The Magical Christmas Cat

Wishes

December 8, 060

Dear Santa Clam,

I'm not sure I believe in you anymore, but I don't know who else to ask, so I hope you're not just imajinary like daddy says. I'm in the hospital, but don't worry, I don't want you to use up your majick to make me better. The M-Psy came and looked at my leg and said I'd walk again. You know the Psy don't have feelings. I think that means they can't tell lies. And the nice changeling nurse—the one that can shapeshift into a deer—she told me with rebuilt rehab, I'd be o. k.

The reason I'm writing to you is because I'm lonely. Don't tell my mom, o.k. ? She comes to see me but she's always so sad. She looks at me like I'm broken, like I'm not her strong little girl anymore. And my daddy doesn't visit me. He never paid any utenl attention to me anyways, but it still makes my heart hurt.

I know you can't make my daddy come see me, but I was wondering, since you're majick, do you think you could send me a friend? Someone fun who wanted to be with me and who didn't care that my leg was all mangled up. The kids here are nice, but they all go home after a little while. It would be wonderful to have someone who was mine, someone who didn't have to leave.

My friend can be human or Psy or changeling. I won't mind. Maybe you could find someone who was lonely, too, and then we could be unlonely together? I promise I'll share all my things, and I'll let her (or even a boy) choose the games we play.

I think that's all. Thanks for lisening.

Annie

p.s. I don't mind if you don't give me any other presents at all.

p.p.s. I'm sorry about the speling mistakes. I had to miss a lot of school but now I'm trying really hard to catch up with the hospital's computer tutor.

Chapter 1

Annie looked up and met the angry eyes of the seven-year- sitting at the child-sized desk in front of her own, arms crossed and lip jutting out. Bryan glared at her, the fury of his leop­ard apparent in every line of his body. Annie was used to teaching changeling children—a lot of DarkRiver kids came to this school, close as it was to their territory. She was used to their affectionate natures, their occasional accidental shifts into leopard form, and even their shorter tempers when compared with those of human children. What she was not used to was such blatant disobedience.

"Bryan," she began, intending, once again, to try to get to the bottom of this.

He shook his head, stuck out his chin. "I'm not talking to any­one but Uncle Zach."

Annie glanced at her watch. She'd called Bryan's uncle twenty minutes ago, not long after last bell. "I left a message. But he might not check it straightaway."

"Then we wait."

She almost smiled at the stubbornness of him, but knew that that would only make matters worse. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me why you hit Morgan?

"No."

Annie tucked back a strand of hair that had escaped the bun she'd anchored with a pair of lacquered chopsticks in a vain attempt at style. "Perhaps we could talk to your mom together—would you feel more comfortable discussing things with her?"

She'd already called Mrs. Nicholson to tell her that Bryan would be late getting home. The woman had taken it in her stride—she had three boys. "And one of them's always in detention," she'd said with a laugh, love in every syllable. "Since you're waiting on Zach, he can drive this misbehaving baby home."

"Bryan?" she prompted, when her little mischief-maker re­mained silent.

"No. You promised I could wait for Uncle Zach." He scowled. "Promises are for keeping, that's what Uncle Zach always says."

"That's true." Giving in, she smiled. "Let's hope your uncle

makes it here soon."

"Hot date?" The voice was rich, dark, and completely out of place in her classroom.

Startled, she stood to face the man leaning in the doorway. "Un­cle Zach?"

A smile that cut her off at the knees. "Just Zach's fine." Vivid aqua-colored eyes, straight black hair cut in a careless way, copper-gold skin and bones that spoke of an ancestor from one of the native tribes. "You called."

And he'd come.

She felt her cheeks blaze as the thought passed through her head. "I'm Annie Kildaire, Bryan's teacher."

When Zach accepted the hand she'd extended in a gesture of au­tomatic politeness, the heat of him seared through her skin to burn her on the inside. She felt her breath catch and knew she was going even redder. Dear God, she was useless around beautiful men. And "Uncle" Zach was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

He was also staring at her. Probably at her always messy knot of hair, her bright red cheeks, her mortified brown eyes. Tugging at her hand, she tried to extract it. He held on as he glanced at Bryan. His nephew continued to sit there with a mutinous expression on his face. Seeing their clasped hands, he favored his uncle with a look that shouted "traitor."

Zach returned his attention to Annie. "Tell me what happened."

"Could you—" She tugged at her hand again.

He looked down, seemed to consider it, then finally let go. Fin­gers tingling in sensory memory, she quickly moved to busy herself tidying the stack of book reports on her desk. "If you'd like to take a seat?" He towered over her. That wasn't particularly difficult, but he was big in a very intimidating way. Solid shoulders, pure hard muscle and lean strength. A soldier, she thought, aware of some of the ranks within the DarkRiver pack, Zach had to carry the rank of soldier.

"I'd rather stand."

"All right." She didn't sit either. It didn't give her much of an advantage—or any advantage if she was being honest—but if she sat down with him looming all big and intense over her, she'd probably lose the power of speech. "Bryan punched a classmate dur­ing last period. He refuses to tell me what caused the incident."

"I see." Zach frowned. "Why isn't the other boy here?"

She wondered if he thought she was playing favorites. "Morgan is in the sick bay. He's rather . . . delicate."

Zach raised an eyebrow. "Delicate?"

She wanted to glare at him herself. He knew perfectly well what she was talking about. "Morgan gets sick very easily." And had a mother who treated him as if he was made of spun glass. Given that the same thing had driven Annie insane as a child, she might've tried to talk to Mrs. Ainslow about it, except that it was obvious Morgan liked the fussing. "He was too upset to stay near Bryan, though I would've preferred to talk to them together."

"Human?" Zach asked.

"No," she said, trying not to feel too satisfied by his look of sur­prise. "Swan."

"Swans aren't predators"—which, Annie knew, was why Mor­gan's family had been allowed to stay in DarkRiver territory—"but they're not exactly weak."

"While all humans are?" she was irritated enough to say.

He raised an eyebrow. "Did I say that, sweetheart?"

Her face heated from the inside out. "I am Bryan's teacher."

"Not mine." A grin. "You could be though. Wanna play class­room, Teach?"

She dealt with DarkRiver cats throughout the year, but for the most part, they were mated pairs, or couples in long-term relation­ships. She had no clue how to handle a teasing male who was clearly not only aware of the effect he had on her but confident enough to take advantage. Focus on the facts, she told herself, just focus. "Bryan is normally very good." He was, in truth, one of her best students. "He's kind, intelligent, and before today, he's never once hurt a classmate."

Zach's expression turned serious. "Strength is for protecting, not hurting. Bryan knows that as well as anybody in the pack."

Annie's heart clutched at the absolute way he said that, as if it was simply a fact of life. That core of unflinching honor was one of the things she most admired about the DarkRiver males she'd met. The other was the way they didn't make even the slightest attempt to hide the adoration they felt for their mates. It was . . . nice.

It was also yet another point of contention between her and her mother. Professor Kimberly Kildaire had very determined views on what men should be like. The word "civilized" appeared often in the description, along with generous helpings of "rational"—a man who teased with sensual ease was far too wild to ever make the professor's cut.

However, Annie knew her own mind, and her reaction to Zach was anything but rational. "That's why," she said, forcing herself to think past the nerves that threatened to turn her mute, "I was so surprised by what he did. Frankly, I have no idea what could've caused it. Morgan and Bryan don't even tend to play together."

"Give me a couple of minutes with him." With a nod, he walked to his nephew. "Come on, Jumping Bean, let's talk."

"Over there." Bryan got up and led his uncle to the back of the classroom. Annie looked away out of politeness, knowing she wouldn't have been able to hear the conversation even if they hadn't moved—changeling hearing was generally far more acute than a human's. But, and though she tried to keep her eyes on the book reports, her curiosity got the better of her.

She looked up to see Zach crouched in front of Bryan, his arms braced loosely on his knees. The position had raised the sleeve of his T-shirt to expose part of a tattoo on his right biceps. She squinted. It was something exotic and curved, something that beckoned her to stroke. Thankfully, before she could surrender to the urge to get closer, Bryan began to gesture so earnestly, she wondered what on earth he was saying.

"I didn't even hit him that hard, Uncle Zach." Bryan blew out a breath that made his dark brown bangs dance. "He's a sissy."

"Bryan."

"I mean he's 'delicate,' " Bryan said, proving he had very big ears. "He's always crying, even when nobody does any-thing on pur­pose. He cried yesterday when Holly elbowed him by accident."

"Oh?"

"Yeah—Holly's a girl. And she's human."

Zach knew exactly what Bryan meant. No matter their animal, changelings were physically tougher than humans. Their bones were stronger, their bodies healed faster, and, in the case of preda­tory changelings, they could do a hell of a lot more damage. "Which doesn't explain why you hit him." He knew and liked his nephew. The boy had been born with a solid code of honor, a code that had been strengthened by the rules DarkRiver men lived by. "You know we don't bully weaker people."

A shamefaced expression. "I know."

"Did the cat get angry?" The leopard was part of who they were. But for the younger ones, the wilder side of their nature was some­times difficult to control.

Right then, Bryan's curvy temptation of a teacher shifted up front. Her delectable scent whispered over on disturbed air cur­rents, ruffling the leopard's fur in the most enticing way. He barely bit back a responsive groan. Sometimes, adults had trouble with the cat, too. "Come on, JB. You know I'm not going to get mad at you if you lost control."

"Yeah, I guess I kinda got mad." Bryan shuffled his feet. "I wanted to growl and bite, but I hit him instead."

"That's good." A leopard's jaws could do a lot of damage.

"And it wasn't just the cat," his nephew elaborated. "It was all of me."

Zach understood. They weren't human, and they weren't ani­mal. They were both. "What made you angry?"

"Morgan said something mean."

Zach knew that sometimes it was those who appeared weakest who bore the nastiest of streaks. At least Ms. Kildaire seemed well aware of that—he hadn't missed the fact that she hadn't automati­cally blamed Bryan. "Tell me what it was."

Bryan darted a glance toward his teacher, then leaned closer. "I didn't want to say anything to Miss Kildaire, 'cause she's nice, and I like her."

"I like her, too." A truer statement had never been said. There was something about the little teacher with her jet-black hair and dark brown eyes that had the cat purring in interest. He wondered if she realized she had one hell of a sexy mouth, then wondered if she'd let him do all sorts of wicked things to that mouth, hater, he promised himself. Right now, Bryan needed him. "What does this have to do with Ms. Kildaire?"

"Morgan said that his mother said that Miss Kildaire is sitting on a shelf."

Zach had to think about that one for a few seconds. "He said she's on the shelf?"

"Uh-huh." An emphatic nod. "I don't know why Miss Kildaire would sit on a shelf, but that's what Morgan said."

"I'm guessing there's more."

"And then Morgan said that his mother said that Miss Kildaire was too fat to get a man."

What a load of horseshit, Zach thought. Morgan's mother was probably some shriveled-up jealous twit. "I see."

"And then Morgan said she was a cripple."

Zach had a sudden urge to punch out the little rat himself. "Go on."

"I told him to take it back. Miss Kildaire is the nicest teacher at the school, and she's not a cripple just 'cause she has a sore leg sometimes and has to use a cane." Temper flared in Bryan's eyes, the irises shifting to the jagged green of the leopard.

"Hold the cat, Bryan," Zach said, forcing a choke hold on his own anger. Cubs had to be taught control. Once, a long time ago, the animal fury of changelings had run unchecked, and it had led to the carnage of the Territorial Wars.

The other races might've forgotten those tormented years, but changelings never would. And they'd never allow it to happen again. "Hold it." He put his hand on Bryan's arm and allowed a low growl to rise from his throat. It was a gesture of dominance, and it worked to bring Bryan's leopard back under control.

"Sorry."

Zach felt his own cat pacing inside him before it became dis­tracted by the exquisite scent of the luscious Ms. Kildaire. "It's okay. We all had to learn."

"Yeah." Bryan blew out a breath. "Anyway, Morgan kept saying she was a cripple, and I got mad and hit him."

Zach found himself in a quandary. He really couldn't disagree with his nephew's actions, but punching out another kid was against the rules. He looked into Bryan's intelligent face and made the only deci­sion he could. "JB, you know we don't condone this kind of violence."

Bryan nodded.

"But I understand the provocation." Lying wasn't how the pack worked. And Bryan was old enough to know that understanding didn't mean approval.

His nephew's face melted into a smile. "I knew you would." He threw his arms around Zach's neck.

Zach hugged that small, sturdy body and waited until Bryan drew back before asking, "Why didn't you call your dad? He would've understood, too." Joe ran a bar that was a favorite gather­ing place for the pack, but he was also a fellow soldier.

"He's watching Liam's soccer game today. I didn't want to mess that up—Liam's been practicing his kicks for like a month."

Zach ruffled his nephew's hair. "You're a good kid, JB." Standing, he nodded at the cubbyholes that lined the back of the classroom. "Grab your stuff while I go sort this out with Ms. Kildaire."

Bryan grabbed his hand. "You won't—"

"I won't say anything. Promise."

Relaxing, Bryan went to a cubby to their right and began to gather his things.

Zach watched Annie rise from her chair as he walked over and had to fight the urge to growl that she sit back down. He'd noticed her shakiness earlier—her left leg was bothering her. But if he said what he wanted to, he'd be as bad as that runt, Morgan. Annie Kil­daire had to be perfectly capable if she was running a classroom of seven-year-olds.

"Did he tell you?" she asked in that husky voice that brushed like black velvet over his skin. The cat stretched out, asking for more. Being stroked by Ms. Kildaire, he thought, both sides of him in agreement, might just be the best Christmas present ever.

"Yes, he gave up the goods."

She waited. "And?"

"And I can't tell you." He watched her brow furrow, her lips purse. He couldn't decide if he wanted to bite down on that full lower lip or lick the upper one.

"Mr. . . . Zach."

"Quinn," he supplied. "Zach Quinn."

Her cheeks flared with little red spots of temper. "Mr. Quinn, Bryan is a child. I expect you to act like an adult."

Oh, he had plenty of plans to act like an adult around Ms. Kil­daire. "I promised JB."

She stared at him, then blew out a breath. "And promises are to be kept."

"Yes."

"What do you suggest I do?" She folded her arms. "I have to punish him, and I can't do that without knowing why he did what he did."

"I'll take care of it." Bryan had hit someone, and his nephew knew he'd be disciplined for it, provocation or not. But some things, Zach knew, were worth fighting over. "I'll make sure the punishment fits the crime."

"It's a school matter."

"It's a leopard matter."

Chapter 2

Understanding filtered into those pretty melted-chocolate eyes. "He's usually so well controlled, I forget he's only seven."

"Boy'll grow up to be one of the dominants, probably a soldier." He glanced behind him. "Ready?"

Bryan nodded, backpack slung over his shoulder. "Yep."

Zach watched as his nephew walked up to the desk and said, "I'm sorry I dis—"a frown of concentration—"disrupted the classroom. But I'm not sorry I hit Morgan."

Zach was looking at Annie and saw her struggle to hide a smile. "That's not a very good attitude, Bryan."

"I know. And I'm ready for the punishment. But I'm still not sorry."

Brown eyes flicked to him. "Is stubbornness a family trait?" Her lips curved just a little, just enough to make everything in him sit up in attention.

"Now that, sweetheart," he said, a stunning realization taking form in his chest, "is something you'll have to decide for yourself." Well, hell.

She colored again. "Thank you for coming in, Mr. Quinn. I'll look forward to seeing Bryan in class on Monday."

He didn't move, tasting the realization that had him by the throat. It was hot, wild, right. Utterly, absolutely right. The knowl­edge made his smile slow and seductive. "Why don't you walk out with us?" The corridors had been close to empty when he arrived, and he couldn't hear any movement now. No way was he leaving sweet Annie Kildaire alone in a building with winter darkness only an hour away at most.

"I'll be out in a moment." She began to gather the papers on her desk.

"We'll wait." He glanced at Bryan. "Can you wait?"

"Yep." A sunny smile. "But I'm hungry."

Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out a muesli bar he'd grabbed on his way here. "I got you this for the ride home."

Bryan caught it with cat-quick reflexes and happily went off to scramble into a seat, backpack at his feet. Meanwhile, Ms. Kildaire was giving him a guarded kind of look. "Really Mr. Quinn—"

"Zach. You can only call me Mr. Quinn when you're angry."

"Mr.—"

"Zach."

Her hand fisted. "Fine. Zach."

He smiled, liking that she was already comfortable enough to argue with him. Some women found him a little too dangerous to play with. And he very much wanted to play with Annie. "Yes, Teach?"

He could hear her gritting her teeth. "I'll be perfectly fine walk­ing out alone. I do it every day of the week."

He shrugged, enjoying the verbal sparring. "I'm here today."

"And what you says goes?" Looking down, she shoved her pa­pers into an untidy pile.

"Unless you can talk me out of it." He saw her jaw set and knew she was gritting those human teeth again. All that beautiful pas­sion, he thought in pleasure, hidden behind the shyness that had first stained her cheeks. .

"And why should I be talking you out of anything?" She grabbed what looked like a black leather-synth satchel and put the papers inside. "You're nobody to me."

The cat didn't like that. The man didn't either. "That wasn't very nice."

She turned to shoot him a glare, then recommenced packing her satchel. He could almost see her trying to figure out if he was being serious or if he was teasing her. That it took her that much focus, told him she hadn't been teased much. That was a shame. Because when Annie got mad, she forgot to be shy.

Now, she slapped her satchel closed and swung it over her shoul­der. Or tried to. Zach slid it out of her hand and brought the strap over his head, settling it diagonally across his body.

"Mr. Quinn!" She looked like she wanted to bite him.

His cat purred in interest, even as Bryan giggled. "Nobody calls Uncle Zach that."

"Yeah, nobody does," Zach added. "Come on, Jumping Bean. We're moving out." He nodded at the coat thrown carelessly over the back of Annie's chair. "Don't forget that. It's cold out." He began to walk to the door, knowing she'd have no choice but to follow.

After a taut second, she did. He heard her clothing rustle as she put the coat on over her stern gray pants and tailored white shirt, his mind obliging him with a fantasy slide show of the feminine softness he knew lurked underneath. Pity it was all covered up now.

"After you, Teach." Letting Bryan scamper a few feet ahead, he held the door open and watched Annie Kildaire walk toward him.

Her limp was very slight, but even that meant the injury had to have been horrendous. Either that, or the impairment was a natu­ral one surgeons hadn't been able to repair fully. And there wasn't much surgeons couldn't repair these days. "What happened to your leg?" he asked once they were out in the hallway.

She faltered for a second before her shoulders squared. "There was a freak bullet-train derailment when I was seven. My leg was crushed so badly, it was pretty much unrecognizable as anything other than meat with a few fragments of bone."

He heard the simmering pride in her, had the sense that she was bracing herself for a blow. "They did a good job of reconstructing it. Titanium?"

He could tell from her expression that that wasn't the response she'd expected. "No. Some kind of new plassteel. Very high-tech. It 'grew' as I grew, so I only needed a couple of extra surgeries over the years."

"And now?"

"I shouldn't need any work done on it unless I injure the leg in some way."

Zach knew that couldn't be all of it. "Still hurt?"

She hesitated. "Sometimes." She indicated a corridor to their left. "I want to make sure Morgan's been picked up."

"JB, hold up." Knowing he could trust the boy not to dart out­side, he followed Annie the short distance to the sick bay. Looking over her shoulder, he saw the darkened interior. "He's gone."

She jumped. "You walk like a cat!"

"I am a cat, sweetheart." He wanted to tease her again, so he let a low growl rumble up from his chest. "See?"

Streaks of vibrant color stained her cheeks once more. But she didn't back down. "Are you planning to move?"

"No." He drew in a deep breath, fighting the urge to nuzzle at her throat. "You smell good. Can I taste you?" It was a half-serious question. "Just a little?"

"Mr. Quinn!" She took a step around him and headed off.

But he'd already caught the tart bite of arousal in her scent. Satisfied, he followed, on his best behavior now. It wouldn't do to scare Annie away. Not when he planned to keep her.

A moment later, they reached the front door, where Bryan was waiting. Zach pulled it open. "Stay with me," he told his nephew. The boy was leopard-fast, but he was still a boy. Sometimes, he didn't look where he was going, and cars could hurt him as easily as they could a human or Psy child.

The outside air was cold, but it made Zach sigh in exhilaration. Being outdoors was in his blood, the reason why he loved his day job as a ranger in Yosemite. The work fitted naturally into his du­ties as a DarkRiver soldier—he could run patrols and check up on his wild charges at the same time.

"Where's your car?" he asked Annie, noticing that her face had brightened, too. Sexy, kissable Annie Kildaire liked being outside as much as he did. It pleased the cat, soothed the man.

"Over there." Giving him a look still colored with the tart kiss of temper, she pointed to a little compact that would cut his legs in half if he was ever insane enough to try to fold himself inside. But she was on the small side, he thought, wondering if she'd mind tussling with a taller man. The idea of the games he wanted to play with Annie made him grin. "JB and I will walk you over."

She didn't argue with him this time, simply asked about his ve­hicle. He jerked a thumb in the direction of the rugged all-wheel-drive parked a few spaces away.

"I suppose you need that in the forest?" Her voice held a touch of wistfulness.

"Yeah." DarkRiver's territory covered a lot of beautiful but harsh land. And now that they had allied with the SnowDancer wolves, that territory included the Sierra Nevada mountains. "Have you ever been out in Yosemite?" The nearest edge of the massive for­est was only about an hour from here, the reason why this school was so popular with the pack. Many of them lived on the fringes of Yosemite.

"Just the public areas." She pressed her thumb to the door of her car, deactivating the security lock. "I guess those sections only make up a tiny fraction of your territory?"

Zach nodded. In the past, DarkRiver had been relaxed about of­fering access to other parts of the forest—so long as people obeyed the rules that protected the land and its wild inhabitants. However, right now, with the Psy Council looking for any weakness in their defenses, they'd become more stringent. Nobody but Pack went in past what DarkRiver considered the public boundary. Of course, members of the pack could bring guests in. "Want to see more?"

Her expression was startled. "I—" She snapped her mouth shut, and he saw her gaze dip to her leg. The movement was so quick, he would've missed it if he hadn't been watching her so closely.

Someone, he thought, a growl building inside him, had done a number on her confidence. "I can drive you up tomorrow," he said, clamping down on the anger, "show you some of the sights most people never get to see."

"I shouldn't." But temptation whispered through her eyes. "I have to prepare for the class's contribution to the Christmas pag­eant." A fond look directed at Bryan.

His nephew jumped up and down. "We're going to do the story of how the Psy once tried to cancel Christmas. It's gonna be so funny!"

"Make sure you get me a ticket," Zach said, but his mind was on how to secure Annie's company for tomorrow. Challenge might work. Or perhaps . . . "Once-in-a-lifetime offer," he said with a smile that he tried to keep from being ravenous. If she caught even a hint of what he truly wanted from her, she'd never get into a car with him, much less let him drive her into the lush privacy of the forest. "Pack's getting strict about who we allow in."

She bit down on that full lower lip of hers, arousing his jealousy. He wanted to do the biting.

"Well," she said, clearly torn.

Then Bryan clinched the deal for him. "You should come, Miss Kildaire! Then after, you can come to the picnic."

"Picnic?" She looked at Zach. "It's winter."

"Winter picnic," he said, as if that was normal. It was, for Dark­River. "It's informal, just a chance for people to get together before the Christmas madness."

"Please come, Miss Kildaire," Bryan pleaded. "Please."

He saw Annie melt at that childish plea and knew he had her.

"All right," she said, and looked up. Her smile faded . . . be­cause he'd let the cat seep into his eyes, let her see the dark hunger pumping through his blood.

"I'll pick you up at nine." He leaned closer, drawing in the scent of her. "Be ready for me, sweetheart."

Annie closed the door to her apartment and asked herself if she'd lost her mind. Not half an hour ago, she'd agreed to spend an entire day with a man so dangerous, a sane woman would've run in the opposite direction . . . instead of fantasizing about kissing him on those should-be-illegal lips. Her entire body went hot as she remembered the look in his eyes as he'd asked her to be ready for him. Dear God, the man was lethal.

"Calm down, Annie," she told herself. "It's not like he's really going to do anything." Because while Zach Quinn might've flirted with her, might even have looked at her as a man looks at a woman he wants, she was pragmatic enough to know that it had probably been nothing more than a momentary diversion on his part. A man that good-looking had to have women begging to crawl into his bed.

The idea of Zach sprawled in bed, all gleaming skin and liquid muscle, made her stomach flutter. Then she imagined him crooking a finger, that teasing smile playing over his lips. "If he ever looks at me like that," she whispered, pulling the chopsticks out of her hair as she walked into the bedroom, "I'm a goner." Her black hair tumbled around her face in a mass of soft curls.

Zach's hair had looked heavier than hers, sleeker.

Her thoughts went from his hair to what he might look like in leopard form. A predator, all muscle and power covered with a gold-and-black coat. Would he allow a woman to stroke him? Her fingers tingled in awareness, and standing as she was in front of the vanity mirror, she saw her lips part, her eyes widen. The ache between her thighs turned into an erotic pulse.

Her cell phone beeped.

She ignored it, shocked by the raw intensity of the hunger surg­ing through her. She'd never before reacted this passionately to a man, until her entire body trembled'with the force of it. "Lord have mercy." Because if this was what simply thinking about him did to her, how in the world was she going to survive being alone with him for an entire day?

Beep. Beep. Beep.

She answered the cell just to shut off the sound. "Yes?"

Chapter 3

"Angelica, what's the matter? You're snapping."

She took a deep breath. "Nothing, Mom. I just got home."

"Well, it's Friday, so you can relax a little. Drink that chamo­mile tea I got you."

Annie hated chamomile tea. "You know I don't like it." "It's good for you."

She'd heard that so many times it no longer made any impact. "I think I want to be bad, today." And it wasn't herbal tea on her mind. "Very, very bad."

"Honestly, Angelica!" Kimberly blew out a frustrated breath. "Forget the tea. I wanted to tell you to dress nicely for dinner to­morrow night."

Dinner? Annie's stomach sunk to the bottom of her toes as she realized she'd blanked the event from her mind. "Mom, you said you wouldn't—"

"He's a nice young professor from London. Over here on a sabbatical."

"When you say young . . ."

"He's only forty-three, dear."

Annie was twenty-eight. "Oh." She rubbed her forehead. "The thing is—"

"No arguments. Your father and I want you settled. We won't be around to look after you forever."

"I can look after myself." She felt her hand fist, released it with effort. There was no point in getting angry, not when this was a conversation they'd been having for more years than she could re­member. "I'm not a child."

"Well you can't spend the rest of your life alone." Her mother's tone was harsh, but it held an edge of desperation—Kimberly re­ally was worried by the thought of her daughter living a solitary life. She'd never bothered to wonder if Annie was single by choice. "Professor Markson is a lovely man. You could do a lot worse."

What her mother actually meant, Annie thought with a stab of old resentment, was that it wasn't as if she had any other options. To Kimberly, Annie was a damaged,and fragile creature most men would bypass. "Is Caro coming?"

"Of course not." Her mother made a sound of annoyance. "We want the professor's attention on you. Much as I like her, your cousin tends to steal the limelight, even now that she's married."

Annie's headache intensified—Caro was usually the only point of sanity at these ritual humiliations. "Right."

"I'll expect you at seven for cocktails."

"I might be a little late."

"Work?"

"No." How did she say this? "I, er, arranged an in-depth tour of Yosemite." Though she didn't live far from the forest, her parents were closer to San Francisco. Even in a high-speed vehicle, it would take her over an hour to make the trip.

"Really, Annie. You knew we were having this dinner."

"I said I didn't want to be set up on any more dates." Especially when she had no intention of marrying or entering into a long-term relationship. Ever. And most certainly not when the men came in expecting someone like Caro and got Annie instead. "I'll try to be there as soon as I can, but I can't promise anything."

Her mother hung up after a few more sharp words. Rubbing her forehead, Annie walked out of the bedroom and to the bath­room, cell phone still in hand. After that call, she definitely needed the soothing properties of a bath liberally laced with mineral salts. Stripping off, she sat on the edge of the tub while it filled, taking the chance to massage some of the stiffness out of her thigh.

Does it hurt?

Such a simple question, without judgment or pity. It had un­done her just a little. Not only that, but Zach had continued to flirt with her even after discovering that she was less than perfect. It might not have meant much to him, but it had meant something to her.

No, Angelica, you can't do that. Your leg's too weak.

Too often, it felt as if her mother had been born into the wrong race. She would've made a good Psy, with her analytical mind and need for perfection in all things.

The only place Kimberly had failed was with Annie.

Her mood might've dimmed again, but she was too busy day­dreaming about kissing Zach on those beautiful lips of his. The man was too sinful to be real. And the way he flirted . . . wow. It would've been nice to be confident enough to flirt back. "Instead of blushing and going tongue-tied," she muttered.

She'd seen enough DarkRiver couples to identify the kind of women dominant changeling men found attractive—and Zach was definitely a dominant. Those women were all striking in some way, but it was their self-assurance that really shone through. Vividly intelligent, they didn't hesitate to speak their minds, or give back as good as they got. Feminine strength didn't scare men of Zach Quinn's ilk, it enticed them.

And that was exactly what attracted her to him. She knew after having met him only once that he'd never tell her she couldn't do something. Zach would simply expect her to match him. And that was a seduction all on its own.

The bath pinged to alert her it was full. She was about to step in when her eye fell on the cell phone she'd left on top of her discarded clothes. She grabbed it, deciding to give Caro a call. Her cousin was an expert on men, and it was advice on that subject that Annie needed right now.

Putting it within reach, she sank into the hot water with a moan. After ten minutes of just lying there soaking in the heat, she reached out to get the phone. It beeped an incoming call as her fingers brushed the case. Rolling her eyes because it was probably her mother again, she flipped it open without checking the display and answered audio only. *

"It's me," she said, dropping her head back against the wall and pressing her feet flat against the end of the bath.

"Hello, me."

Her breath stuck in her throat at the sound of that sensually amused voice. "Zach . . . Mr. Quinn—" She'd have jerked upright except that she was frozen in place.

"Zach," he corrected. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"No, I"—water dripped as she raised a hand to push streamers of hair off her face—"I was just relaxing."

"In the bath?"

She blinked, mortified that she'd left the visual feed on by ac­cident. But no, it was switched off. "Leopards have good ears."

Her cheeks colored. "Of course." She stayed very still, not want­ing him to hear her splashing about.

"I didn't mean to intrude into your relaxation time." An apol­ogy made in a voice that was close to a purr.

Annie told herself to breathe. "That's okay." Realizing he couldn't see her, she stopped fighting herself and allowed her face to suffuse with the pleasure she got from simply listening to him. She'd never before met a man with a voice like Zach's—so mascu­line, but with that delectable hint of play. As if while he might be a honed blade of a soldier, he knew how to laugh, too. "Was there a problem with Bryan?"

"No, JB's fine. No runs with the other kids for a week for him."

Annie frowned. "I thought he'd have entertainment privileges suspended."

Zach chuckled, and it rippled through her like living fire. "That is his favorite form of entertainment. Leopard changel-ings, espe­cially boys his age, hate being trapped inside."

"Of course." She remembered one of the other parents saying something along those lines during a parent-teacher conference. "Was that what you called to tell me?"

"That, and I wanted to warn you about the cold up in the higher elevations. We might even hit some snow. Dress in layers."

"Okay." She bit down on her lower lip, wanting to keep him on the phone but not knowing what to say to achieve that goal. "So, 9:00 a.m. tomorrow?"

"Hmm." He sounded distracted to her ears.

"I should let you go," she began.

"Tired of me already?"

She really didn't know how to deal with him. "No." Another male chuckle. "Tell me something about you, Annie."

"What do you want to know?" Why did he want to know?

"How long have you been a teacher?"

"Five years," she said with a smile. "I started teaching new en­trants, but for the past couple of years, it's been kids Bryan's age."

"You like it."

"I love it." She found she'd relaxed again, soothed by the timbre of his voice, so easy, so deliciously male. "What do you do?"

"I'm a forest ranger, specializing in the predatory species that call Yosemite home."

The work fitted him better than anything she could've imag­ined. "Do you like what you do?"

"It's in my blood." He paused. "Someone's at the door. I'll pick you up at nine on the dot. Sweet dreams." The last was a husky murmur laced with temptation.

"Bye." She ended the call and just sat there, flushing alternately hot and cold. Surely she was reading too much into the conversation. He'd called to make sure she dressed right. The way his voice had felt like a caress over her most sensitive skin . . »-that was the result of her pulse-pounding susceptibility to him. It didn't mean he wanted her, too.

But she couldn't quite stop herself from hoping.

Zach pulled open the door to his small home, already aware of his visitor's identity. He'd picked up the scent the instant the other changeling stepped out of his vehicle.

"Luc." He welcomed his alpha inside. "What's up?" Lucas walked in, dressed in a dark gray suit that said he'd come straight from DarkRiver's business HQ.

"Nice place."

"Nice suit." Opening the cooler, he threw Lucas a sleek glass bottle before taking one for himself.

"What the hell is this?" Lucas scowled at the pale blue liquid inside. "And the suit's camouflage."

"It's some new energy drink Joe's come up with." He twisted off the top. "We're supposed to give him feedback."

Lucas took a pull. "Not bad—for something that looks like it glows in the dark."

Zach grinned. "So, why the camouflage?"

"I had a meeting with a Psy group today."

"New deal?" DarkRiver had recently completed its second major construction project for Psy Councilor Nikita Duncan. The success of the venture had been so dramatic, they'd attracted considerable interest from other Psy businesses.

"Signed and sealed." Lucas's grin was very feline in its satisfac­tion. "I wanted to talk to you about some of the land you cover dur­ing your duties as ranger."

Zach nodded. "Is there a problem?"

"Shouldn't be, but I want you to keep an extra sharp eye out. Psy don't usually venture anywhere near our territory, but they've been changing the rules recently."

"You think they might be trying to use the land to familiarize themselves with the forest," Zach guessed. Psy weren't, as a rule, comfortable in wide-open spaces. They preferred the cities, with their towers of glass and steel. But as Lucas's mate, Sascha, showed, the psychic race was supremely adaptable.

"I don't think it's happened yet, but there's a possibility it might-—we'd be fools if we didn't prepare for the unexpected."

"I'll keep you updated." He put down his empty bottle beside the one Lucas had just finished. "You didn't really come here for that." Lucas's caution was something Zach was a senior-enough sol­dier to figure out for himself.

Lucas shrugged, the clawlike markings on the right side of his face standing out in vivid relief. "I was passing through to talk to Tammy about the Christmas celebrations, decided to drop in, touch base."

Since Tammy and Nate were Zach's closest neighbors, that made sense. "Tell Nate I saw his cubs chasing a dog yesterday." Lucas grinned.

"Sounds about right."

"Can I ask you a question?" Lucas raised an eyebrow and waited.

"How fragile are humans?" He'd had human lovers before, but he'd never wanted any woman, human or changeling, with the raw fury that colored his hunger for Annie. It worried him that he might hurt her in passion. "How much do I have to hold back?"

"They're not as breakable as we tend to think," Lucas said, and Zach knew he was speaking from experience. Physically, Psy were even weaker than humans, yet Lucas was very happily mated to Sascha. "Just don't use the same force on her that you'd use on me or one of the other males and you'll be fine."

"Who said there's a 'her'?"

"There's always a her."

"Her name is Annie, and I'm bringing her to the picnic to-

morrow."

Lucas's eyes gleamed cat green. "You're introducing her to the pack? When did you meet her?"

"Today."

"Well, hell." Lucas rocked back on his heels. "She have any idea what that means?"

"She's a little wary, but she likes me," he said, thinking of how her eyes had drunk him up. A man could get used to being looked at that way. Especially when the woman doing the looking was someone he'd like to eat up in small, delicious bites. "I'm going to court her first." But he already considered her his—because not only did Annie Kildaire arouse his most primal instincts, she was his mate . . . and he was a possessive kind of cat.

Chapter 4

Annie was ready by eight the next morning. Feeling jumpy and overexcited, she checked her clothing in the mirror one more time. She'd taken Zach's advice and layered it up, beginning with a plain white tee and a thin V-necked cashmere-blend sweater that felt divine on her skin . On the bottom, she'd worn her favorite jeans, along with a pair of hiking boots, in case the drive turned into a walk. Completing her outfit was an insulated puffy jacket.

"I look like an egg." Caroline had made her buy the cheerful yellow garment, insisting it brightened her face. Annie had agreed because it looked sunny. But it wasn't exactly flattering. Oh well, she thought, peeling it off and putting it on the little backpack that held her camera and water, it wasn't as if this was a date. Sweet dreams.

The memory of Zach's voice sent desire skittering through her veins. All she could think about was what it would be like to have that voice whisper in her ear while those strong hands touched her with bold confidence. "Oh, man." She pressed a hand flat to her stomach. "Calm, Annie. Calm." It was difficult to listen to her own advice when she'd spent the whole night dreaming about him. The tattoo she'd glimpsed on his biceps fascinated her—in her dreams, she'd stroked her fingers over the exotic lines of it, pressed her lips to that muscled flesh . . . and then touched another, harder part of his body.

"A whole day" she almost moaned, and went to shove a hand through her hair before realizing she'd pulled it back into a ponytail. Now she glanced into the mirror and made a face. She'd eschewed makeup—who went to a forest with makeup on?—but had given in to the urge to slick on some gloss. It plumped up her lips . . . except that her lips were already plump. "Argh." Too late, she remembered why she never used gloss. She was searching for a tissue to wipe it off when the doorbell rang. "Who on earth?" Run­ning to the door, she pulled it open.

A leopard in human skin stood on the other side. "I was hop­ing to wake you," he drawled, leaning against the doorjamb. "But you're all dressed." He tried to look sad, but the wicked lights dancing in his eyes made that .impossible.

"You're early," she said, unable to stop staring at him. He was wear­ing a pair of faded blue jeans, hiking boots and a soft gray sweatshirt stamped with the San Francisco Giants emblem. Casual clothes, but his hair was still damp from the shower and his jaw freshly shaven.

It was all she could do not to run her fingertips over that smooth skin and nuzzle the masculine scent of him into her lungs.

"I woke up early—had somewhere I wanted to be." He smiled at her, slow and persuasive. "Are you going to invite me in?" Raising a hand, he showed her a brown paper bag bearing the logo of a nearby bakery. "I brought breakfast."

She knew she shouldn't let him get his own way so very easily, but stepped aside in welcome. "What did you bring?"

"Come and see." He waited for her to close the door, then fol­lowed as she led the way into the kitchen through the living room of her apartment. "You like to read."

She saw him glance at the paperbacks on the shelves, stacked on the coffee table, placed face down on the arm of her sofa. "Yes."

"Me, too." He put the bag on the counter and slid onto a stool. "Why are you standing over there?"

She looked at him from the other side of the counter. "I thought I'd make coffee."

"Okay." He kept the bag closed. "But you're not seeing what's in here until you come around to this side."

He was definitely flirting. And she was definitely playing with fire by allowing it to go on. Because if there was one thing she knew about predatory changeling men, it was that they were quite ferally possessive—and belonging to anyone was simply not on her agenda. Of course, she was also getting way ahead of herself. He was only flirting. It wasn't as if he planned to drag her off to the chapel. "What do you read?" she asked, telling herself it was okay to try to flirt back, that this pull she felt toward him was nothing more than sexual attraction.

"Thrillers, some nonfiction." He looked around her open-plan kitchen and living room. "It's a small place."

"For you, maybe." He was so big, so unashamedly male, he took over the space . . . threatened to take her over, too.

He glanced at her, expression shifting to something darker and infinitely more dangerous. "Hmm, you're right. You're a bit smaller than me."

She tried to control her erratic breathing as she finished put­ting on the coffee. He just sat there and watched her with a feline patience that had her nerves sparking in reaction.

"How long have you lived here?"

"Last five years. I moved in after I got the teaching job."

"Did you live at home before that?"

She laughed through the thudding beat of her pulse. "Lord, no. I was outta there at eighteen."

"You ever get lonely, Annie?" he asked, his tone liquid heat over her skin.

"I like living alone. I intend to keep it that way." She thought she'd surprised him with that, but instead of replying, he lifted up the bag and raised an eyebrow. It was a dare. Annie had never con­sidered herself particularly courageous, but she walked around the counter. He nodded at her to take the stool beside his.

Knowing it would be silly to refuse, she got up, rubbing her thigh with one hand. He noticed. "It hurt today?"

"What?" She looked down. "Oh, no, not really. It's habit." It was always a little achy in the mornings. "So, breakfast?"

His eyes went cat on her between one instant and the next. She sucked in a breath at the intensity of that green-gold gaze. "Wow."

He smiled. "Let's play a game."

She had a feeling that playing with this big kitty cat was a very bad idea, but since she'd already given in to her insanity, she said, "What're the rules?"

"Close your eyes. Eat what I give you, and tell me what it is."

The notion of having him feed her had her heart racing at the speed of light. "What do I get if I guess correctly?"

"Mystery prize." His lashes lowered, and she thought she caught a glimpse of something edgy, something that blazed with raw male heat, but when he looked back up, there was nothing but amuse­ment in those leopard eyes. "Yes?"

"Yes." She watched mesmerized as he opened the paper bag with those hands she wanted to have all over her.

"Close your eyes, sweetheart."

She swallowed hunger of a far different sort and let her lashes flutter down. It made her even more aware of the scent of him, the warmth of him, the sheer presence of him. When he shifted posi­tion to put one of his feet on the outside of her stool, effectively trapping her, she opened her mouth to tell him . . . something.

But his finger brushed over her lips. "Taste."

He was all around her, in her blood, in her breath. Losing her train of thought, she closed her teeth over the pastry he put to her lips. The flaky stuff just about melted in her mouth, and she licked her lips without thinking about it.

Zach seemed to go very still, but when he spoke, his words were light. "Guess?"

"Danish."

"Wrong." She went to open her eyes, but he said, "No, keep them shut."

"Why?"

"I'm going to give you another shot. Right now, you owe a sin­gle forfeit. Let's see if we can even the decks."

"Forfeit?" She wondered why the thought sent excitement arc­ing through her. "You never said anything about a forfeit."

"You never asked."

As she'd thought—playing with this cat was an invitation to trouble. "Now I am."

"Later. First, taste this." He put something else to her mouth, and she bit down, determined to get it this time—he sounded far too delighted by the idea of having her owe him a forfeit.

She smiled. "Blueberry muffin."

A finger brushed over her lips, making her eyes snap open. "A crumb," he said.

"Oh."

He didn't smile this time, watching her with an intensity that reminded her that for all his playfulness, he was a DarkRiver soldier. And DarkRiver controlled the greater San Francisco area. More than that, they were allied with the bloodthirsty SnowDancer wolves.

"What're you thinking?" he asked her.

"That you're dangerous."

"Not to you," he said. "I wouldn't bite unless you asked very nicely."

Heat flooded her cheeks at the teasing promise, and she was more than glad to hear the coffeemaker ping. "Coffee's done, I'll grab it."

He let her go, but she had a feeling the game had only just be­gun. And that she was the prey.

Zach wanted to groan in frustration as he watched Annie move about the kitchen. He'd come within an inch of kiss­ing the life out of her when she'd licked her lips. Perfect, luscious, bitable lips. He'd resisted the temptation for two reasons. One, the cat liked the chase. And two, the man liked the idea of having An­nie melt at his touch. He planned to seduce her until she purred for him.

"Coffee." She put a cup in front of him, and he took a sip, at­tempting to behave when what he really wanted to do was haul her close and just take. Patience, he told himself. The last thing he wanted to do was scare Annie with the wild fury of his hunger.

"It's good." Sighing in appreciation, he passed her the muffin and a flaky croissant with a chocolate center. "The reason for your forfeit."

She scowled at the pain au chocolat. "So do the win and loss cancel each other out?"

"No. I'll collect my forfeit." His eyes drifted to her lips and lin­gered there. "A kiss, Annie. You owe me a kiss."

Her lips parted, her breath whispering out in a soft gasp. "And"—she coughed—"my winnings?"

"I'll give them to you later today." He wanted to drink up the scent of her, spiced as it was by the seduction of her growing arousal. However that arousal was nowhere near enough to satiate the sav­agery of his own need. But the cat was a patient hunter. By the time this day was through, he planned to have coaxed and tempted Annie Kildaire until she was as desperate for him as he was for her. "Now eat, or we'll be late."

She nibbled at her croissant, shooting him quick glances as he finished off the bagel he'd bought for himself. "When are you going to . . . collect?" she asked afterward, clearing away the cups with feminine efficiency that failed to mask her responsive awareness.

"I've got all day." He slid off the stool and smiled. "Ready?"

"You look very much the cat when you smile that way," she said. "You're enjoying teasing me."

He walked over and took the basket she'd picked up from the small table in one corner. "What's this?"

"I packed a couple of things for the picnic, and some snacks for the ride."

He peeked in. "Chocolate cake?"

"Chocolate mud cake," she said, with an adorable note of pride that made him want to claim his forfeit then and there. "I made it last night, gave it time to settle."

"You'll be Sascha's new best friend." Leaning in, he brushed his lips over her ear. "And yes, Teach, I like teasing you."

Annie still hadn't gotten over the sensation of his lips on her skin as Zach pulled away from her ground-floor apartment and out into the street. Open sexual heat laced his teasing, but she wasn't sure quite how far he'd take it. If he pushed, would she surrender?

The temptation was blindingly strong. Not only was he beauti­ful in the most masculine way, she flat out liked him. Being with Zach, if only for a night, would be, she already knew, a delight. He wouldn't be the least bit selfish, she thought. His partner's pleasure would matter to him. And, given his nature, he wasn't likely to want any kind of a commitment.

It was perfect.

Yet Annie found herself hesitating. Already, she reacted to him more deeply than she had to any other man her entire life. What would it do to her to sleep with him, to know him that inti­mately . . . then watch him walk away? Her mind flicked to a slide show of images. They were all of one woman. A woman with years of disappointment in her eyes.

"Look."

She jerked up at the sound of his voice. "What?"

"There." He pointed out the windshield.

Her eyes widened at the parade of old-fashioned automobiles on the other side of the road, all huge bodies and gleaming paint. They were so old they had no hover capacity, but there was something very sexy about them. "They look amazing. I wonder where they're going?"

"I read something about a vintage-car show about a twenty-minute drive from here. We could swing by after the picnic today."

Despite her fear at how quickly he'd gotten under her skin, she couldn't help but be delighted that he wanted to spend more time with her. Hard on its heels came disappointment. "I have to be back by six," she said. "Family dinner."

Zach shot her a quick glance. "You don't sound too enthusias­tic."

She understood the surprise in his voice. All the DarkRiver cats she knew had one thing in common—family was the bedrock of their world. And Pack was one big extended family as far as they were concerned—she'd had senior pack members turn up to parent-teacher conferences more than once when the parent was ill or un­avoidably delayed. "My mom keeps trying to set me up with men."

Zach's expression changed and, for the first time, she saw the ruthless soldier in him. "What kind of men?"

"Academics." She shrugged. "Mom and Dad are both professors at Berkeley—math and physics respectively."

"Are academics your type?"

"No."

He glanced at her again, and those eyes had gone leopard on her. "Are you sure?"

"Quite." She found herself refusing to be intimidated by the sense of incipient danger in the air. If she gave an inch, Zach would take a mile. And while she might not be a dominant female, it was important that he respect her. She frowned. Of course it was impor­tant, but that thought, it had been so vivid, so strong, so visceral—as if her mind knew something it wasn't yet ready to share.

Then Zach spoke again, breaking her train of thought. "So you'll be skipping the dinner." It was an order plain and simple.

Annie opened her mouth. What came out was, "No, I'll take you."

Chapter 5

Zach's grin was openly pleased. "What's the blind date going to say?"

She couldn't believe she'd just done that, ordered him to do something. More, she couldn't believe he'd agreed. "Probably, 'Thank God.' "

"Huh?"

"My cousin Caroline works at the university, too. The men come in expecting a statuesque, intellectual, blond beauty and get me."

"So?"

She scowled, wondering if he was teasing her again. "So, I'm about as opposite Caro as you can get."

"If they ignored you, that's their loss. Too damn bad for them." He shrugged. "Do you want to put on some music?"

She blinked at the way he'd swept aside the disappoint-ments of the past with that simple statement. If she hadn't already liked him, that would've done it. "No, I need to tell you something about my mom." She swallowed, realizing she'd made a mess of things. If she hadn't mentioned the dinner, she could've avoided this altogether.

Zach groaned. "Don't tell me, she's a vegetarian?" he said, as if that was the worst thing possible.

She supposed for a leopard changeling, it was. "No." For once, he couldn't make her smile despite herself. "My mum is a little"— she tried to find an easy way to say this and failed—"biased against changelings."

"Ah. Let me guess—she thinks we're only one step up from animals?"

She felt very, very awkward discussing this, but she had to warn him about what he might face if he went to dinner with her. "It's not so blunt. She has no problem with other humans, and she ad­mires the Psy, but she's never wanted me dating, or getting friendly with"—she raised her fingers in quotation marks—" 'the rough changeling element.' "

"What about you?" A deceptively soft question.

"That's an insult, Zach," she said as softly. "If that's what you really think of me—"

He swore. "Sorry, Annie, you're right, I'm being an ass. My only excuse is that you hit a hot button."

"I know." She couldn't blame him for his reaction. "It makes me really uncomfortable, but I've tried to change her mind, and it's never worked."

"What does she think of you teaching in a school with such a big changeling population?"

"That it's my version of acting out." She laughed at his expres­sion, awkwardness dissipating. "No, she doesn't seem to realize I'm a grown-up, as the kids would say."

"Why do you let her get away with it?"

She was beginning to expect the straight-up questions from him. "My mom was on that train with me. She tried and tried and tried to get me out even though I was pinned under so much wreck­age, she didn't have a hope of shifting anything." Her throat choked with the force of memory. "Her arm was broken at the time, but she didn't cry a single tear. She just kept trying to get me out."

Zach reached out to run his knuckles over her cheek. "She loves you."

She found comfort in the touch, and when he returned his hand to the steering wheel, she realized he'd somehow given her strength. "Yes. That's why I let her get away with so much." She leaned her head against the seat. "This thing she has for the Psy, the way she almost deifies them, it has its roots in the accident, too."

"How?"

"There was this boy—I don't know where he came from, but he was small, my age or younger. Cardinal eyes." She shivered at the memory of the chill in those extraordinary white-stars-on-black-velvet eyes. Psy lived lives devoid of emotion, but she'd never seen a child that utterly cold. "He lifted the wreckage off me."

"Telekinetic." Zach whistled. "You got lucky."

"Yeah." The Council didn't release its telekinetics for mundane rescue work—especially not when an incident affected mainly hu­mans and changelings. "The medics told me he'd saved my life. My internal organs were close to collapse—a few more minutes, and I wouldn't have made it."

"Did you ever find out who he was?"

She shook her head. "He disappeared in the chaos. I've always thought that he teleported in from another location, after somehow seeing me in the live coverage. I remember there was a remote me­dia chopper flying overhead, and if he was strong enough to lift the amount of wreckage that he did, he was strong enough to teleport." She couldn't imagine the strength of will it took to harness that much power. "He can't have been on the train—his clothes were spotless, and he didn't have so much as a smudge on his face."

"Psy aren't born lacking emotions," Zach told her, "they're con­ditioned to it. So it could be that he was still human enough to feel the need to help when he saw what had happened."

"How do you know about the conditioning?" She answered her own question a second later. "Your alpha's mated to a cardinal Psy." The news of that mating had sent Shockwaves throughout the country.

"Sascha," he said, nodding. "Vaughn, one of the sentinels, is also mated to a Psy."

She couldn't imagine a member of the cold Psy race embrac­ing emotion. But changeling leopards mated for life, and the bond between mates was a dazzling beacon apparent even to a human observer. If these women had mated with DarkRiver cats, they were undoubtedly as radiant and as strong as the other women she'd seen. "Will I meet them today?"

"I know Luc and Sascha are coming. Likely Faith and Vaughn will, too." He turned down a quiet road lined with trees. "I'll try to get you back by six so you can get ready for dinner, but we might cut it fine."

She bit the inside of her cheek. "I think I should cancel. I really don't want my mom to . . . I would hate for you to feel that—"

"Hey," he said, shooting her a glance that spoke of the soldier within, "I'm a big boy. I can handle it. Promise."

Promises are for keeping.

Deciding to trust him, she dug out her phone from the pocket of her jeans. "I'll tell Mom I'm bringing someone and that we'll be late."

"Yeah. It'll give your date time to find another partner." That lethal edge was back in his voice.

Her stomach muscles tightened. "Zach?"

"Might as well get this out in the open." He pulled the car into a small layby and turned to brace his hand against the top edge of her seat. "I'm not real good at sharing."

She swallowed. "Oh."

Zach could've kicked himself. He'd gone to all this trouble to lull her into a relaxed mood, then the cat had struck out in a burst of primitive jealousy. "Scared?"

Wary caution crept into her eyes, but she shook her head. "You said you wouldn't bite unless I asked . . . very nicely."

Surprise had the cat freezing. He'd forgotten that beneath the blushes and big brown eyes was a woman quite capable of calling him on his behavior. "That's true," he drawled, letting the cat out to play. "Come closer and ask me."

She shook her head again.

"Please."

Her cheeks colored, but he knew the heat wasn't because of em­barrassment. Her arousal was a decadent whisper in the confines of the car, a drug his cat could lap at for hours. But what he really wanted to do was lap at her. He moved a little closer.

She held up the phone. "I need to make this call." Her voice was breathless, her tone jagged.

Instinct urged him to keep pushing, but he didn't want to make her feel cornered. No, he thought,-shifting back into his seat, he'd do his teasing out in the open arms of the forest. "Go on, sweet­heart." He smiled. "I've got all day to play with you."

She sucked in a breath. "Is that what this is? Play?"

"Sure." He drove them back onto the road, knowing she was talking about more than his teasing promise—pretty, sexy An­nie Kildaire thought they were heading for a quick, hot fling. He grinned inwardly. Poor baby was going to get one hell of a surprise when he told her the truth, but she wasn't ready for that yet. "The best kind of play."

She was silent for a few minutes, then he heard her coding in the call. With her being so close, he could hear both sides of the conversation. Most humans who lived with changelings tended to get earpieces, so they could have private conversa-tions. He'd have to get Annie one, he thought absently.

"Mom, it's Annie. About tonight," she began.

"Don't you dare cancel, Angelica Kildaire."

Angelica?

"I'm not," Annie said, obviously attempting to keep her temper in the face of the sharp response. "I'll be late, and—"

"We're doing this for you," her mother interrupted. "The least you can do is turn up on time."

Annie pressed her fingers to her forehead and seemed to men­tally count to five. "I'm bringing a guest," she said without any lead-in. "His name is Zach."

Complete silence from the other end. Then, "Well good grief, Annie. Now you tell me. I'll have to find another woman to balance out the table. Who is he?"

"A DarkRiver soldier."

The silence was longer and deeper this time. Zach could feel Annie's distress at the reaction, but he was proud of her for sticking to her guns.

"Mom?"

"Aren't you a little too old for childish games?" her mother asked. "I know some women find those rough types attractive, but you have a brain. How long do you think he'll be able to keep that engaged?"

Zach's cat smiled in feral amusement. He was used to the pre­conceptions some humans, and most Psy, had about changelings. The majority of the time, it rolled off his back. But this time, it mattered. Because this was Annie's mother.

"I am not having this discussion with you," Annie said, tone final. "We'll be there for dinner. If you'd rather we didn't come, just say so."

"No, bring him," was the immediate response. "I want to meet this Zach who's got you ordering your own mother around." She hung up.

Annie stared at the phone for several seconds before thrusting it back into her pocket. "How much did you hear?"

"All of it."

She shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry—"

"Annie, sweetheart, leave your mom to me." He shot her a grin brimming with deliberate wickedness. "Today, I want to lead you astray."

Her returning smile was a little shy but full of a quiet mischief he figured most people never saw. "Are you sure I'm not already beyond redemption?"

He chuckled. "How could you be with a name like Angelica?"

She made a face. "I'm an Annie, not an Angelica."

"I prefer Angel."

"Do you like your women angelic?"

He chuckled. "No, baby, I like my woman exactly as she is." He knew he'd surprised her, waited to see what she'd do.

"So, this thing . . . you want more than just a day?"

He wasn't going to lie to her. "Are you going to run if I say yes?" He pulled into the forest proper, taking a narrow track that would lead them to one of the smaller waterfalls. It was only a trickle right now because of the cold, but it was still a sight to be seen.

"I'm here today, aren't I?" A question with a slight acerbic bite.

Tasting the piquancy of it on his tongue, he decided he liked it. "All alone with a big, bad cat who's rethinking his policy on biting."

Arousal colored the air again, and he sucked in a breath to con­tain his most primal instincts. "Look ahead," he said, voice husky.

"Oh!" Her eyes went huge. "It's a buck," she whispered, as if afraid the animal would hear her. "His antlers are huge."

Zach slowed the vehicle to a crawl, but the buck caught his scent and shot off into the trees. "Sorry. They tend to scatter the instant they smell leopard. It's why I look after the predators—it's hard for me to check data on the nonpredatories."

"They know they're prey." She looked at him. "Do you hunt them?"

"When the cat needs it, yes." He glanced at her. "Can you han­dle knowing that?"

"I teach a lot of little cats," she reminded him in a prim, school­teacher voice. "I might not be an expert on changeling behavior, but I've picked up enough to know that when in animal form, you behave according to the needs of the animal."

He couldn't help himself. He turned and snapped his teeth at her, making her jump. When he began to chuckle, her eyes narrowed. "You're as bad as Bryan. He does that to Katie all the time."

"Odds on, he has a crush on her."

Her lips twitched. "That's what I think, too. Was the fight about Katie?"

"Sneaky, Ms. Kildaire, but I'm sworn to secrecy." Laughing at the face she made, he reached over to tug at her pony tail. "You up to a small hike?"

Shadows swept across her face. "You don't think I can do it?"

He parked the vehicle off to the side of the track and turned. "I don't know your limits yet," he told her honestly. "That's why I'm asking."

She colored. "Sorry. I'm a bit touchy on the whole subject."

He shrugged. "If I think you can't do something, I'll make sure you're not doing it." Protecting the vulnerable was instinct. Pro­tecting Annie would probably become an obsession.

"You'll make sure I'm not doing it?" The arch sound of a human female metaphorically flexing her claws.

"Definitely." He held her gaze. "I'm flexible, little cat, but I'm not a pushover."

Her arousal spiked at his words, but so did her anger. "As if I ever believed that."

"Annie, you're used to academic types who probably let you walk all over them."

"Hold on," she began, eyes snapping with temper.

God, she was pretty. He reached forward while she was distracted, gripped her chin. And kissed her.

Chapter 6

She was softer than he'd imagined, more luscious than any­thing he'd ever experienced. Cat and man both purred in­wardly, and when her lips parted on a gasp, he swept inside to taste her. Sweet and tart, innocent and woman, she was his own personal brand of intoxication.

He bit her lower lip, sucked on it, let her gasp in another breath before kissing her again. "Mmm." It was a sound of sheer pleasure as he indulged his need to touch this woman. Leopard changelings were tactile as a rule—something that translated into sensual affection in a relationship. It didn't always have to lead to sex. Sometimes it was just about the pleasure of skin-to-skin contact.

When he drew back, her lips were a little swollen, her pupils dilated. He rubbed his thumb over her lower lip and tried to tem­per his escalating need. She wasn't ready, not yet. As he'd learned this morning, her soft exterior hid a fierce core of independence—the instant she learned what he really wanted, she'd stop playing with him.

And that was simply not acceptable. "You know how to kiss a man, Angel." He dropped his gaze to the rise and fall of her gener­ous breasts. The temptation to caress them was so wrenching, he took his hand off her chin and thrust it through his hair. "About that hike . . . ?"

She gave a jerky nod. "I can walk."

"Tell me if it hurts."

"It won't."

Frowning, he grabbed her chin again and this time, he wasn't playing. "I mean it, Annie. I need to be able to trust you. I'm giv­ing you that. You give me honesty. That's fair."

Her expression shifted again, a true smile curving over her lips. "I will, I promise. It'll probably ache some, but that's normal. If it gets any worse, I'll tell you."

He wanted to kiss her again but knew full well that if he didn't get them out of the car quick smart, he'd end up taking her right there—like some randy juvenile in his parents' car. "Let's go." Grabbing her little pack, he thrust his own bottle of water inside and opened the door.

She met him a few feet from the vehicle, her fluffy yellow jacket a dash of pure summer. "I know," she said, when his eyes landed on her, "I look like a baby duck."

Not bothering with a coat himself, he took her hand. "No. I like it." Her hand was small, but not weak in his. "It suits you." Pretty and bright and sunny, that was his Annie.

They walked in silence for a while, and he felt his beast sigh in pleasure. The forest was home, and it called to both parts of his soul. But today, he had a new reason for happiness—Annie. "You're in shape," he said after a while.

"Nowhere close to you." She made a rueful face. "I know you're keeping your stride shorter for me."

He hadn't even noticed, the act had been so natural. "Of course," he said matter-of-factly. "How would I have my wicked way with you if I left you in my dust?"

Her smile was startled, but it grew until the leopard batted at its warmth, utterly captivated. "I exercise," she said. "I have to, or the leg will freeze up."

"Every day?"

She nodded. "It's a habit now." Looking up at the trail as it wound its way into the forest she took a deep breath. "It's so beau­tiful here."

"Yeah." He watched her face suffuse with joy and felt the razor-sharp bite of envy. The cat really wasn't good at sharing. Neither was the man—he wanted to be the one to put that look of delight on her face. Soon, he promised himself.

She glanced at him, smile changing into a very feminine look of realization. "Zach." Her lips parted.

It was all the invitation he needed. Dipping his head, he claimed an­other bold kiss, curving his hand around the silken warmth of her neck. When her hands came to rest on his chest, the cat stretched out in plea­sure within him. He wanted those hands on his bare skin, his hunger for her so extreme it would make her bolt if she knew about it.

That thought in mind, he pulled on the reins. Even so, he couldn't keep from nipping at her lip.

Her eyes widened even as her hands clenched on his chest. "You only had one forfeit."

He felt his mouth curve. "Put it on my account," he said with­out an ounce of repentance.

She laughed, and he knew that today was going to be one of the best days of his life.

Several hours later, Annie sighed and rested her head back against the seat as Zach drove them to the Pack Circle. "That was wonderful. Thank you."

"You fit here," he said quietly, his voice lacking its usual play­fulness. "The age of the trees, the immensity of the forest, it doesn't scare you."

"It makes me feel free," she admitted. "Out here, no one's watch­ing, waiting for me to stumble." She wondered how she'd come to trust him so quickly—quickly enough to reveal a vulnerability she kept hidden from even her closest friends.

It scared her a little, the intensity of the emotions growing in her heart. She tried to tell herself it was nothing but a silly crush, but all she could think of was the way his kisses had tugged at her soul. All day long he'd stolen them, until her lips remembered the shape of his, and her breasts ached for his touch. Swallowing, she attempted to redirect her thoughts. "The Pack Circle's usually kept secret."

"We don't take strangers there" he acknowledged. "Only those we trust to honor our faith."

Her heart warmed from the inside out. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me just yet. Wait till you meet the pack—they're a nosy bunch."

Nerves snapped to full wakefulness as Zach parked his vehicle behind several others and turned to run his knuckles over her cheek. "Don't be nervous."

"How do you know—"

"I can smell the change in your scent."

She was still sitting there, mind awash with the implications of what he'd said, when he walked around and opened her door. "Come on, Angel. Let's go face the masses."

She got out but didn't take his hand. "You can smell the changes in my body?" She watched him reach in back for the picnic basket.

"Yes." Basket in hand, he tugged her hand from where she'd wrapped her arms around herself. "Does that bother you?" A direct gaze.

She saw no flirtation in those eyes for the first time in hours. "A little," she admitted.

"You'll get used to it." He said that as if it was inevitable.

She wasn't sure. Privacy was a big deal for her—she'd spent almost a year in the hospital, only to go home to her mother's con­stant hovering. Those experiences had combined to make her zeal­ous about guarding her personal space, and what was more per­sonal, more private, than her body itself?

Zach glanced at her as they walked past the other cars. "It's natural to us," he said. "We don't tend to notice a particular scent unless it's something that matters."

"But other people will know," she said, her stomach in knots. She could accept her hunger for Zach, accept that he knew, but to have everyone else be aware of it, too?

Zach raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, the tenderness undoing her. He was, she realized, far more a threat to her than she'd initially thought. If she wasn't careful, Zach Quinn would steal her heart and leave her with nothing, her worst night­mare come to life. But even knowing that, she couldn't help mov­ing closer when he tugged at her.

"Your arousal is a vibrant thread to me," he whispered, voice husky, "but for the others, it'll simply be background noise. They'll be focused on their mates, lovers, children—different threads. There are millions of them in any one instant."

His explanation made sense, enough to release some of the ten­sion in her stomach. However, she couldn't help but be a little wary as they entered the Circle. Then several people cried out hellos, and, to her shock, she realized that though they weren't all parents, she knew a good number of them from various school events. The friendliness washed over her in an effervescent wave.

"Miss Kildaire, you came!" Bryan skidded to a stop by her feet. "Did Uncle Zach show you the forest?"

Conscious of several interested adult gazes, she nodded. "What have you been up to?"

"I'm playing hide-and-seek with Priyanka." With that, he ran off. She was still smiling after him when she felt Zach's hand on her lower back.

"Come on, I want to introduce you to someone."

She walked with him, cognizant of the possessiveness implied by his touch. A warning bell rang in her head, but she silenced it. His dominant nature wasn't going to be a problem—it wasn't as if she was his mate. He'd be gone as soon as he'd satisfied his curiosity about her. "Where's the picnic basket?" she asked, trying to ignore the stab of pain provoked by that last thought. After all, she had no desire to tie herself to a man—even a man as enticing as Zach.

"I gave it to one of the juveniles," Zach answered with a smile so bright, she couldn't help but smile in return. "Cory will stick it with the other food so everyone can grab what they want." He stopped beside an older woman with snow-white hair and a face that echoed his own so strongly, Annie knew they were related. Not only that, it was clear where Zach had inherited his sun-kissed skin and bones.

As he leaned forward to kiss the woman's cheek, she said, "Zach, my dear." Her eyes went to Annie, and they were as sharp as her body was toned. Given the way she stood, her supple strength, An­nie guessed her to be a soldier, too. It wasn't surprising—change­lings didn't really slow down until well into their eighth or ninth decade. "And who have you brought me?"

"Grandma, this is Annie," Zach said, his love for his grand­mother a shining light in his eyes. It hit her right in the gut, mak­ing her wonder what it would be like to have that open and power­ful love directed at her. "My grandmother, Cerise."

Cerise held out both hands, her smile so welcoming that Annie accepted the touch without hesitation. "Don't let this boy talk you into anything wicked," Cerise said. "He's been getting his own way since the day he first looked at his mother and batted those pretty eyelashes."

Annie felt her lips curve, but before she could answer, Zach was set upon by a pair of identical teenage girls. "Zach!" they screamed, wrapping their arms around him from either side. "We haven't seen you in ages!"

"You saw me three days ago." Laughing, he hugged them to his sides.

Sparkling eyes landed on Annie. "Oooooooh," one of them said, "you brought a giiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrl."

"Who is she?" her twin whispered, brushing aside a waterfall of sleek black hair. "Where did you meet? How long have you been dating?"

Cerise frowned. "Girls, manners!"

The girls dimpled. "Sorry, Grandma."

Zach looked at her. "Annie, meet my baby sisters, Silly and Giggly."

"Hey!" They both slapped his chest. "I'm Lissa, and that's Noelle," the one on the left said.

Annie was beginning to be able to tell them apart. They were both confident and cheerful, but Lissa had more mischief in her eyes, while Noelle's smile was wide enough to light up any room she entered. "Nice to meet you."

Cerise squeezed her hands before letting go. "Where are your sisters?" she asked the twins.

Annie felt her eyes widen. More sisters? Zach saw her look and began to laugh. "Four of them," he said. "Four. Jess—she's Bryan's mom—and Poppy, are older than these two brats."

"Aw, you know you love us, big brother." Lissa reached up to press a kiss to his jaw. "I'll go look for them. They'll want to meet your girl."

"Talk to you later, Annie." Wiggling her fingers, Noelle ran off with her twin.

Annie didn't know whether to laugh or shake her head in amaze­ment. "Four younger sisters?"

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and cuddled her to his side. "They're the reason for my gray hairs. See?" He dipped his head.

The dark silk of his hair made her want to stroke it. "You big liar. You don't have a single gray hair." Held against him, she'd never felt safer or more protected. Fear ignited. Okay, she thought, quashing the emotion, this relationship was becoming more impor­tant than she'd originally believed it would, but it wasn't as if she was going to do something stupid—like begin to rely on Zach.

Cerise laughed. "She's on to you, boyo. I bet she gets along with Jess like a house on fire."

"Speaking of Jess"—Annie frowned—"doesn't Bryan have an older brother? When did Jess get married? Mated," she corrected herself.

Cerise was the one who answered. "At twenty. She's thirty now, only a year younger than Zachary here. Her oldest is nine."

"Twenty's so young," she murmured.

"She found her mate early," Zach said, a shimmering joy in his tone, the love of a brother for his sister. "And that was that. She always wanted a big family, so the kids came soon afterward. She's happy." A simple statement, and yet it spoke of such love, such trust. Annie couldn't imagine taking that big a leap of faith, put­ting that much of herself into a man's hands.

"Yes, she's very happy," Cerise agreed. "But enough of family talk—why don't you two grab some food before the juveniles inhale it all. I swear, I don't know where it goes."

"Into the hollow leg every teenage boy possesses, of course." The voice was male and familiar.

"Lucas." Cerise hugged the tall man with green eyes, as An­nie pegged him for the DarkRiver alpha. "Oh dear." Zach's grand­mother drew back, her attention on something over Lucas's shoul­der. "I think I need to go rescue a cub that's climbed a bit too high. And if that's not one of Tammy's boys, I'll eat my boot." She headed off in the direction of an ancient fir, from where Annie could hear the pleading strains of an adorable growl.

"Hello, Annie, isn't it?" Lucas held out a hand.

As she took it, she had the strangest sensation that everyone was watching her. "Good memory. You only met me once, at last year's Christmas pageant."

He grinned. "Let's just say I had some advance intel. So, how was the tour?"

"Perfect," Zach said, arm tightening around her. "But for some un­fathomable reason, Annie's still deciding if she wants to date me."

"Zach!" She glared up at him.

He grinned and dropped a fast kiss on her lips. Blushing, she wondered if such public affection was normal within the pack. She got her answer a few seconds later as an exotically beautiful woman wrapped her arms around Lucas's neck from behind and pressed a kiss to his jaw. Her eyes, when they met Annie's, were the night sky of a cardinal Psy. White stars on black velvet.

"Hello, you must be Annie." Her voice was summer breezes and open fires, welcoming and gentle. "Lissa and Noelle," she ex­plained, at Annie's surprised look. "They've been telling everyone they covet your jacket. They're planning to charm it off you before you leave. Be careful."

Annie couldn't do anything but smile in response to the warmth in that voice. "Thanks for the warning."

"Sascha," Zach said, "Annie made chocolate mud cake."

Sascha's face lit up like a child's. "Really?" She moved to grab Lucas's hand. "Come on, or the juveniles will eat it all. Talk to you later, Annie!"

Annie watched the pair leave and breathed out a sigh. "Your pack's . . . overwhelming."

"You'll get used to them." He rubbed the back of her neck. "They're just curious about you."

She felt another warning flicker in her mind, but then someone else was calling out Zach's name, and she was being introduced to more people, and then Zach was feeding her with the teasing smile of the cat flirting on his lips, and she forgot what it was that she'd worried about.

Chapter 7

They arrived at her apartment a few minutes after six. "I'll shower and change quickly," she told him as she unlocked the door and entered.

"Can I use your shower after?" He lifted up the suit bag he'd carried inside. "I got a packmate to drop by my house and bring this to the picnic. Want to make a good first impression on your folks."

Her stomach sank. "It probably won't make any difference."

"I told you, don't worry." Draping the suit bag over the back of her sofa, he prowled over. "Go, shower." It was a whisper that im­plied all sorts of sinful things. "I'll just sit out here and imagine the droplets racing over your skin, touching you . . . stroking you."

She felt her legs tremble. "Come in with me." It was the boldest invitation she'd ever made.

He smiled. "I plan to. But not today." He brushed his lips over hers. "When I shower with you, I don't want a time limit."

"Oh." Her mind bombarded her with images of the undoubtedly delicious things he'd do to her in the shower. "I should go . . ."

He rubbed a thumb over her bottom lip before shaking his head and pulling back. "Go, before I forget my good intentions. We'd never make it to the dinner then."

She hesitated.

He tapped her lightly on the bottom. "Don't even try it. I'm meeting your parents." So he could look them in the eye and let them know that regardless of what they thought of him, he was now in their daughter's life, and they had to deal with it. No more blind dates.

"Bossy." Annie shot him a scowl but went into the bedroom to grab her stuff.

She was going to be all hot and wet and naked soon.

"Christ." Shoving his hands through his hair, he tried to get the hard thrust of his cock to settle down. It refused. Especially since he could hear the rustle of cloth sliding over skin, of boots hitting tile, of lace being peeled off. . . or maybe that was his imagination.

But he definitely heard the shower come on. Groaning, he began to pace around the room, distracting himself by looking at Annie's things. Aside from books, she had several holoframes on the walls. Family photos, he guessed, noting her resemblance to the older woman in the central portrait. The man in the photo—her father, he assumed—was smiling genially, but there was something about him that struck the cat as distant.

The shower shut off.

"Shower's free!" came the call a few minutes later.

He gave her another couple of minutes to close herself in the bedroom, not sure he'd be able to resist if he saw her swathed in the tempting impermanence of an easily removable towel. When he entered the small, tiled enclosure at last, it was to find it steamy with the lavish scent of some feminine lotion. But the soap, he was glad to see, was nothing too girly. A man had to have standards, he thought, and programmed the shower to freezing. It finally succeeded in cooling down his body.

Annie sat in Zach's car in her parents' drive and twisted her fingers in her lap. "I've never brought a man home," she blurted out. "It didn't seem worth the fuss."

"I'm flattered."

She frowned at him. "Don't tease me now." But she felt her nerves loosen a fraction. "Come on, we might as well get this over with." Opening the door, she stepped out.

They met at the front of the vehicle. "At least it's a nice night," she said.

Zach put an arm around her with the lazy grace of the leopard he was. "I like your dress," he murmured, playing his fingertips over her hip.

"Oh." Her nerves frayed again, for a different reason. She'd chosen the black crossover dress because it would give her mother nothing to complain about. But Zach's words made her realize it might actually qualify as sexy. "You don't think I'm not thin enough for it?"

"I'll tell you tonight . . . after I unwrap you." He made her sound like a present.

She felt her eyes widen, her pulse jump. "Behave."

"Do I still get to unwrap you?"

A moment of silence, the night sky cut with shards of glittering diamond.

"Yes." She wanted to dance with the wildness in him, wanted to feel what it was to be treated like a beautiful, sensual woman. But more, she wanted to lie with this man who'd already made a place for himself in her heart.

She knew she was about to break one of her most fundamental rules in deepening this relationship, in putting her heart on the line, but she also knew that if she didn't love Zach, she'd regret it for the rest of her life. Perhaps, she thought for the first time, perhaps her mother's choices hadn't been as simple as the child in Annie had always believed. Perhaps with that one man who mattered, there was no choice, no protecting yourself against the inevitable end of the dream. "Yes," she said again. "You get to unwrap me."

"Then I'll be on my best behavior." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Let's go, Angel."

She was already used to the nickname. Strange as it was, it felt as if he'd been calling her that forever . . . as if it was right. Walking up to the door, she held that sense of Tightness to her like a talis­man. "Here we go." She pressed the doorbell.

Her mother opened it a couple of seconds later. Dressed in a severe black dress accented with a discreet string of pearls, her dark hair twisted into a sleek knot, Kimberly Kildaire looked what she was—a successful, sophisticated, professional. No one could've guessed at the deep vulnerability that Annie knew lay beneath the polished surface.

"Angelica." Her mother leaned forward to allow Annie to peck her on the cheek.

After drawing back, she said, "Mom, this is Zach Quinn."

Her mother's expression didn't change, but Annie knew that Kimberly would have noted everything about the man by her side, from his black suit, to his sleek silver belt buckle, to his crisp white shirt. Open at the collar, it looked both formal and relaxed. She'd about swallowed her tongue when she'd walked out of the bedroom and seen him waiting for her by the door. Zach wild was enough to blow her mind, but Zach playing at being tame . . . wow.

"Mr. Quinn," her mother now said, holding out her hand—Professor Kildaire might not think particularly highly of change­lings, but no one would ever criticize her manners.

"Mrs. Kildaire."

Releasing his hand, Kimberly stepped back. "Do come in." She led them through the hallway and into the sunken living room off to the right.

There were far more people mingling below than Annie had expected. "I thought this was supposed to be a small dinner?"

Her mother's smile did nothing to warm the cool disapproval in her eyes. "I invited some university people. I thought your . . . friend would feel more comfortable if it wasn't just family."

It was a very subtle insult. Professor Markson was worthy of a family dinner. Zach wasn't. Temper spiked, not so much at the slight against Zach—he was tough enough to take care of himself—but because Annie couldn't believe her mother would try to sabotage her and Zach's relationship with such calculated rudeness.

But before she could say something she might not have been able to take back, Zach squeezed her hip lightly, and said, "I'm honored you went to so much trouble to put me at ease." His voice was smooth whiskey and effortless warmth. "I know how close An­nie is to you, so I'm delighted by the welcome."

Annie saw her mother's expression falter for a second, but Kim­berly Kildaire was nothing if not quick on her feet. "Of course. Come, I'll introduce you." She led them into the knot of curious people below.

Caroline was the first to come over. Though she told herself not to, Annie found herself tensing up as she waited to see Zach's reac­tion to her cousin. Caro was one of her favorite people in the world. She was also quite impossibly stunning. Annie had never before been jealous of the way her cousin drew men to her like moths to a flame—no man had ever mattered enough. But Zach did.

She saw him smile at Caroline's exuberant welcome . . . but it was the same kind of smile as he'd shared with his sisters. "Con­gratulations on your baby," he said, his voice gentle.

Caroline beamed. "Can you tell? I'm not showing yet. I can't wait to get big and Madonna-like! Oh, and I want the glow every­one talks about—I so want the glow!"

Zach's lips quirked. "I don't think you need to worry. You al­ready glow."

Caroline laughed. "You're a charmer, aren't you?" She looked to Annie. "I like him, Annie. He'll give you beautiful babies."

"Caro!" Annie didn't know whether to blush or thank her cousin for breaking the ice so completely. Several people laughed, and Zach sent her a teasing smile, his eyes heating in a way they hadn't for Caro.

"How did you know?" her mother asked pointedly. "Caroline is right—she's barely showing. Even most women don't notice."

"Her scent, Mrs. Kildaire," Zach replied with open candor. "Changelings always know when a woman has a life within her."

"A breach of privacy, wouldn't you say?" Kimberly raised an eyebrow.

Zach shrugged. "It's simply another sense. Ours just happens to be keener in that area—no different from an M-Psy being able to see inside the body, or you yourself being able to tell her condition because you know the subtle physical signs."

Annie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from interfering. Caro took the chance to whisper, "Oh, he's good. Wherever did you find Mr. Scrumptious?"

Annie threw her a quelling look. "Where's Araan?"

"My darling husband is driving back from a meeting in Tahoe. He'll probably make it in time for dessert." She smiled. "I know what you're having for dessert."

Annie felt Zach's hand move on her waist. It was obvious he'd heard Caro's outrageous prediction, and that he liked the idea. However, when she looked up, it was to find his attention not on her, but on someone else—a stranger her mother had just waved over.

"This is Professor Jeremy Markson," she was saying. "This is Annie's . . . friend, Zach Quinn."

Given that her own temper was close to igniting, Annie figured Zach would blow this time—he'd been blunt in saying he didn't share. But, to her surprise, he remained completely relaxed.

"Markson." Zach inclined his head in masculine acknowledg­ment. "What's your field, professor?"

"Molecular physics," Markson said. "It's a fascinating subject. Do you know anything about it?"

Arrogant twerp, Annie thought. "No, I don't, Professor," she said before Zach could respond. "Perhaps you'd care to en­lighten me."

The professor blinked, as if he hadn't expected her to speak. "Well, I—"

"Tell them about your latest project," her mother encouraged, shooting daggers at Annie.

Markson nodded, and off he went. Annie's eyes began to glaze over after the first few minutes. "That's so interesting," she said, when he paused for breath. "Do you work with my father?"

"Yes." He beamed.

"Where is Dad?" Annie asked, deliberately changing the focus of the conversation.

Her mother waved a hand. "You know your father. He's prob­ably lost in research." The words were light, but Annie heard the hurt Kimberly had never quite stopped feeling. "He promised he'd try to be here by the time dinner was served."

Which meant, Annie knew, that they'd be lucky if they saw him tonight. "What's on the menu?" she asked with a smile, hating that bruised pain in her mother's eyes.

Kimberly brightened. "I made your favorite vegetable dish fo an entree." Her words were sincere, her love open. "Don't start, Caro," she said, when Caroline opened her mouth. "I made your favorite pie, too."

"That's why you're my bestest aunt."

Thankfully, the conversation stayed light and easy from then on. They were about to move into the dining room when wonder of wonders, her father walked in. Erik Kildaire was dressed in the rumpled clothing of a man for whom looks mattered little, but he seemed to be with them today, rather than in his head.

Her mother's face lit up from within, and Annie smiled. "It's good to see you, Dad," she said, accepting her father's enthusiastic kiss on the cheek. Love swelled in her heart, but it was a love that had learned to be cautious. She'd never had the tangled relationship with her father that she had with her mother, but that was probably because he'd never been around to argue with her. A different kind of hurt altogether.

"And who's this?" he asked, looking Zach up and down while sliding one arm around her mother's waist.

Annie made the introductions, but her father's reaction was not what she'd expected.

"Zach Quinn," he muttered. "That's familiar. Zach Quinn. Zach—" The fog cleared. "The same Zachary Quinn who published a study on the wildcat population of Yosemite last year?"

Beside her, Zach nodded. "I'm surprised you recognized my name."

"Not my department," her father acknowledged, "but my good friend Ted—Professor Ingram, was very excited by it. Said it was the best doctoral thesis he'd seen his entire tenure."

Zach had a Ph.D.?

Annie could've kicked him for keeping that from her, especially when her mother shot her a look of accusation. Thankfully, her dad said something at that moment and drew her mom away, leaving Zach and Annie alone for the first time since their arrival. She raised an eyebrow. "Keeping secrets?"

He had the grace to look a little sheepish. "To be honest, I didn't think anyone would realize or even care. You told me they were math and physics people."

"My father knows everything about everyone. And a Ph.D. is a Ph.D.." She rapped a fist gently against his chest. "If you'd told me you had one, I wouldn't have worried so much about my mother's reaction—even she can't argue against a doctorate."

"Your mother's not the one whose opinion I care about. Does the Ph.D. matter to you, Annie?" The look in his eyes was guarded.

The hint of unfamiliar vulnerability caught her unawares. "Zach, if degrees mattered to me," she said honestly, "I'd have married the triple-Ph.D.'d physicist my mother picked out for me when I was twenty-two. Or the MD with more letters after his name than the alphabet. Or the multipublished grand pooh-bah who stared at nothing but my breasts for the entire meal."

His smile creased his cheeks. "The man had excellent taste."

"Stop making me blush." But she wasn't, not any longer—some­how, Zach Quinn had earned the trust of her vulnerable feminine heart.

It startled her, made her afraid.

But before the dark emotion could grow, Zach bent to brush his lips gently over hers, acting in the way of changelings, not caring that they had an audience. When he drew away, she leaned into him, fear—if not forgotten—then at least temporarily caged.

Chapter 8

Two and a half hours later, Zach found himself on the balcony sipping coffee while Annie stood inside, chatting with her cousin. God, but she was beautiful to him—all he wanted was to take her home, hold her safe, and keep her just for himself.

It was an unalterable part of him, this possessiveness, coming from the cat and man both. But no matter his primitive instincts, he wouldn't do that to Annie, wouldn't contain her that way. Still, he needed to mark her—to take her until his scent was embedded so deep into her skin, no one would dare question his right to her. An animal desire. Yet often, the animal's heart was far more pure, far more honest, than the thinking man's. "Mr. Quinn."

He glanced at Kimberly Kildaire. "Please call me Zach."

"Zach." A regal nod. "Let me get straight to the point—from the instant Angelica told me about you, I was prepared to dislike you."

"I guessed."

"I've changed my mind."

Zach raised an eyebrow. "The Ph.D.?"

"No. In certain departments, any monkey can get a Ph.D." It was a gauntlet.

He picked it up. "Good thing I'm a leopard, then."

Her lips threatened to smile. "I've always pushed Annie toward men who are more cerebral than physical."

Zach waited with a predator's quiet patience.

"It was a conscious choice," Kimberly said without apology, "my way of ensuring she would never again be put in harm's way. I even rejected a brilliant engineer as a possible match because he frequently goes off to work on projects in remote locations. His humanity mat­tered less than the danger he might've exposed Annie to."

Her eyes met his. "To be quite blunt, changelings take that pos­sible danger to the nth degree. Your very nature is one filled with the violence of the wild."

He was floored by her candor. "You're very aware."

"I know others might say I'm intellectualizing away prejudice, but I'm no bigot." She held his gaze with a strength he suspected had been honed by surviving a lifetime of hurt. "I simply want my daughter safe. I saw her almost die once—it's not something I want to witness ever again."

His cat detected no lies in her. "I'll keep her safe."

"I have a feeling you will. It seems I made a critical error—in thinking about how you could lead her into danger, I forgot that predatory changelings are also known for their willingness to pro­tect to the death." Her eyes—Annie's eyes—clashed with his. "But that's not why I've decided for you."

"Oh?"

"It's because of the way you look at her, Zach. As if she's your sunshine." Her voice caught. "I want that for my daughter. Don't you ever stop looking at her that way."

Zach reached out and touched her lightly on the arm, sensing how very brittle her composure was at that moment. "I give you my promise."

A sharp nod. "Excuse me, I should go mingle."

As she walked away, Zach blew out a slow breath. It was be­coming clear to him that he'd have a far harder road to travel with Annie than he'd initially thought. She'd grown up watching her mother love a man who, quite bluntly, didn't love her the same way. After only one meeting, Zach knew that Erik Kildaire was devoted to his work, while Kimberly was devoted to him. The insouciance with which Erik had crushed his wife's heart an hour ago—bussing her on the cheek and telling her he had something important to do at the lab—had angered Zach enough that he'd had to fight the urge to say something.

Annie would never have to worry about that kind of hurt with him. Once the cat decided on a woman, it didn't flinch. Devotion was almost obsession with those of his kind, and he was at peace with that. But words wouldn't convince Annie—she'd have to be stroked into trusting him, into relying on him. Because not only was she wary of loving, she'd become almost mutinously indepen­dent in her desire to avoid opening herself up to pain.

I like living alone. I intend to keep it that way.

That, he thought, the cat rising to a hunting crouch, was just too damn bad. But even as the predator in him prepared for the hunt, a vicious vulnerability grew in his heart. He needed Annie's trust, needed the surety of knowing she'd come to him no matter what. If she didn't . . . No, he thought, jaw setting, that simply wasn't an option. Annie was his. End of story.

"What magic did you do with my mother?" Annie asked, letting them into her apartment.

"That's my secret." He closed the door and prowled along be­hind her.

Her heart went into hyperdrive.

She was going to go to bed with him, with this man she'd met only yesterday. But it felt as if they'd never been strangers, it was so very easy being with him.

Careful, Annie.

Fear rose up in an insidious wave, showing her image after im­age of Kimberly's face as she watched Erik walk away. Was that what awaited her? Did the question matter now that she'd decided to take the chance and weather the hurt when it came?

"Hey." Zach brought her to a halt, nuzzling at her neck from behind as his hands closed over her hips. "Stop thinking so hard."

"I can't help it," she whispered. "I'm not . . ." She bit her lip, trying to think of a way to say this without betraying how incred­ibly important he'd become to her in such a short time.

"You're not the kind to kiss and walk away as if it meant noth­ing," he said, running his lips lightly over her skin, inducing a shiver. "Neither am I. This is no one-night stand."

"Changelings live by different rules."

He licked at her, and she felt her purse slip from her hand to drop to the floor. "Zach." A whisper, perhaps a plea.

He hugged her tighter against him. "We might be more tactile than humans, but it's nothing casual. It's about friendship, about pleasure, about trust."

"It sounds wonderful."

"It is." Another kiss pressed to the sensitive skin of her neck. "Trust me, Annie. I won't hurt you."

At that moment, she almost believed him. Closing her hands over his, she let her body melt into the hard masculine heat of his. "You make me feel beautiful."

"You're more than beautiful," he whispered, "you're sexier than sin."

"You're complaining?" She dropped her hands as he moved his to the side of her dress and tugged at the tie that held it up.

The tie came loose. "I didn't like the way Markson was undress­ing you with his eyes."

"He was not." Feeling the dress fall open at the front, she shifted so he could pull the tie out of the inner loop. He did . . . and the fabric dropped.

"Mmm." It was a murmur of utter pleasure as he began to pull the dress down over her arms. "I'm the only one allowed to undress you"—a kiss on her bare shoulder—"to pet you."

Pet.

The word reminded her that he wasn't human, wasn't anything tame. "You're very possessive." Air hit her back, her breasts. Then the dress was falling over her fingertips to pool on the floor.

Behind her, he made a sound strikingly close to a growl, one hand caressing the curve of her waist. "You already knew that, An­nie."

Of course she had. A predatory-changeling male, no matter how playful, had possessiveness built into his soul. For as long as she kept his interest, he would demand everything from her. She knew she'd give him what he wanted . . . everything but her faith. That, she thought, she no longer had to give. Her parents' marriage had shattered her belief in forever a long time ago. Sadness might've beckoned, but then Zach slid his hand up to lie flat over her stom­ach, big, hot, and darkly possessive, and her thoughts fractured. "Zach?"

"Shh. I'm looking."

The husky statement made her body clench inside, her thighs tremble. She was wearing black lace . . . for him.

"Annie." He groaned and reached up to unhook her bra. "I want to see."

An instant later, she found herself standing there in nothing but her panties and a pair of strappy sandals. She was in no way ready for the boldness with which he moved to cup her breast. "Oh!" She trembled at the touch, at the erotic sight of his hand on her. His skin was tanned, rawly masculine against her creamy flesh. When he squeezed, it was all she could do not to collapse.

"You're so pretty, Annie"—he spread the fingers of his other hand on her stomach—"I could lap you right up."

Completely in his thrall, she raised her hand to reach back and touch his face. He nipped at her with his teeth, chuckling when she jumped. "I want to be in bed. This is going to take some time."

Her brain turned to mush right then and there, and when he shifted to scoop her into his arms, she was so startled, she squeaked and grabbed on to his neck. "I'm too heavy, Zach. Put me down."

"Questioning my muscles?" A wicked smile. "Kiss me."

Unable to resist, she obeyed, not stopping until he laid her down on the bed and rose. His eyes glittered the green-gold of the cat, hunger in every stark line of his face. She watched, heart in her throat, as he stripped off his jacket, then removed his shirt. He was built sleek and powerful, a predator in human form.

She sighed in unashamed pleasure and saw his eyes gleam as he bent down to get rid of his shoes and socks. "Now yours," he said, moving to the bottom of the bed and tugging off her sandals one by one, following each removal with a long, slow look up her body.

By the time he finally got on the bed beside her, she was so aroused that she rose to claim a kiss of her own. When he nipped at her lips as he seemed to like doing, she nipped back. He raised his head, his hand closing possessively over her breast. "Do that again."

Eyes wide, she did. He purred into her mouth. She broke the kiss to stare at him. "What was that?"

A feline smile. "Nothing." He reclaimed her lips, and a second later she felt that vibration again, that sign that he was something other, changeling to her human. It made her shudder with the need to crush her breasts against him.

"You purr," she accused when they parted.

"So do you." Coming over her, he began to kiss his way down the line of her neck. He seemed to get distracted between the curves of her breasts, leaving her to clutch at the sheets in unadulterated pleasure as he sucked and kissed. When teeth became involved, she cried out, feeling her body tighten into a fist so tight, a single touch would send her over.

He blew his breath deliberately across one wet nipple.

She shattered, and the pleasure was a tidal wave that demanded everything she had. When she finally resurfaced, Zach had recom­menced his sensual exploration of her body, the dark strands of his hair sweeping over her like a thousand stroking fingers. She ran her hands through the rough silk of it, feeling sated and content. And happy.

He looked up, a lazy smile in his*eyes. "Yes?"

"Come kiss me." She'd never imagined she would one day make such a brazen demand, but Zach listened to her. Even if he didn't always give her what she wanted.

He shook his head. "After."

"After what?"

His answer was to keep on kissing her, going steadily lower. When his lips pressed over black lace, she trembled. He did it again. Then she felt the whisper of something on her outer thighs—glancing down, she saw her panties being thrown off the side of the bed. "How?"

The eyes that met hers were wild, exotic. "I used a claw to cut them off."

"Oh." She looked at his human hand. "Like a very small shift?"

"Hmm." He wasn't paying attention, more concerned with pushing apart her thighs and raising her legs to put them over his shoulders. She'd never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. She waited, stomach tight.

But nothing could've prepared her for the ecstasy of his touch. Zach liked to take his time—he pushed her to insanity over and over. It might've terrified her except that he made no effort to hide his own arousal, murmuring his pleasure with every slow lick. "Sweet, pretty, Annie," he said. "My Annie."

She discovered she was raising her body to his mouth, moving with a sensual bliss that was scandalous in its eroticism. He liked it. She knew, because he told her so, his voice close to a growl.

"I am definitely going to bite," he whispered. And then he did.

By the time she could think again, he was getting off the bed. She exhaled in pleasure as he stripped off to reveal a body hard with arousal.

"Look what you do to me," he whispered, moving to kneel between her legs. He stroked his hands under her thighs. "Come here."

She swallowed at what he was asking, knowing it had far more to do with trust than sex. But she couldn't refuse, had the strang­est feeling that any hint of rejection from her would wound him incredibly deeply. Rising, she held on to his shoulders and let him support her bottom as her body brushed over the tip of his erection. "Zach," she whispered, drowning in the intimacy of his eyes, "you undo me."

His eyes flickered from cat back to human. "Hold on to me, baby. I won't let go."

Breath coming in jagged bursts, she lowered herself onto him. He stretched her to the limit. But she wanted him inside her, wanted to possess him as absolutely as he'd possessed her. She drove down and shuddered. "It's too much." The angle was deep, the pen­etration intense.

He kissed her. "We'll practice until you get used to it." It was a husky promise as he laid her back down, bracing his body over hers using his hands.

"How much practice?" She wrapped her legs around the lean beauty of his hips, no longer shy with this man who treated her as if she was a goddess.

He groaned, pulled out a little, then thrust, as if he couldn't help himself. "Lots." Though sweat-damp hair hung over his fore­head, and sexual need was an inferno in his eyes, he waited to give her time to adjust.

She felt a violent tenderness grab hold of her heart. He was, quite simply, wonderful. Raising her arms, she pulled him down and kissed him, telling him without words that it was okay to let go.

He groaned. And began to move.

Annie looked down at the male sprawled by her side the next morning and felt her body sigh. He was fast asleep and gilded dark gold by the sunlight sneaking in through the blinds. He'd kept her up half the night, loving her so thoroughly that she felt possessed. Taken. Branded.

Refusing to surrender to panic, to give him up to protect her­self, she reached out to trace the tattoo she'd discovered on his back sometime during the night.

It linked to the one on his biceps, which was actually the styl­ized tail of a dragon. That dragon's front claws rested on his left shoulder, the mythical creature's sinuous body stretching across his back. It was a stunning design . . . and another example of the wildness in him.

That wildness brought her alive, made joy sear her blood.

It also frightened her—the depth of what she felt. Finally, she truly understood why her mother had stayed with her father all these years. Her mind filled with the echo of Kimberly's voice from a rainy night more than fifteen years ago.

Your father used to call me his heaven.

That time had passed long ago, as would Zach's interest in her. Yet even after the spark faded, Annie now knew that the temptation to stay . . . to hope for another moment when he might look at her as he once used to, would be overwhelming. It was that futile hope that kept her mother tied to her father, but, though she understood it, it wasn't a path Annie would ever allow herself to follow.

It would break her heart to see Zach look at her with disinter­est in his eyes. She'd leave before that, at the first insidious signs of fading passion. It was bound to happen . . . but not yet, she prayed. Please not yet. Heart tight with a mixture of joy and pain, she lay down beside him, content to trail her fingertips over his tattoo and watch him sleep.

That was when she noticed his lips were curved.

"Zach." A whisper.

Cat eyes looking into hers. "Mmm?"

"How long have you been awake?"

Chapter 9

"Long enough to enjoy you petting me." unrepentant mis­chief in his eyes. And desire. The desire was still there. Relief made her melt from the inside out. "You're such a cat."

"Want to see?" he asked.

"See what?"

"My cat."

Her eyes went wide. "Really?"

He yawned, every inch the indolent feline. "Hmm." Without warning, color shimmered all around him, sparkles of light and shadow, beauty and eternity.

She held her breath until it ended. The leopard lying on her bed looked at her with familiar eyes. Swallowing at her proximity to such a dangerous creature, she struggled up into a sitting position, sheet held to her breasts. The temptation to touch was blinding. She lifted a hesitant hand—it was one thing to know intellectually that this was Zach, quite another to believe it.

When she didn't touch, the leopard raised its head to butt at her hand. Shuddering, she gave in to temptation and stroked him. He relaxed, closing his eyes in bliss. It made her awe morph into de­light. "I think I just got conned." But stroking him, adoring him, was no hardship.

When the shimmer came again, she went utterly still. A few moments later, her hand lay on the muscular back of a man so sexy, he made her heart trip simply looking at him.

"So?" he asked.

She snuggled up to him, positioning her body so that they lay face-to-face, her hand now on his shoulder. "You're gorgeous, and you know that."

For once, he didn't smile. "Is it too much to handle?"

"No." She frowned. "Did I give that impression?"

"Just checking." She got a smile this time, a slow, lazy thing that tugged at things low and deep in her. "Some women like the idea of being with a changeling but find the reality harder to accept."

"Some women?" A prickly flare of jealousy.

His smile widened. "Not that I would know."

She felt her lips twitch. "Of course not, Mr. Innocent."

"Hey, you're the one who led me off the straight and narrow." He ran his hand down to her bottom in a possessive caress. "I seem to recall you demanding I do 'the licking thing' one more time."

Her body ignited to sensual life. Deciding to fight fire with fire, she said, "You never gave me my winnings yesterday."

Sensual mischief in his eyes. "Yes, I did. With interest. And then again."

"Cat." Wrapping her arms around him, she rubbed her nose affectionately against his. It felt natural, easy. He made a sound of contentment and shifted until she was under him, skin-to-skin contact all over. It was sexual, but it was also something more. Touch for the sake of touch, cuddling because it felt good.

"How long does the affection last?" she asked half-seriously. Making love with him was so stunningly beautiful, but this kind of simple contact . . . it was somehow deeper, going beyond pleasure and into a kind of trust that left her breathless.

Zach kissed her cheek, her jaw, her chin. "Always. Not touching is abnormal for us."

She remembered the easy affection she'd witnessed at the picnic. "I'm guessing that doesn't apply to strangers."

"No."

"That's good," she said, swallowing an unexpected pulse of hurt at the idea of being outside the circle of his pack. If she'd been his mate— She cut off that thought at once, more than a little pan­icked at the idea of being locked into a relationship that offered no escape . . . no matter if the love died. "I'm not easy with people I don't know well," she said to cover the sudden burst of fear.

"You're in charge of skin privileges, baby." He traced circles on her shoulder. "The pack will pick up the cues."

" 'Skin privileges'?"

"The right to touch." He kissed the corner of her mouth.

She wondered if she'd ever-get enough of this play. "I guess you have total skin privileges then."

A sound of smug male pleasure. It made her laugh, he was so shameless about it. And that was when she knew. She was too much her mother's daughter. She'd love only once. And she'd love for­ever.

Zach was it.

For him, she'd break every rule, allow him into her home, into her very soul. For him, she'd jump into the abyss and worry about the bruises later. Because sometimes, there were no choices.

"Hey." His voice was a husky murmur. "What's the matter, Angel?"

She shook her head, glad that he wasn't Psy, that he couldn't read her mind. "Love me, Zach."

"Always."

But she knew he hadn't understood what she'd asked, hadn't promised what she needed. It didn't matter. He was hers, if only for now, and she would treasure every moment of that joy. The pain could wait until after he was gone.

Chapter 10

A month after he'd first met Annie, Zach sat on one of the car-sized boulders scattered around Yosemite and wondered what the hell he was doing wrong. He'd spent every night since the day of the picnic with her. She was fire in his arms, warm, beautiful, and loving . . . but she continued to withhold a part of herself.

Most men wouldn't have noticed. But he wasn't most men. Every time she waved off his offer to help her in some way, every time she pulled her independence around her like a shield, he noticed. It wounded the cat, confused the man. "Mercy, I can hear you."

A tall redhead jumped down from a branch a few feet in front of him. "Only because I let you."

He snorted. "You were making enough noise for a herd of el­ephants." He threw the sentinel a spare bottle of water.

"I didn't want to bruise your masculine ego by sneaking up," Mercy said, perching on a boulder opposite him. "Not when you already looked so pathetic."

"Gee, so thoughtful of you."

"I can be a right peach." She drank some water. "Let me guess— you've mated with the little teacher?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, puhleese," Mercy drawled. "As if you'd bring anyone but your mate to the Pack Circle."

"She's fighting the bond," he found himself saying. "Why?"

"You're the female. You tell me."

"Hmm." Mercy capped the bottle and tapped it against her leg. "Did she say why?" He stared at her.

Mercy rolled her eyes. "You did tell her that she's your mate, didn't you?"

"She's a bit resistant to the idea of commitment." That resis­tance frustrated the hell out of him, but he was trying to be patient. Not only did he care about her happiness, he wanted her to trust him enough to make the choice—even though there was only one answer he'd accept. "I don't think she'd react well to the whole 'till death really does us part' bit."

"So you're making the choice for her?" She raised an eyebrow. "Arrogant."

Anger flared. "I want to give her time to become comfortable with me."

"Is it working?"

"I thought so, but the bond hasn't snapped into being." The mating bond was an instinctive thing, but the female usually had to accept it in some way for it to go from possibility to truth. "It's tearing me up, Mercy." The leopard was lost, hurt. What was wrong with him that Annie didn't want him?

"Talk to her, you idiot." Mercy shook her head. "Has it crossed your little male mind that maybe she's protecting herself in case you decide to indulge in some hot sex, then flick her off?"

He growled. "She knows I'd never do that. It's about the commitment—she's scared of trusting someone with her heart." He couldn't blame her, not after what he'd seen of her parents' marriage.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Mercy said, "but haven't you two been joined at the hip for the past month? Pack grapevine says you've all but moved into her place."

"Yeah,so?"

"Geez, Zach, I thought you were smart." Trapping the bottle be­tween her knees, she raised her hands to redo her ponytail. "Sounds to me like she's already committed to you."

She'd given him a key to her apartment, to the place that was her bolt-hole. His heart slammed against his ribs. No, he thought, he couldn't have made that big a mistake. "But the bond—"

"Okay," Mercy interrupted. "Maybe you're right, and your An­nie's going to freak about the mating, but let's say your amazing Psy mind-reading abilities are- wrong—"

He growled.

"—and she's ready to risk everything for you. What would keep her from taking the final step?" She raised an eyebrow. "You know the rep we have. Humans tend to think of leopard changelings as affectionate but casual."

"That's not it," he insisted. "I told her this was serious right at the start."

"Let me share a secret with you, Zach. Men have been tell­ing women things for centuries. Then they've been breaking our hearts."

Zach's mind filled with the memory of Kimberly Kildaire's shattered face as Erik Kildaire walked away. Promises, he thought, lots and lots of broken promises.

"Only way," Mercy continued, "for you to gain her trust, might be to forget the pride that seems to come embedded in the Y chro­mosome. You ready to wear your heart on your sleeve and hope she doesn't crush the life out of it?"

He met her gaze. "You got a streak of mean in you, Mercy."

"Thank you very much." Finishing off the water, she threw him the bottle. "I'd better head off—have to meet Lucas."

He watched her climb back up into the trees, her words beating at him. Had he really been that much of an idiot, thinking he knew what was going on in Annie's head while being so very wrong? More importantly, was he willing to swallow his need for domi­nance, for control, and put the most important decision of his life into her hands? What if she rejected him? The pain of the thought was paralyzing.

Annie finished putting away her things with eager hands. It was five on Friday, which meant she had the entire weekend to spend with Zach. He'd promised to show her some of the secret treasures of his forest, and she couldn't wait. Of course, she thought with a smile, even if he'd told her he wanted to watch the entertain­ment network all weekend, she'd have had the same reaction. She flat out adored being with him, wicked teasing and all. Especially since she'd gotten pretty good at teasing him back.

"Hey, Teach."

"Zach!" She walked over to hug him. "What're you doing here?"

His expression was solemn. "I need to talk to you."

Her stomach knotted. "Oh." She stepped back, trying to appear calm.

"Mercy was right," he said.

Annie knew who Mercy was, having met the sentinel at the picnic. "About what?"

"You're waiting for me to leave you."

The world fell out from under her feet. She trembled, unable to move, as he closed the door and walked to her. "I will never leave you, Annie." Cupping her cheeks in his hands, he bent so his fore­head pressed against hers. "Not unless you ask me to." He frowned. "Actually, I won't leave you then, either. Just so you know."

"Wh-what?"

"You're my mate," he said simply. "You're in my blood, in my heart, in my soul. To walk away from you would cut me to pieces."

The room spun around her. "I need to sit down." He let her go, let her lean against her desk.

"Mate?" she whispered.

"Yes." His face grew bleak. "It's a lifetime commitment. Mercy was right about one thing, but I'm right about this—you're not too keen on that, are you?"

She didn't answer his question, her mind spinning. "Are you sure that I'm . . . ?"

"Baby, I was sure the first day we met. You fit me."

It brought tears to her ears, because he fit her, too. Perfectly. "Zach, I . . ." She blinked, trying to think past the rushing thunder of emotion. "I never thought I'd marry," she admitted. "But it's not the commitment I have a problem with. It's what comes after." A confession made in a voice that threatened to break. "It's this cold terror that the promise, the love, will one day turn into a trap."

"I know."

"She still waits," Annie found herself saying. "For a Valentine, or a birthday present, or just a loving word. She still waits."

"Oh, sweetheart." He tried to come closer, but she held up her hand, fighting to think, to understand.

"I could survive you leaving me," she said, "but I couldn't sur­vive you stopping to 'see' me." And the mating bond would leave her with no way out. It truly was forever.

"That's something you never have to fear," Zach said, the decla­ration resolute. "It's not possible for mates to ignore each other."

"But . . ."

"No buts," he said, slashing out a hand. "I will never stop seeing you, never stop loving you. Mates can't shut each other out."

Part of her wanted to grab that promise and never let go. But another part of her, the part that had been trapped first by injury, then a mother's fear, was hesitant. Was she ready to take this chance on the faith of a man's promise? Was she ready to give up the free­dom she'd fought a lifetime to attain? "I'm so afraid, Zach."

"Ah, Annie. Don't you know? My cat is devoted to you. If you asked me to crawl, I'd crawl."

It shattered her, the way he'd just ripped open his heart and laid it at her feet. Trembling, she placed two fingers against his lips. "I would never ask that."

"Neither would I." His lips moved against her touch. "Trust me."

There it was, the crux of it. She adored him, loved him beyond reason, but trust . . . trust was a harder thing. Then she looked into that proud face, into the wild heart of the leopard within, and knew there could be only one answer. She refused to let fear cheat her out of the promise of glory.

"I do," she said, cutting the last safety rope that had held her suspended above the fathomless depths of the abyss. "I trust you more than I've ever trusted anyone." Something tightened in her chest at that second and then snapped, leaving her breathless. She clung instinctively to Zach, and he held her tight, burying his face in the curve of her neck. When she could breathe again, she tangled her fingers gently in his hair. "Zach?"

He shuddered. "God, I was so scared you were going to say no."

She felt it then—his terror, his love, his devotion. It was as if she had a direct line to his soul. The beauty of it staggered. "Oh my God." There was no way this bond would ever let either of them ignore each other. "Zach, I adore you." She could finally admit that, needed to admit it, needed to tell him that he wasn't alone.

"I know." He squeezed her even as a wave of love flavored with the primal fury of the cat came down the bond between them. "I can feel you inside me."

So could she, she thought in mute wonder, so could she.

A week later, Annie sat down in Zach's lap, blocking his view the football game. He reached up to kiss her. "Want to play, Teach?"

She always wanted to play with him. But they had things to discuss. "No, this is business."

He turned off the game. "So?"

"So we have to have a wedding."

"We're mated." A growl poured out of his mouth. "Why the hell do we need to have a wedding? Those things drive everyone crazy—last year, I saw a grown man cry during the buildup."

Once, she would've wondered how on earth changeling women dared stand up to their mates when the men got all growly. Now she knew—just like her, those women knew that heaven might fall and the earth might crumble, but their mates would never hurt them. "Didn't you say we were going to have a mating ceremony?"

"It's not really a ceremony." He scowled. "More a celebration of our being together."

She couldn't help it. She reached out to stroke her fingers through his hair. "It's getting stronger," she said.

"It'll keep doing that." His scowl turned into a smile that hit her right in the heart. "Even when we're a hundred and twenty, I'll still want to crawl all over you."

"Zach, you're a menace." And she loved him for it. Was start­ing to truly see what she'd gotten when she accepted the mating. It was a powerful, almost vicious need, but it was also a bond of the deepest, most unflinching love. Even when he wasn't with her, she felt him loving her deep inside. "We need to have a wedding," she said, coaxing him with a slow kiss, "because my parents need to see me married, and Caro's already picked out a matron of honor dress." Then she dealt what she knew would be the deathblow to any fur­ther objections. "Their happiness is important to me."

He blew out a breath. "Fine. When?"

"I was thinking spring for both ceremonies."

"That's a while away." He slid his hands under her sweater, touching skin. "We could do it at Christmas. A present for both of us."

"No," she said, stroking his nape with her fingertips. "It has to be spring. I want everything alive and growing," As she felt she was growing, opening, becoming. "And I already have my present."

Eyes the color of the deepest ocean gleamed with feline curios­ity. "Yeah?"

"A long time ago, during the Christmas I lay in hospital," she told him, retrieving a memory that had once been painful, but was now full of wonder, "I wished for someone who would be mine, someone I could play with and share all my secrets." Never could she have imagined the astonishing final outcome of that long-ago wish.

He moved his hands down to close over her thighs. "Are you calling me your gift?"

"Yes." She smiled. "How do you feel about that?"

"Like it's my turn to be unwrapped." He nibbled at her mouth. "Do it slow."

Her laughter mingled with his and the sound felt like starlight on her skin, like the promise of forever . . . like a lick of "majick."