Omarati

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Omarati ISBN 978-1-60592-180-8 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Omarati Copyright 2010 D.C. Juris Cover Art by Fiona Jayde This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means without written permission from the publisher. Contact Noble Romance Publishing, LLC at PO Box 467423, Atlanta, GA 31146. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously. Book Blurb Everything changed for werewolf Calliph after the Shifter War. Now nothing more than a slave and plaything to human Prince Obyn, Calliph finds himself on the Golden Magus, sailing across the sea with his owner. But fate has something more in mind for Calliph in the form of First Mate Mateo—who just happens to be Calliph's Omarati—his soul mate . . . and a werecat. Heartbroken, Calliph knows he can't stay with Mateo—he is forced to follow Obyn wherever he leads. Years later, when an attack at sea lands Mateo in the hands of vicious pirates, the cat discovers that, though time has changed some things, his bond with Calliph is eternal.

Omarati DC Juris Part One Obyn dropped to his knees. "Bind me." Calliph fished around underneath the bed, retrieved the rope, and stared at the bundle as if it might suddenly come to life. He wound the rope around Obyn, pass-bypass, conscious of every soft gasp, every excited tremble. "Tighter. That's it." Obyn looked up. "Now fuck my mouth." Calliph shook his head, bewildered as always by the feral gleam in Obyn's eyes. He shed his breeches, his face burning with shame when Obyn snickered at Calliph's still-flaccid cock. "You're going to have to do better than that," Obyn said. Calliph stroked his cock vigorously, willing himself to harden. He rubbed the tip across Obyn's lips and tried again, pumping his cock and imagining all manner of erotic acts. No use. Obyn, bound, kneeling before him, didn't arouse him; Calliph didn't want Obyn the way Obyn wanted him. Didn't help that Calliph's inner wolf longed to dine on Obyn's flesh but not in any way Obyn would've wanted. His wolf stirred, reminding him of what could have been if not for that damned magical collar he wore. "Untie me." Calliph hung his head as he worked the knot loose. He had angered Obyn tremendously, and though Obyn lacked the gumption to force himself on Calliph, Calliph knew the man would find a way to punish him. Obyn touched Calliph's collar; his magic radiated through it. Another reminder of Obyn's power over him . . . as if he needed any. "Perhaps you'll be in a better mood tomorrow night."

But he wouldn't feel any different tomorrow than he did now. Calliph's cock wouldn't rise tomorrow, or the next night, or the next, or any night in the foreseeable future. At least, he doubted it would. His cock hadn't risen in weeks, despite Obyn's repeated attempts. Calliph jumped when the door slammed behind the man's retreat. "You're a fool," Calliph chided himself. "And you're more trouble than your worth," he growled, glaring down at his cock. Two hundred years had passed since the end of the Shifter War and the beginning of his life as a slave to Obyn's family. In that time, he had served them loyally, sometimes, willingly. Obyn's mother, Queen Anatra, and her husband, King Torat, were good to their slaves, as their parents had been, and those before them. But Calliph never imagined their progeny would demand so much of him. At the thought, he shuddered and his cock shrank impossibly smaller. What bothered him about Obyn wasn't the man's tastes, but that he demanded those tastes be indulged. Calliph didn't like hurting others, not even when they wanted it. Not anymore. What Obyn asked of him was too much to give, too much like the man Calliph had once been. ***** The next morning, Calliph stood off to the side in the great hall, watching and listening intently to a heated exchange between Obyn and his mother. "I don't want to leave Mizimar," Obyn was saying. Anatra eyed her son with barely masked contempt. "I'm afraid the decision is final. Your father—" "He's not my father, though, is he? That's why he wants me gone. So your little bastard can't challenge his real son for the throne." Calliph's eyes widened. Obyn had often mentioned his suspicions regarding his parentage, but he'd never challenged Anatra so. Obyn's magic glowed around his body—eerie blue light sizzling and crackling—angrier than Calliph had ever seen him.

No way to verify Obyn's claims—what little magic humans possessed naturally passed from mother to child, and if Obyn favored anyone in looks, he favored Anatra. There were rumors, of course, whisperings around the royal court that Anatra might have bedded someone other than the king but never anything reliable. If people knew the truth, they certainly weren't willing to speak up. Calliph chuckled. Not that he blamed them. Anatra shrugged. "Docula is the elder son. You have no challenge to offer." "Convenience and comfort, then." Obyn nodded, pacing back and forth in front of Anatra's throne. "Tired of the living reminder of his wife's infidelity? Tired of remembering what a whore you are?" Anatra was not a woman to be baited, though. Not even so much as a ripple appeared in her subtle lavender aura. Her left eyebrow arched, and she waved a dismissive hand at Obyn. "Think what you will. I have arranged passage for you aboard the Golden Magus to Namicia. Your father thinks it would be a good start, and I agree. This should be enough for lodging and your needs until you find work." Anatra held out a coin pouch. Obyn blanched. "Work?" "Your title will not help you there." Calliph thought he saw Obyn's hand shake as he reached for the pouch. If he had felt hesitation, Obyn mastered it quickly, for he snatched the bag away. Calliph saw the gesture as a cautiously optimistic sign. Perhaps he wasn't destined to spend the rest of his life with Obyn, after all. "Captain Ba'Tal is expecting you down at the docks." "Us." Calliph's attention snapped to Obyn. Us? "I beg your pardon?" Anatra's brow furrowed, and she looked at her son with an expression of confusion. "Us," Obyn repeated. "I'm taking Calliph with me." No. No, no, no, no! Calliph turned his gaze to Anatra, offering her a pleading look.

"But your father—" "Since my father has seen fit to exile me without my say, I don't need his in this. Calliph is my slave. He will travel with me." Anatra looked to Calliph, watched him for a long, drawn out moment, her eyes narrow. She nodded; Calliph's stomach lurched. He glared at the back of Obyn's head but said nothing. Werewolf or not, Calliph was a slave. Obyn would never let him go. ***** "I see no wheel," Obyn observed. Calliph followed Obyn and Captain Ba'Tal up the walkway to the deck of the Golden Magus. His nostrils twitched, catching a hint of something. Something crisp and clean that he could have mistaken for the smell of the sea itself. There were undertones, though—subtle hints of sweat, musk, and the sharp tang of manhood. The scent mingled with his own, blended harmoniously. He swallowed back a growl. The smell of a mate, another shifter, but not one of his own kind. No. A cat. And no little tabby, either. The pheromone belonged to a panther. "No," Ba'Tal said. "These damned elf ships are all controlled by magic nowadays." "Yes, well, you still need someone to keep her on course." Calliph looked toward the owner of the voice . . . the owner of that heavenly scent. The most beautiful man he'd ever laid eyes on. He was short—Calliph had a least a foot on him—with a slender, lithe body, and long, dark hair. Strong, firm muscles rippled beneath sun-tanned skin. "That there'd be my first mate, Mateo," Ba'Tal said. "This is Obyn and his wolf, Caliph." "Calliph is not my wolf." "Begging your pardon, my prince. I thought the queen said he was a shifter."

"He is a shifter. However, 'wolf' is a term reserved for the free of his kind, and he is not free. Calliph is merely a dog." Calliph swallowed down the words he knew he'd regret. Mateo turned. A dizzying, hot wind swirled around Calliph as his eyes locked with the man's amber gaze. Time seemed to halt, as the deck seemed to spin in a lazy circle, Calliph in the middle. His head felt heavy and wobbly; his neck and shoulders lacked the strength to support it. Calliph struggled to make sense of what was happening as a jolt of recognition raced up his spine, even though he had never met Mateo. His feet seemed to move of their own volition, carrying him forward—answering a call he heard in his heart and felt deep in his bones. Made no sense, yet Calliph kept walking. "Where do you think you're going?" Obyn demanded, tugging sharply on Calliph's leash. Calliph's head snapped back and his steps faltered. Obyn. He had somehow actually forgotten about the jerk. "To see how it works." He recovered quickly. "With your permission, I'd like to learn the steering mechanism in the event danger should befall our voyage." Obyn's eyes narrowed and he glanced at Mateo. "Fine. I expect you below deck in an hour." Ba'Tal lead Obyn away, and Calliph closed the distance to Mateo. "May I?" He nodded toward the steering column. "Be my guest." Mateo guided Calliph's hand. "Magic controls the orb. Feel that?" Calliph felt something, but nothing to do with the ship. Mateo's hand on his burned. He fought against the desire to pull Mateo close and smother him with kisses. "What is it?" he asked, not referring to the mechanism. "You're connected. The magic regulates the pitch of the ship. Left and right— back and forth. Keeps the deck level. Simple, really. You just have to get the feel of it." Mateo pressed his hand down on Calliph's and moved them both slowly from side to side. "There. See? Just a slow, soft touch."

Calliph wasn't interested in the orb—wasn't even looking at it. Mateo tilted his head toward him, bringing their lips inches apart. Calliph's mind reeled. Mateo had moved closer; his grip had tightened . . . his breathing had quickened. He felt it too. Calliph's gaze dipped to Mateo's lips, parted ever so slightly. Mateo must've licked them a moment ago, because they looked moist. Calliph imagined those lips were soft and warm as well. Oh, so soft and warm. Gods, he wanted to kiss them. Calliph's cock twitched and hardened and he marveled, almost having forgotten what an erection felt like. Something nudged Calliph's leg, and he looked down. A tail. Mateo moved his head; his hair shifted, revealing the sharp upward curve of his ears. Cat though he might have been, Mateo's tail should've been nonexistent, and his ears should've been human ears. Calliph noticed other things then: the fine dusting of dark fur on the backs of Mateo's hands, the not quite feline but not quite human shape of his nose and his eyes. "Why—?" "They're permanent," Mateo interrupted with a sigh and a frown, obviously used to being questioned. "How?" Calliph frowned as well, knowing of no explanation. "The Shifter War." Calliph snarled. "Alchemists did this to you?" Mateo nodded and hung his head. "Nothing to be ashamed of. Can you shift?" "I can but not for long. The transformation is painful and leaves me exhausted." That Mateo had shared such a fact with him thrilled Calliph. "You feel it too?" Mateo's face flushed; he was panting, trembling. "I do. We're Omarati." Omarati. An ancient term. No common translation existed; the best Calliph had heard was "soul mate." Far beyond that, Omarati were shifters who were created— literally created—for each other, drawn together by a bond unbreakable, unending. Animal, age, gender—none of that mattered, for Omarati were compatible by design,

made to accept and overlook any flaws in favor of their bond. Their hearts and their souls knew each other already, even if their minds had a bit of catching up to do. A connection like this, as far as Calliph knew, existed between no other beings. Mateo's small hand slid into his. "What are we going to do?" Mateo asked. Calliph ran a finger under his collar. What indeed. ***** "Your pacing is driving me mad. Sit down." Calliph paused to look at Obyn. "I can't. My wolf wishes to run." Obyn yanked hard on Calliph's leash and secured the end under his boot. He grinned as Calliph fell forward onto his knees, gasping in pain, clawing at his neck. "You've become disobedient since we left Mizimar. See that you don't forget your place." Obyn lifted his foot. "Now get away from me." Calliph fled the cabin, his leash dragging behind him, making hideous, pathetic scraping sounds across the floor. He made his way up on deck to stand at the rail. Nothing but the twinkling of the stars and the darkness of night greeted him on the deck empty of crewmen. A gentle, warm breeze caressed his cheeks and lifted his hair. He sighed, wishing for Mateo's breath on his skin, the man's hands in Calliph's long locks. Wishing he could share this moment with Mateo, Calliph flared his nostrils, catching the cat's scent. "Mind some company? I saw you come up." Mateo sidled up next to him. "I don't mind," Calliph said with a shake of his head. Mateo stood close, gazing out at the water, his hands running back and forth along the rail. "May I ask you a question?" "You may." "How did an alpha become a slave?"

"What makes you so certain I'm an alpha? Perhaps I'm a beta, or even an omega, born to serve." Mateo laughed; the sound tickled Calliph's spine. "You are no beta. You reek of power and dominance." Calliph glanced at Mateo, wondering if he should answer honestly, and realizing this would likely be his last chance to connect with Mateo before the voyage ended. "I came to my position the same way you ended up with a permanent tail." "You took part in the Shifter War?" Calliph nodded. "As a general." "I don't recall a General Calliph." Mateo frowned, forehead wrinkled. "Do you recall a General Cemol?" "You? Does Obyn have any idea what he keeps chained to his side?" The awe in Mateo's voice showed he knew exactly what Calliph had been. Calliph shook his head. "No." Obyn had never cared to know. Never bothered to ask. "You could tear him to pieces as easily as breathing. Why don't you?" "I'm a slave." As were half the were creatures who'd managed to survive the war. He smiled ruefully at Mateo, for the sailor was one of the lucky ones. "You're a coward." Calliph spun to face Mateo, wanting to be angry with him, but finding only lust in his heart. "You don't know me well enough to say that, kitten." "I am not a weakling kitten!" Mateo hissed, showing his fangs. Calliph bit down on his tongue to stifle a laugh; Mateo was far too cute when angered. "I meant no disrespect, and I certainly don't think you're weak." Mateo nodded and looked out to sea. "Why do you lie to Obyn about who you are?" "Not a lie. Not completely. I am the man he knows me to be. The rest no longer matters." Truth be told, life as a slave had benefits, not the least of which he was no

longer called upon to torture and kill his own kind. That, in and of itself, made his situation nearly worth the price. Nearly. "Doesn't it matter?" Mateo turned and moved closer, ground his hips against Calliph's. "I can smell him on you. How can you lie with him and not give him everything? How can he lie with you and not demand you do? Perhaps it's just as well that you and I can't be. I would give you no quarter, no mercy. I would know you completely or not at all." No quarter, no mercy. To bed a man who truly cared to know his heart and mind. To be asked a question and know his answer mattered. To give a simple touch, and know it to be enough. Driven by an instinct he didn't—couldn't—understand, Calliph pounced, bearing Mateo against the rail, and kissing him savagely with lips, teeth, and tongue. Mateo returned the kiss with equal ferocity and fervor, slid his hands up into Calliph's hair to cradle the man's head in his palms, and parted his lips. Calliph took Mateo's invitation, thrust his tongue into Mateo's mouth. Their tongues danced and sparred as he fisted his hands in Mateo's tunic, desperate for relief from the horrible ache inside him. He couldn't get close enough. Pure magic. He never wanted the feeling to end. "We can't do this." Calliph growled. "I should go." He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. He stepped back, meaning to put distance between them. But Mateo pulled Calliph's head down again; Mateo's lips sought his. And Mateo's kiss—Mateo's kiss threatened to unravel Calliph's very soul. Every muscle in Calliph's body bunched and strained, crying out for release. "Mateo . . . ." Mateo made a small, choked sound. "Don't say my name like that." Calliph crashed their mouths together again in a greedy, torrid kiss that went on and on, as he thrust his hips forward to grind against Mateo. From his eyes to his smile, to the way he walked, to the way he spoke, everything about Mateo intoxicated Calliph. Impossible to get enough.

"Madness," Mateo whispered as Calliph's lips left his and found his neck. "Gods take me; I don't care!" At that moment, Calliph truly didn't. Nothing mattered beyond the man in his arms. He would do anything to press their lips together again. He raised his head to capture Mateo's mouth. Madness. One of Mateo's hands slid down between them, and Calliph let out a deep, throaty groan as Mateo began to knead Calliph's straining erection through his breeches. Mateo fell to his knees, pressing his face against Calliph's groin and breathing in deeply. There was the rustling of fabric, followed by chuckling as Calliph nearly toppled over, but at last, he stood naked from the waist down. Mateo dove upon him like a man possessed—licking and sucking, teasing and touching. Control became an impossible notion, indeed, a thing Calliph could not begin to comprehend. Mateo pulled Calliph down to his knees and then stretched out beneath him. "By the gods!" Mateo's mouth surrounded Calliph, taking his cock deeper than any man had ever done. The back of Mateo's throat tickled him. Sinful. Dangerous. Worth it. "Obyn," Mateo breathed, pulling away. "He's coming." Mateo stood and darted off in the opposite direction. Calliph heard a strangled cry of distress, realized belatedly the sound had come from his own throat. He watched, his heart breaking with Mateo's retreat. He stood and yanked his breeches up, barely in time. "There you are! I've had to search the entire ship for you. What in the name of the gods are you doing up here?" Seconds flew by, turned into minutes, and Calliph could form no words. Answer him! Answer him or he will suspect you! Worse, he might suspect Mateo. At last, Calliph shrugged. "Just thinking about my place in the world." Obyn nodded. "Good." He glanced down at Calliph's crotch. "For me?" Calliph gazed at him in confusion, all too aware of the sudden deflation of his cock. "Of course it is."

***** "His hair is too long." Calliph frowned, wondering whom the comment referred to. Not bald-headed Captain Ba'Tal, certainly. He followed Obyn's gaze to the end of the breakfast table. Beside Ba'Tal sat Mateo. Calliph shrugged. "Shorter than mine." He held up a hank of his waist-length locks in illustration. "You're not on a ship. His hair is bound to get in the way. Get caught on things." Obyn continued to glare at Mateo. "He's too short. He should be taller." "Shifters come in all sizes." Mateo can come in any size he wants, Calliph mused, as long as I'm there. Obyn leveled a glare at him. "I saw the way you looked at him when we arrived. He's your type, isn't he? The kind of man you're attracted to." By the gods. Calliph had no idea how he was supposed to answer. He glanced up to find Mateo's gaze on him. He could become pleasantly lost and distracted in those eyes. "I belong to you." Obyn frowned. "But if you didn't? Would you fuck him?" Until he couldn't stand. Calliph sighed. Only one way to end this. "Why don't we go back to our cabin, and I'll prove who I want to fuck." Obyn stood. "I've lost my appetite for cock," he said, none too quietly, and walked away. Calliph closed his eyes briefly, regretting his words. He knew better than to ask for sex on his own terms, even if he hadn't really meant the invitation. Across the table, Ba'Tal cleared his throat. He—and all the other crew—glanced back and forth between Calliph and Mateo, who had half risen from his seat as if to defend his new friend. Calliph caught Mateo's concerned gaze and he smiled half-heartedly. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "Don't be."

Calliph watched as Ba'Tal's attention turned to Mateo and back to him one final time, his gaze knowing. Wonderful. Ba'Tal had nothing to worry about, though. Calliph and Obyn would be on land tomorrow, and Mateo would be gone. Out of Calliph's life. Jaw tight, Calliph focused on his breakfast. Part Two Calliph walked through the town square, headed for the meat vendor. Beautiful day or not, he hated such public outings. Hated the throng of noise, the press of bodies around him. Hated the chaos of animals, children, and adults all clamoring to interact with each other. Hated how people looked at him—scrutinizing his collar and the chain that hung from it. He would much rather stay cooped up inside and let Obyn handle their weekly supply trips, but then Obyn knew that. He and Obyn had been in Namicia for three months now. Three months since Calliph had left the Golden Magus. Three months since he had seen Mateo. Two minutes since he had thought of him, yearned for him. Missed him. Mateo's scent teased him, as though summoned by his thoughts. Calliph smiled despite his mood, memories of their brief encounter rising up in his mind. Calliph nodded to the merchant as he approached the man's cart. "Will it be your usual today, Calliph?" "Please." He waited patiently as the man pulled forth a sack and started assembling their regular order of assorted meats. The fine hairs on the back of Calliph's neck rose, and he looked around quickly, feeling someone's eyes on him. He expected to find Obyn had come after him, but instead Mateo stood not three feet away. Their gazes locked, and Calliph stifled a startled gasp. Mateo inclined his head toward an alley off to the side. Calliph nodded. "Wrap it all up. I'll be back for it," he told the merchant.

He followed Mateo down the alley and through a series of twists and turns eventually leading to the forest beyond the edges of the city. They stopped finally beside a large rock. "I'm sorry. I meant to stay hidden and only watch you from afar. I'm not a very good spy." Mateo sighed. "I've had a bad couple weeks, and . . . I wanted to see you. I know it's foolish, but I couldn't ignore the feeling. I shouldn't have put you in this position." Calliph stepped toward him and laid a hand on Mateo's arm, his concerns over safety and subterfuge eclipsed by his concern for the man himself. "It's all right." He touched Mateo's cheek, feeling his own need like a hot fever. Mateo shook his head. "I can't stand being apart from you." "I know." Calliph panted. "I ache for you." He pulled Mateo into his arms and kissed him roughly, pressing their bodies together. Mateo squirmed out of his embrace, stepped back—Calliph moaned and shuddered as Mateo kissed the inside of his wrist. "End it. Please, end this pain." "Kneel down. I don't think your legs are going to hold you," Mateo instructed, kneeling in front of him and reaching for the waistband of his breeches. Calliph groaned and began to shake violently as Mateo's warm hand made contact. "Lean your head forward onto my shoulder." Mateo wrapped an arm around Calliph's shoulders and slowly began to stroke his cock. "By the gods! Please . . . please . . . ." Five strokes were all it took, and Calliph found his release in a climax so powerful it hurt. Lust snaked through his veins, followed suddenly by something else. His wolf rose and rushed forth, breaking through his chains and tethers, past all his defenses. All but one. His collar stopped the final transformation. Eyes glowing, fangs descended, he dug his claws into Mateo's flesh. Mateo squealed and pulled away. Growling and shuddering, Calliph fought for control. Mateo had retreated from him and now sat with his back pressed against a tree, wide eyed, ears flattened against his head.

"Don't be afraid," Calliph rasped. "I'd never hurt you. Ever. Swear." "I know; I do. I'm not afraid." Mateo inched forward as if to prove his words. "Come here, Omarati." Calliph held a clawed hand out to him. Mateo slid his hand into Calliph's. "You mistake my fear for awe. I'm honored. I'm a shifter too, remember? What color are you?" Not something anyone had ever asked him, the question took Calliph by surprise. Sweet though, to think such small details mattered to Mateo. "Warm gold, like your eyes." Mateo chuckled. "Made for each other indeed." Calliph nodded. "I wish I could show you." He tugged on his collar. "One day you will." Calliph sighed happily. Being like this with Mateo, in his true form or not, and knowing Mateo accepted him, trusted him, was thrilling. The knowledge Mateo wanted him raised gratitude in Calliph that he had never known, and he felt a primal need to express it. He tugged at Mateo's breeches, pulling them down over his hips and pushing him onto his back. Calliph flicked his tongue across the head of Mateo's cock. Mateo's hips jerked upward and he hummed. Calliph licked Mateo's cock up and down, slowly, flexing the muscles in his tongue, being extra careful to avoid any contact with his still-fanged teeth. Mateo rocked against Calliph; his fingers dug into Calliph's hair. Calliph pressed his hand gently down onto Mateo's balls and moved it in a circular motion. They tightened and pulled up against Mateo's body seconds before Mateo's seed filled Calliph's mouth. "Calliph!" Sated, Calliph curled his body around Mateo's. His own cock throbbed again, but that could wait. Now had to be for Mateo. "Are you all right, kitten?" "Leave him," Mateo begged, nestling his head under Calliph's chin. "Leave Obyn. Run away with me."

Calliph sighed. Beautiful idea, and tempting indeed, except Obyn would come after him. Obyn would tear the Golden Magus and every man aboard apart with his bare hands to get Calliph back. He would kill Mateo. He'd killed Copani—his own cousin; he'd beaten the man to a bloody pulp and then hanged him by a rope from the balcony of their family's castle. Calliph recalled watching from below as Copani had twisted and convulsed, blood and spit spraying from his lips as he choked and gagged. His eyes had bulged; his tongue—swollen and purple—had lolled from the corner of his mouth. Calliph shook off the memories, swallowing a mouthful of bile. Obyn was far more dangerous than his slight body and his insufferable attitude let on. Leaving him was out of the question; Calliph had to protect Mateo. "You know I can't." "Let me kill him!" "He controls my collar." Mateo shook his head urgently. "There must be a way around that." Calliph smirked. Mateo had never worn a collar, apparently. "Obyn's a prince. His father doesn't care for him much, but no king would go without retribution for his son's murder." "Ba'Tal could protect me. We could cover it up." "I don't want him dead, Mateo; I just want to be free." If Obyn was of no use to Calliph alive, he was far less dead: a dead Obyn couldn't unlock Calliph's collar. More than that, though, was the nagging loyalty Calliph felt to Obyn's family. True, they had enslaved him after the Shifter War, but Calliph held no disillusions his life could've been far, far worse at the hands of a different family. Aside from Obyn's desires, Calliph never had been expected to do anything distasteful, and never had he suffered physically. For that reason alone, Calliph owed Obyn's family his fidelity. He wondered, though, how he would ever achieve his freedom without Obyn's death. "Never happen. You know that."

"We'll work this out. We can meet here when you're in port. It'll be the same as if we were truly together." Only without a home, or a bed, or comfort, and all the other things Mateo deserved. "This isn't enough," Mateo said, his voice a quiet, breathy whisper. He pulled away from Calliph's embrace. Calliph didn't want to regret meeting with Mateo like this, but at the same time, if their rendezvous caused Mateo pain, perhaps they shouldn't do so again. He swallowed hard. "Do you want me to go?" "No." Mateo shook his head quickly. Calliph thought he saw tears forming in Mateo's eyes, and he remembered Mateo's words from earlier. "You said you'd had a rough couple weeks. Will you tell me about them?" Mateo shuddered. "The Silver Sorcerer, our sister ship, was attacked by pirates. We came upon her burning on the water. The pirates had locked the crew in the hold and set the ship ablaze. By the time we reached them, we could do nothing. They weren't dead yet. They screamed . . . . We tried dousing the flames with buckets of water, but they carried kegs of spirits in their hold, which must've fed the fire. We stood on the deck of the Magus and watched them burn and sink." "I'm so sorry." Calliph pulled Mateo close, rocking him gently. Mateo lifted his head; tears streamed down his face. "I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it. I mean, I did. I meant it in the moment, but not now. I don't mean it now. What we have is enough. Has to be. It has to be," he said. "I can't bear anything less." "I know. Shh . . . ." Calliph stroked Mateo's hair. Mateo shifted in his arms, and Mateo's cock pressed against him, hard, once again. "Cal . . . ." Mateo wiggled, and the movement tore a frustrated groan from him. "Want you inside me." Calliph brushed his lips over the tip of Mateo's ear. "I don't want to hurt you, kitten. I don't have anything to—"

Mateo grabbed his breeches and fished around a pocket. "Here." He pressed a small bottle into Calliph's hand. "I brought it in case . . . ." Calliph chuckled. "I thought you meant only to watch me from afar." "Said I wasn't a good spy." One arm wrapped tightly around Mateo's waist, Calliph slicked the fingers of his free hand and reached around to probe Mateo's opening. Mateo bucked against him and shuddered, his teeth chattering loudly. "Please." He shoved his hips back, impaling himself on Calliph's fingers with a groan. Calliph worked his fingers in and out, spreading them and curling them up to stroke that sweet spot. "Need you." Mateo groaned. "Please, I'm ready. Please." "Get on your knees for me," Calliph commanded gently as he withdrew his fingers. Mateo did as instructed, reached back, and spread himself open. "Please." Calliph coated his cock with the oil, then pressed the tip to Mateo's puckered hole. He thrust his hips and sighed as his cock slid in, Mateo's muscles pulling him deep. Coherent thought fled. His body moved with a life of its own, pushing and retracting, pushing and retracting, his hips slamming into Mateo as Mateo thrust back to meet him each time. Calliph tangled the fingers of one of his hands in Mateo's long hair, the other hand he rested on Mateo's hip. Thrust after thrust, Mateo's moans and sighs pushed him onward, until at last Calliph howled and threw his head back as Mateo called his name. "Don't pull out yet," Mateo gasped. "I need to feel you still there." "Lean back." Calliph smiled and tugged on Mateo's hair. "I won't leave you. Trust me. Push up on your hands and lean back against me." He wrapped his arms around Mateo's chest and settled his hips forward to keep himself inside. Supremely uncomfortable, but a small price if it meant meeting Mateo's needs. "There. Can you feel me?"

Mateo nodded and wiggled against him. "Your legs will cramp." "I'm a dog. I'm flexible." Mateo's head fell back, and he nuzzled Calliph's neck. "Not a dog. A wolf. My wolf." "Your wolf." How they would continue their meetings, Calliph didn't know. He was Mateo's, Mateo was his, and at the moment, nothing else mattered. ***** Obyn glanced up from his bowl of soup. "I've been thinking of traveling." "Traveling?" Calliph fought to keep his breathing even and calm. "There's an entire world out there, and I want to see it. There's no need to stay here, after all." Leave Namicia? "Perhaps we should wait a while." "Who is he?" Obyn snarled. He grabbed up his bowl and stood, slinging it into the sink with a loud clatter. Calliph blinked, his stomach knotting into a ball of terror. "Who?" "The man that you would stay here for." "There is no man." Calliph's palms began to sweat. He had been careful returning from the forest earlier—made certain no one had seen him or Mateo. Which meant Obyn couldn't have any proof. Not that he needed any; Obyn had taken action against others based simply on his own suspicions in the past. "I'm not opposed to traveling. I simply meant we might be smarter to plan better. Start with short trips." Obyn shook his head. "We leave tonight." "Tonight? So soon?" Not now, not like this—Not with Mateo's taste still on his lips, Mateo's touch still warm on his skin. "Why not?" Obyn faced him, leaning back against the sink, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

Why not? Why not? Think of a reason! Had to be a way to steer Obyn from this idea. "It's dangerous to travel at night. There are animals that come out to feed." "You're an animal. I'm sure you can protect me." "You grant me too much credit, Obyn," Calliph said between clenched teeth. Perhaps he could at least stall their departure. "I can't procure horses for us by tonight." "We don't need horses. We'll walk the land, like the ancient elves." Obyn stalked toward him and stroked his fingers over Calliph's collar. "You are my property. Understand?" "Of course." Calliph stifled a frustrated sigh. No time to find Mateo. No time to say goodbye. He glared at Obyn, schemes racing through his mind. He could kill Obyn himself, after all. Slit his throat. But without Obyn to release his magic, Calliph would be unable to rid himself of his collar. Even if that weren't the case, Obyn had ties elsewhere. Despite their strained relationship, Obyn's mother had seen fit to send her son letters, which he answered faithfully, albeit unhappily. Calliph knew what would happen if she stopped receiving responses. Anatra would come for the head of Obyn's killer, and it would not matter to her if the head sat on the shoulders of a once-beloved servant. Part Three Three Years Later Calliph awoke with a snarl, sweat trickling down his back. Mateo. His kitten's name screamed in his head—all he could think of. He had to get to Mateo. Now. Nothing else mattered. He threw the covers back, intent on finding Mateo. "What're you doing?" Obyn's voice sent a jarring shock of reality up Calliph's spine. He wasn't near Mateo—had no idea where Mateo even was. Obyn lay beside him, in the bed they shared in Porquence. The Golden Magus, Namicia, Mateo—all distant memories.

"Nothing. I thought I heard something." "Since you woke me up, get the ropes and entertain me." "I had a long day, Obyn." Calliph scrubbed his hands over his face, ground the heels into his eyes. He sighed and sank back against the pillows, feeling sick and dead inside. His cock stirred, awakened by thoughts of Mateo. Calliph sighed. When he opened his eyes, the look of annoyance on Obyn's face said far more than any words could. No hope for escape tonight—Obyn wanted attention. Now. Might as well give in, be done with it. Before he could nod, though, Obyn stood and started pacing the room. "You know, for all your noble dislike for inflicting pain and your pious regard for my so-called well-being, you've never once asked me why I like the things I like." Calliph blinked. A reason? "Why do you?" "I can't feel anything on my own. Nothing. I don't know why, I don't understand it. But I've been this way for so long. I arrive on the cusp of some feeling, and then I shut down, and I feel nothing. But when you tie me or whip me, you force the feelings from me. You take them from me, and I have no other option but to feel. I can't stop it if I try. You overwhelm my mind and let my heart feel. Set me free. I don't want the pain, specifically. I just want to feel. "Do you know, before the first time you and I were together, I was never able to orgasm on my own? I tried, but every time I would get close, my cock would go soft. But that first night, when you touched me, I couldn't not respond." Calliph frowned, wondering how in the name of the gods he had failed to realize this. Obyn hadn't been a monster after all, but a frustrated man, unfulfilled, taking his anger out on everyone around him. Calliph had done the same thing he had hated Obyn for—not caring enough to ask. "Why didn't you tell me these things before?" "I suppose I felt like you wouldn't understand." Calliph nodded. Indeed, he didn't understand. Not one bit. Still, not understanding a thing didn't negate the need for it.

"In a perfect world, you would dominate me," Obyn whispered, his gaze on the floor, his hands clenched at his sides. "In the bed and outside of it. In all matters. In a perfect world . . . . " He lifted his head, met Calliph's gaze. "I would call you, Master." Calliph tensed. He couldn't deny the slight shiver that ran down his spine when Obyn said that word. Master. Something intoxicating about being called that, something primal. "Tell me what you want tonight; whatever you need, I'll do it." "You're serious?" There was softness in Obyn's eyes, joy Calliph had never seen before. "I am. What do you want? Ropes? The gag? The whip?" Obyn's head bobbed up and down. "All of it. Everything. Gag me, tie me, whip me. Use me. Degrade me. Dominate me, Calliph." Obyn sank to his knees next to the bed. Calliph pushed everything else in his mind aside. No past, no future, no Mateo. Only this—the task in front of him. He would do it to the best of his abilities. If this was his lot, he would make himself an expert at it. There had to be something in this world for him to take pride in, and if this was all there was, so be it. Like it or not, he would damn well dominate Obyn. "Think of a word you'd never say during sex," Calliph said as he climbed from bed. He took a handful of Obyn's hair in his hand, twisting it around his fist. "Because if you say no, or stop, I'm just going to press you harder. So come up with something else." "Fish?" "Fine. Fish." Calliph yanked on the hair he held. "Now stand up and strip." Obyn rose, his bottom lip trembling. "Where should I—?" "Why are you speaking? Did I tell you that you could speak?" Obyn shivered and shook his head quickly. "No, I didn't. I told you to strip. Do it." Calliph mentally reached out to his past, remembering the man he had been, what he had done, the damage and the pain he'd inflicted. He relished the rush of anger and hatred. Harnessed them. Used them. The same as he had used them back then.

Obyn took his clothes off; his cock bobbed up and down stiffly. "On the floor." Obyn looked to the bed. Calliph shook his head and pointed to the floor. "On your knees." Once Obyn had obeyed, Calliph set about tying him up. He reached for the ball gag. He had never particularly liked the thing, but that didn't matter anymore. He secured the gag in Obyn's mouth, making sure to fasten the leather strap tightly so it cut into Obyn's flesh. Calliph stood and picked up the whip. Calliph cracked the whip in the air above Obyn's head, heard Obyn whimper in anticipation. "You like this, hmm?" He trailed the whip across Obyn's naked back. Calliph brought the whip down once. Twice. A third time. Obyn arched and moaned, sweat trickling down his forehead as something else trickled from his cock. Calliph moved to stand in front of Obyn; he watched as Obyn shuddered violently and his eyes glassed over and rolled back in his head. Calliph stroked Obyn's cheeks and chin, forehead and the bridge of his nose. "Obyn. Look at me." Obyn opened his eyes. He gazed up at Calliph with a sappy look of . . . oh, by the gods . . . with a sappy look of love. Obyn appeared to glow. Calliph knelt, keeping his eyes locked with Obyn's. He gripped Obyn's cock with one hand, leaving a bit of the shaft and head exposed. Keeping a tight, steady grasp, Calliph spread the fingers of his other hand as wide as they would go. Holding this hand palm down, he began to slide his fingers back and forth across the head of Obyn's cock, flipping it between his fingers, rubbing it from ridge to tip on top and bottom. Obyn pushed his hips forward, panting hard through his nose. His head fell back. "I told you to look at me." Calliph took his hands away. "If you're not going to obey me, you don't get my attention." Obyn snapped his head back up and gave a strangled cry, a look of pleading in his eyes.

"That's better." Calliph ran his hands through Obyn's hair. He called forth his claws, raked them gently over Obyn's skull and then across his shoulders and down his chest. Tears sprang to Obyn's eyes, but he pressed his body into the caress. Calliph circled Obyn's nipples with the claws of his index fingers. He drew the tips of his claws across Obyn's hardened flesh, smiled at the deep, throaty half-moan, half-sob that rose from Obyn's throat. Calliph lowered one hand to squeeze Obyn's balls, pricking his claws into the apparently not-so-tender flesh. Obyn bucked and thrust against his hand, grunting. Calliph stood and helped Obyn to his feet, then pushed him face down over the edge of the bed. With one hand, he held Obyn down tightly, his claws making little, white indentions in the tanned flesh of Obyn's neck. Calliph pressed his arm down the length of Obyn's spine, between his shoulders. Calliph reached into the little box they kept on the bedside table, found the bottle of oil. He pulled the cork free with his teeth and dribbled the oil down between the cheeks of Obyn's ass. Calliph spread the oil around as Obyn shuddered and shivered beneath him. He slapped Obyn's left ass cheek hard, earning him a squeak of what sounded like delight. "You like that, don't you?" Obyn nodded and wiggled his ass. Calliph obliged him, landing several loud, hard hits. He kneaded Obyn's flesh, frowning for a moment at the tiny, red welts his claws had made upon impact. Dismissing his hesitation, and his claws, Calliph slid two of his fingers inside Obyn, curling them up to stroke that spot that always made Obyn frantic. Calliph's own cock hardened finally as Obyn's muscles contracted and squeezed Calliph's thrusting fingers. Calliph worked Obyn skillfully, bringing him to the edge of control again and again but denying him release each time, until Obyn had been reduced to a sobbing, incoherent mess.

He turned Obyn over, lifting him to lie on the bed. Calliph straddled him and removed the gag. Taking his cock in his hand, Calliph rubbed it across Obyn's lips; Obyn's tongue snaked out to lick the trail of liquid it left. "Open your mouth." Obyn opened his mouth wide, his eyes gleaming. Obyn's heated breath on him, Calliph surged forward, thrusting his cock deep into Obyn's mouth as Obyn moaned. Calliph sank his hand into Obyn's hair, held Obyn's head still, and bucked his hips, fucking Obyn's mouth the way Obyn had always begged him to. Calliph thrust his cock in and out briskly, slamming himself to the root each time while Obyn moaned and grunted beneath him. Obyn screamed around Calliph's cock, and his release splashed onto the backs of Calliph's legs. His orgasm pushed Calliph over the edge, and he cried out as he emptied his seed into Obyn's throat. They collapsed together on the bed, and for a reason he couldn't explain, Calliph felt a sudden need for closeness. He captured Obyn's lips in a passionate kiss, his arms locked possessively around Obyn, their chests pressed tightly together. "Thank you," Obyn sobbed. "Thank you." ***** The next night, Obyn appeared at the dinner table, gazing at Calliph with determination, his jaw set, his eyes narrow and focused. "I have something for you. An anniversary present." He held out a scroll of parchment. Calliph took the gift with suspicion, for he couldn't think of anything that had happened on this day in their past. Not the first time they'd had sex, not leaving Mizimar or Namicia, not becoming whatever Obyn considered them to be. Calliph unrolled the scroll and read it. Three words screamed from the page in dark, large writing: Release of Indenture. His gaze roamed to the bottom of the page to the date next to the signature of Torat, Obyn's father. Today's date . . . three and a half

years ago. Three and a half years earlier. Two weeks before they had left Mizimar. Anatra had known—had been about to remind Obyn the day she told him of his exile. But Obyn hadn't let her speak, and she had kept her silence. Three and a half years. Calliph's hands trembled. "Why did I never see this?" "I didn't want you to. I wanted you to stay with me." Calliph shook his head, his gaze going back to the page. Rage. Horrible black rage boiled in him, turning his insides into a knot. A cold, hollow hatred blossomed in his heart. He tried to speak, but although his throat moved, he could summon no sounds. "I wanted to give it to you now to show my appreciation for all that we've become." Something inside Calliph snapped. He stood angrily, fueled by a fury he had never before experienced. Unaware his fangs had dropped and his claws had appeared, he stalked toward Obyn. In his mind, he held the image of Mateo—the look in Mateo's eyes as they had parted—the look he had bravely tried to hide to protect Calliph's heart. Calliph knocked Obyn to the floor and knelt above him, one hand wrapped around Obyn's throat, claws piercing his skin, drawing blood. Saliva dripped from Calliph's fangs, his wolf excited and hungry for the kill. Obyn's magic be damned— even if killing Obyn meant Calliph could never fully shift again, he counted that loss a fair price. Obyn screamed Calliph's name. "Stop . . . please . . . ." "Why? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't rip your throat out and feast on your flesh!" "Wolf," Obyn gasped. "I don't care! I don't care if I never shift again!" "Then b-be-because . . . I-I'm . . . s-sorry." Calliph threw his head back and howled mournfully, the sound raising goose bumps on the flesh under his hand. Obyn was sorry. Sorry. The word sounded meaningless and raised sour bile in the back of Calliph's throat. Obyn's eyes were wide

with terror, but also filled with more sincerity than he had ever displayed. Truly sorry. Calliph warred with his wolf. He eased his hand up slightly. But . . . Mateo. Anger surged through Calliph again, and he squeezed his hand tightly, imagining how Mateo must've searched for him, how he must've stumbled back to the ship, heartbroken and filled with sadness. But we might never have found him, had Obyn let us go. The thought surfaced, pushed forth by the logical, rational side of his mind. He pulled his hand away and rolled to his side, curling into a ball away from Obyn. "Cal—" "Leave me." "I—" Calliph moved, getting to his feet. He towered over Obyn, deliberately displaying his size, and leveled a hard gaze at him. "You and I are no more." "You can't leave me!" Obyn protested. "Not now! Not after what we've become!" "What we've become is a lie! A lie based on more lies!" "But . . . I love you." Calliph sighed. Sincerity again. "I know you do." "And . . . and you . . . you love me." Obyn sat up and massaged his throat, swiping his fingers at the blood now drying there. "No. I don't." The flood of pain that washed over Obyn's face filled Calliph with an aching guilt and buckled his knees. He sank to the floor next to Obyn. "You can't leave me, Cal. I need you." "Obyn, I don't—" "I don't care!" Obyn balled his hands into fists and banged them on his thighs. "I don't care if you love me or not! I can't live without you! I'll die! I gave you the scroll to prove my love and my trust. To prove I didn't think I needed to lie to you anymore. Please, don't leave me!" Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. By the gods, damn it! Calliph pulled Obyn into his arms, his righteous resolve crumbling around him like so many weather-beaten bricks.

"Don't leave me." Calliph sighed. Despite the raging objections of his wolf, he shook his head. "I won't." His stomach lurched at the words, and his heart broke under the pressure of them. "Forgive me," he whispered. "I do," Obyn told him. But Calliph's words were not meant for Obyn, and Calliph knew if the truth of this moment were ever revealed, the forgiveness he sought would likely never come. "You'll grow to love me, Cal. I'll make you love me." Calliph began to shake; a rolling tremor started in the pit of his stomach and uncoiled to reach out through his arms and legs, straight to his fingers and toes. Vomit rising up the back of his throat, he made it to his knees in time. Obyn laid a hand on his shoulder, but Calliph knocked it away angrily. "Don't." "You can pretend I'm him. You can call me by his name, if you want." "By the Gods, Obyn, there is no one!" Calliph stood again, clutching the table to keep from falling back to his knees. "There was Mateo." "This again?" Calliph stalked to the sink and washed his face. "Deny it if you want, but I know you had feelings for him. I've never seen you look at anyone the way you looked at him." The way I'll never look at you. Calliph said nothing. "Did you fuck him?" Calliph whimpered in frustration. He could answer truthfully though, for being with Mateo had been far more than simple fucking. "No." Obyn stood and moved to the sink, stood next to Calliph. He reached out, then pulled his hand back. "I'll remove your collar." Calliph looked Obyn up and down, considering him. Remove his collar. Surely, something Calliph had longed for, but he wondered what the gesture would mean now. Nothing, he decided. And in any event, an un-collared, angry, betrayed wolf equaled a

dangerous wolf. Loyalty or not, Calliph wasn't sure how he'd keep himself from killing Obyn after this. On the other hand, this could be his opportunity. Let Obyn remove the collar, kill him, and leave. Journey back to Namicia. Find Mateo. Live. His wolf rumbled with excitement at the thought. But he—his human half, at least—had given his word to Obyn. That meant something to both of his sides, the wolf as well. Had to mean something. Well, if that was the case, if he was to stay, he would keep the collar. Safer for everyone involved. And, he knew deep in his bones, he had no desire to shift until he could do so in front of—with—Mateo. What difference did a few more years make, after all? Obyn was human, magical or not, and that meant he was short-lived, compared to Calliph. And Mateo. "Calliph? Your collar?" "Leave it." ***** No intimacy between them that night. Calliph did join Obyn in their bed, but he couldn't bring himself to touch Obyn. Or, rather, his wolf wouldn't let him. The intense, shooting pain in his head and nausea in his belly when Obyn had mentioned sex had been the only proof he'd needed. His wolf had his little performance with Obyn, but after today, Calliph wondered if his wolf would ever allow him to touch Obyn again. He awoke the next morning alone, found a note from Obyn explaining he had joined the tarkin hunt. Several hours later, a knock sounded at their door, and Calliph went outside, suspicion rising when he saw all of the members of the hunting party except one. Obyn. Calliph's breath caught in his throat. If Obyn had gone after Mateo, he might have an impressive head start, depending on how he'd traveled. "Where is Obyn?" The men exchanged glances, collectively shrank back. Finally, one man timidly cleared his throat. "You should come with us."

"Where is Obyn?" Calliph repeated, having no time for secrets and games. "He was attacked by a slayer rat. He's with Arim." ***** Bright red, pus-filled sores had broken out on Obyn's body, and he burned with a fever hotter than any fire Calliph had ever been near. Obyn had stopped vomiting, but likely only because he had nothing left inside him to vomit. "You know there is no antidote?" Calliph tore his gaze from Obyn to look at Arim, the town healer. "He's dying then." Not a question, and he didn't wait for Arim to respond. "How long does he have?" "Hard to say. The other hunters weren't able to catch the rat, but they claim it was rather large. The poison has turned his body against him. He's falling apart from the inside, and I can't stop the progression. Won't be long, but I can make him comfortable, I think. If I can't . . . his pain will only get worse. He'll be begging for death long before it comes." Arim sighed and laid a hand on Calliph's shoulder. "When that happens . . . perhaps we should consider our options." Arim's hand slid from Calliph's shoulder; his shuffling steps carried him away as he granted Calliph privacy. Calliph looked to the ceiling, wishing he could somehow see up to the heavens, where the gods dwelled. But there was no guidance there, no guidance to be found anywhere. Options, Arim had said. Death—murder. That was what he'd really meant. Calliph took Obyn's hand in his and held it against his chest. He shook his head, his heart awash with shame. Not for the fact he hadn't loved Obyn, but for the fact here he sat, Obyn dying in front of him, and Calliph felt nothing. Nothing at all. No remorse, no sadness. Obyn had tortured him, abused him, but still, Calliph knew he should feel something. He wasn't heartless, after all.

A sudden, passionate yearning for Mateo flamed to life inside him, coursing through his veins, consuming him, until he had to struggle to remember Obyn's name. Shouldn't. Be. Like. This. "Calliph?" Obyn croaked. Calliph smiled at him. "How are you feeling?" "Hurts . . . to breathe." "Your fever has broken," Calliph told him, pressing the back of his hand to Obyn's now-clammy forehead. "That's good." Obyn frowned and studied him. "I'm dying, aren't I? Don't lie to me." Sweat beaded on Obyn's brow, and he ground his teeth together. "I'll go get Arim," Calliph said as he stood. "He can give you something for the pain." Obyn shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Sit with me." Calliph took his seat again. "Is there anything I can do for you?" "Rub my neck? Hurts . . . fearsomely." Calliph moved to sit on the side of the bed. He slid his hands behind Obyn's head and massaged the bunched and cramped muscles in his neck. Obyn groaned, leaning his head back. "I never thought . . . things would end"— he gasped—"like this." "Nothing has ended yet," Calliph murmured, having no idea what to say. Everything will be all right. Everything will go back to normal soon. Unlikely. "Did you . . . did you fuck Mateo?" "I told you I didn't." "Yes. That's . . . that's what you . . . said." Calliph frowned at the yellow pallor that had crept over Obyn's skin. "But—" "Obyn, stop. Try to rest and conserve your strength." Obyn chuckled, but it ended in a choking, gasping cough. He arched off the bed, grimacing.

"Easy now." Calliph held Obyn tightly as his body shook and shuddered. Perhaps the unlikely was exactly what Obyn needed to hear. "It's going to be all right," Calliph whispered. "Everything will be back to normal soon, you'll see." "No," Obyn wheezed. "Won't. I should've . . . let you go." "You did, remember?" Calliph smiled, hoping the gesture conveyed warmth he didn't feel. "I stayed of my own accord." Obyn shook his head. "Guilt." "Obyn, please. Try to rest." Calliph urged him back down into the bed, pulled the covers up around his shoulders. "Did you fuck—?" Another round of coughing overtook him. Calliph waited for it to abate. "No, Obyn. I didn't." "You stayed true to me?" "Of course I did." "But you . . . ." Obyn sighed, closed his eyes. "Didn't love me." "You loved me, though, didn't you?" "Still . . . do." Obyn lifted a trembling hand and touched Calliph's collar. "For . . . give . . . . Just . . . loved . . . you." "I know." Tears slid down his own cheeks, Calliph finally feeling what he'd imagined he should've earlier. Utterly heartbreaking to see Obyn suffer this way. Obyn's magic tingled around his neck. Releasing him. "You will . . . send word?" Calliph nodded. "I'll make sure your family knows they were in your thoughts." Obyn managed a small, breathless chuckle. "Won't . . . believe you." "Perhaps not. But it's true, isn't it?" "Hmm." Calliph pulled Obyn close and held him tightly, keeping a vigilant watch throughout the rest of the day and night. In the wee hours of the morning, as the sun had crested the horizon and its beams began to wake the land, Obyn shifted in his sleep, smiled, and took a great sighing breath.

"Obyn?" Calliph shook him, as if the action could somehow bring life back into him. He lay there, cradling Obyn's lifeless body and sobbing . . . laid there for hours. Somehow, doing anything else seemed wrong. And even though Mateo occupied the forefront of Calliph's thoughts, it still felt like a penance, like a last boon to a fallen comrade. If only Obyn had been such. At some point, Calliph heard Arim enter the room. The healer touched Calliph's arm. "Come away. I'll see to him." ***** A month later, Calliph paced around the kitchen of the house he had shared with Obyn, barely keeping his anxiety in check as the new owner studied the lengthy purchase agreement. At first, he'd thought simply to leave the place—it hadn't been his house, after all, hadn't ever felt like home. But Obyn had loved the little home, and for a reason Calliph couldn't fathom, he'd felt obligated to respect that love, to do right by the house and by Obyn's memory. "This all looks sound," the man across the room said, nodding. He reached for the quill Calliph had laid on the table and signed his name with a flourish. "I'll take residence tonight, then?" Calliph nodded and nudged a wooden crate with his booted foot. "This is the last of my things. My carriage will be here in an hour or so." "Very good." The man excused himself. Finally. In a little over a week, Calliph would be back in Namicia, waiting for the Golden Magus to dock and bring Mateo home. A knock sounded at the door, and Calliph frowned, sweat breaking out on his palms as a rush of nervous energy filled him. Was the new owner having second thoughts? But when he opened the door, he didn't see anyone. At least not until he looked down. A child. Wrapped in a soft, brown blanket in a basket, a baby peered up at him. The flutter of parchment caught his attention, and he retrieved a note from under the

baby's feet. Crudely scrawled in shaky handwriting were the words: He belongs with someone who can understand him. Calliph shook his head. Raise a child? Him? No. Not possible. Aside from the fact he had no idea how to bring up a baby, he had plans for his life. He had spent those long, lonely years with Obyn, but now he could reap his reward. Mateo. He could have a life with Mateo. He could sail the world with his kitten. This wouldn't do at all. Calliph glanced up at the sky, seeing the sun. Good. He still had time before the carriage arrived. If he hurried, he'd be able to take the baby to the orphanage in the next town and still leave before nightfall. A fistful of fingers curled around one of his, and two tiny little eyes opened. The baby let out a low, gurgling growl, opening its mouth to display tiny, gleaming fangs. Calliph sniffed the squirming bundle, the meaning of the note finally dawning on him. Someone who can understand him. Another werewolf. Part Four Five Years Later Parry. Thrust. Right. Left. Left again. Right. Duck. Back step. Jump. Pain! Mateo skidded to a halt and pulled the arrow from his shoulder with a grimace. "Archers!" he growled. And then he was back on his feet. The Golden Magus lurched under a volley of cannon fire. Debris bounced crazily off the deck; chunks of wood flew into the air. Across the way, the enemy pirate vessel swung back around, maneuvering for a second run. The pirates' guns boomed so loudly Mateo was certain his ears must be bleeding from it. The main mast snapped off with a great crack and came crashing down to the deck. They were taking on water, and quickly. Nothing for it now, no way to save the ship. Mateo gazed out over the water—he could just make out the coast of Namicia in the distance. So close.

"Abandon ship!" Ba'Tal yelled. Mateo struggled to keep his footing on the slippery deck as he made his way to the railing. He sent a last, long look over his shoulder at the place he had called home for so many years of his life, dropped his sword, and jumped. Mateo swam frantically against the pull of the Golden Magus as it sank, feeling his breath running out. Fear assailed him as his throat constricted and his chest tightened. Thickness filled his panicked, gasping lungs; a great weight pressed down on him. Blackness hovered on the edges of his vision, and the world slipped away from existence. Dimly, Mateo realized his predicament, but exhaustion and cold were quickly pushing him beyond the point of caring. And then he broke the surface. Mateo ignored the fatigue of long days and nights spent working on board ship, ignored his injuries. Ignored it all, and swam for his life. He could see no other survivors in the water around him, which brought him to the conclusion they had managed to escape, or they were all dead—as he soon would be, if he didn't find land. Or a rescue ship. The shadow of a large ship loomed above him, and Mateo gave a silent thanks to the gods. His celebration was short lived though. Pirate ship. Wrong ship. ***** Mateo winced as one of the pirates grabbed him by the hair and slung him against the wall. He hit the ground with a sickening thud and slumped forward, pressing his forehead against the cold wood, willing himself to stay strong. How many days he'd been on board, he couldn't say, but he had long since abandoned any thought of escape, and his hopes for rescue were dwindling day by day. The crack of the whip sounded; its leather bit hard into the flesh of Mateo's back. He jerked but didn't cry out, having sworn never to give them that pleasure. His eyes watered, and he bit his tongue to keep quiet. He felt blood trickle down his back and

legs, over the marks of the last dozen beatings. The whip came down seven times in all. The torture ended at last, and the pirates circled him. He clenched his fists, wondering what more they could possibly want from him. "He's got quite the sweet rump on him," one of the pirates said. "Must feel like a ripe melon, eh?" He sneered at Mateo, leaned in close, and licked Mateo's cheek. Mateo could smell the putrid stench of the pirate's breath, could see the sweat rolling down his face. His eyes were black; they reminded Mateo of Obyn's eyes. Mateo roared and lunged for the man's legs, but quickly found himself surrounded. The pirates kicked him, laughing and hurling insults. He tried desperately to fend off the blows, rolling himself into a ball as tightly as he could. Mateo clutched his middle, noticing with fascination the growing darkness ushered forth by his wounds. There seemed to be a great pounding in his head. He tried to stand, but the darkness won. ***** Mateo's mind drifted somewhere on the fringes of reality. Neither fully awake nor asleep, he could feel hands on him—unfamiliar hands. He was certain even in this state, he would still recognize a touch he'd known before. Faces floated above him, blurry and barely distinct enough to recognize. Mateo struggled to free himself, but his limbs felt like stone. He tried to summon forth his panther, but he was too exhausted to make the magic work. He slipped in and out of consciousness for the rest of the night, waking over and over to his captors' attentions; the rough scrape of calloused hands attempting unsuccessfully to make his cock rise, the painful intrusion of fingers not readied for places they shouldn't even be, the slimy slide of unclean tongues and lips. Each time Mateo tried to rebel against them; he tried to escape to no avail. He awoke the next morning to find himself locked in a large, wooden crate. Only one reason for pirates to put someone in a crate: he was cargo now. They meant to sell

him. A shifter like him would fetch quite a hefty price on the slave market; humans liked the exotic-looking ones the best. Still groggy and disoriented, he didn't know how long he sat there awake, shivering, attempting to piece together what he could recall. The crate reeked of blood, sweat, and lust. Scents Mateo was certainly accustomed to, having lived on board a ship, but somehow the thought they were partially his own—and indeed the manner in which they had come to be—made him sick to his stomach. He turned his head and wretched violently. His brain pounded, as if trying to find its way out of his skull, and he pressed his hands against his ears to stop its progress. He sat up as much as he could and was rewarded with a wave of dizziness and the realization his entire body hurt. Stabbing pain greeted him throughout his lower back; the space between his shoulder blades burned, not to mention the pain radiating in his rear end. They had used him hard. Mateo heard footsteps approaching, heard the clinking of the lock on his crate. He crouched at the ready. Bruised and battered or not, he wouldn't let them take him again without a fight, even if only a token, pointless one. The moment the door opened, Mateo sprang forth. Intent on revenge, Mateo pressed his attack, using all his strength to call forth his panther. He snarled and spat, scratched and clawed, but his foe dodged him with ease. Exhaustion collapsed him, and his panther retreated. His strength left him, and he crumpled to the ground as his legs failed. "Easy, kitten." "Calliph?" Mateo's voice caught in his throat, and he fought back tears of fatigue and confusion. Didn't make sense, not one little bit. The last Mateo had heard of Calliph had been that he and Obyn had left Namicia for parts unknown. No word of explanation or goodbye from Calliph. Yet here he stood. And by the gods, feeling the warmth of his body, smelling him, Mateo couldn't hold onto his anger. Self-hatred and disgust rolling inside him, Mateo felt filthy and worthless, like nothing his Omarati would even want to be near, let alone ever touch again. But Calliph was here—Calliph had come for him—and that meant something. Had to mean

something. Mateo crawled forward, wrapped his body around Calliph's feet, and sobbed. Calliph scooped Mateo up into his arms. "It's all right, I've got you now." ***** Mateo slid to the floor, and his breath caught as a gasp in his throat. He cowered farther into the corner. Nowhere to go. No way out. Nothing to do but watch as they stalked toward him. Hands clamped tightly onto his shoulders and he fought for all he was worth, kicking and screaming. He tried desperately to call forth his panther, but the magic failed. The hands shook him now, but gently, and Mateo became aware of a thrilling recognition. "Wake up, kitten. Wake up." Mateo registered something familiar, but in the fog of confusion and terror, he continued to fight. "Mateo, listen to me. Listen to my voice. You know me. You know I'd never hurt you." Calliph rubbed his wrist under Mateo's nose. "You know my smell. You know me." Mateo's eyes snapped open at the scent. Instinct driving him, he surged forward and grabbed hold of Calliph, wrapping his arms around his wolf's neck in a fierce embrace. Mateo shuddered, drenched in sweat, senseless, as tears rolled down his cheeks. "Calliph?" "It's me. I'm here." Calliph held him tightly, rocking him back and forth and murmuring in his ear. "Easy. You're safe. It's all right, now." "Don't leave," Mateo whispered, suddenly very terrified of being left alone. "Please, stay. Don't . . . ." Calliph rubbed a hand up and down Mateo's back. "I won't leave you. It's all right."

Irrational fear surged through Mateo as he clung to Calliph. Still didn't make sense—his wolf shouldn't be here, shouldn't be holding him like this. Didn't matter, though. "The pirates are gone. You're safe with me." Mateo whimpered and closed his eyes tightly, mentally battling the memories that assaulted him. His breathing became labored, panicked gasps as he fought for control of his raging emotions. All he could hear were the pirates laughing and grunting over him; all he could feel were their hands on him. "Stay with me." Calliph kissed Mateo's cheeks and forehead. "Easy now, love. Calm down. Breathe slowly. Slow, deep breaths." No use. The more Mateo fought for calm, the less calm he felt. "Easy, kitten. Match your breathing to mine. Nice and slow. Breathe with me. Breathe with me." Calliph pressed their foreheads together. "Look at me. Look right here, into my eyes." He held Mateo's head steady in his hands. "Just breathe, and watch me. Hold on. Breathe when I breathe." Mateo shuddered and closed his eyes, concentrated on the sound and rhythm of Calliph's breathing, fought to match his own to it. He dug his nails into his wolf's flesh, painfully he was certain, but there was nothing for it. Mateo felt as though he was physically losing his grasp on Calliph—or rather, being pulled away. "It's all right," Calliph whispered. "I won't let go." He rocked Mateo back and forth. "Breathe with me. Breathe with me. Shh. It's all right. Breathe with me." At length, Mateo managed, through great gulping breaths, to slow his breathing to match Calliph's. For one as large and often intimidating as Calliph was, he possessed an immense gentleness that seemed to emanate from within his soul. Mateo let it swell around him, embrace him, settle him, and soothe his nerves. "That's it. That's it. Good. What did they do to you, kitten?" Mateo forced his eyes open, fighting against the madness threatening to pull him under. If he could hold on for a few minutes, he knew everything would pass. But the temptation to let it drag him down was too sweet.

"Took." All Mateo could think to say, and he hoped enough to convey what he truly meant. What he couldn't say. "Tell me what you need." Every instinct Mateo possessed screamed at him to run. He tightened his grip on Calliph and closed his eyes tightly. With effort, he managed to control his breathing even more, but he could feel his insides knotting and trembling. He ground his teeth to keep them from chattering with the sudden cold he felt. "Touch me. Take their touch away." "Perhaps we should wait. I want to be certain you're ready. I'd never want you to associate my touch with something bad." Mateo hung his head. The pirates had tainted him. Calliph didn't want him. "You can't stand to touch me, can you?" "I'm rather fond of touching you, if you recall." "You know what I mean." Calliph shook his head. "Not a clue, my love." He took Mateo's face in his hands. "That would never happen." Calliph ran his hands through Mateo's hair, stroked his ears, his cheeks, his temples. Mateo's world seemed to fade away, except for Calliph. "Scared," he whispered. "Don't worry. Everything's going to be fine." Calliph smoothed Mateo's hair back and kissed his lips. Mateo leaned into the gentle kiss, feeling tired and worn out, beyond the point of exhaustion. "Let me take it away," Calliph whispered. He guided Mateo back down against the pillows. Calliph straddled him, leaned forward on his elbows, his face inches from Mateo's. "You are everything to me," he murmured. He shifted his weight to one arm, used his other hand to trace lazy circles across Mateo's flesh. Worry seized Mateo. He'd been unable to rise for the pirates. What if I can't do so now? What if I can't rise for Calliph? The thought made his heart ache and tore a

frustrated cry from his lips. "Cal! You don't think . . . I mean . . . what if . . . I'm . . . ." He struggled to find the word. "Broken." "Broken?" "On the ship. When they . . . they couldn't get a rise out of me. My cock, I mean. I didn't rise for them." "Gods, Mateo, that doesn't mean you're broken." Calliph bent his head and brushed his lips across Mateo's. "Just means you don't respond to violence." Mateo sighed and parted his lips, beckoning Calliph's tongue with his own, and Calliph obliged him, twining and twisting their tongues together. Mateo drew back, gazing into Calliph's gentle face. "Do you feel what I feel?" Calliph ground his hips against Mateo's groin. "You're hard." "So I am." Mateo reached between them and touched himself experimentally, pulling a blissful moan from his lips. "By the gods." "Doesn't feel broken to me," Calliph told him, adding his hand over Mateo's. "What if the hardness won't last?" "Shh. You worry too much." Calliph's fingers resumed their exploration, while his lips began a journey of their own, skimming across Mateo's body in light, feathery kisses. Mateo sighed. More than pleasure: welcome home, forgiveness for his wrongs, apology for wrongs done to him, and a promise and reassurance of a bond stronger than time and distance. A swirling range of emotions churning inside him, he was grateful Calliph's body pinned him down; otherwise, he might've bolted and ran. Had nothing to do with the carnal needs of his body but with the needs of Mateo's heart and soul. He would never willingly face the feelings inside him, but with every touch, Calliph brought them swelling forth into the light of day where Mateo could no longer deny them. Mateo wanted to fight, wanted to run away, and for a moment, he tried to. He struggled beneath Calliph, unwilling to continue. "Be still, kitten."

"No," Mateo gasped, attempting to wrest himself away. "I can't bear it." Calliph traced Mateo's ear with his tongue. "You can. You must. You need it." But Mateo struggled still, until at once he was pushing Calliph away with one hand and pulling him closer with the other. "Don't stop," he pleaded. "Even if I ask you to." "Shh." Calliph reached into the drawer of the bedside table and withdrew a bottle of oil. Mateo's heartbeat sped up as panic rose in him. "No," he gasped. He shuddered and bucked. But Calliph shook his head. "Trust me. Let me heal you." Mateo allowed Calliph to coax him onto his side. Calliph was offering everything Mateo wanted and needed, but still a part of him wanted to fight, a part of him that took affront at Calliph's use of force. But he groaned when Calliph's slick fingers slid into him slowly, gently; he shuddered with bliss as they went deeper. "Relax," Calliph cooed against Mateo's ear. "Let it happen. Let go." Mateo writhed against Calliph, wishing it would stop. Wishing it would go on and on. Wishing it would go faster. Wishing it would take all night. But the longer it went on, the more ripped apart his heart felt. "I can't," he gasped. Mateo shuddered, pressing his body back against the solid wall of Calliph's chest as Calliph's other hand began to stroke his cock. Despite the words that tumbled from his lips, he prayed his wolf would continue—would push him to feel, push him to reconcile with himself, with the events that had left him in this turmoil in the first place. Tears sprang forth, and Mateo felt at once as if he had begun to float, gliding along on a cool, lazy river. Then he was tumbling . . . falling down . . . down . . . weightless and free. He cried with relief, with pleasure, with gratitude. Calliph withdrew his fingers, pulled Mateo close to wrap them both in a tight cocoon of blankets, and rocked them, together, back and forth.

Mateo turned and clung to Calliph as though he was a lifeline, his only link with reality and sanity. With every shuddering sob, the weight of pain in Mateo's heart lightened. ***** Mateo awoke in a confused fog. He squeezed his eyes shut against the glaring sunlight, slowly becoming aware of the bed beneath him. He was in a small room; the only furnishings other than a fireplace were a dresser, a chair, a bedside table, and the bed. Definitely not a crate or a ship, and definitely not familiar. He crawled out from under the covers, glancing down at his clothing with a frown. A fine garment, made of soft, supple cloth, and too large for his small body, the nightshirt clearly belonged to someone else. He pulled the fabric up to his face and sniffed. Calliph. Events came back to him in a rush: the pirate ship, the crate, his night terrors. Calliph had saved him from them all. Mateo left the room. Finding a set of stairs, he made his way down slowly, his body still stiff and sore. The stairs ended in a sitting room crowded with artifacts, but Mateo didn't pay attention to any of them. He had eyes only for one thing. His wolf. "Good morning, kitten." Mateo stared hard at Calliph for several minutes, trying to digest what this all meant. Calliph had spoken only three words, but in his tone, Mateo heard proof of a torrent of emotions. Calliph crossed the distance swiftly, crushing Mateo against him in a tight embrace. Something like a whimper escaped Mateo's lips and, like last night, he clung to Calliph as if literally clinging for his life. "Shh." Calliph stroked Mateo's back and neck gently. "It's all right. I'm here. It's all right now."

At length, Calliph pulled away, and Mateo let himself be led over to a couch. "How long was I asleep?" "A couple days." Mateo licked his lips and shifted his gaze to the ceiling. "And how long on the ship?" "A week, by Ba'Tal's count. How're you feeling?" "Well enough, considering. Ba'Tal survived?" Calliph nodded. "He did. So did a few of your crewmates." Mateo heaved a thankful sigh. He glanced around the room but saw nothing familiar. "Where are we?" "The forest outside Namicia." Mateo frowned. He had been hoping for a more specific answer. "How did you know about the attack?" "I was in town for supplies and Ba'Tal was there as well, trying to muster up a crew to help him go after you and the others." "Where is Obyn?" "Dead." Calliph revealed, a sweet smile on his lips. "We can be together now." Mateo's heart burst at the words. Together. Forever. Finally. One minor complication, though. "There's something you should know—" The front door opened, and a frantic man darted in. He bypassed Calliph as if he didn't exist, and threw himself bodily at Mateo. "Mateo! Mateo! I came as soon as I heard!" The man took Mateo by the shoulders. "I'm sorry I wasn't there! I never should have taken shore leave! Please forgive me, my beloved!" "Rafe—" Minor complication, indeed. Mateo sighed. He had wanted to explain to Calliph first. He pulled away from Rafe's embrace, not entirely comfortable with the ferocity and passion behind it. "Beloved?" Calliph's voice. Calliph had gotten to his feet, staring open-mouthed at the newcomer. "Who is he?" Rafe asked.

Mateo's gaze met yellow eyes. "Calliph—" "Calliph!" Rafe repeated the name with awe, as if it were a sacred blessing. Or a curse. "You took a lover?" Calliph asked, his tone menacing. "No . . . I . . . I mean, yes, I did, but . . . ." Mateo looked to Rafe. "I thought he was—" Frustrated and worried for Calliph, he gave up all pretense of concern for Rafe and turned back to Calliph. "I thought you were lost to me." Rafe stood and faced Calliph. "He doesn't need to explain anything to you. You left him." "Stay out of this!" Calliph growled. "It's no concern of yours!" "He's my lover!" Rafe protested. Despite Calliph's obviously threatening attitude, Rafe stood his ground next to Mateo. "He's my Omarati!" Fangs bared and yellow eyes blazing, Calliph moved too quickly for Rafe to react. He lifted Rafe and pinned him to the wall, squeezing his throat in one clawed hand. "Calliph! No!" Mateo reached between them. "Let him go. Now!" Calliph glared sidelong at Mateo but released Rafe, let him fall to the ground coughing and gasping. "I'll have you in chains before the day is out!" Rafe snarled as he got to his feet. "I won't be threatened by one of your kind." "My kind?" Calliph roared with laughter and looked to Mateo. "Is this what you've lowered yourself to? A bigot who loathes what you are?" "Not what he is," Rafe interrupted. "What you are. You are nothing at all like Mateo!" "Please, your arguments aren't with each other. They're with me. I betrayed both of you." "You didn't—"

Mateo held up a hand to stop Rafe from speaking. "I did. I never should have allowed anything between you and me, Rafe. But I never imagined . . . ." He trailed off, gazing at Calliph. "What did you think would happen when Obyn eventually died?" Calliph asked, his voice a deadly, calm rumble. "Did you think I wouldn't come for you?" He growled low at Rafe. "I never anticipated you." "No?" Mateo glared at Calliph. "It never occurred to you that I might need someone? Well I'm certainly quite sorry your plans went awry. Mine have always gone so well. I planned to be plucked from the sea and raped by pirates, after all." Rafe made a strangled sound. Too late, Mateo realized in his anger he had said more than he'd wanted to in front of him. Calliph glanced at Rafe, then back at Mateo, a sympathetic look in his eyes. "Ba'Tal has a new ship. Massive thing," Rafe said quietly. "Will you return to the sea with us?" Mateo nodded. "Of course." "Of course?" Calliph echoed. "What do you mean, of course?" "I'm a sailor. It's what I do. What I am." "I know. I just thought, considering what you've been through, you might want to take some time." "I can't do that. If I don't go back, the pirates win." Truth be told, Mateo felt nothing but dread when he thought of returning to the water. He worried his captivity on the pirate vessel would affect his ability to sail. But there existed only one way to find out, and Mateo had never backed down from anything in his life. He certainly wasn't going to start now. "I think perhaps they've won already." "If Mateo wants to sail, that's his choice." "Rafe, please." Mateo sighed. "Don't pick a fight." Rafe threw his hands in the air and began pacing. "What do you expect me to do, exactly? Roll over and take this?"

Calliph snickered. "I'd think you'd be rather good at taking what you can get by now, what with all your practice fucking another man's soul mate." "Calliph!" Mateo covered his face with his hands. Still exhausted from his ordeal, he neither wanted nor needed to play mediator between the two men. Calliph moved and the warmth of his wolf's arms surrounded him. "I'm sorry, kitten," Calliph murmured. "I know this is difficult for you, and we're not helping." He stepped back and took a deep breath. "If you want . . . to stay somewhere else, while you . . . ." Calliph paused, swallowed hard. "While you sort out your feelings, I can arrange that. If you want to be with Rafe . . . if you want me gone from your life, then as fearsome hard as it will be, I will abide it." He trembled slightly, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Mateo reached out and took Calliph's hand. "I would never want that. What's between you and I is eternal, immortal. Nothing can change it." "Well, then. I suppose I know where that leaves me." Mateo turned to face Rafe, not really knowing how to respond, and feeling utterly out of his element. He had never been the object of such a quarrel before, and he didn't much care for the situation now that he was. Rafe walked to the door and peered out the window. "I should apologize for the way I've acted," he said, his back to Mateo. "That's not necessary. I know the motives in your heart. I know what drives you." "Still, I ask your forgiveness. It was never my place to pass judgment on Calliph or on you. Were I the sort of man I should be, I'd have offered you my support on the Magus, not my body." "Why the change of heart?" Calliph asked, his tone a mix of skepticism, sarcasm, and relief. "Perhaps seeing the two of you together just now. When Mateo looked at you, there was all the love in the world in his eyes. Every iota of every feeling anyone ever had, and it was all for you. I won't say I'm not insanely jealous, but I've always known

Mateo would never truly be mine." Rafe took a deep breath and turned to them. "I hope, though, that we can at least remain friends." Mateo watched as Calliph moved toward Rafe, circling him, nostrils flaring, upper lip curling just so. Predatory. Wolven. "You're giving up so easily?" Calliph asked. "What choice do I have?" "None." Calliph shook his head. "But I don't believe you. Don't trust you, not as far as I could throw you." He stepped forward, maneuvered Rafe back with his size, and placed his palms flat against the wall on either side of Rafe's head. “I warn you, don’t stand in my way. Mateo is mine. I mean to have him.” "That's where we differ. I don't consider him a possession to be owned." "I don't care what you think. Don't imagine for a moment I won't fight for him." Rafe's eyebrow arched, and his jaw clenched. "From what I understand, you didn't when you had the chance." "Rafe—" Mateo approached the two men, aware he hadn't regained enough strength to stop Calliph if he decided he'd had enough of Rafe. Calliph growled loudly. "Don't make your life any more of an annoyance to me than it already is," he snarled, his voice a terrifying mix of wolf and human. Demonic. Rafe's eyes widened, owlish, and he blinked several times before he finally nodded. "You have nothing to worry about." He glanced at Mateo. "Look at him. You've won, Calliph." Calliph growled again, but he moved away, turning to face Mateo. "Make no mistake. I will rip the flesh from his bones while he still draws breath if he touches you. No matter whose idea it is." Mateo nodded. "I never wanted to hurt either of you. Truly." Rafe cleared his throat. "Well. I'm off to find Ba'Tal. You should come down to the docks and see the new ship. Quite impressive. Bigger than the Magus." He bowed politely, then made his way out of the house without further word. Mateo and Calliph gazed at each other for several long, heavy moments.

"You took a lover." Calliph broke the silence at last. Mateo sighed. "I never intended to." "I don't remember him on the ship before." "He wasn't. Rafe was a survivor of a shipwreck. He had nowhere to go, so Ba'Tal gave him a position on the ship. A year later, Rafe confessed his love for me. The first thing I did was tell him about you. I was heart bound; I couldn't love him, even if I tried. Rafe didn't care. Said he would take whatever I could give him. "I resisted him, until one night, I was standing at the rail in the rain. I was so angry. All I could think was he was there and you were not. You'd chosen Obyn over me, and if you could choose, then I could damned well choose too." Mateo shrugged. "I kept him at arm's length until the desire for you burned so hard in me my head hurt. I used him. Hands, that's all he got. I never let him inside me, and I never went inside him." Mateo hung his head in shame. No matter how hard he tried to rationalize—and Gods, had he tried—his betrayal of Calliph wasn't the same as Calliph's betrayal of him. Calliph had had reasons: duty, honor, safety. Mateo had had only his lust. Now Obyn was dead; perhaps they could make a life with each other and move beyond the pain. Calliph had already made a good start, assuming this house was his. His. Mateo's eyes narrowed as he took a truly good look around. Meagerly furnished and well-kept but crammed with artifacts and interesting pieces, the place looked lived in. "How long has Obyn been dead?" Calliph's gaze shifted to the floor. "Five years," he whispered. Mateo began to tremble. Five years. "Ask me how long." "How long what?" "Rafe and I have been lovers. Ask me how long." Calliph shook his head and backed away until he collided with the wall, tears streaming down his face. "Ask me!" "How long have you and Rafe been lovers?" Calliph's voice shook.

"Five years. Five years of me spilling my seed over his hands and wanting to slit my throat for it. Five years of enduring his touch, and scrubbing my skin raw afterward. Five years of forcing myself to touch him, to reciprocate, and dying a little more inside each time I did. And you tell me Obyn died five years ago!" "I had a reason for not coming to you." "Did you?" Mateo could think of nothing Calliph could offer to justify anything. "I—" The door opened as he started to speak and a child walked in. Shoulderlength dark hair, stunning blue eyes, and a muscular little body. Mateo stared at the child as he came into the room, sauntering, clearly at home, clearly confident in his existence. And he smelled of werewolf. Not the same essence as Calliph, but close enough Mateo couldn't be sure he wasn't Calliph's own blood. "I'm back, da!" Calliph squatted down and pulled the boy close, wrapping an arm around him. "Did you catch anything?" The boy nodded. "Uh-huh. A tarkin. I coulda gotta bruta pig, but dumb Fecara stepped on a twig and made it snap, and then the bruta ran away." Calliph smiled. "Fecara isn't dumb, and you'll have plenty of other chances to hunt down bruta pigs." The boy screwed his face up into a scowl, bottom lip sticking out in a petulant pout. He leaned back then, and gazed up at Calliph with wide eyes. "Why're you crying?" Calliph stood. "I got some good news today. You remember me telling you about my friend Mateo?" "The cat on the ship?" Mateo's ire cooled. Calliph had spoken of him. "Mm hmm. This is Mateo. Mateo, this is Jonus. Tell Mateo how old you are." Jonus held up five fingers. Mateo arched an eyebrow and shifted his gaze to Calliph. Perhaps Calliph had a compelling reason, after all.

"Jonus, why don't you take your tarkin over to the great hall and I'll be along shortly." Jonus cocked his head to the side, one little eyebrow arching in an amazingly accurate mimic of an expression Calliph often wore. "Will you come too, Mateo?" "I wouldn't miss it for the world." "Shiny!" Jonus clapped his hands and ran out the door. "Shiny?" Mateo repeated. Calliph shrugged. "It's his new word. He's very smart." Mateo floundered for something more to say. "How?" "He's not mine. Not of my loins, anyway." Calliph sighed and sat on the edge of the couch, his shoulders sagged. "Someone left him on my doorstep when he was a baby." "Obyn let you keep him?" Calliph shook his head. "He came to me after Obyn died." Mateo sighed. If the past five years had been torment for him, they couldn't have been any less for Calliph. "We could've raised him together." "Could we? Would you have given up the sea for him? I couldn't come for you, because I knew if you'd asked me to stay on the Magus, I would've left him. I couldn't do that to him. Not his fault his parents didn't want him." Calliph's tone was flat, defeated. Mateo studied Calliph, wondering what to do next. All this time, his wolf had been so close—beyond the borders of town—yet so very far away. Mateo had thought once, several years ago, he had seen a flash of golden fur running through the woods bordering the beach, but he had dismissed the sighting as fantasy. Fantasy indeed. Much to be dealt with now. Calliph had been correct when he had said Mateo would not have given up the sea five years ago. Nor did he intend to do so now. Nevertheless, Jonus could not grow up on a ship. Mateo made a tsk-tsk sound. "You let our five year old son go off on a week-long hunt without asking me?" Calliph looked up at him. "Our son?"

"Clearly, you need the help. I mean, honestly, a hunt? I realize he's a werewolf, but he's five." Calliph pushed to his feet and engulfed Mateo in a tight embrace. "I love you." "I love you, too. About Rafe," Mateo began, pulling away. "I know my reasons for being with him weren't the same as your reasons for being with Obyn. I'd like to say being with him was all bad, but that's not the truth. But even the times that were good, he still wasn't you. And that still hurt. I only hope you can forgive me for—" "There's something you should know." Calliph took a deep breath. "The day before Obyn died, he gave me a gift. A scroll, a legal document. Obyn's father released me from my indenture before we left Mizimar. I never knew. Obyn kept the truth from me. He gave me the scroll that day because he thought I'd fallen in love with him. I wanted to kill him. I nearly did. But then . . . . He was there, on the floor, crying, begging me not to leave him. And, gods forgive me, I said I wouldn't. I didn't know he would die soon after. But if he hadn't, I would have stayed. I'm sorry." Mateo swallowed hard, hoped to keep his hurt from showing in his eyes. "Did you love him?" "No. Not then, not ever." "Then why did you agree to stay with him?" Calliph shrugged. "He needed me. I know you needed me too, but not in the same way. He was pathetic." "Seems we were both a little unfaithful, doesn't it?" "Are you angry?" Mateo shook his head, threading his fingers into Calliph's long hair. "I'm sad things had to be the way they were, but I understand why they were so. I don't know if I would have been strong enough to stay with Obyn, in your position, though. I might've just killed him." "You always were thirsty for his blood." They sat back on the couch in silence for a while, simply gazing at each other. Calliph began to fidget, though, and Mateo frowned. "What is it?"

"Tell me," Calliph urged softly, one hand moving to stroke Mateo's hair. "Tell me what happened on the pirate ship." "You can imagine." "I can." Mateo looked into Calliph's eyes, saw the desperate pleading there—the look of say it isn't so. "There were five of them, all together. At least, I think there were. Perhaps less. Or more. The details are hazy." Calliph's jaw clenched tightly. "That's probably for the best." He cleared his throat, coughed loudly. "Did they all—?" "No." Mateo interrupted before Calliph could finish, unwilling to hear the words. "Some of them preferred to watch. I should've stopped them." "You can't think that way," Calliph said, stroking his hands up and down Mateo's arms. "The curse keeps you from shifting and fighting as you rightfully should." "I should've found a way." In response, Calliph leaned over Mateo, pinned both his wrists in one large hand. He straddled Mateo quickly, pressing down. "Find a way." Mateo chuckled nervously. "Get off me, you oaf." Calliph shifted, angled his strength down into the hand that held Mateo's wrists. "I'm serious." Mateo tensed. "I said get off," he growled. "Make me." Mateo did fight then, as hard as he could. But Calliph's body held his legs immobile, his wrists shackled in an iron grip he had no hope of breaking. He struggled for several minutes until he finally gave up, exhausted, breathless, and panting. Calliph hadn't broken a sweat. Calliph released him and sat back. "Now, imagine trying against five men with only half your wits and even less strength." Calliph was right. The knowledge of that fact settled like a rock in the pit of Mateo's stomach, and he realized with shocking clarity, he wanted the pirates dead. By

his own hand. Mateo said nothing. Nothing to say. No way to verbalize what he felt. No way to make sense of it. His chest hurt, but not in any normal sense. He felt as if his heart would literally burst from anger and hatred. He imagined his heart doing so, spewing blood, and a vile, green, foul-smelling ichor. He wanted to scream until he could scream no more, until his throat was raw. His muscles twitched and bunched, demanding some sort of release; his hands ached to rip something apart. Or someone. Horrid thoughts of what he wanted to do flitted through his mind and only added to his apprehension and fear. He felt trapped—in the room and in his head; he wanted to run. He wanted to hurt others, see their blood flow as proof of the pain he had inflicted upon them. He wanted them to feel what he had felt, to hurt as he had hurt. Wanted to kill. He hated the part of him that hurt inside, the part controlled by fear. "Do you feel as if though there is a dragon coiled in the pit of your belly, and he fights to be set free?" Mateo nodded. There was a moment of panic as he realized what would have happened had Calliph not been there; what he would have done, had he been allowed to roam freely. His heart constricted with the ice-cold grip of terror, and his bowels turned to water. He barely drew breath to speak. "I feel . . . ." "Unbound? Undone? Untied?" Calliph nodded. "I know the feeling well. It will end. Take the comfort I offer you, draw it to you close, like a shield. The bad thoughts will pass. The urges will leave you." Mateo grabbed his arm. "Don't let me act on them." "I won't. Trust me. I will see you through this. I know what you feel, because I've felt it. I know what you want, because I've wanted it. But you can't hurt the ones who hurt you. And hurting others won't make it better, only make you feel guilt, and frustrate you more." Calliph touched the back of his hand to Mateo's cheek. He pulled Mateo down on the couch and wrapped his arms around him.

Mateo sighed. He wasn't calm yet—he could still feel the stirrings of evil and hostility in his blood. But they were receding. He closed his eyes, immersed himself in the warmth of his wolf. ***** Three days later, Mateo hung from a spot in the mizzen shrouds, gazing out across the water as the Wave Tamer bounced along. Rafe hadn't been exaggerating when he'd called the ship massive. Much larger than the Magus had been, the Wave Tamer sported a longer bowsprit and extra masts fitted above the lower masts. A labyrinth of rigging supported the masts and yards from which a plethora of sails were set. She carried light cannons on her forecastle, and was even equipped with a longboat. Much improved from the defenseless floating death trap the Magus had been. "Ship aft!" Mateo twisted and turned in the rigging, craning his neck to see the ship coming up on them. Fast. His heart hammered, and his hands tightened involuntarily, nails digging into the thick rope. Pirates again, he was certain of it. No other reason existed for them to follow so closely and quickly. Mateo watched them approach, his breath hitching in his throat. Not again. Not. Again. He would jump ship right away this time—before the fighting started. To the abyss with his crewmates; he hardly knew most of them. He scrambled down the shrouds and jumped to the deck with a thud. He kept moving, headed toward the railing. "What're you doing?" One of the crewmen trailed after him, reaching out to grab Mateo's arm. Mateo rounded on the other man with a hiss. "Getting away from the pirates," he snarled. "Pirates? You mean the ship? Teo, that's the Gallant."

The Gallant. Not only was she not a pirate ship, she was another freighter—one they'd planned to meet up with. Mateo stood there, drenched in sweat, shaking so hard his teeth chattered, trying to come up with some excuse to cover his actions. No luck. ***** "You wanted to see me?" "Sit down." Mateo took a seat in front of Ba'Tal's desk. He had sinking suspicion he knew what this meeting was about. "I'm taking you back to Namicia. I heard about the incident this morning." "That was nothing." Mateo clenched his jaws together tightly. "You nearly jumped ship. I wouldn't call that nothing. You're not ready to be here. Perhaps you never will be. I don't know. But you're not now." "I'm a good officer." Mateo argued. He saw his life flash before him; his world unraveled and crumbled around him in less time than it took him to draw his next breath. "I'm not arguing that. But you're not well. Your mind isn't here. And if you're not with us—if you're even a little distracted—you're a liability to the rest of the crew." "I overreacted this morning, I'll admit." Mateo frowned at the shudder in his voice, the terror and maddening confusion swirling in his mind. That Ba'Tal would do this to him—abandon him—when he had been the very one who had saved Mateo from slavery in the first place, ripped at Mateo's heart. "Mateo—" "I've got to learn to get a handle on my emotions, that's all. But I can do it. I can do this job. I can handle it." Ba'Tal shook his head. "I don't think you can. I want you to know, I understand the toll the pirates took on you. I understand the enormity of what happened and how much it hurts."

"I will get better." Mateo argued, though he knew the futility of his words. "And when you are, you'll be welcomed back. For now, though, I've relieved you of duty. I'll tell the crew it's because you're ill physically, not in the head." Ill in the head. The words twisted Mateo's guts, stabbed like tiny knives in his heart. There was something in Ba'Tal's manner, though, a hesitance, an uncertainty. A fear. Mateo was a shifter, unpredictable at best. No matter his bond with Ba'Tal, Ba'Tal was still a human. And he knew what most humans thought of shifters deep down— even the ones who claimed otherwise. "You don't trust me. That's why you're sending me away. You think I'm going to hurt someone, don't you? You think I'm going to fly into a fit of rage and kill someone, that I can't control my temper." "Is this display intended to make me think otherwise?" Ba'Tal sat back in his chair, running his hands over the smooth, worn wood of his desk. "I have never harmed anyone!" "I know that." Mateo stabbed a finger in the air toward Ba'Tal. "And you know that. No one, even when I've had reason." "Will you hear me out? Do you care to know my thoughts?" Mateo glared at him but nodded curtly. "I am not afraid you'll hurt anyone else. I'm afraid you'll hurt yourself. Either by design or by accident. I'm afraid I won't be there, or I won't be fast enough, or I won't be skilled enough to save you. Perhaps I won't even know to look for you." Ba'Tal sighed heavily; his shoulders sagged. "I've lost too many men already, Teo. Do you realize that of my original crew, of elves, shifters, and humans, I took on fifty years ago, you and two others are all that's left? That's a lot of death, don't you think?" Mateo's anger softened. He'd never thought of things in such light. "A lot indeed," he said softly. "We'll make port in three days."

"And then what? What am I supposed to do on land?" Mateo had no real skills to speak of, beyond those he used for sailing. He had no knowledge of farming or raising animals, no experience with herbs or potions. Couldn't even cook to save his life. Ba'Tal shrugged. "Nothing. You've hardly spent any of your wages over the years. You shouldn't need to work for coin." True enough. Ever thrifty, Mateo had amassed quite a tidy fortune for himself. He'd saved the coin to see him through his older years, when he could no longer sail. But he'd never imagined they'd come this quickly. "Do I have any say in this at all?" "No. Live your life. Heal yourself. Enjoy Calliph." Mateo nodded. Calliph. If there was one bright spot in this whole situation, Calliph was it. ***** Three days later, Mateo sat across from Calliph at the kitchen table. "Ba'Tal was right," he said at length. "I saw that other ship, and I was convinced it carried pirates. I knew they were coming for me. Coming to take me and put me in that box." Mateo sighed. "He said I'd have a place when I was able to come back, but I don't know if I'll be able to. The pirates stole something from me—I don't love my ship anymore. They've made me hate her and fear her. I'm afraid of going back." He shrugged and tilted his head from side to side, panic rising in him at the mere thought of going back to sea. "I hate feeling like this!" "It's all right you do, you know. You have a right to these feelings, kitten." "Doesn't mean I want them." "No." Calliph looked away quickly. He stood and paced to the sink, clung to the rim as if his might alone held it in place, large hands white-knuckled. Mateo frowned. "What troubles you?" "I have no desire to see you so conflicted. I'm angry these men hurt you. I can't punish them for it. I can't fix this. I can't make it better for you."

Mateo went to him and slid his arms around Calliph's waist, rested his head on Calliph's back. "You do make it better. Do you know what got me through each night on the ship? The thought of you, here, waiting for me. The thought of lying next to your big, strong, warm body, being held tightly in your arms, hearing your voice whispering you would keep me safe, everything would be all right. I envisioned that every night. I hugged my arms around myself and pretended they were yours. I pressed my back against the wall, and pretended I felt your body solidly behind me. You made it all better than you can ever know." Calliph turned and their lips met. The kiss was deep, feverish, raw. Mateo matched him, gripping Calliph's hair in a blind need. All his pent up love, passion, lust, and desire came spilling out in a torrential embrace that seemed to go on and on. His cock grew hard, straining against his breeches, and he fancied he could bring himself to release simply by kissing Calliph. He thrust his hips forward; Calliph ground against him in answer. Mateo's hands left Calliph's hair, and he tugged furiously at Calliph's shirt. "Please," he whimpered. "Come with me." Calliph took his hand. "But Jonus—" "Won't be home from his fishing lesson for hours." Mateo let Calliph lead him to the bedroom, guide him to the bed, and coax him down. He watched as Calliph shed his own breeches, then moved to the bed. Calliph pulled Mateo's breeches off, with Mateo relishing the rush of blood and warmth as his cock responded to Calliph's gentle caresses. He arched his back as those hands became lips and Calliph's mouth surrounded him. "You taste good, kitten," Calliph told him, pausing in his sucking to lick up and down the length of Mateo's shaft. He pushed Mateo's thighs up and dipped his head. "Gods!" The slick, hot slither of Calliph's tongue tickled and teased Mateo's puckered opening, wriggled itself inside. Mateo clutched at the blankets, writhing in bliss.

"Mmm . . . so good." Calliph straightened, licking his lips and smiling. He stood between Mateo's legs and reached down to take hold of Mateo's cock. Placing the open palm of his hand on the head, he began twisting it around in a gentle polishing motion. Mateo bucked, and his cock twitched spasmodically. Calliph's own erection pressed tightly against him, a trickle of fluid oozing from it. How Calliph could hold back from touching himself, Mateo had no idea. Calliph's palms slid up and down Mateo's cock, rolling back and forth over his length as they moved. The pleasure was exquisite, but not enough. He thrust his hips. "More . . . please." Calliph's hand closed, and he began squeezing and pumping in earnest. "Yes . . . ." Mateo's hips rose and fell, matching Calliph's pace. "That's it . . . fuck my hand." "Gods . . . gods . . . Cal . . . ." Mateo panted, feeling warm and light. All that existed was his cock and Calliph's hand and the lightning storm they created together. "Calliph!" Calliph climbed onto the bed and straddled him, one hand still around Mateo's cock, the other alongside Mateo's head, bearing his weight. "Gods . . . ." He gasped and released his own juices onto Mateo's belly. Although still enthralled in his own orgasm, Mateo didn't miss the implications of Calliph's. "I didn't even touch you," he whispered, awed. Calliph chuckled weakly. "You didn't have to." Mateo wrapped his arms and legs around Calliph, pulling him off balance and down on into the bed. Calliph took hold of Mateo's chin. "You are beautiful. Don't ever let anyone tell you different. Understand?" Mateo understood very well. What he felt went beyond Omarati—beyond a feeling that had been planted in him at birth. Love. He was sure of it, though he had never felt anything remotely like it. Perhaps that reason in particular fostered his certainty the most. Exhilarating, empowering, uplifting, and amazing. As if Calliph was the world, and Mateo, a humble moon, happy to be allowed in his sky. Everything had

changed once he had met his wolf, even if they hadn't been together. The sun had shined brighter; food had tasted better, water crisper, ale sweeter. And Mateo was different too—better, more certain of himself and his place in the world. At peace. Calmness descended over him, permeated his being, and settled in his heart. Yes, indeed. Love. "I understand," he said, holding Calliph close and thanking the gods for such a gift. "I understand." ***** Mateo moaned and writhed beneath Calliph's hands, purring and panting his name. Calliph smelled like papsy flowers, ale, and bread. Like home. He sighed as Calliph's cock filled him, and Calliph began to rock their bodies against each other. Mateo's hips rose and fell in time with his wolf's slow, tender thrusts. His mind drifted in a haze of pleasure. And then everything shifted and fell apart. Not Calliph inside him. Not Calliph's hands on him. Not Calliph's mouth. Mateo struggled as arms slid around him. Calliph's. Mateo awoke from the dream, the feeling of the pirates' hands and the taste of their mouths lingering. Four months since they had taken him. Four months. He groaned and clutched at Calliph, wondering if these damned nightmares would ever end. "Shh, kitten," Calliph's sleepy voice soothed. Mateo buried his head against Calliph's chest, the sound of Jonus running around the house reaching his ears. "He's up early." "Festival day," Calliph mumbled. "Ah." Jonus had been barely able to contain his excitement about the festival for the past two weeks. As if on cue, Jonus banged on their door. "Da! Teo! C'mon! We're going to miss the griffins!"

Well that would be a right tragedy. Mateo smiled, and Calliph shivered with laughter beside him. "Ready for your day to start?" ***** Namicia's Spring Festival was in full swing by the time they arrived. Hundreds of people crowded the streets; artisans, farmers, and entertainers from all across the region had come together for the yearly event. Sleight of hand artists and sword swallowers vied with fire jugglers for the attention of the crowds, while local blacksmiths and wood workers demonstrated their crafts to any who were interested. Jonus bolted away from them, running over to join in a game of chasing—and being chased by—a pack of children and a mongrel dog, all of them squealing in delight. "He's got the energy of a million children!" Calliph said. "That he does." Calliph took his hand, and they strolled along, past a painter sitting in front of an enormous wooden dragon, sketching portraits for those who stood next to the beast. "Fancy a drawing?" Calliph asked. Mateo shook his head, smiling. "What are you grinning at?" "Nothing in particular. Just nice to be with you like this. No chaos." "Your day is turning out better than it began?" Calliph leaned down to nuzzle Mateo's ear. "Indeed." Mateo squeezed the hand that held his. "Although, any morning I wake up next to the most handsome wolf in all the region, I'd say that's a good morning." "Most handsome wolf, eh? Is he bigger than me?" Calliph asked, a sly grin curling his lips. "He's about your size."

They walked along, Mateo enjoying the crisp spring air and the smell of flowers in bloom. Bright rays of sunshine winked in and out through the tops of the trees as their branches swayed in the breeze. The sound of birds warbling reached his ears, and he breathed in deeply, drinking in the perfection of the day. Another sound reached him though, one that stopped him dead in his tracks and sent fear racing up his spine, made his blood run cold and twisted his stomach into knots. A voice. He knew that voice. Impossibly familiar. Impossibly close. Pirate. "Calliph!" his voice trembled despite his best efforts. Calliph pulled Mateo close, looking around, obviously in search of the source of Mateo's worry. "Kitten?" He didn't respond, and Calliph shook him gently. "Mateo?" "I . . . I thought . . . ." Mateo stammered, unsure. There was no sign of any of the pirates, anywhere, let alone the specific one he had thought he'd heard. As if he had simply vanished into thin air. Or never been there at all. Perhaps his mind had been playing tricks on him. Or he was losing his grip on reality. "Are you all right?" Mateo shrugged. "I don't know." Calliph's strong touch on him seemed to help though. "Don't let go." Calliph shook his head. "You know I won't. Take your time." Mateo nodded mutely, unnerved by how swiftly the fear and anger—indeed bloodlust—had overcome him. A wave of nausea took him, skin crawling, mind bringing forth memories of the pirate ship. Tremors started in his hands, continuing up his arms and down into his guts. He slid his arms around Calliph's waist, tucked his head against Calliph's chest, and pressed his forehead against Calliph's shoulder. Hard. Calliph's arms tightened around him. Moments ticked by, becoming more and more unbearable. His shaking increased steadily, so Mateo wasn't sure he could stand on his feet any longer, his breath coming hard and fast as he fought for control. They stayed like that: Calliph simply offering his presence and Mateo soothed by it. Mateo wasn't sure if it was Calliph's strength or his willingness to share it that

helped, but either way, the shaking gradually stopped. Mateo shook his head. "I'm sorry." Calliph kissed Mateo's hair. "Don't. Don't you apologize for this. Don't be sorry. Don't you dare." "But I—" "A man should never apologize for a thing that's not his fault, a thing beyond his control. Never apologize for someone else's wrong. Especially this." Calliph took a deep breath. "Come. Let's enjoy the day." Mateo nodded again and took Calliph's hand, walking along beside him, head down, eyes focused on the ground in front of him. "How embarrassing," he mumbled, hating his weakness, his inability to free himself from the clutches of his past. "I doubt anyone even noticed, and those who did won't likely pay it any mind." Mateo kicked at a stone as he walked. "Ridiculous that I let these things get to me." "I think you're too hard on yourself," Calliph told him. "Give yourself credit. That you are still able to let someone touch you after all that is amazing to me. I think such a thing requires a great amount of courage." "Sometimes . . . I just feel bogged down by it all, you know?" Mateo shrugged. Calliph nodded. "I understand. Trust me, I do." Mateo glanced at him, wondering—not for the first time—about Calliph's past, and what could have made a proud, valiant alpha submit to a position of slavery. True, there had only been two choices for their kind after the Shifter War: be a slave, or find work. Most of the jobs hadn't been what anyone, shifter or not, would have wanted. Still, though, he thought Calliph must have had some sort of viable, useable skills— something that could've kept him out of a collar and leash. "You're staring at me, kitten." "Sorry. I was just thinking—" "About my past?" "How did you guess?"

Calliph glanced at Mateo with a grin. "Seemed like the logical train of thought after what I said about understanding." He paused and pulled Mateo close, tipped Mateo's head up with a finger under his chin. "There are things about me you would do better never to know. Things that would change your opinion of me, and not in a good way." "Will they change the fact we're Omarati?" Calliph cocked his head, looking thoughtful. "No." "Then they change nothing." "You might wish we weren't." Mateo gazed at him, perplexed. He didn't doubt, in time, Calliph would share the stories of his life. And he didn't doubt his feelings for Calliph would never change. What he did wonder, though, was how important hearing those stories was to him and if indeed disclosure could wait until Calliph felt comfortable, or if Mateo needed to hear all the werewolf's secrets now. Calliph bent his head and brushed his lips gently over Mateo's. "You know me better than anyone in my life ever has. And not simply because we are Omarati. You have learned more about me in the space of a few months than I've let anyone learn in a lifetime. I'll tell you everything you want to know. But . . . ." He swallowed and looked away, gazed over Mateo's head at the crowd of people. "Right now . . . I-I can't." Mateo felt the shudder that ran through Calliph's body. Calliph's gaze returned to Mateo's. In its depths, Mateo saw pain and agony, uncertainty, and a self-loathing he recognized and understood all too well. "I love you, Calliph. Doesn't matter what you were. You're mine now. That's all I care about." "Teo!" Jonus bounded up to them and tugged on both of their tunics. "The griffins are here!" Jonus jumped up and down with his excitement. "Well, we can't miss the griffins, now can we?" Jonus shook his head, his forehead smeared with dirt, cheeks red and shiny. Calliph scooped Jonus up and swung him around to sit on his shoulders. Chubby little fingers held on tightly to Calliph's tunic, little feet kicked happily.

Calliph inclined his head toward Mateo. "Shall we?" Mateo blinked through the blur of sudden tears. The situation wasn't perfect— far from it—but there was perfection in it, and that made it perfect enough in Mateo's mind. He had finally found his happily ever after. Not in the arms of another cat, as he had always imagined, but in the arms of a wolf. A handsome, powerful alpha, who just happened to be the gentlest being Mateo had ever met. "Kitten?" Calliph stepped closer. "Everything all right?" he whispered. "Yes," Mateo answered, nodding quickly, wrapping an arm around Calliph's waist. They still had issues to work out—they certainly weren't burping sunshine and rainbows—but they were happy. "Everything's perfect." ***** That evening, Mateo stood in front of the floor-length mirror as he undressed for bed, looking over his body. The scar from his shoulder wound had finally begun to diminish. He turned and looked over his shoulder at his back. No scars left behind, only fading red lines. Looking at them now, he could feel again the sting of the pirates' whips and belts, see the gleam in their eyes as it came down on him over and over. He glanced farther down his back. These bruises—ugly black and blue hand shaped prints from where the pirates had forced him apart—hadn’t lessened at all. Mateo shuddered. He couldn’t let what had been done to him rule his life, but strength was a fearsome hard thing to muster with such visual reminders. He grabbed up his robe and slid it on, hugging his arms around his middle. Calliph and Jonus had gone out to run errands, leaving him home alone. He hated being by himself. And he hated that he hated such . . . that he hated anything at all. Mateo heaved a deep sigh. He didn't have the right to complain about his life. He had survived the shipwreck, survived the pirates. He had won his true love. Nothing for him to lament over. He closed his eyes tightly, willing himself not to dwell on the past.

"Kitten?" Mateo jumped, not having heard his wolf enter. Calliph's arms slid around him and he leaned back, savoring the feeling. "Come with me. I have something to show you." "Dressed like this?" "Mm hmm. Trust me." Mateo let Calliph lead him through the house, out the door, and into the woods. Dark out, but the moon was full, a radiant pearl in the black velvet of the night sky. A light rain drizzled down, leaving droplets of moisture shining on plants like tiny stars. Mateo breathed in a deep breath. Magical. Calliph let go of Mateo's hand and walked a few feet away. He shed his clothes and knelt, placing his palms flat on the ground. The transformation started in his legs, his feet turning into paws and thick fur sprouting out. His arms and hands became legs with paws as well, his nose elongated into a muzzle, until at last, he stood on all fours in full wolf form. Calliph padded over to Mateo, then sat in front of his feet. "Like a scratch, would you?" Mateo knelt and ran his nails through the soft fur on Calliph's back, gently scratching. "How's that?" Calliph twisted and turned, arching his back into Mateo's touch. He trotted away, turned, ears up, mouth open, and relaxed, his front end lowered as if ready to leap forward. Mateo grinned. His wolf wanted to play with him. The last time Mateo had summoned his panther had been under horrific circumstances, and he hadn't been able to hold on to his form very long. Now though, he was happy, at peace. He still couldn't stay in his feline form for any extended length of time—the alchemists had seen to that—but whatever small moment he could have, he would take. Mateo curled on his side and summoned forth his cat. The transformation was unpleasant—no way around that—he groaned in pain as his muscles stretched and twisted. Large, sharp teeth broke through his gums, claws burst from his fingers and

toes, sleek black fur grew out and covered his body. He lay there for a moment, panting through the unease. Calliph whined softly and nudged Mateo with his muzzle. Mateo lifted his head, sniffed, and offered a high-pitched gurgle that ended in a friendly chirp. He raised a paw and batted playfully at Calliph's side. Calliph yipped, jumping up and landing in a crouch, his hind end raised, tail wagging furiously. Can you hear me? Mateo sent the thought to Calliph, though he had no idea if his cat's telepathy worked with a wolf or not. Calliph snorted, shook his head, and pawed at his ear. Not so loud! Mateo's eyes widened, and the rumble of a purr started in his chest. His wolf could hear him! Do you trust me? Mateo rolled over onto his back and stretched his head to the side, offering his throat. He needed no words—mental or verbal—to relay his answer. Calliph snarled, yellow eyes glowing eerily in the darkness. He bared his fangs and pressed them against Mateo's throat. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then sank his teeth in. Mateo wrapped his front paws around Calliph's neck and held tight, trusting Calliph not to hurt him. Calliph's bite was gentle, subtle. Meant to claim, not to do harm. Mateo would bear the mark of his wolf's gesture tomorrow, possibly bear it forever, and that made Mateo purr all the louder. Calliph released him and sat back on his haunches. Mateo offered what he hoped was a feline version of a grin, although he had never seen the gesture from an outside perspective. He rose and walked around Calliph, rubbing the length of his body against his wolf, nuzzling his cheeks against Calliph's. At last he flopped down on his back in front of Calliph, belly up. Calliph stretched out beside Mateo, resting his head on Mateo's flank. Still not perfect—still far from it—but perfect enough. Mateo purred.

~The End~ About the Author A Southern transplant who has retained none of his accent but all of his charm, DC Juris is an out and proud bisexual transgender man who moved to New York State in 2001 for a real-life romance. By day he is a mild-mannered office manager, by night a passionate writer of all types of romance. He lives in Upstate New York with his husband, three dogs, two cats, and a menagerie of Halloween props just creepy enough to keep people guessing about his sanity. Which is just the way he likes it. Still hopelessly single when it comes to the woman in his life, DC will gladly entertain offers, or applications for the position. In the rare event that he's not writing, DC can be found surfing the internet for random research, killing things on his Xbox, reading, taking pictures of the world around him, or playing Farmville, to which he admits a blissful addiction. To learn more about D.C. Juris, visit http://www.dcjuris.com. ***** If you enjoyed Omarati, you might also like the following books from D.C. Juris and Noble Romance Publishing: Echoes of Possibilities Anthology