experienced before!"

He closed his hand on my arm and gave it a shake. "She is your father's responsibility, Drew. Let him deal with it. Don't take all the problems of this family on your shoulders!" Pere squeezed my arm comfortingly, then changed the subject. "Da'ric. That's an unusual name. I don't believe it's British?"

"He said something about carrying American citizenship."

"A Yank, then." He nodded as if that explained it all. "I wonder if he's the settling down kind?"

"Excuse me?" Where had that come from?

"He stayed very close to you. Do you know what I found extremely interesting, Drew? You allowed ... no *encouraged* that! I've never known you to permit anyone not family to encroach on your personal space!"

I'd felt Da'ric's unusual eyes on me, and I'd liked that, although when I'd glanced at him he had been looking down. He'd leaned against me, too, crowded against me in fact, and I'd liked that even more.

"Pere..." Suddenly I found myself telling him some of what had happened that afternoon. "I was straddling him! In that horrible cellar room when I thought he was the one trying to hurt Ariane. I had my hands around his throat." I swallowed hard, remembering now the smoothness of his skin under my hands, his lean-muscled body between my thighs. "I know nothing about him, but I want him!"

"The very first time I saw Papa, I knew absolutely nothing about him, beyond the fact that he looked delicious wringing wet." Pere's one good eye grew hot with the memories. We had grown up hearing of their exploits during the Great War.

"And I was totally oblivious." Papa walked in and went to the man who had been his lover for so many years. He pulled Pere back against him. "Da'ric is showering in your room, Drew. I laid out some of your warmer clothes on the bed. Poor boy just can't seem to shake the chill. Do you know, he has the strangest markings on his body? I noticed when he removed that shirt he was wearing." Papa turned to face Pere. "He had to borrow the clothes." As if that explained it all.

Pere raised an eyebrow. "I assume you'll be burning them, Roddy?"

"Of course."

It was a private moment, and I had to look away. Papa had told me, because I was the eldest and least likely to be frightened by the tale, of the night he had gone to rescue Pere from the strange Egyptian who had rented Talbot Abbey. They'd been stripped, and although Papa had never told me why, I had a fairly accurate notion of the reason. When they had escaped, they'd had to pinch clothing to cover their nakedness, and once safely back at Fortescue Manor, Papa had had the clothes burned.

They'd had such adventures, such wonderful memories. And they had each other.

My grandfathers had been growing concerned and had mentioned lately that they'd like nothing better than to see me find someone.

As I left the two in my study, I realized that I was lonely, and had been for a long time. I wanted what they had. I thought of the young man who was taking a shower in my bath and suddenly wondered if I had found him.

****

The Siblings bustled around the kitchen, busy with various tasks. Cilla chatted with Thom while he waited for the tea to brew, her lips bee-stung from his kisses.

Robin was frying some rashers of bacon, his eyes on St. John Ashford as the younger man set plates and silverware on the large butcher-block table. St. John was stubbornly refusing to acknowledge him.

Ariane was absently watching the toaster burn some bread. I pushed the lever up and the bread popped out, charred. "Try again, peanut." I dropped a kiss on her hair, and she grinned cheekily at me.

"Drew," Alan was desultorily scrambling eggs. "There's something about this wolf, and I don't think it's merely her odd coloring."

"You sensed it too?" I glanced at the wolf as she lay curled up beside the big cook stove, drying. Now that she was clean, her coloring was more obvious. She was an unusual pale brown, almost a beige, and the odds of her surviving in the wild weren't likely to be too good. She raised her head and stared back into my eyes, then lowered it, crawled to me on her belly and rolled over, exposing her throat and soft underside.

"Obviously she knows you're the alpha of this pack, Drew." His voice was barely a whisper, but I had no trouble hearing it.

I squatted beside her, burying my hands in her soft, silky fur. It clung to my fingers as I gently stroked her side. I frowned. "Bastards! They must have been starving her! I can count her ribs!"

Alan scraped the eggs onto a plate and set it aside to cool. "Yes. This is for her." He set about scrambling more eggs. "Drew..."

I rose and went to get the plate, and rested my hand on his shoulder. "Later," I said in an undertone. This was not the time to discuss this sudden turn of events. "We have guests." I set the plate before the hungry animal, and she began to gobble it down. "Take it easy, little one." I fondled her ears. "It won't do if you bring this right back up." She whined softly, but slowed her intake. "Robin, is any of the bacon ready for Bree?"

"Bree?" Cilla and St. John both regarded me curiously. The Siblings became busy with their tasks.

I gave a crooked grin and gestured toward the wolf. "Her name is Bryanna." They assumed that I had named the little animal.

"It means fortitude," Robin said as he joined me with some strips of bacon. He crumbled them onto the eggs. "Bugger," he remarked morosely, his eyes on St. John, who had walked to the back door and was gazing out of the pane of glass.

"You've got a face like a slapped arse, Robin. Something going on there that I should be aware of?" He looked up at me, and I felt a jolt of apprehension. "Robin?" I pressed. He was closest to me in age, and while I loved all my siblings equally, I loved Robin more. "Alan, I need to speak with Robin about something. Keep an eye on Bryanna; make sure she has some milk, all right?"

Our youngest brother nodded eagerly, and as we left the kitchen he hurried to find a bowl and pour some milk for the little wolf. St. John was saying, "Lactic products are not good for canines." Alan ignored him.

In the hallway, Robin sighed. "I'm sorry, Drew. It looks like I've mucked this up royally. Coming home, Singe started acting like his old self. I just got so fed up with his snooty attitude; I pulled over to the side of the road. And just to shut him up I... er... I kissed him."

"Did he kiss you back, or was this all one-sided?"

"He kissed me back. That mouth of his, Drew! When he's not spouting arrant nonsense, he's got the most... Uh ... sorry, I'm sure you know. Anyway, I... I lost my head. I was hard enough to pound nails, and I put his hand on my crotch."

"And?" I'd never gotten physical with St. John, which might have been what intrigued him about me, and I was curious as to his reaction.

"He slapped me! Acted like an outraged virgin!" Robin appeared confused.

I put my arm around him and pulled him against me, rubbing his back. "He just might be, Robin."

He jerked free. "Bloody hell! I was certain you... You never had him, Drew?"

"No. If he ever had a cock up his arse, Robin, it wasn't mine."

"Oh, bugger. I *have* mucked it up!"

"Are you sure you want to have a go at him? Yes, all right," I chuckled at his affronted stare. "A word of advice then, brother. The next time he turns that aristocratic nose of his up at you, drag him somewhere private, pull down his trou and spank his bare backside!"

Robin's mouth opened and closed several times before he could finally speak. "Oh. I say. I rather like that idea."

"I rather thought you might." I cuffed his shoulder lightly. "I'm going up to check on Da'."

"Drew? Watch yourself with him."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. It just means watch yourself. You're used to looking out for all of us, Drew. I get the impression this Da'ric looks out for himself. You want to shag him senseless, fine. I'd go after him myself if I hadn't kissed that bleeding viscount's son. Just ... watch your step, all right? I don't want to see you hurt." He went back into the kitchen, presumably to torment the bleeding viscount's son some more, and I ran up to the second floor.

Robin was wrong. I didn't want to shag Da'ric senseless. For the first time in more years than I liked to think about, I wanted to make love. With him.

A Predestined End
Part 8

I would have preferred staying in the vicinity of Drew Dorincort, but the lure of being clean was like a siren song. I followed the older gentleman up the stairs and into a suite of rooms that rivaled my grandparents' for luxury. He pointed the way to the bathroom. "You get in the shower, young man. I'll find some clean clothes for you."

"Thank you, Mr. Sayer. I... I really wasn't looking forward to putting these back on."

"Am I correct in assuming they aren't yours?" I nodded, and the lines around his eyes creased in a smile that was warm with reminiscence. "Tommy and I had to wear 'borrowed' clothing once. I had them burned afterwards. Would you like me to...?"

"Oh, please, sir. I'd really appreciate that. And I don't think the men they belonged to will much care." I was unbuttoning the shirt as I spoke and pretended to miss his interested glance. I didn't think he would react well to knowing he had a killer under his roof.

He opened drawers in a large, antique armoire and selected a shirt and jeans, some socks and underwear and laid them out on the bed. "These knickers have never been worn."

"I couldn't borrow them, not if they're brand new!" The emerald green silk boxers were beautiful, and I itched to touch them, but I wouldn't, fearing I might somehow betray my interest in their owner. Instead, I wrestled with the shirt. Although I had lost a deal of weight during the time I'd been kept imprisoned and drugged, it was still snug through the shoulders. Suddenly desperate to no longer have it on my body, I exerted what was actually a minimal amount of strength, and shredded it getting it off.

"These were given to Drew on his last birthday. They are what I believe you Americans would call a gag gift." He smiled, obviously remembering his grandson's reaction to the sensuous underwear. "These are not at all to my grandson's taste."

Who had gifted him with such intimate apparel, I wondered heatedly? I shoved the question, as green as the boxers, into the recesses of my mind and made a sound that could have been taken for agreement or understanding. I turned my back to the older man as I worked on the fastening of the trousers.

"I say!" Fingers ghosted curiously over my spine and shoulders, and I started in spite of their gentleness. I turned to look into Mr. Sayer's face. His blue eyes widened as my pupils narrowed and elongated.

My hand went automatically to my face, forgetting I wasn't wearing the shaded lenses that had shielded my eyes whenever I was not in the Black Lagoon.

"Those aren't contact lenses, are they? And these patterns aren't tattoos."

"No, sir." I stood stiffly, waiting to see what he would say.

"Interesting. I think you'll find this family is rather unique in itself. You should fit right in, Da'ric." I blinked at him in confusion, but he didn't seem to notice. As he spoke, he was automatically going through the shirt pockets. "Ah? What's this?" He pulled out a folded slip of paper, holding his arm fully extended, and then bringing it right in front of his nose as he squinted at it. "Bother! I've left my glasses downstairs. Would you mind reading this? Just to see if it's safe to discard?"

I scanned it quickly, then forced a smile. "Grocery list, Mr. Sayer." I crushed it in my hand and dropped it into a wastebasket. Quickly I shed the worn corduroy trousers, and gave them to the older man. He walked out of the room, holding the clothes between thumb and forefinger, regarding them with a sneer.

Once the door was closed behind him, I pounced on the wastebasket and snatched up the piece of paper. 'Mr. M. is concerned about the snake boy. Call him!' The word 'call' was underscored three times, and there was a phone number scribbled after the message. I memorized it. I wasn't familiar with the British telephone system, and didn't know if was local, long distance, or international.

I'd find out eventually, but there was no rush; I had nowhere in particular to go. Jack Halliwell and Paul Sarone had destroyed my family, although it was Sarone who had sold me to an agent of Callisto Marconi.

Marconi was concerned about me? How very considerate of him. I would have to let him know personally that I appreciated his interest in my well-being. I flexed my hand, and the claws emerged, still stained with blood.

Halliwell was just a spoiled boy in a man's body. Out of the blue I was broadsided by a flash of memory, Halliwell sinking himself into my body while I was manacled to the bunk in his yacht. I crammed it into the deepest, darkest corner of my soul. There would be time enough to deal with him.

As for Paul Sarone... The rainforest was a dangerous place. Anything could happen there.

I didn't want anyone to find that paper, so I tucked it into a pocket of the jeans Mr. Sayer had laid out for me, then went to take my shower.

****

The water was as hot as I could get it, and steam filled the room. I was finally starting to feel human ... well, normal ... again. I lathered and rinsed off a number of times, then just stood under the spray and let it beat against me, soaking up the warmth, determinedly keeping my mind blank. I would not permit myself to think of anything beyond the fact that I was no longer chilled.

There was a tap on the door, and I jumped and almost skidded on the bathmat. Cooler air filtered over the shower curtain. "Are you all right?" The voice was cool, masculine, Drew Dorincort's. I wondered what it sounded like whispering words to a lover.

I shoved the thought from my mind. "Yeah." Twisting the faucets, I shut off the water, and a large, hair-studded hand appeared, proffering a towel. There was a warming bar along the wall in the bathroom. I sighed in pleasure and rubbed the towel over my hair, blotting most of the water out of it, before running it over my body. I knotted it at my waist and stepped out of the tub. "Oof!" I bumped against the other man who was standing right there. I hadn't realized he was so close.

"Yes, you are all right!" He steadied me. The expression in his eyes said he'd like nothing better than to strip off that towel and do some serious exploring of my body. I licked my lips, and he stared at my mouth. My body came alive with desire. Normally I would take a step back, not caring for people to be within my personal space, but he was wearing some sort of scent that was irresistible, and I stayed where I was. "I wanted to make sure Papa left everything you might need."

Desire vanished. In the days since I'd shed the thrall of the drugs, I'd resolutely kept the images of that day on the Amazon at bay. Survival took precedence. Mourning would have to wait. But now, just like that, the walls that had encased my emotions crumbled. "Papa?" My voice cracked. That one simple word was all it took to bring the sharp, painful loss of my fathers freshly to mind.

"It's what we call the grandfather who brought you up here," he began casually, then tensed as he studied the torment that chased across my face. "We call our other grandfather Pere."

I wasn't really listening to Drew. "Pa... papa? Oh, *hell*." I turned away from him, my shoulders hunched and shuddering, a hand shielding my face. He put his arms around me, refusing to let me go when I tried to jerk free, and turned me to face him. Tears streamed down my face, all the more painful for the absence of sobs. He pulled me snug against him. I surrendered into his embrace, and my head dropped onto his shoulder. I shook so violently from the force of my weeping that we both trembled.

Drew ran one hand soothingly up and down my bare back, while the other kept me anchored to him. Quietly, under his breath, I could hear him humming a sweet melody. I couldn't place the song, but it was comforting, and my arms went around him, and I held onto him, my fingers digging into his back. "It's all right, Da'," he murmured. "It's all right."

I had to bring myself under control. It wasn't all right. Crying didn't solve anything. My fathers were still dead. I started to straighten, and turned my head to apologize for falling apart. His lips brushed across mine, and I froze and pulled slightly back. His black eyes stared into mine, and I couldn't look away. The pall of loss faded into a wave of desire. I moaned and took his mouth.

His lips parted, and my tongue surged into his mouth. My hands fisted his blue-black hair, and I drew his head closer. I could feel his teeth against my lips, and then his tongue was dueling with mine. Beneath the towel, my cock slid out of its sheath.. Clever fingers stroked past the edges of the fluffy material and drew patterns on the flesh of my thigh, each pass bringing them closer to my groin.

"Fuck me," I pleaded, biting at his mouth. I needed the reassurance that I was still alive. I twisted my lower body in a frantic bid to have his fingers on me.

He stilled and turned his head away, and refused to allow me to recapture his lips. "No."

In a flash, arousal was gone, replaced by shame. I'd begged, and been refused. I shuddered. Why would a suave urbanite such as the Brit in my arms want someone who had been an exhibit in a place like Marconi's House of Oddities? "Sorry." I dropped my hands from his hair and tried to back out of his embrace. "That was stupid of me."

His grip tightened to the point I knew there would be bruises; he refused to let me go. He tipped my chin up, forcing me to meet his steady gaze. "No," he repeated. "I have every intention of taking you to my bed, but not when you're emotionally off balance." He brought our mouths together, and I was achingly aware of the difference in the kisses. Where mine had been ravenous, his was almost ... tender. "Would it help to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" I hedged, carefully piecing my control back together, like a patchwork quilt.

"I don't know. About why you were in a place like the House of Oddities? About why the word 'papa' was so devastating to you?"

"Why? Idle curiosity?"

"No. Quite frankly, Da'ric, I haven't reacted to anyone like this in years." He let me go and searched his pockets for a handkerchief. Gently he dried my cheeks, then handed it to me so I could blow my nose. "As odd as it may seem to you, Yank," the term was like a caress, "I don't generally go around assaulting my house guests in the bath!"

I began to feel better. Apparently he wasn't as controlled as he appeared. "Is that what you were doing?" I was about to return his handkerchief to him, then thought better of it.

He looked put out. "What would you call it if someone hauled you out of the bath and kissed you senseless?"

"Hot? If I remember rightly, *I* stepped out of the tub, and I was the one who started kissing you. So if any apologies are necessary, they should be mine."

His eyes became hooded. "And do you intend to apologize?"

"That would insinuate that there were regrets, and there are none. That would also insinuate that I wouldn't do it again. I guess I should give you fair warning, Brit, that I intend to." I shrugged and walked out of the bathroom, needing to get dressed. He was right behind me. "I told you how I wound up in the House of Oddities. The son of a bitch behind this whole thing wanted to get back at my ..." My voice wobbled, and I had to take a moment to steady it. "...at my Pop. Both my parents were killed as a result."

"Da'!" His arms were around me.

"When I was little, I called him 'Papa'. It's such a stupid thing to make me fall to pieces like that. I'm sorry, *I* don't generally do that."

"Did you even have time to grieve for them?"

I shook my head. "Marconi's man started filling me full of Seconal before it had much of a chance to sink in." Abruptly I bit my lip. "My grandparents! I need to get in touch with them! Oh, jesus, this is going to kill them!"

His large hands kneaded my shoulders comfortingly. "Once you've eaten you can put in a call to them."

"I don't have any money to pay you back."

"I'm holding the folding, Yank." Again that verbal caress. "You can repay me once your family has wired you the money." His expression grew thoughtful. "Since you were most likely brought into this country illegally, the authorities are going to be extremely interested in Callisto Marconi and his various and sundry activities."

"No." It was my turn to say that, flatly, without any embellishment.

"Ah. I'm not wrong in assuming that you will want to deal with Marconi yourself, am I? Get dressed now, Da'."

I reached for the pair of emerald green silk boxers. "Drew." For the first time I spoke his name aloud, and I could taste it like honey on my tongue. "Do you mind if I wear these?"

He stared at them blankly. "They're mine?"

"Mr. Sayer said they were a gift."

"Oh, that's right." His eyes began to glitter with humor. "My brother, Robin, gave them to me for my birthday. His idea of a clever joke."

"They're beautiful." I let the silk drift over the skin of my forearm, its weight cool and delicate. This was something a lover gave you. "Won't he mind that you let me borrow them?"

"Keep them for all of me. Robin knew I'd never wear them. I don't wear undergarments."

He was naked under those sophisticated clothes? I turned my back on him, not wanting him to see how his words had affected me, and stepped into the boxers, drawing them up over my legs and under the towel that was still around my waist. Only then did I let the towel drop.

"Oh. Oh, I say." His eyes were hotly caressing my lower body, and at that moment I had no doubt he wanted me. "Green definitely is your color, Yank." The corner of his mouth curled in the most lustful grin I had ever seen.

No one had ever looked at me that way, not even my best friend, Den Moskowitz, who had been my first ... my only lover. I fumbled for the tee shirt and got it over my head, then pulled on the jeans and shirt.

"Here, Da'. I think you'll need this as well." He handed me a cream-colored, cable knit sweater.

"Thanks." I wasn't sure how long it would take me to regulate my body temperature. I had just fit my arms through the sleeves when I noticed Drew standing before me, a pair of thick cotton socks in his hand.

"Put these on."

I sat on the edge of the bed and lost myself in the imagery of Drew Dorincort kneeling before me, taking a foot in one hand and caressing the webbing between my toes. I closed my eyes, seeing myself surrendering to the temptation of sliding the other foot into his lap, and feeling the outline of his cock beneath my sole.

"Are you feeling quite the thing, Yank?" he asked softly, and I shook free of the fantasy. "You look a trifle flushed."

"I'm fine, thank you." Was that my voice?

"I think I have a pair of slippers my Aunt Dinah gave me a number of years ago."

"Oh, no, they probably won't fit. I have a hard time with footwear unless I have them custom made."

"Trust me, you won't have a problem with these." Drew opened the bottom drawer of his armoire, and I stared, mesmerized, at the bunch and flow of his muscular ass as he bent and withdrew a pair of long, misshapen, tube-like things knitted in black and orange. "Aunt Dinah gave up on knitting, but not before presenting everyone in the family with a pair similar to these." He grinned fondly at the memory.

I took them from him and held them up. "Well, if you ever need a costume for Halloween, you're all set." I balanced an ankle on my knee, and I could feel his eyes on my feet. I glanced up in time to catch him licking his lips and watching avidly as I pulled the slippers on. "I have to ask you something, Drew. It doesn't bother you that I'm the way I am?" I gestured to encompass my eyes, my feet, all of me.

His face darkened. "I'd like to get my hands on whoever altered you like that. It must have been extremely painful!"

I felt deflated. He hadn't realized how very different I actually was. I should have known. "Drew, there was no surgery involved. This is how I was born, how I've always been. Your Pa..." I forced myself to say the word. " ...Papa seemed to feel there would be no problem, but if you want me to leave..."

For a second he looked stunned, and then he bent down, and his mouth stopped my words. I sighed as he pulled me up into his embrace, and I leaned against him. He pulled back a bit. "You're not going anywhere, Da'." He nuzzled the hair away from my ear and nibbled on the lobe. "We're a little pressed for room tonight, what with the snowstorm and all," he said innocently. "If you have no objections, you'll be staying in my room."

"No." I was dazed with the speed of events. "No objections. Your room will be fine."

"Good. Let's get you fed, then." His grin was satisfied. "Maybe once you've had a decent meal, you won't have that problem regulating your body temperature."

"Yeah," I agreed. It was only as we were going down the stairs to the first floor that I realized I had said nothing about that aloud.

A Predestined End
Part 9

I had long accepted that my father could not like me, but I was determined to make him notice me. I had tried being perfect, like my brother Germaine, taking O levels at school and never being sent down. I had toyed with the idea of being disreputable like Uncle James, Mother's brother, to whom I bore a strong physical resemblance. However, neither drugs nor girls appealed to me, and I loathed the way I had felt the morning after my sole attempt at drunken debauchery.

I decided to try another road.

Andrew Dorincort was extremely handsome, his dark looks contrasting sharply with those of the rest of his very fair family, and at twenty-five, he was the oldest man I had yet to date.

Although the title Viscount Ashford was fairly young, Father insisted that Germaine only date young ladies of the bluest blood. Not only was Andrew the wrong sex, but he was also not of the peerage. The most he could claim were a couple of minor baronetcies in his ancestry, and even those were questionable.

I hoped that by taking Andrew to my bed, my father would finally be forced to acknowledge my presence. I was certain my plan was working when, at dinner one night, he actually addressed me. "St. John. Germaine tells me you are seeing the eldest of Errol Dorincort's get."

Germaine sat at our father's right hand, looking angelically innocent with his fair hair and vivid blue eyes. He never had to do anything to gain Father's favor. He was so obviously the Ashford heir.

"Yes, Father." I touched my napkin to my lips. "Do you object?" //Please, Father. Forbid me to see him! Show me you care. Show me I mean as much to you as Germaine.//

"Do as you please." His lips curled in a sneer. "It is nothing more than I would expect of your mother's son." He turned back to the pheasant that was on his plate, slicing at it viciously.

****

None of my... dates... ever evolved into anything. I assured myself it did not matter.

But I found myself fascinated by the dynamics of the Dorincort family. Not only did they love each other, but they liked each other as well. More than anything, I would have liked that for myself, but I had no idea how to go about winning their regard. So I set about it in all the only way I knew how. I fussed and snipped, insinuated myself into others' conversations, offered opinions where none were asked or desired, and was supercilious as only my father's son could be.

Andrew took me to dinner, he took me to shows at the WestEnd, but he never took me to bed. I could feel him growing further and further distant from me. Even as I joined his family on the outing to Marconi's House of Oddities, I knew it was just a matter of time before he would sever our relationship, such as it was. It was not the first time I had been spurned, and it would not be the last, I was sure. But I was not ready to stop seeing him. I assured myself it had nothing to do with his family, and more especially with Robert, that abominable brother of his, whom everyone called Robin.

While we waited for *Ariane* and Priscilla to emerge from the ladies' loo, Robert sniped at me relentlessly and frowned at my prissy responses to his teasing. But then his sister cried out for help, and we were pelting down the stairs to that nightmare of a cellar room.

By the time we left the House of Oddities, I was biting down hard on my back teeth to prevent myself from vomiting. The sight of the snake boy stuffing a still-beating heart into its owner's mouth was something that was likely to haunt my dreams forever.

Desperate to erase that image, I began conversing in inanities, trying to distract myself, to fill the silence in Robert's Jaguar. "I *knew* this afternoon would be a total waste of time!" I sniffed. I had learned as a child to speak on one topic while thinking of something else, and had no idea even of what I was saying. "I *knew* there was nothing edifying in that place! And now it is going to snow. I hate snow! It is wet and cold, and it makes my eyelashes stick together." It wasn't working. I was still able to hear the screams, see the gore, smell the overlying scent of death. I began speaking more rapidly. "And I stepped in something down there. I think it might have been blood! I will have to throw these shoes out! They are totally ruined! Do you have any idea how expensive these shoes are? They are custom crafted, and it takes *weeks* to have them made, and even *more* weeks to be delivered! And..."

Robert swore vilely and pulled over to the curb, and put the car in park. "There has to be something better you can do with that mouth of yours!" he snarled, then dragged me over the console between the bucket seats. One hand was fisted in the hair that curled at the nape of my neck, tightening until it was just short of painful. The fingers of his other hand were digging into
my hip. His mouth opened on mine, parting my lips, and Robert Dorincort, the most irritating... desirable... man I had ever met, began kissing me.

"Oh!" The tiny sound whispered from my mouth. I had been kissed before; of course I had been kissed before; after all, I was a viscount's son, and I was almost twenty, but my reaction to Robert's kisses stunned me. I whimpered and tried to burrow closer to him.

I was overwhelmed by the knowledge that Robert had been wanting *me* all along, had been saying all those taunting words to get *me* to notice him, but he had not meant them, not truly; I just knew it!

I felt as if I held the world in the palm of my hand. He would belong to me, I would belong to him. He would take me to his bed and gently remove my clothing, covering my body with feverish kisses, all the while vowing undying love.

"Touch me!" he ordered, confusing me. I *had* been touching him, tracing the lines of his ears, stroking over the muscles of his back, flexing my fingers in his shoulders. "Come on, Singe; don't be coy!" He grabbed my hand and pressed it to the bulge in his trousers, and rocked against my palm. I recoiled in shock.

Abruptly I realized I had read the entire situation wrong.

Foolish me. I had been lost in the fantasy of being passionately desired, of happily ever after, while Robert... He was simply lost in lust.

Stupid, foolish fantasy.

He tensed, as if expecting me to strike out at him. Very carefully I eased off his lap, settled myself back in my seat and turned my head, staring out the windscreen, praying he would not notice the hopelessness in my eyes.

****

"You'd better call home to let them know you'll be spending the night here," Robert told me as he took my coat to hang up in the hall cupboard. "I'm sure your father the viscount will be concerned."

I called, but of course the house was empty. The family were vacationing in Monaco. I spoke loudly enough so anyone nearby was sure to overhear, but my finger was on the hook, and I spoke into the dead air. "Father, I will be spending the night at Andrew Dorincort's home. No, we will not be alone; his grandfathers will be here, as well as his brothers and sister. Yes, I will be fine, Father. Yes, I know you worry about me. Yes, I love you too, Father."

Yes, it was all bloody balderdash.

Robert's eyebrow rose until it appeared to disappear in the fall of blond hair that tumbled over his forehead.

I was not about to let him see I cared tuppence for his opinion. I tipped my nose in the air and turned my back on him. Then Ariane came running into the hall.

"Oh, Robin, quick! Come see what's on the telly!"

Robert followed her, and I trailed after him. His grandfathers stared at the set in horror. On the screen was a conflagration. Firefighters stood braced, hoses blasting spumes of water over the raging fire. A voice was intoning solemnly, "Fire officials have stated that the sudden blaze at Marconi's House of Oddities will take hours to bring under control. Nothing, they inform this reporter, will be saved."

"Drew! Oh, my god, Drew is still there!" Mr. Sayer's mouth was grim, and his complexion was ashen.

"Right. I'm after him." Mr. Fortescue-Smythe strode back into the hall and put a heavy jacket on.

"Pere, you're just getting over a cold..."

"Tommy, you're going to wind up back in bed!" But Mr. Sayer was putting a jacket on as well.

Before the others had time to follow suit, the front door burst open, and Andrew walked in, his shirt clinging damply to his torso. I had never before seen him like that, and was rather startled by the highly defined muscles. He was followed closely by the snake boy, who had Andrew's jacket draped over his shoulders and was holding a young dog. It was only on closer examination that I realized the little beast was actually a wolf. Of course I protested her presence in the house. "Surely you do not intend to bring her into the kitchen! Filthy, disgusting animal! She probably has fleas as well!" What I was really protesting was the unusually attractive snake boy who stood so
close to Andrew. To whom Andrew stood so close. "Andrew, I want to go home!" I needed his attention back on me.

He regarded me as if I was a petulant child. "The storm has gotten too bad, St. John."

"If you will not take me home..." I was tempted to stamp my foot in frustration. I could see Andrew was fascinated by the snake boy, whose name, he said, was Da'ric.

"Put a cork in it, Singe." Robert was the only one who called me that, and I hated it when he used that tone of voice. "Drew said it's too nasty out there, and you already called your father the viscount to let him know his baby boy was safe and sound."

I pretended Robert hadn't spoken at all. "That beast is a wild animal! If it bites me..."

Alan snapped at me, "It's a *she*, St. John, and if you don't shut up, *I'll* bite you!"

I subsided glumly, seeing the family draw tighter together, seeing myself even further on the outskirts. Mr. Sayer escorted the snake boy upstairs to shower. God in heaven, he was beautiful! There was no way I could compete with his exotic good looks! And then I heard Andrew wondering if there were enough beds for everyone. He said, "I want Da'ric in my room. To keep an eye on him."

"What about me?" I cringed at the childish whine, but I had to make one last effort. "*I* should be the one in your room!"

"You can sleep on the daybed in the room Thom and Alan share, Singe. Or you can sleep in my room." Robert's eyes wandered over my body in a deliberate attempt to arouse me.

It was successful. I could feel a flush of sexual heat sweep over me to pool in my groin. Abruptly I realized Robert must be simply taunting me. I determined to ignore him, but when I looked his way again, his expression was bland, and he was beckoning me to follow him into the kitchen.

****
I stood staring morosely before the glass panel in the back door of Andrew's kitchen. I could see Andrew and Robert reflected in it. They were speaking urgently, occasionally glancing in my direction. I pretended to be unaware, unconcerned. But I watched the reflection as they hurriedly left the room.

"Do you intend to eat anything, St. John?" Alan Dorincort asked. "I'm afraid we've finished the eggs I scrambled."

I turned back to find them all seated around the table, and my mouth twisted. "I will fix something for myself, if you do not mind?" Not that I much cared what they thought at this point. There was nothing quite like making a total fool of one's self. I went to the refrigerator and examined the contents. Eggs, ham, half a wheel of cheese, a green pepper, some mushrooms. I found an onion in the pantry, and began grating and chopping, putting together an omelet.

Robert sauntered back into the kitchen, looking so sexy my mouth went dry. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him come to a dead halt and stand stock still in amazement, watching as I carefully poured the concoction into the heated frying pan, swirling it periodically until it set.

"Mrs. Harris is going to be so cross with you!" She was their housekeeper and had worked for the family for ages. From what I had learned, she ruled the kitchen like a tyrant.

I scowled, but kept my gaze focused on the omelet.

"You know what she does to cheeky little boys who play in her kitchen?"

I pointedly kept my back to him and still said nothing.

"She pulls down their trousers and spanks their bare bum!"

I caught my breath, suddenly imagining what it would be like, Robert peeling my trousers off my legs and bending me over his lap, his hand landing rhythmically on my bum, gradually turning my arse cheeks pink. My hand clenched the handle of the frying pan.

Vaguely I realized that we were alone and wondered how could I not have noticed six people and a wolf leaving the room.

Robert's breath was warm on the back of my neck, and I started, causing some of the egg mixture to spill over the side of the frying pan and hiss as it fell onto the burner. My hair was brushed aside and teeth nipped gently along the side of my throat, while the fingers of his other hand stroked down the front of my body, stopping just short of my hardening cock.

I bit my lip, stifling a moan. All I wanted was to lean back against him and let him have his way with me. My cock was pleading for its share of attention.

"That turns you on, does it?" he whispered hoarsely. "The thought of being spanked?" I could feel his arousal nudging the crevice of my buttocks.

Robert reached around and switched off the flame, then turned me and began crowding me toward the table, his mouth on mine, his tongue in my mouth taking tiny licks.

His lips left my mouth and whispered over my cheek to my ear. "Drew was right, wasn't he?" he murmured. "You are a virgin. I moved too fast in the car; this time I'll take it slower."

"You discussed me with your brother?" I closed my eyes and very carefully straightened out of his embrace. "So Andrew has decided to move on to the snake boy, and has graciously given you leave to have me? If I am so unlovable that no one would shag me, I fail to see why you would even want me."

"Don't you ever look in your mirror, Singe? You're bloody gorgeous!"

I went back to the stove and turned it on. "Oh?" He thought I was gorgeous? I fought back a delighted grin.

"Sure you are. When you don't ruin it by pouting and acting like a spoiled little boy!"

I would not permit myself to shout, "Bugger!" I would not permit myself to slam the frying pan down and storm out of the kitchen, leaving the omelet to burn. For a moment, I savored the notion of the stunned silence that would no doubt be left behind in my wake.

I did nothing of the sort, of course. Ashfords never swore. Ashfords never lost their temper. Ashfords never...

My father did not believe I was an Ashford. He believed my mother had a passionate affair with... with someone else. Someone whose genes reinforced the chestnut hair and green eyes of her family.

I put a plate to the back of the stove to warm and carefully I folded the omelet. Two slices of bread went into the toaster, and I pushed down the lever.

"I'm starved! Would you... uh... would you be willing to share that with me, St. John?" Robert asked, hesitant for the first time since I had met him.

"Not afraid I might poison you after that little exchange?" I buttered the toast and slid the omelet onto the plate, and in spite of myself, temper leeched out. I slapped it down on the table. "Have the whole thing! I have lost my appetite."

His hand closed over my wrist. "Which is the real you, Singe? The spoiled brat who made a play for my older brother? Or the young man who was scared spitless in that cellar room, but who refused to leave us there?"

"The spoiled brat, obviously, Robert." Did he actually think I had any redeeming qualities? My father would have been more than willing to confirm that I did not. I stared pointedly at my wrist, hoping he would take the hint to release me. Instead, his grip tightened, and he pulled me against his body.

"I want you. I must be out of my mind, Singe, but I do! Spend the night with me!"

"How could I possibly say no to such a very suavely phrased request, Robert? Of course, it is always so high on my list of priorities to make you happy that it breaks my heart to refuse you, but I am afraid this time you must be doomed to disappointment." I jerked my wrist free and glared at him a final time.

"Where are you going?"

"I am going to the daybed in Alan and Thomas' room, and if I am eaten by that wolf, it will serve you right, and I will return and haunt the hell out of you, Robert Dorincort!"

I opened the door that led into the hall and walked directly into Andrew and the man who was replacing me. They had obviously overheard every incautious word I had said.

This time I did say it. "Bugger!"

A Predestined End
Part 10

The door to the kitchen burst open, and St. John Ashford came storming out, to barrel into me. His green eyes widened in horror as he realized we had heard his tirade.

"Bugger!" St. John scowled at me, glared over his shoulder at my brother Robin, and then stalked away, his spine stiff with fury. Before he could reach the stairs, Robin was after him, his hand closing on St. John's arm and whirling him around. "*Don't*..."

Whatever the younger man was about to growl was cut off when my brother's mouth took his. I had never had the opportunity to see him in action and watched with interest. Robin buried his fingers in the red curls and turned St. John's head first one way and then the other as he plundered his mouth, swallowing his soft whimpers. And then St. John tore himself out of my brother's arms.

For a moment I thought a donnybrook would erupt in the hallway. His face flushed, his eyes narrowed, St. John drew back his fist, but before he could launch a blow, Robin bent, got his shoulder into St. John's diaphragm, and hoisted him up in a fireman's lift. The air whooshed from his lungs, along with a string of words I had never before heard him utter.

Robin went up the stairs, two at a time, with the young man trying to get enough leverage to strike him. I was smiling as I turned to face the man who stood beside me, a dazed look on his face.

"What was that all about?"

"I have no idea, but I rather think those two have met their matches. Come along, Da'. I want to feed you. Let's see if they left us anything."

We went into the kitchen to find a beautiful, fluffy omelet on the table. I took another plate from above the sink, sliced the omelet in two, and put one half before him. "Enjoy, Yank."

I watched him take small, neat bites as he ate. Periodically, he'd rub the spot above his right ear. "Headache?" I asked.

His expression was puzzled, and he shook his head. "It's almost like... an itch."

I wanted to stroke his hair, soothe him. I took a bite of the omelet instead. "Oh, I say. This is excellent! Robin must be taking cooking lessons!"

He pushed the plate away. "Sorry, I can't eat any more."

"No. You don't want to push your stomach at this point." I slid it onto my plate and ate it as well.

Da' sipped the tea I had poured for him, watching me as I watched him. He leaned forward and touched his forefinger to my lip, then put his finger in his mouth, his eyes never leaving mine. "There was a bit of omelet on your lip."

For a second I couldn't catch my breath. Nothing that intimate had been done to me in... I couldn't think how long. I ran my tongue over my lips, hoping I'd be able to taste him there. "You'll sleep in my bed tonight," I told him, and those pupils of his dilated until they were surrounded by a ring of gold. "You... er... you needed to make a phone call?"

We rose and went into the hall where the phone was, and I dialed the number he'd given me, to no avail. The second number was more successful, and I listened to the warmth in his voice with growing displeasure.

"Den? Hi, babe." "Yeah, it's Da'." "I'm in London. Look, it's really important that I get in touch with my grandparents, but apparently they're not home?" "They're *where*? Well, what the fuck are they doing in Brazil?" "What?" "*What*?"

I caught him before he could sag to the floor and held him up. "They're alive!" He turned and buried his head in my shoulder. "They're *alive*!" I took the phone from him and raised it to my ear.

"Day? Did you hear me? I said your dads are all right!" His *dads*? "Your Gram and Granddad flew down a couple of months ago to look for them..."

"Hold on a tic, would you," I interrupted. "Da' needs a moment to get himself together."

"Who are you?" The man's voice on the other end suddenly exuded hostility.

"I'm Andrew Dorincort, and Da'ric will be staying with me. More to the point, I would think, is who you are?"

Before he could answer, Da' took the phone from me. "Den, you're not just telling me that?" "Okay, okay." He glanced at me, then turned away. His voice dropped to a whisper, but I had no trouble hearing his next words, and my chest swelled. "Drop dead gorgeous, baby! He's one of the good guys." "Thanks, you know I'm always careful!" "Listen, I'll tell you about it the next time I see you." "Yeah, me too. Bye, Den."

I felt deflated, sure that there was more then just friendship between those two. He hung up the phone and stood there, gazing off into space, his eyes unfocused. Alarmed, I jerked him around to face me. He wasn't seeing me, but suddenly there was a strange sensation in my head, like an itch I couldn't scratch. I rubbed the spot over my right ear. And then, just as abruptly, it was gone.

But there was a smile on Da"s face. I was unable to help myself. I captured it with my lips and tasted sheer joy. His arms went around my shoulders, and he hugged me close to him. "They're alive!" he whispered.

"Your fathers?"

"Yes. I thought they were dead. That's why I shut down."

"'Shut down'?"

He smiled again and simply shook his head.

"Er... *fathers*?"

"Yeah. I've got two. Long story."

And I could see he wasn't about to tell me. I thought it better not to press for the moment. "Does... uh... does that mean you'll be going home?" Didn't matter what he said. I wasn't going to let him go.

"Yes. But not for a while. I have some work to do here first."

"You'll stay here, then." I was so relieved I didn't think to ask what he could possibly have to do in a city he had never been to. "That'll be grand."

"I don't want to impose..."

"Da'ric. You are staying with me."

Oh, that smile. "All right. Thanks." And then he leaned in and kissed me.

####

//You were able to get in touch with Da'?//

//Yes, David.// There was fond exasperation in his thought. //How many times do you want me to tell you?//

//But why couldn't you reach him before?//

He frowned, a frightening expression to any who were unfamiliar with his draconian features. //He thought we were dead and shut down his emotions. In that he is very like you.//

//What?// I was about to refute that hotly, but my lover reminded of my own reaction when I was a boy and had thought I had lost him.

//How many years did it take for me to get beneath your mental shield?//

I thought of all those years, of what it had finally taken to convince me that I would find my heart's desire in the Black Lagoon. //But you love me anyway, don't you?// He cuffed me gently, and I embraced him, so relieved that our tadpole had been found.

//We'd better let your parents know their grandson is in London.//

I stopped so suddenly he stepped on my heels. //London? Ric'u, how did he get to London?//

//He was sold to someone who displayed unusual exhibits.//

//The same someone who would have taken the remains of the D'ilian?//

Ric shrugged. //Unlikely.// A clawed finger tipped my chin up. //Sarone and Halliwell had a hand in Da's kidnapping.//

//Halliwell? Who...?//

// He was a lover.//

//No.// I corrected him. //*You* are a lover.// I rubbed my cheek against his palm. //I went to bed with him?//

//You don't remember?// The Brachian swatted my seat. //You went to bed with entirely too many men!//

//Halliwell? Oh, hell, the Afrikaner?// I suddenly felt dizzy. I recalled him leaving me asleep in the South African sun. //Ric, it was my fault that day on the river happened?// That day when our world had exploded. I'd seen the boat chugging around the bend in the Amazon, and then seen the white puff of smoke and heard the roar of the rocket launcher.

I had thrown the Jo into reverse and attempted desperately to evade the rocket, but it had been a futile maneuver. Just before the explosive connected with the vulnerable side of my boat, Ric was there. As the explosion shattered the quiet of the river, his broad shoulder caught me in the ribs, fracturing them, and the two of us flew over the side and into the murky water.

He had been badly burned and cut by flying debris, and it fell to me to get him back to shore. Somehow I managed to make it back to our home and get both of us into the rejuvenation chamber.

And by the time we were able to leave the chamber, Da'ric was nowhere to be found, and Ric was unable to contact him even though his link was the stronger. My parents were there, insisting on staying with us until they were assured of our complete recovery.

I was horrified that my promiscuity as a young man had resulted in that terrible day.

//No, my own. No.// He nuzzled the spot where my shoulder and neck joined. I looked up into his face. A big hand reached down to stroke my hair.

//How can you say that? Both those men wanted me...//

Abruptly he was the monster that had destroyed the men who had desecrated the body of his chief engineer. //I will show them what happens when they try to hurt what is mine.//

I reached for him, my fingers digging into the soft skin of his inner arm. //I go with you. We will *both* show them! Now let's tell my parents the good news, and then make plans.// My mother and father had come down to Brazil when Da' didn't show up for the fall semester. They had grown more and more worried when they hadn't been able to get in touch with me either.

I dove into the warm waters of the Lagoon and began to swim toward the opening of the tunnel that led to our home. When I realized he wasn't right behind me, I glanced back. He hung there in the faint haze, so big, and so beloved. I felt as if I had taken a blow to my chest. //Ric'u.//

The days when I could conceal anything from my lover were long gone; the mental link between us now made it impossible. The wave of love and lust and longing swept over him in rainbow colors, and I was swamped by his response, the force of it sending me tumbling backwards.

Disoriented, I would have wound up swallowing a good portion of the Black Lagoon, but he had my head up above the surface before I could react. His slim cock was out of its sheath and nudging at my hole, and then he rammed his entire length into me. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, and held on.

Each undulation of his hips saw my cock being caressed by the smoothness of his belly, and I rocked against him in counterpoint. His tongue snaked out to lick my ear, my neck, my hairline, and I latched onto the spot where his neck and shoulder joined and sucked the skin into my mouth, needing to mark him as mine as surely as he claimed me as his.

He growled softly in my ear, and I whimpered and moaned as he found my sweet spot over and over. And then with one final shove, his knot was past my anus, swelling and plugging me, and he filled my passage with his semen. I clung to him, shivering and helpless, as he pulsed and quivered deep inside me.

His big palm stroked down my back, and traced the crevice between my buttocks, finding the place where we were joined. He pressed against it, and with a gasp I came.

Ric'u floated on the surface of the Black Lagoon, letting the warm, still waters support his weight. I lay on him, relishing the warmth of the sun on my back, and that of my lover beneath me.

//I love you, you big green dragon.//

I could feel the rumble of his satisfaction, and his arms tightened around me. //My greatest wish is that our son finds a love as deep as ours.// Slowly he slid out of me and gave my neck a final lick. //Now let's find your parents. There is no need for them to stay any longer.//

//I'm sorry they worried while we were in the rejuvenation chamber, but there was no way for us to contact them, even if the distance hadn't been so great.//

//You don't mind that I would like to see them go?//

//It was wonderful of Captain Lucas and Dr. Thompson to bring them up river, but you're right. Now that we know that Da' is all right, they can go home.//

//And we can be alone again?//

I smiled at him and kissed the corner of his muzzle. //And we can be alone.//

(11)

I'd had lovers, male and female, but I'd never had a love. Now it seemed that I did.

Da'ric smiled at me when I informed him, "You are staying with me." Oh, that smile. I had never seen one that affected me the way his smile did. It seemed to burrow its way into my chest and wind itself around my heart.

"All right. Thanks." And then he leaned in and kissed me. I felt as if my mind was enveloped by an unexpected warmth, and I reacted in a way that had become foreign to me. I closed my hands over his shoulders and pulled him flush against me, feeling again the long lines of his body against mine. His kiss was cool and sweet, but it quickly heated up. I thrust my tongue past his lips, licking at the roof of his mouth. He hummed in approval and sucked on my tongue.

"Ah hem." A deep voice sounded from behind us, and we broke apart.

"Pere."

"Family conference. Where is Robin?"

"He's gone upstairs, Pere."

Pere glanced around the hallway. "And the Honorable Mr. Ashford?"

"Er... he's gone upstairs, too."

"Has he, now? What an interesting set of circumstances!" The corner of Pere's mouth curved up in a grin. "The rest of the family is in here. Come along. There's something we need to talk about."

I ushered Da'ric into the sitting room, my left palm casually resting on his hip. Papa was standing by the front window, the curtain parted enough for him to gaze out into the snow-shrouded street. Pere went to join him. He stood slightly behind him, an arm around Papa's shoulder, joining them together. I could hear Papa's soft sigh of pleasure at his touch.

Alan sat in one of the over-sized easy chairs with the little wolf curled on his lap. She raised her head when we entered, her eyes bright, her ears cocked alertly. "She'll be fine, Drew," Alan murmured. I crouched before her, studying her eyes. A lupine grin parted her jaws. I rubbed the spot under her chin, nodded, and got back to my feet.

Ariane was on the rug in front of the fireplace. Her arms were wrapped around her legs, and her head rested on her knees. She stared into the red and orange of the flames, her eyelids drooping, valiantly trying to stay awake. It had been an amazing day for all of us, and I knew she'd be falling asleep before too long.

Thom and Cilla were seated side by side on the loveseat, and I elevated an eyebrow to see my younger brother's fiancee included in a family meeting. Thom copied my gesture, cutting a glance to the man who stood at my elbow, then rose and took me aside.. "Cilla's always known there was something different about us, Drew," he whispered almost soundlessly, knowing I would have no trouble hearing him. "Before we became engaged, I talked to Dad about it, and he said it was only fair that I tell her what we are."

I could feel Da'ric watching me, but just nodded. I'd always liked Priscilla Danvers, even when I couldn't see myself spending the rest of my life with her.

"What about *him*?" Thom's eyes were on the golden-eyed man.

"What *about* him?"

"He's not part of the family. This could be dangerous..." The door closed with an almost silent snick. I wheeled around. Da'ric had left the room. Thom finished weakly, "... for him."

The warmth that had been in my mind was gone. I glanced at my brothers, at my sister, at my grandfathers. "It's only fair that *I* tell *him*. He needs to know what I am, what he'll be facing by becoming involved with me." And I went after him.

He was almost at the stairs.

"Da'ric. Wait."

His shoulders stiffened, and I thought he would ignore me, but then he turned to face me. I was appalled at how exhaustion, and something else, muddied his golden eyes. "Your brother is right. You don't know me. I could bring danger to your family."

How had he known Thom said anything about danger? We had been speaking too quietly to be heard by anyone even a couple of feet away from us, and Da'ric had been at the other side of the room. I shook myself out of my bemusement. There wasn't time to wonder about that now. "I don't know what you're talking about," I hedged. "Come back inside."

"Don't you? Look, this has nothing to do with me." He backed toward the stairs.

I felt as if he was deliberately shutting me out, and I reached for his wrist and stopped him. "I want you to come back inside," I repeated, surprised at how much I wanted him in the room with me. "This concerns you, too."

"Does it? I don't see how; I'm a stranger here. We've known each other, what, a matter of hours?" I was startled to realize he was correct. "Drew, it's been a long day, and I'm really wiped out. Tell me about it tomorrow if you want. All I'm good for now is bed."

My cock hardened at the picture of him naked, spread luxuriously on the sheets, and I tightened my grip. "*My* bed." It might have only been hours since we'd met, but it suddenly occurred to me that I'd been waiting forever for him. Seconds passed. They were the longest seconds of my life, but he finally nodded, and I let him go. "By the by, I sleep on the right side of the bed."

His eyes searched mine. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Dunno, Yank. Thought, perhaps, you'd like to know." I intended to have him in my bed for the rest of our lives, but I didn't say that aloud, afraid I might frighten him off. Oddly, I thought I felt a tendril of warmth caress my mind, but dismissed it.. "You've seen my bed; it's a large one. I don't want to go searching for you in it."

"You won't have to search hard, Brit." He took a step closer to me.

"No, I won't." I held my breath, waiting to see what he would do. Another step, and then he was back in my arms. I held him tightly and kissed him.

"Ah hem. Are you planning on making a habit of this, Andrew?"

I leaned my forehead against Da"s and began to chuckle. "Quite probably, Pere." I let my fingers trail over Da"s arms, then released him. "Go on to bed, Da'. I won't be too long." I watched him climb the stairs, regretting the loose fit of the jeans Papa had found for him. The length was fine, but his lower body was not as muscular as mine. I looked forward to buying him clothes that would mold to his arse and his long legs. I recalled the way the green silk boxers he wore had hung low on his hips, and my mouth suddenly went dry with the need to peel them off him.

He stumbled on the stairs, and his head whipped around to stare at me, his eyes wide. I thought for a second he would come back down, but after a silent struggle, he resumed his climb to the second floor and disappeared into the dimness of the hallway.. Only after I heard my bedroom door shut did I go back into the sitting room. My family all stared at me with interest.

I propped my fists on my hips and glowered at each of them. "He is mine. Any objections, and none of you will be pleased with the outcome!"

Mouths dropped open, and surprise showed clearly on each of my siblings' faces. And then they began to grin.

"But Andrew," Papa remarked as he removed Pere's monocle, blew on it, and buffed it before returning it to him, "I thought you didn't have the energy to pursue anyone into your bed." His eyes crinkled at my disgruntled expression. Pere had obviously told him what he had interrupted in the hall. Twice.

"Papa, you can tease Drew later," Alan said impatiently, unable to rise because of the wolf lying across his lap. "How can we convince Bryanna it's safe to change?"

"We can't, Alan. Not at this point."

"I know she's been through a traumatic experience. I've been able to tell by the condition she was in. But..."

I squeezed his shoulder to reassure him. "Once she's more comfortable with us, we'll see what we can do, but until then, don't pressure her."

"She is one of us, though, isn't she?" In spite of what Thom had said about Cilla, Alan was still cautious revealing our true heritage, and I smiled at him in approval.

"Yes, she is, Alan." The little wolf looked at me, her plumed tail thumping on my youngest brother's thighs. Then her gaze returned to him, almost worshipful. "She seems to have chosen you as her champion."

His eyes grew enormous. "Truly? Oh, Bree!" And he hugged her so tightly I thought she might yelp a protest. Instead, she licked his cheek and settled contentedly against him.

****

Papa pulled out the old-fashioned pocket watch that he kept in his vest pocket. Pere had given it to him a long time ago. He checked the time and glanced up. "Bed, children. We'll need to be up early tomorrow if we want to get to Dorincort Place before noon."

There were good-natured objections to being called children by my siblings, but they all rose and prepared to troop obediently up the stairs.

I bid them good night, stacked the tea things in the kitchen, and made sure the house was locked up tight. My thoughts kept wandering to the young man in my room, and I climbed the stairs with eager anticipation.

The second floor was quiet, but if I extended my hearing I had no doubt I would hear the little sounds that signaled bedtime: teeth being brushed, clothes being removed and pajamas put on, ... kisses and words of passion and the glide of flesh on flesh... Determinedly I shut out what was going on behind Robin's closed door.

I was more interested in what would be going on behind my door. I was hard. For the first time in a long time, I had found someone with whom I wanted to have hot, torrid sex. But more than that, I wanted a relationship with him. My heart was beating rapidly, and I was almost panting in excitement.

When I opened my door, the only light that illuminated the room was from a bedside lamp. I was disappointed to find that while he was in bed, he was also sound asleep. And he was as close to the edge of the far side as he could get. Well, he wouldn't be that far away from me for long.

I hurried into the bathroom for a quick shower, needing to wash away the stress of the day. Afterwards, dressed in warm pajamas, I snapped off the lamp and crossed to the window, pulling back the curtains. A waning gibbous moon, the first phase after a full moon, reflected its light off the snow that covered neighboring rooftops and blanketed the small alley that led to the mews.

In spite of the fact that Da' was asleep, tension was writ in the way he held his body. He slept on his stomach, his arms bent at the elbow, but kept close to his sides. His lips were slightly parted, and his very stillness drew me to him. A lock of black hair curved over a high cheekbone. Before I realized what I was doing, I had reached out to touch the dark silk, sliding my fingers through it and curling it behind his ear. I wanted to fling back the covers and crawl on top of him, but instead I went around to my side of the bed and got in.

I knew he had been hurt by being excluded from the family. In the morning I would explain to him that it wasn't because of who or what he was, but rather because of what *I* was. I had never been with anyone long enough to need to tell them of my background. How would he react when he learned I was a were... a shapeshifter?

Da' murmured in his sleep, something in a language I was unfamiliar with, that sounded like the name Joe. He began to shift restlessly, drawing closer to me as if seeking warmth, or possibly something else, and I found myself with an armful of sleek, near-naked young man. It didn't matter who this Joe was; I had Da' now, and I wasn't going to let him go. One of my hands wandered down, petting his back and finally settling on his arse, and I realized he was clothed only in boxers. He relaxed in my hold with a sigh, his head tucked under my chin and his arms around me.

I sighed soundlessly myself and wriggled into his touch. Our legs tangled, and I was certain I would be unable to fall asleep. My mind whirled with the events of the day, the meeting with the snake boy, my sudden attraction to him...

Between one thought and the next, I was sound asleep.

~~~~

The heat was oppressive, the humidity so great it was as if you could take a handful of air and wring the moisture from it. The boat rocked gently on the current of the river. I didn't know why I was dreaming of this place, of these events, of this poor boy to whom they were happening. As if through a gauze curtain, I watched the events unfold. Each time I thought I would finally see his features, something seemed to prevent it.

His hands were covered in blood; I saw the naked young man dragged below decks. I saw him struggling against insurmountable odds to free himself, only to be cuffed finally to the bunk. His legs were spread and manacled, his position exerting pressure on the muscles and tendons of his shoulders. His breathing was harsh and ragged, but otherwise he remained silent.

And then I saw the man enter. He was soft, with rolls of flesh that were revealed as he stripped off the sweat stained white suit he wore. His prick swelled, and he took his time coating it with lubricant, stroking it and fondling his balls. With hard hands he parted the young man's buttocks and slammed into him. The young man turned his face toward me, and I saw how battered it was. His eyes opened, not much more than slits, but the distinctive pupils told me all I needed to know. This was Da'ric, and I howled in outrage.

The change began. I felt bone and muscle become fluid and flow into a different form, one which was lower to the ground. My head flattened, and my features altered as jaws elongated into a muzzle. Dense black fur sprouted all over my body, and a tail emerged from the base of my spine. My hackles rose, and deep growls spilled from my mouth.

The man pulled his pathetic dick out of the young man beneath him and whirled around to face the unexpected threat. He lost his balance and fell heavily onto Da'ric. His breath left his lungs in rapid, terrified pants; his mouth opened, and a single shrill cry escaped. With a lazy lunge, I had his neck between my jaws, and I bit down with every bit of pressure I could exert. There was the satisfying sound of bone and cartilage being crushed between my teeth, and my mouth was flooded with warm, sweet blood. I shook my head sharply, and his head parted from his shoulders. The body fell backwards off the bunk and onto the cabin deck.

I flung the grisly trophy away, savage satisfaction flashing through me as I watched the sightless eyes blink reflexively, then stepped back. Da'ric stared at me over his shoulder, still silent, waiting to see if the same fate would befall him. I went to the foot of the bunk and severed the restraints that bound his ankles with a single snap of my jaws, then stepped up onto the bunk and nudged his rump with my head. The gentle push enabled him to move forward and ease the pressure on his shoulders. He bit off a moan and managed to get the cuffs over the hook that had been screwed into the bulkhead paneling.

I growled in fury that this had been done to *mine*. //Shhh, shhh.// It was a whisper in my mind as he angled himself over onto his back and buried his fingers in the fur of my ruff. //Free me.// He extended his hands, and again my jaws snapped shut, leaving the links that joined the handcuffs to dangle uselessly. Gently I licked the blood that still oozed sluggishly from the backs of his hands. //Thank you.// His hands went around my neck and he urged me up onto his body. Carefully I placed my paws on either side of him and settled myself along the soft skin of his torso. I would watch over him as I had often done for my siblings.

But unlike with my siblings, I was aware of the body beneath me, and my cock began to slide from its sheath. To my amazement, I felt a similar response from Da'ric. His hips rocked up, and my cock slid down and lodged against his puckered opening. I couldn't prevent the sudden jerk of my own hips at being offered such a temptation. My body claimed what belonged to me, and I buried myself in his tight heat.

We stayed like that, motionless, connected. Heavy weariness weighted his thoughts, but his fingers stroked over my head. He fondled my ears, and as the tension slipped from us, we both slid into a light doze.

(12)

I let out a shout. Well, I *tried* to let out a shout, but Robert's shoulder connecting with my diaphragm made that difficult, turning it to more of an 'oof'. He hoisted me up in a fireman's lift and stormed up the stairs to the second floor. I was more than impressed by the sheer physicality of his act, and I prayed he would not feel how aroused I had become.

I pounded on his back with clenched fists, but again, the act was ineffectual. I could not get the leverage to follow through with the kind of force I wanted.

However, what I did succeed in doing was annoy him beyond imagining. His right palm connected quite smartly with my rump, and I yelped in protest and kicked out with my legs.

"Do that one more time, St. John, and I will strip off your trousers and spank your naked bum!"

"You would not dare!" I breathed, excited by his threat, and shamed by my excitement.

"Oh, wouldn't I, just! Try me!" Robert strode down the corridor to his bedroom and entered, slamming the door behind him and locking it. Then he threw me onto the bed and stood glowering down at me.

I struggled to catch my breath, staring in helpless fascination as he began to unbutton his shirt. His chest was covered by a pelt the same shade as his eyebrows, which was slightly darker than the hair on his head. "What... what are you going to do to me?" I licked my lips, which had become very dry indeed.

His hands dropped to his trousers, and he undid the fastening. "I'm going to finish what I started in the Jaguar!"

Of course. I should have realized he only saw me as an annoyance to be squashed. "Why?" I spat. "To teach me a lesson?" I bounced up and tried to dodge around him, determined to reach the door.

"Singe, you're a bloody fool, do you know that?" Robert stretched out his arm and snagged my waist, tossing me back onto the bed with insulting ease. He stood there naked, his hands on his hips, and I was astonished at how rapidly he had undressed. "Now get your clothes off this second, or you will not be happy with my reaction!"

I worried my lower lip and peeked up at him through my lashes, wondering if I dared to challenge him. He was breathing harshly. My gaze dropped to below his waist, and I could see how aroused he was. "Oh!" I shivered with the returning need to have him touch me.

Hesitantly, I sat up and took the hem of my sweater in my hands. With a rather unsteady movement it was off and placed carefully aside. As I began to unbutton my shirt, Robert snarled something under his breath and seized a foot, pulling my shoe off. He threw it over his shoulder. The sock followed, and he went to work on my other foot. Before I could begin undoing my cuff buttons, both feet were bare.

My shirt hung open, and I felt his eyes on my chest. He reached out and touched the small gold hoop that pierced my left nipple, the reminder of my attempt at debauchery. "Oh, you are a bad boy!" He curled his tongue in it and tugged gently, and made a pleased sound when my nipple tightened in reaction.

And then he was unfastening my trousers, pushing me backwards and stripping them down off my legs. "Very nice knickers, St. John!"

I blushed. Why had I worn the leopard-patterned undergarments? His eyes were hot as he hooked his thumbs in them and dragged them down off my hips. My penis stood stiffly erect, pre come beading at the tip. He leaned forward, his fisted hands on either side of my hips, and blew on it, smiling as he watched it quiver, then gathered the drops with a broad swipe of his tongue. I whimpered and struggled to keep my hips from thrusting up.

"It's all right, Singe." Robert fondled the spot where my thigh and groin met. "Do you want to fuck my mouth?" He was enjoying driving me close to the edge. He licked the thick vein that ran along the underside of my penis, nibbled at the flared head, dipped into the slit.

I squeezed my eyes shut and let him do as he wanted with me. I did not recognize the sounds I was making, gasps and cries and a babble of words that made no sense.

Robert pushed my thighs back and apart, searching for the tight ring of muscle that guarded my opening. "Such a pretty pink rosebud," he murmured hoarsely as he pressed a finger against it. At some point he must have slicked his fingers, because he had no trouble breaching my anus. He pushed the questing finger deeper into me and went back to licking his way to the head of my penis. When he finally took it between his lips, I groaned in relief, and he hummed approval as he tasted another drop of pre come.

He suckled strongly on my penis, and I was so concentrated on what he was making me feel that I didn't realize he had gotten two fingers into me. He used a scissoring motion to stretch me. I tried to thrust down onto them, needing to take them in deeper, but Robert would not permit me to move. I was hovering on the brink of climax, and Robert kept me there, not affording me the final push that would bring me to orgasm.

I began to swear at him, my head thrashing, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Motherfucking son of a cocksucking, syphilitic, bitch bastard whore! Robert, goddamn you!" I was almost weeping with need. "Please!"

He curled his fingers and found some place inside me, and at the same time scraped my length with his teeth. With a hoarse cry I came.

Robert released me from the hot, wet cavern of his mouth, and I was still coming as he flipped me onto my front. He pulled me up onto my knees, made a wide space between them for himself. He had covered his cock with lubricant, and I hadn't even been aware. He brought the broad head to my spasming hole. If I hadn't been lost in the throws of such a powerful orgasm, I would have tensed and made his entry difficult. As it was, with one easy undulating movement, he took me. But he had my hips angled in such a manner that each time he slid forward, he hit that spot.

My fingers flexed helplessly in the bedspread. There was nothing I could do but submit to him. And then I had a blinding moment of clarity. I wanted to submit to him. I wanted his cock in my arse, doing what he was doing, targeting my prostate with a constant, pounding barrage of thrusts. The ripples of my climax went on, and on, and on...

I gradually returned to consciousness as a damp washcloth cleaned my semen from my torso. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty!" Light pats struck first one cheek and then the other. "Do you need a kiss to wake you up?"

"That would make you Prince Charming." I stretched luxuriously, flinching a bit as I felt the ache deep in my bowels. Warm lips brushed over mine briefly, and my eyes flew open in surprise. Robert's blue eyes bored into mine. His long fingers curved over my cheek and trapped my chin. My gaze dropped to his lips, and I couldn't catch my breath. I tipped my head back, offering him my mouth.

"St. John..."

"Kiss me, Robert," I whispered, threading my fingers through his hair, urging his face closer. "Kiss me..." //...as if you love me.//

His arms went around me, and he rolled over. My legs straddled his, and as his hand fondled my buttocks, I arched into his touch. Tiny sounds escaped my mouth, and he swallowed them as he kissed me.

We lay in that manner for a time, and then Robert hauled me off to the bath. "This will soak out some of the aches," he said, eying the bruises that were blossoming on my thighs and hips.

I leaned against him and nibbled on his collarbone. "It is all right, Robert. You did not hurt me, I promise you. I always did mark easily."

He seemed as if he might challenge that assertion, but really, how would he know that this was another legacy from my mother's side of the family? He filled the claw-footed tub with water just hot enough to be soothing. I lounged back and closed my eyes, not at all surprised when he joined me, or to find he was roused once more. Robert reached for me, urging me to crouch above him. He positioned me over his hips, gripped my waist and pulled me down onto his cock. Once again I had not been paying attention. He had liberally coated himself with lubricant, and his cock slid effortlessly into me. He bent his knees up to support my back, and then encouraged me to ride him to completion.

The water was starting to cool. Robert dried me off, making sure I didn't slip on the water that had splashed out of the tub and onto the floor, and then led me back to bed. He settled me into it and cradled me in his arms. As I fell asleep, I felt him pull the bedspread over us, forming a snug cocoon.

Some time later, I woke from the light doze, violently aroused. My legs were spread wide, and my lover was about to enter me once more. His fingers were twined with mine, and he nipped my shoulder. "Tell me you love me, St. John." The head of his cock dipped into my hole, and then moved teasingly away, and I wriggled my arse, trying to get him seated in me. "Tell me that you love me," he insisted.

"I love you!" I whimpered in surrender.

"I knew it, Singe!" His voice was thick with satisfaction as he took me. I was too engulfed by passion to wonder about that then. But not afterwards when I waited for him to say something, and instead listened as his breathing evened out into sleep.

No, definitely not afterwards. I spent the remainder of the night staring dry-eyed into the shadows. //Stupid, stupid fool!// I castigated myself. //Will you never learn?// He had made me admit I cared for him, but had said nothing of his feelings for me. Apparently I was just another conquest.

I glanced at the illuminated dial of the bedside clock. It was almost six. Robert Dorincort was sleeping soundly beside me, sprawled on his stomach, one broad palm resting possessively on a buttock. I eased away from him, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and sat there with my head in my heads, shivering a little in the early morning chill.

He had got what he wanted, what I had so willingly given him. Would he still want me now? I doubted it. There was a burning at the back of my throat, but I refused to let tears fall. I was an Ashford, after all.

I rose and limped around the room, gathering my clothing, then took them into the bath and dressed. I would make myself some breakfast and leave. Robert owed me breakfast, if nothing else.

I did not permit myself a final glance back at him before I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

####

I knew I was dreaming. It was the day when my world fell apart, and I was back on that boat, fighting to free myself. The men who had hoped to take my father, had wound up with his son. Although men died by the bloody ruins that were my hands, there were too many for me to successfully escape. I was dragged down to the owner's cabin and cuffed to his bunk. I knew what was coming, the first of many rapes, and I forced myself to relax muscles that, if tensed, would have resulted in tearing.

Halliwell, who claimed to be a former lover of one of my fathers, buried his prick in my ass, but before he could plunge into me more than a couple of times, furious growls split the silence of the Amazonian afternoon. A wolf appeared, tore the man's head off and freed my restraints.

He was a big wolf, larger than any I had seen before. I pulled him up onto my body, and he settled himself there. For some reason I wasn't surprised when I felt his cock start to emerge from its sheath and slide along my belly. Mine swelled in response, and I curled my legs up to grip his thick body, uncaring that I was leaving myself open to him. His cock slid into me, and I felt safe and claimed, but I was too exhausted to do anything more than accept being possessed by him.

Within the dream we fell asleep.

And after that first nightmare, each time something threatened to enter my dreams, the wolf would growl softly, hackles raised, ears flattened in warning, and would keep it from me.

~~~~

I roused languidly from the best sleep I had had since the Black Lagoon, surprised to find myself naked. That was how I usually slept, but I had kept the green boxers on out of respect for my host. I had never felt so warm. It was as if I was covered with a fur throw. Usually, at some point during any given night, I would start to feel cold, but not this time. I stretched, then gave a start when I realized that Drew was lying on top of me, also naked. His dick was hard, and a pool of pre come had oozed onto my belly. My cock emerged from its sheath and glided along his length. He reached between us and took my dick in his hand, holding it snug against his. Then he began to rock against me, and my eyes flew open to stare into his.

Drew was awake, and he watched me, gathering the precome in his hand and slowly beginning to jerk us simultaneously. My hips rose to drive my flesh more firmly into the grip of his hand. He rubbed his thumb over the head of my cock, teasing the slit, pressing down on it, and I shivered and moaned under him, welcoming his touch.

He bent his head to capture the sound with his mouth, and his tongue dipped past my lips, licking at my tongue.

It was hot under the blankets, and he was starting to sweat. I ran my hands over his back, memorizing the way his muscles flowed from shoulder to ass. Rhythmically, I squeezed the taut globes of his buttocks, parting them, stroking over the crevice until I could find his hole. I freed my mouth and stuck a finger into it, then went back to kissing him as I pressed my spit-slicked finger against the puckered opening steadily, until it finally relaxed enough for it to slide in.

Drew backed up to take it deeper. His movements became erratic. He bit down on my lip and growled, and began to spill himself over me. The heat of his semen was like a benison, a forgiveness of what I had done and what had been done to me, and with a final jerk I came as well.

I sank bonelessly under him. He raised his hand to my mouth and smeared the essence of our combined climax over my mouth. My lips parted, but before I could lick them clean, his mouth brushed over mine, and together we shared the unique taste.

He hummed in satisfaction and trailed kisses along my cheek to my ear. "You're mine, Da'ric," he whispered. "By all the gods, for all eternity, you are mine!" His breathing smoothed out, and he fell asleep. I remained awake, considering the nightmare, the wolf who had rescued me from it, and the words Drew had spoken.

I was about to slip out of bed to go in search of a washcloth, but changed my mind. Instead, I rolled him onto his back, straddled his hips, and began to lick him, following the hair that covered his groin to where it arrowed past his navel and up the center of his body. "Mmm." Drew murmured. He arched into my touch but didn't wake. With a final lick, I rose and went into the bathroom to tidy myself up.

****

I put on the clothes I had worn the night before. The jeans hung low on my hips, but there was nothing I could do about that now. I went downstairs to find something to eat.

If anyone spotted me wandering the halls, that was the excuse I would give. And in about twenty minutes, it would even be true. I looked forward to the time when I could eat normally again. Small meals didn't stress my stomach, but they didn't keep me filled for long.

I went to the console table on the first floor where the telephone was, pulled the paper from my pocket and dialed the number. After a couple of rings, someone picked up. "Pronto?" a gravelly voice spoke in my ear.

"E casa di questo Marconi?"

"Yeah, this is Mr. Marconi's house."

"E il sig. Marconi la?"

"Speak English, wouldja, Mac? Yeah, he's here. Whaddaya want?"

I sighed in relief. Unless I made love with him, I'd just about expended my knowledge of Italian. "I understand he's interested in the snake boy."

"You got that right! He's *really* interested in that freak! Hold on a minute. Hey, Boss! That call you been waitin' for!"

"This is Marconi." The voice was cultured, with no trace of an accent. "What do you know of my exhibit?" he asked smoothly.

"I know you're going to wish like hell you'd never had dealings with Paul Sarone."

"What?" That got to him. "Who is this? What are you talking about?"

"I'm not drugged anymore, Marconi. And I'll be coming after you." Quietly I set the receiver down. He would never know where the threat would come from. I had learned from watching the predators of the Amazon.

Suddenly I was starved. My step was jaunty as I walked down the hall and opened the door to the kitchen. Someone was already in there, and I came to an abrupt halt, watching as the redhead poked at the sausages that were in a frying pan. "Oh! Good morning. I didn't realize anyone else was up. You're St. John, aren't you?"

Green eyes looked me over from toe to crown before absurdly long lashes shielded their sadness. "Yes, I am Ashford."

"I'm..."

"I know who you are. Andrew Dorincort's love." The smile he sent in my direction was wobbly, and it didn't reach his eyes. He brought his gaze back to the frying pan, wincing as fat popped and spattered, burning his hand. "I apologize for my behavior last evening. You need not worry. I will not stand in your way."

"Thank you. I think." Obviously there was something there, but I had no idea what it might be.

Just as obviously, he was not about to tell me. "You are going to want some breakfast, I imagine." He went to the breadbox, removed a couple of slices of bread, and dropped them into the toaster. His movements were stiff, a far cry from the easy grace I remembered from the night before. I remembered, too, how Drew's brother had carried him up the stairs.

"Did he hurt you?" I demanded.

"I beg your pardon?" His expression became shocked. "You think Robin forced me? You... He... I..." Color started from the neck of his sweater and swept up to his hairline, and he shook his head. "Robin would never hurt me!" he stated vehemently. He dropped his eyes. "Not physically, an any rate."

This wasn't my business, but I was quite willing to make it my business. I was about to tell him that when the door burst open, and Drew's brother Robin stalked in. His attention was focused so completely on the younger man that he didn't even realize they had an audience. "What in bloody hell do you think you're about, St. John?" he growled.

St. John turned back to the stove. "Are you blind, Robert? I am making myself some breakfast. And... and then I shall return home."

"You know that's not what I'm talking about! Why did you leave my bed?" Robin stepped closer, but there was still some distance between the two men. I watched with interest, keeping still so they wouldn't be disturbed. And truthfully, I was curious. It had been a very long time since I had been so entertained.

"You had your fun. You bug... fuck... had your bloody way with me! I should think you would be pleased to see the back of me." He was unaware that the other man was now not more than a foot away from him.

"Ah, Singe," Robin said in a caressing tone. "I loved seeing the back of you. You've got a very fine arse!" The distance between them was closed, and he ran his palm over that part of his lover's anatomy.

St. John jumped and blushed bright scarlet. "That is not what I meant, and you quite know it, Robert Dorincort!" he declared hotly. He turned and his body brushed up against the other man's. "Oh!" He found himself trapped between Robin and the stove. Robin took the younger man's arms and placed them around his neck, then gave his seat a solid smack.

"Let me make this perfectly plain, St. John Ashford. I did not bugger you or fuck you. I made love to you! Couldn't you tell the difference?" Robin tightened his arms. "And if you hadn't sneaked out of my bed like a thief in the night, that's what we... would be... doing... right... now!" With each word, he planted teasing kisses on St. John's mouth, which evolved into something very serious.

Well, it seemed I wouldn't be called upon to ride to the rescue. I had to reach down and adjust myself. "Ah hem." I cleared my throat. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but those sausages are about to burn."

Robin started and wheeled around, placing the young man behind him as if to protect him. I wondered if either of them realized how telling that was.

"Bloody hell! How long have you been there?"

I checked the clock on the wall. "About half an hour?"

"You might have said something!"

"Anything in particular? You two were rather engrossed, you know." The toast had popped up, and I gingerly placed it on a plate and blew on my fingers before buttering it. "Sorry. I'll leave you to get your affair sorted out."

Robin snarled at me, looking remarkably like his older brother in spite of the difference in coloring. "If Drew hadn't decided he fancied you, I'd..."

"You'd what, Limey?" I flexed the hand that was free of the plate and idly ran the claws over my jaw. "If you weren't his brother, *I'd*..."

"Robert!" St. John pinched his lover's hip. "We have company!"

We followed his gaze and saw the youngest of Drew's brothers standing there, briskly rubbing his scalp and yawning. Just behind him was a petite figure. Champagne blonde hair swung past her waist in luxurious waves. Her eyes were an unusual shade of pale gold. She was wearing a dressing gown that swamped her figure, and she clutched at Alan's sleeve.

"Good morning, everyone. Has the snow stopped? Papa and Pere said something about getting an early start for Dorincort Place. They were right behind me, but stopped to speak to Drew about something. Thom was seeing about waking Cilla up. I don't think she's a morning person. Ariane was already getting dressed. Is breakfast ready? I'm starved. Bree's hungry, too!" He smiled sunnily at us, and reached for the girl's hand, drawing her forward. "This is Bree!"

"Well, Bree." Robin was the only one who didn't appear to be surprised by the sudden appearance of the girl in our midst. "Would you care to join us for breakfast?"

Alan led her to the table, and she sat down and offered a tentative smile. "Thank you," she said in a lightly accented voice. "I would like that very much."

Her eyes met mine. "Would you care for a piece of toast?" And I offered her the plate.

(13)

"Wolves mate once, and they mate for life." My brother, Drew, was the one who told me that when I was a randy teen, constantly beset by urges I wanted to explore. I worried about that, because I had no intention of remaining a virgin until the one I was waiting for finally decided to show up. Drew had ruffled my hair. "Have your fun, Robin. I know it sounds cliched, but when the right one comes along, you'll find you have no desire for anyone else."

The years passed, and I wondered if I'd ever find my mate. I took my degree and got a job in a prestigious firm in the City. Now here I was at the age of twenty-three, still playing the field, scoring with every blond or brunet who took my fancy. There were no strings. We had a good time, and then parted on the best of terms. Brunets were my current preference, until the day Drew brought home the Honorable St. John Ashford, the viscount's son. I found myself hard and aching every time the redhead was near. If Drew had wanted him, truly wanted him, I would have backed off, would have kept my hands to myself. But it turned out my older brother wanted someone totally different. I could see the start of it in Marconi's House of Oddities, when he became fascinated by the patterned skin and vertical-pupiled eyes of the snake boy, and I knew I'd have a clear path at the younger man.

I'd kissed St. John Ashford in my car, and I'd liked it. I'd liked the way he kissed me back even more. He'd been all over me, making these needy little whimpering sounds that drove me wild. I'd moved too fast, though, and he'd pulled out of my arms as if I'd threatened his virtue.

When I hauled St. John up to my bed later that evening, I anticipated nothing more than an enjoyable romp in the sack. We'd fuck each other senseless, enjoy ourselves, and eventually go on to a new lover.

I pleasured him orally, taught his arse to accept my cock, and had him twice more after that. The thought of anyone else having him, of St. John *allowing* anyone else to plunder that tight, narrow passage of his, returned and had me frowning, and it abruptly occurred to me that I'd finally found my mate. I nipped his shoulder sharply, needing to make sure he was aware who was making love to him. "Tell me that you love me, St. John!" I demanded. He pleaded to be allowed to come, thrashing his head on my pillow, his movements becoming frantic. He wanted, needed me deep inside him. "Tell me that you love me!"

His eyes snapped open, limpid green pools, and then he arched up, trying to take more of me into his no longer virgin arse. He yielded with a moaned, "I love you!"

"I knew it, Singe!" I growled in triumph. I fastened my lips to the spot on his throat beneath which blood beat heavily, and I began to suckle it. He was so lost in passion that he didn't realize I was marking him as mine. And when my semen poured into him, I claimed him as mine inside as well.

I fell asleep, for the first time emotionally content as well as physically sated.

****

My stomach was letting me know in no uncertain terms that it was unhappy I hadn't taken the time to fill it the night before. I should have eaten before I carried St. John off to bed.

I rolled over and groaned appreciatively as I stretched the kinks out of my body. What a bloody fantastic experience! "Come here, Singe." I reached for my lover.

He wasn't there, and I realized his side of the bed was not only empty, but cool as well. He had been gone for some time.

I sat up and swept my gaze over the room, and scowled. The clothing, which I had pulled from his body and thrown carelessly aside, was gone. Bugger. An uneasy feeling began to crawl up my spine. Surely if he'd only gone downstairs for some breakfast he'd have borrowed my dressing gown, which hung behind the bathroom door, and not gotten completely dressed?

I jumped out of bed, nearly tripping and falling on my face when my legs tangled in the covers. It took me two minutes flat to find and drag on a pair of jeans and a sweater.

Where had he gone? How could he leave? He'd admitted he loved me!

I started to become angry. If that wasn't just like the spoiled, pain in the arse viscount's son! When I got my hands on St. John Ashford, I intended to finally follow my brother's advice, yank down his trousers, and wallop his bare bum.

I didn't even bother with shoes and socks, just pelted down the stair as a sudden thought hit me: if I didn't find him, and soon, St. John could be out the door. The bleeding wanker! Did he really think that after last night I would let him walk out of my life?

The odor of frying sausages was coming from the back of the house. Mrs. Harris never came in this early. Papa and Pere refused to go near the stove, and none of my siblings could cook worth a damn. I knew from the night before that St. John knew his way around the kitchen. The single bite of omelet I'd been able to snatch had been delicious. That had to be him in there!

I was so relieved that he was still here that my anger escalated to nail-biting fury. I slapped the door open and stormed into the kitchen. And there he was, staring at me in surprise and... something else? "What in bloody hell do you think you're about, St. John?"

He turned his back on me. "Are you blind, Robert? I am making myself some breakfast. And... and then I shall return home."

"You know that's not what I'm talking about! Why did you leave my bed?" Hadn't I taken care not to hurt him? Hadn't I made sure his climax had been mind-blowing? What in bloody hell was wrong with the boy? I could feel the wolf in me begin emerging, something which rarely happened. St. John was mine, he belonged to me, and he was going nowhere! I approached him on bare, silent feet. He stood before the stove, desultorily moving the sausages from one side of the pan to the other.

"You had your fun." He avoided my eyes, the anger in his tone warring with... hurt? "You bug... fuck... had your bloody way with me! I should think you would be pleased to see the back of me."

I had to remember he'd been a virgin. "Ah, Singe." Virgins tended to be skittish. My gaze dropped down to his backside, and I strove for a little levity. "I loved seeing the back of you. You've got a very fine arse!" My eyes were fastened to the lovely curve of his buttocks, and I couldn't resist reaching out a palm to fondle them.

He started, and warm color crept up his cheeks. "That is not what I meant, and you quite know it, Robert Dorincort!" For just a second he leaned back into my touch. I slid my hands into his trouser pockets and traced the shape of his hardening cock. And then he stiffened. That was the only warning I had, and there was barely time to get my hands free before he whirled around to confront me. I made sure I was close enough for him to feel my arousal. He had to know how much I wanted him. "Oh!"

Singe's eyes were enormous as he stared into my face, and he licked his lips. I ran my tongue over my lips as well, wanting nothing so much as to catch him over my shoulder as I had the night before, take him back up the stairs, and make passionate love to him.

"Let me make this perfectly plain, St. John Ashford." My heart was pounding quick-time in my chest, and I was starting to pant. "I did not bugger you or fuck you. I made love to you! Couldn't you tell the difference? And if you hadn't sneaked out of my bed like a thief in the night, that's what we... " I tipped his chin up and dropped a kiss on his parted lips. "... would be... " I pressed a butterfly kiss to those tempting lips again. "... doing ... " I drew my mouth away, to run my tongue over his lips, taking little dips past them, then rubbed against them lightly. "... right ... " I groaned softly as his mouth softened under mine and responded. "... now!" Before I could deepen the teasing kisses, there was a slight cough behind me.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but those sausages are about to burn."

I spun around, shoving St. John behind me without thinking about it. How could I not have been aware that someone else had entered the kitchen? "Bloody hell! How long have you been there?"

It was Drew's snake boy, Da'ric. He glanced at the clock, then murmured, "About half an hour?"

And I hadn't seen him? "You might have said something!" I snapped, livid not only with him for surprising me, but also with myself for permitting myself to be so distracted.

"Anything in particular? You two were rather engrossed, you know. Sorry. I'll leave you to get your affair sorted out."

I clenched my fingers, wanting to close them around the patterned skin of his throat. If I'd been entertaining any thoughts of shoving St. John's trousers out of the way and having him over the breakfast table, Da'ric's appearance put paid to that. "If Drew hadn't decided he fancied you, I'd..." I was shocked to see claws emerge from his knuckles, and felt my hackles rise. My eyes hadn't deceived me in that cellar. This... creature was dangerous!

He was also very attractive, in an exotic kind of way. I could rather understand what Drew saw in him. As I had told him, I'd have been tempted to sample the delights of Da'ric's smooth-skinned body if my brother hadn't made his intentions so clearly known, to me at least. Well, that was unimportant, as it seemed I was no longer in the running for a brief fling, or indeed, any sort of fling.

"You'd what, Limey? If you weren't his brother, *I'd*..."

"Robert!" St. John dug his fingers into my hip to get my attention, and I jerked. "We have company!"

Alan was standing there, an unfamiliar young girl trying to hide behind him. "Good morning, everyone," he said as he tried to blink the sleep from his eyes. "Has the snow stopped? Papa and Pere said something about getting an early start for Dorincort Place. They were right behind me, but stopped to speak to Drew about something. Thom was seeing about waking Cilla up. I don't think she's a morning person. Ariane was already getting dressed. Is breakfast ready? I'm starved. Bree's hungry, too! This is Bree!" His smile was positively beaming.

"Well, Bree." I was pleased the young shapeshifter had finally been willing to change. It seemed Drew had been right, but then, he was the eldest, and usually was. "Would you care to join us for breakfast?"

"Thank you. I would like that very much." She sat down and tucked the skirts of the dressing gown primly around her knees.

"Would you care for a piece of toast?" Drew's snake boy handed her the plate. He looked up to catch me watching him, and he returned my gaze calmly.

He couldn't have known when Drew came up behind him and slid an arm over his shoulder. Drew had the silent movements of a predator; if I hadn't been looking, *I* mightn't have known he had joined us. Yet the snake boy did not exhibit any surprise; he simply leaned into my brother's embrace. I didn't think he would allow just anyone to touch him, and I wondered how he could have known that Drew was the one to touch him.

Drew looked from me to St. John, who was busying himself draining the sausages on some brown paper. I cursed the color I felt rising in my cheeks, but he simply said, "So St. John is the one who cooks so well? Maybe you should think of keeping him, Robin."

St. John threw the fork down so hard it actually bounced off the stove and onto the floor. "Oh, really? Well, I do not think so, Andrew Dorincort! I would not have your brother if... if..." His lower lip quivered, but then he firmed it and glowered at me. "If he was wrapped in gilt paper and tied with a silver ribbon!" He shoved his way past Drew, and the door swung shut.

I winked at Drew and picked up a sausage, neatly biting off the end. Drew raised an eyebrow. "Sounds as if he's heading for the front door, Robin."

The smile vanished from my face. "Bloody hell! St. John!" I started after him.

Drew touched my shoulder. "Is he the one, Robin?" I nodded, and he grinned his approval. "Then don't let him get away!" His arm went around the young man who stood beside him and tightened.

The front door was slamming shut as I bolted into the hall. Bloody hell, St. John could move fast when I didn't want him to! I ran out onto the walk, which was covered with melting snow, swearing as my bare toes came into contact with the cold, wet stuff. "Singe!" He dove into the black cab that had answered his hail, and he never looked back. I swore again and wheeled back inside, tearing through the hallway and hitting the stair on the run, taking them two and three at a time, and skidding on a throw rug that covered the smooth pine floor.

In my room, I dragged on a pair of socks and stuffed my feet into half boots. St. John'd be heading for home; he had to be heading for home. If he wasn't, I suddenly realized, I had no idea where he might go. I ran out of my room and down the stairs, yelling, "Drew!" I tugged on a jacket. My older brother appeared at the back of the house, Da'ric at his shoulder. "St. John's gone, and I don't have time to get my Jag; I'm taking the MG." Without a word, he tossed me the keys to his little sports car, and I was out the door.

####

As I entered the cab, I felt as if every nerve ending was exposed and screaming in protest. I told the cabbie where I wanted to go. He took one look at my face through his rearview mirror, then tramped on the pedal, and the little vehicle leaped forward. I gazed unseeing out the side window, and tried not to think.

The cabbie pulled up in front of the townhouse that had once belonged to a scion of the Duke of Wellington. Father had been inordinately pleased to have snapped up such a prize.

I paid him and got out, surprised to see a van parked in front of the house, and Willis and Brimley, Father's butler and valet, removing luggage from it. The family was home already? I did not think that was a good thing.

The house was still a trifle chill from having been unoccupied for a bit, and I shivered as I entered the large entryway. Perhaps I would be able to reach my room without drawing Father's attention to myself.

No such luck, of course. "*St. John*!" He stood in the doorway of his study, his expression so furious, his face so flushed I wondered if he would have an attack of apoplexy. I had no doubt the vacation in the little principality on the Mediterranean had proved unsuccessful.

"Good morning, Father. I... how was your trip?"

His color became even more vitriolic, and he stormed across the room to pour himself a brandy. He handed one to my brother Germaine, as well, and I hoped that he would forget he had summoned me. "We were turned down! He didn't even do me the courtesy of telling me to my face; he had his secretary do it! Thanked me for the offer and turned me down!" he snarled. "As if an Ashford was not suitable for his precious daughter! Not suitable, indeed! Her mother was an American actress! Why, Germaine could have his choice of any titled female in all of Europe! It is not as if he were you!" I was unable to prevent my reaction to that statement; I flinched, and his attention returned to me. His eyes narrowed, and he studied me intently. "Where have you been?"

For a moment I feared he would know what I had done the night before. I purposely kept my response vague. "The weather was rather inclement last night, Father. I stayed with friends."

"The Dorincorts?" My shoulders slumped, and he sneered. "They are no friends to the Ashfords, boy!" He reached for my chin and tilted my head sharply to the side. "What is this?"

"Oh, my word! St. John has a hickey!" Germaine's eyes glittered with cruel delight.

"A *what*?" Father thundered.

"A love bite, sir!"

Father turned to look in fond exasperation at his oldest son. "I am aware it is a love bite, Germaine, dear boy." His expression darkened as he turned to me once more. "What I would like to know is how it got on St. John's throat. And who put it there." He scarcely gave me a moment to answer. "Nothing to say, boy? Well, no real need. I imagine Errol Dorincort will not have much to say either when I tell him his oldest welp is a pederast!"

There was a pounding on the front door, but no one paid it any heed, knowing Willis would answer it.

"Andrew Dorincort did not touch me, has never shown the least interest in touching me," I managed to say through dry lips.

"Then who, you miserable bent get?" he shouted. "Who buggered you?" I didn't see the blow coming, although I should have expected it. I staggered backward and tripped over a valise that had been left in the middle of the Oriental rug. I stared up at him in shock; he had never stuck me before. He wound his fingers in my collar and half pulled me up to my knees, then yanked it away from my neck. "Who marked you in this manner?" He raised his hand to strike me again. I closed my eyes and waited, but this time the blow didn't fall. Instead, there was a low, deep-throated growl, and Father gasped in pain. My eyes flew open.

Standing with my father's wrist in a bone-shattering grip was Robert Dorincort. "Robert?" I whispered, stunned to find him there.

The look he turned on Father was almost savage. "St. John is *mine*, Lord Ashford. Hurt him again..."

Father tried to jerk his hand free, and I could see Robert's grip tighten even more. "I have heard tales of you, you sodomite!" Father spat. "I will have you brought before the High Court!" He threw me away from him, and Robert released Father's hand.

"And you will declare before a magistrate that I, *your son*, had consensual sexual congress with another man?" He glared at me, and I knew how he hated the words 'your son'. His fingers clenched impotently as he tried to restore the blood flow to his abused hand, but he remained silent. I shook my head in defeat. "No, I did not think so."

"Get out of my house, you catamite!" He took a step toward me. Robert stiffened, as if about to attack, and Father appeared to think better of it. He glowered at him. And me. "You are no longer welcome here, St. John!"

"Was I ever welcome here?"

"Take your things and get out!"

Wearily, I climbed to my feet and walked out of the room. Behind me I heard Robert say something, but I was too distressed to try to distinguish his words. I climbed the stairs to my room.

Under my bed was the suitcase I had used when I went away to school. I knelt down to retrieve it, and winced as blood seemed to rush to the bruise on my cheek. It throbbed with each beat of my heart.

I swung the suitcase onto the bed and opened it, then went to the dresser and took a small cedar box from the back of the bottom drawer. Once that was safely stowed away, I began to pack my clothes. By the time I was finished, there wasn't room for much else.

I went to my bookcase and chewed on my lower lip. All I could take with me were just a tattered, well-loved copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales, and a hardcover edition of The Three Musketeers that had belonged to Uncle James, and which he had given me when I was thirteen.

In a corner of the bookshelf was my Paddington Bear. I ran gentle fingers over the shapeless red hat, and the worn nap of his brown fur. Father had never approved of that gift from Mama, but he so seldom came into my room that when he ordered me to throw it away, he just assumed I had obeyed him. Paddington was coming with me, no matter what anyone thought. I hugged him to me, then tucked him into a corner of the suitcase and snapped it shut.

I glanced one final time around the room, taking in the record albums stacked neatly by the small stereo, and the prizes I had taken when I had shown my Welsh pony. I walked out of the room, closed the door, and went down the stairs, to find Robert waiting there. I came to an abrupt halt.

"Is that all you're bringing?" He gestured toward my suitcase.

I did not want him to know how frightened I was. I had a useless degree, very little money, and in spite of what I had told my father, no friends. I shrugged. "It contains all I have need of for the immediate future." Let him think I would be returning for what was left behind, although I had no doubt that it would all wind up in the trash.

"Wait in the car," he ordered. I obeyed simply because I was in such shock I had not had time to think where I should go.

His Jaguar was not at the curb, and I stood there, not sure what to do. Within a few minutes, Robert exited the house. He saw my confusion and smiled rather grimly.

"You didn't give me much time to go 'round for the Jag. I had to borrow Drew's MG." He took the suitcase and placed it in the tight space behind the passenger's seat. "Get in, Singe."

I had been in that car only the day before, only Andrew had been driving then. He had come to pick me up for brunch before that ill-fated outing to the House of Oddities, where apparently he had found the person he was looking for, who was obviously not me. I leaned my head back against the headrest. "Where are you taking me?"

"Home." His home, I had none.

"That is not necessary, Robert. You may let me off anywhere. I shall be fine, I assure you."

"It is necessary, St. John. Don't you get it? You're mine."

"Your whore, you mean?" After all, what else was I good for?

He had stopped for a light, and turned his head to glare at me. I could not maintain that look.

"For how long?" A few days? A few weeks? Robert was speaking, but I paid him no heed. Perhaps I should take him up on his offer. He seemed to enjoy fucking me. If he wanted my body, I could barter that in exchange for the time it would take for me to decide what I should do. I thought fleetingly of the Thames, then dismissed it. I would not give Father the satisfaction.

We arrived at Robert's house more quickly than I had anticipated. He got out of the little car and grabbed my suitcase. I stepped out of the car, and his palm was warm against my back, even through the coat I wore.

Robert opened the door. "Remind me to get you a key," he murmured, then raised his voice to shout, "We're back!" He ushered me into the sitting room, and I chose a chair and sat down. In a matter of moments, the rest of his family joined us.

His grandfathers frowned when they saw me, and I kept my face blank with an effort. Why was Robert doing this to me? I waited for them to start tearing into me, as Father would have.

And then Mr. Sayer said, "That's a nasty looking bruise. I'll get some ice."

And Mr. Fortescue-Smythe said, "Shall I fetch my horsewhip, Robin? Whoever did that to the boy deserves to be flogged!"

And one by one, his brothers came up to me and shook my hand. I tried to keep my jaw from gaping in bewilderment. Andrew was the last. "Welcome to the family, St. John." He smiled warmly as he spoke. "I can see you have no idea what's happening, but welcome. Papa, give Robin the icepack. He can take care of St. John. And let him know what he's in for. Robin," he hugged his brother, then stepped back and gave him a friendly slap on the back. "You'd better get this sorted out, the sooner the better. All right, you lot! You need to be off if you're to get to Dorincort Place any time today!"

Just like that, Robert and I were left alone. He knelt before the chair and gently held the ice to the swelling on my cheek, frowning when I couldn't prevent a flinch. "I'm sorry, Singe. That must hurt like the very devil! Has he done that to you before?"

"Struck me? No. He never... " I bit my lip. How could I confess to someone who had known nothing but love from his family that my own father did not even have much use for me? "You have to understand; Father has been under a deal of pressure. He hoped to secure a plum bride for my brother, but that fell through." I tried to look away, but Robert turned my face back toward him.

"Ah, love... "

"*Love*?" That was the first time he had ever called me anything but my name, and I could feel a tide of warmth rise from my lower body to my hairline. I became annoyed with myself. Did I want to be loved so badly that the use of an endearment would cause me to melt?

"Of course." Robert ran his hand through my hair and brought a lock to his cheek, then rubbed it over his lips.

"There is no 'of course' about it!"

"St. John, I told you that I loved you." His tone was so patient I wanted to smack him.

"I beg your pardon? When might that have been?" I yanked my hair out of his grip. "Ouch!"

He had the gall to look perplexed. "Why, after that last time we made love. You told me you loved me, and I said... " Robert paused, searching his mind.

"You said, and I quote, 'I *knew* it, Singe!'"

"And then I said... "

"What do you mean, 'And then you said?'" I interrupted. "And then you fell asleep!"

"Bugger! I didn't tell you I loved you?" I stared at him, affronted. "Well, *bugger*!"

"You are starting to repeat yourself, Robert!"

"Ah, baby, I'm sorry." He pulled me off the chair and into his arms. I was pressed against his firm, hard-muscled body, and he tried to kiss me.

I managed to avoid his lips. "Oh, no," I huffed. "Do not think that you can call me pretty names and kiss me into idiocy, and I will just roll over for you!"

Robert hummed softly and licked the side of my neck, nipping the skin just below my jaw. I moaned, and a breath bathed the spot in response to it. "Will you really, green eyes?" His penis was hard against mine, and I moaned again and sought his mouth.

He said he loved me, but I did not believe him. If my own family could not love me, how could he? But I knew he wanted me, and that would have to be enough.

Robert stood, drawing me up with him. He raised my hand to his mouth, his tongue probing the spaces between my fingers, and I shivered. "Come on, St. John. Let's get you settled in."

(14)

Chapter 14 Note: The song Ariane was singing was, of course, Afternoon Delight, by The Starlight Vocal Band, which hit # 1 in the States in the summer of '76. This is from Da"s POV.

The Dorincorts bantered over St. John Ashford, and I wondered that they didn't see his hurt. He erupted in a display of emotion that I could tell from the others' reactions was unusual for him. "I would not have your brother," he snapped at Drew, "if... if... if he was wrapped in gilt paper and tied with a silver ribbon!" He stormed out of the room.

Drew appeared to be listening to something only he could hear, and then he said, "Sounds as if he's heading for the front door, Robin."

"Bloody hell!" Robin actually appeared alarmed. Perhaps he really cared for the younger man. "St. John!"

"Is he the one, Robin?" Drew examined his brother's pale face, and accepted his abrupt nod as confirmation of... whatever. "Then don't let him get away!"

Robin Dorincort bolted out of the kitchen, chasing after St. John.

I couldn't take my eyes off my lover. He stood there, a satisfied smile on his face. I had told my friend Den on the phone that he was drop dead gorgeous, with thick, soft, blue-black hair that felt like silk on my body, and velvet dark eyes that seemed willing to devour me.

But this was moving fast. I'd never had a reaction like that to anyone, not even Den, and I was determined to be at least a little cautious.

Drew pulled me to him, his eyes hot, and all thoughts of caution disappeared. I wanted to rub myself against the hard cock I could feel nudging my abdomen, and nuzzle the rough stubble of his morning beard. I completely forgot we had an audience, and that it wouldn't do for his family to see how aroused he had me, so early in the morning.

"Drew!" Robin's shout echoed through the first floor of the house. "St. John's gone, and I don't have time to get my Jag; I'm taking the MG."

Drew took the keys from a hook on the wall. As if on a lead, I followed him into the hallway, observing as he threw them to his brother. The door slammed shut behind Robin. "Well." Drew ran his hand up my arm to my shoulder. "Let's go have some breakfast, shall we?"

His palm was warm on my shoulder, and I was hungry for something other than food. But I put that aside for the time being and went with him back into the kitchen. He came to a halt when he saw his family simply standing around, waiting expectantly. "So why isn't anyone cooking?"

"Crisis is over, Drew. It's your turn!" There was muffled laughter, and they all tried to look innocent.

Mr. Sayer handed me a mug of strong tea heavily sweetened with honey. "For your throat, young man. I noticed last night you seemed a trifle hoarse."

"Thank you, sir." I relished the warmth of the tea and the smoothness of the honey sliding down my throat, while I watched my lover's interaction with his family.

And I missed my family.

Drew glanced at me, his gaze sympathetic, and then he turned back to his siblings. His eyebrow rose until it seemed to be reaching for the hair that spilled over his forehead, but his family knew him too well to take his frown seriously; they just went about setting the table, and handed him the eggs. He prepared to crack the first egg into the frying pan.

"Whoa, hold on a second! Where're the bowls?"

"Oh, don't need a bowl, Yank." Briskly, competently, he tapped the egg against the edge of the frying pan. Unfortunately, that was the last evidence of competence he exhibited. His tap was just a tad too brisk for the fragile brown shell to survive, and it shattered into the pan, mingling bits of shell with the broken yolk. He swore and scowled at it.

"Well, this is interesting." With an effort, I hid how entertained I was. "Why don't you get me a bowl now, Drew?" I cleaned the mess out of the frying pan, scraping it into the trash. There had been too much grease in there anyway. Then I put it back on the burner with some butter, waiting until it melted, so the eggs wouldn't stick. I cracked the eggs into the bowl that Drew handed me, making sure none of them had gone bad, and carefully poured them into the skillet. They sizzled as the translucent whites turned opaque. "How do you like 'em, Brit? Sunny side up? Over easy? I don't do scrambled. Scrambled's for people who can't break an egg properly," I teased softly, for his ears only.

"I like them up and runny." Drew toasted some bread, then came over to lounge against the counter next to me.

There was a chorus of, 'Oh, yucks!' from the younger members of his family. The two older gentlemen simply chuckled, amused at what was obviously a running joke. What a very comfortable family this was.

I turned my attention back to the stove. "How runny?" The eggs were setting nicely.

He peered into the frying pan. "Another couple of seconds should do it." Now he was watching me expectantly.

"Fine by me," I shrugged and slid the eggs onto the plate he held out.

"This doesn't repulse you?" He dipped his toast into the very liquid yolk, which had barely had a chance to warm, and offered it to me.

Without taking it from him, I leaned forward and bit off a corner. "Should it?" His expression became disgruntled, and I had to laugh out loud. When I had still been the tadpole that my fathers liked to call me, Dad had taught me the way to eat an egg. It had to be partially swallowed. Once in the throat, the shell was crushed, but not broken, by the rhythmic rippling of throat muscles. Then the yolk and white could slide down, and the collapsed shell could be spat out whole. My grandparents had turned green the first time they had seen me do it. Drew wasn't looking too enthused, either. I stopped laughing, but couldn't smother the grin. "No, Brit. Nothing you do could repulse me."

He became very serious. "That's a sweeping statement, Da'. You really don't know much about me."

"I know that somehow you kept the nightmares at bay," I said matter-of-factly as I poured more eggs into the pan, deciding I might as well cook breakfast for everyone. "I know you held me while I grieved for my fathers, and you held me while I rejoiced they were alive. What more do I need to know?"

He poured us both another cup of tea. "That's just it, Da'ric. There is something else I have to tell you."

"Tell him later, Drew. *After* he's fed us! You don't want to scare him off!" There hadn't been time the night before for me to be introduced to the rest of Drew's siblings. Which brother was this?

"Thom," Drew said quietly. He nodded toward the young man who was handing a pretty, young woman a plate with the eggs done over well, and I smiled my thanks. "That's Cilla, his fiancee, with him. Ariane. Alan. You know Bree. Papa and Pere."

"Mr. Sayer and Mr. Fortescue-Smythe." Mr. Sayer had told me the night before.

"Papa and Pere," Drew insisted, startling me.

"But surely they won't want me to call them that." I was just a guest in this house. Drew frowned at me, but before he could say anything, the gentleman with the eye patch did.

"Do you have some objection to that, young man?" Mr. Fortescue-Smythe asked with interest.

"Well, no, of course not, sir. But I'm not a member of your family." That was greeted with a hoot of laughter. "Drew? Am I missing something?"

"Couple of things, actually, Yank." His hand was fondling my shoulder again. Why had I never realized my shoulder could be such an erogenous zone? I made myself listen to what he was saying. "You rescued my sister."

"If I hadn't been there, I'm quite sure Ariane would have rescued herself; she seems a very resourceful young girl."

Drew made a rude sound, showing what he thought of a sister who placed herself into a situation that required that resourcefulness. Then he continued, "You kept Bryanna safe." Well, yeah, I had to concede that one. //And...//

"And? Wait a minute, that's more than 'a couple of things.'"

Somehow, I could feel the warmth of his amusement, as if it was caressing my mind. //And you weren't afraid of the wolf.//

I brushed that aside. Why should I fear the beast who had freed me?

//You let the wolf make love to you.//

I shivered as I recalled the feel of the wolf sliding into my ephemeral body in my sleep. //All he did was...// I knew I was blushing. //That was just a dream!// It suddenly dawned on me that this conversation was no longer verbal, and my mouth dropped open. I could do that with my fathers, but I didn't think I would ever meet anyone else that I could communicate with in that manner.

"Guess you have now, Yank. As I said, you're part of the family!" I was stunned. My gaze went from one to the other of the people in the kitchen, and they all nodded agreement, then turned back to their meal. My lover grinned into my startled eyes. "Besides, you can cook!"

Before I could come up with a biting retort, Thom spoke up. "So, what's the buzz on St. John, Drew?"

"He can cook, too," I muttered, and Drew winked at me.

"It appears that he is part of the family, too."

"Bloody hell, Drew! St. John Ashford?"

Drew shrugged. "Robin wants him."

"Robin wants...? Drew, *you* were dating St. John!"

I stared at Drew in surprise. He was? So that was what the young man meant when he said he wouldn't stand in the way.

"Thom, I was dating Cilla also."

Well... well, *damn*! Was Drew dating everyone in the free world?

His lips curled into a cheeky grin. "They all want me!" he murmured innocently, flirting his lashes. Then he turned back to his brother, serious once more. "Robin told me that St. John is the one."

"His mate?" Thom looked astounded. "But... the bloody viscount's bloody son?"

"The mind boggles!" Alan finally found his tongue to say.

"Thomas, Alan." Mr. Fortescue-Smythe, Pere, regarded them steadily. "If you refuse to acknowledge St. John, Robin will be very hurt. Don't make him have to choose between his mate and you; I have the feeling you will not win." His good eye roved over his grandchildren, and he waited until they all acquiesced, however reluctantly.

I worried my lower lip. From what I was able to gather, Drew had gone from Cilla to St. John, and now to me, in a very short period of time. I didn't have any experience with dating. Den and I had just sort of fallen into our relationship, but I had never been courted, nor had I courted anyone. I was uncertain how to react. "Ow!" I bit my lip too hard.

"Da'?"

"What?" My tone was surly, but I couldn't help it. I'd never been jealous before, either, and I didn't like it. I clenched my fist fitfully, and the claws emerged and retracted.

His fingers were on my chin, and I had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Cilla is perfect for Thom. St. John is who Robin wants. There was never a possibility that I would have either one of them. Don't you understand?"

"Understand what?" I shifted uneasily.

//I was waiting for you, Yank!//

And what could I say to that? It was the perfect answer to a question I hadn't even realized I had asked.

****

Once breakfast was done, the dishes were stacked in the sink, and everyone went back to their rooms to finish getting dressed and ready to leave.

"I'm going to take you shopping, Yank. You need some properly fitted clothes." Drew examined my feet, which were encased in the knitted tube things he had given me the night before, and he grinned. "I think I'd better search my brothers' cupboards to see if I can find you some footwear suitable for going outdoors. Nothing of mine will fit you."

"I'll be right along, Brit. I don't feel comfortable leaving all this for your Mrs. Harris." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth. I kept my mind blank with an effort. "My grandmother has a cook who tends to go ballistic if we leave a mess in her kitchen."

He stroked the curve of my ass and teased my lips with light kisses. "Sure I can't talk you into coming upstairs with me right now, Da'? Mrs. Harris really won't be too cross if you leave the dishes for her." I wanted him, but... I shook my head, and he sighed. With a last squeeze of my butt, he turned to climb the stairs. He looked over his shoulder with a smile, but when he saw my eyes riveted to the movement of his ass under the corduroy of his trousers, he came back to me. This time his kiss was hard, a brand of ownership, and it was all I could do to keep my resolve to put my plan of action into effect. With a needy groan he released me, and ran up the stairs to his bedroom.

As soon as he was out of sight, instead of going back into the kitchen, I went to the phone in the hallway and picked up the directory that was on a shelf under it. I sent a cautious glance to the sunlit hallway of the floor above, making sure it was deserted, then began searching for the listing for the Battered Cruiser, a pub I recalled hearing Titch mention. A number of Marconi's people hung out there, scoring drugs as well as downing shooters. It took several tries, but I finally found the correct one, located down by the London docks. There was a pad and pencil by the phone for jotting down messages, and I scribbled the address on the paper with Marconi's home phone and quickly replaced the book.

I began making a mental list of what I would require to bait my trap. A pea jacket, if I could find one in battered enough condition, with the smell of the sea clinging to it. Bell-bottoms were still in fashion; the problem would be to find trousers with a buttoned plaquet, like sailors wore. The hardest things were the doubloons and pieces of eight. I'd need a leather pouch of them, as many as I could afford, and I'd need them as authentic as possible.

I went back into the kitchen. The mindless repetition of washing dishes was relaxing, and the tension that had threatened me with a headache seeped out of the base of my skull.

A shout from the front hall interrupted my reverie. "We're back!" Robin Dorincort's voice announced his return with St. John Ashford.

I watched from the kitchen doorway as Drew's brother urged St. John into the sitting room. I was intrigued to see that he carried a suitcase. The rest of the family filed in to hear what Robin had to say, and eventually to welcome his choice into the family.

Before too long they all exited, except for Robin and St. John. Drew came to where I stood. "I hope Robin gets that straightened out soon. I have the feeling St. John thinks he's just a diversion."

"And he isn't?"

"Da'," he said patiently, "Dorincorts mate for life. St. John belongs to Robin." //Just as you belong to me.//

Dumbfounded, I had no response to that last bit that seemed to bury itself in my mind as I had a fleeting image of his cock burying itself in my body. I would have reached for him, but just then Ariane came running down the stairs and skidded to a halt before her oldest brother, and I was spared the necessity of answering. "What did I miss?"

Drew smiled down at her. "St. John is part of the family now." She made a moue of dismay. "Behave, brat." He tugged a lock of her fair hair.

She sighed dramatically. "Very well. But if he calls me 'Anne,' I shall kick him in the..." she peeked at her brother through her lashes and amended what she had been about to say, "... in the shins!"

"I think you'll be better off letting Robin handle him, peanut. Now, do you have everything packed? Papa said something about getting started within the quarter hour."

"Yes. Cilla helped. I like her, Drew. Thom said he's bringing her down to stay with us for a few days. I'm glad we're keeping her."

"And I'm sure in a little while you'll feel the same way about St. John as well." Drew checked his wristwatch.

"Perhaps." Ariane gave me a saucy grin. "I'm glad we're keeping Da', too!" She bounced up the stairs, singing softly, "'Gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight, gonna grab some afternoon delight. My motto's always been, 'when it's right, it's right'...' I'll just be half a tick, Pere," she said as she passed her grandfather, who was carrying two suitcases.

"Here, let me help you with those, Pere." Drew reached for the cases.

"Drew, was your little sister just singing about *shagging*?" His tone of voice was shocked, but his eye was twinkling.

Drew gave a shout of laughter. "She's a minx, isn't she? And where did you hear that expression, Pere?"

"Are you insinuating that I might possibly be behind the times, my boy?" He glanced back up the stairs. "And if you tell Papa you heard me using it, I shall..." A wicked smile crossed his face. "I shall show Da' that picture of you on the fur rug."

"Not that!" he beseeched, chuckling. "Very well, my lips are sealed, Pere! I'm going to bring 'round the Land Rover. Don't tell Da' all my secrets."

"No," Pere mused. "That's for *you* to tell him."

****

Robin and St. John were in locked in Robin's bedroom, but otherwise we were alone in the townhouse.

"Here, Da'." Drew displayed a pair of sunglasses. He slid them up onto my face, settling the earpieces over my ears, which he fondled for a moment. "I wish you didn't need to wear these. I love your eyes!"

I had been resigned for years to the need to keep my eyes hidden whenever I went out in public, but no one, not even Den, had told me he liked my eyes. Of course my family, especially my Gram, had said I had beautiful eyes, but they loved me; that was their job. "Really?"

"I've never seen eyes that color, that beautiful burnished gold that's the color of old coins." He threaded his fingers in my hair, letting the strands sift through them. "And the way your pupils expand and contract in response to what I'm saying." He ran the tip of his index finger over the curve of my upper lip. "Right now I can see how much my words alone are arousing you!"

Was this what it felt like to be wooed? "Kiss me!"

His breath sighed across my lips, but then he stepped back. "If we don't leave right now, I'm going to take you to bed and keep you there for a week!" I moaned, but didn't press the issue. The only thing that gave me any consolation was the fact that Drew looked as turned on as I felt. "I found these for you as well." He picked up a pair of sneakers. "They're Alan's! He's only fifteen, but would you believe he has the largest feet of us all?"

"Lucky for me." I tried to push that almost kiss out of my mind and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'd freeze my toes off otherwise."

"Well, put 'em on and let's get hopping. You'd better wear a jacket of mine. It might be a trifle large on you, but I think it should fit you better than anything of Robin's." That wasn't the only reason why he wanted me to wear something of his. I could read it in the way he eyed my body, lazily, contemplatively.

"I... I really appreciate you lending me the money to get some clothes that fit, Drew." I was trying to conceal the almost desperate need that had risen in me. "My grandmother would send the clothes she keeps for me in California, but they wouldn't be nearly warm enough for winter in London." I gazed up at him, and caught him regarding me in turn.

"Your grandmother has your clothes in California? Is that where you live?"

"Only during the academic year. Otherwise I live with my fathers in this little spot near the headwaters of the Amazon." I thought about the Black Lagoon, and sighed. "It's the most beautiful place on Earth!" Briskly, I worked my feet into the sneakers.

"So what do you wear at home?"

"In the Black Lagoon? Usually nothing." I stood up and walked across the room, wincing as, in spite of their size, the sneakers pinched my toes. "Drew? Is something wrong?"

"You're wicked, do you know that, Da'ric? You tell me something like that..." He shook his head and began to laugh. "Let's go, or we'll never get out of here!" And he led me down the stairs.

****

Drew handed me his jacket, and I slid my arms into the sleeves. It was large through the shoulders and torso, but apparently we had the same reach, because the sleeves fit well.

We took the MG, which Robin had left parked in front of the townhouse, and Drew drove first to his bootmaker, where my feet were measured, and we were assured I would have shoes that fit my unusual requirements within a couple of days. Then he took me to Harrods.

"No, stop!" I protested. He had already bought me three bags of jeans and casual tops, and now he placed another pile of trousers and shirts, these dressier, in my arms. "I won't be here long enough to wear all of these!"

He turned pale. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm... I'll come back, of course, to visit, if you'd like, but Drew, I'm only going to be here until my grandparents can get a copy of my passport to me. I have to go home."

"Yes? And what about your revenge?"

I nearly choked. "What?"

"Don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about, Da'ric. Someone hurt you, hurt your fathers. You're going to make them pay."

"Drew..." Was he going to try to stop me? I swore when I realized my thoughts were leaking out, and he was reading me as clearly as a book.

"I have no intention of getting in your way, Da'." He took the armful of clothes from me, brought them to a counter, and laid them down. "Didn't I make that clear yesterday?" Jesus god, was it only yesterday that we met? "But I know you plan to do something. You need to be gotten up to look like a merchant sailor. You need eighteenth century Spanish coins. I can help you get whatever you need! And when you're done, *then* we can decide if you'll be leaving." //But don't count on it!//

I was stunned into silence. I didn't want him involved. The men I'd be dealing with were dangerous in the extreme. If anything happened to Drew, I wasn't sure how I'd be able to live with myself.

"Yank." His tone was caressing. He pulled out his wallet and handed the bills to the woman behind the cash register. "I can take care of myself, better than you can imagine. I can take care of you, Da', if you'll let me. Now let me take you to tea, and I'll tell you my secrets."

(15)

Chapter 15 Note: m/f mentioned here. Solicitors handle the cases in the lower courts, barristers in the higher ones, where, say, murder trials would be conducted. Rohypnol is the date rape drug, also known as roofies. Rat-arsed is very drunk. Accion del jefe, hombre= boss action, man. This is Callisto Marconi's POV.

"Boss."

The woman under me went still, but I kept fucking her.

"Boss?"

Close. I was so close! Just a few more strokes...

"*Boss!*"

"Fongule! You don't want to live anymore, Gino?" I pulled out of the woman and rolled over, taking the sheet with me and leaving her exposed to my henchman's gaze. She scrabbled for a handhold on the sheet. I scowled at her, but let her have a corner to drape over her crotch.

"Sorry, Boss. You got a phone call."

I froze and regarded him with wary eyes. "Who?" I demanded. The last time he had interrupted me, the call had been from someone who had the gall to threaten me. 'I'm not drugged any more, Marconi,' the hoarse voice on the other end of the line had said. 'And I'll be coming after you.' I licked my lips.

"Uh... it ain't *him*, Boss."

I spat out another curse, even more vile than the one that had preceded it, and Gino turned pale. I shoved the woman out of bed, and she landed on her arse, her legs splayed, giving Gino an eyeful, if he cared to look. He didn't look. He knew better. The last fool who had tried that left my employ, clutching the place where his balls had been.

"Fucking bitch whore! Get the fuck out of here!" She threw a scared look my way, and scurried into the adjoining bath, trying to shield her nakedness. I extended my hand, and Gino tentatively dropped the cordless phone into it.

"Pronto."

"Mr. Marconi?"

"Si."

"Good morning, sir. This is George Halliday, of..."

"So?" Who the fuck was George Halliday, and why did he think I'd care? "Listen, you ... I give you two seconds to explain why you call me so early, and then I fucking hang up on you."

He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his tone was frigid. "I am Senior Claims Adjuster with Regal Insurance."

The insurance company that held the policy on my House of Oddities. I became more cautious. "Ah. Mr. Halliday. So sorry, I did not recognize your name." I cleared my throat and smoothed out the gutter accent that tended to become noticeable when I became irritated. "I am not at my best this hour of the morning." I tried to sound conciliatory. It would be in my own best interest not to piss this man off.

"Really? How sad for you." His voice was still cold, and I gritted my teeth. "I have called to inform you that your claim is being held up pending the completion of the investigation into the fire that destroyed your building! I'm so sorry." But I could tell he wasn't, the fucking mook. "Good day to you, Mr. ... er... Macaroni." The cocksucker hung up on me, not even giving me a chance to press for details. And then I realized he'd got my name wrong, as well, and I flung the phone across the room. It shattered against the wall, and I bared my teeth, gratified by the destruction I had caused.

Gino ducked, then tried to pretend he hadn't. "Uh... trouble, Boss?"

I glared at him. "Go tell Angelina I want my breakfast." Shit! Shit! Shit! I ran my hands through my hair.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Burn down the House of Oddities. That would conceal all the irregularities with the books, the fact that it had been losing me money hand over fist. My partners would never know. I'd collect the insurance money, and get out of the hole that had been sucking me deeper and deeper.

I got out of bed and went into the bathroom. The woman was still in there. I had forgotten all about the cunt. Hastily she started pulling her clothes on. I observed the bite marks and bruises I had placed on her body with savage satisfaction.

She watched me from the corner of her eyes. I went to the toilet and took my dick in my hand, then started to piss. She ran out, and I heard the bedroom door slam shut. I laughed. Fucking whore.

I flushed and washed my hands. I considered the events of Boxing Day. I trusted Titch and Simmons about as far as I could throw the motherfuckers. Gino had gone to the House of Oddities to pick up the day's take. He'd found the two bodies in the cellar, and had called me. I'd beaten it into him that he wasn't ever to act on his own. Ever.

Titch and Simmons weren't the smartest men I employed; their drawbacks sometimes outweighed their assets. Titch had a weakness for little girls, and this last time I'd had to get him out of London for number of weeks, until the problem had been dealt with. Simmons liked to dose his dates with rohypnol, and I'd had to bail him out of trouble more times than I liked to think. But still, they'd had their uses, although at the moment I'd be fucked if I could think of one.

How the fuck had they wound up dead? I shuddered as I remembered the look of absolute terror on Titch's face. Next to him was the body of the yellow Burmese python I'd bought on a whim years ago, when I'd made my first big score. It matched the tattoo I'd gotten that coiled on my back. I'd lost interest in the snake fairly soon, but I never got rid of anything I owned. And it eventually proved to be a decent enough attraction in the House of Oddities.

I thought of how Simmons had lain on the cement floor, his chest ripped open, his heart stuffed obscenely in his mouth. There hadn't been as much blood as I would have expected from such vicious wounds.

Maybe I should have called in the pigs, the cops, to investigate. After all, I hadn't been there, but my solicitor convinced me it would be best to play least in sight. And my barrister had heartily agreed. "Cally, they do not like you. Your men have been bringing you to their notice too much for my liking. So far you've been able to avoid being brought up on any kind of charges, but they're watching you, my friend, and so is Mr. Shaw." Shaw, the man who ran all the illegal enterprises in the British Isles. I shivered. If I could ever be afraid of anyone, it would be Mr. Shaw.

And if the insurance investigators started asking questions, someone was sure to spill the beans about the snake boy. They might even learn about the young wolf. I'd taken one look at its thick, luxurious fur, and decided I'd have it for my own. The beast was still small, but another six months or a year, and the coat would be prime for skinning. I wanted it, and I had my men out looking for it. I knew they'd find it.

If it ever came out they'd been brought into this country illegally, I stood a good chance of being deported. I started to swear, first in English, then in Italian, and finally in Greek, my grandmother's language. Where the fuck had that fucking snake boy disappeared to?

This was all Juan Zolo's fault. If he hadn't brought me that freak, I wouldn't be in this bind. He was back in town; he'd called me the other night to get together for dinner and drinks, and no doubt try to show me more pictures of that puttana, that whore, he called his fiancee. I'd put him off with some flimsy excuse. A thought occurred to me, and I began to smile. Now might be a good time to get together with my old mate.

"Gino!"

He came in. "Yeah, Boss?"

I suddenly realized I was naked. "Goddamn it, gimme a minute to put some goddamned clothes on!"

"Sorry, Boss." He stood there with his eyes closed. Fucking moron!

My eyes dropped down his body. Fucking moron, with a really nice dick! I could see the outline of his dick as it lay snug behind the fabric of his jeans.

Fuck! Only fags thought like that. I grabbed the sheet, wrapped it around my waist, and scowled at him.

"Jesus, Gino, you're an arse! Okay, you can open your eyes now. Now, you said you wanted to be my lieutenant."

His eyes lit up. "Yeah!" It was like a prayer.

"What will you do to become my lieutenant?"

"I don't understand, Boss. Whatever you say, I'll do."

"So if I tell you to kill someone for me, you will?"

If he had looked scared, I would have forgotten the whole idea. Or I would have gotten someone else to do it. Fuck, I would have done it myself. Instead, "Who, Boss?"

"Zolo. I want his fucking head blown off."

"Okay."

My dick jumped. Murder and mayhem. What a satisfying combination! "Get me the phone."

Gino went over to where the cordless phone lay on the floor in tiny pieces, and I sighed. The man had more looks than brains. If he hadn't been family, my sister's husband's cousin's son, I never would have taken him on.

"Get me a phone that works, Gino."

"Oh, right, Boss. Sure thing."

I shook my head and started having second thoughts about having him whack the Colombian. He brought me another phone, and I dialed the number Zolo had given me. It rang so many times that I was sure he must have gone out. Just before I was ready to hang up, a sleepy voice answered the phone. "Hola."

"Juan? Johnny, is that you?"

"Yeah. Who... Cally? Hey, hombre, how they shaking?" I heard him strike a match. No doubt he was still smoking those foul-smelling cigarillos of his. "You going to meet me for dinner finally?"

"Sure, Johnny. Your choice, you name it. And how about stopping by the Battered Cruiser first? We can have a couple of pints, and then go to dinner."

"It's going to be accion del jefe, hombre. See you around six?"

"Sounds good, amigo. Ciao."

"Hasta la vista, man."

Arsehole. I looked at Gino. "You come down there with me. He'll expect me to have a bodyguard." Zolo didn't have much of a head for alcohol. I'd fill him full of warm, British beer and get him shit-faced. Then I'd come up with some excuse to leave and let Gino deal with him after I was safely away.

"Okay, Boss. I'll go see if Angelina's got breakfast ready yet." He left, and remembered to shut the door behind him.

Angelina was slower than molasses in January, but she was a pretty good cook, which was why I didn't get rid of her. I'd take a shower, and by the time I was finished, maybe my breakfast would be ready. If it wasn't, maybe I would fire her arse. Maybe I'd even fuck it. I was getting tired of people who didn't do as I said, when I said.

I went back into the bathroom and turned on the water, testing it against my wrist to make sure the temperature was just right, then got under the spray. My dick was hard again, reminding me that the bitch who'd been in my bed hadn't gotten me off. Next time I'd fuck her arse. I liked that better anyway. I wasn't a fag; I just liked arses better than cunts. The only reason why I hadn't done it that way this time was because I... I wanted a little variation, was all. But she must have fucked the entire Royal Navy, her cunt was so loose. Gino coulda got his dick in there with mine, and there woulda been room to spare for our balls as well. I closed my eyes and stroked my dick, thinking what it would feel like if Gino's dick was rubbing against mine as we fucked the bitch.

What the fuck? Only fags thought like that!

I grabbed the backbrush and scrubbed it over my body hard. I washed her smell off me, then I concentrated on my dick. It was uncut. My mama had wailed that I was gonna go to hell, but Papa just smacked her one in the kisser, and put his foot down. He was a real man. To bad he didn't live long enough to see that I was as much a man as he was.

I pulled the foreskin back and soaped the head, then began to jerk off while I played with my balls. The skin right behind them was really sensitive. It felt so good the coupla times I touched it, but it was too close to my arsehole, so I stopped doing that. Fags did that.

There was a tap on the bathroom door. "Boss, breakfast."

"Leave it." Fuck. Why couldn't I come? I had to come. I had too much to do to play around, and I *needed* to come. Okay, just this once, I promised myself. I got my finger slick and slid it into my arsehole. God*damn* that felt good! I braced my other hand against the wall and began to pump my finger in and out. My dick was so hard it was standing up against my belly and leaking pre come. Another finger went in, and I closed my eyes and smiled, spreading my legs and bending slightly. "So good!" I crooned as I worked a third finger in. "That feels so fucking good!"

"Boss, you okay? Breakfast is gettin' cold!"

"Merda! Yeah. I be right out," I snarled. I leaned my weight harder against the wall, curling the fingers in my back passage and nailing my hot spot. I pictured Gino in front of me taking it up the arse, and my dick jerked and started spraying come all over the tile wall.

****

Juan Zolo was already at the Battered Cruiser when I showed up at six, and I was pleased to see a half empty mug of beer before him. He grinned and rose, pulling me into a full-body hug, and pounded my back. "Is good to see you again, Cally. C'mon, have a beer. I'm already two ahead of you!" We sat down, and he reached for his wallet as he signaled to the barmaid. "Tres cervazas, muher!"

I put my hand on his, stopping him. "This is on me, Johnny; your money is no good tonight!" I paid for the three beers. "See they keep coming," I told Jenny, the barmaid. She looked into my eyes, then slid her gaze to a corner of the bar. She wanted to talk to me. I let her see I got her message.

"Ah, mi amigo, esto es muy bueno."

"English, Johnny."

His grin was sotted. "This is very good beer, my friend. Warm, but good."

I was pleased it was affecting him already. "So, how you been?"

"Good, good. Hey, you want to see my Carmelita? She is..." He grinned lasciviously and licked his lips.

"Sure, Johnny. Sure." It was the least I could do, make his last hours happy ones. "Just let me go shake hands with the unemployed. My back teeth are floating!"

On the way to the loo, I stopped at the bar. Jenny murmured, "'alf a mo, petal," to the customer she was chatting up, and came over to me. "Thought you might like to see this, Mr. M." She slid a coin across the bar to me.

"What the...?" It was a tarnished piece of silver. On one side was the bust of an extremely ugly woman with the year 1780 under it. On the back was a barely legible rendition of a Spanish coat of arms. "Is this real?"

"Oh, yeah. I weren't about to get stiffed by some scruffy seaman! And it's worth an 'ell of a lot more than the drinks he paid for! It's a honest to gawd piece of eight!" I didn't ask how she knew; Jenny had her sources. She grinned. "'Is mate weren't none too 'appy about it, Gov. Offered me a quid to buy it back, then tore a strip off 'im when I said no."

"Did he... er... say where he had gotten it?" I turned it over and over in my fingers. There had to be more of these little beauties at home.

"'E did indeed, Gov! The scruffy one whined that they could get more of 'em, a whole cave of 'em, all they 'ad to do was find some'un who'd got enough lolly to finance a expedition an' get 'em back to that island off Brazil. Said their ship'd dropped anchor off shore to take on some fresh water, and that's 'ow they found the coins. The beach was littered with 'em!"

"What about their shipmates? Surely they would know of this place and want their cut?"

"Nah. Scruffy one said it was just 'im and 'is mate who rowed to shore. 'Is mate gave 'im a shot then, and told 'im to sharrup." Her expression was avid. "I reckoned you'd be innerested."

"You reckoned right, Jenny. If they come back, or you hear anything more, you're to get right in touch with me, is that clear?" I gave her a pound note.

"Sure thing, Gov." She tucked it into her cleavage. "Not like I could forget 'em. The scruffy one were kinda cute, an' if 'e weren't so gone on 'is mate, I'da made a play for 'im myself."

"'Gone on his mate'?" I asked absently, not really paying attention. I was trying to think where I could get this appraised and which of the toffs who collected these coins would pay me the most for it.

"Oh, yeah. 'E couldn't keep 'is 'ands off 'im."

A couple of fags? I curled my lip in disgust, but she didn't notice, she just nattered on.

"Funny thing about 'is mate. You know 'ow it's dark as a dungeon in 'ere, even in daylight? Well, 'e wore dark glasses."

Who fucking cared? I put the coin in my pocket.

"'Ere, Gov! I'll be short at the end of night, and the boss'll clout me ear!"

I tossed her a bill that would be more than enough to cover the scruffy seaman's drinks, and she was smart enough not to ask for more. I went to the loo, and then I went back to my table. Gino was starting to get glassy-eyed from all the photos he had been forced to look at. He shot me a grateful glance; it was my turn to look at the pictures of Juan Zolo's fat fiancee.

****

The first thing I did when I got home was call Mr. Shaw. "Sir, I know I owe you some money, but I have a way to get it for you, with triple the interest." I crossed my fingers. If I didn't come up with that money... I didn't want to think of the probable consequences. "If you'll give me a little time, and advance me the dough..."

"I'll give you the time, Marconi." Shaw was a big man, but his voice was a surprisingly light tenor. "Out of respect for your father, who was a good man. But you will finance this... whatever it is... yourself. I won't lose any more money on you. And if I am not happy with my return, I will see that you will be even more unhappy. Have I made myself plain?"

My mouth was dry. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Ciao, Cally." Cold. The man's tone was cold. I shuddered.

Now all I had to do was wait for Gino to come home and tell me he'd killed that shit, Zolo, and then I could concentrate on finding that seaman and his... friend.

I paced the rug in the front room, periodically glancing at the clock that sat ticking away on the mantle. I'd left the Battered Cruiser at least an hour and a half earlier. Every time he mentioned dinner, I'd order another round. Zolo had been well on his way to being rat-arsed, and he'd bought the flimsy excuse I'd given him for having to leave. "Oh, fuck. Johnny, I... uh... I forgot to feed the cat! I'll just pop 'round home and be right back." I tossed some money onto the table and left him with Gino.

That had been almost 7:30. I glanced at the clock again. It was pushing nine.

It shouldn't have taken that long to shove a shiv between Zolo's ribs. Where the fuck was Gino?

I took a bottle of whiskey from the drinks cupboard and poured myself three fingers. It burned going down, and when it hit my gut, it went to war with all the beer I had swilled. My fingers tightened on the glass in frustration, and I was about to pour myself another when the door at the back of the house opened and then closed. Footsteps sounded in the hall, and I tensed and reached for my gun.

"Boss? You around?"

"I'm in here!" I couldn't wait and went to meet him. "It's about fucking time! Is Zolo dead?"

"Yeah, Boss." Gino eyed the gun cautiously, and I put it away. He wasn't smiling the way I had been after my first kill, but he wasn't me, and I wasn't going to worry about it. The prick who'd been the start of all my troubles had paid for it.

My dick got hard at the thought of him dead. "Good work, Gino."

"Uh... Mr. Marconi?"

"Fuck." Gino never called me that unless the shit was about to hit the fan. "What went wrong?"

He swallowed hard. "*I* didn't kill him."

I began to grind my teeth. "But he *is* dead?"

"Yeah, Mr. Marconi. I saw ..." He took a breath. "Yeah."

"Then I don't fucking care who did him in." I went back into the front room, refilled my glass, and poured some whiskey into a glass for Gino. "Cheers." I took a healthy swig, savoring the burn this time. "So, Gino. Tell me what happened." He gulped down his drink and eyed the bottle hopefully. I was feeling expansive and splashed another couple of fingers into his glass as well as mine, then put the bottle back in the cupboard. "Tell me what happened."

He licked his lips. "I followed your instructions, Boss. I pretended to call you from the phone just outside the loo. When I got back to the table, I told Mr. Zolo that you were runnin' a little late, that he should go on to the restaurant, and you'd meet him there. I know he heard me, 'cause he nodded, but he was lookin' over at this drunk who sat at the bar. I touched his arm to get his attention. His eyes were almost crossed from all the beer he had. 'You gonna be okay to drive, Mr. Zolo?' I asked him. I know you like me to be polite to all your friends, Boss."

"Yeah, yeah. What happened then?"

"We walked out to the car park in back. Well, *I* walked. He was kinda weavin', and when the night air hit him, I thought he was gonna keel over. He had to lean against the wall for a minute. He really had a snootful, Boss!" Gino saw I wasn't amused and wiped the grin off his face. He frowned, trying to think what he'd been saying. "The drunk followed us out, and looked confused. 'Where'd the john go?' he asked. He had a funny accent. 'Did somebody steal the john?' Sounded like he was ready to cry! The drunk staggered over to the wall and fumbled with his fly, like he was gonna take a whiz right there. Mr. Zolo, he started to laugh, kinda this high-pitched giggle? The drunk bumped into him. And all of a sudden his laugh changed to a sigh that ended in a hiccough. He fell over, holdin' his belly, lookin' kinda surprised. I moved his hands, and geez, Boss! His guts spilled out into his lap!" He swallowed hard. "I turned to tell the drunk to get help, but he was gone."

"So, the drunk killed him?"

He nodded and finished his drink. "Does this mean I don't get to be your lieutenant, Boss?" He looked so sad I thought *he* was going to cry. I thought for a minute of telling him no, just to see if I could make him cry, then reconsidered. After all, he was my sister's husband's cousin's son.

"Nah, Gino. You did good. You can be my lieutenant. Go get some rest now."

I listened to his footsteps down the hall and thought of gold doubloons and pieces of eight.

Before too long, we'd be going on an ocean voyage.

(16)

Chapter 16 Note: Hooray, short for Hooray Henry, is a young male of the upper classes. Gut-rot is a stomachache. http://celtic-lyrics.com/lyrics.php?ID=88 Should take you to the lyrics of The Butcher Boy. The version I knew had it Camden Town, instead of London Town, but you'll get the idea. http://www.coinset.com/treasuregroup.htm will show you what the coins look like.

How did one tell the person who came into one's life and stood one's world on end that one had certain irregularities in one's family history? That the men one called the Papas had been lovers for years, and that they had raised one's mum from her infancy? And that that was the most normal part of what one had to confess?

How did one say, "I am a shape-shifter. On nights when the moon is full and bright, I turn into a werewolf?" And sometimes, on other occasions as well?

I was damned if I knew.

I knew I had to tell Da'ric the truth about my family, the truth about me, but did I come right out and actually say I was a shape-shifter, a were? I had never told anyone, not the casual partners I had taken to my bed, and not the friends I had made through the years.

I was still trying to find the right words when I took Da' to The Sweet Shoppe, an exclusive shop that brewed the most exotic teas and offered desserts that were sinfully rich. They knew me there.

"Morning, Mr. Dorincort. Your usual?" The woman behind the counter was pouring the Nilgiri tea I preferred and putting a slice of Black Forest Cake on a plate. She looked curiously at my companion, who was examining the contents of the case with something akin to wonder.

"Thanks, Tess. I also want a Kashmiri Chai Green. I think you'll enjoy this; it's a nice blend of Indian green tea and spices," I told Da'. "It's quite good with milk and sugar. And I want these as well, Tess." I pointed out a variety of French, German and Italian pastries. She placed them on a tray, along with the tea, and after I paid for them, I took the tray and led my lover to a small, out of the way table.

"I'm really not much of a sweet eater, Drew," Da' told me, regarding the sacher torts, napoleons, and cannolis I laid out before us. "Although I do have a weakness for honey ants. They're good; they taste like molasses."

"Excuse me?" Had I heard him correctly? I sliced a piece from each pastry and put them on a plate, then slid the plate to him.

"Yes." He tried a bite of cannoli. "Mmm." The powdered sugar clung to his upper lip, and I wanted to lick it off. His eyes flew to mine and grew hot. I realized my mind was filled with the image of me licking that sugar from his mouth, and I was projecting that image to my lover. And suddenly, I could *feel* him bending over me while he ravaged *my* mouth. I shivered and licked my lips. Da' sipped his tea. "I was on a field trip to the Chiricahua Mountains in southeast Arizona my freshman year at UC Davis." What was he talking about? It took me a moment to recapture the thread of the conversation. "I could smell the colony odor that signaled the nest, although my instructor didn't believe me." He gave me such a sweet smile that I knew he had to be teasing me.

I responded to his smile absently, worried my lip, and became lost in my own thoughts once more. I had to tell him, but once I told him, everything would change. He would either think I was insane, or he would be horrified. Either way, he would walk out of my life. I began to add spoon after spoon of sugar to my tea, unaware at that point of what I was doing.

Da' reached out and laid his fingers on the back on my hand, stopping me. "Just tell me, Drew. It will be all right, I promise you. You're not alone; I won't let you be alone."

Involuntarily, I was drawn back in time to the day I had learned beyond a shadow of a doubt what I was, when Dad had said to me, "You are not alone in this."

Da' stared at me, his face suddenly becoming ashen. "You're a *what*?" Never having needed to shield my thoughts before, I had overlooked the necessity now, and he had seen the entire memory. My chair scraped backwards and almost tipped over in my haste to stand. I had to get away. I couldn't bear the horror I was sure to see in his eyes when he realized that he had been in bed with a werewolf. I couldn't bear it. But before I could take a step, he snarled, "Stay. Put."

I had heard Da' diffident. I had heard him upset, and thoughtful and irritated. I had never heard him furious. "Da'," I began cautiously, moistening my lips. "I can explain." I was the one who protected my siblings, who stood between them and danger, and yet now I was at a total loss. "Let me explain. I... I know it's a surprise, but..."

"Do you tip in this place?"

"What? Oh, yes."

"Fine. Leave a tip and let's go."

I took some bills from my wallet, left them on the table, and followed Da' as he stalked from The Sweet Shoppe, anger evident in every step. He waited impatiently while I unlocked the MG, and then got in, pulling the door so it slammed shut behind him. I got behind the wheel and put the key in the ignition. "Da'..."

"Not. One. Word." He refused to look at me. "Drive us home."

Well, at least he wasn't telling me to take him to a hotel; he was willing to go back to my townhouse. The drive was accomplished in a seething silence. And amazingly enough, I found myself growing hard. By the time I parked the little sports car in the garage in the mews, and we walked around to the house, I was panting as if I had run a three-minute mile.

We entered the house to find boxes stacked all over the hallway. Da' glanced at them, dismissed them, and said between tight lips, "Get upstairs."

I was carrying the bags with the clothes I had bought for him, and I paused outside my bedroom door. I expected that he wouldn't want to stay with me any more. "I'll put these in whichever room you choose, Da'."

Instead of going to another room, he reached around me, opened my door, and shoved me in. He slammed the door shut, and took off his jacket, throwing it aside. I dropped the bags and stared stupidly at him. He unbuttoned the shirt he was wearing and stripped it off, then went to work on his jeans. He stared down at Alan's trainers and growled. He'd have to get them off before he could remove his trousers.

Da'ric finally stood before me naked. "Look at me, Drew." I noted the patterned skin, the absence of nipples, and a navel, the cock sheathed snug against his groin. "I was born like this. You seem to be under the misapprehension that this is a birth defect. I get this from one of my fathers. Both my biological parents are male." Images poured into my mind, and I staggered backward. "Why should I be upset that you are a werewolf, when *I* am half extraterrestrial?"

"Why... why were you so angry then?"

"I could feel your pain and confusion when your father told you of your heritage, and I wanted to hurt him for hurting you."

"Da'..."

"And all right, yes, I got pissed off when it became obvious you expected me to run screaming in abject horror just because you're what you are."

"Ah. Just as you expect me now to throw you out of my house because I know exactly how different you are?"

"Um..." the strong emotions left him, leaving him as deflated as a balloon with the air let out. He turned away. "Yeah, I guess." He wasn't looking, so he didn't see when I started taking my clothes off.

"I guess it's my turn to be pissed."

His face was turned toward me, but I couldn't see his eyes; he was still wearing the sunglasses I had found for him. "But you expected..."

"I've never told anyone."

"No one knows?"

"Other than my family?" My fingers whispered over his cheeks. I removed the shaded lenses that shielded his eyes, and saw his pupils dilate with passion. "No. There was no one I ever trusted enough to tell." I dropped the glasses and pushed him onto the bed. "I'm sorry, Da'. I wanted our first time to be slow and careful." I followed him down to the bedspread, lying on top of him, relishing the feel of his smooth, supple skin against mine. His hair was like a black fall under my palms, cool and silky. My fingertips learned the curve of his skull, wandered over his ears, down the length of his throat, while my lips began a nibbling, sucking exploration of his shoulders and torso.

Da"s skin was hot under my lips, hairless, and unmarred by a single flaw. I could feel his cock, hard and leaking beneath the weight of my hips, and I spread my legs on either side of his thighs. On my knees, I could easily raise his body higher in the bed. I worked my way down his body, and he shuddered. I nipped his hip, then turned my face, nuzzled his shaft, and inhaled deeply, almost drowning in the heated musk of his scent.

My lover may have thought he had an idea where I was heading, but he realized he was wrong when I did nothing more than blow a puff of hot breath over the moisture that gathered at the tip of his cock. His hips jerked upward, and he buried his fingers in my hair, flexing them restlessly.

He was trying to remain motionless, letting me explore his body without any interference. But his breathing was unsteady, coming in hitches and gasps, little moans and whimpers, and tremors rippled through him.

I wriggled lower, licked and teased and traced the strongly defined lines of his thighs, pressed kisses to his knee, bent it to test the sleek muscle of his calf. Just a little further. I'd had a specific goal in mind all along, and now it was just a foot away. I flexed his foot and ran my tongue along the webbing between his big toe and the one next to it.

He began to writhe, and I smiled as I probed the webbing between each toe. I finished exploring his right foot and went on to the left one and gave it similar treatment. When I came to the last little toe, I took it into my mouth and suckled it. Da' was moaning steadily. I was ready to administer the coup de gras: I brushed my tongue over the sole of his foot from his heel to his toes. He arched up off the bed with a muffled cry and came.

I made my way back up his body and paused to drag my tongue up his cock and across the slit, learning his taste, a curious mixture of salty and sweet. His cock twitched, then started to retract into its sheath. My shoulders were under his thighs, and I pushed his legs back and apart, exposing his anus. I hurriedly opened the jar of lube, scooped up a fingerful and carefully worked it into him. Then I coated my cock and placed it at his opening.

The ring of muscle was tight, and for a moment I was afraid Da' wasn't ready for me, afraid that after what had happened to him, he wouldn't take me, but an abrupt twist, and the head of my cock slipped into him. I tried to hold myself still, letting him adjust to my size, but he arched up against me. "No! Don't stop!" Another inch slid in, and then another, until finally I was lodged so deeply inside him I could feel the beat of his blood through my cock.

I twined our fingers together and looked down into the face of my lover. His eyes glowed with golden fire; long lashes fanned down to cover them. He licked lips bitten in an attempt to stifle his sounds of pleasure when he climaxed.

"I want to hear you." I dipped my head and licked the spattered come off his chest and neck. "Let me hear you." He whimpered and gripped my waist with his knees, rocking up as if trying to take me even deeper into his body, but I kept my movements shallow. I'd tear out my own heart before I hurt him.

From the sounds he was making, I realized that hurting him was something I didn't need to worry about. He was hot and tight around me, squeezing me rhythmically. I withdrew until only the head of my cock was imprisoned by that guardian muscle.

Did he have a prostate? I wasn't sure if his physiology matched a human male's. I thrust forward, and knew that I had found his sweet spot when he gave a surprised yelp and bit my shoulder. "I'm not made of glass, Drew. Fuck me." I growled, and began to fuck him in earnest.

Da"s eyes opened and locked onto mine, and I felt as if I was tumbling helplessly into eternity. "Let go, Drew. I'll catch you!" I took his mouth in a hungry kiss, and his arms and legs tightened, holding me in a possessive embrace as I rode him. And deep in the pleasure centers of my brain I felt him curl around me. The passion build steadily, layer upon layer. //mine. Mine. MINE!// With a howl I came, scalding his back passage, filling him with my semen.

I collapsed onto him, trembling and panting heavily. Only then did I register how hot his body had grown. I luxuriated in that heat.

After what seemed like forever, Da' relaxed, his hands wandering lazily over my back, his legs sprawled wide, cradling me in the vee they formed. "Holy good god, Drew!" he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Any slower, any more careful, and I think you would have killed me!"

I slid my arms around him and rolled us to the side. "I am the very model of a modern British gentlemen," I teased drowsily.

"Yeah?" He yawned hugely, and I couldn't help but yawn in sympathy. "Next time remind me to show you how we do it in the States."

"Take a nap, Yank. I'll take you to Camden Block Market later this afternoon. They have second-hand clothing, and we'll be sure to find the pea coats and trousers you need, as well as the coins. And if not there, then Portobello Road for sure."

Da' settled himself more firmly against me. "Cool." He licked my collarbone, and we slipped into a light doze.

****

I drove to Camden Town, humming The Butcher Boy, then softly singing the last couple of lines. "'And in the middle, a snow white dove, to show the world I died for love.' Kind of a silly thing to die for, don't you think, Yank?"

"Oh? Sure, if you say so, Drew." He was looking out the passenger window.

That wasn't the answer I was hoping for. I was tempted to nudge his mind, to see what he was really thinking, but I let it go. Once we were done with this Marconi thing, I'd come up with a way to convince him to stay in England. I found a parking spot, and we went looking through the second-hand clothing shops.

Camden Block Market had the clothes Da' said we needed, but not the coins. We stowed the jackets and trousers in the boot, and I headed the MG to Portobello Road and found an antiques stall.

"Treasure coins?" The vendor pulled a tray out from under her counter. "Here you go, luv."

Da' examined them carefully. "These are escudos. I want these." He selected several of the gold doubloons. "How much?" She named a price, and he frowned. "What's that in American, Drew?" I did some quick figuring in my head and told him, and he nodded. "Okay, now what have you got in pieces of eight, reales, bust coins?"

She placed another tray beside the first and tried to see how interested he was, but the sunglasses he wore defeated her purpose. I could feel his fizz of excitement, though, like a burst of orange and red fireworks in my mind. //The exact year for the story I'll tell. And it even has Isabella's bust on it!// I converted the price the vendor gave us from pounds into dollars, and Da' nodded again. I bought them for him.

We walked on, looking for a leather pouch. "If we really intended to collect these as an investment, this would be the worst thing for them," he said as he fingered one pouch after another, and then shook his head and moved on. "They'll rub against each other and lose value. Still, we got them for a pretty reasonable price."

"A hundred pounds, Da'?" I grumbled. That was almost five hundred dollars.

He shrugged. "She had to make a profit, and in the Florida Keys they'd charge two or three times that. Afraid you won't get a return on your money, Brit?"

"Oh, I *will* get a return, Yank." I arched an eyebrow and placed a hand low on his hip, letting him know how I intended to collect it. He seemed to vibrate, and I silently cursed those glasses. I wanted to see in his eyes his reaction to me.

Suddenly he pounced. "Ah hah! Perfect!"

"Da'! The object of bargaining is to get the best price! If they see how eager you are, they won't even bother to consider anything less than what they first ask!" But he just grinned at me and reached for the soft leather pouch. In spite of his eagerness, it was so worn we were able to purchase it for a few pence. I handed over the coins, and we returned to the car.

"Now, how long does it take before you need to shave?"

He had explained earlier that his plan called for me to look rather disreputable. I ran a hand over my chin and jaw. "Well, as you can see, I've already got a five o'clock shadow, and it's only a little after noon."

"That look suits you." His palm cupped my face, and his thumb brushed over the stubble that darkened my cheek, rhythmically caressed my cheekbone. "Yes." His lips parted, he removed his sunglasses and let me see the heat in his eyes. "Oh, yes."

I threw the MG into gear and sped home.

****

Da' was pulling on the bell-bottomed trousers when he told me where, exactly, it was he wanted to go. I was fascinated by the way the material clung to his upper leg and flared out below his knee, mesmerized by the way his fingers threaded each button in the thirteen buttonholes on the plaquet, and it took a second for what he said to sink in.

"The docks, Da'?" I tried to talk him out of it. "Have you any idea how dangerous that area is?"

He proved adamant, however; simply shrugged and said, "I'd just as soon go down there without you, Drew. I'd worry about you and wouldn't be able to do what I had to do."

As if that was sure to convince me to let him go alone. I glared at him. "Oh, no you won't, Da'ric! You go down on... *with* me..." He snickered, and I could feel my cheeks heat with a blush.

"Freudian slip?"

I cleared my throat and tried another tack. "Look, we can't take the MG down there! That would be a sure-fire way of marking us as not belonging. Besides, merchant seamen can't afford this model."

"Yeah, sure, like they can afford an MG, period. This is your town, Brit." He grinned. "Think of a way to get us down there."

I wanted to wipe that grin off his mouth, preferably by kissing it. Stripping the clothes from his lean body and taking him back to bed would be even better. I let him see my thoughts. Color tinged his cheeks, and his breathing became unsteady.

In the end, I called an old school chum. William Witherspoon had roomed with me through my years at Brookfield, and then at university. He put his degree in finance away in a drawer and instead had learned the ins and outs of the maze that was London's streets when he was preparing to take the test for his taxi license, and now he ran his own car service. I told him where we needed to go, and there was an ominous silence on the end of the line. "Billy?"

"Drew, are you sure? Okay, okay! I'll be over in about twenty. I have to find a suitable vehicle." It was closer to forty-five minutes, and the vehicle he showed up in was a beat-up old cab that was post-war vintage. He took one look at how I was dressed, and his eyes bugged out, and his jaw dropped. "Oh, my, my! How Dapper Dorincort has fallen!"

"This from the man who thought orange and orchid went well together? We can always take the underground I'll have you know, Billy, m'lad!"

"Not if you want to go to the Battered Cruiser, you can't! The tube stops running a couple of miles from there." He ran a knowledgeable eye over my companion. "Now that suits him very well! He won't have any trouble in there, although maybe if he took off the shades...?" Billy reached for them. Da"s hand closed around his wrist, and Billy froze.

"They stay."

"Okay, mate. Not a problem. Just don't mangle the wrist. I'll get you down to the docks, Drew, Bob's your uncle."

"Yes, well, step on it, Billy!" I didn't tell him I had plans for the night; he had seen the way I'd looked at Da'. We climbed into the back seat of the cab. I glanced over at Da', but those sunglasses concealed his eyes, and I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

//That's because you're not trying, Brit.// I felt his amusement stroking my mind. //It will be fine, Drew, I promise you.// "C'mon, Brit. Let me hear you say something. Convince me you're not slumming."

I sighed, but dutifully spoke a few sentences. "'Don't be cross, pet. That beach is littered with gold.'"

"Beg pardon, Drew," Billy tossed over his shoulder, "but if you aim to fool the blokes down at the B.C., you'll have to do better than that. They'll make you for a Hooray quicker'n the cat can lick her ear!"

"Bugger." I hid a grin and cleared my throat. "The rine in spine styes minely in the pline." Billy convulsed into laughter, narrowly missing a Mini that shot into the road ahead of us. The shift of the cab threw Da' and me together, and he seized the opportunity to brush a quick kiss over my mouth. "Don't worry about it; I'll be fine when the time comes. Billy, do you have any idea of how we can get to this place?"

"Bloody hell! You don't know where the Battered Cruiser is? Drew!" If he didn't need to have both hands on the wheel, I knew he would have reached back and swatted me. "I'll let you off as close as I can. Just follow your nose; you won't be able to miss it." He pulled up about a quarter mile from the Battered Cruiser, and frowned when I tried to hand him some bills. "You know I won't take your money, Drew. I owe you for too many things. You sure you want to be in this part of town? It's got a downright nasty reputation."

"Thanks. I don't think we'll have a problem." I glanced around at the rows of rundown houses and boarded up shops. If I hadn't known I could call on the wolf if it appeared that Da' was in any kind of danger, I would have flat out refused to let him carry out his plan. I wondered how he would have reacted to that. I could feel his eyes on me.

// Please don't ask me.//

I sighed.

Billy gave me a card. "Call this number when you're done playing at whatever it is you're playing at."

"We'll be here for quite some time." Da' was smiling, and it wasn't a pleasant smile. It suddenly occurred to me that he might well be as dangerous as the wolf. "Do you know of a place that offers decent food?"

"Joe's Noshery won't give you gut-rot. It's two streets over that way."

We watched as Billy drove away. "All right, 'lead on, MacDuff.'" I made sure he walked on the inside, and I stayed alert. My lover was too exotic by half to pass this way unmolested. Amazingly, the sole time someone approached us, it was me he tried to accost. One look at Da"s expression was enough to persuade the blighter to look elsewhere. He coughed slightly, offered me a weak grin, and moved on. And Da' had the gall to look amused!

(17)

#### denotes change of POV. This starts with Drew's POV, and then goes to David Reed's POV.

We stood at the bar of the Battered Cruiser, waiting our turn to be served. It was a dimly lit pub that Da' had insisted was the place we needed to go, although at the time of day that we walked in, it was still fairly empty. In a couple of hours, however, it would be doing a booming business.

Its location down by the docks insured its clientele were not only men who had been to sea and were on land for the first time in weeks or months, but also the seediest-looking specimens of land rats that I had ever seen. The wolf was very close to the surface, and I struggled to present a harmless exterior.

"Been in town long, sailor?" The barmaid built our beers, getting a frothy head, and slapped them down efficiently on the bar before us. Her question was meant to be flirty; it was directed at me.

"Just made port this mornin'. Lousy spendin' the last coupla months away from 'ome, an' on a grotty tub like La Venganza Dulce. Run a tab for us, there's a luv?"

"Oh, ay, bright eyes." Her carmine-colored lips parted in a predatory smile, and her eyes stripped my clothes from my body. "Betcha it musta been right lonely, away to sea all that time, with no feminine company."

I was a trifle surprised. Here beside me was this gorgeous specimen of sex on the hoof, and people were coming on to *me*! I cut a sideways glance at Da' through my lashes. His face was turned toward the barmaid, and although his eyes were hidden behind the dark lenses of his glasses, I could feel his irritation building. I took his fingers in my hand and played with them, endeavoring to make the smile I sent the barmaid's way appear shy. "Not lonely, no."

Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. "That's the way it is, is it? Bloody 'ell. Y' look so... *normal*!"

Da' stiffened, then subsided under the gentle mental caress I sent him.

From the other end of the bar, "Oi! Jenny, lass, I'm that parched! Come give us another drink, luv!" She went to fill the order, and Da' and I took our beers to a table close enough to the bar so our conversation could be overheard if anyone chose to do so. I edged my chair closer and closer to Da"s. Each time I would step up to the bar and indicate I'd have another beer, the bar maid would draw it, shake her head, and go back to chatting up more likely prospects.

Da' was nursing his second glass. "You know you tend to chatter on when you've had too many. Take it easy on those, Andy," he advised.

"Don't 'ave to, pet. 've got a wooden leg, I 'ave." I swayed and grabbed hold of his arm, as if to prevent myself from falling off my chair and onto the floor, and pulled him toward me. I tucked my head under his chin and smiled coyly up at him.

"*Hollow* leg, you wanker!" He ruffled my hair and chuckled. "I've been hangin' 'round you so long, I'm startin' to talk like you!" He eased his chair away from the table and stood up. "I'm goin' to the... uh..." Da' nodded toward the back of the pub. "Settle the accounts like a good lad, china, an' then I'll get you some grub. I shouldn't have let you drink so much on an empty stomach. You're pissed!" He made his way to the loo.

With drunken dignity, I stood, and with careful steps I approached the bar, taking my beer with me. "'m *not* pissed," I muttered belligerently. I spoke just loudly enough for the barmaid to hear. I fumbled through my trouser pockets, then pulled the leather pouch from an inner pocket of my pea coat and fished out a coin, making sure I dropped the pouch on the bar. The coins in it clinked together nicely. I peered at the silver in my hand, then nodded, put it on the bar and slid it toward her. "This oughta be 'nough." I gave her a soused grin, and reached for my beer, almost knocking it over. "Oops." I giggled tipsily.

She was turning the coin over and over. "Where'd you come by this, luv?" Her tone had become warm and friendly. "Ain't seen nothin' like it in forever."

I squinted at her as if trying to bring her features into focus. "M' mate an' me, we was on this tramp steamer, La Venganza Dulce? She was sailin' up from Argentina an' skipper made us put in to this little bitty island off Brazil 'cause 'e wanted bananas. Bananas, I tell ya! 'e was some ticked at us, I dunno why, an' made us go ashore alone." I rubbed my shoulder as if in remembered discomfort. "Got a charley 'orse in m' arm that 'urt sommat fierce; Ricky, m' mate, 'e 'ad to do most of the rowin' back.. Gawd, 'e was that pissed at me!"

"You found this on the island?"

"Yeah, didn't I say? There was a bunch scattered on t' island, an' Ricky, 'e's s' smart, 'e says it musta been 'cause of a storm, the bottom getting' all stirred up like, an' just kinda flingin' t' coins up on t' beach."

"Pieces of eight, luv? How'd they wind up there, d'ya think?"

"Oh, doubloons an' reales, an' silver cobs. That's 'ow the Spaniards sent the bullion 'ome t' Spain. That's what Ricky tole me; 'e done some research, 'e did!" I informed her proudly. "See, there was this serious bad 'urricane that sunk a whole treasure fleet! It was so bad, they even called it the Great 'Urricane of 1780! Can you imagine that? Ricky thinks one o' the ships musta been driven close to this island before it sunk."

"Really, luv? And these coins was waitin' on the shore, just waitin' to be picked up?"

"Oh, no. That came from t' cave. *This* were on t' beach!" I pulled a doubloon from the pouch, then returned it quickly. I took a last swallow of my beer. I was walking a fine line between drunk and stupid, and I was getting nervous. I hoped her greed, and the mention that I was a talkative drunk, would overcome any suspicions of all the information I was giving her. "There ya are, Ricky, pet!" Da' had finally come back. "Thought you'd fallen in!"

"Jesus, Andy, you really are lagered up." His fingertips stroked over the stubble on my cheek. "C'mon... Hallo, what's this doin' here?" He stared at the pouch with a fierce frown, then scooped it up. "Sonuvabitch, you didn't use one of these coins to pay... Fuck! That was so soddin' *stupid*! I *told* you not to..."

"Don't scold, pet," I whined, thrusting out my lower lip in a pout. "You've got all our foldin', an' you tole me to pay."

He leaned across the bar. "Listen, miss, give me the coin back, please. This should cover the tab for the beers my friend and me had." Da' offered her a handful of shillings.

"That's all right, luv, this'll do just fine."

Da' scowled and took a pound note from the wad he had folded in his trouser pocket. "I want the coin back. This is more than enough!"

The barmaid moistened her lips. She stared at the bill avidly, clearly tempted, but her expression became even more avid when she looked down at the silver coin in her palm. "Ta anyroad luv, but as I tole ya, this'll do."

"'Sokay, Ricky." I stroked his arm and made my tone placating. "We got more."

"Yeah, well we won't have if you keep usin' 'em to pay for drinks, for piss sake!" He threw my hand away from him.

"But there's more where that come from!" I ran a finger up his chest, and gave him a sotted smile. "All we gotta do is find someun who'll get us back to Isla del... um... whatever it is." I turned to the barmaid. "That's all we gotta do."

"Fuck, Andy!"

"'Sokay, pet. I tole her all about it." I made my eyes go vague. "All about that beach with all the lovely gold all over it!"

"Shut up, Andy!" he hissed and whacked the side of my head.

"Oww!" Aggrieved, I rubbed my ear.

"He's squiffed, miss; don't pay him no mind! Bleedin' get don't know what he's talkin' about! C'mon, you!" Da' glared at me and dragged me off. Halfway to the door, he glanced over his shoulder and almost stumbled. "Fuck, Andy, watch where you put your great, galumphin' feet!" The barmaid was watching us, and he glared at her as well. She turned away, slipping the coin into her pocket, and busied herself with the taps.

I wove and staggered all over the walk as we made our way down the street, singing a few bars of The Butcher Boy slightly off-key, and then starting all over again. Once we were out of sight of the Battered Cruiser, I was instantly sober.

"You really do have a hollow leg, don't you, Brit."

I looked down my nose at him, which was a trick since he was a few inches the taller. "Of course!" I spoiled it by laughing, but I quickly grew serious. "Da', what happened? Why did you trip?"

"I spotted Juan Zolo in a corner table. He's the one who bought me for Marconi. I thought he was in South America. I'll have to go back later and see if he's still there."

"I'm going with you."

He wasn't listening to me. "Call your friend Billy, and have him waiting with the cab."

"There are too many people there!"

"Later the crowd should have thinned out a bit. I don't want to miss this opportunity to get Zolo."

"What are you going to do, strangle him?" My fingers dug into his upper arm. "Da', I watched you dress. You don't have anything with which to protect yourself. I won't let you go alone! At least you'll have the wolf if it becomes dangerous!"

"Drew." A phantom kiss brushed across my mouth. "I'm always armed." Da' looked around, but there was no one in our vicinity. He made a fist, and suddenly inch-long claws seemed to sprout from his knuckles.

"Jesus god, Da'!" I remembered his bloody hands in our shared dream.

He ran the backs of his claws gently over my throat. I knew he wouldn't hurt me, but the hint of unbridled danger was rousing, and I shivered. "They're still immature right now. It will take some time before they're as long and as strong as they were before Sarone broke them, but I promise you, their immaturity didn't mean much to Simmons."

I realized how he had managed to kill the man in that cellar room. I ran a hand through my hair. "All right," I agreed reluctantly. "But I'm only giving you half an hour. If you aren't out of the pub by then, I'll be coming in after you." By this time we had found Joe's Noshery and went in to order a meal of fish and chips, which seemed the safest thing on the menu in spite of what Billy had told me. We took our baskets to a table. "Do you think our ploy worked?"

"From what Titch let slip to Simmons, Jenny, the barmaid, works on the side for Marconi. She'll make sure he sees that coin." Da' eyed the vinegar I sprinkled on my chips with interest and followed suit. He took a bite and made a pleased sound.

"And you think he'll be willing to finance a treasure hunt?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I kind of think he will. When I go back, before I deal with Zolo, I'll convince Jenny that I've quarreled with you, and I'm returning to the Battered Cruiser to drown my sorrows. I'll curse that goddamned island, making sure I name it." I could feel savagery of almost orgasmic intensity in his mind. No matter what course Callisto Marconi chose, he was a dead man. "I think Marconi'll want to go there. Whether he'll take partners with him remains to be seen. He doesn't seem to be the kind who likes to share."

"Oh?"

Da"s grin was lopsided. "It's amazing how freely people talk around someone they think is drugged."

My fists clenched, and I wanted to get my hands on those bastards who had treated him so miserably. I didn't realize I was actually growling until the couple at the table next to ours cast a frightened glance my way and hastily left. "What's on this Isla del Queimada Grande, Da'?"

"Ilha de Queimada Grande," he mused quietly, giving it a slightly different pronunciation. "Exactly what you told the barmaid, Drew. Gold."

"Da'." This close to him, and in the light of the little eatery, I could just make out his unusual eyes behind the dark lenses. They were cold, the pupils narrow, vertical slits.

His voice dropped to just above a whisper. "Once upon a time, there was this little island in the Atlantic Ocean, off the southeastern coast of Brazil. And on this island, there was a lighthouse. About fifty or so years ago, the last lighthouse keeper and his family, a daughter, two sons and his wife, were all found lying in pools of dried blood, dead. The Brazilian Navy automated the light, declared the place off limits, and basically abandoned it."

"How did you learn of this island, Da'?"

"Oh, tales about it abound, and it has a rather nasty reputation. The Navy really doesn't need to enforce the ban. The local fishermen know better than to go there. There's also a story about a fisherman who put in to shore to gather some bananas."

"Ah!" I made a soft sound, understanding why my lover had suggested using a desire for bananas as the reason for La Venganza Dulce paying the island a visit.

Da"s lips curled in a hard grin, and he continued. "His wife grew concerned when he didn't return home as he usually did, and when it came out *where* he was supposed to be fishing, a search party was got up immediately. They didn't have to search very hard. His boat was found anchored about a hundred and fifty meters off the beach. And they found the fisherman, sprawled on its deck. He'd bled to death." He finished his last chip and delicately licked the vinegar from his fingers.

I touched my tongue to my lips nervously. "What's on that island, Da'?"

He sat back in his chair, his legs stretched under the table, his hands folded on his flat stomach. I wondered if he had done that to distract me. "Fer-de-lance, Drew. One of the most venomous vipers in the western hemisphere. Golden lanceheads. The island is overrun with them. Four hundred thirty thousand square meters, and at least five snakes to every square meter."

I considered what he had said about the lighthouse keeper and his family, and about the hapless fisherman. "And their bite causes their victim to bleed to death?"

"That's how the human body reacts to the venom. Sometimes."

"Sometimes?" I felt the hackles on the back of my neck rise.

He shrugged. "Other times the site of the bite will become necrotic. The living tissue will rot."

"Bloody hell!"

"Yeah. Not a pretty way to go, nor an easy one. Hurts like hell, I understand." He glanced at the basket that held the remainder of my meal. "If you're done, Brit, shall we go?"

We left Joe's Noshery, and I found a phone box and called Billy. "He'll be right down to meet us, Da'." I hung up and turned to face him, to find he was gone. "*Bugger*!"

****

I had my hand on the door handle of the cab, ready to find my lover and drag him out of the pub if need be, when Da' staggered out of the Battered Cruiser, playing the drunk. He paused for a moment in front of the pub, his shoulders hunched against the cold night air, then came to the cab. I threw open the door, and he slid in beside me. Silently, I handed him a handkerchief, and he wiped the blood off his right hand. "Thanks, Brit."

"Are you all right?" My fingers ghosted over him, checking for injuries, but as soon as I touched him, I knew the blood wasn't his.

"Yeah. I'm okay." He leaned into me, and I put my arm around him. "But jesus, I'm tired!"

"Get us home, Billy," I told my friend.

"Right-o, Drew. We're on our way."

####

I angled the boat into the bottleneck opening to the Black Lagoon, and it chugged through the still waters. I knew this was going to be the hardest thing I had ever done.

//David! I expected you back hours ago!// My lover appeared over the side of the boat.

Would picking a quarrel work? I shook my head. I wouldn't be able to sustain any kind of level of indignation. "Uh... it took me some time to get used to the Josie's controls." I ignored his frown, a very fearsome expression.

He, in turn, ignored my excuse. //Are you going to tell me what you did?//

I kept a tight lid on my thoughts. "I don't know what you mean, Ric."

//David!//

"I just took Mother and Father to Manaus. You know we all agreed it was time for them to go home." I pretended to be busy throttling down the cabin cruiser my parents had purchased when they decided they needed to come searching for me once again on the Amazon. "They'll see about getting a copy of Da's passport to him, and then he can come home to the Black Lagoon. Isn't this Josie a beauty?" They had gifted me with the twenty-eight foot inboard, and I had promptly christened her Desejo do Coracao II.

//Yes, yes, I can see I'll have to challenge her for your affections.//

I dropped anchor and began to strip off my clothes. "Of course, she'll never match the first Jo," I rambled. "I'll always love that boat best, because she brought me back to you."

Powerful hands closed over my upper arms and lifted me until we were eye to eye. I rubbed my knee gently over the sheath that protected his cock, willing to try sex as a diversion. //David, whatever you're trying to do, you are not succeeding. I am not distracted. Now, what did you do?//

"Nothing. I did nothing," I insisted again. "Suppose you tell me what *you* did, you big dragon."

//I don't know what you mean, David.// He threw my own words back at me. His long jaws parted in a grin that revealed rows of razor-sharp, white teeth. It was his 'butter wouldn't melt in his mouth' expression, and I wasn't buying it for a minute.

"Ric'u!" I wanted to relax back into mind-speech, but I wasn't quite certain if my obfuscation had worked.

//Very well.// He licked the skin over my adam's apple, then set me down, but kept me within the circle of his arms. //I did a little skulking around Furo do Inferno.//

"Ah *hah*! I *knew* you were up to... Wait a second, why go to that hell-hole?" I leaned back to stare up into his face.

Furo do Infero was a small village a few hundred kilometers south of where the Amazon and the Purus Rivers met, west of Manaus. The houses were shacks, and the inhabitants were scum who had been run out of every decent town in Brazil. It was notorious up and down the Amazon for the liquor it produced. Made from the heads of poisonous snakes boiled with the liquid distilled from the spikes of the Caribbean agave, which was smuggled into the country, it gave the imbiber a quick, cheap, addictive high.

No sane person went there. If they did, they did not remain sane for long. The combination of the constant drone of insects, the lethal alcohol, and the no less lethal inhabitants of Furo do Infero were enough to drive anyone mad.

//Paul Sarone had a woman there. Whenever he wasn't running guns or dealing drugs, or selling natives as slave labor, he went to see her. Rumor has it the boy living with her is Sarone's.// He shrugged, and the movement let me feel him over every inch of my body.

"He's spawned?" I was aghast.

//He acknowledged the boy as his. Even the lowest of creatures feels the need to reproduce.//

"God help us all! Just a second! 'Had'? Past tense?"

//Indeed.// There was a smugness there, and I prodded a bit. I was startled by what I read in his mind.

"You had Esme with you? Why?"

An abrupt ferocity colored his thoughts. //She is very fond of our son, and when I... told... her what Sarone had done to him, she wanted very much to pay this...// he spat out a guttural Brachian word which was untranslatable, even with our mind link, but I had no trouble getting the idea. //... a visit. She was quite hungry by the time we got there.//

"Ric'u. I trust she is no longer hungry?" It had nearly destroyed me when I learned what Sarone and my one-time lover, Jack Halliwell, had done to our son.

//Did you doubt it, my own?//

I made a sound of satisfaction. "What of the boy and the woman?"

//I had no quarrel with them, and Esme was quite satisfied with her meal.//

"I just hope she doesn't get indigestion." I stepped up onto the transom, about to dive into the warm depths of the Black Lagoon. "So they live?"

He nodded, but he was not about to stop questioning me. //David. What did you do?//

"I saw Mother and Father off on their flight," I repeated patiently, "and then I sailed the Josie home." I was not going to tell him anything else. I buttoned my thoughts down tighter. What I had done was something I would live with for the rest of my life, and I accepted that. Because at one time in my past it was as if there had been a revolving door to my bedroom, my son had been brutalized.

Before I could dive in, Ric pulled me down off the transom and into his arms. //What did you do?//

It had been long years since I had kept my lover from my thoughts. Just the fact that I did so now made him aware that I was concealing something from him. He tipped my chin up. His huge palms cradled my head, and he stared into my eyes. The barriers I had erected against him began to waver, and I struggled to shore them up.

//David. It was not your fault.//

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ric. Look, I want to get back to the cave; I haven't eaten since this morning, and I'm starving..." I tried to twist out of his grip and dive over the side, but he wouldn't let me go. "Ric..."

His arms tightened, and he began to rock me. I held myself stiffly, but he just kept rocking me gently. //David, if you came directly back from Manaus, you would have been here hours ago. What did you do?//

I turned my face into his chest and shook. He stroked my hair, and began to vibrate. The purr rumbled under my cheek, warming me. "I found Halliwell." I had told the bastard that I'd made a mistake and wanted another chance with him. He wanted my ass so badly; I had no problem getting him on the cabin cruiser instead of his yacht. I convinced him that the Josie's inboard motors would get us where we needed to go faster than his yacht's sails. It took a couple of hours to get there, hours in which I had to endure Halliwell's touch, but I wasn't going to let my lover know this. As long as I kept the tale verbal, I was certain I could keep what I had done from him.

I shuddered, burying even deeper the memory of Jack Halliwell's pudgy, sweaty fingers roving over my body, stroking and squeezing my cock. He didn't care that I wasn't hard; he just laughed and said he'd remedy that when we arrived in paradise. The only thing that kept me from throwing up was what I knew awaited him at the end of our journey.

//David?//

"I... uh... I got him to this spot." At that hour of the morning, it was cool and shadowy. Halliwell couldn't wait to get his clothes off, and stripped without me even having to say a word. I told him to lie down. That I would ride him, like he'd never been ridden before. "I had handcuffs..." He had scurried into the cabin of his yacht and pulled some cuffs from out of a drawer in the captain's bunk. He'd almost creamed his pants at the thought of using them to restrain me, only... "I snapped them around his wrists and ankles..." And he still had no inkling that he wasn't in control. "I staked him out on the rainforest floor, then drizzled honey on strategic parts of his body. The first army ant showed up about two minutes later." I licked my lips, remembering the screams.

//David.// Ric'u's breath wuffled over me as he inhaled, testing my scent. Fortunately, when I got back to the Josie, I'd scrubbed myself over and over again, until I thought I'd scrub my skin raw.

"No. No. I'm... I'm all right..." I buried my face against him.

//Little one...// He hadn't called me that in ages. I looked up at him, and he ran the pads of his thumbs under my eyes, catching the moisture that had spilled over. //One day you will tell me what you are keeping from me now.//

//I'm not...//

His big hands stroked over my hair, my neck, my shoulders, down my back, until I felt as if I was surrounded by him. //One day you will realize that nothing you do, nothing that might have been done to you, will stop me from loving you.// He lapped at the stupid tears that insisted on falling, then set me back on the transom. //Da' has contacted me, and asked that I see about some plans he has set into motion. Now, let's go home. //

He swung off the boat and sank into the waters of the Black Lagoon, heading for the tunnel that led to our underground home. And I dove off and followed him.

(18)

This is Marconi's POV, so there's a little m/f here as well.

Things had been set into motion. I'd had to liquidate some assets to raise the folding for this venture, not that I really cared. Personal computers were fine in science fiction movies, but they'd never be a reality. I was happy to dump the shares I owned, although my broker almost cried. What did the wanker know?

I'd done a little research on the treasure fleet that was lost in the Great Hurricane of 1780, and sure enough, the flagship of the fleet, La Reina de la Plata se Levanto, had gone down somewhere off the southeast coast of Brazil. According to the manifest that was on record in Spain, she had been carrying several tons of gold and silver bullion, as well as chests of doubloons, pieces of eight, and jewels worth a king's ransom.

Oh, yeah, I was going to have so much lovely lolly I'd be able to buy London if I wanted it.

I met with the sailors Jenny had told me of. "I'm Ricky," the one announced briskly. "My mate's Andy. Last names aren't necessary."

I took an instant dislike to both of them. They were taller than I, dark haired, with hard, toned bodies. The one who said his name was Ricky wore shades even though the day was overcast. "Take the glasses off!" I snapped irritably.

His head turned in my direction, but the lenses were too dark for me to see his eyes. "Sorry, Gov. No can do. I have a sensitivity to light," he said in a soft voice. I glared at him, but he just shrugged.

The shorter of the two, who looked in constant need of a shave, hovered over his mate, touching his arm or stroking his thigh. "Poor Ricky," he murmured. "Are your eyes bothering you very much today, pet?" It was obvious they had a physical relationship, and I turned away in disgust. Fucking fags.

But I wanted the treasure, and I'd use them to get it. And once I had it, I'd get rid of them. After all, accidents happened all the time. Paul Sarone was the man to see they happened.

I needed him to supply a boat that would get us to Isla del Queimada Grande, and some men who could do the grunt work as well, men who knew better than to ask any questions. According to the late Juan Zolo, Sarone was the man to get them for me as well.

However, the telegram I'd sent to Paul Sarone had gone unanswered, and I'd have to wait until I arrived in Brazil to try contacting him again. I didn't know why the bloody bastard had to live in such an out-of-the-way, god-forsaken place as Furo do Infero!

In the meantime, I needed a little recreation. Recently I had met this skinny little model. She had as many curves as an adolescent boy, but for some reason she attracted me. We'd been clubbing and then returned to my pad. After undressing, we shared a joint, and she lay sprawled on my bed, high as a kite, her eyes glittering manically as I ran my hands and tongue over her flat chest. Her nipples were the size of lug nuts, though, highly sensitive, and she writhed as I sucked them voraciously. I pulled her thighs apart and was about to stick my dick into her, and then I got another of those goddamned phone calls. I continued to fondle her breasts.

"You starting to worry, Marconi?" the hoarse voice asked. "I would, if I were you. Your ass is grass, you know that? And it belongs to me! Why don't you save us all the trouble and eat a bullet?"

My fingers tightened on a nipple, and she hissed a protest. There was tight laughter over the line, and I slammed the phone down. The model, what the fuck was her name? I decided I didn't fucking care. The model giggled inanely. She arched her body in what I'm sure she thought was a sensuous invitation. "I'm horny, Cally," she said in a little girl whine. Her fingers stroked and probed her woman's flesh. She was wet and slick with arousal. "Make love to me!"

I growled, flipped her over, and shoved my dick into her arse. She squealed and cried, but I held her hips in a bruising grip and paid her no mind. I was going to fuck her until I came.

But goddamn it, I couldn't come. I pulled out of her and flopped over on the bed, glowering at the ceiling. She continued to snivel into the pillow. I slapped her arse and rolled to reach for my wallet. I threw her some bills and yelled, "Gino, get this fucking bitch out of my house!"

He appeared in the doorway, his hair tousled from having been asleep. Yawning, he walked around the room gathering up her clothes and then took her arm. Mascara streaked her hollow cheeks as tears continued to stream down her face, and she limped out of the room, one cheek of her skinny arse sporting a bright red palm print.

When I was finally alone in my room, I stared blankly into space. It was the snake boy's fault that I hadn't been able to come! I knew it had been him on the phone. Since Boxing Day at least one call a day had come in, taunting me, threatening me. How the fuck was I going to get my hands on him?

How the fuck was I going to keep him from getting his hands on me?

I put in a call to a drone who worked at BEA. "Get me on a flight out of Heathrow and to Rio de Janeiro *now*, or your wife is going to see some very interesting pictures of you and that Great Dane!" Satisfied with his stammered, stuttered response, I hung up. When he called back, it was to verify my first class accommodations on the following day's mid-morning flight. He was able to get seats for my underlings in tourist. I wasn't about to pay more for them than I had to.

Everything was under control; the timetable had just needed to be tweaked a little. "Gino!"

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Find those two fucking sailors. We're going to Rio tomorrow."

He glanced at the bedside clock. It was late, but that didn't matter. He had the number for the rooming house where they were staying; the taller sailor had left it with Jenny. Gino would call and make sure they got the message to be at the London airport, or else face consequences that were too dire to be conceived of.

****

I had never been a good flier. There was turbulence, a rainstorm, more turbulence; in general, it was the flight from hell. Seventeen goddamn hours, and a connection that had to be made in Frankfurt. Who the fuck's idea was it to have a connecting flight in Frankfurt sodding Germany? I was so bloody furious that I wanted to cosh the drone who'd set this up, and the passenger in the seat next to me, also, who persisted in informing me of what a good traveler *she* was. Since I spent a good portion of the time in the loo tossing my cookies, I was seriously considering opening a hatch and shoving her out with a well-placed boot to her arse.

Finally the jet touched down at Rio de Janeiro's Internacional airport. "Geez, Boss, that was a bit of all right! I ain't never been on a jet before. Ricky said it wasn't a bad flight, just long." Gino had joined me at the baggage carousel and retrieved our luggage, then trailed after me. It was obvious *he* wasn't suffering from jet lag. I snarled at him and looked for his travel companions.

The two sailors, Andy and Ricky, had slung their duffles over their shoulders and strolled out into the bright Rio sunlight. I hurried after them.

I was still dressed in clothes suitable for winter in the UK, and the heat slapped at me like a wet dishrag. I gasped and tore off my coat. "*Bugger*!" The one called Ricky turned and grinned at me. His eyes were hidden by dark glasses. Furious, I stalked to him and ripped them off. "Don't you laugh at me! Don't you ever fucking laugh at me, or I'll rip off your balls and stuff 'em down your throat!"

He stared down at me. I'd heard his... 'friend' say, "I love your eyes, pet." But I failed to see what was so attractive about them; they were simply a mundane brown. He reached for his glasses, and involuntarily I backed away a step.

"D'you mind, Gov? The light hurts my eyes." For someone who was dependent on my good will to last out the day, he was extremely confident. He slid the shades onto his face. "Where do we go?"

I ground my teeth. My contact still hadn't been in touch with me at the time we left London. "I've had rooms booked for you in a youth hostelry. Wait there until you hear from me."

"I'm sure we can find something to keep us ... occupied." The shorter one, Andy, leaned into his mate, and I thought he was going to kiss him.

"Yeah," Ricky murmured. His tone was so satisfied I wanted to shoot his dick off. "You going to be with us, Mar... Mr. Marconi?"

The wanker was actually going to call me by my last name? I glared at both of them. "Don't be so bleeding ridiculous. I'll be staying at the Copacabana Real." But if I didn't hear from Sarone soon, I'd have to send Gino out to hire us a boat. I hoped he at least had enough sense to get one that floated.

****

The hotel was luxurious, highly rated by Michelin. Situated near Arpoadar and Ipanema, and only a two-minute walk from the beaches with all those bare-breasted birds, it offered a five star restaurant whose imported French chef boasted a diploma from Cordon Bleu. It also provided an exercise room with a sauna and hot-and-cold running masseuses on premises twenty-four hours a day. They were available for in-room... massages... as well.

I was lying on the table that was a discreet part of my suite's decor. The exotic, dark-haired beauty poured a pool of scented oil warmed in her palms in the hollow of my back, and then began to work it into my tension-knotted muscles. She had educated hands; her fingers alone could have held a degree from Oxford. I was toying with the idea of turning onto my back and letting her become acquainted with Mr. Big when there was a peremptory knock on the door to my suite.

"Do you wish for me to answer that, senhor?"

"Yeah, yeah, find out who it is, and then get rid of him. I've got plans for you, baby."

I could hear the liquid vowels of her language as she spoke to whoever was at the door. Damned foreigners. The least they could do was speak English.

"Mr. Marconi?"

I raised my head and glared at the man who sauntered past the masseuse. He was an older man, dressed in a loose-fitting shirt with a design of outrageous birds. Canvas pants left his lower legs bare, and on his feet were shabby deck shoes. He wore a stained cap that looked as if it might have belonged to someone from the Brazilian navy at one time. When he tipped it back, I could see his hair was sprinkled with grey. He needed a shave; his chin and jaw covered with grizzled stubble. A toothpick hung from the corner of his mouth, and he chewed on it with casual disregard.

"Yeah, I'm Marconi. What's it to you?"

"Word is you need a boat." The man spoke not English, but American. He jerked his thumb toward his chest. "I got one. If the price is right."

I signaled the masseuse to wait in the bedroom, and didn't speak until she shut the door behind her. "Sarone sent you? Why didn't he get in touch with me personally?" He just hitched his shoulder and looked bored. I decided to proceed cautiously. "Name your fee, and I'll tell you if I'm interested."

He took the toothpick from his mouth and examined it thoughtfully. "Five hundred a day."

"Pounds? Are you out of your sodding mind?"

He shrugged. "I got expenses that need to be met, amigo. Fuel, supplies, my crew. And there are palms that need to be greased as well."

Bribes I understood. Still... I made a counter offer. "Five hundred dollars, not pounds."

He looked pensive. The toothpick went back in his mouth, and he chewed it some more. "Make it three hundred pounds, and you've got a deal," he finally said.

I gritted my teeth and sat up, making sure the towel was draped over my lap, covering strategic parts. "Very well," I agreed grudgingly. "Three hundred pounds a day."

"And I need two hundred up front. Call it good-faith money."

I wanted to good-faith his head right off his shoulders. "Yeah, fine." Maybe an accident would befall him as well as the two sailors. "What kind of boat have you got? I mean, for what I'm paying I'd better have my own cabin. My bodyguard and a couple of arseholes will be coming along as well."

"My boat is a twenty-eight foot cabin cruiser. She's got twin inboards, a full galley, and a head with a shower. Aside from the captain's quarters, the Josie has two other cabins. Ditch the assholes, amigo. They can't come, not if you want your own cabin."

"The arseholes have to come, never mind why." I wasn't going to tell him about the treasure on that little island. The fewer who knew of that, the happier I would be. "Listen, they're sailors, they can deal with ship stuff. You can leave your crew on shore."

His eyes narrowed. "That's not an option." He turned on his heel and headed for the door. "My mate goes where I go."

"Hold it, hold it, hold it!" I groused. I knotted the towel around my waist and slid off the table, then began to pace, doing some fast thinking. "Gino is my bodyguard, he can sleep guarding my door. The arseholes are fruits, they can share a cabin. Your mate can bunk with you. That's my last offer. Accept it, or the whole deal is off."

I turned away, not wanting him to see I was holding my breath, and I wondered if he was going to argue further, but instead he said, "Okay, I guess I can live with that. Where did you want to go, and when did you want to leave?" His palm was extended, waiting for the advance. I went into the bedroom and retrieved my wallet, peeling off a number of bills. I returned to the other room.

"I'll be down at the pier first thing tomorrow morning, and I'll tell you our destination once you've cast off."

He counted the bills, his manner insulting, and then he stuffed them in his pocket and grinned around that goddamned toothpick. "All right, amigo. The Josie is in number thirteen slip. I hope you're not a superstitious man. By the way, my name is Reed." He touched the brim of his cap and walked out of the room.

I went to the telephone and dialed the number for the hostel. Then I had to wait until the old man who ran it went looking for Gino. It would have taken less time for me to walk there and find him myself.

"Boss?"

"Yeah. The docks, five tomorrow morning. Slip thirteen."

"Bugger, Boss! That's a damn unlucky number!"

"Never mind that. Just be there, and make sure those two are with you!" I hung up.

"Does the senhor wish to continue with his massage?" The masseuse was standing in the bedroom doorway. I had forgotten all about her. I could feel my muscles had all knotted up again.

"Fuck, yeah." I dropped the towel and laid down on the table.

****

I had a bloody rotten night, dreaming of wolves that stalked me through the shadowed, mist-shrouded streets of Rio. When the operator rang my room with the wake-up call I'd left for four thirty, I was logy and exhausted, my legs ached as if I'd spent the night running, and my sweat carried the stink of fear. I swore at her, slammed down the phone, and fell back to sleep. It was almost an hour later when I woke again, and I was late.

Then I thought, bugger it, it was my charter. They'd wait for me, or I'd know the reason why.

I stumbled into the shower, letting the stinging spray wash away the cobwebs, then brushed my teeth to rid my mouth of the 'something died there' taste in it, dressed, and went down to the hotel's restaurant for a breakfast that included the Brazilian coffee that everyone was always carrying on about. I couldn't see what all the fuss was for; coffee was coffee.

Ringo Starr had taken up residence in my head, beating out the heavy, driving rhythm of Twist and Shout. I wasn't able to do justice to the breakfast that was laid out for me; all I could manage was the fruit cup. I pushed myself away from the table and went to the lobby, where I had the doorman summon a cab. The little baby-shit yellow vehicle careened through the streets, and I shouted, "Basta! Rallentamento!" But the bastard didn't slow down, and I almost yacked up one of my balls.

I sat in the back seat with my eyes closed, breathing shallowly. Eventually, he pulled up at the pier. I handed him the fare, but no tip, and staggered out while he swore at me. I gave him the finger and went to search for slip number thirteen.

"Hurry it up, Marconi!" that bleeding boat captain shouted when he saw me. "Time and tide, amigo!"

He would have enjoyed it if I tripped and fell into the scummy water that lapped at the pilings his boat was tied up to, but no way in hell was I going to pull such a half-arsed stunt. Let him laugh at my expense? Not bloody likely! The wanker. I carefully made my way up the gangplank.

The cabin cruiser was cleaner than I expected it to be. Captain Reed showed me to my quarters. It was very compact, with drawers built in below the bunk. Gino was going to be on the cramped side sleeping on the floor in front of the door. I didn't really care.

The sick headache had gone from bad to worse, and I told the skipper I was going to have a bit of a lie down on my bunk. Maybe I'd catch forty winks. "Tell Gino not to bother me."

"Sure thing, Marconi." I glared at him for his lack of respect, but he ignored me. "We're going to cast off. If you'll give me the coordinates?"

"Yeah, yeah." I handed him the slip of paper I'd written the longitude and latitude of Isla del Queimada Grande on. He whistled when he read them, and the sound pierced my brain. I winced and waved him off, and laid down. In a matter of minutes I could hear the engines rev and feel their dull throb through the decking, beating in time to the throb in my head. And then I was mercifully asleep.

****

It was the absence of noise that gradually woke me. I felt much better, and I relished the gentle rocking of the boat at anchor and the scent of the ocean blowing in through the open porthole. I stood and stretched, then went up on deck.

Three men were standing on the port side of the boat, staring at the island that was about a hundred and fifty meters away. Rocky hills rose steeply, almost from the water's edge, covered by a thick carpet of vegetation. "But... but... where is the beach? Where is the gold?"

The tallest of the trio, the sailor, Ricky, pointed. "It's on the other side, Gov. We can't get in that way because of the reef. It would tear the bottom out of Captain Reed's lovely boat."

"Bugger!"

He turned to smile at me, and I felt a shiver run up my spine. Those goddamned glasses, hiding his eyes! "Not to worry, Gov. We'll take the dinghy in and walk across. It isn't too bad. And there's that cave just chock full of treasure, as well. That's on the way, and you'll want to check it out, I'm sure."

"Then what are we waiting for?" I began to dance with impatience.

"If you'll permit, Captain?" It had to be a sailor thing, the respect he afforded the boat's captain.

Reed smiled thinly. "Of course." There was something else there, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

"Where's Gino? He can help with the rowing."

"Gino couldn't make it." The shorter sailor seemed to be entranced by the island's terrain; his eyes were fastened on it. He continued before I could get a sound past suddenly dry lips. I was alone with these men? Well, I had a Webley-Fosbery in my pocket. "We didn't want to get him into trouble. He went looking for a good time last night. It was his luck he found just the opposite. He'll survive, he's just a little battered is all."

I glared at him. "You didn't think to tell me of this, back on the pier?"

"I thought you wanted to get here as soon as possible. Look, we're ready to launch the dinghy, Mr. Marconi. Or would you rather we go back to Rio empty-handed?"

"Just don't try any funny business." I climbed down into the little boat and showed them my gun. "I'm armed." I didn't show them the knife strapped to my calf.

With easy, flowing strokes, the two sailors rowed us to the tiny beach. "Y'know, most shark attacks happen in not more than three feet of water," the tall one said conversationally. They jumped out into water that was about three feet deep, and I glanced around at it in suspicion as they dragged the dinghy onto the white sand. "You wait here, Andy."

"No!" I barked. "He comes with us! We all go together!"

"Andy needs to keep an eye out. That's the way it's done, Mr. Marconi."

"Oh, yeah, right." I had seen enough pirate movies when I was a boy to know a lookout was always left behind on the beach. "Okay, let's go then."

We began to climb up the hill. The higher we climbed, the denser the undergrowth became. I thought I heard slithering and kept whipping my head around at each sound.

"Don't be so nervous, Gov. We just need to go over this rise. There's a bit of a forest and then the beach with all the gold."

He was right. We entered the forest, and I noticed what seemed to be the remains of a path. "What's this?"

"Hmmm? Oh, that was the way the lighthouse keeper used to go for fresh water. It hasn't been used in ages; the lighthouse is automated now. Mind the vines, Gov."

"Ta." I raised my hand to brush the hanging vine away from my face. "Ow. Damn thing has thorns!" I continued on a few feet. "Ow!" I grabbed at a vine that draped over my shoulder and flung it away. "What the fuck? Is this place covered in thorns? *Ow*! Jesus, what..."

He raised his arm as if to part the overhanging vines, and when he turned, there was a golden snake in his hand. Its body coiled around his forearm, and he stroked its lance-shaped head. I raised my eyes to his face, unable to understand what was happening. There was something wrong with his eyes, they were no longer brown, but gold, and the pupils were slim, vertical slits.

"Here's your gold, Marconi," and his voice was the hoarse voice I had heard numerous times over the phone. He offered me the snake.

"You're the snake boy!" I swallowed repeatedly and backed away from him, pain like fire shooting up my arm, down my shoulder, turning my legs to rubber and my bowels to water. Another sharp sting in my neck this time. A snake draped over my shoulder, and I yanked the smooth, surprisingly warm scaled body away, moaning as I felt the fangs tearing the flesh of my throat.

Whimpers spilled from my mouth. I turned and ran back the way we had come. Captain Reed had to have anti-venom serum on his boat. I was paying him. He would have to save me!

My vision began to cloud along the edges. I'd never make it back to the beach. I remembered the knife I carried. I ripped back my sleeve. My right arm was turning a frightening shade of purple-black and swelling, but I could see the two puncture wounds. I pulled out the knife and cut the skin. Blood flowed freely, and I felt relieved. I was doing something about the situation. It would be all right.

I raised my arm to my mouth, sucked, and spat. More blood welled out. My trousers began to feel tight around my thigh. I cut a six-inch slit in the material, and shuddered as the discolored flesh seemed to surge through it. I made a cut between the punctures. The blood poured out, and for a second I was afraid I had nicked an artery. But I had severed arteries in other people and knew there were none in that part of my thigh.

I swayed, now starting to become lightheaded, and I tried to find my way back over the lip of the hill to the beach. My pants' leg was soaked with blood, and it was dripping steadily from the wound on my arm. I couldn't do anything about the bites on my shoulder and neck. I staggered and went down to one knee, breaking the skin on a sharp rock. I heard more slithering, and moaned and pushed myself back to my feet. More blood. I was sweating as well.

The top of the hill was just ahead of me. It kept wavering in and out, and I blinked furiously, trying to bring it back into focus. I forced myself up to my feet, falling over a couple of times before I finally succeeded. My breathing was rapid and shallow. Agony was a living, breathing thing, consuming me, eating me alive. But I kept putting one foot in front of the other. My heart was pounding. I looked behind me and saw a huge swath of blood. The undergrowth rustled, and I became panic-stricken. I took a single step forward and then pitched onto my face.

This time I couldn't even move. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a pair of legs. The sailor... the snake boy. He squatted down beside me. "All dead, Marconi. Sarone. Halliwell. Zolo. You."

And bugger. He was right.

(19)

Chapter 19 Note: Because St. John is a viscount's son, he would be referred to as the
Honorable St. John Ashford. A hand is four inches. Measured from the ground
to the withers (shoulders) Jingle Belle would have been fifty-eight inches.

Robert Dorincort was charming and handsome, with thick, fair hair, the texture of which made my fingertips tingle, and eyes so blue they did not seem real. He had his pick of any young man in the city, in the whole of the British Isles. Rumor had it even straight men were willing to bend over for him.

He had made me admit I loved him. He had been fucking me senseless, and I shivered at the memory; I could still feel the ache deep inside me. He refused to let me come until I confessed to the unconfessable.

The last person I had said 'I love you' to had been Mama, just before she vanished out of my life. Father never encouraged either Germaine or myself to speak of warm emotions. The result was that I never told anyone of my deepest feelings. For a long time I did not think I had any.

And now, here I was, following Robert up the stairs, somewhat like a disconsolate puppy. Was this what love felt like, this searing feeling in one's chest? How did I know it was not simply heartburn?

I was a trifle startled to see him open the door to his room and wait for me to precede him. "You... you want me to stay with you?"

He looked exasperated. "Singe, don't you get it yet? You're *mine*. Of course you're going to stay in this bedroom with me. This is your bedroom, too, now." He dropped my suitcase beside the door.

"Oh." I did not know what to say about that. I had thought he said he loved me simply to soothe my ruffled feathers, so that I would allow him to continue fucking me. Once he grew tired of my inexperience I had no doubt he would show me the door, disappointed with me, just as Father had always been.

"All right, St. John. There's something I have to tell you."

Confused, I braced myself, unsure what he was going to say, unsure how I should react to it. I bit down on my lower lip and flinched.

Robert seemed fascinated by my mouth. Then he shook himself and stated bluntly, "I'm a wolf."

I hid a relieved smile; I was aware of his reputation. I ran my eyes over his beautiful body. "Well, yes, of course you are."

He became impatient. "I'm serious, St. John." And then he proceeded to spin the biggest cock and bull story I had ever heard. "Years ago, Lawrence Talbot, my grandfather, was bitten by a werewolf."

"I thought Mr. Sayer and Mr. Smythe were your grandfathers. Who is this Lawrence Talbot?"

"He was a boyhood friend of Pere's, and lived at Talbot Abbey, the neighboring estate in Kent. Quite frankly, I think there was something between the two of them at one time, Pere gets this faraway look in his eye, but never bring that up when Papa is around. He becomes quite put out! Sometimes I think Pere does that on purpose, to tease Papa. Now stop distracting me." Robert looked at me blankly. "What was I saying?"

This was fascinating. "Your grandfather was bitten by a werewolf."

"Oh, right. He had been seeing Jennie Williams, who was a local woman, and apparently he got her pregnant. My mother is his natural child, although she was raised by Papa and Pere." Off-handedly he added, "And my father is also a shape-shifter."

"Just one second, Robert Dorincort!" I frowned at him. "You expect me to believe that when the moon is full, you turn into a hairy beast?"

"I never have," he said seriously. "I mean, I carry the bloodline, and I do get hairy. A bit. But... Drew is the one who turns, and possibly Ariane. None of the rest of us has shown any inclination."

He really did expect me to believe such arrant nonsense! "Then may I assume that I will not awaken one night to find you eating me?" I asked in what I was sure Robert would have taken wicked delight in referring to as my viscount's son manner.

"Oh, I didn't say that, green eyes!" His eyes grew sultry, and he bared his teeth in a predatory grin. My penis hardened, and I moistened my lips. "I will eat you, and I assure you, you will enjoy it!" he murmured. He took a step forward; I took a step back. "Won't you?" I tried to prevent a whimper, but I could see from the heat of his gaze that I was not successful. He wound his fist in my shirtfront, pulled me to him, and brushed his lips over my mouth. "Won't you?"

"Yes," I groaned; I curled my hand around his neck. How could he do this so easily to me? I brought his mouth down to mine. "Yes, whatever you say!"

Robert's hands stroked over my back and palmed my buttocks, squeezing them rhythmically. I thought he whispered something that sounded like, "My own sweet honorable; my beautiful boy," but I could not have heard correctly. No one had ever used words like that to me. His fingers sank into the crevice that separated my arse cheeks, finding and teasing my anus, and he drew me against him, urging me to rub against his hard erection.

I shivered and moaned and held on to him for dear life, while I rocked back and forth and fed off his lush mouth. His tongue toyed with mine, curling over it, stroking it, but for not nearly long enough. He withdrew it to trace the line of my parted lips, and I panted raggedly.

"Yes," he whispered back to me, and I rode the thigh he thrust between my legs. "That's the way. Show me how hot I can make you. Come for me, Singe."

With a cry I stifled by biting his shoulder, I climaxed. Robert laughed softly, triumphantly, then gave a startled groan as he shuddered against me and came.

We stood in the middle of his bedroom, both of us surprised by what had just occurred. He ran a soothing hand over my hair, brushing it out of my eyes, holding me until we caught our breath. Then he tilted my head back and kissed me again. "I love you, Singe. Never doubt it."

I dropped my eyes, unable to meet the gravity in his. I wanted so badly to believe him. Did I dare permit myself to believe? I searched for something to conceal my own vulnerability. "Oh, bug..." Hastily I corrected myself. "*Bother*! Look at my trousers!"

His expression was smug, and I did not know if I wanted to hit him or kiss him. He retrieved my suitcase, placed it on the bed and opened it, then handed me a pair of undershorts and trousers. "Go change, green eyes. We might as well get you settled in." I went into the adjoining bath. By the time I returned, Robert had changed also, and was unpacking shirts and trousers, as well as, "Pajamas, St. John?" He displayed them, letting them dangle from his fingers, and a grin tipped up the corner of his mouth. They were made of extremely soft wool, and covered with purple, green, and golden dragons on a background of crimson.

"It is very cold in Father's house," I offered hesitantly.

"My eyes! My eyes!" he teased. I had to smile. The colors were quite... vibrant. "I promise you, Singe, you won't be cold in my bed." I became breathless.

Next, he pulled out the Paddington Bear, and I could feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment. If I expected him to mock me, I was wrong; he simply stroked the bear's worn fur and handed him to me. I cradled the stuffed bear against me.

Robert reached into the suitcase again, and my eyes widened. I tossed the bear aside. "I can do that, Robert!" But before I could stop him, he removed the little box that held all my treasures. "Robert..."

He looked into my eyes, and I stood there, frozen, uncertain what to say or do. In that box were the mementos of my childhood: a shiny shilling Grandfather had given me when Mama had once taken me to visit her family, a linen handkerchief she had left behind the last time she had come to tuck me into bed, a soft pouch filled with marbles that were a gift from Uncle James, a braided length of hair from the tail of my Welsh pony, Jingle Belle. Father sold her shortly after my thirteenth birthday, saying I had grown too big for a pony, although at fourteen and a half hands, she was still taller than I, and had no problem carrying me. One day about two weeks later, during an outing to Hyde Park, I had seen the child of one of his friends riding Jingle. Her eyes were rolling in distress, and her hide was streaked with sweat and welts from the crop the brat carried. I pulled it from her hand and threatened to use it on her.

I jerked myself from the memory of the punishment that had earned me.

Robert's gaze sharpened, but he gently set the box aside, unopened, and ran his fingers over the curve of my unbruised cheekbone. "If you'll finish unpacking, St. John, I'll empty some drawers for you."

I did as he suggested. I could not live out of my suitcase, after all. It was too transient. However, instead of emptying just 'some' drawers, he emptied an entire dresser. How long was he intending to keep me?

When we went downstairs for lunch, I began to get some idea. "Robert? What is all this?" The hallway was lined with boxes that contained everything I had left behind in my father's house.

"Oh... er... nothing, really. I just persuaded your father to have your things packed up and sent round."

"And Father agreed?"

His blue eyes narrowed with savage amusement, and at that moment I quite believed his tale of carrying the shape-shifter blood. "I can be very persuasive when I choose."

Yes. He certainly could.

####

"Tell me you love me, Singe."

St. John Ashford was whimpering nonstop as I pounded into him, each thrust stroking across his prostate, driving him closer and closer to the precipice. I nudged his legs further apart and leaned onto his back. Putting my full weight on him pressed his upper body down to the mattress and increased the angle of penetration. The sounds he made told me how much I was pleasuring him.

I took my mouth off the patch of skin I was marking long enough to demand again, "Say it!"

"Pleasepleaseplease!" he begged. A massive shudder rippled through his body, and I struggled to hold onto my control.

"Say it," and this time I was the one pleading.

He sighed his capitulation, "I love you."

No matter how many times I told him, the only time he would admit to loving me was when we were making love, and I had to coerce it out of him. Never once since I'd brought him home from his father's house had he freely said the words. Never once. Sometimes I wondered if he did that purposely, making me force him to reveal his feelings.

I tightened my grip on his cock, shoved in twice more, and he came with a choked gasp, pouring himself into my hands. His inner muscles clamped down, and I howled and exploded into him as well.

I eased us over onto our sides, somehow managing to keep my cock in his arse, his lovely, snug arse. For long moments we stayed like that, ragged breaths disturbing the quiet of the night. I smoothed my palms over his chest and down past his taut abdomen.

Finally I slipped out of him and turned him onto his back. I tipped his chin up, and his green eyes, slumberous with sated desire, looked into mine. "I love you, Singe."

He hummed with pleasure; at least I thought it was pleasure, I hoped it was pleasure, but he kept so much of himself bottled away from me. He said, "You have made a mess of me, Robert. Let me go, please. I want to get cleaned up before I fall asleep like this."

"Stay still." Starting at his groin, I began to lick him clean, little, thorough cat licks. When I reached his chest I nipped and sucked his nipples, tugging gently on the ring that pierced one small, flat nipple, and he groaned and cupped the back of my head, kneading his fingertips firmly against my skull.

"Robert," he whispered. I held my breath, sure he was about to say the words I wanted to hear from him, but instead, "Let me get up, please. I am all sticky."

Defeated, I rolled off him. He slid off the bed and went into the bath. I listened to the water run, and stared at the ceiling, brooding. Talk about fucking up royally. No matter what I did, no matter how many times I said it, I couldn't get St. John to believe I loved him.

He came back with a damp flannel, and the bed dipped as he knelt on it. Moist heat enveloped my cock, and he gently cleaned me. The silence between us continued to grow. When he was finished, he disposed of the flannel in the bath, and when he returned he was dressed for bed.

I sighed. I hadn't been able to convince him not to wear those outlandish pajamas.

"Get the light, would you please, Robert?"

Was he deliberately trying to drive me out of my mind? I had never seen St. John like this. He didn't snipe, he didn't whinge, he was just so goddamned polite.

I wondered if this icy politeness was how he had been treated, was what it had been like in the viscount's house. I wanted to hurl something across the room, preferably that cold, cold man for what he had done to my beautiful boy

I snapped off the lamp and pulled the comforter up over the two of us. As had become his habit in the days since I'd brought him home, he snuggled down on the other side of the bed. Within five minutes, he was sound asleep. I rather wished I had the trick of that.

It was sometime after midnight when I roused groggily. Nestled against me was St. John Ashford, his warm breath ruffling the hair that covered my chest. His arms were around me, and he held me as if he would never let me go.

Each night it had been like that. He would go to sleep as far from me as he could get and still be on the bed, and sometime during the night he would wind up lying in my arms. It was the only thing that kept me sane, knowing that in his sleep, at least, he wanted me.

I rubbed my cheek against his chestnut hair. It was a starting point.

****

Mrs. Harris, our housekeeper, had prepared her usual sumptuous breakfast, in spite of the fact that only St. John and I were at home. Drew and his lover had disappeared. I fingered the note my brother had left and hoped he knew what he was doing.

I wasn't worried about Drew, not really. According to the note, they had some business to take care of somewhere in South America. I intended to get all the particulars of that trip from him when he got back. I had my ways. No, I wasn't worried about my favorite brother, although I wasn't above lying about it. Drew could never resist a hangdog look from any of the Siblings, but me least of all. I'd open my blue eyes very wide, regard him reproachfully, and he'd spill the details before he even realized it.

St. John wandered into the breakfast room and helped himself to a cup of hot chocolate. He picked up a section of the newspaper and took a seat, a shy smile acknowledging my presence.

I felt my heart kick. Could this be the start of... I reached for his hand. "Singe..."

"Beg pardon, Mr. Robin." Mrs. Harris entered, bearing an envelope. "Mr. St. John, this just arrived for you." She handed it to him and returned to the kitchen.

He opened the flap and withdrew the sheet of paper, unfolded it. I watched as he scanned the message, becoming alarmed when he turned so pale I thought he might faint. "Singe, what's wrong?"

St. John licked his lips. "My... my grandfather is inviting us to welcome in the New Year with him and Grandmother at their townhouse." He raised a napkin to his mouth. His hand was trembling, but he strove for a tone of sophisticated boredom. "Odd. He has never expressed any interest in spending time with me before."

"This is rather brief notice, isn't it?"

He nodded shortly and worried his lip. I wanted to kiss away the tiny hurt. "Robert, will you... will you accompany me?"

"I am invited as well?"

His expression became mulish. "I do not care! I want you with me." He looked abruptly stricken. "That is, if you would not mind? This does say I may bring a friend if I so choose. Of course, I understand if you would rather not come, Robert. As you said, this is very brief notice, and you must have other plans! It is New Year's Eve, after all. I quite understand if..."

"For such a pretty boy, you often speak utter rot, St. John. What time does your grandfather want us there?"

His relief was palpable. "Dinner is at eight. I'll call and accept." His eyes dropped back to the message. He touched his tongue to his lips. "It is formal."

"I've a monkey suit. When you belong to a family as involved with hunting and steeplechasing as mine, it's a requirement." I tensed. "Have you a tux?" I wouldn't put it past the old bugger to do something like that just to embarrass his grandson.

"Beg pardon? Oh, yes, of course. I unpacked it yesterday. Do you think Mrs. Harris might give it a bit of a touch up? I regret to say it is a trifle wrinkled."

That was an understatement. I remembered the clothing that he had removed from one of the boxes, a sigh marking his distress. Had his tuxedo been among that jumble? I wanted to hurt whoever had thrown his things so carelessly into the box. I took a firm grip on my temper. "I'm sure she won't mind."

"Thank you." He looked up from the note, his green eyes cloudy. "I... I hate to confess this, but I am a trifle... er... concerned about this meeting with Grandfather." Concerned was not the word for it. He looked bloody terrified. "From what little Father has said of him, he is not a... a tolerant man."

"Perhaps he's changed."

He laughed, a very sad sound that almost broke my heart. "No, my dear. People do not change that much."

My breath caught in my throat. He didn't appear to realize what he had just called me. "Perhaps your father lied about him."

"Father *lie*?" He looked stunned, as if such a notion never had occurred to him.

I went around the table and knelt beside his chair. "Singe, I'll be there with you. If either of them so much as look at you crosswise, I'll tear their hearts out, I swear it!" I put my arms around him and laid my head against his chest. His heart beat rapidly beneath my ear.

"Thank you, Robert." He leaned over me and rested his cheek on my hair. "I..." But he didn't finish that sentence.

(20)

Chapter 20 Note: St. John's grandfather's title is Pennington, but the family name is Blakeney, which is why his Uncle James was called Mr. Blakeney by the butler.

My head was tipped back, and I was stroking the razor over my throat. I relished the idea that in the other room my lover was laying out his clothes for the evening.

"Robert!" The panic in St. John's voice had me gripping the razor like a weapon and sprinting into our bedroom.

"Singe, what's wrong?" I expected nothing less than a fiend. With fangs.

He stood before his dresser, clad only in white boxer briefs, his bare toes curled into the rug. Dark chestnut curls covered his chest and arrowed in a narrow line down past the briefs which clung to his arse and lovingly molded his cock. My mouth went dry, and I almost swallowed my tongue.

The only immediate danger St. John was in was from an aroused lover. I had to drag my eyes away from his body, and my mind from thoughts of stripping those briefs off that beautiful body and making love to him again. I stifled a moan and licked my lips.

"Robert?"

The least I could do was *seem* concerned with whatever his dilemma was. "What is it?"

He stepped aside, and my jaw dropped open.

The top drawer of his dresser was a shambles, with socks, handkerchiefs, shorts and undershirts tossed about, lying every which way. "I cannot find my shirt studs, Robert!" He sounded as if he was about to weep. "I know I saw them just a bit ago! I cannot go to a dinner party at my grandparents' without shirt studs!"

"Not to worry, green eyes." I kept a serious expression on my face, although it was difficult. This was working out perfectly. I laid down the razor, rummaged through one of my own dresser drawers and found what I was 'searching' for. Nonchalantly I handed him a jeweler's box. "Here, Singe. You can use these."

His eyes became enormous when he opened the box and saw its contents, emerald shirt studs, seven of them, and matching cuff buttons. "Robert, these are beautiful! I could not possibly borrow something as valuable as this!"

"St. John, you'd be doing me a favor. Truly! I can't use these! You see, I... uh... I bought them on impulse. Drew constantly chides me about that. They're so... uh... pretty, and I thought they would go with my coloring, but I should have known better; I could never wear emeralds!" He was wavering. "Please take them, Singe," I wheedled. "One of us might as well get some use out of them."

As I had been hoping, he believed me. "Thank you, Robert." He took the box, running his fingertips over the precious stones, the smile in his eyes as bright as the emeralds he held. "I promise I will take excellent care of them!"

The truth of the matter was that I had gone shopping a couple of days prior and had bought them specifically for him.

I gave a silent sigh of relief. I had given St. John a gift, the first of a lifetime's worth I hoped. He thought they were merely a loan, but I didn't care. I'd been sneaky about it, but I'd got him to accept it. I picked up the razor and strutted back into the bath to finish shaving, feeling extremely satisfied.

It had gotten me a spontaneous hug, as well.

****

I was pacing the front hallway, glancing periodically at my wristwatch. What was taking him so bloody long to finish dressing? "*St. John*!"

"Sorry." He came trotting down the stair. His eyes were fastened on his wrist as he wrestled with a cuff button, and so he missed the dumbfounded expression I knew had to be on my face. The boy was absolutely gorgeous! His glossy chestnut hair was confined neatly in a queue at the back of his neck. His dress shirt was snowy white, with a series of neat pleats down the front. Emerald shirt studs winked in the overhead light.

I *knew* they would go well with his green eyes.

A cummerbund of deep forest green encircled his waist. The lapels of his tuxedo jacket were edged with satin, as were the cuffs. His untied bowtie hung from his neck. "These always give me a hard time. Ah! Success!" He smiled up at me and froze. He, in turn, studied my appearance. "Oh, my! Oh, Robert!"

"What's wrong? Have I got something on my face?" I thought I had gotten all the shaving cream off before I dressed.

Color stood out on his cheekbones. "No." He swallowed and walked past me toward the door. "No, you look fine. Better than fine."

"I say, St. John..." Before I could tell him his tie was still undone, he wheeled around and came back to me, and I was enveloped by the most alluring scent. He was wearing something, cologne, possibly, or aftershave, although he was so smooth-skinned that he rarely needed to shave. It mingled with his natural scent. The heat of his body seemed to enhance the heady, musky combination. In spite of the fact that I'd had him in the bath earlier, my cock was hard and aching, pleading to bury itself in him again.

His palms cradled my cheeks, his eyes swept over my face, my eyes, my hair, my mouth, and he brought my face down to his. The kiss he pressed to my lips was whisper soft.

"St. John..." I groaned into his mouth, hoping he would deepen the caress. "God, but I love you!"

St. John dropped his hands from my face, his eyes wide and hopeful. "If we do not leave now..." His lashes dipped down, shielding his eyes, and his tongue ran over his lips, as if tasting that kiss. I thought he might lean in to kiss me again, but instead he sighed and stepped back. "If we do not leave now, we will be late."

"Just a second, green eyes." I rubbed my knuckles under his chin, then reached for the ends of his tie and began to form the bow. I took a deep breath, held it, almost drowning in his scent. "There. All done." He looked handsome enough to cause a riot. "Now we can go." I dropped a quick kiss on his mouth and took his arm to lead him out to the Jaguar that was parked at the curb.

****

Lord Pennington's townhouse was discreetly lit and reeked of old money and blue blood. I left the Jag with his chauffeur who was waiting to park it out of the way. With a tug to straighten my tux jacket, I followed St. John up the shallow steps. "Singe, remember. We can leave whenever you decide."

"That would be an act of cowardice, Robert." He smoothed a restless hand over his hair.

The servant who opened the door seemed to recognize my lover. "Mr. Blakeney! How splendid to see you again, sir! I trust you are enjoying your usual..."

"I am not my uncle," St. John interrupted gently.

"... good health? Oh," his face fell.

"I am St. John Ashford. This is Robert Dorincort."

"I beg pardon, sir. I can see now that you are too young to be Mr. James."

"I believe my grandfather is expecting us?"

"Yes, sir. If you will come in, please? Lord Pennington would like a word with you, Mr. Ashford. Mr. Dorincort, perhaps you would not mind joining Lady Pennington in the lounge?"

St. John's fingers clutched my sleeve, the only evidence of his anxiety, but then he dropped it and stepped away from me. I touched his shoulder, stopping him, and glanced at the butler, my eyebrow cocked. "I do mind."

"Sir, please, I must insist..."

"No. I go with St. John, or we both leave."

He looked put out, but in the face of my adamant refusal to budge from my lover's side, he had no choice but to usher the two of us into the dark-paneled study.

Lord Pennington stood by the fireplace where orange and red flames snapped and crackled. He was solidly built, of medium height, with a shock of light brown hair that was liberally threaded through with strands of grey. His chin was tilted up, and meanly I wondered if his lordship presented that profile because at one time someone had told him it was his best side, or if he truly imagined that stance concealed his drooping jowls. He stared at the painting of a pair of children that hung above the mantle. "Your Uncle James and Pamela, your mother, " he murmured to St. John.

I was drawn to that painting myself. The boy, who was probably thirteen or fourteen, had dark auburn hair and vivid green eyes. His arrogant expression was captured by the artist's talented hand. The girl, whose coloring was so similar it was obvious they were siblings, was a few years younger. She sat at his feet and gazed up at him with impish adoration. Her skirt was a pool of color around her knees, and a pair of puppies played with the ribbons that fastened the waist of her dress. It was easy to see the children's relationship to my lover.

Lord Pennington's fingers drummed an agitated tattoo on the mantle, and a frown creased the bridge of his hawk's beak of a nose. The frown deepened when he turned and saw I had accompanied his grandson. "I wished to speak with you alone, sir!" he barked at my lover.

"I am very sorry, my lord. Robert will, of course, leave." St. John paused a beat, and I stiffened, determined to stand my ground. Then he concluded, "If that is his wish."

The old man began to sputter. "What... what..."

I was startled; I hadn't expected my lover to defy this imposing man. And then I was irritated with myself for not giving him the credit to have enough bottom to stand up to his grandfather.

I gave the baron my wolf's grin. "I believe I shall delay making the acquaintance of your delightful wife until St. John can make the introductions himself, my lord. Now, if he has no objections to me hearing whatever it is you might have to say, I suggest you proceed. I am a trifle peckish, and your grandson knows how... ravenous I become when I haven't eaten."

St. John blushed.

Lord Pennington's brows beetled in a fierce scowl, but he stalked to the large desk where a couple of glasses filled with amber liquor had been sitting. He offered one to St. John, who shook his head. "I do not drink."

"What's this? Everyone in this family drinks! Are you trying to give us a bad name, boy?"

"I hardly think you would care, my lord." St. John's voice was cold, and I shivered. For the first time I was seeing him as his father's son. I wondered again what it must have been like to grow up under Ashford's roof.

Lord Pennington choked on his drink. "I beg your pardon!"

St. John shrugged. "In the last fifteen years, how many times, excluding tonight, have we met?" His grandfather was silent. "Exactly. May I ask why you... invited... me here this evening?"

His lordship worried his lower lip, an action very similar to St. John's when he was trying to decide the best method of answering a question or evading the need to answer a question. "I received a letter from your father earlier today."

"What did Father have to say?"

"He said you were being debauched by this young man, and that he will not have a homosexual for a son. He is disowning you. As far as he is concerned, he now only has one son."

I heard my lover's breath catch in his throat, although I didn't think the old man had.

"Ah. I believe I will have that drink." St. John sipped the alcohol, grimacing at the taste, then knocked back the rest. His eyes began to water, and he gasped and coughed, painful, throat-rasping sounds. I took a step toward him, but he raised his hand, stopping me.

Pennington watched with sour interest. "I am touched by your concern for my grandson, Dorincort. By the by, did you indeed attempt to break Ashford's hand?"

"Why, yes, I did." I smiled blandly into his eyes. "I took exception to his striking St. John."

The old baron peered at his grandson as if searching for the bruise, then looked away, uncomfortable. "That's family business, young man. We do not interfere with the way a man runs his family."

"Blakeneys do not, perhaps, but Dorincorts do." I looked back at the portrait of his children.

He glowered at me, his choler rising. "That is none of your affair, Dorincort!"

"Is it mine, my lord?" St. John put the glass down and approached his grandfather.

"I will not speak of it in front of this man!"

St. John shrugged. "If that is how you feel, sir." I was amazed that his grandfather could not feel the ice encasing him. "I will bid you good evening, then. Robert, you did say we might leave whenever I chose?"

I nodded and went to him, but before we could leave the room, his grandfather snapped petulantly, "Oh, very well, St. John. You are indeed your father's son!"

St. John blinked. Hurt flashed briefly in his eyes, but otherwise he showed no reaction.

"This stays within this room!" Pennington waited until we both agreed. "Ashford is very cold, very prideful. He guards his emotions like a miser's gold. If I had known that twenty-five years ago, I would have refused his request for Pamela's hand. She was such a happy, high-spirited girl. Half that season's eligible bachelors were lined up for her, pleading for a flower from her corsage or a smile or a glance from her eyes." He tugged on his lower lip. "You have her eyes, did you know that, St. John?"

"No, I did not, my lord."

He glared at him. "Were you not the least bit curious about your mother, boy?"

"The sole time I asked Father about her, he informed me only that I was the spitting image of Uncle James, and confined me to my room for the rest of the week. He forbade me from mentioning Mama again."

Pennington had the grace to look abashed. He glanced away, and it was some moments before he continued. "Ours is a very old name, St. John. Ashford was willing to settle for a baron's daughter in order to align himself with that name. Pamela began to grow weary of all that adulation, and so he took another tack; he was cool to her. It worked. She was only eighteen; she decided he was the one she had to have. Afterward, when she realized he was, in fact, as cold as he appeared and that there was no way for her to change him..." He became lost in thought, and when he spoke again, it was obvious he had forgotten I was there. "It took a few years, but once she finally became pregnant with Germaine, I hoped things would be better. I think, perhaps for a time, they were. Germaine looked so much like his father."

"Yes, it was always quite clear that Father loved Germaine."

"My boy..."

"It is not important, my lord." But his expression was bleak, and I felt a stinging behind my eyes. "Did Mama..." He cleared his throat. "... did she care for me at all?"

"St. John, the only one she loved more than you was her brother, James. You favor him greatly, so much so that your father actually thought... " He caught himself. "Well, never mind. That's neither here nor there."

I gritted my teeth, tempted to go after St. John's poor excuse for a family and hurt them as much as they had so casually hurt him. The old man didn't even realize how devastated his grandson was.

St. John was looking down at his hands. "I was four the last time I saw her." His fingers were so tightly gripped together there was no color in them.

"That last year Ashford seemed to grow even colder. Pamela pleaded with me to allow her to come home with you." Pennington scrubbed his face. "I thought she was being hysterical. To my everlasting regret, I refused to believe her accounts of how he treated her. She had been such a joy as a child. How could anyone not love her? And then... and then she met someone who wasn't afraid of her warmth and fire. One of those 'ologist' fellows. An archeologist, I believe, or possibly an anthropologist..." He waved his hand dismissively, unconcerned with the occupation of the man his daughter had apparently loved more than she'd loved even her younger son. "If you weren't so young, I'm certain she would have taken you with her."

"Instead, she left me with the man she, herself, could not live with. Yes, I see." St. John was becoming more and more withdrawn.

Before Lord Pennington could protest that, there was a tap on the door, and he looked around. "Yes?"

"My lord, her ladyship wishes you to be informed that dinner is served."

"Please inform my wife that we will be along shortly." He said nothing further until the door closed behind his butler. "The times your grandmother and I tried to see you, and it was a number of times I will have you know, young man! We were told in blunt terms that neither Lord Ashford nor his sons were at home to us. I even sent you and your brother ponies with the stipulation that when you outgrew them, they were to be returned to me."

"Jingle Belle was a gift from you, sir? Father never said."

The old man began to look appalled. "And when he said you decided you no longer wanted her...?"

St. John's mouth curved in an unhappy line. "You believed I had some say in whether I kept her or not?" His eyes glittered with unshed tears. "I understand now. No wonder you had no use for me."

"St. John, you understand nothing!" He ran his hand through his hair. "Pamela broke her mother's heart when she ran off with that archeologist, or whatever he was, not doing us the simple courtesy of telling us face to face, leaving only a note that wasn't even handwritten! She used a typewriter, for godssake! Ashford took great delight in informing me that my grandson was exactly like my daughter, selfish and uncaring, and..."

"And in spite of what you knew of him, you believed him?" I spat, unable to contain myself any longer. "Tell me something, my lord. Why didn't St. John's mother take him with her when she left Ashford? If she loved him so much?"

"I refuse to speak of this any longer! You are not family, Dorincort!"

"Am *I*, sir? Have *I* the right to know why I have not seen my mother in fifteen years?"

"What are you talking about, St. John? Your mother has been dead for more than ten years!"

I leaped forward and caught St. John before he collapsed to the floor. He sagged in my embrace. "Chair!" I snarled. Pennington looked alarmed. He quickly fetched the one from behind his desk. I eased my beautiful boy into it, then pushed his head down between his knees. "Breathe, St. John, breathe!"

His grandfather knelt beside us. "You had to have known, St. John!" he murmured urgently. "Ashford had to have told you! He received a message from some out-of-the-way consulate, informing him Pamela and her lover had been killed in some local insurrection!"

"Robert." St. John straightened slowly, his movements as stiff as an old man's. "I would like to go home now. That is, if you do not mind having someone who is as selfish and uncaring and... and..."

"St. John." I helped him up and waited patiently until he met my eyes. "I love you." Color rushed into his pale cheeks and a single teardrop spilled over. I caught it on my fingertip, and brought it to my lips. "Say good night to his lordship, St. John."

"Good night, my lord. Please tell her ladyship I am sorry to have missed dinner." He paused at the door. "Happy New Year, Grandfather." He walked out.

"Dorincort." Lord Pennington had the gall to appear upset.

"Tell me, my lord. Do you enjoy kicking puppies?"

"Now see here, Dorincort!"

I clenched my fingers to prevent myself from knocking him down. After all, he was an old man. "No, *you* see here. Between the lot of you, you've broken St. John's heart. Well, he's mine now. Stay away from him, or you'll all of you have to deal with me!" I pulled the door shut behind me.

(21)

St. John was subdued as we walked from the mews after garaging the Jag. I had my arm around his shoulder, my fingers gently kneading it, and kept him firmly anchored to me. We entered the townhouse. It was so quiet there when no one else was at home.

I removed my jacket and draped it over the banister and watched him uneasily. "Not the smartest of moves on my part, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, Singe, I should have waited at least until after we'd eaten before making that grand statement."

My attempt to lighten the moment didn't work. "He never told me, Robert. My own father, and he never told me my mother had been dead all this time." He hadn't regained his color, and his usually bright eyes were muddy. "Why would he do that? I understand that he always loved Germaine best, I do, Robert, really I do. But how could he not tell me Mama was dead?"

//Because the sodding son of a bitch is a fucking, bent bastard who's a waste on the face of the earth!// I put my arms around him and rocked him, stroking my hands soothingly up and down his back over the tux jacket he still wore.

There was something off about the entire situation. I could not see one of my siblings going off as St. John's mother was purported to have done and we not making a serious attempt to track him, or her, down. Perhaps it was just because the Blakeneys were the way they were. I wished Drew were home. What was he doing in Brazil? I needed to talk with him now.

"Let's go see if Mrs. Harris has anything in the larder." I kissed his cheek and was about to step away from him. He held on for just a second longer, his lips caressing the side of my neck, and I hummed with pleasure and tipped my head to give him better access. The warmth of his breath turned the hum to a groan that vibrated through me. He nuzzled my jaw and released me.

"I thought you said she would spank my bare bum if I was cheeky enough to dare cooking in her kitchen." He couldn't help but notice my body's response to his words. Rats, hoist by my own petard. His eyes lightened, and his glance became decidedly wicked. "I will cook something for you, shall I? See if you can find any vegetables. I know I saw a steak in the refrigerator earlier." He followed me into the kitchen and hung his jacket on the back of a chair.

He wore white braces, elegant white braces, and it was all I could do to prevent myself from placing my palms beneath them on his chest, and sliding them over his shoulders and down off his arms. My fingers itched to unfasten his trousers, to free his cock and tease it to hardness. When had formal wear become so arousing? Or was it just the way he wore the clothes?

Vegetables. He wanted me to see if we had any vegetables. I could do that. I wasn't an animal who couldn't control his baser instincts. I crossed to the opposite end of the kitchen.

"Did you mean it, Robert?"

"Beg pardon?" My head was in the pantry, and I was doing a fast tally. "There are some carrots and potatoes in here. And I believe Mrs. Harris picked up some celery; it should be in the crisper. Will they be of any use?" I stayed out of the kitchen as much as possible. Although I could cook if I had to, I was not a dab hand at it. If it was my turn to cook, the Siblings found other places to be.

"Yes, that will be fine. Robert. I think we shall need something to tide us over until dinner is ready, cheese and crackers perhaps?" He was looking away from me, but distress was written in every line of his body.

I became very still. "St. John. Did I really mean what?"

He took out a wedge of sharp cheddar cheese and began to slice it carefully, setting it on crackers he had found in a tin. He arranged them on a platter, avoiding my gaze. I was a little surprised at how well he knew where everything was in my kitchen. "Did you really mean what you told Grandfather? That..."

"That your family would have to deal with me if they came near you again? Yes."

"No. Well, yes, but you also stated quite vehemently that I was yours." He took a couple of wine glasses from a cabinet. A bottle of Sauvignon Blanc had been chilling in the fridge, and I took it out and extracted the cork; it would compliment the cheese nicely.

"Again, yes." I picked up a piece of cheese and offered it to him. He tried to take it from me, and I pulled my hand back. "Please?" His lips parted in surprise, but he let me feed it to him. With an effort, I brought my mind back to the point I was trying to make. "St. John, what don't you understand about 'you are mine'? I thought it was quite clear, myself. Haven't I been telling you for days that I love you? You... belong... to me." I interspersed each word with a kiss.

He sighed and leaned into me for a moment before moving away. "I see."

"Do you? I hope so."

"Might I assume that this is a two-way street? That you belong to me as well?"

Well, of course! "That's the way it works."

"Really? I would not know about that." He was shutting down his emotions again, and I was at a loss as to what to do. "Are you very sure I am what you want?"

"Goddamn it, St. John!" I exploded, sinking my fingers into his shoulders in what had to be a painful grip, but I couldn't prevent myself. He stared into my eyes mutely, and I gave him a shake and yanked him up against me. "How many times must I tell you? I. Love. You. I will until the day I die! It doesn't matter what's come before; why can't you understand that? D'ya think I haven't dabbled enough at love to know the real thing now that it's come along? I don't know what to do to convince you of that."

Or perhaps I did. I shoved a hand into my pocket, toying with the ring I'd been carrying all evening.

Papa had come across the ring years ago, when he and Pere had taken a horse-buying trip to the Continent. They'd brought something back for each of the Siblings, but this was something extra that he said I should have.

"It was given to me by a wandering gypsy under the light of a full moon, my boy." He was smiling. I had been certain at the time that he was teasing me.

"But I don't wear rings, Papa," I'd told him, turning the thick gold band over and over between my fingers. There was an intricate design of a wolf chasing a man, or perhaps the man was chasing the wolf, but I didn't study it too closely.

"This is not for you to wear, this is for you to give to someone else."

"Oh, no, Papa! Not me!" I was around the same age as St. John at the time, a cocksure cub who had the world by the tail. I felt there were too many delightfully different men to choose from. "I'm never going to settle down with just one person!"

"You think not? Young scamp!" He'd chuckled and placed a kiss on my temple. "You'll find the one important someone someday, Robin, I promise you. Just as I found Pere."

"If you say so, Papa." Secretly I dismissed his words. I put the ring away in a drawer, and forgot about it. But he'd been right.

Shortly after I'd brought St. John home I'd gone in search of the ring. I'd taken it to be engraved and was determined to do the romantic thing, presenting it to my lover on the stroke of midnight, when the New Year began.

But now... Before I could decide whether to give it to him right then or follow my original plan, he smiled sadly and stepped out of my arms. " St. John..."

"You said you were hungry. I had better feed you, before you do decide to eat me." Well, that put paid to all thoughts of giving him the ring now. He removed his cuff buttons and handed them to me. I put them in the same pocket that contained the ring and watched as he rolled up his sleeves. He took out some bowls and the tin of flour, then tucked a tea towel in his waistband to protect his trousers. "Preheat the oven please, Robert." He measured out flour and salt. "I need to bake the pie shell."

"Preheat?"

"Yes, preheat." He began to roll out some dough. "You know, turn the oven on?"

"I'd rather turn you on," I said softly. He heard me, and he flushed and bit his lip. "It appears that you know your way around a kitchen."

St. John shrugged as he patted the dough into some kind of shallow glass pan. "I found that if I wanted to eat, it helped if I knew how to cook." He was unaware of the effect his words had on me. "I am quite good, you know," he added simply.

My hands clenched into fists, and the nails bit into my palms. Lord Ashford was well-to-do. There should have been no reason for St. John to have to fare for himself in that manner.

That was when it occurred to me that the best way to prove how deeply I felt about him was to take him to bed and into my body. I had never been interested in that before, but I found my cock was suddenly very hard at the thought of my lover fucking me. I cleared my throat. "St. John..."

"Yes, Robert?" The pan went into the oven, and he set the timer.

I was excited, but I was nervous as well. I decided I'd surprise him rather than tell him outright that tonight he would be making love to me. I scrambled for another topic of conversation. "What are you making?"

He was peeling potatoes, cutting them into chunks. "This is the simplest meal I know of. Aside from eggs. I am making you steak pie." He dropped the potatoes into a bowl and filled it with water so they wouldn't become discolored, then started on the carrots, celery and onions. "You may as well help, Robert. Take out the steak, please, and slice it into strips. Then brown it in that frying pan. It will cook faster that way."

We worked in silence, I plotting my moves carefully. I'd wait until after the New Year, until after I'd given him the ring. And then? Then I would kiss him up the stairs and into our bedroom, and tell him what I wanted him to do. I was certain that would work.

By the time the pie shell was finished baking, we had everything else ready to be turned out into it and put back into the oven. St. John set the timer for an hour, and we munched on the cheese and crackers and sipped the wine.

I leaned my elbow on the table and reached across to free his hair from the green satin ribbon that restrained it. The thick, wavy mass seemed to wrap itself around my fingers. I brought it to my face and rubbed it against my cheek and over my mouth.

"Oh!" St. John leaned toward me, lips parted, eyes on mine, and I felt as if I were drowning in their green depths. The doorbell rang, and he sighed. "Perhaps you had better see who that is?"

"And maybe if I ignore them, they'll go away." I was fascinated by the sheen the Sauvignon Blanc had left on his lips. I ran my tongue over my own lips and half rose out of my seat, intending to sip the wine from his mouth.

"Robert," he said patiently. I was a whisper away from kissing him. If only that annoying noise would stop... "Robert!"

I huffed and dropped back into my seat, scowling. "Who in bloody hell is *doing* that?"

"Why are you looking at me for? This is your house. I have no idea who is at your front door."

"As if I should know who's come to call on New Year's Eve?" I started to laugh. "All right, I'll go see who it is." I managed a quick kiss, then rose and left the room.

I peered through the peephole, but the man who stood at my door had his back to me, studying the street, and I couldn't see his face. Light from the street lamp glinted off his chestnut hair, and the shape of his head somehow seemed familiar. I opened the door. "Yes?"

He turned. "You're Dorincort?" I was suddenly faced with an older, more intense version of my lover. This was what St. John would look like in twenty-eight years. I nodded, and his lips parted in a chill grin. "You're very trusting, mate. A man could get himself killed, opening a door like that without checking."

I grinned back at him, just as cold. "A man could get himself killed, calling on his nephew's lover this time of night."

"You know who I am?"

"James Blakeney. I've heard the resemblance is very strong." I had no idea it was this strong. I made no effort to open the door further.

"Are you going to invite me in?"

"Are you going to give me a good reason to?"

"I could very easily hate you, Dorincort."

"Doesn't matter, *mate*," I sneered. "I hate you already. You and your whole bloody family."

He blew out an impatient breath. "Look, I'm not going to snipe at you on your doorstep. It's freezing out here, and I need to speak with my nephew."

"Lord Pennington did a bleeding good job of upsetting him. Your father is an old man, so I didn't hurt him, much as I wanted to. You aren't so old. If you upset St. John, I won't have any qualms about tearing off your head, reaching down your throat, and ripping your lungs out." He nodded grimly. "All right, come in, then."

James Blakeney followed me to the back of the house. St. John smiled up at me when I entered the kitchen again, and then paled when he saw the man who stepped into the room. His eyes darted toward me.

"Your uncle, James Blakeney. He says he has to talk to you, Singe. I'll throw him out instead, if you'd rather. I haven't kicked anyone down a flight of stairs all day. Don't want to get out of practice."

As I hoped, that made him smile, and he relaxed. "That will not be necessary, Robert. Not yet, at any rate. Would you care for a glass of wine, sir?" he asked politely. He brought another glass, poured the wine, and offered him the plate of crackers as well.

Blakeney declined the crackers. He pulled out a chair at the table, sipped his wine, and sniffed the air appreciatively. "Something smells good."

"Our dinner. St. John made it, and don't even ask, there isn't enough for you."

"Robert."

Bugger. I didn't want Blakeney to upset my lover, but there I was doing a damned good job of it myself. "Sorry, St. John."

"If you wish to stay for dinner, sir, I am sure there will be enough." He worried his lower lip. "What did you have to say to me?"

Blakeney held up the wine and examined the way the light filtered through the pale liquid. He took another sip. "Is it true you had no idea before tonight that your mother was dead, St. John?"

"That tears it, I'm throwing you out!" I started rolling up my sleeves, ready to thump him if I had to.

St. John placed his hand on mine. "My dear." I subsided back into my chair, feeling as if I had taken a blow to the chest. I hoped I never became blase about him calling me that. He turned back to his uncle. "Why would I lie about something like that, sir? Father never spoke of it to me, but Germaine told me that Mama did not love us any more and had found someone she loved better."

I turned my hand over under his and clasped his fingers, and he flashed me a sad smile. There was more that St. John wasn't telling, I could see that, but I'd wait to see if he wanted to talk of it later, when we were in bed.

Blakeney meanwhile was tugging on his lip, the gesture similar to his father's. And his nephew's. "I'm going to look into this, St. John. Your father never struck me as one who did anything without a reason. It seems to me, given his personality, he would have taken great pleasure in revealing all the details to his four year old son of his mother's desertion of him."

I didn't like the direction in which his thoughts were heading, and I was about to say as much, when St. John raised the bottle and shook it gently. "Nearly empty! I will go down to the wine cellar and fetch another bottle. I believe we will need a bottle of red as well, for the steak pie." He was through the door that led to the lower level before I could object.

The silence between his uncle and I grew heavy. I checked on the steak pie in the oven, but it seemed to be coming along nicely. "Would you care for more cheese and crackers?" I shoved the almost empty plate toward him. St. John was taking too long; it shouldn't take that long to pick out a couple of bottles of wine. "I'm just going to make sure Singe can find the wine without any problem." I bolted for the cellar stairs, just as St. John came back up. The expression in his eyes frightened me. "St. John..."

"Robert, the door is not there. I would have sworn... How very foolish of me. But then Father always said I was a fool, when he spoke to me at all." He blinked slowly. "Here is the wine, Robert."

Blakeney glanced at me, his eyebrow raised in silent question. I hunched my shoulder. "St. John, the only door downstairs is to the wine cellar."

He shook himself, like a dog coming out of the water. "Well, of course, Robert. Who ever said there was another? Are these wines all right, my dear?"

"Yes, they're fine," I assured him impatiently. "St. John, are you all right?"

"But of course I am, Robert. Will you set the table in the dining room? I think, on New Year's Eve, we should be more formal than usual, do not you?"

"If that's what you want." Mrs. Harris kept the company china and the good silver in the breakfront in the back dining room, which was across the hall. Originally it had been part of the servants' quarters, but Drew and I felt it would be more useful as a dining room. I arranged the place settings and returned to the kitchen as quickly as possible.

St. John was taking our dinner out of the oven when the doorbell rang again. The other two occupants of the kitchen turned to look at me. "That's all right, I'll go see who it is." I went into the hallway, grousing under my breath all the way to the door. "What is this, Tra-bloody-falgar Square? All I wanted was a quiet dinner with St. John after his grandfather bollocksed everything up. But before we can sit down, who has to show up but his bloody *uncle*! How much else can go wr..." A glance through the peephole had me choking off in mid grouse. "*Bugger*! *St. John*!"

He came on the run. "Robert, what is it?" There was a whacking great knife in his hand. Behind him was his uncle, his hand hidden beneath the jacket of his tuxedo.

"We've got company, green eyes. Your grandparents!" I studied his uncle with interest as he brought his hand out, empty. What had been under his jacket? The hell with that, we had more immediate concerns. I threw the door open. "Lord and Lady Pennington. This is a surprise. Was there something you wanted?" I asked hostilely.

They eyed the knife in their grandson's hand, and he hid it behind his back, like a little boy caught with a biscuit in his hand when his mum had told him no.

"I believe my son is already here." Lady Pennington stated as she observed me from head to toe.

"Won't you come in?" But the invitation was grudging.

She was a petite woman. She removed her mink wrap, revealing beneath it a watered silk gown of ivory with a draped neckline and flowing sleeves. Diamonds dripped from her ears, coiled around her wrists and dangled from her throat. Her chestnut hair, several shades lighter than my lover's, was piled high on her head. Only her eyes were different; they were hazel. "James."

"Mother, I told you I would sort this all out and call you."

Lady Pennington sniffed, an inelegant sound from such a very elegant lady. "Not quickly enough, James." Next she pinned Singe with a gimlet stare. "You and this young man were to spend New Year's Eve with us, St. John."

"My lady..."

"Grandmother, St. John. You will address me as Grandmother." She thrust her wrap at me. "Hang this up, young man. Since you left so precipitously, we will be dining with you here instead. What is that intriguing odor?"

"Steak pie, my... Grandmother."

"Interesting. We generally have foie gras and filet mignon on New Year's Eve, St. John, but I imagine since you will be starting your own traditions, steak pie is as good as anything else."

There was a slight cough behind her, and Lord Pennington murmured, "Perhaps they won't have enough for us, Glynnis."

"Nonsense, Arthur!"

"I believe there should be enough to go around," St. John assured them. I scowled at him, but he turned those green eyes on me, and I sighed in resignation.

"Of course. You're welcome to dine with us." I was surprised I didn't choke on the words.

"Excellent. Now, someone please be so kind as to pour me a drink."

****

James Blakeney left just after the New Year had been rung in. "I've some work to catch up on in the morning, and I'll need to be fresh. Thank you for an excellent meal. I can't quite believe you prepared that, St. John. Neither your grandfather nor I can cook a lick!" He shook his nephew's hand, and then mine. "Mother, I'll call before I leave the country again." He kissed her
powdered cheek. "Father, take care of yourself. I'd like a game of billiards the next time I'm home."

The door closed behind him. "The boy exhausts me!"

"Glynnis, James is forty-six, hardly a boy!"

"Arthur, he'll always be a boy to me. Just as you, St. John, will be that little urchin who broke my abalone tea set."

"I do not remember that, Grandmother. But if I was so naughty as to do that, then I do beg your pardon." He was seated beside her on the settee.

"No, St. John, it is we who should beg your pardon. Dorincort was correct. We knew what your father was like, yet we believed his lies about you."

"Father is very persuasive. Once he begins speaking, it is the easiest thing in the world for him to make you believe that night is day, and the cow did indeed jump over the moon."

And that a door that was there, was no longer there?

"Then we will be a family once again?" his grandfather asked.

St. John was extremely quiet. I knew it wasn't from the wine he had imbibed, which had been negligible.

"May I suggest you take this slowly?" I murmured. "After all, it's been fifteen years. What difference will waiting a little longer make?"

Lady Pennington was none too pleased with that, but since St. John seemed willing to agree with me, she acceded as gracefully as was possible for her. "Arthur, I think we had better be going home. St. John." She proffered her cheek for a kiss. "Come see us soon. Both of you," she added as a second thought.

St. John brought his grandmother her wrap, and Pennington carefully draped it over her shoulders. And finally they were gone.

"Do you think they truly are sorry they were so cold to me, Robert?" He sighed. I knew how much he wanted to be part of a family, but I also knew how reluctant he must be to expose himself to the real possibility of more hurt.

"I believe they regret all the wasted years, St. John," I said cautiously. "Just remember, you have all the time in the world. There is no need to rush into resuming the relationship. Whatever you decide, I will be with you one hundred percent."

He smiled gratefully and leaned against me.

What I did not tell him was that I would keep an eye on them.

And most especially I would keep an eye on his father.

We stacked the dishes in the sink for the following morning and locked up the house, then went up to bed.

St. John undid his bowtie and his cummerbund and slid his arms out of those white braces. "I always used to hate New Year's Eve," he said pensively.

I had already turned down the bed and skinned out of my clothes. Singe had been musing over his grandparents, and hadn't realized the inordinate amount of time I'd spent in the bath. I'd never taken a cock up the arse, but I was determined; I wanted to do it for him, and I'd lubed and stretched myself carefully. Now I was lying naked on the bed, watching as he undressed, as
each article of clothing he removed revealed another intriguing bit of his body.

"Come here, green eyes." I pulled him down on top of me and spread my legs so I could cradle him comfortably in the vee of my thighs. I stroked my hands over his back, down the crevice between his arse cheeks, and teased the tight pucker of his hole. He wriggled against me, and he was hard against my abdomen. "Well, as your grandmother said, we'll be making our own
traditions." I reached for the jar of lubricant on the nightstand, licked my lips, and got some in my palm. "Angle up a bit, would you, St. John?"

He obeyed, then jerked as he felt my slick hand on his cock. "Robert, what are you doing?"

"Tonight is your turn." I rocked back and locked my ankles behind his back. "You'll have to guide yourself in." I put my other hand over his lips. "Don't argue with me, my beautiful boy!"

He made a little sound of happiness, and then I felt the head of his cock pressing against me. I concentrated on breathing, on relaxing. It pushed past the ring of muscle, and I bit back a groan. "Robert!" St. John held himself still. "My dear, are you all right?"

"Yes. Yes, just... just give me a second, all right? Jesus, you didn't look this big!"

"I'll stop!" But he couldn't. I tightened my legs, arched up, and took him all the way in. We both groaned, and St. John dropped kisses on the corner of my mouth, my cheek, my jaw, my throat. He distracted me from the sense of fullness, from the intense burn, and then he hit my prostate, and I bit him.

I'd always been so careful not to mark his fair skin, but this time there was nothing I could do to restrain the urge to sink my teeth into his shoulder. I didn't break the skin, but I knew I'd leave a bruise. "I'm sorry. St. John, I'm so sorry. I'm..."

"Robert. Shut. Up. Tell me, why did you bite me?" He was panting, trying not to move. "Tell me!"

"You nailed my prostate. God, I've never felt that before! I just... I had to bite you."

He thrust forward. Unerringly he found the right spot, and I moaned and shuddered. "Ah. Let us try that one more time, shall we?" The boy was phenomenal, he just kept going. "You are so tight, so hot!" He stroked across my prostate repeatedly. "I love having you like this, being buried so deeply inside you!" His voice became hoarse. "Take all of me, Robert!"

And I became a mass of sweating, pleading, moaning sex slave. "Yes! Please, yes!" At that point in time, I would have done whatever he wanted, up to and including murder and mayhem.

I knew we were almost there. I clenched my inner muscles, and St. John cried out suddenly. I could feel his cock pulse as he poured himself into me, and then my balls drew up tight, and I slammed into a climax. Breathlessly, he sank down on me.

I ran my hand over his back, and rubbed my cheek against his hair.

"Robert?"

"I'll let you go in a second, St. John." I didn't intend to, not really. We'd wake up stuck together in the morning, but I didn't care.

His lips wandered over my throat and up to my mouth. He raised his head, so he was looking in my eyes, and with his lips against mine he whispered, "I love you, Robert."

****

I lay in bed, St. John draped over me. He had softened and slid out of me, and my arse was pleasantly sore. He snuffled softly in his sleep, his breath ruffling through the fair hair that covered my chest. Why had I never allowed any of my previous lovers to do this to me?

It was a foolish question that didn't even need thinking to answer: none of them had been him.

(22)

Chapter 22 Note: This starts from Gino's POV, then segues to Da"s.

Bruno Marrone, the man married to Callisto Marconi's sister, had a cousin who lived in the hill country outside of Rome. Mario Marrone was le pecore nere of the family, the black sheep, who was always causing trouble. He fancied himself a ladies' man, and if it turned out that the lady did not fancy him in turn, he saw nothing wrong with using force to change her mind.

Which was how Gino Marrone came to be born. The poor little scrap didn't survive the hour of his birth, and neither did his mother, a young girl who had suffered Mario Marrone's attentions.

I did my homework well. I went to Italy Tanner Green, and when I returned to London, I was Gino Marrone, not quite the sharpest tool in the shed, but family. I was presented to Marconi by his sister and her husband, and he took me on. I hung around doing odd jobs, and because I wasn't too bright, and he was afraid I would embarrass him, he kept me close.

What Marconi didn't realize was that not long after I joined his family, I had been contacted by Vincent Shaw and recruited to keep an unobtrusive eye on him.

What Shaw didn't realize was that I actually worked for an extremely covert organization that had branched off of CI5.

Marconi wasn't stupid, but he had a sadistic streak and liked to torment those around him, including me on occasion.

Shaw wasn't stupid. He knew I wasn't the dumb dago I pretended to be, but accepted it because Marconi had a sadistic streak, and Shaw thought I was trying to protect myself.

And I walked a very fine line.

****

I had gone for a walk in the brisk December night and found a callbox far enough away from Marconi's house to believe myself safe. "Mr. Blakeney."

There was a pause on the other end of the line as the man I had worked for since my discharge from the Royal Marines ten years before, my *real* boss, sorted through the various identities I'd used at one time or another. It never failed to amaze me that he always recognized my voice. "Gino. I'm glad to hear from you. Are you all right?"

"Fine, sir. I've had to watch my arse a little more than I like."

"Oh?" Prior to this assignment, no one had ever taken a romantic interest in my arse, and he was a trifle entertained by my predicament. "Sorry, er... Gino. I realize this is a difficult situation for you. You will be sure to receive a commendation." I made a rude noise, and he chuckled. "Now. What's this deal that has Marconi over the moon?"

"He's learned of a lost Spanish treasure ship, sir. Sounds like it went down in a big hurricane, and some of its cargo is lying on this island, available just for the taking."

"What's your take on it?"

"There was a hurricane in 1780, and a treasure fleet, including the flagship, Queen of the Silver Rose, was destroyed in it. That much of the story is true as far as I can discover. As for it going down near this Island of the Great Burning..." I shrugged, even though he couldn't see me.

"It's rather opportune for this information to come to the surface at this time," he mused.

"Too opportune, if you ask me." I told him about the merchant seamen who had shown up at the Battered Cruiser and paid for their drinks in salvaged silver. "And then there're these phone calls that Marconi has been receiving. They've scared the shit out of him, although he'd kill anyone who said as much."

"Any idea who would want to do that?"

"He's made his share of enemies, but Marconi is pretty high up on the food chain. Most people are too afraid of him to strike at him. Unless the order came from Shaw himself, I can't think of anyone who would even think of tangling with him."

"Hmmm." I could just picture Blakeney stroking that long, lower lip of his. We'd only met the one time, when I was vetted to his department, but I had never forgotten his almost beautiful good looks. "Marconi's been getting even more volatile of late."

"Yeah." It was getting hard for me to stay out of his reach; he was becoming violent, also. "I understand that Mr. Shaw's normal equanimity is being severely tested. The fire at Marconi's House of Oddities has drawn too much attention to their activities; the Yard was called in to investigate. Shaw is not happy!"

There was a beat of silence. "Perhaps this might be the time to take Marconi out of the equation. What do you think... Gino?"

"Being out of the country should make it easier to dispose of him," I conceded. "As you say, Mr. Shaw is concerned. I've worked for him long enough to know he doesn't like being concerned; it aggravates his ulcer." I laughed softly, confident. "If I give him a bit of a nudge, he might be willing to look the other way." I let my boss hear that confidence in my words.

"Just be careful."

"Aren't I always, Mr. Blakeney?

His voice became unexpectedly serious. "I'd be very disappointed if Her Majesty had to hand that commendation to your next of kin, rather than pin it on your chest."

I had no next of kin, but James Blakeney was aware of that. He was also aware that in my personal file, which was buried so deep no one but he knew of its existence, *he* was listed as my next of kin.

"I'll be careful," I assured him, then hung up to place a call to the man who ran Great Britain's underworld. "Mr. Shaw, I'm afraid Mr. Marconi is going off the deep end..."

****

"Hurry it up, Gino, you fucking moron! We gonna miss the plane!"

I had myself firmly in my strong-but-not-quite-bright henchman persona. "Sorry, Boss." I gave him a vague smile and got in beside the driver, who put the Mercedes into gear and headed for the airport.

We arrived at Heathrow to find the two seamen waiting in the BEA international lounge. The shorter one was smoking a cigarette, while his friend was chewing gum. Mr. Marconi sneered at them and went to sit off by himself. I wasn't surprised that he didn't harangue the airline representative to make sure he got the best seat. The man who booked the flight for us would have dared give him nothing less.

"Hey, Gino, come join us, mate."

Regretfully I shook my head. I had to guard Marconi. He was still dangling the lure of being his lieutenant before me. I stood next to where he sat and tried to look nervous. I'd told him I couldn't afford plane fare when I'd come to England, and so had taken the train. This was supposed to be my first flight.

The airline representative switched on a microphone. "Ladies and Gentlemen, BEA flight 1415 to Rio de Janeiro with the connecting flight in Frankfurt, Germany will depart shortly. All those holding first class tickets please board now."

First class had two really big, comfortable-looking seats on each side of the aisle. I made sure the Boss was settled comfortably, and then passed back into the tourist section. The jet wasn't very wide. There were four seats on one side and three on the other, and I found the row that we, the two sailors and I, had been assigned.

There was a touch to my arm, and I glanced back at the men who followed me.

"Uh, Gino, would you mind taking the aisle seat?" the taller one asked. His eyes were hidden by the sunglasses he wore, even though there wasn't much sun that morning.

I stepped aside and let him slide past me. Andy paused to reach into the overhead compartment and pull out a blanket, then settled himself next to his friend. He spread the blanket over both their lower bodies and smiled when he saw me watching them. "Ricky gets cold easily," he said. I realized abruptly that his voice no longer had the lower class quality to it, and I wondered about that.

A stewardess came by, making sure all the seats were in their upright position and informing us that as soon as the jet had become airborne, beverage service would begin. We would have to wait for the Frankfurt connection for breakfast, though.

There was a crackling sound from overhead speakers. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is Captain Everard, and I'm pleased to welcome you aboard BEA's flight to sunny Rio de Janeiro. We're first in line for take off, and we're about to begin taxiing. Our first stop will be Frankfurt, Germany. We should arrive there in approximately one hour and three quarters for a brief layover before we continue on to our final destination in Brazil. So sit back and enjoy the flight." The microphone clicked off.

I sighed and made sure my seatbelt was fastened, then stretched out my legs and took a paperback from my coat pocket. It was one of Ian Fleming's, Dr. No. I opened the book and began to read.

The two sailors beside me behaved as discreetly as possible, although I could tell that under the blanket their hands were all over each other. Made me rather horny. It had been a while since I'd shagged. Working for Callisto Marconi, I had to stay alert. Word was Marconi was a rabid heterosexual, but I didn't care for the way he eyed my arse from time to time. The look was... hungry.

I'd mentioned it to Mr. Shaw, and he'd shrugged. "You do whatever you have to do, Gino. Even that." I shuddered, not because the thought of having sex with another man disturbed me, but because if Marconi ever realized he had latent homosexual tendencies, he'd incorporate more pain into his sex play than was usual even for him. "You know you'll be rewarded."

Yes, I'd be rewarded, but would I survive long enough to enjoy it?

****

The jet finally touched down in Rio de Janeiro. The flight hadn't been that bad, but Mr. Marconi had a decidedly greenish cast when we met at the baggage carousel.

"Geez, Boss," I grinned vacuously. My bag was at my feet, and I waited patiently for his suitcase to come around. "That was a bit of all right! I ain't never been on a jet before. Ricky said it wasn't a bad flight, just long."

Andy and Ricky had already claimed their bags and were watching with interest.

We walked out of the terminal and into the hot, muggy atmosphere that was Rio, and Mr. Marconi looked as if he was about to melt into a puddle. He wrestled out of the cashmere coat that had been so suitable for London. "*Bugger*!" I was surprised that Ricky grinned at the boss' discomfort, but I imagined he had no idea how dangerous that could prove to be. "Don't you laugh at me!" Mr. Marconi snarled, almost frothing at the mouth. He yanked Ricky's sunglasses off. "Don't you ever fucking laugh at me, or I'll rip off your balls and stuff 'em down your throat!"

I went on the alert, in case a situation erupted, but, "D'you mind, Gov? The light hurts my eyes." The tall sailor still didn't seem perturbed by the uncontained fury he faced. Ricky took the shades from my boss and put them back on. "Where do we go?"

Andy just stood to the side, observing, but his relaxed stance belied the tension I could discern just beneath his surface. This was a dangerous pair, and I couldn't understand why Mr. Marconi wasn't aware of that.

"I've had rooms booked for you in a youth hostelry." Nothing less than third or fourth best for his minions. Not like Mr. Shaw, who would have put us up in a decent hotel near the beach. "Wait there until you hear from me." Of course, he wouldn't be in the same place with the hired help.

"I'm sure we can find something to keep us ... occupied." Andy was flaunting the relationship with his partner.

"Yeah." Ricky's expression was bland, but I was certain if we could see his eyes, they'd be hot. "You going to be with us, Mar... Mr. Marconi?"

The boss was not in the best of moods. I wondered if he had been able to sleep on the flight at all. "Don't be so bleeding ridiculous. I'll be staying at the Copacabana Real." He signaled me to step aside with him. "I may need you to hire a boat, Gino. I'll let you know. Now beat it. I gotta get some rest. My arse is draggin'."

I was looking forward to the time away from the mercurial bad man. A shower, a nap, and then dinner in the small cantina next door. I'd need to stay close to the phone, but maybe I could find someone who would be interested in whiling away the afternoon and evening.

The youth hostel was comprised of six tiny bedrooms and a communal bathroom down the hall. Andy and Ricky each had a room at the end of the corridor, but I was certain they would wind up sharing one. They disappeared behind one of the doors, ostensibly to unpack.

I went into my room and removed clean clothes from my duffle, then found a towel and headed for the bath. I stripped and pulled aside the shower curtain, and let out an involuntary yell.

My companions came pelting into the tiled room. I was clammy and sweaty, and I was balanced on the sink, swallowing heavily. "Gino, what is it?" They scanned the room, but saw nothing.

"It's... it's in the shower." I pointed shakily. "It's fucking *huge*! Jesus, I'm sorry, this is so childish!"

"Stay back with Gino, Drew." 'Drew'? Ricky's hands were clenched, and he approached the shower cautiously. With a rapid movement of his forearm, the sailor thrust aside the shower curtain. For what seemed like forever, he just stared into the tiled space.

"Da', be careful, don't get hurt! What is that?"

Ricky... Day...whoever... began to laugh and bent to pick the thing up off the floor. He stroked it with careful fingers and showed it to us. I shuddered, feeling my gorge rise. It was an extremely large, extremely hairy, "Tarantula. She's a beauty. All right, my pretty one, off you go now." He unlatched the window and released the spider, and it scurried away. Then he smiled at me.

I lost my balance and skidded off the sink and onto the floor, landing so hard on my arse that my jaws jammed painfully together. I looked up into his eyes and stared at them in disbelief. "Bloody, fucking hell! You're... you're the snake boy Marconi went on about." I scrambled to my feet.

His hand went up to his face, and he glanced at his partner, who joined him and smiled ruefully, running his fingers over his cheek. "One of your contacts has fallen out, Yank."

I didn't even see the fist that connected with my chin and knocked me unconscious.

****

"Gino." Hands patted my cheek, first one, then the other. "C'mon, Gino. Wakey, wakey, mate."

My jaw throbbed. My arms were fastened uncomfortably behind my back. I moaned around the gag in my mouth and opened my eyes to meet a cold, reptilian stare.

"Your boss is on the phone." Something sharp was pressed just below my adam's apple. A drop of blood, and then another, made its way down to pool in the hollow of my throat. "I'm going to take out the gag and let you talk to him, and if you give him the least idea that there are problems here, I'll cut your throat."

I swallowed hard and nodded. The sock was removed from my mouth, and I swallowed again to work up some moisture, hoping that at least the sock had been a clean one. He held the phone to my ear, and I knew that both sides of the conversation would be audible. "Boss?"

"Yeah. The docks, five tomorrow morning. Slip thirteen." Marconi sounded even more discontented than normal.

In spite of my circumstances, I reacted as Gino would. "Bugger, Boss! That's a damn unlucky number!"

"Never mind that!" he snarled. "Just be there, and make sure those two are with you!" He hung up before I could say another word.

"Sorry, Gino. We don't want to hurt you, but you'd definitely be in the way." A cloth soaked in something pungent, ether, I thought, covered my nose and mouth, and I tumbled helplessly into a soft, black cloud.

####

I stood looking down at the body that was bleeding out into the soil of Isla Queimada Grande, Island of the Great Burning. The golden lancehead wrapped around my arm raised his head from where it had been resting on the back of my hand and stared unblinking into my eyes. //Very nicely done, little brother. Thank you.// He hissed softly, his forked tongue flicking in and out to test the air for more prey, and I placed him on a low-hanging tree branch. Without a backwards glance he was gone.

There was a sound behind me, and I turned. //It still lives.// A large, webbed foot nudged the almost lifeless body. The disgust in my Brachian father's mind colored his communication.

//Not for long.// I envisioned the sharks that frequented the stretch of ocean just beyond the reef. //I'll dispose of him there.//

He ran a hand over my hair. //Go back to the Josie. I will deal with this.//

I shook my head. //You took care of Sarone. Pop handled Halliwell. This is my responsibility.// I took the heavy signet ring from Marconi's middle finger and put it in my pocket. //Someone will demand proof that he is gone.// I got a firm grip on his foot and began dragging him through the underbrush to the other side of the island.

Dad sighed and picked up the other foot. //Actually, it was Esme who had the enjoyment of dining on Paul Sarone. You really are being quite selfish, Da'ric. I haven't had any pleasure in this matter at all. And if your young man sees any blood on you, I imagine he will be quite concerned.//

//Drew?// My burst of amusement surprised him. //Once he finds out it isn't mine, he'll just be ticked that I didn't let him come along. There's something I should tell you about him, Dad.// I intended to reveal Drew's unusual genetic history to both my parents together.

I felt the fond exasperation in the caress his mind gave mine. //Da'ric, it is quite obvious to both your father and me that this Andrew Dorincort means more to you than a casual ... How would David put it? A casual roll in the hay.//

The image he projected, of Drew and me tumbling down a hill covered in straw, had me sputtering with laughter. //*Dad*!// In spite of his vast storehouse of knowledge of things extraterrestrial, there were still Terran expressions that left him at a loss.

//I am so pleased to be a source of amusement to you, Da'ric.// But I could tell he was pleased to have lightened my mood. Again his hand stroked over my head. //As long as he makes you happy, my son.//

//He does. I don't understand it. We've known each other such a short time. It worries me, Dad.//

By this time we had reached the beach, floated the body out past the breakers, and let the current take it. There was no more blood loss, and I wasn't sure if the sharks would take him. There were always opportunistic scavengers in the ocean; it would just be a matter of leaving the body where it could be found by them.

We waded back to the shore and watched as deceptively mild bumps caused the now lifeless body to rock. Abruptly the bumps became savage tearing and rending. In seconds there was nothing left, and I sighed in relief.

Dad grinned, a truly frightening expression if one were not familiar with him. //Did you truly think I would allow that, Da'? A little encouragement is all that was needed. Sharks can really be quite susceptible to suggestion. And now it's time to return to the Josie. I am interested in learning what is so unusual about this young man on whom you have settled your heart.//

He placed his arm over my shoulder, and we walked back up the hill and through the dense forests of the little island. We were on the downward trek when a streak of gold launched itself toward me. Before I could react, a blur of black fur was there between us, and savage jaws snapped closed, catching the snake just behind its head, safely out of range of those venomous fangs. The huge wolf gave a furious shake of his head, and the snake's head was severed from its body. It continued to writhe, coiling violently upon itself on the forest floor.

The wolf spat the remains out of his mouth, his lips wrinkled in disgust at the taste, his eyes pinning me to the spot. His ears flattened to his skull, his tail held low, he stalked me, low-pitched, menacing growls rumbling through his massive chest. My father leaped in front of me, his battle claws extended.

And I put myself between my lover and my father. "Drew, it's all right. I could have handled it!" The sound the wolf made was uncannily like a growled curse. He sat down on his rump, disgruntlement written in his expression, his dark eyes glaring at the being beside me. I swallowed and licked my lips. //Dad, this is Drew.//

My father watched silently as the wolf morphed into his human form. Drew rose to his full height, gloriously naked, and gave himself a vigorous shake. "What do you mean you could have handled it?" His attention was focused solely on me. "That snake would have bitten you before you could have done anything to prevent it."

Dad's lips curled back over his muzzle in amusement.

Drew ignored the large extraterrestrial who towered over us both. "You would have bled to death like Marconi!"

"How...?"

"I was watching through the binoculars."

"Ah. So you thought if a lancehead tried to attack me, I couldn't do this?" My hand shot out to capture a snake that had launched itself at us even as I spoke. It writhed in cold fury. //Ah, little one, that is not well done.// It whipped its body around my arm until it formed a living gauntlet. I stroked its head, and gradually it calmed.

//It's a good thing you have a way with those creatures, Da'.//

I shrugged. //I understand its unhappiness, Dad.// I turned to my lover, who was standing in numb bewilderment. "The gene pool on this island is so limited these snakes have evolved into three sexes; there are true male, true female, and then those like this poor little one, and the one you killed, a combination of the two. I'd be spitting mad also, if I couldn't enjoy my mate." I released the beautiful, deadly snake and watched as it slithered away. "I think perhaps we had better go. They are becoming quite agitated."

The three of us made our way quickly down to the beach without further incident. On the rocky soil were the remains of Drew's clothing. I picked up his tattered shirt and he looked abashed. "Well, I didn't have time to get out of them properly, did I?" He found what was left of his shorts, and scrambled into them. "I was so bloody frightened, Da'. I thought I'd be seeing you die before my eyes!"

"Ah, Brit, d'you think I'd leave you, now that I've found you?" I nuzzled his lips, and they parted to let my tongue duel with his.

//Da'ric.//

"Sorry." I laughed and leaned my forehead against my lover's. "Drew, this is my dad."

Drew looked up. And up. He cleared his throat and extended his hand. "How... how do you do, sir? I'm... er... happy to make your acquaintance."

Dad's lips curled back revealing razor-sharp teeth, and he accepted Drew's handshake. //I'll meet you back on the Josie, Da'. Your father is becoming quite anxious.//

//Anxious? Anxious? I'll show you anxious, you big green dragon! Get our son back here!//

//Of course, David. Shall we go, children?// Dad slid into the surf and disappeared.

I swallowed a grin. It never failed to tickle me, the way Pop had Dad twisted around his finger. "Let's go, Brit. I'd like to properly introduce you to Pop. He really isn't as disreputable as he appeared."

We climbed into the dinghy and began the row back to the Josie, Pop's new boat. I began to sing, "'In Camden Town, where I did dwell, a butcher boy, I loved quite well...' Drew, love's a silly thing to die for, but it's a damn good thing to live for!" As we reached the cabin cruiser, I shipped oars and gazed fondly at the name on the bow. "Desejo do Coracao, Drew."

"What's it mean, Da'?"

I sighed happily. "Heart's Desire, Brit." And I pulled him to me and took his mouth in a thorough kiss.

****

My fathers were at the wheel, Pop's hands competently steering the Josie back to Rio, while Dad stood behind him, wrapping him in a tender embrace. The difference in Pop's appearance was amazing. He'd washed out whatever it was he had used to streak the hair on his head and chest, and he no longer looked like a grizzled harbor rat.

"So, Da', this young man is a shape-shifter? I imagine your life will be rather interesting. Have you decided where you'll be living?"

"You're taking this awfully well, Pop." I'd expected at least some degree of shock.

He gazed up into his partner's eyes, and rubbed his face against Dad's chest. "This is what all parents live for."

"Learning their son has committed himself to a creature of legend?"

Pop gave Dad the wheel, stepped forward and hugged me, then ruffled my hair. "Learning their son has found his own heart's desire. Welcome to the family, Drew. Welcome."

(23)

When I regained consciousness, my neck was a little sore, I had a splitting headache, and my stomach was roiling in protest. I always reacted that way to general anesthesia. I breathed shallowly through my mouth and began testing the bonds that secured me.

They were rank amateurs; they'd left me lying comfortably on my bed. There was even a glass of water with a straw nearby that I could easily reach. While the seamen had tied my ankles together, they hadn't secured them to the cords that fastened my wrists behind my back, which would have made it almost impossible for me to untie myself.

I sat up in bed and began edging my hips backwards until I was sitting on my hands. Biting my lips to keep the groans silent-- it had been a long time since I'd been so stupid as to allow myself to be taken-- I managed to work my hands past my thighs, then curled my legs in and angled my arms further forward. Finally I got my feet through; my arms were in front of me.

I toppled sideways onto the bed, panting and sweating from the exertion, and brought my wrists up to my face. It took a bit of studying, but once I saw how they had tied the knots, I started worrying them with my teeth. It took about twenty minutes, but I managed to free myself.

By the time I got down to the waterfront, they were long gone, of course. I asked around and learned that Captain Reed, whose cabin cruiser Desejo do Coracao had been tied up in slip thirteen, was expected to return late in the afternoon. When I told one of the fishermen that I wanted to hire his boat to go to the Isla del Queimada Grande, he shook his head emphatically. "No! No, senhor! Proibe-se! It is forbidden!"

There was nothing more I could do at that point, so I returned to the hostel. I entered the bath cautiously in case I might find another unwelcome visitor, but I was the sole occupant and showered quickly, then decided to have a meal at the cantina next door. Once I had eaten, I felt much better. There was still time to kill. I thought about buying one of those Brazilian bathing suits and going down to the beach at Ipanema for a swim, but the surf was rough and the water was cool. Not only would I not get to see the tall and tan and young and lovely girl from there, but after about half an hour, my pale British skin would start to burn.

I went sightseeing instead. I visited the little chapel in the base of the statue of Christ the Redeemer on Corcovado, and saw Sugarloaf Mountain, the bay, and downtown Rio from that vantage point. I was on my way back to the hostel when, "Senhor."

My hand went to my waistband, where I carried a small revolver. This wasn't a bad part of Rio, but it paid to always be careful. I looked around. "Eu nao falo o portugues," I told the stunning redhead.

He smiled at me. "Is no problem, senhor. I speak five other languages besides English." His lashes lowered flirtatiously, and he tipped his head to one side. He had to be in his early twenties, with skin the color of warm, cafe au lait. "If the senhor is at... mmm... loose ends?"

"How much?" He named a price, which I automatically converted to reals. Expensive, but not exorbitantly so, considering what it included. What the hell? I had nothing better to do, and there were still a few hours before my wandering flight mates returned. "I cannot bring you back to my room," I told him regretfully.

His teeth were stunningly white. He gestured toward a small building that I hadn't realized was a hotel. "This place is quite safe, senhor. They will not permit me to leave until they have spoken to you and been assured that you are unharmed and satisfied with your service."

I wasn't worried about my safety; I knew twelve different ways to kill a man without even reaching for my gun. Still, it was nice to know that while prostitution was legal in Rio, they did not have a free and easy attitude toward taking advantage of the clients.

I ran my eyes over him once more. He was approximately the right height, about five feet nine or ten, although his eyes were very dark. I imagined once I had him stripped, he would prove not to be a natural redhead, but if I took him from behind... I could pretend. "What's your name?" I asked as I fell into step beside him.

"You may call me whatever you wish, senhor. I will be whoever you want me to be."

//No, you could never be who I really wanted.// I shook my head, and he smiled agreeably.

"Paolo, senhor. I am Paolo." And as Paolo, he was very, very good.

****

I was on my bed, the bonds back in place when the two men returned. They were so strictly amateur; they wouldn't notice the way my hands were tied. I'd knotted the cord and wound it around my wrists. They observed me from the door for a long moment before entering. "Sorry we had to do this, Gino."

"Where's Mr. Marconi?"

"He won't be coming back. He's dead. He got excited when he saw the island and fell overboard. Sharks got him."

"Was anything left?" They shook their heads. Bugger. I wasn't unhappy the bent bastard was gone, but it was my responsibility to see to his demise. If I didn't have anything to back it up, I was as good as dead myself.

Ricky gently pushed me onto my stomach. "Don't try to be a hero, Gino." I could feel the tugging as he sliced the ropes, and hoped his knife wouldn't slip and cut my wrists. "Your boss is dead. He was a worthless piece of shit. It you try to avenge him, I'll kill you."

I doubted he'd have the intestinal fortitude to stick a knife in me, but if he was trying to impress his boyfriend by playing tough guy, I was willing to go along with it. "Why would I want to avenge Callisto Marconi's death? As you said, he was a worthless piece of shit." I made a production of rubbing my freed wrists, then sat up to untie my ankles. "There are people in London who'll want proof that he is dead."

"Got it covered, mate." Andy bared his teeth in a wolf's grin and nodded to his partner, who pulled something out of his pocket: Mr. Marconi's signet ring, the ring his father had given him, the ring he had never taken off his finger. Ricky dropped it into my palm.

"Thanks." I turned it over and over, then looked up at them. "I'll change my ticket and get the next flight back."

"We're not going back, Gino." No, it wouldn't be safe for them.

"Don't let me find you in London; I'd have to kill you." I had to say that; it's what Marconi's henchman would have said.

"You'd try." Ricky's eyes glittered. He raised his hand in farewell and hustled his partner out of my room. Within ten minutes they had cleared out.

I wondered what part they had played in Callisto Marconi's death, then shrugged as I went down to the front desk to call the airline. Marconi was out of the London underworld scene, and that was all that mattered.

****

The man who stood guarding the door was huge, not only tall, but wide. He didn't need the Magnum that he carried in a shoulder holster to be intimidating. When he saw me approaching, his lips parted, revealing a gold tooth that reflected the light. "Oi, Gino."

"Oi, George."

He squeezed my shoulder. "Rum go, mate."

I bit my lip and looked away from his compassionate gaze. "Mr. Shaw wants to see me."

George nodded and opened the door, and I walked into the underworld kingpin's office. "'Allo, Mr. Shaw. I came as soon as I got word. Oh, er... Should I come back another time, sir?"

He was standing by his desk, a plump brunette dressed in somber black in his arms. "Gino. Come, come." The woman turned to face me, and a shiver ran down my spine. Marconi's sister. Her eyes were pale chips of ice. "I was just offering Giacomina my condolences."

I walked toward her, my arms hesitantly extended. "Mina. I'm so sorry. I didn't do a good job, did I?"

Although she pulled my head down into her arms and kissed first one cheek and then the other, her expression remained cold. "Gino. What made Cally decide he had to go deep-sea fishing off Brazil?"

I darted a glance toward Mr. Shaw, and he gave a slight shake of his head. She had no idea that the boss wanted her brother whacked. "He never shared his plans with me, Mina." I made my voice quaver. "He just told me to pack, and I packed."

"Sit, Gino. Bruno, pour us all a drink," Mr. Shaw instructed him. Of course Mina's husband would be with her.

I went to a chair and sank down heavily, my hands dangling between my knees. "Bruno." I let my eyes well with tears as I looked up at my 'cousin.' I accepted the glass of whiskey and gulped it incautiously, then coughed as it burned its way down my throat.

He patted my shoulder roughly. "Scarso piccolo bastardo."

"What happened?"

I shuddered and sniffed hard. "Our first day out, Mr. Marconi hooked a swordfish, a beauty. She must have weighed six hundred, maybe seven hundred pounds." I extended my arms all the way out to show how big, then gave it up with a helpless shrug. "He unfastened his chair harness; I don't know why he did that, and the next thing I knew, that bitch of a fish pulled him over the side!" I looked at Giacomina Marrone, my eyes tortured. "I had his hand, Mina! I was able to get his hand. I *tried* to pull him back up, honest to god! but... Something got ahold of his lower body and wouldn't let go! This shark... Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" I scrubbed my face. "Mr. Marconi's hand was all sweaty, it started to slide through mine. The captain ran for his rifle; he was leaning over the side to shoot the goddamned thing, but it was too late." Tears trickled down my cheeks. I fumbled in my pocket and held out my hand, palm up, revealing the signet ring he had never taken off in the years! I had worked for him. "His hand slid out of mine. I grabbed for his jacket, but..." I broke down and sobbed.

She took the ring from my hand, and closed her fingers tightly around it. "Mother of god!" she whispered.

"I'm so sorry, Mina! I'm so sorry!" I risked a peek up at her as I ran my sleeve under my nose and eyes, smearing the moisture of my tears over my cheeks.

Distaste was written on her face. "At least you were able to bring his ring back to us." Mina turned away and sank into a fair reproduction of a Queen Anne chair, her hands fisted in her lap, her feet planted solidly on the floor. Discreetly, from the corner of my eye, I observed her actions. She slid the ring onto her thumb, the only finger it would fit, and sent a glance to her husband.

The lines around Bruno's mouth were tense, and I knew it wasn't because his brother-in-law was dead. "Mr. Shaw, what happens to The Family now?"

"I've been watching you, both of you, Bruno. I've seen how you tried to minimize Cally's excesses. You have a handle on the business. I will turn the Marconi family over to you."

All business now, Giacomina Marrone rose and briskly shook the mob boss' hand, then brought it to her lips in a sign of respect. "Grazie, Mr. Shaw. You won't regret it, I promise you. You'll... ah... you'll take care of that small matter of business we discussed?" Bruno joined her and slid an arm around her waist.

Mr. Shaw raised an eyebrow, smiled noncommittally, and called out, "George!" The big man opened the door. "See my guests get safely home."

"Sure thing, Boss."

The door closed behind them, and Mr. Shaw wiped the back of his hand off on his trousers. He went to his desk and poured himself another glass of whiskey. "That was a trifle over-the-top, Gino."

I took out a handkerchief and wiped off my face, then joined him and filled my glass as well. "Sorry, sir. I wasn't expecting to see them. It was the best I could do, spur-of-the-moment."

"She wants you dead, you know." His eyes were hooded.

"I rather had that idea. She's Mr. Marconi's sister, after all. What are you going to do, sir?"

"I need something delivered to my contact in the Vatican. I'll be sending you. Unfortunately, you will have an accident." He sighed mournfully. "The drivers in Italy. They're so reckless!" His voice became dark, threatening. "If you return to England, I *will* have you killed, Gino." He reached into his desk and withdrew a billfold. "Consider this severance pay."

I accepted it and examined the contents, a wad of pound notes, then slipped it into my back pocket. "I understand, sir. It's lovely in Rio this time of year. Perhaps I'll go back there. It's been a pleasure working for you, Mr. Shaw." That was a lie, but it was what Gino Marrone would say.

"Just a second." He reached further into his desk. "You will deliver this to Cardinal Bartoli." This time he handed me a small, silver-encrusted chest. He didn't tell me what was in it; I was just the errand boy, after all. "All right, that's all, Gino. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Mr. Shaw."

So Gino Marrone returned to the country of his birth and was struck down in the streets of Rome by one of those crazy Italian drivers. He was rushed to a nearby clinic, but the doctors were unable to revive him. There was a small funeral. Tasteful floral arrangements were sent by representatives of Vincent Shaw and the departed's cousins. Three weeks later, Tanner Green stepped off an Alitalia airliner in Heathrow.

****

There was a knock on the door of my flat, and I paused in the midst of writing my report. I laid the pen down on the desk, reached for my gun, then rose and crossed the narrow space. "Yeah?" I asked. It was later than I had realized, past midnight, but I was not too weary to exert normal caution.

"Tanner?" I recognized that voice, although always before I'd heard it over a telephone line. "It's..."

I tucked the gun in a bowl of artificial flowers that was on a small stand and unlocked the door. "Mr. Blakeney. This is a surprise. Won't you come in?" I took his jacket and hung it up on the coat rack, which was on the other side of the door. He was clad in a casual cable-knit jumper and dark grey trousers, but he looked better than anyone I had ever seen dressed in evening clothes. I felt scruffy in comparison, wearing only faded denims and a shirt that had seen much better days.

My boss spared me an interested glance as he walked into the cramped room, but refrained from commenting on my attire.

Trying to appear nonchalant, I reached for the jumper I had hanging over the back of a chair. "I'm still working on the report, sir," I said as I fought my arms into the sleeves. Fortunately, the jumper was in better shape than my shirt. "But I should have it on your desk by tomorrow."

"There's no rush. I thought you were supposed to be recuperating from your plastic surgery." That was what that little clinic in Rome specialized in.

"Don't remind me. It gives me a start every time I pass a mirror." I ran a careful hand over my nose and cheekbones, which were still sore, and then threaded my fingers through my hair.

He smiled into my eyes. "You always were too pretty." Hoping he wouldn't see how aroused his words made me, I made a casual affair of sitting and crossing my legs. "This gives you the look of a rugged individualist."

I gestured to the other chair. "Well, at least I can move around London without the fear of having my balls ripped off."

He paused for a moment, then hitched up his trouser legs slightly, and sat down and crossed his own legs. "Yes, Giacomina Marrone is proving to be as volatile as her brother. I think even Vincent Shaw is looking over his shoulder."

"Couldn't happen to a more deserving guy! May I get you a drink, sir?"

"Tanner, it's after hours. Do you think you could call me James?"

I became very still. He wanted me to call him James? "You want me to call you by your first name, sir?"

"Is that such a difficult thing to do?"

"Uh... no. Of course not. James. Um... brandy... James?"

"That would be grand, Tanner. How did you know I take a brandy in the evening?"

I'd made it my business to know. "Lucky guess." I stood and went to fetch the bottle. I had first tried this particular French brandy ten years ago, and found I enjoyed the slightly fruity taste. It was hard to come across a reasonably priced bottle, but with the hazard pay I had received for this last job, I'd been able to splurge.

He joined me by the liquor cabinet and took the bottle, examining the label. "Marquis de Montdidier V.S.O.P.? Oh, I say! You've got very nice taste, Tanner! This is one of my favorites, did you know?"

"Glad you approve." I grinned at him, only letting my gaze linger on him for a second, then took a couple of brandy snifters from the cabinet that had been built into the bookshelves that lined one wall. While I held the glasses, he opened the bottle and poured a couple of fingers for each of us. He set the bottle aside and took a snifter from me, then cradled it in his hands, warming the brandy. "Are we drinking to anything in particular?" He hesitated, then shook his head. "Then I'll propose a toast, shall I? 'Here's to us; who's like us? Damn few, and they're all dead!'"

James laughed, touched his snifter gently to mine, and swallowed, savoring the taste. "Good choice, Tanner." He returned to his seat, stretched his legs out before him and lapsed into silence, contemplating the deep golden brown liquid in his glass.

I regarded my own drink pensively; I liked him being in my flat but... "Mind telling me what's going on, sir? James," I hastened to correct when he frowned at me. "It's not your MO to come see me after I've completed an assignment, and I know you didn't come here to compliment me on my taste in brandy."

He worried his lush lower lip, and the desire to sink my teeth into it became so great I had to look away. After a moment he said, "That nephew of mine looks to be settling down."

Ah. He wanted to talk about his family. There had been times when I would call to fill him in on an operation, and afterwards he would somehow sense my need to hear a voice I could trust. He would talk to me of his family, among other things. I made myself comfortable in my own chair, an oversized wing-back. "Germaine?" I would never distress James by informing him that the Ashford heir had, on more than one occasion, purchased illegal substances from one of Vincent Shaw's associates. I would have talked to the wanker about it myself, but some people don't want to listen. "Never tell me Lord Ashford finally found a woman he considers worthy of the slimy little bugger?"

"Tanner! That is my family, I'll have you know!"

"Sorry." I widened my eyes, and he knew I wasn't. "Still, makes me glad I've none of my own to speak of!"

"Does it really?" He looked sad for a moment, then concealed his expression by raising his glass to his mouth. "No, I'm speaking of St. John." He swallowed.

"Your sister's youngest? He's just a baby, James!"

"He's nineteen, Tanner."

"There you go, a baby!" I twisted sideways in my chair and let my legs dangle over the side. "St. John's getting married? So, who's the lucky girl?"

"Not exactly married." He cleared his throat. "And... er... not exactly a girl."

"Beg pardon? We've only the two sexes, James, and ..." A flush mounted his cheeks. "Oh. Oh, I see! So St. John prefers boys?"

His eyes narrowed. "Do you have a problem with that, Tanner?"

"Of course not. I prefer boys myself on occasion." Oh, bugger, that did not just come out of my mouth! "I shouldn't have said that!" Not to him of all people! It was my turn to blush, and I took a hasty swallow of brandy. It went down wrong, and I choked and gasped, tears streaming down my face. He jumped up and came to me, and pounded my back until I stopped coughing. "Enough, enough!" I protested. I sniffed hard and ran the heel of my hand under my eyes.

A small smile curved his lips. Before I could wonder about that smile, he sobered. "St. John's become involved with Robert Dorincort." I shook my head, the name didn't ring a bell. "Robin Dorincort?"

"No, never heard of him."

He seemed stunned. "Tanner, he's bedded every good-looking man in London!"

I bit my lip to keep from asking if he had been one of them. "James, I don't imagine you came to see me this late at night just to tell me your nephew is seeing someone with a bit of a reputation. Now suppose you tell me why you are here?"

He began to pace the room. "I need your help, Tanner."

"Consider it done."

"I won't ask for assurances that this stays within this room... Pardon me?"

"What?"

"You said, 'Consider it done.'"

"Oh, yes. And?"

"You don't even know what I'm going to ask you."

I couldn't let him know that whatever it was, I would do it. I feigned impatience. "Look, sir. It's almost one in the morning, I've still got this bleeding report to finish, and my face hurts like a son of a bitch. Get on with it, do!"

He had the greenest eyes. They stared into my ordinary brown eyes briefly, and then slid away. He wandered around the room, studying the artificial flowers by the door, the books that lined the shelves, the seascape that was on a wall, the view out my back window.

James Blakeney stared so intently at that view that I took the opportunity to examine him closely. A little above average height, his body was firm, with long, sleek muscles, and I knew he practiced some form of martial arts to keep it so. His hair was a thick mass of deep auburn curls. I wondered what they felt like to touch. My fingers itched with the need to find out, and I curled them into my palm.

He spent so long staring out the window that I became concerned, and the hairs on the back of my neck seemed to stand up straight. Had I been traced to my home? "James, is there something out there?" I crossed to stand beside him, but the glass simply reflected back the two of us.

"Hmmm? No. It's... nothing. Where was I?"

"Nowhere, exactly. You were going to ask for a favor."

"Yes." But it took another minute before he began speaking. "Fifteen years ago, my sister ran away with another man... an archeologist, I believe. I was out of the country; by the time I returned they were long gone, and my parents had more or less accepted her doing a flit. I, myself, was pleased that Pamela had found a chance at happiness after that cold fish, Ashford."

"Am I correct in assuming that there was something more to your sister taking French leave of her husband?"

"You always were quick, Tanner. I was a trifle surprised that Pamela never wrote, but then she never was one for letters. That was around the time of the Suez incident, also, and I was called on to... well, that's neither here nor there. There was all that unrest in the Congo, and I didn't want to upset my parents any more than they already were. You see, Ashford was using the excuse of Pamela's desertion to keep the boys from them, and they were... concerned."

"Bloody bastard."

"Quite." His smile was tight. "That wasn't the least of it, Tanner. A couple of years after she left, Ashford claimed he received a telegram from some tiny African country, informing him that his wife and her companion had been killed during an insurrection."

"Bloody hell!" I murmured in sympathy. He squeezed my shoulder, and I could almost feel each finger imprinting itself on the flesh beneath my jumper and shirt. "Ah hem. You were saying?"

"On New Year's Eve, I learned that St. John had never been informed that his mother was dead. That struck me as... odd."

"*Bloody* odd! You want me to investigate your sister's death? I can call in a few favors. I have some contacts..." Some that he didn't know of.

"Thank you, no." He reached up as if to tug a lock of my hair, but it had been cut short to aid in the alteration of my appearance, and he wound up just touching it lightly. "I already know that there was no such telegram sent from that country, simply because that country did not have a telegraphy system until the following year."

"Shades of Sherlock Holmes! Then what do you need me for? Don't get me wrong, I'm pleased that you do, but..."

James opened his mouth, but said nothing. He licked his lips, took a breath and cleared his throat, then went to his jacket. In an inside pocket was a folded sheet of paper, which he withdrew and spread carefully on my desk over the report I had been working on. The paper appeared exceedingly fragile, and I commented on it.

"This is the original blueprint of Ashford's townhouse, as it was commissioned by the Iron Duke's grandfather. I want you to study the cellar dimensions; that was something you excelled at in the Marines, I believe."

I nodded absently as I braced my hands on the desk and leaned forward to study the lines that formed walls and floors. I'd started out as an illustrator in the Marines, operational graphics and intelligence support. "I expect this should be a piece of cake in comparison," I grinned.

James stood close to me, his shoulder brushing against mine, and he reached across me to point out a number of rooms in the cellar. I was engulfed by the warmth and the scent of the man beside me.

I forced my mind away from the thought of what his lips must taste like and tried to concentrate on the plans before me. "I'll need to actually get into the house."

"I anticipated that, Tanner. I'll see to it that Ashford receives a telephone call from the Liechtenstein consulate, informing him that Germaine is being considered for one of the hereditary princesses. He should be so over the moon about it that I doubt he'll recall he never applied for her hand."

"Ah. A bit of breaking and entering while the viscount's away?" I rubbed my thumbs over my fingertips in anticipation. "Nothing like keeping my hand in!" I rather wanted to dazzle him with a show of brilliance.

"Sorry to disappoint you, dear boy, but St. John has given me his key. The entry will be made in broad daylight."

"Servants?" I asked hopefully.

He shook his head, biting back a smile. "It will be the servants' day off."

"Bugger. You're taking all the fun out of this, James." I almost missed the glance he sent my way. It was... affectionate? I went very still, then took a quiet breath and returned to the plans before me. The aftereffects of my surgery must have been having me see things that weren't really there.

"Well, I'd best be off, Tanner. I'll meet you at ten, day after tomorrow."

"Just one second! *You'll* be meeting me?"

He was amused. "How else do you plan on getting the key?"

I conceded gracelessly. "Just remember, I work alone, James!"

"Not this time, Tanner." My mouth dropped open, but he had his jacket off the rack, and he was out the door before I could object. As my boss, he got the last word in all the time.

Didn't mean I had to like it, though.

(24)

On the return trip to Rio de Janeiro, Da'ric was almost giddy. I'd never seen him like that, practically drunk on relief and happiness and the adrenaline rush of destroying the last of his enemies. He leaned into my side, then bounced across the deck to hurl himself at the big extraterrestrial who accepted his enthusiastic hugs indulgently. They had the same golden eyes with vertical pupils, the same webbing between their toes, although the patterning of Da"s skin was not nearly as pronounced.

The resemblance to his Terran father was much more obvious, the dark hair and lean build. I had learned that David Reed was not a simple expatriate American boat captain, but a highly renowned ichthyologist.

My lover wrapped his arms around the man who was his Pop, actually lifting him off his feet. Dr. Reed laughed with pleasure and ran fond fingertips over his son's cheek. And Da' grinned at me over his shoulder.

I had never realized how strong Da' was, how very capable of taking care of himself. Robin had seen it that very first night; why hadn't I? Because I hadn't wanted to? Because I couldn't see him wanting me otherwise?

All of my life I had been the one who protected my siblings, from everyday hurts, from nightmares, from any harm that might befall them. As the shape-shifter, that was my responsibility, my place in the family.

After the incident on the Isla del Queimada Grande, where he had snatched a deadly fer-de-lance right out of the air before it could sink its fangs into him, it had suddenly struck me like a bolt out of the blue. If Da' didn't need me to protect him, to place my body between his and whatever danger might threaten him, what did he need me for at all?

"Drew, are you all right?" He was back beside me, his hand on my arm. I nodded and forced a smile, looking down at the fingers that traced random, deceptively innocuous patterns on my skin. "Come on, Brit. You can't stay out in the sun like this, you'll burn. Pop should have a shirt in his cabin that will fit you."

We went below, and as tempted as I was to lay claim to his body, I hesitated. I told myself that this was his fathers' cabin; taking their son on their bunk would not be proper. Da' glanced at me curiously, but he could read the ambivalence in my mind, and he hesitated in turn. He pulled out a drawer in the captain's bunk and found a shirt. I accepted it gratefully. Already I could feel the heat rising in the skin over my shoulders. In spite of my black hair and eyes, my skin was as fair as any of my blond siblings. I knew if I weren't careful, I'd have a nasty sunburn.

"Just a second, Drew. Pop always used to keep aloe vera on the Jo. Let me see if he has some on this boat."

"The Jo?"

"Ah! Success!" He showed me the bottle and led me to another cabin. I was about to question our change of location, but, //Our cabin.// He continued, "Desejo do Coracao, Pop's first boat." His eyes grew sad. "She was a good boat. Those bastards blew her up that day."

"Da'." Things began to fall into place. "The first night we were together, the first night you were in my bed, you spoke in your sleep. It... er... it sounded like Joe. I thought it was a... a lover's name."

He was pouring lotion into his palm, and he paused. His eyebrows rose. "You thought I would call another man's name while I was with you?" He gestured for me to turn around so he could examine the reddening patches.

I obeyed, embarrassed now by the jealousy I had felt. "Yes, well..." I decided to change the subject. "What does desejo do coracao mean?"

He smoothed the cool lotion over my back and shoulders. I shivered, and he leaned in and nibbled and licked at my earlobe. "It's Portuguese for 'heart's desire,' Drew. It's what Pop was searching for when he sailed her up the Amazon." He tossed the bottle of lotion aside.

"And... and he... he found it?" I asked, hardly able to think straight from the feel of his hands on me. They were painting designs on my chest now. If I could just concentrate, I knew I'd be able to discern what they drew, but his fingers toyed with my nipples, rolling and lightly scratching them, then stroked down past my navel, following the line of hair that disappeared beneath the shorts that hung low on my hips. I sucked in a breath, and they dipped lower, and he accepted the silent invitation to continue his exploration. His fingers edged past the waistband. //Da'!// I groaned.

He had stopped just a millimetre away from my cock. //Tell me what's wrong.//

"You're not touching me, is what's wrong!" I rolled my pelvis forward, but his hands slid away to grip my hips. "Da'ric! Stop teasing me!"

"I thought you didn't want to do anything."

"What?" My mind had become foggy with desire.

"My fathers are still above deck."

"Bother your fathers!" I turned into him and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him snugly against my body.

"You bother me, Brit!" He nuzzled my lips apart, then fit our mouths together and licked delicately at my tongue. I was so lost in the unexpected tidal wave of lust that swamped me that when his mind slid beneath my shields, I was unable to prevent him. I froze. Now he would see all my faults, all the failings, the petty resentments I'd been able to conceal from everyone, even my family.

He pulled back in shock, and I tightened my arms for a second before releasing him. "You... you won't want me any more. I understand. I'll let you go."

"The hell you will!" He clouted my shoulder with enough force that I actually rocked backward a step. "D'you think I'm so shallow that I..." This time he hit my chest with the flat of his hand, and I stumbled back onto the bunk. "I don't need you taking care of me, Drew! I'm a big boy! And you're an egotistical son of a bitch if you think for one fucking minute that it matters a fig to me that you aren't perfect! Look at me, for chrissake!" I refused to meet his eyes, and he snarled in frustration. //Drew, *look* at me!//

Helplessly, I stared into his golden eyes, and suddenly I saw past them, saw the sum of the parts that made up my lover: the little boy growing up in a world of unearthly beauty, the young man who, after a single attempt at a relationship, buried himself in his studies, determined to settle for nothing less than what his fathers had found with each other.

Beyond that, though, were the assaults by Sarone and Halliwell; the long, drugged months in captivity when his only companions had been a snake and an emaciated little wolf; freedom, and the dark satisfaction as his claws sank into an enemy's gut, eviscerating him. And then, a starburst of exploding fireworks surrounding a presence that approached him, that Da' had been waiting for forever. //I thought I'd never find you, Drew.//

//*Me*?//

//You. In all this wide world, you are the one I was waiting for! It wasn't chance that brought us together, it was destiny, fate! Keep me with you. Guard my back, as I'll guard yours.//

Shakily I stood and opened my arms, and he pounced, covering my neck and face with kisses, until finally he settled on my mouth, exploring it voraciously.

His hands were busy unfastening my shorts, which slid down my legs, leaving me naked. He stepped back, shedding his own trousers. The gaze he swept over my body was almost a physical caress. I was stunned when he dropped to his knees before me and nuzzled my groin, breathing in the hot scent of my arousal. My own knees almost buckled when he took my cock into his mouth, his tongue dipping into the slit at the tip, and then curling around the head and tugging gently.

My fingers tightened in his black hair and urged him to take more of me. I didn't want to hurt his mouth, but I needed to be deeper in it, to be sucked down into his throat. All I could do was babble, "Da', please!" "Da', more!" "Da', yes!"

Colors as yet unnamed swirled through my mind, flooded it, splashed onto my lover. I moaned and rocked forward faster, and he hummed in approval. And while he swallowed me deeper, his tongue curled around my shaft in spirals, from the tip to the base. Later, he would have to tell me how he did that. Later, he would have to do that to me again.

Now... now I could feel my balls draw up tight to my body. "Da'!" I tried to warn him, but the first spurt of come hit the back of his throat. Abruptly he released me from his mouth, capturing the remainder of my orgasm in his hand.

I was too replete to wonder what he was going to do. He pushed me back onto the bunk and parted my thighs. A semen-coated finger pressed into my anus, and I shivered and moaned, still riding the crest of my climax, and spread my legs, wanting more of him. A second finger joined the first, and they thrust deeply into me, finding my sweet spot and teasing it relentlessly. I hooked my arms behind my knees and pulled them back, surrendering to whatever he wanted to do to me.

And then his fingers were gone, replaced by the pointed head of his cock.

****

Once, in his sleep, I had examined his body, explored it with curious fingers and lips and tongue. As I memorized his scent, as I licked and lipped the smooth skin of his sheath, that so-soft, so-velvety skin, his cock had slid out, hard and dusky. At the base, his knot was expanding, and he began to ooze pre come. I dragged my tongue across the tip, and the taste of him had exploded in my mouth. Da' had welcomed me into his body, where I barely had time to seat myself before I was coming like an untried boy. But he shivered in my arms and groaned and spilled his seed between us. When I finally caught my breath enough to raise my head and look up at him, his eyes were huge. //Never! It has never been like that!//

****

His long, slim cock slid past the tight ring of muscle, and he measured his length in me. I didn't wonder what he had used to lubricate his cock. There was no pain, as I had always feared, but there was a sense of fullness, and each intense thrust burned. "Da', what are you doing?" I gasped.

"I'm making you mine," he whispered hoarsely. My inner muscles clamped down, trying to keep him lodged against my prostate, but his hips rocked steadily, advancing, retreating, driving his cock against it, and I yipped from the unbearable pleasure he was giving me. Abruptly, I felt his knot enter me and plug my hole, and he began to swell. "Now, Drew! *Now*!" His semen spilled into my passage, the heat like nothing I had ever felt before, and I wriggled in a desperate attempt to get closer to him, to get him deeper into me.

"Yes," I moaned. His eyes were a rim of gold surrounding the fathomless black pupils, imprisoning me in their depths, and I surrendered willingly to him. "Yes!" I was thrown headlong into a second climax that I hadn't even realized was near until I was engulfed by it.

I must have lost consciousness, because when I regained my senses, Da' was beside me, but no longer inside me. He had cleaned us both, and his fingers were stroking gently over my abdomen. "I'm sorry, Brit. I've never done that before."

"Well, if it comes to that, neither have I. I must say, you surprised me!"

"Please tell me I didn't hurt you."

"Not a chance of it, Yank! I had no idea that was what a knot felt like. I think I'd like to do this again." There was an aura of sadness around him, and suddenly I became frightened. "Da'ric?" //I know le petit mort, love, but aren't you carrying it a bit far?// He let me see into his mind, and I was stunned. //A baby?// I angled up on my elbows and stared at my flat stomach in confusion. "You made me *pregnant*?"

"No, Drew. You didn't pay attention! I'm sorry. I should have told you. I can't make anyone pregnant. The results of a Brachian/Terran cross is not ... I'm a mule."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm... sterile, Drew."

I sat up so quickly my action dumped him off the bunk onto the hard deck. My arse was sore, and I shifted to get comfortable. "You're an arse, Da'. Or else you're trying to pick a quarrel to break up with me. You can't think something like that would matter to me?"

"It doesn't?" He looked so hopeful I could have wept.

Instead, I growled, "Did that arsehole you used to be involved with throw you over because of that?"

"What asshole?"

"That Den character you spoke with on the phone."

"*Den*? Good god, no! He was my friend; he's still my friend. He would never hurt me like that!" Da' got to his feet, rubbing his bum. "Besides, he had no idea it was even possible! He thought one of my fathers was my biological parent, and the other the... I don't know... adopted one, I guess."

"How did he explain your..." I gestured to encompass his slightly alien body.

"He didn't. He never brought it up, so I never said anything about it. Well, Drew, you have to realize, I've known Den for about ten years. He's used to me looking like this. He just accepts it."

"Well, I accept it too. Now come back up on the bunk. It's my turn to ravish you."

And somewhere in the back of my mind, I could feel the amused approval of his fathers.

****

Dr. Reed backed the cabin cruiser into its slip with easy competence and told us there was no need to rush back from the hostel; he was going to restock the Josie with supplies, and it would take some time.

Da' laughed. "Is that what they're calling it these days, Pop?" he teased. Dr. Reed blushed, and from below deck, where he had to remain out of sight, the big extraterrestrial's mind radiated humor.

We swung over the side to the dock and made our way back to the youth hostel. "Will Gino be all right, do you think, Da'? We were gone longer than I anticipated."

"As long as he didn't struggle against the bonds. The knots are a little tricky, kind of like those Chinese pinky cuffs?" He could see from my expression I had no idea what he was talking about. "Those things you stick on your pinkies, and when you try to get out of them, the more you pull, the tighter they become. Follow me? Anyway, the knots I tied can become dangerous if he fights them. They'll cut off his circulation, almost like a tourniquet."

"Da! I thought you liked Gino! He could lose his hands!"

"I do like him; he's nice enough. But this isn't a game of cops and robbers we're playing, Drew."

"I am quite aware this is a serious situation, Da'."

"Serious as a heart attack." His eyes were cool. "I won't risk your life just because Gino might be a nice guy who was led astray by wicked companions." We entered the hostel and made our way down the corridor to Gino's room. "Okay, here we go." //Stay alert, Brit.//

Gino glared at us from the bed, but something was off, about the way he was tied up, about the relaxed way he lay on that bed. He gave the appearance of being almost... sated. Da' caught my eye and shrugged, but he proceeded with caution.

"Sorry we had to do this, Gino."

Gino didn't seem too concerned that he had been left bound for all this time. "Where's Mr. Marconi?"

"He won't be coming back. He's dead. He got excited when he saw the island and fell overboard. Sharks got him," Da' lied easily.

"Was anything left?" Gino looked decidedly unhappy when he saw our negative response. He moved restlessly on the bed, stirring up the warm air, which had hung still in the room. Normal senses wouldn't have detected anything unusual about the odor that was layered over his own scent.

I sniffed the air discreetly, abruptly identifying that faint odor. It was sex. I straightened from the wall against which I had been lounging. Fortunately, Gino didn't seem to notice my abrupt action or the fact that I studied him intently. How in bloody hell had he managed to have sex?

Da' carefully rolled him onto his front, and he grew very still for a moment before extending his claws. //These knots. They aren't the ones I made.//

//You're certain?//

//I'm certain. Keep an eye on him. I'm getting a bad feeling about this situation!// The sound of his claws cutting through the cords that were fastened around Gino's wrists was similar to one I had heard in the cellar of Marconi's House of Oddities, only then he had been cutting through flesh and cartilage, and I shivered. "Don't try to be a hero, Gino," Da' warned him. "Your boss is dead. He was a worthless piece of shit. If you try to avenge him, I'll kill you."

Gino seemed unperturbed by Da"s threat. He shook out his wrists to get the circulation going, then began to work the knots that secured his ankles, unwittingly revealing his familiarity with them. "Why would I want to avenge Callisto Marconi's death? As you said, he was a worthless piece of shit." He paused, resting his forearms on his knees, and regarded us somberly. "There are people in London who'll want proof that he is dead."

"Got it covered, mate." I was getting restless. //Hurry up and give it to him, Da'. I want us out of here as soon as possible!// Da' removed the ring he had been carrying in his pocket and tossed it to Gino.

"Thanks." Gino's gaze was flat when he raised it from the ornate signet ring. "I'll change my ticket and get the next flight back."

"We're not going back, Gino."

I stiffened. //Da'?// What was he saying? I didn't think I could live outside of my homeland, away from my family.

//Easy, Brit. Easy. He must believe we're never returning to England.//

"Don't let me find you in London; I'd have to kill you."

"You'd try." Da"s hand was warm on my back as he pushed me out of the room. //We have to hurry. I don't like this. There's something about Gino...//

Most of our things were still in our duffles. In a matter of minutes my shaving kit was packed as well as any odd bits that were lying around, and we were ready to leave. With a quick, backwards glance to make sure we weren't being followed, we headed out the door and went down to the dock and slip thirteen.

****

Lovely, serene, the Rainforest's version of Shangri La, the Black Lagoon was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. We spent our days swimming and exploring, and our nights locked in a passionate embrace.

We'd finally tracked down the rainbow bass that had been eluding Da"s Dad for years. I aimed my spear gun at it, about to fire the bolt that would fetch us dinner, when Da' gently closed his hand over the barrel. //Let him go, Drew. I couldn't eat him, and neither could Dad, in spite of what he might insist otherwise. That fish is almost like one of the family after all these years.//

The bass swam off, never realizing how close he had come to being the guest of honor at a fish fry, and my lover and I rose to the surface. I breathed in the perfumed air of the Lagoon, and Da' gazed about him thoughtfully. "The Black Lagoon is the most perfect place in the world, Drew."

"Yes." Well, except for Dorincort Place. And Almeria Hall. And the lovely green countryside of Kent.

I realized I was homesick. How was I going to tell my lover I wanted to go home?

//You don't have to tell me, Brit. I know.// "When do you want to leave?"

"We've been away for almost three weeks." Did I have the right to ask him to leave this magical spot, and come back to the rain and damp of England?

"I'll tell Dad and Pop tonight. Would you mind if we stopped in California before we went home? I'd like my grandparents to meet you. And Den."

"Home?" I was so dumbfounded by his use of that word that I completely overlooked the mention of that person. "You won't mind not living in the Black Lagoon?"

"I've left it before, Drew. We'll be coming back to visit, won't we?" He pulled me against him and rubbed his cheek against mine. "I always thought the Lagoon was my home, but..." //*You're* my home, Drew. Wherever you are, that's home.//

****

It was later that night. I'd just slid into Da"s body, our hands linked, our eyes locked. His knees gripped my waist, and he arched up languidly to meet each thrust. I growled. The moon hung full and fat in the night sky, and I could feel the wolf trying to emerge.

Abruptly a wave of mental anguish overcame my lover, and because our minds were linked, I felt it as well. It was so painful we cried out in protest.

//Papa!// Da' pushed at me, but I was already rolling off him, and he bolted to the chamber his fathers shared, with me at his heels. //Dad, what's wrong?//

Ric'u was supporting his partner as he trembled in his arms, wracked by shudders. //He woke like this from a nightmare. He refuses to tell me.//

//I'm sorry.// "I'm sorry."

//David, do not try to conceal this from me!// I had never heard the big extraterrestrial so stern. //Please.// Or so beseeching.

"Nothing. It's nothing. I'm sorry. Maybe the agouti stew we had for dinner didn't agree with me." Dr. Reed's complexion, which had been grey, began regaining some normal color. He seemed to be recovering from whatever terrors had disturbed his sleep.

//David. This has gone far enough. You are making yourself ill. If you do not tell me what happened with Halliwell...//

Da' stiffened. //What has Halliwell to do with this? He's dead!//

His Terran father glowered at his Brachian father, who glowered back at him, a truly savage expression. //Are you happy, you green dragon? You've upset the boy!// I marveled that of all the emotions roiling in this chamber, fear was not one of them.

//Da'ric is fine, David. It means nothing I am the one upset, that you've upset me?//

Dr. Reed looked distraught. //I never...// He sagged against his partner, his head burrowed under the alien's chin. //It had to be done, Ric'u. *I* had to be the one to kill Halliwell! I couldn't ask you to take on that burden! I *couldn't*! It wouldn't have been fair to you!//

//David, I was raised to be a warrior. My shoulders are broad enough to bear any burden, especially if it's for you.// He tipped his partner's head up and gazed tenderly into his eyes. //At least share it with me.// He exchanged glances with his son, their mental communication a private one.

Da' nodded, went to his Terran father, and hugged him. "It will be all right, Pop. Dad will make it all right." He kissed his cheek, then turned to his other father and embraced him as well. //Good night.// "Come on, Drew. Let's go back to bed."

"I'm sorry I disturbed you boys. This was the last thing you needed on your honeymoon."

I felt a blush starting. "Oh, er... that's quite all right, sir. It isn't really a... That is to say..."

"Drew." Da' poked my arm in exasperation. "Say good night."

"Yes, of course. Good night, Dr. Reed, Ric'u." I followed him to the chamber I shared with him. "Will your Pop be all right, Da'? Should we, perhaps, stay longer?"

"Drew. You want to go home."

"Yes, but I can wait. If you need to be with your fathers..."

He wrapped his hand around my neck and pulled me close to him. "I really lucked out when I found you, you know that, Brit."

"It wasn't luck, Yank." I kissed him softly.

"I never expected to find my heart's desire across the Atlantic."

"I am truly your heart's desire?"

"You are that. It scares me, y'know, when I think how far away from me you were."

"Wouldn't have mattered, Da'. Sooner or later, we would have met. We Dorincorts, you see, we search until we come to our predestined end.

Notes: 13 degrees Celsius is 57 degrees Fahrenheit, the ideal temperature for storing wines. Many thanks to wb, who has access to the Net and isn’t afraid to use it. She found the sites dealing with human decomposition. Please bear in mind that at the time Ashford began to question St. John’s paternity, there was no DNA testing available to determine it.

Part 25

Robert thought I was asleep. I lay sprawled upon him, my cheek above his heart, and the steady rhythm soothed me. Always before, when we’d made love, and to me it had always been making love, he had possessed my body. I didn’t know why this time he’d angled his hips up and allowed me to slide into his heat. I used what he had taught me and pleasured him to an orgasm so intense I was afraid he might never let me do it again. After all, Robert Dorincort was never one to permit the loss of control.

I decided not to borrow trouble. He had been telling me for the last few days that he loved me. If he continued to let me enjoy the magnificent experience of fucking his snug, hot passage, I would accept it without question. And if it never happened again, at least I would have this one precious night.

I woke in the mid morning light of the first day of the New Year so hard I ached. My lover was spooned up behind me, and his own erect cock was nestled in the crevice of my arse. His fingertips stroked over my torso and down past my navel, to lightly tug the curls that surrounded my cock. "I love you, St. John," he murmured sleepily in my ear, the warmth of his breath causing me to shiver.

"Do you really, Robert?" I sighed and rolled over, causing our cocks to glide against each other. I gasped, and Robert took advantage of that to slide his tongue into my mouth. His hips mimicked the movement of his tongue, and I moaned and began to suck on it gently, teasing him in turn.

He smoothed his palms down my spine to caress the curve of my buttocks, squeezing and kneading them, then finding the pucker of my anus and pressing against it. I whimpered and pushed him onto his back.

His laugh changed to a groan as I began to wriggle down his body, the hair on my chest teasing his nipples. I moved lower, pausing to give his nipples a lick and a nip before moving lower to dip my tongue into his navel. Robert was ticklish. He bucked beneath my mouth and gave a yelp, and I raised my head.

"You will not do that again, Robert."

"Oh, won’t I?"" he demanded breathlessly, his deep blue eyes glittering. "Why ever not?"

"If you do," I moved lower, "then I will not do this!" I swooped down and swallowed his cock to the root.

"St. John!" Robert groaned my name, and his hips arched up, thrusting him deeper. My throat muscles rippled around him. I used one hand to raise his balls up out of the way, then slid a finger over the sensitive skin behind them. He was still slick from the last time I had had him, and there was little resistance when I pressed my finger into his hole. I curled it and stroked over his prostate. This time he shouted my name, and he came.

I swallowed and swallowed again, and licked him clean before flopping over onto my back. Robert lay there in boneless satisfaction, struggling to regain his breath. I smiled up at the ceiling. My cock was still hard, and I ran my fingers up the side of it, across the flared head, gathering drops of pre come that were beading there.

Suddenly, my hand was captured by Robert. I watched with startled eyes as he brought my fingers to his lips, and one by one he sucked them into his mouth. I whimpered.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" He straddled my hips, and without taking his eyes from mine, he lowered himself onto my cock, taking me into his body. My hips rocked up, the angle giving me access to his prostate, and he groaned. He rose and sank on me repeatedly, riding me hard, and he leaned over to take my mouth in a soul-deep kiss. His tongue fucked my mouth as surely as my cock fucked his arse, and he captured the whimpers that spilled from my lips. "Come for me, St. John!" he growled, his voice gravelly from the aftermath of sleep and desire. "Come for me!" His inner muscles clenched around my shaft, and I had no choice but to obey.

I knew there was a foolish smile on my face. I wound my arms around his neck. "Robert, I love you so much!"

"I’m keeping you forever, St. John. Forever!" He tried to move off me.

"No, please." I tightened my arms around him. "Stay like this."

"I’m too heavy for you." But his protest was half-hearted. He liked lying on me, and he liked having my cock in his arse. We stayed that way for as long as we could, and then he moved off me carefully. "Come along, St. John. Let’s get cleaned up."

****

Robert was standing in the doorway to the bath, watching me as I picked up the odd pieces of our tuxedoes, cummerbund, trousers, the brocade waistcoat that Robert had worn. They would need to be thoroughly pressed; we had treated them so cavalierly the night before… I was lost in the wanton memories of the night before. "St. John."

I shook myself out of those memories, smiling. "Yes, my dear?" I went through the pockets to make sure they were empty. In the trouser pocket of Robert’s tuxedo, I found the cuff buttons I had given him when I had rolled up my sleeves to prepare dinner. There was something else with them, and I opened my hand to find a gold ring. I looked up at him in confusion and held out the ring.

He was wearing casual trousers and an open-necked shirt, the strong column of his throat lightly tanned from all the time he spent out of doors. He looked so good my mouth went dry. Taking the ring from me, he reached for my left hand. "I can’t put this on your ring finger, St. John, but in some cultures this is the way it is done." He studied my eyes intently. "Forever, St. John." He slid the ring over my pinky. "My life," he said, then removed it. He put it on my ring finger. "My heart." Next came my middle finger. "My soul." Finally he settled it on my index finger, where the fit was perfect. "My love." He closed my fingers, kissed the ring, and then pulled me to his chest, where he just held me.

"Oh, Robert…" His hand on my hip to steady me, I stretched up on my toes and kissed him.

****

I hurried into the breakfast room, an apology on my lips. Old habits died hard, and although I had been living with Robert Dorincort for several weeks now, I did not want to do anything that would make him cross. "I beg your pardon, Robert. I cannot think how I came to sleep so late this morning!"

"Can’t you?" He placed his elbows on the table and leaned toward me, cradling a cup of coffee in his palms, the same palms that had caressed my buttocks as I had driven my cock into his snug, hot passage. The smile on his face was so utterly besotted that I blinked, and my breath snagged in my throat. "The fact that we spent the better part of last night making love couldn’t have anything to do with your oversleeping, could it?"

I could feel a blush rise in my cheeks, and I laughed softly. Ever since the early morning hours of the New Year, when Robert had let me make love to him, when I had finally, freely confessed my love to him, things between us seemed …

He reached for my hand and ran his thumb over the ring I wore on the index finger of my left hand, effectively derailing my train of thought.

"Will you be all right today?"

We would be going with Uncle James and a man he knew to Father’s house. My uncle had a plan to get Father out of the house. Germaine would be off with his disreputable friends, and the servants had the day off, so we would be safe enough searching the cellar for the door I had apparently told my lover was no longer there. The situation was … bizarre.

I did not know what possessed me to go down into the lower level of Robert Dorincort’s townhouse. I did not even remember returning to the kitchen with the bottles of wine. Something untoward must have happened, although I recalled nothing, and I was afraid to ask what I had said that put that tight expression on Robert’s face.

When I was about six I had ventured into the cellar of Father’s townhouse, and Germaine had come tearing out of one of the rooms, shrieking that it was coming, and it was going to get me. I could not fathom at the time what it was, but Germaine’s palpable fear had transmitted itself to me, and I was terrified. I had run up to my bedroom and hidden under the bed for the rest of the day, and I had never again gone into the cellar.

"I will be fine, Robert," I lied. I did not want to tell him that I was frightened of what that cellar held.

Robert was watching me as if he was not sure he could believe my words. I took a soft, supple piece of leather out of my pocket and ran it through my fingers, determined to distract him. "What have you got there, Singe?"

I smiled at him and showed him the object, and he sucked in his breath sharply. "Would you wear this for me, Robert?" I held it out to him. It had taken a good deal of searching for me to find that band.

"You… you want me to wear this?"

"Y…. yes…. if you would not mind?" I held my breath. If he agreed, this would declare Robert mine as surely as his ring made me his.

He rose and came around the table to my side, and dropped to his knees. His arms encircled my waist, and he laid his head over my heart. "Oh, St. John." He sat back on his heels, unbuttoned his collar, and bared his throat. "Would you put it on me?"

I looked into his eyes and spoke softly. "My life. My heart. My soul." I fastened the leather collar around his neck. "My love." I rebuttoned his shirt, concealing the strip of black leather, and leaned my forehead against his while I ran my fingers through his thick, fair hair. "My love," I repeated and kissed him.

****

There was a knock on the front door. "Robert, Uncle James is here. Are you ready?" I opened the door. "Good morning, Uncle."

"St. John."

"Will you come in?" I brushed the lock of hair that had fallen into my eyes off my forehead, and his eyes sharpened. He took my hand.

"What is this?"

"Beg pardon? Oh, my ring? Robert gave it to me."

He blew out a breath. "So it’s serious, is it?"

"Yes, it’s serious, Blakeney." Robert was just coming out of the study, where he had been trying to deal with the books, which would normally have been Andrew’s job. Robert scowled at my uncle. "Your family didn’t take care of St. John when they had the opportunity."

Uncle James’ eyes widened.

"Robert!" I whispered sharply, gesturing surreptitiously to his neck. His fingers went to his throat, and he realized his shirt collar was undone, revealing the band I had placed there. A dull flush colored his cheeks, and he slid the top two buttons into their holes.

"I begin to see." That was all my uncle had to say about that. "St. John, there’s just one thing. I feel you should be prepared. I have uncovered proof that your mother never left this country; in fact, I am very much afraid she never left your father’s house. There is a strong possibility that we may find her body today." I felt myself turn pale, and he patted my shoulder awkwardly. "We’re going to pick up someone I know. Tanner Green is one of the best."

"Best what?" Robert wanted to know.

Uncle James looked at his wristwatch, ignoring the question. "We’d best leave now. I promised Tanner we’d be there by ten o’clock."

It was ten on the dot when we showed up at his friend’s flat. The man who opened the door was just a bit taller than my uncle. He had brown hair so dark that in certain lights it appeared black and eyes that were a couple of shades lighter. His face bore a slightly bruised look. I had heard about the results of plastic surgery often enough at school, when one of the fellows would mention his mother having gone for some nip and tuck work. He didn’t strike me as a vain man, and I thought perhaps he had been in an accident.

"This is Tanner Green, an associate of mine."

He smiled warmly at me, but his gaze sharpened as it swept over Robert, who was hovering at my shoulder. For a moment I would have sworn that Mr. Green recognized Robert. Then he gave his head a shake as if to clear it, and his expression smoothed and became bland.

Uncle James concluded the introductions. "Tanner, my nephew, St. John Ashford and Robert Dorincort."

"Robin," I corrected with a frown. "You may call him Robin." I called him Robert.

"Possessive little get, aren’t you?" Robert’s grin was sultry, and he touched his throat, reminding me that beneath the collar of his shirt was the leather band I had placed on him. This time I was the one who blushed.

Tanner Green raised an eyebrow at that blatant bit of teasing. He glanced toward my uncle. "I was just finishing breakfast. Would you care for some coffee?"

Uncle James shook his head. "I’d like to get this over with as soon as possible, if you don’t mind, Tanner?"

"Not at all, James. How much time do we have?" He was looking at my uncle, whose attention was drawn inward; he did not see the expression in Mr. Green’s eyes as they swept over him. I coughed lightly, and Mr. Green’s lashes lowered. When he raised them again, there was no trace of the longing I had seen in them. "James? How much time?"

"My contact at the Liechtenstein consulate will see that Lord Ashford is kept occupied for at least a couple of hours." Uncle James’ tone was complacent, but I shivered when I thought of Father’s reaction when he learned that a princess would not be in his heir’s future. "Will that be enough?"

"I’m running this operation, James. It should be more than enough." His grin was cocky.

"My BMW is downstairs. If you’re ready?"

"Quite." He caught up a jacket, made sure his door was locked, and we followed him down the stairs. "Are you going to let me drive?"

Uncle James looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "Tanner! You’ve wrecked enough cars! I’m not likely to risk my BMW with you!"

Robert and I slid into the rear seat of Uncle’s car, while Tanner Green made himself comfortable in the front. "My reputation has been sadly maligned," he mourned. His arm rested casually over the back of the bench seat. Uncle James glanced at him before putting the car in gear.

It did not take us long to get to the townhouse, traffic being light at that time of day. Uncle James parked at the rear of the stately, elegant home. I wondered that I did not feel more of a sense of loss at having been forbidden to return. We approached the door casually, and I inserted my key into it and pushed it open. The house was eerily silent as we entered.

I stood in the middle of the back hallway and broke out in cold perspiration. Robert felt me shivering, and he stayed close to me, keeping a comforting hand on my back.

Uncle James was concerned. "St. John, perhaps you’d prefer to stay above stairs?"

Stubbornly, I shook my head. "I have to know." I led the way to the butler’s pantry, where pressure on a latch disguised as the British lion, rampant caused a built-in cupboard to swing open, revealing the door behind it. A set of stairs descended into the cellar. There was a light switch within hand’s reach, and I pressed it. "Be careful, please. These steps are rather steep."

Once we got down to the bottom, I found I could not go further and stepped aside to let my uncle and his friend pass, then sank down onto a step. Robert sat beside me. He rested his arm on my thigh and wound his fingers in mine, and his thumb caressed the ring I wore. "It will be all right, St. John."

####

Before James Blakeney, the man for whom I worked, had left my flat, he had given strict orders that I was to wait until the day after to pay a visit to the home of Lord Allister Ashford.

So of course, I obeyed him. For about an hour. I was certain that would be more than enough time to see him home. During that time, I prepared, dressing in unrelieved black and slipping the camouflage paint I would need for my face into a pocket in the leg of my cargo trousers. In another pocket was a small torch. A knife was strapped to my calf, and my revolver was nestled in its holster at the small of my back. I didn’t anticipate needing them, but it paid to be prepared.

In the darkest hour of the night, I made my way to the viscount’s townhouse and while he and his abominable son slept, unaware of my presence, I familiarized myself with the layout of his very intriguing cellar.

Ashford’s cellar ran the length of the townhouse. Given the history of this house, at one time it might have been intriguing, but now it was simply creepy. The temperature was exceptionally chill because of the stone walls, and the lighting was poor. You’d think the man would have heard of high wattage light bulbs!

James’ nephew was disturbed by the atmosphere, and knowing what we were likely to find here, I couldn’t blame him. I glanced at the stairs where he sat huddled against his lover.

I sighed and turned back to the long, narrow space that separated both sides of the cellar. No matter what, this was going to prove a nasty business.

A number of doors opened off the central corridor. I already knew three were simply for storage.

"I think our best bet would be to check Lord Ashford’s wine cellar, James."

"Which …?" I went to the wall with the single door, and James’ eyebrows snapped together. "How, exactly, did you know this was the correct door, Tanner?"

If I told him it was a lucky guess, and he didn’t believe me, he might start to question my other ‘lucky’ guesses. I pretended I didn’t hear him. His hand closed on my arm. Those elegant fingers of his, and all he could think to do with them was jerk me backwards.

"Tanner? You broke in, didn’t you? After I strictly forbade you to!"

"James, I’m an experienced field operative," I reminded him as I shook myself free. "I needed more information than you were availing me."

He gripped my jacket and hauled me to him so that we stood chest to chest. "You could have blown this whole thing!"

I stepped back so he wouldn’t feel my cock, which had been semi-hard since I’d opened my eyes that morning and known I would be seeing him again. "Since when did you start thinking of me as incompetent?"

"Tanner, I’ve never… I know how capable you are!"

"Then let me do my job, James."

He scowled and released me, then tried to enter the wine cellar. "The bloody door is locked, Tanner!"

I flashed my teeth at him. "As it always is." I took a small kit from my jacket pocket and pressed a thumbnail to the latch. The lid popped open, and I selected a slender tool from it. "Step aside, James. Let me show you how a professional does it." I shot my cuffs and squatted down. "Mind stepping out of the light, mate?" I took a deep breath to center myself, then inserted the tip of the lock pick into the keyhole and moved it gingerly. After a few seconds, there was a faint ‘snick’. I shoved the door open with a flourish. "Entrez."

"It’s black as a witch’s heart in here!" he complained.

"James, James, James," I chided. "This is why I do what I do, and you don’t." I handed him a small torch that I had brought along. Within seconds, he’d found the light switch and the room was flooded with stark, bright light. Racks of wines stood in the chill room, row upon row, Ports and Cabernets and Pinots, Noir and Grigio, Chablis and Bordeaux and Burgundies.

"How could one man hope to drink all this wine in one lifetime?" I stayed in the doorway while James began his search.

"That is not his intention, Mr. Green. Some of those are strictly investments. There is a ‘47 Port in there that I believe is worth several thousand pounds. Other bottles he had laid down for special occasions, such as my brother’s marriage, if it should ever come about."

"You have doubts of that, St. John?" Dorincort was curious.

"Well, my dear, Father cannot find anyone he thinks is worthy of Germaine."

I watched the two wistfully. Dorincort had been holding St. John’s hand to give him some comfort, and he released it to place his arm around his shoulder. He brought St. John’s hand to his mouth, caressing the finger that bore a ring. St. John leaned into him and sighed softly. I echoed the sound beneath my breath.

Meanwhile, "Nothing!" James slapped the wall in frustration, and I joined him.

"Steady on, pe…please!" I’d barely caught myself in time. "Pace off this wall, would you?" I stepped outside the chilled room and measured the wall from the wine cellar door to the far end. "What’ve you got, James?"

"Twenty-two feet."

"Yes, well, out here it’s twenty-eight."

"That’s a difference of six feet." I kept my mouth shut. He stuck his head out the door. "Tanner? That’s a difference of six feet!"

"Yes, James, I got that."

He snarled an imprecation. "Then St. John was right; at some time or another, there must have been another room just past the wine cellar."

"I would think so. This stretch of wall appears to be just a soupçon lighter than the rest. I’d wager this is where the door was." I went back into the wine cellar and studied the long row of shelves that ran along the far wall. I slid my fingertips over the sides, and then over the wall behind it, being careful not to knock any of the bottles onto the flagstone floor. "‘Allo, ‘allo!"

"You’ve found something?"

"Perhaps. I think… Ah!" I curled my finger in a shallow depression and barely got my arm out of the way as the center section of the rack swung creakily, exposing another room. "Give me the torch, please. And stay out of my range of fire." I had my gun in my left hand, and I flashed the narrow beam of light over the interior.

"What do you expect to come leaping out at us, Tanner?" James demanded irritably, but he stayed out of my way as he followed me. "Good god, this place is freezing! I can actually see my breath!"

While the room that contained the wine had been approximately thirteen degrees Celsius, this room was frigid, probably around zero. There was no light switch here; my torch was the only source of light. I let it quarter the small room, and it wasn’t long before my eyes focused on something on the floor. "Ah, fuck." I’d really been hoping…

There was a faint, musty odor. I cast the light over the outer walls and spotted a small, vented opening that must have permitted the worst of the smells to be dissipated over the years.

I crouched down beside the skeleton and examined it. The soft tissue was gone, but the outer layer of skin held the bones in place. I didn’t have much forensic experience, but I knew enough to be able to tell, even without the lady’s dressing gown that covered it, that it had been a woman. The legs rested primly, side by side, and the hands were folded at her waist. I angled the light up a bit higher, and the beam disclosed a lock of hair.

Just behind my shoulder, James was breathing harshly. "Oh, goddamn him! Goddamn his miserable soul!"

"I’m sorry, James." The hair was auburn. "I believe we’ve found your sister."

####

Tanner wouldn’t let me go near the remains of my poor sister. "We don’t want to contaminate the evidence, James." I knew he was right.

"Tanner. I want him to pay for this. If it even seems as if he’s going to walk away, I will kill him myself."

"Then we’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t walk away. James, to a man like Allister Ashford, whose name is the only thing that means anything to him, public humiliation is the ultimate punishment. I don’t think he’ll want to face that. Now, you need to talk to your nephew, and I need to make a phone call."

Tanner went up the stairs in search of a telephone to put in a call to his opposite number in the Yard, informing him of what we’d found. I approached St. John. Dorincort stood shoulder to shoulder with him. I ran a hand through my hair. "St. John, I’m so sorry…"

"Mama is in there, isn’t she, Uncle James?"

I nodded, and he began to tremble. Before I could take a step to hold him, to shield him against that news, Dorincort had his arms around him, supporting him. St. John’s left hand came up, and he gripped his lover’s hand. Again I saw that ring.

"Dorincort, would you mind taking St. John home? Here are my keys, you can drive the BMW…"

My nephew was shaking his head, his expression set. "I will not leave, Uncle. She may have been your sister, but she was my mother. I need to hear what Father has to say about this."

I turned to his lover, hoping he would see reason. "When Ashford returns home, I cannot vouch for his behavior. If he lost control enough once… Dorincort?"

He grinned at me, that wolfish expression that warned me to back off. "*I* need to hear what Lord Ashford has to say also, Blakeney."

The sound of my teeth grinding together was audible. I drew in a calming breath. "Very well. I expect it will be some time before your father puts in an appearance, St. John. Would you be kind enough to brew us a spot of tea?"

****

We were waiting in Lord Ashford’s study, Tanner and I, my nephew and Dorincort. They had put together a surprisingly good tea. Or perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised, considering the meal he had prepared on such short notice on New Year’s Eve.

St. John was raising his cup to his lips when we heard the key in the front door. It opened and then slammed shut with such force the teapot rattled on its tray. He turned pale, and his cup dropped from nerveless fingers, splattering the thick area rug with its contents. Dorincort picked it up and set it aside. "It’s all right, love."

"Willis!" In the hallway, Ashford shouted in a voice that would have done the military proud. "Oh, bugger, the man is never around when he is needed!" He stormed into the study and came to a shocked halt at the sight of us waiting there. "Blakeney?" His gaze swept the room, and his lip curled when he saw his son. "St. John. What are you doing in my home?" He stalked forward, fury darkening his expression. "You know you are no longer welcome here!" Only when the man sitting beside his son lunged to his feet and started toward him did Ashford realize his error.

"Dorincort!" I barked, but he ignored the order implicit in my tone.

St. John seized his sleeve. "My dear." Only then did Dorincort rock to a halt, his hands clenching into fists.

I turned my gaze back to my one-time brother-in-law. "Le jeu est fini, Ashford. The game is over."

"What are you talking about?"

"My sister."

"What about Pamela? She died years ago in another country! Her body was never recovered!"

"She died years ago," I concurred, "but her body has been in the cellar of this house all this time."

"Impossible!"

"Is it? You were the one who informed our parents that she had run off with another man. You were the one who later informed them of the telegram that notified you of her death. You were the one who killed her, Ashford."

"What utter rot!" But the blood drained out of his face.

"I think not. Pamela could accept your emotional abuse of her, but when it spilled over onto your youngest son…"

Ashford became almost rabid. "St. John is no son of mine! How dare you try to foist your brat onto me?"

"You sick bastard!" The notion was so outlandish neither my parents nor I had ever given it an ounce of credence when Pamela had tried to hint of how matters stood with her husband. "How could you think St. John was mine? Pamela was my sister!"

"What has that to say about anything, Blakeney?" he snarled, vibrating with hatred. "Men have had their sisters before! I was just not gullible enough to believe the whelp was mine! Look at Germaine, and then look at St. John! That red hair, those green eyes! What further proof do I need that he is not my son?"

"You goddamned, vindictive fool! Didn’t you ever hear of the mark of the Blakeneys? It is passed on directly from father to son. Solely from father to son!" I was busy undoing my trousers, unmindful of the others in the room. "If St. John was my son, he would have this!" On my lower back, an inch or so to the left of my hip, was a velvety-brown birthmark, the size and shape of a ha’penny. "St. John, if you wouldn’t mine lowering your trousers?"

His mouth was set in a grim line, and his green eyes were like chips of ice. He lowered his trousers enough to show that on neither hip did he bear the mark of the Blakeneys.

Ashford staggered to the chair behind his desk, and he sank bonelessly into it. "I do not believe it! I will not believe it! He cannot be mine!" His voice was strident.

"Believe it!" I growled. At that moment the doorbell rang. "And that should be the men from the Yard." I nodded to Tanner, and he went to let them in. "There is no statute of limitations on murder, Ashford."

"Uncle, if you do not mind, I believe I would like to leave now?" St. John looked exhausted. "Robert, may we go home?"

Dorincort looked as if Father Christmas had left what he’d been wishing for under the tree. "I’ll take those car keys now… Uncle."

Part 26/End

The band St. John had placed around my throat had been the first sign he’d given that he was willing to commit to me, but now he had said, "Robert, may we go home?"

He had called my house ‘home’. It was better than Boxing Day and my birthday wrapped up in one. I had to be grinning like a loon. I took the car keys from his uncle and escorted him from the gloomy house.

I knew St. John had been struck hard by his father’s callous statement that he was not his son. It was one thing to suspect it, but quite another to actually hear it spoken. He sat huddled in the front seat of his Uncle James’ BMW, shivering from the reaction. I had the heater blasting, and the temperature in the car was soaring by the time I got us back… ‘home’. I left the car parked in front of the townhouse I shared with my brother Drew, and hustled St. John into the house. There would be time later to worry about returning it to his uncle.

Mrs. Harris took one look at the pale, drawn lines of his face and said, "I’ll brew up a pot of tea immediately."

"Some food would be grand also, Mrs. H. Whatever you might have?"

"Of course." She disappeared into the back of the house.

I shepherded my lover into the dining room. "St. John…"

He shook his head. "Please, Robert. I cannot talk of this. Not now." His voice cracked, and he turned his face away. "Perhaps not ever."

"Then don’t." As if he were my child, I removed his jacket and threw it aside. Fortunately, it landed over a chair, but it could have wound up on the chandelier for all of me. I put my arms around him and held him snugly, letting my body heat seep into him. "Don’t. I’m here. I’ll always be here."

He leaned against me, his trust evident, and gratefully I accepted it, another sign binding him closer to me.

Sooner than I believed possible, Mrs. Harris produced a comforting meal of steaming, creamy tomato soup and toasted cheese sandwiches. I sat St. John down and took the seat next to him instead of my usual place, and she set the bowls and plates on the table before us. At first St. John just toyed with his food, but after the first few spoonfuls, he tucked into it. I was relieved to see the color coming back into his face.

"Will you be wanting anything else, sir?"

"Thank you, no, Mrs. Harris. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I’ll clear this up later."

"Very good, sir. See you do a thorough job, mind!" she said, and while her tone was stern, her eyes were twinkling. I strove for an innocent expression, and she wagged an admonishing finger at me. "Oh, and I just wanted to remind you that I won’t be in tomorrow."

"That’s right, you’re going to see your sister’s new baby."

St. John raised his head. "Please give Mrs. Nuttell my very best, Mrs. Harris."

She smiled warmly at him. "I will, indeed. She was that pleased with the Paddington Bear you sent along last time for that precious angel. As soon as things settle a bit, she intends to write a proper thank you note to you all." She nodded and returned to the kitchen to gather up her things.

My lover felt my intent stare, and he shifted in his chair, uncomfortable at having a good deed caught out, then turned to face me, resolute. "Every child should have a Paddington Bear, Robert."

"Of course they should, St. John. But why will Mrs. Nuttell be thanking us all?"

His eyes dropped to his plate, and he concentrated on the remains of his sandwich. "I told her it was from all of us," he murmured in a soft voice. "Things have been so hectic these last weeks, and I knew neither you nor Andrew had the time to get the baby anything."

"You are a wonder, d’you know that?" His head shot up in surprise." Your father is a complete and utter fool for not seeing how very special you are!" His green eyes looked like drowned emeralds, and he blinked furiously and averted his face. I hooked a finger under his chin and brought his gaze back to mine. "Go along to bed, love. You’ll feel better after a nap. I’ll be there as soon as I’ve made sure the kitchen is all right and tight."

I thought for a moment he would argue with me, but it was a measure of his emotional exhaustion that he rose from his seat, kissed my cheek and whispered, "Thank you, my dear," and climbed the stairs to our bedroom.

By the time I was finished in the kitchen and went upstairs, he was sound asleep in our bed. I stood in the doorway for a second, just studying him. His chestnut hair was fanned out on the pillow, and the blankets were cocooned around his shoulders.

I crossed to the curtains and pulled them closed, shutting out the wintry afternoon sunlight, then stripped off my shirt and trousers and slid under the covers, startled to find St. John was naked. His skin dimpled with goose bumps, and he muttered a sleepy protest. I didn’t stop to wonder why he hadn’t bothered to put on pajamas as he normally would. I spooned behind him, cradling him against me, and he relaxed back into sleep.

I fell into a light doze. Afternoon flowed into evening into night, and I didn’t need to be awake to be aware that the moon had risen, a full, silver-white globe, the first full moon since St. John and I had become lovers. I didn’t change; that wasn’t in my nature, but as always happened during a full moon, a fine covering of hair grew over my body. I still didn’t know how my lover would react when he realized that I truly did carry the wolf strain, but for now, I didn’t worry. As he nestled closer to me in his sleep, St. John hummed in approval and wound his fingers in the white fur.

The following morning I woke to find myself alone in bed. The fragrance of freshly brewed coffee filled the house, and I smiled, knowing my lover was feeling more like himself if he was making breakfast. I showered quickly, dressed, and went in search of him.

"St. John?"

"Go on into the breakfast room, Robert. I shall be right along."

On the sideboard were a selection of chaffing dishes, and I sighed happily. The boy could cook! I helped myself to some kippers and eggs and had just sat down to butter a slice of toast when St. John entered with a carafe of what smelled like Turkish coffee. Where had he managed to find that? Then I realized he was still in a dressing gown, and I forgot about the coffee.

"Are you feeling quite the thing, green eyes?"

"Yes." St. John came to me, his eyes on fire with passion. I pushed my chair away from the table, intending to rise to my feet, but he stopped me with a hand to my shoulder and dropped to his knees before me. He made a space for himself between my knees and unzipped my trousers. My breath snagged in my throat as he freed my cock and covered it with licks and kisses.

His hair feathered over my thighs, and I groaned. He curled his tongue around the head of my cock and tugged gently, then slid it over the thick vein on the underside before taking the shaft between his lips and sucking strongly. I was unable to prevent myself from thrusting up into his mouth, whimpering, "Oh, god…"

He gave a soft huff of laughter, his breath warm and teasing on my spit-slicked shaft. "No, my dear, but thank you for the compliment." He stood and shrugged off his dressing gown, and I nearly came right then. He was naked under it.

St. John turned, and before I could prevent him, he lowered himself onto my rigid cock. He must have prepared himself before he came downstairs, because I popped through the tight ring of muscle, and he took my length effortlessly. My hands went around his torso to toy with his nipples, pinching and scraping them, rubbing them to pebble hardness. I slid lower in my chair, and he moaned as my cock found his prostate.

"Ride me!" I ordered hoarsely, and he began a steady rhythm as he pleasured himself on my cock. He turned his face toward mine and wound his hands in my hair, urging my mouth to plunder his. Whimpers and moans spilled out into the morning stillness of the house. Mine? His? I bit at his mouth, swallowing the sounds.

While my right hand tugged at the golden nipple ring, my left was coating his cock with the pre come that was oozing from it, and I jerked him off. His moans became sharper, more breathless. He found the angle that drove my cock relentlessly against his prostate, and he rose and fell faster.

His legs began to tremble, and his movements became erratic. I ground my mouth against his and sucked his tongue into my mouth, and he came, pouring himself into my hand. His inner muscles clenched around me as he tried to milk my climax from me. Another two deep, hard thrusts, and I was following him, filling his snug passage with my hot semen.

My lover laid his head back against my shoulder, and I continued to feed off his lush mouth.

A sound so soft St. John didn’t hear it caused me to look up in time to see my brother back quickly into the hallway. Drew? What was he doing back in London? He and Da’ric weren’t due home for at least another week.

"Is something wrong, my dear?" St. John asked, his voice languid in the afterglow of our lovemaking.

"No, love." I nuzzled the spot below his ear and dismissed Drew’s untimely appearance. The table would have prevented him from seeing that St. John was completely naked. Still, I had been so involved in loving him that we could have been descended upon by a horde of inquisitive siblings, and I would not have noticed. I leaned down and reached for his dressing gown, and draped it over him so he wouldn’t get chilled. "Not as long as I have you."

####

I had enjoyed our stay in the United States, but after the first few days I’d become increasingly more tense. Something was happening in London, and I needed to be there. Da’ric had wound his fingers in my hair and murmured against my mouth, "Of course, Drew." He’d changed our reservations, packed our duffles and kissed his grandparents good-bye, promising to return for a longer visit in the near future.

Now my lover was exhausted, and not merely because there had been too many time zones in such a relatively short period of time. That little adventure in the lavatory of the SST had taken quite a bit out of him, no pun intended. I smiled smugly, remembering his surprise when I’d dragged him into the loo, locked the door of the tiny compartment, and gone down on him.

"I’m wiped, Drew." He yawned. "I’m going up to bed. Give my apologies to Robin, please." He saw my smile, and his eyes narrowed. "You don’t intend to tell him why I’m so tired, do you?"

"No, Yank, I wouldn’t dare. You might be tempted to tell him about what happened in the front cupboard in your grandparents’ house." Where he had tripped me and beaten me to the floor. His grandparents were supposed to have been at their country club, celebrating his Granddad’s very first hole in one, but they’d arrived home earlier than we had anticipated. Da’ was sprawled under me, and I’d put my hand over his mouth to mute the sounds he was making as I plowed into his hot, tight passage. He’d teased me by licking my palm and probing the spaces between my fingers until I could barely subdue my own moans.

I kissed him lightly and ran a hand over his arse. "I’ll just let Robin know we’re home and be right along."

Da’ric leaned into me with a tiny growl, nipped the skin over my adam’s apple, then shouldered one of the duffle bags and got the other under his arm, and strode up the stairs. The casual exhibition of his strength never failed to amaze me. I smiled and licked my lips, admiring the easy movements of his arse and thighs as he climbed the stairs. Da’ paused and glanced back over his shoulder. //Don’t be too long, Brit.// I could feel the caress of his thoughts as if he physically stroked my cheek, and I hurried down the hall.

Robin and St. John were in the breakfast room; I could hear the murmurs of their voices, as well as the soft sounds of kissing. The possibility of catching my brother and the aristocratic young man on whom he’d settled his heart snogging tickled me. For about five seconds I debated interrupting them, and then decided it was my prerogative as the elder brother. I stepped into the breakfast room, my mouth opened to tease them, expecting them to jump apart in embarrassment.

My mouth snapped shut. I was not expecting St. John, nude from the waist up, to be seated on my brother’s lap and nuzzling his mouth. His left palm was against Robin’s cheek, and I was astounded to see a ring on his index finger that I vaguely recognized as one Papa had given Robin years ago. I was even more astounded to see the leather band Robin wore around his neck. I backed out of the room.

I paused in the hallway, and I gulped and ran my fingers over my own throat, wondering how I would react if Da’ric should ask me to wear something like that. //Only if you wanted it, Drew.//

Before I could start up the stairs, the front doorbell chimed. I could hear Robin swear softly, and then St. John whispering, "Perhaps if we do not answer, they will think no one is home, and they’ll go away?"

But whoever was at the door left off ringing the bell and began pounding. I sighed and went to see who was there. A glance through the peephole revealed someone who bore a very strong resemblance to St. John Ashford. I sighed again and opened the door, and he stalked in, followed by another man.

"You’re Andrew Dorincort, aren’t you? I’m James Blakeney. This is my associate, Tanner Green." My nose twitched. "I need to speak with my nephew, St. John."

Tanner Green? I didn’t recognize him, but something about his scent… "Robin." I raised my voice. "Someone to see St. John."

They came out of the breakfast room, and other than the younger man wearing a dressing gown, no one would think anything was untoward.

"Uncle James. I was not expecting to see you. Oh! Your car keys! Robert, do you have them?" Robin fished a key ring from his pocket and tossed the keys to James Blakeney while his lover tightened the belt of his dressing gown. "Just give me a moment to put on something a trifle more suitable, and I will return shortly." He hurried off before anyone could object.

"May I offer you a cup of coffee?" At their nods, Robin led the way to the breakfast room.

"Gino!" I called. There was no response, other than James Blakeney gazing back at me, his eyebrow elevated. With a jerk of my head, I indicated I wanted a word with him in private.

"Yes, what is it, Dorincort?" he demanded shortly, his hand in his pocket jiggling his keys.

"How well do you know that man?"

"Tanner Green? How well does anyone know anyone?" he countered.

I bared my teeth at him. "For your information, almost a month ago he was working for Callisto Marconi…"

His eyebrow rose higher.

"… and he was going by the name of Gino Marrone."

"That is utter rot!" Blakeney had the aristocratic, supercilious twist of the lips down to a science. I was almost tempted to admire his way with it. "Utter and absolute rot!"

"Is it? I don’t know what’s going on here, Blakeney, but this is my brother who is involved with your nephew. If he is harmed by anyone, In. Any. Way… Let’s just say this planet will not be large enough to harbour you." I knew the wolf was close to the surface. He didn’t back away, but his eyes became cool and cautious.

//Do you need me down there, Brit? Things sound like they might be heating up.//

//Thanks, Yank. I’m dealing with it.//

//You’ll call if you need me?//

I’d always need him. I felt his pleasure as that slipped out. //I promise. Now, get some rest.//

Green sauntered back into the hall sipping his coffee. In his right hand was another cup, which he proffered to the man with whom he worked. "Problem, James?"

Robin was right behind him, also bearing two cups. He came to stand by my shoulder, and I took a cup.

"Dorincort seems to feel he’s seen you before, Tanner, working for an underworld character."

"Must have been someone else, Mr. Dorincort." Green’s voice was ingratiating.

"You know, Blakeney, I have to ask myself how you knew Marconi was a yardie."

"Possibly I read something about him in The Times." He didn’t seem too concerned. "You know, Dorincort, one asks one’s self how you knew Marconi’s background." He mimicked my words back to me.

I gave him a saccharine smile. "Possibly I read something about him in The Times." I raked Green with my gaze. "Were you aware, Mr. Green, that each of us has a signature scent? Can’t be duplicated, can’t be eradicated." I tapped the side of my nose.

"Oh dear. Are you saying I… offend?"

My teeth gritted together. I was about to challenge that asinine statement when, //You sure you don’t need me down there?//

//I said I’d call if I needed you.//

I could feel the weariness dragging over him and could almost see the yawn that stretched his jaws. //Call anyway?//

I growled. It was audible this time, but fortunately no one thought too much of it. "Just remember this, Green, or Marrone, or whoever the fuck you are! I’ll be watching your arse!"

"Really? Oh, I… I rather fancy that, darling!" He fluttered his lashes at me and simpered. "You will be gentle though, won’t you, luv?" I started to choke, and I almost missed Blakeney’s intrigued look.

And then St. John came down the stairs, and there were other things to consider. He was dressed in what, for him, were casual clothes, charcoal grey wool trousers and an off-white cable knit alpaca jumper. Robin went to him immediately, offering him his coffee cup. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Uncle James. What did you have to tell me?"

Blakeney tugged on his lip and sighed. "There is no easy way to say this, St. John. Your father is dead."

"But… He was fine yesterday. Well, perhaps not ‘fine’, but… I do not understand, sir. What happened?"

"Did you know your father had a collection of antique dueling pistols?"

"Yes. He kept them locked in his study. He was the only one who had possession of the key." St. John accepted the cup. He took an incautious swallow and grimaced when he burned his mouth. "What does that have to say about anything?"

"Your father was left alone for just a moment." Blakeney exchanged a glance with his associate. "I sent Tanner to see how much longer those Yard men would be. Your father asked for some tea, and I went into the kitchen to brew a fresh pot. There was a gunshot. I ran back to the study, but when I got there, your father was already dead."

"How could such an accident have happened? Father is an expert marksman!" St. John was pale. Robin pulled his lover against him.

"It wasn’t an accident. Allister Ashford deliberately shot himself in the head. I’m sorry, St. John." Blakeney didn’t appear sorry to me, but I said nothing. "Germaine is making the funeral arrangements. He said he would prefer to put it about that your father died of a brain aneurysm. The authorities have agreed to seal the details of your mother’s death, the part your father played in it, and his own death."

"So Mama is to be left labeled a cheating whore who abandoned her children?" St. John leaned into Robin, who rubbed his arm soothingly.

He flinched. "I am sorry, St. John." And this time I could believe James Blakeney truly was.

"How can you permit that?" St. John asked bitterly.

"Sometimes we have no choice but to do things we would rather not."

St. John’s eyes burned like emerald fire, but his voice dripped icicles. "Indeed." He fell back on years of iron control and picked at a piece of non-existent lint on his jumper. "When is the service to be scheduled, Uncle James?"

"On Friday at two, at St. Eustace. Your grandparents and I will be there, so it won’t be just you and Germaine."

"I’ll be with you, love." Robin scowled at his lover’s uncle, as if daring him to say otherwise.

"So will Da’ and I. I’ll telephone Mum and Dad; they’ll see that the Siblings are released from school for the day."

Robin nodded. "The Papas will motor to town with them. We’ll need to get in touch with Uncle Bertie and Aunt Dinah, and Hal and his wife. Tris and Sigfried should be back from that dig in the Kalahari." His eyes became vague as he tried to remember if the other cousins would be available to attend the funeral.

St. John’s expression was dazed; he’d never had such closeness in his own family, and it was obvious he couldn’t imagine what it must be like.

I crossed the hall to where he stood with my favorite brother’s arms around him, and my embrace encompassed them both. "We stand by each other in this family, St. John, and you’re part of this family now."

There was a light clearing of a throat. "Well, if you have no objection, James, I’ll be there also," Tanner Green volunteered. "I always liked your nephew." Dull color swept up his cheeks, and he coughed.

Blakeney looked interested, but didn’t pursue that statement. "St. John, we must be off. I know I’m leaving you in good hands. I’m sorry to have been the bearer of such sad tidings…"

"Uncle James, do not be any more of a hypocrite than you can help." He appeared to battle with himself, then stepped forward and extended his hand. "I do appreciate your taking the time to tell me this in person."

"You’re my nephew, and as unlikely as it may have seemed, your grandparents and I care about you." Blakeney would have pulled him into a hug, but St. John stepped back out of reach. A sad look flashed across his face and then was gone. "We’ll see you on Friday, St. John," he said briskly. "Gentlemen. Tanner, I’d like a word with you." With a final farewell, both men were gone.

Robin urged his lover back into the breakfast room. "Are you all right? There have been enough shocks for you. I want you to eat something; you haven’t had breakfast yet, green eyes. Let’s…" His voice became indistinct.

I looked after them. Jet lag was beginning to overtake me, and all I wanted was my own lover. I hurried up the stairs to our bedroom. "Da’?"

An incomprehensible mumble was my only reply. He was sprawled naked across the bed, so exhausted that he hadn’t even drawn the covers over his long, lean body. The sight of his tight arse lured me with the desire to touch and taste and bite. His legs were spread wide, and his hips gave an unconscious, voluptuous wriggle; I wanted to bury myself in his heat.

That would be too ungentlemanly. I sighed and undressed, and carefully pushed his body aside so there was room for me on the bed. I would nap, and when I awoke, then there would be plenty of time to make love with him, I promised myself. I dropped a kiss on his pillow beside his cheek.

//No need to waste it, Brit.// The feel of his mind in mine was an almost palpable caress to the pleasure centers of my brain. His golden eyes opened lazily and stared into mine. //I’m never that tired!//

I thought briefly about destiny. I thought about chance and fate and how one small difference had the possibility of altering it all.

And then I dismissed it as irrelevant. I reached for my lover and held him. I had him, and he was solid and real and there, in my arms.

~End~