Red Queen

RED QUEEN Book #1 of the Red Queen Series By Michelle L. Levigne Triskelion Publishing www.triskelionpublishing.net

Triskelion Publishing 15327 W. Becker Lane Surprise, AZ 85379 First e Published by Triskelion Publishing First e publishing October 2006 ISBN 1-933874-88-0

Copyright 2006 Michelle L. Levigne All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher except, where permitted by law.

Ebook and cover design Triskelion Publishing.

Publisher’s Note. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to a person or persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

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Chapter One Anstice walked the forest path with Nices and wished she and her mother hadn’t returned to the sheltered coastal village where she had been born. Nices was no longer the laughing, golden-haired playmate of her childhood. While she had journeyed with her father’s band of mercenary soldiers, Nices had grown into a tall, handsome, imposing man with bulging muscles, a successful and rich worker in bronze. Any girl, any ordinary Human girl, would be delighted to have his undivided attention. Any ordinary girl would have been flattered that Nices had wanted her as his bride from the moment he set eyes on her two moons ago. However, Anstice wasn’t an ordinary Human girl. She knew the depths of Nices’ lustful hunger for her because she smelled the sharp, spicy stink of it in the warm, forestscented air. It made her throat close up and sent an unpleasant churning through her belly. Human girls, she decided, were lucky to be so sense-dead. Kreefa girls, even Halflings like her, weren’t so lucky. But then, Kreefa girls had the right to choose their mates. An ordinary Human girl in Achaia, even the daughter of a god-gifted healer and a famous mercenary commander, wouldn’t dream of having that right. There were some benefits, Anstice supposed, to being Kreefa. If she could only control her extra-sensitive nose as easily as she controlled her ability to turn into a wolf. Her claws pressed at the tips of her fingers, begging to be let loose. Just one little scratch, just a whiff of Nices’ blood to make her feel better. What was the use of being able to manifest her claws without shifting to wolf, if she didn’t use them once in a while? Verdidan knew, there was little enjoyment in being a Halfling, so why not use the things that made her different from both Kreefa and Human? The Kreefa were magic, bone and blood. The magic that let them turn to wolves whenever they willed essentially gave them two bodies, Human and wolf. Their clothes

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stayed with their Human bodies when they took their wolf form. As they grew older and stronger, some were able to carry small things with them when they shifted from Human to wolf, travel long distances, and shift back to Human again with those things still with them. Legend said that the greatest warriors could dress in full armor, travel hundreds of leagues in wolf form, and shift back to do battle in the Human fashion. But that Kreefa magic didn’t seem to do her much good now, did it? What defense or benefit was there in being Kreefa, when it couldn’t give her guidance in dealing with Nices? She didn’t understand him any longer. Or was it that she had never understood him? It didn’t help that Nices’ courtship had become irritating. Why didn’t he simply admit that the only reason he wanted her was to slake his sexual hunger, and nothing more?

They certainly didn’t have anything in common, as they did when they were

children. It didn’t help that Anstice ached to know what made her parents seem to glow when they looked at each other. The love between Staffen, commander of the mercenary Black Wolves and the god-gifted healer, Dawn-from-the-Sea, couldn’t be simply physical. Anstice knew her parents were bound together in their souls as well as their hearts. She wanted that. It didn’t help that she dreamed of being Nices’ wife and pretending to be an ordinary Human. She knew she could never be an ordinary Human. She was a Halfling, doomed to fit in nowhere. “Staffen’s a fool,” Nices snarled. “My father is a great warrior.” Her crest fur, the sensitive, thumb-thick line running from the nap of her neck to the base of her spine, prickled all the way down her back. She imagined the thin line of ember red hair standing straight up, pressing against her dress. Her nostrils twitched at the burned scent of her anger. She was angry with herself more than Nices. She could have said no when he asked her to walk with him through the forest near her mother’s house. “Even great warriors can be blind. How will you ever marry if he isn’t here to give

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you away?” Anstice bit her tongue against laughing. No one gave away a Kreefa maiden. She took the mate of her choice and not even her parents could force her to choose another. She couldn’t explain that to Nices -- to him, all women were property. Just as she would be his property from the moment she let him slide the betrothal bracelet on her wrist. Could she pay that price, in order to belong and be ordinary? The Kreefa who lived in their scattered households along the slopes of Mount Olympus would certainly never accept her as one of them. Anstice imagined the males would laugh themselves hoarse or be violently sick if anyone ever suggested one of them take her as mate. Her only chance to belong anywhere, she feared, was to give up her Kreefa heritage and pretend to be an ordinary Human girl. Nices’ property. “You’re almost too old to marry,” Nices continued. He kicked at a stone, then cursed and hobbled for a few steps. The worn leather at the toe of his sandal hadn’t cushioned against the sharp edge of the stone. “Among my father’s people, a girl isn’t considered ripe for marriage until she’s at least seventeen.” “You’re eighteen. Almost nineteen.” Nices reached for her. Anstice sidestepped him. What was wrong with men that they liked to lift a girl’s skirts and stick their tongues in a girl’s mouth and grope at her negligible bosom? Anstice hoped the Fever would make such things bearable. She didn’t like the scent of lust or the taste of Nices’ mouth, the few times he had forced kisses on her. Maybe when she had her first moon blood and became a woman, she would like it? Maybe Kreefa males tasted and smelled better? Did pleasure only come when a woman joined heart and soul with her mate? Anstice knew better than to hope for such a thing. Until Staffen found his mate’s long-vanished people with their god-like talents, their daughter would never find a mate. No Kreefa male would want a Halfling as mate. Although Nices burned to have her in his bed, she knew he would turn from her in revulsion if she ever showed him her wolf nature. Only Dawn’s people, the servants of Verdidan, would ever fully accept her. Besides, she could die in her first Fever. Many Halflings did, when they couldn’t

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control the hunger burning through their bodies and ran mad with need. “Stop it,” she said with a slight growl in her voice. She released some anger into her scent, strong enough for even a nose-dead Human male to react. Nices stepped back, his full lips pursing in distaste. He couldn’t smell the change in Anstice’s scent, but his body reacted to the lash of her emotions.

Somewhere while

changing from her golden, laughing playmate into a muscle-bound, rich bronze worker, he had grown callous and self-centered. Anstice disliked the change, but she had learned long ago that very little in the world cared what she liked or didn’t like. “I know what we can do.” Nices reached to put his arm around her again. She evaded him and put her back to a tree. Had the moment of confrontation come? She almost wanted it. Send him out of her life once and for all. Have him push other girls into dark corners and reach under their skirts and stick his tongue in their mouths and leave her alone. She wished sometimes she could be totally, completely alone, rather than taunted by what she could never have. Maybe then she could forget what she was and what she could never be. “I have to go home to my mother.” Anstice clasped her hands in front of her, pressing hard to force the tips of her claws back into that other place of magic, where her wolf body waited. “Let me have you,” Nices whispered. The scent of his lust burned the air, stealing her breath. “Tell your mother I forced you. She’ll have to let us marry, without waiting for your father to come home. Better yet, if you carry my child, no one can keep us apart.” Anstice shook her head. Tears touched her eyes. What kind of a fool did Nices think her? She had heard about other girls who had slept with their sweethearts, defying their parents. Depending on the power of the parents or the intended husband, the lover was killed or gelded or sold as a slave. The girl was killed, or if pregnant, imprisoned until she delivered. Often, she was given to the man she disliked anyway. Often the boy turned her out of his life once he had his pleasure. “I’m not going to marry you, Nices.” “Don’t be silly.” He laughed and reached for her. “Off with your clothes. There’s plenty of moss and grass for our comfort.”

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“I said no.” She slid fluidly out of his reach. Strange, how calm she felt, and how his lust had turned bitter, filthy, like rancid sweat. “Anstice!” He lunged. His laughter vanished. She swung her arm with lazy grace, claws extending, glistening in the afternoon sunlight. Nices screamed and blood scorched the air, wiping away the scent of lust and anger. * * * * * Phaon wrinkled his nose at the stink of male lust turning to fury. The last thing he needed was yet another delay in finishing this fool’s errand for his father. Kratos had definitely lost his canniness when he allied with King Lycaon of Arkady. Kratos dreamed of making the Kreefa into gods, while Lycaon … Phaon wasn’t sure what Lycaon wanted, but he knew it wouldn’t be of any profit for the rebel Kreefa who had fled Olympus and the laws imposed by the Elders. Why couldn’t Staffen have hidden his mate in one of the better cities of Achaia? Dawn-from-the-Sea would have been honored as she deserved for her god-gifted healing talents in Athens, Sparta, or even Mycenae. It had taken him three moons of searching, but he had finally found her in the tiny coastal village of Gytheion. The old gossipy crones in the marketplace had pointed out the path through the forest, to the hut where he could find Dawn. Phaon had nearly laughed aloud when they warned him about the wolves that prowled and protected the god-gifted healer. He had wondered if Staffen was canny enough to leave a few of his mercenaries to protect his mate while he was off fighting some petty king’s war. Phaon had been in a good mood as he walked through the forest, leading his horse. After all, his mission was nearly finished. Finding two sweethearts having a spat in the forest clearing had irritated him. He stepped into the shadows and calmed his horse, prepared to wait until they passed. Maybe one of Staffen’s men would appear in wolf shape and frighten the two away, so Phaon could complete his errand and leave. He hadn’t come close enough to hear their words, just the tones of their voices. And catch the stink of male lust. Strangely enough, he couldn’t catch the girl’s scent. He had no idea how she felt about her suitor, and wondered what sort of game the girl played. Did

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she taunt her sweetheart? Then he caught the sound of rising voices. Despite his intent to stay out of Human affairs, Phaon stepped out of the shadows and saw them. The man was tall, muscular, wearing the long tunic of a rich man. The girl was slightly built, her dress simple and beltless. The most amazing, vibrant spill of red hair Phaon had ever seen crowned her head. He stared, feeling as if he looked into living fire, and felt hunger awaken in his loins. Realizing the idiocy of following his thoughts in that direction, Phaon snorted and turned his attention back to the argument. The girl’s voice was cold. The hulking golden Human male reached for her and she stepped out of his way. Phaon snorted amusement. It was easy to see what the male wanted, and she refused him. Good for her. He didn’t like the way Human females were raised to consider themselves property. The big man growled and lunged at the girl. She spun, swinging an arm to slap him. Blood glistened red in the hot afternoon sunlight. The scent darted through the air to Phaon in the forest shade. He left his hiding place, forgetting sword, cloak and helmet still resting on his horse’s saddle. Male had attacked female, and that simply wasn’t allowed among the Kreefa. The big man screamed and crumpled to the ground, clutching his face with both hands. Phaon skidded to a stop in front of the girl. She spun on one heel, snapping the strap of her simple sandals, and backed away from him. Her hair glistened like burning blood in the hot sunlight, falling down past her waist in a long, loose streamer of curls. Her huge, gray-green eyes were wide and staring. She wasn’t pale, but golden-tanned, with a sprinkling of golden freckles across the bridge of her tiny, up-tilted nose. Her full lips relaxed from a frown as she studied him. She showed no fear of him. Phaon was grateful, down deep in his gut where he usually let no female ever affect him. There was no scent of her fear in the air, just a bitter-hot tinge of anger. No blood on her, just on the man. No knife, either. Phaon wondered at that. “Are you all right?” he demanded, and finally let his hand drop to his side. This was no cringing female to weep and seek comfort in the nearest pair of strong, male arms. She nodded, then glanced at the big man, who shuddered and took deep, gasping breaths to fight the pain that stung the air.

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“Did you think I needed rescuing?” A glimmer of laughter made her eyes bright for a moment, but Phaon sensed something bitter in her humor. “He’s a big man and you’re just a ….”

He shook his head, realizing the

contradiction in scents. Her scent held the freshwater purity of a child on the brink of womanhood, yet she had to be at least seventeen. He expected her scent to be the heady, crisp, wine-like perfume of a woman grown and newly come into all her sexual potency. She was still a child, for all that she had a woman’s gently curved hips and high, small breasts. It had been more than ten years since he had seen a Kreefa woman, or in this case, a Kreefa girl-child. Despite that, Phaon knew what the contradictory scents meant. Hunger and anger warred in his gut and the sweetness of her aroma stole his breath. “Kreefa,” he muttered, without thinking. He reached for his sword, to gut the man for trying to defile a Kreefa child. He growled when he realized he had left it with his horse. That scent of purity, of a child on the brink of adulthood, overcame all boundaries and alliances among the Kreefa. Even the rebels who defied the laws of the Elders would agree with Phaon and bare their fangs against this insolent Human male.

Children,

especially female children, were to be defended no matter what family claimed them and what feuds existed between the many Kreefa households. “Are you?” She backed away three steps. “I seek Staffen’s mate. The healer woman.” Phaon wondered if he had botched his assignment already. “Staffen is my father, but you’re not one of the Black Wolves.

Are you from

Olympus?” He evaded answering that question by gesturing at the man on the ground, and raised an eyebrow in question. “That is Nices, the bronze worker. He’s rich and thinks he can have any girl he wants.” Her nose wrinkled, as if the scent of his fading pain and blood disgusted her. “Except you?” “If you are Kreefa, then you know I am not for the taking.” The humor vanished

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completely from her eyes. “Why are you here?” “I’ll explain this evening. If I may claim hospitality in your home?” Phaon glanced at Nices, who had finally grown quiet. He silently cursed the man for a coward. Willing to attack a seemingly defenseless girl, he lay still and pretended to be crippled when there was a man around who could defend her or witness his brutality. “Do you bring word from my father’s kin?” “No, but I do have business with Staffen.” It was close enough to the truth, Phaon didn’t catch any sourness in his scent to give him away as a liar. “How do I find your home?” “Everyone knows the way to the home of Dawn-from-the-Sea.” She smiled and pride made her voice rich. The girl gestured with one graceful hand at the path winding through the forest. “Follow it, and don’t let the tales of wolves in these forests frighten you.” “Wolves never frighten me, Staffen’s daughter.”

He bowed, mimicking the

conceited nobles who congested Lycaon’s palace. That earned a tiny chuckle from her. “I am Phaon.” “I am Anstice.” “A lovely name. Why did they name you ‘Reborn’?” “Father thinks I carry the hope of our people.” She turned and headed down the trail. “We eat at sunset.” In another moment, she vanished among the trees and shadows. Phaon sighed and felt a slight, heatless energy in the air. Anstice had shifted to wolf form. He wondered if her fur was the same glorious burning red as her hair. There had never been a red wolf in all the memory of the Kreefa, but he didn’t doubt she would be beautiful, as glossy, sleek and graceful in wolf form as she was in her Human body. “You won’t get into her bed any easier than I have,” Nices said, at Phaon’s feet. “You and I must have a talk.” Phaon caught the man by the neck of his tunic and hauled him to his feet. He smiled grimly when the fine, embroidered cloth tore. Nices might have bigger muscles and stand nearly a hand taller, but he couldn’t compare with the battle-honed strength and agility of a Kreefa trained in the warfare of both wolves and Humans.

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Nices, it seemed, was stupid. He ignored the ease with which Phaon lifted him. He jerked free, took a step backwards, tugged his clothes straight, and glared at the newcomer. Four long, seeping red scratches marred his face, from high on his cheekbone and running down through his golden beard. Blood stained the hair a rusty brown. Anstice had clawed him, but how, without becoming wolf? Phaon’s regard for the girl-child rose several notches. He liked a woman who could fight and defend herself. He never liked the whores who passively spread their legs for him. He liked the ones who took the lead when he used them to slake his need during the ravages of the Fever. Heat flashed through his body at the thought of Anstice leaping on him, caught in the Fever, wrestling with him until their blankets were a tangle, damp with sweat and passion. He promised himself he would be there when she went through her first Fever, to see if her blood was as fiery as her hair. “She’s my woman. Stay away from her.” “I heard her say she would never marry you.” Phaon’s voice rumbled with echoes of his wolf nature. He bared his teeth in a fierce grin and even that didn’t make Nices stop and think. “What does it matter what a woman wants?” He laughed and spat, showing his derision for the very idea. “Among our people – everything.” “Her father will give her to me.” Nices scowled more deeply when Phaon laughed. “You think he won’t? I’m the richest man around. I could tell people not to go to Dawn. Anstice and her mother would starve, with no one to buy their medicines.” “You’re a fool.” Phaon’s crest fur pressed hard against his tunic at the mere thought of Nices threatening Anstice. Maybe it was foolish, having just met the girl, but his gut told him she would be his. He wanted her with an intensity he had never felt before. And that meant all who were dear to her were under his protection. “People will go to a healer no matter what anyone tells them. Their lives are more important to them than your riches.”

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I should kill you. Right here. Shift to wolf and gut you. Phaon smiled. The terror in Nices’ scent would be rich and sweet until it grew thick enough to make him want to vomit. He would circle the man until fear turned into insanity. Nices would bolt and Phaon would follow. Not chasing to catch him, but merely staying on his heels, letting the man lead where terror called. Run him ragged, until he collapsed and his heart stuttered to a stop?

Or would it be greater pleasure to claw him and let him bleed to death?

A

Human male who would threaten a woman of the Kreefa didn’t deserve a quick and honorable death. Especially if she was the woman Phaon wanted. He would share Anstice with no one. Especially not a filthy Human who would consider her property to be used or abused at his whim. “We will talk later.” Phaon turned away. “I have business with the healer.” “Don’t even think of asking for her,” Nices muttered. Phaon turned, swifter than thought. He caught the big man in the chin with a hard fist. Nices went tumbling, eyes wide, face pale. The red, crusting scratches from Anstice’s claws gleamed like bloody scars. Phaon growled. He knew his eyes had gone flat, reflecting the afternoon light with a silvery gleam, as any Kreefa’s eyes did just before he shifted to wolf. A thin, acid stench came from Nices’ loosened bladder. It nicely counteracted the sweet metallic fear sweat glistening on his face. “Try to force Anstice, and if she doesn’t kill you, I will,” he said on a harsh whisper. He turned sharply on his heel and stalked away. It took all his furious control to retrieve his gear and his horse, and then pass Nices again without taking another swing at him or shifting to wolf and biting his throat out. The big bronze worker still lay on the ground, breathing heavily, when Phaon vanished around the bend in the forest trail. A tiny flicker of shifting breeze brought him the hot, burning smell of anger. Rather like bronze heated to the melting point in a forge. * * * * * Anstice-wolf grinned, mouth open and tongue lolling out, as she loped around the last bend in the forest trail. Her ears pricked up and her tail lashed in excitement. How

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long had it been since she had seen another Kreefa, other than the Black Wolves? It didn’t matter to her that Phaon was handsome, with his gleaming golden hair, cropped short in warrior fashion, and his neat, short beard, his bronzed skin, wide shoulders, narrow waist and blacker-than-a-moonless-night eyes.

He smelled good, of clean skin and healthy

living, made spicy by his anger on her behalf. How long had it been since anyone had been angry for her? She wanted to sit down and howl laughter, delighted and yet disturbed, to realize that Phaon had rushed to defend her. The Black Wolves, her father’s mercenary soldiers, knew she didn’t need defending. They taught her anything she wanted to know about weapons and hunting and fighting, both in wolf and Human shape. They regarded her as their luck piece and mascot. They stank of anger and muttered threats against anyone who mocked her because she was a Halfling. They were all old enough to be her father. Phaon was the first Kreefa she had seen in nearly six years who was near her own age. That, she found exciting. Even more important, he hadn’t said “The Halfling?” with that strained voice, as if he thought she would go mad with Fever in the middle of the day. He had smiled at her. Maybe they could be friends. The forest trail ended, opening into the clearing the Black Wolves had cut out of the forest. Anstice shifted back to Human shape before she stepped out of the shadows and ran to the solid little house of whitewashed stones and thatched roof, which the Black Wolves had built when Staffen took Dawn as his mate. “Mother!” Anstice skipped a few steps and caught her breath, giddy enough to giggle. “Mother, we’re to have a guest.”

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Chapter Two Phaon left his horse tied securely in the forest where no one wandering through could find and steal it. Then he shifted to wolf. He needed to run, to learn the territory and to clear his blood and brain from the surprises that had ambushed him just moments ago. His mission for his father had taken a surprising turn. He had to decide how to proceed. Things had turned out differently from what he had expected when Kratos gave him his mission just a few short moons ago. “Staffen is back.” Kratos finally looked up from the sword he had been inspecting when Phaon stepped into his room in Lycaon’s palace nearly half an hour ago. “Back where? And from where?” Phaon made his tone bored. He didn’t worry about the spice of excitement in his scent. His father would never notice. These grand rooms reeked of oils and spices and the perfumes that Lycaon, king of Arkady favored. As his honored guest, Kratos seemed to bathe in them. His nose had to be numb from the mingling of too many strong scents. Kreefa shouldn’t live like that, Phaon thought now, for the thousandth time since Kratos led his band of rebel males to an alliance with Lycaon. Phaon would rather be reduced to living by his claws and fangs, with nothing to his name, instead of living as Lycaon’s guest. The man made his crest fur itch with uneasiness from the nape of his neck all the way down his back to his buttocks. But Kratos was his father, the leader of nearly forty Kreefa males exiled from the slopes of Olympus. Kratos believed the Kreefa deserved to be gods. The Elders of the Kreefa had scorned him and his followers and accused them of threatening the safety of their people. Kratos believed the Kreefa deserved to walk proudly, to glory in their bloody

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wolf nature, their strength, their hyper-intense senses – not live as if they were ashamed of what they were. Phaon had only been a boy when he followed his father and the other males into exile. He had been proud of his decision all those years ago. His only regret was that Kratos found it necessary to ally with King Lycaon to achieve the goal of godhood for their people. Lycaon’s madness, his excesses and vicious nature would be a liability someday. For now, he was an unpleasant but necessary tool for the Kreefa, a stepping stone to reach the position of honor and glory and power their people deserved. Phaon’s mother, Odessa had resisted Kratos’ plans. She had foolishly argued with him during the Fever that came at the full moon. She had resisted him, bringing conflict to their mating instead of joy and pleasure. It was her own fault, wasn’t it, that Kratos had become so enraged he lost control and killed her? Phaon mourned his mother, but she had died long ago when he was only a child. If Kratos could survive the loss of his mate, then the mating bond that helped Kreefa women calm their mates so they could fight their bloody natures, was a lie. It was a form of bondage just like the laws of the Kreefa that kept them hidden in the valleys and ravines of Olympus instead of living as gods. Staffen, who had been Kratos’ boyhood friend, was just as much a threat. He had been missing for years now, exploring in the far northern lands, beyond the Straits of the Dardanelles. His return to Achaia was ominous, but Phaon thought he could turn it to his good fortune. His mission now, to find Staffen’s mate, was the first step in finding Staffen’s weaknesses and destroying him. And along with Staffen, the Black Wolves, mercenaries who were respected and feared throughout Achaia. They all had to be destroyed, in order for Kratos and his men to act freely. Phaon believed Kratos was right in seeking godhood for the Kreefa, but allying with a mad Human wasn’t the way to do it. Phaon didn’t trust Lycaon. Kratos insisted he could control Lycaon when he needed to do so. Phaon had left Kratos to deal with the mad king while he explored Achaia and trained the young men of his generation to become skilled, merciless, unbeatable warriors. He named them the Wolf Pack, in defiance of Staffen and

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his Black Wolves. “We don’t know where Staffen has been, but we’ll find out soon enough. He has a reputation that makes it impossible to hide.” Kratos snorted and slid the sword into its scabbard with a shriek of metal on metal. He leaned back on the low couch of ivory, inlaid with golden and red strips of wood. His bulky body, built like a wrestler, was visibly thicker than when his son had left moons ago. Gone was the hunter sleekness that he had reveled in. The thick, coarse black hair on his arms and legs and bare chest gleamed with oil, like his beard. Everything about Kratos looked soft, clean, neatly brushed and trimmed. It wouldn’t surprise his son if he soon took up the practice of braiding his beard, like a Phoenician. Phaon wondered how many slave women were devoted to his father’s grooming, and what Lycaon thought he would receive in return for pampering his ally. “More important than that – he has taken a Human woman as his mate.” “He’s a fool,” Phaon said with a snort. He leaned his golden head back against the frame of the doorway. “Next he’ll be fathering Halflings.” Male Halflings sometimes went mad when they became adults and their first Fever hit. Some died of it. Phaon slid to a stop and a whine escaped his wolf lips. He thought of Anstice suffering madness and death in her first Fever. It hadn’t occurred to him until now that she was indeed a Halfling. To his memory, there had never been a female Halfling before. That made her unique, just like her dark flaming hair. I want her. She’ll be mine. I just have to figure out how to ensure that … He shook his head and shifted back to his Human shape. Phaon slumped down to crouch at the foot of a tree and stared unseeing at the forest around him. To serve Kratos, Staffen had to die. But if he killed Staffen, Anstice would never willingly take him as her mate. He couldn’t force her. His own Wolf Pack would rip his throat out if he tried it. Rape, especially the rape of a virgin, was the most heinous crime among the Kreefa, even if he had the excuse of Fever madness to soften his actions. How could he make Anstice his mate while pleasing his father? Phaon retreated to that remembered conversation, looking for some clue in it, to help him attain both prizes.

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Kratos offered up a crooked grin. His brown eyes sparkled with that hint of malicious mischief that made Phaon’s crest fur prickle in wariness. What was his father planning? “From what I’ve heard, a Halfling born of this woman would be a gift, not a curse. All the tales say she is an unusual woman. Gifted. Powerful. Carrying wisdom from beyond the sea. Some claim she is a priestess of Apollo, gifted with healing powers.” He frowned and seemed to look through his son. “Find out if those tales are true. Gods should control all the powers that exist, shouldn’t they?” “You want Staffen dead, and his woman in your bed.” Somehow, Phaon hadn’t been surprised. Since Odessa’s death, Kratos had been insatiable, as if Fever struck him even at the moon dark. “Of course. The king of the gods should have the best, shouldn’t he? I hear she is beautiful, with a voice like the Sirens. I will control her and use her to control all Achaia.” “A woman so skilled might be too strong for you, my father.” “You don’t care about that. You’re worried I’ll father sons on her, to be rivals with you as my heir.” He laughed. “You have proven yourself worthy ten times over. Never fear that. Bring me the woman and I’ll let you take Lycaon’s head someday.” “For that prize, you know I’ll ride from one coast to the other.” Phaon reached for the dusty cloak he had dropped when he entered his father’s room. Kratos turned onto his side and looked Phaon over, head to toe. He nodded, visibly pleased. Phaon tried not to react, but he lived for these moments of his father’s approval because they were so few and far between. “You’ve grown taller. More muscled. Bronzed by the sun. Do you fancy yourself a skilled warrior?” He bared his teeth in a fierce grin. “I’ll need your sword, my son, when the day comes to kill Staffen. He doesn’t deserve to die honorably as a Kreefa.” “He’s just as much an outcast as we are, and he believes what the Elders hand down as law.” “Yes, but he and his men left Olympus voluntarily. They are always welcome back.” Kratos snorted and his brows drew together into one solid black line of scowl. “We don’t need to be welcomed, but we will return. In triumph. Worshipped as gods.” He waved one fleshy hand toward the doorway. “Go. Learn all you can about the woman. When we know if the stories are true, and how closely Staffen protects her, then we’ll know what to do.” “Just be sure Lycaon doesn’t decide to take her from you, if she’s as beautiful as she is skilled

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and gifted.” Phaon frowned. He had thrown those words at his father more to taunt him than to warn him. Now, however, he could clearly imagine taking Anstice to Arkady as his mate and the trouble that could arise if Lycaon demanded her in his bed. Would the sacredness of the mating bond prompt Kratos to act, to defy Lycaon, maybe even kill him as his madness deserved? Or would Kratos willingly sacrifice his son’s mate for the sake of the power he hoped to gain from Lycaon? The mad king would demand Anstice. He was as insatiable in his bed pleasures as any Kreefa male during Fever. What man could look at Anstice and not want to possess her? The King of Arkady hadn’t replaced his last concubine, and the man liked to keep at least seven on hand. The stench of terror and lingering pain from the poor girl’s death had been embedded in the very stones of the palace, so Phaon had hated returning to Arkady to report to his father. What was wrong with Lycaon, to torture a girl just because she no longer caught his fancy? Why not give her to one of his generals or his noblemen? Phaon couldn’t understand the logic in destroying a beautiful woman, just so no other man could enjoy her. At least Lycaon was kind enough to provide women for the Kreefa men to slake the burning of the Fever at the full moon. Sometimes Phaon wondered if the mad king shared his own concubines with Kratos. How desperate was he for the strength, the skills, the wolf senses the Kreefa could give him? He had to decipher that puzzle before it would be safe to bring Anstice back to Arkady with him as his mate. If he made her his mate, he could woo her support, so she would agree with him and Kratos, and she wouldn’t hate them when they saw to the bitter necessity of destroying Staffen. Anstice deserved to be a goddess. Phaon would make her a goddess, and she would be proud and glad to be his mate. Phaon laughed and leaped to his feet and stretched his arms to the leafy canopy of the forest. It felt good to have at least part of his puzzle resolved. Now, all that remained

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was learning how much of Dawn-from-the-Sea’s vaunted healing power was real and how much was mere fable. He nodded, pleased with himself, and headed back the way he had come to find his horse. First, he would go through the marketplace and find a suitable host gift to present to Dawn and Anstice. Then, he would go to the inn he had seen on the far side of Gytheion, take a room, and spend time making himself presentable. He had been invited to dinner at the home of his future mate, and he wanted to make a good first impression. * * * * * Wherever the healer Dawn had come from, Phaon could well believe she had powers beyond that of ordinary Humans. No wonder Staffen had taken her as his mate. Their daughter took after her in all aspects of color and features, except for her eyes and height. Dawn was small and delicate, and her eyes were the gray-blue of the sky after a storm. Anstice stood a head taller than her mother, and her eyes were her father’s graygreen. Dawn’s serene gaze made Phaon wonder if the woman could look into his heart and hear the echoes of Kratos’ orders. Phaon reasoned that he violated no laws of hospitality when he sat in the small stone house and ate salt with his hosts. He was here merely to learn about Dawn and report back to his father. If Kratos decided the women were useless, he would order them both killed along with Staffen. Phaon thought of Anstice lying dead, with her throat torn out. He refused to allow it. He would fight all the Wolf Pack and Lycaon’s soldiers to keep Anstice alive, to become his mate. Even if she didn’t have her mother’s healing gifts, she was beautiful. Phaon smiled, imagining Anstice flushed with passion, naked, smiling only for him before he cooled the Fever deep inside her body. When would she become a woman?

How old was she?

Phaon had to persuade

Kratos to let him have Anstice. She created a hunger like Fever inside him, but painfully sweeter, from the moment he saw her face and form and caught her scent. It wove through his brain and made his body ache. His father would laugh at him. He didn’t need a mate, but Phaon wanted her. After only an hour in her presence, he wanted her, wanted to ensure no other man would ever have her. What kind of a fool was he?

Yet, why

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shouldn’t he have her? He and his father would make the Kreefa gods and Anstice would adore him for the power he would someday hold. “We haven’t heard from my husband since the Black Wolves left us here last fall,” Dawn said. She returned to the table with a pitcher of watered wine mixed with honey and spices. “Have you or your father heard anything of their battles?” “We didn’t know he had returned from north of the Dardanelles, until just recently.” Phaon watched Anstice deftly tweak flat rounds of bread off the hot rock that baked them in the middle of the fire pit. His attention was caught again by her slim curves, her grace, the faint perfume of purity and youth. When would she become a woman grown, ready to take a mate? “Why has Staffen returned to Achaia?” Phaon yanked his attention off Anstice and back to her mother.

Facing Dawn’s all-seeing blue eyes was more comfortable than

considering the hungers Anstice awoke in his body. “He has found a new homeland for the Kreefa,” Anstice said. Her voice sounded rich with longing and pride. She settled down at the table with the fresh, hot bread and slid the serving platter in front of Phaon. He wanted her to smile like that at him, full of promises and joy. “A new homeland?” He inhaled deeply of the bread’s steam to push her sweet, delicate scent out of his head. “What do we need a new homeland for?

Olympus has

served the Kreefa since long before the Elders can remember.” “Yes, but there are too many Humans around who would either destroy the Kreefa or worship them as new gods.” “What’s wrong with being a god?” “There is no god but Verdidan,” Dawn said. The corners of her mouth crinkled up when Phaon frowned and shook his head, unsure he had heard correctly. “The gods of Olympus were perhaps people with talents like the Kreefa. They have vanished, and only tales of them remain. They were punished for claiming power and adoration that belongs to only Verdidan. My husband wishes to protect his people from those who would destroy the Kreefa or make them into gods. The only way to be safe is to go to a land where there are no people, where the Kreefa can be what they are in freedom, in the daylight, in safety.”

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“It’s beautiful,” Anstice said, and wriggled a little on her stool, like an eager puppy. “Snow in the lowlands and plenty of deer and other beasts for hunting and furs. Lush grass and forests everywhere. Achaia is a dry, rocky, stingy land compared to the north. The hunting is good and the air is pure and sweet. Have you ever run in the snow?” Phaon could only shake his head, his mind caught in a daze, trapped in the eager, glittering joy in her gray-green eyes. “When Father gathers the Kreefa, you will come with us?” “I would like to.” He sighed, hating to dull the glittering joy in her eyes. “They won’t all follow Staffen. I can’t think of any Kreefa who would willingly leave Olympus.” If Staffen took his mate and daughter far from Achaia, how would Phaon ever find Anstice when she was a woman? “Those who do not go could become fugitives.” Dawn sighed, and for a moment those too-intense eyes dimmed. Phaon sensed she saw a time and place beyond physical eyes. “There will come a day when the Kreefa will be a people without any homeland, traveling the world, seeking solitude and rest. It is better to leave Achaia now, before the fear begins, rather than to be driven out with hatred and blood crying at their heels.” * * * * * The night breeze shifted just enough to stir a strand of Phaon’s hair, as he left Dawn’s house. He glanced up at the sky to check the moon’s growth toward full, and returned mother and daughter’s farewells. His smile stiffened when the breeze brought him a whiff of sour wine and the hot smell of metal. “Where will you be, tomorrow?” he asked Anstice, speaking to antagonize Nices, who hid in the shadows.

“If you gather in the forest, perhaps you could teach me

something of healing.” The acid stink of the bronze worker’s hatred grew stronger when Anstice laughed and told Phaon where she would be. Phaon smiled and anticipated the battle to come. He needed to release the hungry ache, low in his belly. If no whores were available, a fight would do. Phaon had left his horse and gear at the inn. He only carried his belt knife, for eating. From the bite of sweat-warmed metal on the breeze, Nices came armed. Phaon

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His teeth and claws gave him more

advantage than Anstice’s unwanted suitor could ever guess. The bronze worker had a light step and wasn’t drunk enough to stagger, and he likely knew this forest well. The odor of his wine and anger and the stink of metal betrayed him as clearly as trumpet blasts. Phaon almost pitied him, but for the weapons. He wanted blood? He would get it, but not as he planned. Phaon deliberately walked in all the streaks of moonlight that penetrated the forest canopy. He headed away from the village, through the forest toward the coast, where trees gave way to rocky land and then dropped off onto jagged rocks and the surf far below. His pursuer never paused, never showed any fear of a trap. At the edge of the forest, Phaon stepped into the last pocket of black shadow, shifted to wolf, and slipped around behind Nices. He laughed silently, fangs bared, when the man stopped short and muffled a curse. No fear cooled his scent. He was an even greater fool than he had first appeared. Nices stepped out into the silvery warm moonlight. It glinted on the knife in his hand, on the sword with the fine bronze scabbard at his waist, and gleamed softly on the coil of new rope tied to his belt. Clearly, he hadn’t come here merely to frighten and bruise his rival. In Phaon’s mind, what had been a nasty game to him immediately switched to a task that would scent the night with blood. None of that blood would be his. He growled and stepped out of the shadows. Nices turned quickly and one hand went to his sword’s hilt. Incredibly, he smiled at the sleek, golden wolf that stood between him and the forest. The open horizon and the sea behind him framed his grinning fool’s face perfectly. Phaon wondered if wine had washed away all Nices’ common sense and fear. “Go find the stranger and eat him,” Nices whispered. Phaon growled. Nices’ smile faded to a frown. “You serve her and she’s mine.” He gestured into the darkness. “I command you – find the stranger and kill him.” This arrogant Human was a madman, Phaon decided. What was the sport in this if

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he wouldn’t frighten? “Are you stupid?” Nices waved his knife within biting range of Phaon’s muzzle. “Go kill the stranger. Your job is to protect the healer and her daughter. She’s mine – obey me.” Phaon shifted to Human. Nices shrieked as if gelded, staggered back three steps and fell hard on his backside. “She will never be yours,” Phaon snarled. “Staffen will tear out your heart before he lets you touch his daughter.” He smiled, baring his teeth, and Nices screamed as if a whole wolf pack had bared fangs at him. “She’s mine.” He stepped close so his toes bumped the bottom of Nices’ sandal. The other man yelped and yanked his legs up closer to his body. The sickly sweet stink of fear crept through the warm air. Phaon’s heart picked up pace. He liked this game. “Abomination,” Nices stammered. “Me?” He laughed, a snarl. “The abomination is that a weak, numb Human would dare claim a Kreefa maiden. She is a goddess, and you aren’t worthy to give your blood to slake her thirst. Swear.” He grabbed Nices by his belt and yanked him to his feet. “Swear you will leave her alone, or I’ll tear out your throat.” Nices made a piteous babble. His eyes widened and sweat streamed down his face. Phaon let go. Nices backed away, staggering. “Swear,” Phaon repeated. “Mine!” Nices shrieked and lunged with the knife. Phaon twisted aside, shifting to wolf so he tumbled nose over tail. He slashed with his forepaws. Nices howled in pain and ran stumbling, his arm streaming blood. Then suddenly, there was no more rocky ground. Phaon slid to a stop and shifted to Human while Nices teetered on the edge of the cliff. The fresh, chill sea breeze tore away the stink of his crazed fear. Phaon took one step forward. Nices turned to run, and shrieked as he tumbled over the edge. His cry cut off with a loud crunching thud and stones hurtled down the rock face. There was no splash, the sound of impact lost in the crash of waves. “I’ll make her a goddess,” Phaon vowed.

He waited until the stink of Nices’

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drunken rage and fear vanished from the air. Staffen’s plans, as Dawn described them, flicked through Phaon’s thoughts for a moment. The man was a fool, to waste the gift of power granted the Kreefa in their blood. The Achaians worshipped gods they had never seen. Why not worship the Kreefa, who had two bodies and sensed the world twenty times more intensely than pitiful, weak Humans ever could? If Anstice had inherited her mother’s healing powers, she would be a more than worthy partner and tool in his father’s plan to make the Kreefa gods. He would make Anstice his mate. He would ensure her promise before he returned to Arkady. Immediately, his mood plummeted. Phaon’s crest fur prickled at the memories of the madness, the sickness in the air and soil of Arkady. The Kreefa could do nothing more potent to prove to the world that they were worthy of being gods, than destroying the madman king. The question was, how to do it, and when?

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Chapter Three Anstice needed to run. She needed to be free of the walls and the smells from dinner trapped inside her mother’s house. Especially the smells. She trembled as she slipped outside and shifted to wolf. The tangled messages that lay in Phaon’s scent made her mind whirl. Would she understand more clearly when she was a woman?

Her mother said that things that confused her now would eventually

become pleasant. Even to the point of distraction and danger. Anstice liked the tiny whiffs of lust that escaped Phaon whenever he looked too long at her. Why did Phaon’s hunger please her, and Nices’ irritated, even sickened her? Maybe it was simply the knowledge that Phaon was Kreefa and he smiled at her. She would sense more deeply once she had her first moon flow, or so her father and grandmother had assured her. Anstice growled and raced into the blackest part of the forest. When she was a woman, Staffen would take her to Olympus. She would prove she had inherited her mother’s powers, and help Staffen persuade the Kreefa to go to safety in the north. If she survived her first Fever. Anstice knew she could die of the Halfling curse, in her first Fever. Then she wouldn’t have to fear failing her father’s hopes and dreams. She wouldn’t ache from being mocked and left out of games and dances because she was a Halfling. She wouldn’t fear that no man would want her as his mate. Maybe she should consider Nices as a husband, give up her wolf nature and stay

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here? A shadow slid up through the darkness to her right. Anstice darted to the left and turned to face the shadow.

She mentally slapped herself for being distracted by her

problems. A sleek, black-eyed, golden wolf laughed silently at her. His tail arched over his back and he frisked in a circle around her. Anstice’s heart leaped and she wanted to laugh aloud. Phaon shifted to Human and held out a hand. “Run with me, Red Child!” He laughed. Moonlight glinted on his sweaty skin. Anstice shifted to Human and nearly reached for his hand. She caught herself in time, and blushed. “I never thought I’d ever see ….” He shook his head, grinning. “A red wolf?” Her delight cooled and congealed into a weight in her chest. “I’m a freak. I know.” “No.” His voice throbbed on the single word. “You’re beautiful, like living fire. Run with me!” He jumped away, shifting to wolf in mid-stride, and slid through the darkness and moonlight, a golden streak. Anstice only hesitated a moment before dashing after him. Her claws dug into the moss and forest litter. The breeze sang in her ears and tickled through her fur. She smelled the sun-warmed perfume of the trees lingering in the night air. The salt-clean sea smell soon overwhelmed everything but the hot cry of her blood in her veins. Phaon ran swiftly. His grace and power made something tighten in her chest. He ran faster than any of the Black Wolves ever ran when they taught her to hunt. She gloried in the race, the fire in her blood. When they burst out of the trees onto the rocky slope that looked over the sea, she howled for pure pleasure. Phaon twined his voice with hers. She caught up with him and trotted at his side, watching him, hungry for something she couldn’t name. It ached inside her chest and made her fur stand on end. The rocky ground gave way to natural stair steps cut by wind and water, down to the pebble-strewn beach where Gytheion’s fishing boats rested at low tide. The wet sand

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was hard and their claws dug up tiny bits and scattered them in their wake but left no other imprint. Phaon lunged, knocking Anstice off her feet. She rolled twice before twisting in mid-tumble and regaining her feet. She stared, stunned, and tears gathered around her heart. Wolf shape couldn’t cry, but it could still ache. He went down on his front paws, tail high in the air, muzzle touching the sand. Tongue lolling out in laughter, he leaped toward her, then darted to the side. Was he playing? With her? Anstice remembered how her cousins and the other Kreefa children had played their rough-and-tumble wrestling games in the evening damp and moonlight. She had rarely been invited to join in during those short, rare visits to her grandmother’s household. The children had sensed their parents’ distrust of the Halfling and her god-talented mother, and acted accordingly. But Anstice remembered watching them play and aching to join in. Phaon darted around her, darting close enough to slap her side with his tail before running away. Anstice yipped and raced after him. When he turned to push her again, Anstice hit him with her shoulder, low in his leg so it buckled and he tumbled tail over nose. She darted away a few steps and watched. Phaon shook the sand out of his coat and snuffled and shook his head at her a few times. Tongue hanging in the breeze and jaws open in silent laughter, he ran to catch up with her. Breathless, Anstice leaped away and led him back the way they had come. Phaon yipped and snarled as he caught up with her, but she saw laughter in his black eyes. Phaon knocked her over twice more, and she caught him off balance once. They snapped at each other’s tails and danced in circles with mock growls and bites that never quite caught on necks and ears. Anstice could hardly hold back the happy howls that tore at her chest. She’d never felt so alive! She’d never before felt so pleasantly exhausted when Phaon led her back to her mother’s door. She shifted to Human and leaned back against the lintel with her heart still racing. Faint aches warned of bruises that would appear in the morning, but she didn’t care. Phaon shifted to Human and stepped close enough she felt the heat of his body clash

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with the furnace under her own skin. “Sleep well, my Red Child,” he whispered, and brushed his fingertips along her cheek. Before Anstice could catch her breath to respond, he shifted to wolf and vanished around the side of the house. Dawn sat by the fire, sipping a cup of warmed, spiced wine. She didn’t look up as her daughter slipped through the door. Anstice stopped short. Her mother knew she went for nightly runs and felt no fear for her. Despite that, Anstice felt as if she had been caught doing something wrong. “Anstice-child.” Dawn held out her hand, beckoning for her daughter to join her by the fire. She kept her hand out and Anstice understood. She knelt facing her mother, closed her eyes, gave her hand into her mother’s grasp and waited. The faintly tickling sense of Dawn’s soul brushing against hers, the cool breeze sensation of healing touch, was welcome. And yet, for the first time in her life, it felt like an intrusion. What was wrong with her? If she was to live to adulthood, she might need her mother’s help as a healer. Anstice startled when Dawn released her hand only a few heartbeats later, to cup her face between both her hands. “Mother?” She opened her eyes. “You’re growing up.” Dawn blinked away a few tears. “Soon, you will have your first moon flow and we will celebrate. Then we will join your father and travel to Olympus before your first Fever.” “Can’t you protect me?” “I can strengthen your body and help your mind keep control, but I can’t lead you down a path I can never take.” Dawn smoothed the sweat-dampened hair back from her daughter’s forehead. “Only another Kreefa woman can teach you to call up the control over your body, to calm males during the Fever.” “What do I need to know that for? I will have no mate or sons to protect.” “I may not be as sensitive as you, my dear, but I know our guest was very interested in you this evening.” She chuckled when Anstice’s face warmed in a blush. “When you are a grown woman, things will be very different, both in the way you see the other Kreefa

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you knew as a child, and the way they see you. Especially the young men. Phaon proved that quite clearly. Do you like him?” “He’s nice to me.” She sighed and her slight aches from their rough play jolted through her. “But how nice will he be when he remembers I’m a Halfling?” “It won’t matter once you’ve passed through your first Fever … and you prove your father’s dreams.” “What if I die? What if I fail him?” “You won’t.” Dawn grasped her daughter’s wrists. “You are the answer to Staffen’s dreams and prayers. You carry the blood of queens and priestesses gifted with strength and talents, given for great and good purposes, from Verdidan’s hand. Have faith, child.” “I’ll … try.” “That is all Verdidan asks of us.” She blinked away tears and gathered her daughter close in her arms. “All I ask, my precious child, is that you find the soul that matches yours and you cling to him as your father and I cling to each other. We are one person, complete and happy even when we are many days of travel apart. Never settle for anything less than his heart, and never give him anything less than your heart. To do otherwise is to carry an open wound in your soul that will never heal.” “Yes, Mother,” she whispered. Anstice clung to her mother, wishing she were small enough to curl up in her lap. She knew she would never find anyone to complete her soul, so why even dream of it?

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Chapter Four “Why do people say your mother is god-gifted?” Phaon watched Anstice deftly slice off a portion of a root, leaving the main body of the ground-hugging plant still firmly attached and growing. “Because she is.” She sniffed the cut end, scraped at it with her fingernail and tasted the scrapings. Nodding, she put the piece in the pouch hanging from her belt. “What has she done, then?” He stifled a sigh. Any other Kreefa girl would have chattered and preened from the moment he stepped out of the shadows of the forest to join her. Anstice had merely smiled and kept on with her work, sometimes pointing out the seeds, leaves, stems and roots she hunted. She answered his questions, but never volunteered anything. He wondered why. Didn’t she like him? Had her mother told her not to trust him? He found it hard to believe Anstice was shy. He found no fear in her sweet, pure scent. “Mother can tell what ails a body, just by touching. Even when there are no wounds visible. She knows of medicines that no one in Achaia has ever used. And she can calm the Fever in all my father’s men, simply with the power of her mind.” “Can you do that?” Phaon felt breathless for a moment at the thought of that much power over the minds and bodies of strong, Fevered Kreefa warriors. No wonder Staffen had made the woman his mate. “Mother is teaching me.” Anstice shrugged and stepped around another tree and started to cut away at the bark. “So you have that power, too.” He nodded, more sure than ever that he had to

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ensure Anstice would give herself only to him when she became a woman. If Dawn would not submit when Kratos claimed her as his mate, then everything would depend on Phaon persuading Anstice to use her inherited powers for the Kreefa. He smiled, envisioning the pleasant persuasions he would use to convince her to support him. “I wish you would stop that.” Anstice took a step away from him, out of the drift of the breeze. “Stop what?” “You smell like Nices, when he stares at me too much.” “Nices?” Phaon’s crest fur stiffened in a hot stab of jealousy that surprised him. Then he remembered the other man was dead. There had been no outcry, so his body hadn’t washed up on shore yet. “He wants you. You’re a beautiful woman. Only a fool could look at you and not want you.” “Can’t you control yourself, so your emotions, your thoughts don’t change your scent?” He froze as the import of her words sank in. What an advantage he and his father would have if they could hide their intentions from other Kreefa until they acted. “No one ever taught me such control. Could you?” He flashed his most gracious smile and stepped closer. Anstice didn’t step away from him again, and he counted that as a good sign. “I don’t know ….” She shook her head and resumed scraping the tender inner bark off the tree. “It could take a long time. How long will you be in Gytheion?” “Not long enough.” He watched her for a few moments, trying to plan what to say next, how to turn her thoughts to earn her loyalty. “Do you like this Nices?” “I did. When we were children.” “He wants to marry you.” “He wants to bed me. He knows Father would gut him alive if he didn’t offer marriage.” “Would you take him, eventually?” Anstice laughed. “After the way I clawed him yesterday?

I don’t want him. No

matter how handsome and wealthy he is.” She shrugged and doubled her efforts on the

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tree bark. Phaon tried not to be irritated that Anstice found Nices handsome. The man was dead, after all. Besides, she didn’t want him. Then another thought struck him. “You did claw him yesterday. How?” Anstice dropped her knife. She went to her knees to pick it up, along with a handful of bark scrapings she had scattered. Her hand shook. “Anstice?” He stepped closer and something tightened in his chest when he realized his simple question frightened her. Phaon didn’t like that feeling, but he pushed it out of his mind. He had no time or energy to spare for a silly girl’s nervousness. “You can tell me. Is it something your mother doesn’t know?

Something she

doesn’t like?” A gasping chuckle escaped the girl. She struggled to her feet and finished jamming the last shreds of bark into her pouch. “Mother knows. It’s not –” She looked away. “I can make my claws come at will. Without completely shifting to wolf.” “That’s amazing.” He thought of all the battles he could have won with that talent in his own flesh. “Father says it’s a sign I’m destined for important things. Great and good things, work Verdidan has given me.” She sighed and finally met his gaze again. “I hate being so different.” “If you were among the Kreefa, living in your grandmother’s household, you wouldn’t be different at all.” Phaon smiled, despite the mental image of dozens of suitors for Anstice. “Always different. Sometimes I think it would be easier to pretend to be an ordinary Human and forget what I am. And then Nices looks at me and the scent of him ….” She shuddered. “You’ll like it, once you’re fully grown.” He thought about Anstice reacting to the scent of his hunger for her, the perfume of her body reacting to his touch, and it sent a pleasant ache through him.

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“You’re … doing that again.” She stepped away. Phaon caught hold of her hand, wringing a tiny gasp from her. “You’re very beautiful, Anstice. Don’t hate me because my body won’t listen to my mind. We’re friends, aren’t we?” Phaon forced himself to smile and hold still. What he wanted, from the moment their flesh touched, was to pull her into his arms, press her hard against him, shoulders to knees, and explore the sweetness of her mouth. He would be the first to ever kiss her, to caress her, and that thought excited him. “Yes.” She stared into his eyes, as mesmerized as a doe caught by a circle of hunters with torches. “I’d like you as my mate, when you’re grown.” She smiled. His heart lurched and his relief and delight amazed him. Why did it matter so much? Anstice laughed and tugged her hand free. “You’re being silly, Phaon. I thought you were stronger than to let your lust rule your thinking.” Cheeks flushed bright pink, she continued down the forest trail. “What is wrong with enjoying mating?” “There is more to marriage than cooling the Fever in each other and making children.” She didn’t even glance over her shoulder at him as she knelt and tugged on the lower stems of a dark green, prickly bush. “I want what my parents have. Their souls are joined. I think when one dies, so will the other. I won’t take a man as my mate unless he touches my soul and my heart. I won’t give myself to a man unless I love him. Anything less … would destroy us both,” she added on a whisper. “Don’t be silly.” Phaon forced a chuckle past the tightness in his throat. What was wrong with him, to be so affected by her words?

“Such closeness comes through many

years of partnership. Among the Kreefa, the women stay in their mothers’ homes and the men stay in their mothers’ homes, and they come together to mate. Uncles have more say over how a child is raised than their own fathers. That is the way of the Kreefa. It keeps us strong. It takes many years before such unity grows – but it always does, among the Kreefa.” Pain bit at him as he thought of his parents. He had only been a child when Kratos

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killed Odessa in the Fever. What would his father be like, if his mother hadn’t died? Would he have brothers and sisters?

Would his parents have been among the rare

exceptions who left their mothers’ households to spend their declining years together? “Humans don’t have that much,” he continued. “Women are sold to their husbands to give them children and manage their homes. Love is reserved for their children and the gods.” “My parents have always loved. My mother’s people never give themselves except in love, and it is for life.” “Kreefa mate for life.” “Mating is very different from marriage.” She yanked one last tender stem off the bush and stood. “I won’t take anything less than total unity.” “Anstice, we would make a good pair. We would work well together, I can tell.” Phaon reached for her. She went still, perhaps too still, when he rested his hand on her shoulder. “It will be glory, our first mating. I want you. I won’t let any other man have you.” She met his gaze, and he was startled to see tears in the corners of her eyes. “Nobody will ever want me. Don’t be silly.” “I want you. Nices wants you. When you go to Olympus, every unmated male will fight to win a smile from you.” “When I go to Olympus, they will still treat me as an outcast.” She frowned. “Phaon – have you forgotten I’m a Halfling?

I could die in my first Fever. Only my

grandmother ever accepted me. None of the children wanted anything to do with me. None of the men will want me. No matter how beautiful you think I am, I’m only the Halfling.” She slipped the twig into her pouch, shifted to wolf and fled. Fool! He cursed himself a dozen times as he listened for the sound of her passage through the forest. Gut instinct told him not to follow, or she would flee him the rest of her life. The breeze didn’t bring him her scent and his ears caught no movement. Anstice had vanished as if she had melted into the ground. Such skill and stealth said much for her intelligence as well as her grace. She was beautiful, strong, pure, sensitive, possessed of

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rare, powerful talents. Anstice would be his, someday. He swore it silently, and turned to go. He had learned everything Kratos had sent him for, and now it was time to return to Arkady. * * * * * Anstice compared Nices to Phaon as she lay in her bed that night. She didn’t go running in the moonlight, and told herself it was because she felt tired and she needed her rest. Not because she feared meeting up with Phaon again. Would it matter if she did? Now that he had time to think over what she said, he would ignore her or even drive her away. He hadn’t chased her, when she fled him that afternoon. She knew that meant he was revolted by her Halfling status. Maybe she should marry Nices. A Human man would never know what she was, whereas another Kreefa would forever hold her mixed blood against her. Even if the Kreefa valued the talents she had inherited from her mother, they would always distrust her deep in their hearts, because she was a Halfling. Nices would make a good husband.

They had been friends when they were

children. He was successful, talented, wealthy. He wasn’t a drunkard or a brute. Did it matter that when Nices watched her in that sleepy way, with that slow smile, she didn't like how he made her feel?

Would she like the scent of his lust when she became a

woman? Phaon had told her she would. What was the difference between Human and Kreefa males? Why couldn’t things continue as they were now? When Dawn and Anstice didn’t ride with Staffen and the Black Wolves, they were happy here, in the forest on the coast. Life was simple and easy and they were safe. Anstice hunted as a wolf, so they always had meat for their table. The wolf prints around their hut and the scent of Kreefa kept away predators, both animal and Human. Dawn wandered forest and field in perfect safety, gathering herbs for her healing potions, powders and ointments. Anstice liked their little house, with the forest as shield and buffer, giving her freedom to roam as wolf or Human with no one to mock her or remind her that she didn’t belong anywhere. Morning came with no answer to her concerns.

She had dreamed no easy

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resolution, no vision of guidance. Anstice only knew she felt more restless than ever as she went about her chores, bringing water from the spring and building up the fire and filling the baskets with Dawn’s healing powders and ointments to sell in the market. She hardly tasted her breakfast of diluted wine and bread spread with honey. The chill of the washing water didn’t make her gasp and sputter and laugh. Anstice finished braiding her hair, flipped it over her shoulder, and sighed so deeply she could hear the sound echo in her chest. She wanted to stay home. She wanted to run hard and fast, all the way to Olympus. She wanted everything to stay the same. She wanted everything to change before she went mad. Perhaps that was it? Did the Halfling madness hover in the air, ready to strike her down? “Such a heart-heavy sound.” Dawn smiled softly and didn't glance up from her sewing. “What troubles you on such a glorious morning? Were you out hunting too late?” “I could stay out until full morning light, Mother, and it would never be too late while I'm a wolf.” Anstice felt another sigh coming and held it back. She turned to the half-packed baskets. “I didn’t run last night. Perhaps I should have. I might have slept better.” Dawn put down her sewing. “Those dreams still trouble you?” Anstice tried to smile. “I want to be a wolf forever, to run forever, but I don't want to leave here. Sometimes I think I would give away my soul to be an ordinary woman. I love my wolf nature, but I hate how it makes me different. What's wrong with me, Mother?” Anstice looked at the clay pot in her hand and fought an urge to fling it against the wall. “Perhaps it isn't you, but someone else?” Dawn reached across the narrow table and touched her daughter's shoulder. “Phaon didn’t come back. Do you miss him, after only speaking with him a few times?” Anstice sighed and put the pot into the basket. “He asked me to consider becoming his mate.” “So quickly? But that was the way with your father and I.” “You have loved Father from the moment he pulled you out of the sea, and he

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worships you. Phaon only feels lust.” “Perhaps.” “I reminded him I was a Halfling and he walked away.” Anstice wished she could spit, to take the sour taste of mixed anger and fear from her mouth. “Ah.”

Dawn pressed her lips flat together, meaning she fought not to smile.

“Perhaps he was only surprised.” “It doesn’t matter. I’ll never mate a Kreefa. Or a Human. I think I simply don't want to marry. Ever.” “Someday, you will find the man who completes your soul. If you blind yourself with fear, my child, you will never find him, and he will never find you.” “Who said I would hunt for him?” Anstice bared her teeth in a grimace. She slid a few more rags around the pottery jars and hefted the basket, judging its weight. “Your spirit is no more ready for marriage and love than your body. And I do think it is better for people to live alone if they cannot find what your father and I had.” That soft, sad smile lit her eyes, and Anstice knew that for a few seconds, her mother's spirit slipped away to be with Staffen. She envied her parents, who ached for each other when they were separated, and yet were strangely comforted by a unity that went beyond the physical. She would never find such a man, so why slash herself with longing? As a child, Anstice had raced ahead of Dawn when they visited a marketplace. Often she had to be constantly brought back onto the trail from her explorations. At the agora, the center of the town, where the leaders met and people came to buy and sell, she had played with other little girls and boys, chasing each other, tossing pebbles at their reflections in the fountain or the animal watering troughs, or trying to wheedle treats from the old women. Today, walking with her mother down the long forest trail and across the countryside to the village, Anstice wished those happy days of innocence would return. She wished she could leave the donkey to carry their baskets without her guidance, and frolic through the fields and chase birds, or even splash in the fountain and race up and down the dusty lanes of the agora. If this unsettled, unsatisfied feeling was part of growing up, Anstice didn’t want

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anything to do with it. At the agora, Dawn's usual place to the right of Apollo's shrine was empty, and the regular assortment of villagers and traveling merchants waited for them. Dawn strolled slowly down the lane while Anstice hurried ahead to set up their wares in the shadow of the shrine. Her mother remembered every elderly father with aching knees or a mother about to birth her third child or a daughter suffering from swollen eyes. She freely gave advice to people who couldn't afford her healing potions and powders. That was part of why the people held Dawn in great awe, she remembered, she offered help, she always had an answer. Anstice set out the little cloth bags of powders, the clay pots full of ointments, salves, and herbs soaked in wine, oil or vinegar. She listened to the gossip as her mother settled down with their friends and learned what had happened in the village and surrounding countryside since the last time they had come to market. She set up the long cloth on the pavement, using three shrine steps as shelves to display their wares. Before she quite finished, Nikantor, Nices’ father approached. As she worked, Anstice imagined spending her life as Nices' mate. She wanted that feeling of belonging, the sense that at last she had found a resting place. Anstice knew the other girls in the village were jealous because Nices wanted her and refused to look at anyone else. The appeal to her vanity was sweet. Nices was handsome and strong. He laughed whenever they met in the forest and never scolded her to go home and tend to her sewing or weaving or other womanly chores. Still, whenever she thought of giving herself to Nices, Anstice shuddered. They wouldn’t have the oneness she saw between her parents. The thought of a man finding pleasure in her body without touching her soul was abhorrent to her. Perhaps the only solution to her dilemma was to live as a wolf for the rest of her life. “Healer, I need your help,” Nikantor blurted when he finally stood before them. Anstice’s crest fur stood on end. Something was very wrong if Nikantor ignored the social niceties. If he wanted something from Dawn, even if it was merely to invite mother and daughter to dinner to once again present Nices’ suit, he should have worked around to the subject.

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“Yes, of course,” Dawn said. She glanced at her daughter, visibly sharing the same thoughts. “Who is ill?” “Not … ill.”

Nikantor’s shoulders slumped and the high color from hurrying

through the agora faded. He was a clear image of how his son would look in thirty more years, but jovial and generous. Anstice liked him and his flighty wife, Annis. Her crest fur prickled when she caught the scent of aching grief that hung in a bitter cloud around him. “I’ll stay here, Mother,” Anstice said. Her words caught Nikantor’s attention and his gaze shifted sideways to rest on her. That bitter scent deepened. “Yes, you should.” He held out a hand to help Dawn stand. “This is nothing you want to see.” Tears gleamed in his big brown eyes before he turned and led her mother away. Anstice shivered, sure that something horrid had happened. But what?

She had

helped her mother tend gory injuries and neglected wounds where the flesh rotted off the bones. She had a strong stomach, and the people of Gytheion knew it, so what did Nikantor think to protect her from? Sighing, she settled down again to tend the wares she and her mother had brought to the market, and to give advice in her mother’s place. She would know soon enough what had happened. * * * * * When the heat of the noon hour came, the crowds in the agora thinned and died to nothing. Anstice packed the unsold pots of medicine back into the baskets, wrapped the coins she had earned in a cloth and tucked it into her belt. She kept her claws manifested on the walk home through the forest, in case anyone was foolish enough to try to attack her, but no one followed. She sensed no followers, but the donkey balked constantly, upset. Dawn sat alone in the closed house when Anstice came home. The cold, she sensed, came from her mother’s disquiet and not the shadows that filled the small front room. The day was hot, almost steamy, but inside it felt like winter. “What is it?” she asked, after she had put away the remains of their wares in silence and dropped the coins into the hiding place between the stones of the fire circle. “What

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happened?” “Nices is dead.” Dawn took a deep breath and sat up straight. “He was clawed by a wolf before he drowned. From the broken bones and torn flesh, we think he fell from the cliffs.” “Or was pushed, or chased by a wolf,” Anstice whispered. “Where was he clawed, Mother?” “His face, and his arm.” “I clawed his face, just before … before Phaon appeared. But not his arm.” She shivered. Her noonday hunger became a hard lump like baked clay in the pit of her stomach. “Wolves were heard howling in the forest the night he vanished. He ate with his parents and then walked home, but his slaves said he never returned. They thought he had stayed with Nikantor, but then he didn’t come to his forge yesterday morning.” Dawn sighed. “Did you hear or see anything strange that night?” “We were playing,” Anstice whispered. She closed her eyes and relived the glory of that long, hot hour of running and rough play, her heart pounding hard enough to leap from her chest, and the joy of Phaon’s friendship. “No. I saw and heard nothing unusual.” “Perhaps Phaon – “ “There was no smell of blood on him, when we met. I would have sensed if he had murdered someone, if he had pretended nothing had happened.” “Perhaps to him, the death of a Human, especially one who has been unpleasant toward you, would mean nothing.” “Mother?” Anstice didn’t like her mother’s thoughtful expression, the softness of her tone, the dimming of the light in her eyes. “I have only now remembered … Phaon’s father is Kratos. Your father’s closest childhood friend. They were like brothers. But they argued and fought. That long scar on your father’s cheek came from Kratos’ claws.

Kratos believes Kreefa are better than

Humans and should be gods. What if he has raised his son to hate all Humans and to kill without guilt or hesitation?” “Phaon didn’t smell of evil.”

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“My child.” Dawn smiled wearily and reached out her arm. Anstice gladly scooted over to snuggle close to her mother. “You have grown up surrounded by warriors, but what do you truly know of evil?

Do you know all the faces evil can wear, the many

sounds it can make, pleasant as well as horrific? Do you know what evil smells like?” “I know how lies and hatred change a man’s scent. There was nothing in the air that night but fun and sweat.” “May it be so.” She closed her eyes and tipped her head sideways, to rest her cheek against the top of her daughter’s head. “We must be careful now. People know that wolves attacked Nices before he died. And they know wolves protect us.” “They blame us?” Anstice couldn’t breathe for a moment. “Someone will think it, eventually,” her mother said. “We must be careful from now on.” Dawn squeezed Anstice closer against her side, then released her. “Come, it will do us no good to sit and worry and fear. Show me what remains of our wares, and then we will eat.”

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Chapter Five The full moon came, and Anstice chafed to run and jump and howl. A song rode the wind, just beyond her hearing. It buzzed in her fingertips and made her feet itch to move even after the moon had dipped below the horizon. The full moon only aggravated the unsettled feelings deep inside. She lived for nightfall and the freedom to shift to wolf and run until her entire body was aflame and her restlessness burned away. Anstice ran hard and raced along the shore at high tide. For fear of the villagers and the mystery of Nices’ death, she howled only when the waves crashed loudest and the wind screamed strong enough to drown the sound. * * * * * Full moon. Phaon bypassed Arkady to spend his two nights of Fever with a harlot he had used many times before, while training his men. Her name was Oenone. Her bed smelled of cinnamon and her hair of sandalwood. She rubbed honey and mint leaves over her body, turning the process into a sensuous dance. Phaon watched and sipped at the cup of undiluted, spiced wine she had given him when he entered her room in the long building shared by the harlots of this town. She watched him as she anointed her lush, naked curves and smiled like a woman lost in hunger. Any other man would have been fooled by the smile on her generous red lips and the way she made her every movement an invitation. Phaon thought only of drowning out the Fever-wrought hammering of his pulse and the aching in his belly, and didn't care that her scent carried no hint of desire.

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He was grateful, he supposed, that she masked her scent with perfumes and kept scrupulously clean. Some Kreefa liked to have their burning cooled by the scents of the men who had used the harlots before them. It protected them from being drawn into oneness with these women who eased the burning hungers of Fever. Phaon didn't care to know. He didn't care about anything, as long as she didn't remind him of Anstice. Sweet, pure, immature Anstice. Why torment himself with wanting her when she wasn’t yet his? “Come here.”

He tipped up the wine cup and downed the remainder in two

swallows. He prayed for numbness, even as he opened his arms to the black-haired, blackeyed harlot. Phaon kept his eyes open as he filled his hands with her flesh and pressed her down into the bed. He knew if he closed his eyes he would see gray-green eyes filled with laughter. He had to see the black, silken tresses spread across the bed, or he would imagine they were deep, luminous red. * * * * * Phaon went to a pool far outside the city gates at dawn. He welcomed the shock of the icy water and half-drowned himself, trying to wash away the feel, the taste, the smell of Oenone. The honey and mint that had tasted so sweet in the night now made him want to vomit. He had used the woman brutally, leaving her bruised, even bleeding from scratches and bite marks. She had laughed when he muttered an apology and told him to come back the next night. He felt a flicker of shame, because he knew he would return to Oenone. When images of Anstice filled his mind, he would use the harlot just as brutally as before, trying to drive away the memory of the girl-child’s scent and face and voice. Oenone would laugh and encourage him. She disgusted him for not being horrified by him. The only thing worse than making a woman bleed and scream was changing a woman so that she laughed at her bruises and welcomed the pain. Beasts did that. Was she so far gone that if he turned to a wolf in her bed, she would accept him and whatever he did to her? This was all Anstice’s fault, seeping into his thoughts, his senses, so that she ruined him for any other woman. But she was innocent. She knew nothing of the need and

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hunger and pleasure between a man and a woman. Phaon looked forward to the day he could teach her. She would be his, and his alone. * * * * * Two days after the full moon ended, Anstice woke before daylight in a sweat, her mouth dry and tasting of sand. Her stomach churned and she craved honey, fresh blood and hot flesh. Her muscles ached to be stretched, to run until they burned, even as she longed to curl up and sleep for a week. Anstice rolled over and came fully awake as the scent of blood trickled through the air. Her first thought was for her mother. When she looked to the other corner of the room, Dawn still slept soundly on her pallet, undisturbed and even smiling in her dreams. Anstice smelled no tang of pain mixed with the hot, fresh, coppery perfume. Her stomach knotted as she crawled out of her blankets and tried to follow the smell to its source. The scent of blood gathered in a cloud around her. Anstice thought she would smother, trying to comprehend what her senses told her. Then she felt hot wet between her thighs. “Mother.” Anstice gritted her teeth, fighting an urge to wail and rage her confusion and her anger at her body's betrayal. “Mother, I'm bleeding.” Dawn woke and lay still a moment, her gaze moving over her daughter. She sat up and opened wide her arms. Anstice gladly retreated into her mother's comfort. “Anstice-child.” Dawn squeezed her tightly. “You know what this means, don’t you?” “We don’t have to worry what the villagers say, because we’re going to join Father.” Anstice almost smiled as she realized she felt neither anticipation nor dread. It was shock enough to realize she was a grown woman now. No wonder the full moon had stirred her blood so strongly. She wondered what the next full moon would do to her. “Verdidan guides and provides,” Dawn whispered. “It will be well, no matter what trials and sorrows we might endure. You are a woman now, born in answer to your father’s prayers.” Anstice shrugged. She couldn't explain the conflicting emotions that tore through

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her. Several times when she had gone roaming in wolf shape, she had come upon young lovers in the meadows or on the soft sand of the shore. Just weeks ago, she had come upon a girl her own age, wrestling and laughing with her husband. Anstice had ached with longing to be like other girls, ashamed and yet proud of her Kreefa heritage. She had watched and listened too long. She hadn't understood the feelings that rippled hot and poignantly through her body until that morning, with the scent of her blood filling the air. “Do you fear mating?” Dawn guessed. Her eyes sparkled with a touch of humor that both irritated and comforted Anstice. “With the right man, it can be glorious.” “I’ll never have a mate, so what is there to fear?” She tried to smile. “Don’t make such pronouncements and tempt the dark spirits to act against you.” She tapped her daughter’s nose, making her snort laughter, then brushed tangled curls off her face. “Don’t ever deny yourself such joy, if it is offered you. Your father wanted me terribly. He feared harming me in his passion. I gave myself to him, because my gift let me share the Fever. Sharing is the key.” Dawn squeezed Anstice closer before releasing her. “The man you go to willingly, eagerly, is the man who will give you the sweetest joy, so you will not notice the pain of losing your maidenhead.” “Does it hurt that much?” “For a moment. But when you stand among the sparks of the fire, you will always be scorched. Does that stop you?” “No.” Anstice grinned. As a child, she had nearly tumbled into the fire a dozen times, trying to catch the flying sparks. “Come. We must celebrate. You are now a bearer of life.” Dawn held out both her hands so the silver rings glistened on her fingers in the dim light of their shelter. “Your father asked me to give you this one, on the day you became a woman.” She slid a band of braided silver wire off her thumb and reached for Anstice's hand. “Staffen gave this to me when I realized I carried you.” “Mother ….” Anstice blinked back tears. Her hand trembled as she let Dawn slide the ring onto her finger. * * * * * Tyrsis, Phaon’s cousin and second-in-command, met him half a day’s running from

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Arkady, with the news that a wolf now roamed the halls of Lycaon’s palace. A concubine had displeased Lycaon, so that he beat her. At the full moon, the palace had awakened to the sounds of her screams and a wolf’s howls and snarls. In the morning, she was found dead in Lycaon’s private garden, her throat torn out, and bloody wolf prints all around the body. “The common people say the gods have granted Lycaon the power to change his form,” Tyrsis said, after many long moments of silence while Phaon digested that news. Black-haired and gray-eyed, otherwise he was his older cousin’s mirror image. “We know better,” Phaon said with a grunt. He closed his eyes to think, and immediately an image formed in his mind. Anstice, caught between Lycaon and Kratos, both men vying to control her and the power in her blood. Torn apart, mutilated, because neither would let the other have her. Anstice was his. He would let Kratos and Lycaon fight over Dawn, but Anstice was his and his alone. Why did his father play such games with Lycaon, supporting his madness. Or was that part of his plan?

Drive Lycaon mad so the King of Arkady destroyed himself?

Perhaps when Kratos took Dawn for himself, Lycaon would fight him for her and he would die in the battle. Phaon thought of Anstice weeping over her mother as well as over her father. He didn’t like that image, even as he scolded himself for feeling pity. It was a weakness. Why worry about it? He would simply make sure Anstice never knew he was involved in her father’s death. “Our age-mates want to leave Arkady altogether. Our fathers want to stay. They like the luxury Lycaon gives them,” Tyrsis said. His scent was sour with disgust and unease, but his voice was steady, his gaze calm. His body radiated none of the tension others displayed in the presence of madness. “It will be over soon,” Phaon said. He met his cousin’s eyes and willed him to believe. “Lycaon will push Kratos too far, and then he will be destroyed.” He couldn’t understand even now why Kratos would agree to destroy a beautiful woman. Unless it was because of the Fever? Had Lycaon given the concubine to Kratos to serve him during

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the Fever, she resisted, and he had killed her by accident, as he killed Odessa? “Some say we should go back to Olympus, disavow ourselves of Kratos’ teachings, and return to what has kept us safe for generations.” “Live in hiding? Why? Lycaon’s madness could even work for us. What a madman knows, he eventually tells the world. When the people of Achaia learn a thousand folk who can become wolves live on Olympus, what do you think they will do?” “Worship us as gods?” Tyrsis’ smile was tight and lopsided. “Worship us as gods, just as Kratos hopes – or they will attack us, to destroy us as abominations, a threat to the gods they have never seen.” He flinched, remembering the hatred and fear in Nices’ eyes when his rival named him an abomination. “What if Lycaon already knows where our grandmothers and mothers live, before Kratos is ready to act?” “We need to destroy Lycaon before he acts against us, that’s all.” Phaon glanced across the dusty plain that lay between them and Arkady. It would be night by the time they reached the city gates. He didn’t dare return any differently than he left, though he ached to shift to wolf and complete the journey more swiftly than his horse could travel. Sighing, he swung up into the saddle again and waited for his cousin to mount his own horse. “I think we have learned too many Human ways,” he muttered, speaking more to himself than Tyrsis. The other man nodded. Neither one said another word until they had reached Arkady’s gates. * * * * * Phaon barely had time to reach his rooms and wash before he was summoned to join a feast. He wondered if he would have a chance to speak privately with his father before morning. He hoped that the news of Dawn and Anstice and their talents would prompt his father to act, and free them from the sickness and madness of Lycaon’s palace before the next full moon. The banquet held so many guests the tables were set in the first courtyard, between the main doors to the palace and the megaron, the central feasting hall and the place where Lycaon met with his counselors and the leaders of the people. The guests reclined on low

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couches and servants circulated with platters of bread, meat, sweets and pitchers of wine, so no one's hands were ever empty. Phaon made a pretense of sipping at his cup, though he barely tasted the wine. He had no liking for it when he needed all his wits. Lycaon's court was most certainly a time and place he needed them. King Lycaon reclined at a long table on a raised platform with his most honored guests, Kratos at his right hand, and served by his concubines. They were all young, barely out of childhood. Phaon wondered what happened when they grew too old for their master's tastes. He wrinkled his nose when the churning air currents brought him the clashing scents of perfume and body odor from those painted, bejeweled women. Their faces said they adored their king, but their scents screamed a razor's edge of tension. Common sense told Phaon the safest way to live was to avoid Lycaon's attention. The woman he adored tonight could irritate him in the morning and be thrown to his army commanders to serve them. Humans were all infected with madness, not just Lycaon. The Kreefa way was better. Phaon hated this enclosed, crowded place more with every breath he took. Sometimes he longed to defy his father’s authority and lead the Kreefa all the way back to Olympus. Even if he wouldn’t foreswear Kratos’ dreams and plans, at least they could be close to their families and the ways that had kept them safe and sane for generations. The men who had followed the father away from Olympus all those years ago wouldn’t follow the son. They loved the luxury of Arkady too much, and the dream of godhood rather than safety and common sense. The Wolf Pack, though, felt as Phaon did. They would leave. Were they more loyal to him than to their fathers? Did he dare test that loyalty? “What is he doing?”

Phaon nudged his sodden neighbor and pointed at the

platform. Twice before, Lycaon had dipped his hand into a glossy black urn and sprinkled something into his newly filled wine cup. This was a new practice, and that automatically made Phaon’s crest fur stand up in alertness. He wondered at the significance, because Lycaon didn't offer the contents of the urn to anyone. He held his curiosity in check until his neighbor had consumed enough wine to drown discretion. “Drinking ashes.” The sweating, red-cheeked, balding man paused and squinted at

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Lycaon. He shuddered. “Don't hold with that old practice myself, but at least the King doesn't demand we join him.” A nervous chuckle broke from him. “My father urged me to become a wise man, when I was a boy. I'm glad now I'm only rich. It's dangerous to be wise or brave in Arkady.” “Why?” Phaon considered laughing, but the man's fear stank of something longseated, itching deep in his soul. “Those are the ashes of a philosopher who died unexpectedly while he was a guest here. Lycaon drinks the ashes of anyone who held particularly strong gifts. Wisdom, strength, valor, even beauty, he takes it as his own.” He shuddered again. “Some say he's drinking the ashes of wolves, too, not just collecting their skins. There are tales that our king walks the night in wolf shape.” “Don't be ridiculous.” He forced a wide grin and chuckled despite the sickness that hit his stomach like a blow. Lycaon hunted wolves? Ordinary wolves, or did Kratos help him destroy Kreefa?

“Only the gods can change their shape and disguise themselves as

beasts.” “Lycaon could be a god. There's no one to stop him from doing anything he wants.” The fat merchant glanced around and grew pale. Phaon didn't stop him when he slipped away. The man probably realized he had said too much and feared for his life. Phaon prowled among the guests, looking for those who cast troubled glances on their king, or who carried fear scent under their perfumed oil and the stink of excessive feasting.

He directed conversation so talk turned to amazing or troubling events or

rumors. It amused him to see people turn pale at the mere mention of 'wolf.' How much of this was Kratos’ doing, and how much came from Lycaon’s deepening madness? Lycaon needed killing. Someday, Phaon vowed, all the Kreefa would rise up and destroy Lycaon. That would be a wise and good use of their wolf nature. Phaon hated the very feel of Lycaon’s city. His wolf senses cried out against the sickness within the walls; not strong enough to be smelled but sensed by the spirit, in the ground, air and water. Phaon hated how the white-robed king watched the Kreefa, his black eyes sparkling with secrets, his mouth twisted in a half-smile. If Phaon dared rebel and lead his Wolf Pack back to Olympus, would Lycaon and

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his loyal Kreefa follow them, and destroy all the households? When the Elders learned Kratos had betrayed the Kreefa to danger, what would they do?

They had already cast him out. Punishing him further would require the best

hunters to leave the safety of Olympus, to capture and kill him.

It was part of the

unwritten law of the Kreefa to hide the truth of their double natures and punish those who threatened to betray them. How quickly could he and his followers travel, to bring warning and news to the Elders and the households full of mothers and grandmothers and innocent children? The journey from Arkady to Olympus was long, traveling far east and then up north across the land bridge by Korinth and up into Thessaly. A lone messenger on horseback, traveling hard, could cross that distance in five days, and a Kreefa in wolf form could run it just as swiftly. An army would take three times as long. If he left with his followers, how quickly would Kratos and Lycaon send vengeance after them, and after all Kreefa? Phaon tried to see all the possible difficulties in the plan of action, as he had taught himself in the years spent learning Human methods of war. He left the feast as soon as he could, and spent the night planning and calculating until his head ached and the sun glimmered with dawn on the horizon. Still, no answers, nothing settled in his mind. The Kreefa were in danger, because of Lycaon’s madness and Kratos’ refusal to see the risks of allying with him, and it made him want to howl his fury. He loved the Kreefa more than life – that was why he wanted to make them gods. If he failed, the curses of future generations could rest on him. When he did sleep, Anstice laughed and danced and raced through his dreams, and he woke aching with hunger for her.

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Chapter Six When Phaon finally spoke with his father, Kratos insisted he make his report in front of Lycaon. Phaon refused to argue, refused to give Lycaon the slightest idea that he didn’t trust the ruler of Arkady. Lycaon trusted no one and had proven himself capable of acting beyond common sense or reason, but even madmen had the wisdom to attack a potential enemy. So, Phaon ignored the scents of power-lust and the sickness that came from too much feasting, too much wine, too much power, and told of his visit to the village of Gytheion. “Does the girl have her mother’s power?” Lycaon asked, when Phaon finished. “She doesn’t know yet.” He wished Anstice had said no. “The girl hasn’t become a woman yet,” Kratos said with a negligent shrug. “With the Kreefa, a female’s power doesn’t come until her first blood.” “Bring me both women.” Lycaon settled back in his massive, gold-trimmed marble chair in the center of his garden. “You can’t have them both,” Kratos said with a chuckle that made Phaon’s crest fur stand up. “Kill the mother if she won’t obey and the girl has her power. If the girl has none, kill her and breed more on the mother.” Lycaon contemplated the contents of his goblet of wine as if that were far more important to him than the lives of two women he had never met. “Do you think Staffen will let you live, if you kill his mate or daughter?” Phaon said.

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“He needs to die.” Kratos narrowed his eyes as he studied his son. “You want the girl, don’t you?” He laughed. “Do you think you can control her?” Lycaon laughed hard enough to slide down in his chair. “I don’t have to be half beast, my friend, to know your son thinks with his manhood and not his brain. Why didn’t you take her when you had the chance?” “Anstice is still a child.” Phaon tried not to grit his teeth. “Not for much longer, if she can make you into a fool.” Kratos slapped his son on the side of the head with more force than affection. “Think, boy. She ripens. Your body knows that. Find a way to kill Staffen and make the women willing to obey us, and you can have the girl. Halfling that she is.” He glanced at Lycaon, a sneer curling his lips. “She might not live past her first Fever, my king. We had better keep the mother.” “Then give me the girl before her first Fever. I do so enjoy the taste of a virgin,” Lycaon murmured. Phaon held his breath, hating the sickening scent of lust and the unnatural stench that was totally Lycaon. It would be better to kill Anstice, rather than let Lycaon rape the innocent girl. “Well, my son?”

Kratos frowned at Phaon.

“How shall we capture and kill

Staffen?” “We would be far stronger if we make him our ally,” Phaon said. “Staffen has a gilded tongue. He has three times the men we do. He intends to lead all the Kreefa out of Achaia, to a land where there are no Humans to rule. The Kreefa were made to be gods. For that betrayal, Staffen deserves to die. Prove your worthiness as my heir,” Kratos growled. “Find a way to kill Staffen and the Black Wolves. If you want the girl, kill her father.” * * * * * Late that night, after he had talked with Tyrsis and the others who wanted to leave Arkady, Phaon found it hard to sleep. Why should Kreefa kill Kreefa to profit a Human? Yet Phaon saw no alternative but to help destroy the Black Wolves. There was no other way to save Anstice for himself, if he didn’t obey his father. He and his followers would ride out tomorrow to hunt for Staffen and the Black Wolves.

Phaon sent riders to

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Gytheion, to keep Lycaon from betraying Kratos by kidnapping the women. When he finally slept, Phaon dreamed of Anstice sobbing beside a blazing funeral pyre. He couldn’t see who lay on it through all the flames. Was it Staffen? Or Dawn? Or were both her parents dead? Phaon wanted to reach through the dream, to hold Anstice and comfort her, to feel her cling to him, to know he was the source of her strength. He wanted her to lean totally on him, trust him and no one else. He reached for her – and suddenly he lay on the pyre. He tried to leap free of the flames, but unseen hands held him down. Anstice stood at the foot of the pyre, rage burning hot in her eyes. She shifted to wolf and lunged, landing on his chest, crushing him into the burning wood. Then she tore out his throat. * * * * * Anstice felt no regret when she and Dawn walked away from their house at moonrise. She liked this safe place, but she preferred traveling and exploring with the Black Wolves. Her father’s men hadn’t spoiled her, though she was the darling of the mercenary band. They had trained her to hunt as a wolf and to use weapons like a Human. They had treated her like a boy so she hated the restricted life of a Human girl when she and her mother settled in Gytheion. She understood Staffen’s reasoning, putting her and Dawn where they were safe until he could persuade the households of Olympus that his way was right. She understood, but she hadn’t liked it. When she and Dawn rejoined the band, they would go to Olympus. The full moon would come before they reached the safety of Olympus. She would know before she saw her grandmother and cousins whether she was safe from the Halfling curse. Was Dawn right, and her safe entrance into adulthood would change everything between her and her age-mates?

Anstice thought about those nasty boys having grown

into handsome, strong young men, with hunger in their eyes and smelling of lust like Nices. Like Phaon. Would she enjoy it, as Phaon said? Or would she be disgusted, even terrified? Traveling, Anstice spent most of her waking hours in wolf shape and slept as a wolf. The practice let her save all the Human food for Dawn and she kept her wolf senses alert for danger. They slept in the heat of the day and traveled at night. Sometimes they walked

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past sunrise, sometimes they stopped before the first edge of the sun touched the horizon, depending on when they found a good hiding place to sleep. On those rare occasions when travelers came upon them too quickly for Dawn to find a hiding place, Anstice shifted back to Human to accompany her mother. They always kept their heads covered. Disaster required only one person to see red hair and remark on its color to someone else.

Their safety depended on reaching Staffen without people

noticing them. While they lived in Gytheion, their neighbors protected Dawn. They were proud that the god-gifted healer lived among them. Out on the road, with no friends to provide a protective wall, what was to stop a greedy man, a slaver, a king, from capturing them?

Dawn was still beautiful and her healing powers made her valuable. A rich,

powerful man could make them vanish so even Staffen and the Black Wolves could never find them. The time of year was perfect for stealthy travel because they could forage with little trouble. Anstice hunted for their meals and slept in wolf form, and her fur kept her mother warm on chilly nights. They needed flint for making fires, a few blankets, extra clothes, knives, a few keepsakes. The less the donkey had to carry, the faster they could move. The less they had to ask from others, the fewer people would remember them. Dawn wore silver rings Staffen had given her -- love tokens among the Kreefa -several rings on each finger. Silver had potent healing and protecting power, because of its resemblance to the light of the moon. Anstice watched her mother in the silvery light of morning as she said her prayers before sleeping, and something like envy ached in her chest when she saw Dawn study her rings and smile. Each ring was a memory of some important event in her life with Staffen, just like the ring that Anstice now wore. Sometimes, she swore her mother and father could speak to each other across great distances, just by reaching out with their hearts. What would it be like, she wondered, to be so tightly bound to a man that distance had no meaning? Anstice wanted that, even as it frightened her. Why were there no men like her father to be found anywhere around? “Mother, are all men ….” Anstice shivered and put down the knife she had been sharpening before she packed it. “My father is a good man who treats you better than a

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queen. But why are such men so few?” “The Kreefa know their women are the means of relief and redemption, so they dedicate themselves to prevent harm to women. All women. When I came from the sea, your father made himself my guardian, simply because I had need. Nices never knew fear or cruelty, but he grew up thinking women are property.” Dawn raised her hands and studied the rings on her fingers. A glimmer of tears threatened in her eyes and Anstice knew she missed Staffen to the point of pain. * * * * * The new moon had turned to a thin, curved line of burning silver in the sky when Phaon heard news of the Black Wolves. The mercenaries had been along the slopes of Olympus, most likely trying to persuade the Kreefa households to follow Staffen’s plan. Then, suddenly, they headed south and east. They had already crossed the land bridge by Korinth and headed down the eastern coastline of Achaia for a day before striking out west across the land. Did they head for Gytheion?

Had Dawn or Anstice suspected his

innocent visit wasn’t so innocent, and had sent for Staffen to protect them? A day later, Phaon’s spies met up with him, carrying the news that mother and daughter had vanished. They were normally solitary, only visiting the market every few days, traveling to homes when someone needed help. No one knew they were gone until all signs of their departure had faded. The ashes of their fire were cold, and all scents of habitation had faded from the house. Gossip said the two had isolated themselves after the local bronze worker had died. Wolves protected the women, and the man had died after being clawed by a wolf and driven off a cliff into the sea. No one knew what to think of that, because it was common knowledge that a betrothal was in the making between the daughter and the bronze worker. Mother and daughter had always been outsiders, even if they were appreciated. Feelings had cooled toward them, despite the gratitude the village felt toward then. And then they vanished mysteriously. Phaon felt something drop in his stomach and wondered if that was what guilt felt like. If he hadn’t driven Nices off the cliff, would the women have fled Gytheion? More important, where were they now?

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Or had Lycaon sent loyal men to kidnap the women?

Anstice and Dawn could

even now be prisoners in the palace of Arkady. Phaon swore he would kill Lycaon if he had taken Anstice. She belonged to him, and no one else, no matter how powerful, would have her. Reports said the Black Wolves were closer to Arkady now than the Wolf Pack. Phaon decided to split his men into two groups. The smaller would fly back to Arkady and spy until they determined if the women were there. The larger group would catch up with Staffen. If the women were prisoners in Arkady, Phaon would help Staffen rescue them. If there were gods in Achaia, perhaps they would smile on him, and both Lycaon and Staffen would die in the ensuing battle. Anstice would consider him her rescuer, her champion. If she survived her first Fever, he would claim her as his mate. Killing Lycaon and half the soldiers of Arkady would only make his triumph that much sweeter. * * * * * “Anstice.” Dawn woke from a light sleep and immediately sat up. The last of the sunset filtered through the branches of the trees surrounding the clearing where they had made camp. “Mother?”

Anstice paused in cleaning the hare she had caught, intending to

prepare it for their meal before they resumed their journey with nightfall. “Someone is following the Black Wolves.

We cannot meet your father at the

appointed place.” Anstice considered a moment, then nodded. prickled.

Her crest fur stood up stiff and

All her life she had witnessed those odd moments when her parents had

communicated without words, over distance. This oneness comforted her. Her parents had communicated while Dawn slept, meeting in their dreams. What kind of danger was Staffen in, that he would sleep during the day to meet his mate in dreams and warn her?

Bad enough danger, Anstice knew, that he couldn’t risk

sending a courier on a fast horse. That meant his enemy was cunning and stealthy enough to follow the courier to Staffen’s family. “Where are we to meet him, then?”

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“We will go straight to Olympus and Staffen will have to catch up with us.” “No.” Anstice glanced at the patient little donkey and thought hard. She thought of all the hard hours, the cold nights of walking that lay ahead. She could go for hours, days on end without sleep, with only a few mouthfuls of water and a mouthful of meat. The long journey would be hard on her mother. “No,” she repeated. “You won’t walk. We’ll get a horse. The journey will be swifter, and safer because of it.” “A horse costs a great deal.” “We have more than enough coins, Mother. The Kreefa have little use for money, and where my Father will lead us, there is nothing to buy and sell, so what need do we have for money?” “True.” Dawn smiled, eyes sparkling with humor. “Ah, when did you grow up and become so wise?” “Let’s see how wise I truly am when I manage to bargain for a decent horse.” * * * * * Eight days until the full moon. Anstice stared up at the thickening crescent in the sky and wondered where she would be, how she would feel – if she would even be alive – in ten days. She had always been sensitive to the changes in the silvery heat that poured down from the sky, aware of its power and affect on others, like watching a river in flood as it tore away at its banks. This full moon, she would not be safe on higher ground, but caught in the middle of the raging torrent. She felt warmth, a stirring in her blood, a melting between her hipbones, when she watched the moon for too long. As if watching it allowed it deeper access to her soul. As if watching it opened her body like someone would untie the neck of a wineskin, allowing more to be poured inside, to the point of bursting. It was hard to remember the disciplines her mother had taught her, to retain control over her body and thoughts. Anstice knew she needed to do just that. She needed to make this overwhelming power her slave, instead of allowing it to enslave her. It was the only way she would survive her first Fever and fulfill her father’s dreams. Surviving, proving herself stronger than other Kreefa, emerging on the other side

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with something to offer her father’s people, was the only way Anstice could establish a place for herself. The question was, did she want a place among the Kreefa? accepted by them? people?

Did she want to be

When her parents were gone, what would hold her among these

Anstice imagined traveling the world, not tied to any one place or people. She

thought solitude would be sweet, compared to the uncertainty and the feeling of being an outsider among the Kreefa. Perhaps this was all just a result of the moon starting to weave its hot, potent, sensual magic on her. Perhaps she was already succumbing to the madness that took Halflings? If so, it wasn’t such an unpleasant way to die, after all. Dawn said she had the strength of spirit and body to refuse the moon any power to burn in her blood. Anstice wondered if she should even try to resist. Didn’t she have the right to enjoy the burning of the full moon to the fullest, like any other Kreefa? No. Dawn and Staffen had placed a duty on her almost from the day she was conceived. Even if she cared nothing for the Kreefa, she loved her parents and she refused to dishonor or disappoint them. She had to fight the seductive, hot power of the moon as it grew stronger every night, insidious and creeping like choking vines. She had to fight and endure and prove herself better than any Kreefa ever born before her. For now, the night cool still soothed her like olive oil on dry skin. Anstice trotted in wolf form through the silver-streaked darkness beside her mother, on horseback, with every sense opened wide. Every nerve tingled as if ringed with fire that purified and intensified instead of scorching. Every breath brought a flood of information about the countryside, the fertility of the soil, the ripeness of early grain and fruit and the herbs that grew along the side of the trail. Anstice tasted the sweetness in the air that meant a nearby spring. The moonlight on her fur tingled and felt warm. “Caution,” Dawn whispered, when they had passed an orchard. Anstice shifted back to Human and reached out a hand to grasp the horse’s bridle and stop it. “What’s wrong?” She took a deep breath and instantly her feet seemed to leave the ground. The moonlight wrapped around her, caressing her skin with a tingling that put bubbles into her

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blood, like the froth on shaken wine. Her crest fur stood on end as if the air were filled with lightning. Dawn's mind wrapped around hers with a wave of drowsiness, muffling every sense as if tangled in a wet blanket. “Mother!” Anstice stumbled and clutched with both hands at the horse's bridle. “What – what happened?” “It is nearly the full moon.” Dawn tipped her head back and regarded the silver-hot disk in the sky. “You are a woman now, coming into a woman's powers. Be careful, Anstice. This is one path I have not walked ahead of you, so I have no advice, no guidance to offer you.” She frowned. “I do think you have stronger self-control when you are wolf. Remember that, when the battle becomes too strong.” That sobered her. Anstice nodded and debated staying wolf from sunset to sunrise from now on, simply to retain better control over her mind and body. A few hours later, as the first pearly glimmers of light on the horizon heralded the coming of day, Anstice heard the sound of hoofbeats and the sleepy laughter of men. Soldiers, or merchants getting an early start in their day’s journey?

She looked at her

mother, nodding over the horse’s neck, and knew they needed to get off the road soon. She shifted to Human, to speak to Dawn, then paused. Her crest fur rippled, tickling. A faint glimmer of light appeared off to the west. The road dipped and rose, blocking a view of oncoming travelers. That light was from torches. The horsemen were much closer than she had thought. What was wrong with her, that she hadn’t sensed them coming sooner? Then Anstice knew. She had been too caught up in the sensual glories of the night. The moon’s power had made her blind to danger, when she should have been guarding her mother. What was the use in having ears and eyes and a nose twenty times more sensitive than Humans if she didn’t use them properly? Then the wind shifted, coming from behind the strangers. Anstice's knees buckled as a whiff of sweaty male bodies reached her hypersensitive nose. Musky, warm bodies in full strength and youth. She could see their gleaming muscles in her imagination. She smelled cured leather, warmed by body heat. Most likely their armor. She smelled that tang of metal pressed against hot, sweaty skin. Their bronze helmets, probably. Her

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insides twisted and she took a step toward the men. Dawn jerked awake and whispered her name, alarm making her voice tight. Anstice barely heard. She estimated ten men on horseback. Men. Males. Strong, healthy males. She whimpered as an image filled her mind of Nices. Or was it Phaon? Half-naked, gleaming with sweat. She recalled the differing scents of their lust for her and her insides thrummed like harp strings. “Anstice-child,” Dawn growled. Cold slapped down on her mind, half-blinding her senses.

Anstice stumbled,

smothering on a cry of outrage as she realized that her mother interfered with the sweet, hot pleasure-hunger that throbbed through her body. The harbinger of true Fever cooled, clearing her mind and her vision. Anstice choked on a sob as she turned and leaped for the horse. She scrambled up and barely felt the blanket pad under her thighs before her mother slapped the reins against the horse's neck. Dawn's mind whip-cracked against the tender edges of Anstice's mind as she urged the horse to gallop. Behind them, someone called out. Had the horsemen seen them, or did they just hear the sudden clatter of hooves on the hard-pounded dirt of the trail? Anstice realized she knew nothing about those men, but for a sickening heartbeat she had been eager to give herself to them. She swallowed hard to keep from vomiting. If she had so little control before the full moon, how would she react when the night fire filled her blood? The horse wearied too quickly, not strong enough for chases across moonlit meadows. Anstice felt its muscles tiring before the heavy feet started to misstep. She held onto her mother, imagining them falling, thrown when the animal fell, and being crushed under its weight. Their horse slowed, just as she saw a dark clump on the rolling horizon. The evershifting night breeze brought her the scent of trees. With Verdidan’s blessing, they could hide in that forest. She squeezed Dawn’s arm and pointed. Her mother nodded and turned the horse’s head. They didn’t dare speak, afraid of making more noise to guide their pursuers to them. At this time of the night, with no village in sight, what was to stop

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these strangers from attacking them, raping them, perhaps even making them slaves? Anstice knew she could fight off two or three in wolf shape, but while she battled one man at a time, what was to stop the others from capturing, hurting, even killing her mother? Wisdom said to flee and hide. The safe, comforting shadows of the forest closed around them. Dawn immediately brought the horse to a halt. Anstice felt the gentle touch of her mother’s mind wrapping around the horse’s mind and calming it. hoofbeats continued on past them.

Both women held still until the clatter of

In the flickers of moonlight visible through the

enclosing trees, Anstice counted the men as they rode by. Twelve mounted riders, with just as many pack horses, and glints of dying moonlight on metal, meaning they were armed. “I’m sorry,” Anstice whispered, when she knew it was safe to speak again. “For what?” Dawn laughed softly and a little breathlessly. “I wasn’t paying attention.” “You were fighting other battles.” Dawn rested a hand on her daughter’s, where it still wrapped around her waist. “Better to learn from small lessons that hurt like pinpricks, than to be felled with large, painful lessons like sword cuts.” She squeezed Anstice’s hand. “Let’s find our hiding place for the day, shall we? Just in case they decide to wait further down the road for us.”

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Chapter Seven The next evening, when they had only been traveling an hour, Anstice sensed a large company of men ahead of them. She remembered her mistakes of the previous night and acted with caution when she sniffed the wind and felt for vibrations in the ground. They approached a rocky landscape with no trees for shelter. The ground could drop away without warning under unwary feet. When they turned to flee they could find themselves trapped with high stone walls on three sides. She smelled horses, metal warmed by close contact with bodies, leather, sweaty linen and many strong, healthy male bodies. Anstice shook herself, as if she could shake off the melting in her belly like she shook pesky insects off her ears. “What is it?” Dawn murmured. She tugged on the horse’s reins to stop it. “Kreefa,” Anstice said after shifting back to Human. She shivered as the melting turned to a pleasant thrumming. “Armed. My father’s men?” “We met in our dreams … they are still a day or two away.” “I’ll go.” Anstice didn’t wait for her mother to give permission or forbid her. She needed to shift to wolf and hide behind fur and claws before the sweet, seductive singing of the moon in her blood made the pleasantly warm night feel steamy. She slunk close to the ground, letting the shifting of the night breezes guide her path so her scent always moved away from the strangers, not toward them. Anstice tried not to smell the warm, sweet, wine-potent scent of strong, healthy males. Was this how her scent affected Phaon?

No wonder he couldn’t hide the lust swirling through his body. She

wished she had been kinder to him, and not felt pity mixed with superiority. After all, he

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hadn’t learned discipline from Dawn, didn’t have the inborn strength of mind that came with healing gifts. How could he accomplish what she had learned from the cradle? A brown wolf stepped out of a puddle of shadows to Anstice’s right and she bared her teeth, growling at herself for yet again losing her alertness. Kreefa? She reached with her mind. The young male yelped and jerked away from her, changing his direction in mid-air, so he tumbled tail over nose. Who are you?

He crouched down five paces away, eyes wide, tail arched up high,

ears pricked forward. There’s no such thing as a red wolf. Where did you come from? No, he was not from the Black Wolves. Then who were they? Let me speak with your leader. Why? He got up from his crouch and moved closer. Hunger flowed out from his body in a sweet, musky wave that made the air feel sticky. You’re alone. Are you looking for a mate? No. Anstice lashed out with her mind, terrified by a vision of going down on her forepaws, wolf-fashion, raising her hindquarters to allow this total stranger to mount her. His unthinking hunger and her own response sickened her. Was shifting to wolf just as useless as a shield?

What was she going to do when the Fever came in only a few more

days? The force of her mind sent the brown male running, his tail between his legs, a low howl erupting from his throat. Anstice decided to follow before she lost the element of surprise. She only hoped the element of surprise wouldn’t turn against her at the wrong moment. The brown wolf led her to a small, fireless camp set up in a hollow in the landscape. She and Dawn might have come upon it without realizing until too late, if she hadn’t been so alert. Anstice slid to a stop and found a shadowy spot by a pile of rocks, to hide and observe and think. A tall, wide-shouldered, golden-haired man stepped out to meet the wolf. The hapless sentry turned Human and started talking. Anstice felt something flutter in her

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chest, tickling her heart and constricting it at the same time. Could that be Phaon? What was he doing out here with so many men? Why were they armed as soldiers? What had her mother said about Phaon’s father, Kratos? Anstice shivered, her fur prickling with cold. She crawled backwards, down the slope, away from where Phaon and his followers gathered around the man she had startled. Her thoughts, her fears clashed with the twisting sensation between her hipbones. She wanted, to the point of pain, to smell Phaon’s hunger for her and learn if it was sweet, heady and intoxicating like winter wine. She wanted to find out if she liked it, as he had promised only a few short weeks ago. Her certainty that she had been an impulsive fool clashed with that longing and made her feel nauseous. Her head ached. “Anstice!” Phaon’s voice echoed off the moonlight, setting the silvery warmth vibrating. Anstice shivered and closed her eyes and held her breath until the answering quiver deep in her belly calmed again. The full moon was still days away. What would it do to her to hear his voice during Fever? “Where are you?”

Phaon laughed and she heard feet pounding on the rocky

ground, approaching her. “Do you know how worried I’ve been for you?

I sent to

Gytheion, and you had vanished.” His golden head appeared over the rise in the ground. Anstice held still, crouching close to the ground in wolf shape. Unable to flee, her muscles ached with the need to run far and fast, to run recklessly to meet him, and yet flee to the safety of her mother’s arms. “There you are.” He smiled, and all the brilliance of the waxing moon gathered in his face. “Why are you afraid?” Anstice growled.

Her face warmed under her fur, feeling stupid for trying to

answer before she shifted to Human. She backed away and reached for her Human form. “I didn’t realize you had an army,” she said, and refused to meet his gaze. “I suppose it looks like that.” He sighed, ending in a soft chuckle. “You’re grown up now, aren’t you?” “What does it matter?”

She clutched the knife attached to her belt.

Anstice

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wondered if she had traded one problem for another. As a child, she had been hounded because she was a Halfling. Now that she was mature and ready for mating, would she face new torments until she settled on a mate? “This close to the full moon, with a camp full of men who haven’t touched a woman since we left Arkady, and you a virgin who hasn’t faced your first Fever? Easier to face a flock of harpies and the dog Cerberus, than protect you from my men.” “You would protect me?” She smiled, despite herself, and that fluttering in her heart drove the breath from her lungs. “Always. No one will ever touch you but me, Anstice. I swear it.” His voice throbbed on the last three words. “What makes you think you will ever touch me?” she spat, instantly plunged into a sensation like thorns and ice across her skin.

“Your father tried to kill mine.

Why

shouldn’t my father kill you the moment he lays eyes on you?” “Your father?” All the warm, wine-like sweetness in Phaon’s scent fled. He took a step closer, reaching out as if he would grasp her arm. “Where is Staffen? Is he close?” “Close enough to punish you.” Anstice didn’t like the sudden alertness in his stance, his face. What was Phaon up to? “Warn Staffen. Tell him to be doubly and triply cautious. Tell him there are greater enemies to him and his dreams than he could ever guess. If he’s wise, he’ll take the Black Wolves to the land of snow and leave the Kreefa alone.” Phaon’s voice strained and he stopped to swallow. It sounded loud in the sudden quiet. “If he wants to live, tell him to go. Now.” “Where my father goes, I go.” Anstice couldn’t explain the need to stab him with her words. “How can you force me to take you as my mate, if we’re far away? You didn’t think about that, did you?” “You’re nothing but a silly little girl.

Go hide with your mother.

Hide deep

underground on the full moon, or you won’t like what you learn about males and yourself.” Phaon’s scent turned bitter, like something burned. He took another step closer. Anstice broke and ran, not shifting to wolf until she had taken five steps. Through the

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pounding of her heart in her ears, she thought she heard his voice. She couldn’t tell if he cursed or laughed at her. * * * * * Anstice sensed someone watching, as she and Dawn made a wide detour around the place where Phaon’s men camped. She didn’t know what to do, what to tell her mother. Were they in danger, or was she nothing but a silly child, overcome with the onset of the Fever? “Who did you find?” Dawn finally said, when they were far enough away there was no risk of either party hearing or smelling the other. “Phaon.” Anstice almost smiled at how her voice broke. “He hurt you.” “He was being a male. Keeping his potential mate safe from other males. As if I would ever take him.” She snorted. “Ah. He was rude. He drove you away so the other men wouldn’t see or smell you.” Dawn smiled, clear despite the shadows of the ravine they rode through. “You think he didn’t mean it?” Why did that tightness in her chest loosen at the thought? Coolness swept through her body, so Anstice wanted to laugh and weep at the same time. What was wrong with her?

Somehow she suspected she couldn’t blame all her stormy sea of emotions on the

approach of the full moon. “I think he wanted to keep you hidden from the others. What did he say, exactly?” Dawn asked. Anstice told her, and the soft smile slowly faded from her mother’s face. “I was wrong to be angry, wasn’t I? I should have asked questions.” She hated the distant light in her mother’s eyes, the slow nod, the flattening of her lips into a frown. “I can go back and try to speak privately with him, do you think?” “Do you think you can?” Dawn leaned down from her perch on the horse and stroked tangled curls out of her daughter’s face. “You are a virgin, unused to how a man – any man, Human or Kreefa – reacts to a beautiful, pure girl. After your first Fever, you can control yourself and him.”

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Anstice shrugged and hoped she looked more

confident than she felt. She called up all her control to calm her scent, her heart, even cool the sweat that made her crest fur feel heavy and itchy. She made sure Dawn was safely hidden in a cave that had no other inhabitants or claimants, and tethered the horse so it would block the entrance. Then she shifted to wolf and ran back the way she had come. Anstice didn’t have trouble with the scent of all those healthy, strong, young male bodies gathered in one place until she settled on the ridge of land that looked down on their camp. Then the scent wrapped around her like a warm blanket. She curled herself into as small a ball as possible, to hide in the shadows of the boulder rising above her on the left, and called up all her self-control. She would not succumb. She would not let the sweet warmth in her blood take control of her thoughts, her actions, her hungers. She would triumph. She was daughter to Staffen, commander of the Black Wolves. She was daughter to the god-gifted healer, Dawn-from-the-Sea, priestess of Verdidan. She was strong. She would stay pure. She would control not only herself, but also the hungers and feelings of others and lead them to safety. That was her father’s dream, her mother’s legacy. “There’s a girl out there,” a man snarled, only a few running steps away from her. “I can almost taste her.” “Do you want to end up like our fathers, letting our blood rule us?” another one said. There was a thump, a man gasped, and a sound of someone falling.

Anstice

imagined one man hit the other. “Phaon has the right of it,” the second speaker said a moment later. “How can we rule the world if we can’t rule ourselves? We have to prove we’re better than the gods if we want the people to worship us.” “What’s the use of being gods if we can’t find a girl to ease us at the full moon?” the first man grumbled. He sounded somewhat breathless. “You don’t want that girl,” Phaon said. Anstice swallowed a yelp of surprise. She knew she truly was a foolish child, taking

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this risk. “What? You have her stashed in your saddlebags?” the second man said with a coarse guffaw. “She’s a Halfling. You don’t want her. A girl isn’t worth anything before her first Fever, and she’ll probably die of it.” “Die from him using her?” the second man said with a bark of laughter. “She’s Kreefa,” Phaon snarled. Anstice shivered and her ears flattened to her skull. “Even if she’s a Halfling, she deserves better treatment than that. Besides – “ His voice lightened. “If you take a virgin, you’re mated to her. Do you want to risk the tales being true, and die if she dies of the Halfling curse?” Silence from the other two men. Anstice heard the wind whistling across the sharp tips of the rocks and the angry, pained thudding of her heart. Limbs trembling, she crept away. When she was far enough, she ran. So, that was what Phaon truly thought of her. If he spoke so kindly before, seducing her with his words, then he wanted something from her. He had asked about her father. Was that why Phaon had visited the first time?

To find Staffen?

Was Phaon intent on

finding her father and killing him, to finish the work his father had failed? * * * * * “Anstice?”

Phaon heard a soft movement in the darkness and froze, waiting,

listening and holding his breath. Nothing. Maybe this time she had vanished for good. He should have been happy, but the clenching in his gut just grew stronger, tighter, more painful. What had that stupid girl been thinking, to come back here? Didn’t she realize that when the cooling air met the sun-heated rocks of this desolate place, the air currents changed, so nothing was predictable?

He was lucky every man in camp wasn’t chasing

her tail, hungry for a piece of a virgin. He wanted to strangle her. After he devoured her mouth in kisses until he satisfied his thirst for the taste of her. After he satisfied the itching in his palms by stroking her soft,

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smooth skin. After he made her scream with passion and exorcised the ache the sight and scent of her brought to his entire body. He had probably been a fool, giving that warning to Anstice to pass on to her father. It had simply occurred to him that if Staffen knew he was in danger, he could resist Lycaon and Kratos’ plans, and give Phaon more time to figure out what to do to destroy Lycaon and protect Anstice, to keep her for himself. Why did it matter so much, to keep Anstice from blaming him, hating him for her father’s death? Phaon imagined her gratitude, her sweetness as she willingly came to his arms. Stupid girl! What had she been thinking, to come back here and tempt every man to chase her? Phaon hoped she heard enough to be frightened and stay away from his men. No woman was worth the aggravation of having to battle his closest friends to protect her.

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Chapter Eight Anstice groaned when her ears and the morning breeze told her a vast company approached. She kicked sand over the small fire she had sweated over, coaxing it out of the bits of twigs and dried moss and other refuse she had found in this maze of canyons. There would be no hot meal for her and Dawn before they settled down to sleep for the day. “Strangers,” she said, when Dawn looked up, startled by her action. “We are too much in the open.” Dawn glanced at the mouth of the ravine where they had camped for the day. Some time in the past, rushing water had carved out a wide ledge, creating a shady shelter big enough for both women and their horse. They had debated nearly twenty minutes, trying to decide if the shelter from the day’s heat was worth the risk of being seen by anyone who passed by. They had both decided that there was little traffic in this part of the desolate landscape. They were both wrong, it now seemed. Anstice gathered up the blankets that served as their beds and the mending Dawn had planned on doing before they slept. Dawn gathered up their food. She glanced once at Anstice, then at the skinny hare that was to be their first hot meal in four days. Anstice managed a lopsided smile when her mother tossed the corpse away. Who knew when they could stop to cook and eat again? The meat might go bad by then. In moments, they had everything packed up. Anstice shifted to wolf and scuffed at all signs of their camp with her paws. The horse snorted at the shift, as it always did, then settled down and let Dawn mount him. Woman and horse followed the red wolf further

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up the ravine. They had barely gone around the first bend, where they could still see movement beyond the ravine, when the approaching company passed by. The two women sat in silence, listening to the clatter of hooves, the creaking of saddles, the rattle of wagon wheels. It seemed to go on forever. With her sharper eyes, Anstice made out details. Swords and spears. Horses. Crested helmets. A shiver worked through her body, making her nervous to the point of wanting to run far and fast. There was no gleam of sunlight off bronze helmets and shields and the trimmings on scabbards and arrowheads. Everything was a dark, glossy black, leather breastplates and the padded tunics the foot soldiers wore as they marched past. The horses wore black bridles and saddle blankets. What king outfitted his men in black? The sight of it made her fur stand on end. Her throat grew hard, so she couldn't swallow. Movement was vulnerability. Anstice and Dawn tethered the horse and prepared to spend however long it took in this shadowy hiding place. When the army had moved far enough away, they would leave. For now, they would sit still, make camp, and wait. Sound traveled too easily in these ravines, with all sounds bouncing off the sheer stone walls and echoing multiple times. They couldn't talk or do anything that might make sounds that didn't belong here. Dawn used her talent to calm the horse into sleep. Anstice made their camp -- blankets folded into pallets, and half a loaf of bread and some raisin cakes for their meal. Dawn brought out her lap loom, meaning she knew she would not sleep. Anstice shifted to wolf and curled up to watch the mouth of the ravine, hiding in the shadows. She could rest, drifting in a half-awake state, and still keep watch. Even when the last soldier marched past, when the last supply wagon had rumbled by, she kept watch, waiting, alert for the first sign of trouble. Why was this company of soldiers here, in this desolate landscape? Who was their enemy * * * * * “Where are your men?” Lycaon asked as Phaon stepped into the pavilion where he and Kratos waited. “Half a day behind me.” Phaon’s crest fur prickled, making him want to roll on the floor to ease the itching deep within his flesh.

That wouldn’t help, he knew.

The

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discomfort wasn’t physical, but a reaction to the mad, gloating triumph bright in Lycaon’s black eyes. “I came to report that we – “ “Found the Black Wolves half a day’s march away,” Kratos said. He chuckled and raised his golden goblet of rich wine in a toast. “We know. Well done.” Phaon kept his face carefully neutral. He didn’t worry about his scent. He could barely smell himself in the thick, incense-laden air. Only gods surrounded themselves with incense.

Phaon doubted Lycaon burned incense to honor Kratos, so that meant he

considered himself a god. But where did the Kreefa fit into his plans? “They will be here soon enough,” his father said, and gestured at the canyon spread before them. The pavilion sat on a plateau, the height of five houses above the flat, rocky ground. Sheer walls rose up in jagged relief against the sky, creating an arena where vast war games could be fought. No soldiers set up their lines of battle down among the crevices and spires of stone, or guarded the many narrow entrances into the canyon. Phaon didn’t know where they were, but his nose and sense of movement told him Lycaon had brought at least three-quarters of the soldiers of Arkady to this desolate place. He smelled Kreefa as well, meaning the older men who stayed with Kratos were here, their scent spicy with eagerness for the hunt. He caught a glimpse of movement along the flat top of the canyon on the far opposite side. Suddenly, Phaon understood. This wouldn’t be a battle – it would be a slaughter. If he had the Wolf Pack here, they wouldn’t be strong enough to take on Lycaon’s battle-hardened, bloodthirsty soldiers. This wasn’t the time to break free and slaughter Lycaon. Anyway, why should he sacrifice his men for Staffen’s sake?

If Staffen wasn’t

smart enough, alert enough to avoid this ambush, then he deserved to die. Anstice would never know that he had been there to watch her father die, so what did it matter? His dream of Anstice weeping by the funeral pyre flickered into his thoughts. Phaon impatiently pushed the image aside. He wasn’t to blame. What mattered was escaping Lycaon and Kratos.

When they were busy with their entertainment, Phaon

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planned to slip away, find Anstice, and spirit her away to Olympus where she would be safe. The full moon was almost on them. If she survived her first night of Fever, he would make her his mate on the second night. The second full moon was called the Lover’s Moon, and with good reason.

Phaon smiled in anticipation of finally tasting

Anstice’s sweetness, binding her to him irrevocably.

She would be grateful that he

protected her, and he had enough assurance of his prowess as a lover, he would dazzle her with pleasure. “That’s my son,” Kratos said with a chuckle.

He clapped Phaon hard on the

shoulder, nearly making him stagger. “You see exactly what will happen, and you’re eager for battle, aren’t you? Too bad it won’t be a real battle. Staffen doesn’t deserve to die as a warrior, or as a Kreefa.” He spat. “We’ll have an excellent view from here. With our enemy dead, we can send to Olympus for our people and establish ourselves as gods.” “Yes, Father,” Phaon whispered. His smile of anticipation felt painfully stiff. He stared down into the canyon and prayed neither man could see his eyes. He knew he had to look as stunned as a doe on the brink of death. Kratos had just revealed the home of the Kreefa to Lycaon. It was bad enough he had revealed their very existence to the madman king. Now he had revealed their secret, safe home. What was to stop Lycaon from sending his soldiers and slaughtering the males, capturing the females and children, and decimating their homes?

What was to stop Lycaon from making the Kreefa his slaves, instead of

helping them become gods? Phaon glanced at Lycaon, and found the black-haired king watching Kratos. The light in his eyes held gloating triumph. Lycaon was a madman, yes, but cunning enough to realize the gift that had been handed him. Phaon wished he dared to kill the man right here, but there were too many guards, too many opportunities to die before he outran the scent of Lycaon’s madness and his blood. Someone else would make Anstice his mate. Someone else would lead the Wolf

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Pack. Someone else would be hailed as the savior of the Kreefa. Phaon forced his aching stiff limbs to move. He stepped over to the table where rich sweets and wine provided a feast while they prepared for the slaughter. He poured himself a goblet of wine, added water to it, sniffed it for drugs or poison, and settled down to wait. Kratos would expect it of him, as a loyal, obedient son. Lycaon would suspect him of treachery if he tried to leave before the ‘entertainment’ began. * * * * * The watchmen sent word just as the first tinge of crimson touched the eastern sky with sunset. The Black Wolves came. Phaon steeled himself to endure. What was blood and pain but an unpleasant step to the Afterlife?

Staffen and his Black Wolves had a

reputation for fierceness and integrity. Nobles, merchants and kings who bought their services were never betrayed, never dishonored, and always profited. No matter how brutally and shamefully these men died today, they would be honored in the Afterlife. Wouldn’t they? Phaon’s mind slid to the things Dawn and Anstice had told him about their god, Verdidan, who demanded honesty, kindness, truth and healing, and who granted freedom to all who obeyed. What kind of god was that to serve? He snorted at the hypocrisy of that thought. The Kreefa served no gods. They had explored Olympus to the highest snowy peak and found no gods, no palaces, no signs that anyone more powerful than the Kreefa existed. What kind of a god would he be, Phaon wondered, when he was afraid to walk away from this honorless slaughter? pavilion behind him.

He stood at the edge of the plateau with the rich

To his right stood Kratos and Lycaon, tense with anticipation,

wearing matching, thin-lipped smiles of triumph. Lust made the air bitter and hung in a cloud around them. Lust for blood, to see the Black Wolves punished for defying their dreams of glory. Soldiers lined the edges of the canyon. Every other man held a spear, the tip black with poison. Ten more lay beside each spearman, ready to be used. In between the spear throwers were archers, an arrow ready in each bow, full quivers at their feet, also tainted

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with poison. Phaon wanted to vomit. There was no honor in this, no glory. This violated all the laws of the Kreefa. What good would it do him to become a god if his soul sickened with shame? Staffen emerged from the dark bottleneck of the ravine to Phaon's left, where it fed into the canyon. The last bloody streaks of sunset spilled across the landscape, throwing his, Lycaon's and Kratos' shadows over the edge of the canyon and down onto the men riding below them. Ten rows of horses had emerged now. Staffen looked up, seeking the source of the long shadows. The first supply wagon emerged from the bottleneck. Lycaon raised his hand. The movement drew Staffen's attention. A horn tore through the air as dusk dropped a dull gray net around them. Staffen shouted. A cloud of spears rose up into the air and arched down with silent, deadly grace. More horns blared, drowning out the first cries of pain as nearly one quarter of the spears found their mark. Arrows flew next. The Black Wolves dug heels into their mounts and darted forward. The ones behind the supply wagon turned to go back the way they had come. Kratos laughed, his voice turning to a howl, as a squadron of Lycaon's soldiers poured up the ravine behind the Black Wolves, forcing them into the death trap. A random arrow hit the leg of Staffen’s horse. It reared, screaming, then crumpled. The poison numbed muscles long before death struck. Phaon watched Staffen leap free of the horse. One of his men raced up, holding out an arm to help him swing up onto the horse behind him. A hornet's cloud of arrows and spears showered down on Staffen and his rescuer. * * * * * Dawn screamed, rising to her feet. For one awful moment, she stared up at the bloody sunset. Then she shuddered and collapsed as if boneless. Anstice barely managed to catch her mother before she hit the stony ground. She clutched Dawn close, terrified to check for signs of life – or death. What had happened? Dawn stared into nothingness.

A tiny tremor worked through her, and that

comforted Anstice more than she liked to admit. While her mother moved, she lived. What had brought on the fit? What had made her scream?

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Though she had tried it only a few times, Anstice knew what she had to do. She called up all her strength and discipline and reached with her mind to touch Dawn’s mind. A moment later, she gasped and tore her sense of self away from the horrific, bloody image of carnage. Anstice turned to look around the narrow ravine in every direction, to assure herself that dying men didn’t surround her. Men whose faces she knew, who had been her uncles, her playmates, who taught her to hunt and ride. They lay bloody and white-faced in agony, foaming at the mouth, their bodies bristling with arrows and spears. The black-garbed soldiers who had passed by the ravine where she and her mother hid that morning now murdered the Black Wolves. The slaughter was nearby, because Staffen had contacted Dawn only hours ago and said they were near. Anstice had thought to ride with the Black Wolves tonight. Why did Dawn scream and collapse, and how had the vision come to her? “Staffen,” Dawn whispered, her voice cracking with agony. “No. Please.” Anstice fought a sob that threatened to tear her heart from her chest. “Blessed Verdidan … no.” But she knew with icy certainty what had happened.

Staffen had received a

deathblow and Dawn had felt it. Their merged souls had brought his dying to her. They shared their lives, their hearts – would they now share death? Somewhere near, Anstice knew her father lay dying, just as her mother lay unmoving, perhaps dying. She couldn’t abandon her mother, to die alone and cold. Was there the slightest chance she could save her father?

Or would she condemn herself to

shameful, wasteful slaughter? “I don’t want to live without you,” she whispered. Anstice set about to make her mother comfortable, covered her with blankets to keep her warm, and held her hand. Dawn would know she wasn’t alone. Perhaps enough of her mind remained, she would fight death to stay with her daughter. Even as she leaned closer to watch for any sign of rallying, Anstice felt the chill creeping through Dawn’s flesh. Dawn had taught her daughter that when the servants of Verdidan slipped free of the weighty garments of their bodies, they paused a moment between life and death, and

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were able to see both worlds. Anstice wondered if her mother saw Staffen, waiting in that place beyond death. She knew she had to let her mother go in peace. It was all she could do now. Her mind felt clotted with fear. Anstice knew better than to cling to her mother's spirit. She should release Dawn with joy, to go to that land of unending light, where there was no need for healers to tend the ill or warriors to protect the innocent. Anstice braced herself to release her parents to Verdidan’s blessed lands. Would she feel their passing, as she sometimes joined the soul communication between her parents when she was a child?

She wanted to close her eyes and drift into the spirit world with

them. She and her parents could laugh together and run free, with no fear of their enemies. No, she decided in the next moment. Her father would be disappointed in her if she didn’t fulfill his dream and lead the Kreefa to safety far to the north. She owed her father the dignity of a proper burial. She owed him some small measure of vengeance, or at least to learn the reason why he had been killed. So, she would live and she would honor her parents. Somehow. “Go in peace, Mother. Go with my love,” she whispered in the language of her grandmother's vanished people. “Go to Verdidan. I will serve as you have taught me. I will be a healer. Go in peace and come in peace to my father.” Despite her words, an ember of anger sparked to life in her chest. Anstice vowed to use all her strength and gifts to fight the unseen enemy and lead the Kreefa north, away from Achaia and those who would destroy them through fear. She would go to Olympus and rouse the Kreefa to attack her father’s murderer. What she would do after her parents were avenged and her father’s dream fulfilled, she didn't know. The Kreefa had no claim on her and she would leave them once they were safe and her parents’ souls were honored and satisfied. Dawn opened her eyes. Her lips twitched with the effort to speak. Her throat worked, but no sound came out. Mother and daughter looked long into each other's eyes. Then, Dawn closed her eyes again. Anstice held back her tears as she stretched out next to her mother and held her. She breathed for her mother, counting every heartbeat. The end came so softly, Anstice barely felt it. Dawn exhaled, slowly, gently, then

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utter stillness flowed through her body with the cool sweetness of a day caught between spring and summer. Anstice lay still, holding her mother, keeping her body warm, and waited for the tears to come. Somewhere deep inside, she felt a storm waiting to explode, but a thick shell kept the violence contained like a leathery egg that refused to release the bloodthirsty lizard inside. Soon though, the time would come. The egg would become frail and crack. Anstice would break free and then her unknown enemy would mourn in his turn. Anstice wrapped Dawn’s body and tucked it into the shelter where they had camped. She smeared ashes from their fire all around, to ward off animals, then shifted to wolf and marked the stones, to keep predators away. Dawn’s body would be safe, but only for a short time. Maybe a day. Anstice vowed to learn what had happened to Staffen in less than a day. She would bring his body back, to put on the funeral pyre with her mother. Then, she would hunt down his murderers. When Anstice left the shelter of the ravine, the last glimmer of sunset filled the ravines with bloody black shadows. Anstice snarled deep in her throat and stretched her four legs as far as they would go. She barely felt the rocky ground under her paws as she hurtled forward. The trail left by the black soldiers was easy to follow. She let her senses focus on the tracks of the horses, the marks of the supply wagon wheels, the myriad scents of an army on the march – and she let her mind retreat in grief. She ran hard, pushing herself, feeding her anger and loss directly into her wolf muscles. No matter where those black soldiers and their master went, Anstice vowed to find them. The bloody sunset had long given way to the mournful gray-black of dusk when the stench of spilled blood and violent death yanked Anstice’s mind back to the present. Men had died in agony, in sickness, in pain. The stink of it made the air thick. It soaked through the hard, unforgiving stone of this desolate maze of ravines and canyons, dust and stone. Anstice had torn her paw pads on the stones and scraped her shoulders and sides and head when she went under overhangs or slipped and fell trying to jump a crevice or hurdle an obstacle. She couldn't stop now. Answers – and Staffen’s body – were only a few steps away.

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Her limbs tried to fold beneath her as she reached the crest of a steep climb. In her mind, she planned to pause, just a few seconds, long enough to regain her breath and reconnoiter. She forgot to breathe as she stared down at the bloody aftermath of carnage before her. Men lay twisted in pain, pinned to the ground by spears. Others lay in crumpled heaps, bristling with arrows. Other men lined the top edges of the ravine. They held spears, ready to cast, and arrows poised for another flight of death. But no one and nothing moved in the blood-smeared canyon below them. Not even the horses. A carrion bird circled low over the streams of blood, but didn’t land. Anstice shivered. What did the bird know that her senses hadn’t told her yet? Pain churned deep in her chest, like teeth gnawing at her lungs, smothering the howl of anguish that waited to be born.

Somewhere down there was her father.

Movement caught her attention and she turned to her right. Three men walked through a gap in the canyon walls and out into the theater of carnage. One wore white robes edged in purple and gold, likely the king who commanded these black soldiers. Even from across the canyon, with dusk making the air murky, Anstice saw his hawk-like profile, his thick black hair, his tall, proud stance and stamped those features into her memory. She would remember him all the days of her life. The second man had a loose-limbed, arrogant stride. He was a dark brown in coloring, very hairy, and his gut protruded despite the draping of his rich robes. His stride indicated he was born to the hunt, yet his fatness meant he had fallen into an indolent life of luxury. Anstice puzzled over that contradiction for only a heartbeat before her gaze fell on the third man, who walked some distance behind the first two. Phaon walked in the shadow of the king who had killed her father, the Black Wolves, and the only life Anstice had ever known. She couldn’t see his expression, but she knew his shape, the smooth, predatory way he moved, the gleam of his hair that defied the twilight and the shadows of the canyon. Had Phaon loaned his warriors to the service of this king? Anstice held her breath and bit her lip to keep from howling her fury and anguish, because she knew now Phaon

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had lied to her. He had likely told her to warn Staffen simply to trick Anstice into leading his warriors into ambush. Anstice closed her eyes and backed down the incline. She didn't want to see any more. She still had to find Staffen’s body, but that could wait until the three men had finished their gloating survey of the dead.

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Chapter Nine Phaon thought he had gone as mad as Lycaon. How could Anstice’s scent be here, among the stink of blood and pain, vomit and poison?

He would recognize her scent

anywhere, sweet and compelling even when laced with fury and grief. Why shouldn’t she feel grief, if she saw this shameful slaughter? If she was here … then Dawn’s powers were even more potent than rumors said. Somehow the healer had known the danger that surrounded her mate. Phaon knew he had to do something to ensure Anstice he hadn’t wanted this destruction. He had to win her friendship and trust. He almost smiled, thinking of how he could frustrate Lycaon and pay his father back in a small measure for this treachery against other Kreefa. Neither Lycaon nor Kratos had found Staffen when they walked through the canyon after the last struggling man had grown still. Phaon had known Staffen the moment he looked at the dead body, just a short time ago, but neither Lycaon nor Kratos had recognized him or the markings on his weapons and armor. In any other circumstances, their mistake might have been amusing, because they had watched Staffen go down on the field of death. Phaon decided he would steal Staffen’s body so they couldn’t display it in triumph or desecrate it. He would sneak away, find Anstice, and help her take her father’s body away. She would trust him forever, if he did that for her. When Lycaon and Kratos returned to the plateau, Phaon stayed behind.

In

moments, he returned to place where Staffen lay. He removed the man’s helmet, shield and sword and dragged his body away from his fallen horse. None of Lycaon’s soldiers

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saw him, too busy searching the bodies for loot. Phaon despised their dull senses, and despised his own father for helping bring about this destruction. The only time Kreefa should ever fight Kreefa, he knew, was when they fought over a woman, or to defend or feed their families. Never for power, and never for the profit of a Human. Phaon followed the bittersweet scent on the errant breeze, praying Anstice saw him and realized what he did, and waited for him. He dreaded the thought of one of his father’s men scenting the girl and attacking in battle-induced lust. She had caused him enough problems already without making him kill another Kreefa to protect her. He wished she would come out of hiding soon. He was required to join Lycaon and Kratos as they feasted to celebrate the death of their enemy. If he made them wait too long, they would grow curious and look for him. Phaon was sick of lies and deception and pretending to be and to feel something that was not true. When had it all started? He wasn’t sure. He only knew he longed for a simpler life. Was all this trouble worth it, to become a god? He had willingly supported his father’s dream because he knew the Kreefa would be much better gods than the socalled gods of Olympus, but after this slaughter, how could he be sure? He caught a glimpse of deep, dark red, gleaming in the moonlight. Moonlight and shadows filled the canyon and covered the dead in silver blankets of silence. Phaon shivered, imagining he saw the spirits of the slain rise from their bodies. Perhaps he had lost his mind. Perhaps Lycaon’s madness was a disease that could pass as easily from one man to another as the wasting disease, or the spots and slime a man contracted from frequenting old harlots. * * * * * Anstice had found her father’s scent, despite the stink of blood and bitter pain, the rancid stench of voided bowels and the poison that began to rot the bodies before they quite cooled. She nearly burst into tears when she smelled Phaon’s distinct, warm scent so close at hand. But the wolf shape couldn’t cry. She was grateful for that. She turned the aching into anger, and the anger into energy. Then she followed the scent trail through the darkness. Phaon’s scent grew stronger and Anstice grew more troubled as she moved further

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from the glow of torches and the voices of the black soldiers as they hunted through the dead and the darkness. Then she saw the golden head and the strong arms full of the crumpled, limp burden, waiting in the shadows. “I couldn’t stop them,” Phaon whispered. “I tried to warn you, to warn him. I swear to you, Anstice, Lycaon will pay. I will kill him with my own fangs and claws.” He stepped into a streak of moonlight and set Staffen’s dead body down. The tears came when she shifted to Human and dropped to her knees at her father’s side. Staffen looked almost as if he were asleep. No death agonies, as she had seen on the other members of the Black Wolves. Anstice wondered if her parents’ spirits had merged when death took them, and Staffen had only known joy when he left his body behind, because in that moment he was joined to Dawn forever. A howl of anguish caught in her throat and Anstice pounded the ground with her fists. She was alone, with only the bitter taste of vengeance-hunger in her mouth. She would never find someone to share life and love, as her parents had. The Kreefa despised or feared her, because she was a Halfling. Phaon was the only Kreefa, beyond the Black Wolves, who had ever treated her as an ordinary Kreefa girl. He wanted her, man to woman, and she honestly admitted she had felt some interest in him. But his scent was as tightly wound into her father’s death as the arrows that had pierced his leather armor and the poison that turned his blood to acid. Despite Phaon’s words, despite the truth in his scent, the agony and shame that told her he suffered too, she couldn’t trust him. He was allied with the king who had killed her parents, the Black Wolves, her entire life. She knew what she would do now. A plan came clear in her mind and the certainty of it calmed and cooled the red-hot raging that would have stolen her reasoning. She would take Staffen to join Dawn and build her parents’ funeral pyre high. Then she would take her vengeance. “Lycaon?” Her voice cracked. “King Lycaon of Arkady?” “Lycaon of Arkady.” Phaon reached out, as if to touch her. She snarled at him. “He thinks to make himself a god, using the Kreefa like slaves. We have to stop him, Anstice.” “I will.” * * * * *

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Anstice refused to let Phaon help her. She sent him back to Lycaon and fled, carrying Staffen’s body on the horse Phaon gave her. Two days of waiting flew by, while Anstice scoured the ravines and plateaus for enough wood to burn her parents’ bodies properly. She shifted to wolf whenever she heard or even sensed people nearby, and became just another stone in the shadowed landscape. She thought long and hard about her enemy, and her vengeance.

Staffen had

refused several summonses from Lycaon to bring the Black Wolves to serve him. Could the king have slaughtered the Black Wolves in retribution? Anstice knew there had to be other reasons. Phaon had said his father had fallen under Lycaon’s influence. His father was Kratos. She knew Kratos was just as much to blame as Lycaon – he would have to die, also. But vengeance had to wait until she properly honored her parents. On the second night, Anstice lit the funeral pyre. She had fought her tears so long that she couldn’t cry while the flames leaped high and black smoke billowed into the night sky. She stood silent vigil until flesh and bone had turned to ash and the last embers cooled. Then she scraped up the ashes in a makeshift bag, mounted the horse, and rode west and north, to Arkady. When she came to a river that flowed to the sea, she opened the bag of ashes and committed her parents to the water. Perhaps in time, Dawn would in some small way return to the far-off island of her birth, and Staffen would accompany her, as he had often promised in whispers in the night. Anstice knew her parents were together, wherever they were, and happy because they were together. She sold the horse in the next village and reduced her possessions to what she could carry in a pack on her back. She wore all her mother’s rings on a thong around her neck. That and Staffen’s knife and a few other trinkets were all that truly mattered to her. With little in the way of material goods to burden her, it was easier to shift to wolf and lope across the nighttime countryside. Magic made it possible for a Kreefa to shift between bodies without shedding clothes and possessions. Anstice was especially grateful for that ability now. Nothing and no one weighed her down. Then the full moon struck. Anstice felt the heat of the moon that night, but the shell of her grief shed the

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burning so it didn't touch her blood. A message for her soul hid in the brilliance, the shapes that danced across the mottled silver platter of the moon, but she had never learned the language. Something stirred deep inside her soul, but it was cold and ached and she knew this had no part of the Fever. A choked whimper escaped her when she realized the Fever had no power over her. Or was she wrong?

Had her grief destroyed her resistance so thoroughly, she had no

strength left to resist? Had the Fever already taken her down into madness? She ran until the moon began to descend, then took shelter in a copse of trees. She slept, and barely closed her eyes before she once again ran through the forest where she and her mother had been happy and safe. The golden-furred, black-eyed wolf ran with her.

The sun danced across the sky and

plummeted to a spectacular sunset of purple, gold and scarlet. Anstice sobbed as the colors ran together into a single bloody hue that trickled across the green landscape and turned it into a desert wasteland. Fire spilled through her blood as the moon rose in the sky like a swan, trailing streamers of silver flames. She turned to the golden wolf and he stood over her, tall enough to fill the sky. Sparks danced through his fur and the musky, dusty, male scent of him made her mind spin. Anstice couldn't breathe, could barely move. She thought her muscles would crack until she gave up fighting the pull of the ground. Lowering her head, she rested her muzzle on her front paws in submission. The golden wolf nuzzled her and all her insides throbbed and melted, twisting until she thought she would howl. He rubbed his head against her flanks. His tail curved around and tickled her nose as he moved down to her back legs, nuzzling and sniffing. Her hindquarters began to rise. Anstice jolted awake with a howl in her throat, choking on a knot of mixed terror and hunger. A throbbing twisted deep in her belly, between her legs, as if the golden wolf had indeed mounted her. So, this was lust. She wasn't sure she liked it, jolting her back to life and searing all her senses like a hot knife in an open wound. * * * * * Phaon watched the full moon as it sank toward the horizon. Was there something in

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the very air of Lycaon’s palace that dulled the throbbing heat of the moon?

He felt no

restlessness, no hungry lust, no thirst for fresh blood and hot flesh. His dreams had been filled with Anstice, maiden and wolf. He wondered if he had expelled all the hunger of the Fever in his dreams, and that was why he could sit here in the window of his grand room and feel nothing while silver fire rained down all around him. Perhaps his hunger to possess Anstice left no room for anything else, in body or mind. Where was she?

What was she doing tonight, of all nights?

Had she found

someone to quench her fire, or did she suffer alone? Did Dawn’s power extend far enough to help her daughter through the worst of the burning? Phaon hoped mother and daughter were safe somewhere, and Dawn kept Anstice firmly in check. The thought of the girl waking up in the morning, mated to the first man who caught her attention in the Fever’s heat, made him feel like snakes writhed in his belly. Anstice was his. He would claim her as his mate. No other man would taste her mouth, touch her skin, crush her softness beneath him and hear her scream his name in passion. Anstice would be beautiful in her first Fever. Beautiful and desirable, full of life and passion. She had her father's keen wit and insight, her mother's sweet spirit and face, her father's eyes, her mother's compassion and fiery hair. He wanted her. He needed to drown in her scent and taste her flesh and claim her as his own. She would gladly give herself to him, when he had found a way to kill Lycaon to avenge her father. First, he had to find a way to persuade Kratos and the older men to abandon Arkady. The Wolf Pack was ready, but he had no idea what to do just yet. * * * * * On the second night of the full moon Anstice sat long under its fire and felt the Fever stir her blood. She waited for the insanity of hunger to come on her. She waited for the aching need, but nothing happened. Her skin tingled, her blood steamed in her veins, but she stared up at the moon and the only ache she felt came from the need to run long and hard and fast, and shred her father’s murderer into thousands of bloody pieces. Did this strength to resist come from her spirit, or was there indeed something stronger than unbridled lust? Were the Kreefa wrong about the perils of Fever, especially

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a girl’s first Fever, especially a Halfling? Perhaps the problem lay in allowing males and females to be within scenting distance of each other during the full moon. Did the Fever only strike when there was opportunity for danger? She had survived her first Fever. Her status among the Kreefa had changed, though she had no idea how much. She needed to reach Arkady – cautiously – and avenge her parents. With the blood of her enemy on her claws, in her mouth, she could go proudly to Olympus. The Elders would listen to her because she had proven herself. Her age-mates would respect her. She could make them listen to her father’s dreams and tell them of the snowy, free lands far to the north. When the Kreefa were safely away from Achaia and all the land’s dangers, what would she do? Anstice knew that was too far into the future to worry herself. Who was to say she would escape Arkady alive, after all? She concentrated on those things, and refused to let a single memory of Phaon into her thoughts, her memories. But he haunted her dreams.

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Chapter Ten Anstice went slowly as she entered Arkady. Only a fool rushed into unfamiliar territory. She listened to talk along the way and explored the land around the city where Lycaon’s palace gleamed from a hilltop. She learned Kratos had become Lycaon’s special friend and advisor. She learned Phaon commanded a fierce army of warriors who served Lycaon. She learned Lycaon had the ability to turn into a wolf. Rumor said a brown wolf prowled the palace on moonlit nights, and anyone who spoke against the king would find his throat torn out. Lycaon had attained the ability to turn into a wolf? Kratos had broken an unspoken law of the Kreefa by revealing his second nature. Anstice tried to ignore the comfort she found in learning a brown wolf, not golden, roamed Arkady’s palace at night. She tried not to be pleased when she learned Phaon spent little time with his father and the king, and had been heard to argue with both. When the new moon and a cloudy night gave her concealing darkness, Anstice slipped into the palace. She had spoken to slaves and merchants. She had listened and watched until she knew the movements of the servants and guards and the routine and layout of the palace. Getting in to kill Lycaon would be easy. Getting out without being caught would be the trick. She slipped in as a shadow when twilight fell. Dinner kept servants and guests busy. She went in wolf shape and walked the darkened corridors, her steps so light her claws didn’t click on the tiled floors. She followed her nose, going where the smell of people had faded. She found a shadowed doorway and waited until the feasting had

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ended and the guests had gone home or to their beds. Men’s voices came to her from the direction of Lycaon’s private garden. Anstice smiled and knew her enemy had been handed to her as a gift. She would wait in the shadows, with the fresh, clean air to make her vigil more pleasant. She would wait until the king was alone. Then she would strike. Killing Lycaon alone would have to be enough to satisfy her soul and her parents’ spirits. Greed would destroy her. Let the Kreefa give justice to Kratos for his treachery. The men continued talking until Anstice grew impatient. What was wrong with these men?

Didn’t Humans sleep during the dark hours?

Were they so afraid of the

darkness of the new moon that they had to stay awake and hold it back with torches until sunrise? Servants hurried away from the courtyard. Anstice hoped that meant Lycaon and Kratos would soon retire. Then the servants returned with trays of food, pitchers of wine. And Phaon followed them. She pressed back into the shadowy doorway and held perfectly still. She called up all her concentration to make her scent neutral, revealing none of the turmoil inside her heart and mind. One shallow breath brought her Phaon’s scent and her heart skipped a beat. Mixed with the clean, healthy scent of Phaon was the hot spice of anger. She frowned, unsettled by the sensation of relief in knowing Phaon was angry with the men. What did it matter to her?

He was not her friend. It didn’t matter to her that he had

helped her steal her father’s body away, so the soldiers couldn’t desecrate it. Phaon had been there when Staffen died, and he was here now. Even though he insisted they would be mates, she knew she could never trust him. She thought she hated him for that. Anstice remembered, as if through a dream, the desecration of the other bodies left after the slaughter. Lycaon’s black soldiers had stolen jewelry and weapons, hacking fingers and heads off to make it easier to remove their loot. She shuddered, remembering seeing two soldiers strip one of the Black Wolves so they could skin the crest fur off his back. Phaon had saved Staffen from that, and Anstice knew she should feel gratitude. But gratitude would cool the vengeance-lust burning in her belly.

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* * * * * “She’s here, isn’t she?” Kratos said, as he and Phaon walked down the long hallway to their rooms in Lycaon’s palace. “Staffen’s daughter. There’s a new scent in the air, a virgin, and she’s not Lycaon’s newest concubine.” Phaon inhaled sharply and stopped. Just for a heartbeat. But enough to give him away. He would have kept moving, would have avoided reacting at all, but his thoughts were too caught up in Anstice, the sweet, clean scent of her, spicy with anger. He didn’t realize how hungry he was to see her, to finally touch her, until her scent whispered on the breeze and caught his attention. “She knows Lycaon killed Staffen,” Phaon said, and followed Kratos into his room. “We had better do something to stop her, shouldn’t we?” Kratos chuckled and walked over to the table that was always set with honey cakes, figs and pitchers of wine. “You think she can’t kill, just because she’s a girl?

She’s Staffen’s daughter. The

Black Wolves were her playmates and nursemaids.” “Yes, Staffen’s daughter. I wonder where her mother is,” he mused. “You think she can kill Lycaon?” “If given half a chance.” Phaon thought Anstice would be able to rip Lycaon’s throat out with her claws, without ever shifting to wolf. He had seen the mind-numbing pain and grief in her eyes, had smelled it, turning her scent to the cold bitterness of charcoal. “She’ll never get out of here alive.” “Right now, I don’t think she much cares.” “True. Where are your warriors?” “In the city.” “Get them. They might be the only ones able to stop the girl, if she goes wolf. We’ll need them if she succeeds, to keep Lycaon’s men from killing all of us.” Kratos gestured with his wine cup toward the door. Phaon was halfway to the inn frequented by the Wolf Pack, when he started to question his father’s orders. What about Kratos’ followers, the fathers and uncles of the young men of the Wolf Pack? What about Lycaon’s soldiers?

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“I hope she tears out your throat as well, Father,” he snarled, and turned to go back to the palace. * * * * * Anstice waited until long after the footsteps and Phaon’s scent passed her, and the courtyard was silent. Lycaon was alone. She crept from her hiding place and clung to the shadows and made her way to the courtyard. A whisper of breeze brought her strange scents. Sandalwood and wine, musk and a stink of funeral ashes. Her nose wrinkled at the mixture. Through it all, she smelled the rancid scent of unwashed Human. In the doorway of the garden, Anstice paused. A single torch burned in the center of the garden, casting light on a throne-like chair strewn with rich cloths and pillows, and a table beside it with the scattered remains of a feast. Spilled wine, crumbs of bread, the bones of some small roasted animal littered the golden wood of the tabletop. She wrinkled her nose at the stink of myriad overlapping perfumes. Did the Humans have such numb noses that the warring scents didn’t irritate them? Something moved in the darkness to her right. Her crest fur prickled and she crouched lower in the doorway. Water spattered on the ground, then the breeze shifted. Anstice swallowed a snort of disgust. Lycaon relieved himself in the darkness. What was wrong with Humans, fouling the places where they lived? Lycaon stepped into the pool of light by his chair a few moments later. Tall, with oiled and curled black hair, a hawk-like nose, black eyes, and skin that was pallid from indoor living. He wore long, colorful, rich garments that gave off clouds of perfume when he moved, and dragged on the ground. Her crest fur stood up straight. Anstice shifted to the left. A bulky, dark shape darted past her. She caught a glimpse of silver, glinting in the torchlight. Snarling, she jumped into the garden. “You missed, my friend,” Lycaon called. His voice was rich, lazy, deep. “No matter.” Kratos stepped into the glimmering torchlight and waved his long knife in Anstice’s direction.

“Silly girl, don’t you know the scent of a virgin is

unmistakable? Especially a virgin Kreefa?” He chuckled. “Don’t even think of running. There are soldiers at every doorway. They’ll fill your hide with spears before you can get

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anywhere near the gate.” “Come into the light,” Lycaon said. He settled into the chair and arranged his robes around himself. Anstice couldn’t tell if Kratos lied. His scent was as thick with perfumes and rich living as Lycaon. For a moment, she pitied Phaon, burdened with such a father. “I said, come into the light, girl,” Lycaon said, his voice taking on a gritty sound. “Hail, Kratos, outcast. By the power of my grandmother, queen and priestess of Verdidan, I curse you!” Anstice snarled. “May you die as you killed my father. May you suffer, your dreams torn from between your teeth. May your own blood curse your name.” She shifted to wolf and fled. Kratos called after her, his voice echoing as he cursed and snarled, but he didn’t follow her either as man or as wolf. After the third turn, Anstice saw torchlight. She smelled burning oil and the scent of leather. She sensed movement in the shadows beyond the torches. Anstice took the corridor to the left instead of going straight through. She smelled hay and horses and knew the stable lay close by. If she could panic the horses, she could escape in the chaos. Another turn gave her an open door, and starlight. The door slammed closed when she was halfway down the corridor, and no place to turn. Anstice skidded to slow and turned, almost tumbling nose over tail. She scrambled back the way she had come. Wolves leaped through open doorways. They knocked her off her feet and turned and came back to hit her again before she could get upright. She could see nothing but a whirlpool of silver and gray and brown and black fur. They slammed into her sides, her legs, smashed their shoulders into her muzzle. They sent her flying across the tiled floor, skidding so she hit the wall, repeatedly. A howl of terror built in her throat, choking her, but she refused to let it out. “Anstice!” Phaon appeared in the solid wall of fur and bodily flung the wolves aside. In that moment of reprieve, Anstice realized that none of those wolves had bitten her or used their claws. She shivered deep inside, sensing she was in far more danger than if they had gone for her throat.

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“Anstice, shift back now, or they’ll kill you,” Phaon blurted. He continued shoving aside wolves with his bare hands, until he had cleared a space around him and her. She crouched down low to the ground, until Phaon stood over her. Then a whimper erupted from her throat, turning into a howl, as those wolves shifted to men. In a few heartbeats, two dozen Kreefa men surrounded her, scarred with hard living, gnarled from battle, wrinkled and graying with age. These were Kratos’ men, who had followed him into exile, leaving the Kreefa and Olympus. They had scorned the laws of the Kreefa, according to her father. They had refused to live in secrecy and safety and peace. “They’ll kill you,” Phaon said, and stepped back. He held out a hand to her. “I can only keep you safe if you listen to me. I swear on my mother’s blood, you will be treated well. Surrender before they are forced to hurt you.” “Indeed, you will be treated as a queen deserves,” Lycaon said as he came around the corner. The Kreefa men stepped back, creating an aisle for him to walk through. “Queen?” Kratos guffawed, his voice loud and coarse, and he also stepped into the light. “She will be my queen,” Lycaon said. “She will be the mother of a new race of gods.” “She’s mine,” Phaon snapped. “She agreed to be my mate, as soon as she became a woman.” Kratos laughed louder. Anstice’s terror gave way to new anger. Did he think it so ridiculous that his son would want the Halfling? “Resume your true form, girl,” Lycaon said, “or you will die. I give you to the count of five.” Phaon stiffened and he put his hand on the long knife at his belt. He obviously believed Lycaon. Anstice shifted to Human before the king could say ‘one.’ Lycaon’s gaze raked over Anstice and his smile grew. “Beautiful as well as fierce. You bring me a great gift, my friend,” he said, turning to Kratos. “Not my gift at all,” Kratos rumbled. “You’d be a fool to take her as your mate. You don’t know what powers she inherited from her mother.”

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“That is what I’m counting on. I’ll breed twenty sons on her, and rule forever as a god.” Lycaon held out his hand, beckoning for Anstice to come to him. She bared her teeth and growled. He laughed. “Better to let me have her,” Kratos said. “You don’t have any idea how to handle a Kreefa maiden.” “She’s mine, Father,” Phaon said with a coldness that made Anstice shudder. “Enough!” Madness glittered in Lycaon’s eyes.

“Come now, girl, and live.

Displease me, and I’ll let the commanders of my army share you. Until you die of it.” “A most entertaining spectacle.” Kratos chuckled and licked his lips. “The last girl tried to fight even after four had used her. She screamed for hours. I do so hate it when they give up and go limp. It’s like mounting a corpse.” That, more than Lycaon’s threats, decided Anstice. She stepped up to the king’s side. She tried not to shudder when he caught hold of her hand. Phaon walked directly behind her as Lycaon led her deeper into the palace. She smelled his anger and his lust for her, and the bitterness that had to be jealousy. His scents were clean, pure, almost healing, compared to the sickness that oozed through Lycaon’s skin and drained her strength with every step she took. If Phaon claimed her as his, why didn’t he fight for her? * * * * * Melanthi was the woman responsible for the care of Lycaon’s concubines. Ten women, some younger than Anstice, devoted solely to entertaining and pleasuring him, all silly and beautiful. They gladly offered up clothes, cosmetics and jewelry when Anstice joined them. They offered perfumed oils and sponges for her trip to the baths. They insisted on trimming her nails and braiding her hair and decorating it with jewels. They treated her, Anstice realized, like a new toy or pet. She suspected they never left their quarters except to attend Lycaon. Anstice vowed that when Lycaon tried to make her his bride, she would shift to wolf and gut him in his perfumed bed. Even if she died for it. She still shuddered from her dream of mating with Phaon in wolf form, but giving her body to the friend who had betrayed her was far more preferable than submitting her body to the man who murdered

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her parents. Lycaon didn't send for her until sunset the next day. Two house servants with the shaved heads and thick girths of eunuchs led her to the garden. Perfumed torches blazed and Lycaon lounged in front of a table groaning with bread, wine, fruit, olives and cheeses. And a platter of bloody, raw meat. Anstice's stomach twisted at the smell of the blood. She swallowed hard to fight the sudden dizzy sensation that worked through her. Other than the wine and sweets the concubines had given her, she had eaten nothing all day. She had not been allowed to sleep more than a few moments at a time. Had that been on Lycaon’s orders? To weaken her for whatever awaited her in this garden? Lycaon seemed genuinely puzzled that Anstice ignored the platter of bloody meat. A gesture brought a servant to take it away. He beckoned, and the eunuchs led Anstice to the couch opposite Lycaon at the table. She sat, but refused to recline. The eunuchs left her alone with Lycaon, the hissing torches and the table full of food. Anstice dug her painted nails into her palms and prayed her stomach wouldn't growl. Nothing would convince her to break bread with this man. Lycaon ate. He watched her from time to time, but said nothing until he finished. “You hate Kratos. That is wise. He is a traitor to the Kreefa. He thinks I am a fool, and he will use and then discard me. But the Fates have brought you to me, as my reward.” He punctuated his words with a soft ringing sound as he set down his goblet. “Together, you and I shall rule.” His voice dropped to a caress. Anstice shivered. “Your face and form alone make you a treasure, but you will also be my source of power.” Lycaon sat up and shoved aside several platters, so he could lean closer. Looking away would only give him triumph over her. Anstice held still, refusing to even blink. “Strong. I need a strong queen. A wise queen, to advise me. The gods have no wisdom, and so we must overthrow them, you and I. So sad. Such a waste.” Lycaon sighed.

His scent made Anstice's nose twitch, a mixture of sour amusement and his

overpowering perfumed ointment. His somber mask brightened to a smile. “Give me wolves and I will make you my queen.” “How can anyone give you wolves? They are wild creatures.”

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Once, she had been a wild creature. She should have given over her mind to her grief and run as a wolf for the rest of her life. She should have gone to Olympus and told the tale of treachery and madness to the Kreefa. She should have died in her first Fever. Verdidan, her soul cried, what am I to do? What am I to be? “Lie with me and birth sons who can become wolves. My sons will call the wolves and make them serve me. I will be the most powerful king ever born. As my queen, you will be worshipped as a goddess.” “If I could call wolves, do you think your soldiers could have killed my father?” Anstice whispered. It was all she could manage when she fought not to curl up trembling or scream. “So you say.” Lycaon studied her. His lips curved up when she gave in to the aching and fear and looked away. Moving like a snake, he slapped her hard enough to knock her sideways on the couch. Anstice couldn't halt a sob of shock. She pressed one hand against her stinging face and refused to look at him. Nothing could persuade her to show him her tears, which would most likely delight him. And meeting his gaze would show him her determination to see him dead. “Your choice. Sweetness and pleasure, or force and beatings. Will you be a queen or a slave?” “Lovely,” Kratos said from the doorway. “She cleans up well. I’m sure she’ll provide us days of entertainment.”

He chuckled when his sudden entrance startled

Anstice enough that she jerked. She refused to look at him as he crossed the courtyard and stopped just behind her. “She’s not for your entertainment,” Lycaon said calmly. “She will be my queen, mother of my sons.” “She’s Staffen’s daughter. She won’t ally with you any more than he would. Use her until she begs for death. Get some pleasure out of her before you dispose of her.” Kratos walked around her in aching silence, studying her. He touched her hair, stroked her bare shoulder, then leaned close and inhaled loudly. Anstice wanted to claw him. It took all her discipline to keep her fury out of her scent.

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Kratos snorted, and she knew he was disappointed that he couldn’t make her react. In his turn, he confused and irritated her. She couldn't understand the scents that enfolded him in a fog. Sandalwood and nard and musk combated whatever his natural scents would have told her about his thoughts, his feelings. She couldn't even be sure he felt any natural lust for her, man to woman. She knew he lusted for power. He lusted to hurt her. That kind of lust was different than the mating hunger. Anstice wished Phaon were here. She could cleanse her senses in the clean, pure perfume of his hunger for her. There was nothing complicated about Phaon. Anger glittered dark in Kratos’ eyes. The sharp, thin line of his smile made her shiver. She fought not to grip the bench underneath herself to resist the panic. “You’re a virgin,” Kratos said. “You have no idea the power you could have over a male, Human or Kreefa. And that, little one, gives me great power over you.” His breath brushed her ear and he drew a line down her back with the tips of his fingers. He brushed her crest fur and pleasurable tingles raced through her body, to collect between her hipbones and coil there, vibrating. Anstice swallowed a groan. Had she endured so long only to be betrayed by her body's lust? She gritted her teeth and prayed he would move away before the sandalwood emanating from his clothes filled her head and merged with the throbbing sensation deep in her belly. She had a brief, too-clear image of leaping onto either man, raising her skirts and straddling him, simply to ease the aching. “You sent for me, Majesty?” Phaon’s smooth baritone voice nearly brought tears to Anstice’s eyes. “Where have you been?” Kratos answered. “All day long, no one has been able to find you. Not plotting against us, I hope?” “You know me better than that, Father.” Phaon’s steps were nearly silent as he crossed the stone pavement of the garden and passed within arm's reach of Anstice. Warm, clean, spicy, musky scent flowed from his body to fill the air. Every aching spot inside her soul softened and eased its throbbing. The coiled tension between her hip bones warmed and turned melting soft. A moan rose up in her throat. Anstice clenched her fists, digging her painted nails into her palms to control herself.

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The hunger Kratos had induced was nothing more than pinpricks compared to the jagged aching that stole her breath in reaction to Phaon’s presence. And Phaon didn’t even glance at her. An errant breeze brought his changing scent to Anstice. Bitterness so strong she felt nausea. Anger, cold and sharp. She couldn’t trust her own nose, there with so many scents, natural and man-made, clean and foul, mixed until she wanted to scream in frustration. “Choose, in front of these witnesses,” Lycaon said, turning back to Anstice. He reached out, moving like a snake’s strike, and caught hold of her wrist. “My queen, or a toy for my friends’ pleasure?” “Pleasure,” Kratos whispered, and chuckled, a throaty sound that made Anstice think of a mad dog. “Not to the extent you enjoy.” The king sounded bored. He waited and Anstice met his cold gaze, refusing to speak or even blink. Finally, Lycaon nodded. “I want her alive, to breed. We’ll keep her pregnant.” “She’s a Halfling. There’s no guarantee any of her sons will be Kreefa,” Phaon said. Lycaon shrugged and flung Anstice away so quickly, she stumbled. He clapped his hands and the eunuchs returned to the garden. Anstice would have resisted, but she wanted to be away from the foul air of the courtyard before she shifted to wolf to fight the turmoil brewing in her heart and mind. “If you want her, she's yours for the asking,” Lycaon said behind her. “All I ask is that you leave a baby in her belly before you tire of her.” Anstice swore she would gladly die as her father had, with poisoned spears pinning her to the ground, before she would let Phaon find any pleasure with her. * * * * * Phaon sank down on the bench facing Lycaon and turned to glance over his shoulder at Anstice. She let the eunuchs lead her from the garden without a backward glance for him. He forced himself to smile, though his throat wanted to close from the rage burning in his chest. “A tempting offer, Majesty. So you have decided not to make her your queen?” The

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words burned in his mouth. “Wise move,” Kratos said. “I don’t want her mated to my son, though. Let a Human take her virginity.” “That is reserved for me,” Lycaon said. “I'll have all my pleasure from her, and wolf-blooded soldiers.” Lycaon smiled and flickers of madness glittered in his eyes. The air stood still in the garden courtyard. Phaon fought the urge to grab Lycaon by the throat and fling him against the nearest wall. Curse the man, for hiding his scent under that maddening mixture of perfumes. Double curses on Kratos, for telling Lycaon how the Kreefa read people's souls in their scents. Phaon vowed Lycaon would not have Anstice. Not tonight. Not ever. He kept his smile pleasant and listened to his father and the king make their plans. He itched to flee the courtyard and find Anstice. He didn’t dare do anything to make Kratos or Lycaon suspect his loyalty. Not until the Wolf Pack had surrounded the palace and it was safe to attack. Phaon had spent all day preparing for what could be a suicide attack, but he and the young men who followed him had agreed -- better to die now, than to help Lycaon destroy the Kreefa. Lycaon sent father and son away, bidding them to prepare for his wedding feast. They were to return after the new crescent moon had risen. Kratos laughed, but through his teeth, his smile barely hiding his anger as father and son walked to the rooms given over to them. He stomped to the table of wine and food waiting for them, as soon as he walked through the door. Phaon wrinkled up his nose at the over-sweetness of the wine, so strong that it made his stomach twist. He refused the cup Kratos poured him. He ignored Kratos, who fumed about Lycaon’s idiocy. His thoughts focused on finding Anstice and breaking her free of the palace. Phaon wished Kratos would drink himself into a sodden stupor. He needed to be alone. He needed to find some place where the scents were pure and clean, so he could think. “Phaon.” Kratos’ voice cracked. His copper wine cup clattered across the floor. “Father?” Phaon leaped to his feet, lunging forward to catch his father as Kratos went to his knees.

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He missed, and Kratos measured his length on the floor. He shuddered and a groan worked up from deep in his chest. His ruddy coloring fled his face, then leached from his body. “Father?” “Poison.” A ragged chuckle escaped him, broken a heartbeat later by another groan. “Lycaon wants her all to himself.

Doesn’t need us anymore.”

He closed his eyes,

shuddering. “Should have let you have her.” Another groan. “Should have told you to kill her.” “She’s mine, Father,” Phaon whispered. He had to whisper, or he would shout fury and spill curses on his father. “Do you hear me? No one will have her but me.” “Stupid boy,” Kratos whispered. He gasped, then curled up on his side, knees pressed to his chest as shudders worked through him. “Kill Lycaon. Avenge me.” “Vengeance,” Phaon snarled. Instead of his father’s pale, suffering face, he thought of the grief that made Anstice’s face white, the hatred that gleamed in her eyes. He fled the room without a backward glance. He stopped in his own rooms long enough to gather up the few things he wanted to take. Once he and Anstice reached the palace gates, there would be no turning back. Phaon hoped they left rivers of blood behind them. Enough to satisfy all the spirits of those who had died because of Lycaon. For the first time in years, Phaon thought of his mother. Odessa had never deserved to die. Perhaps there was some justice in this world after all. Perhaps his father was wrong? He pushed that thought aside as he gathered up his sword, his cloak, other things he would need, and hastily packed them. The Wolf Pack would be waiting on the far side of the palace.

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Chapter Eleven Anstice paced the confines of her prison room in the concubines’ apartments. She needed to find some way to escape. Now. She could barely keep from stumbling on her trembling legs, but she couldn’t sit still. Soon, Lycaon intended to rape her, and then give her to Phaon to breed wolf-blooded warriors. When she should have been thinking of how to escape, or how to take her life to deprive Lycaon of his victory, her thoughts kept turning back to the powerful lines of Phaon's body and the strong, clean scent that enfolded him. She could still smell him, even here on the other side of the palace. Would it be so bad, lying beneath him, feeling his hands on her body? Lycaon might take her virginity, but she wouldn’t be mated to him. If Phaon took her next, would their souls bind?

Anstice played with the idea of

convincing Phaon to break her free, take her to Olympus and help her rally the Kreefa. Until Lycaon was dead, she would stay with the Kreefa. It could be glorious, sharing the Fever with Phaon. Would that be so bad? Anstice's knees nearly folded when she realized the path her thoughts took. He was the son of her father's enemy. How could she let herself glory in his body and let him take pleasure in hers? Melanthi and two soldiers came to find her. The old woman gestured for Anstice to go with the men. “Where am I going now?” Anstice asked. Melanthi slapped her across the mouth, hard enough to smash Anstice's lip into her teeth. The woman's eyes gleamed with vicious delight in their nests of wrinkles.

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“Slaves do not talk until they are told to talk,” she said with a chuckle. Anstice studied the soldiers who led her away. She wondered if she had the power to distract them, to persuade them to pity her, to relax their vigilance long enough she could get away. Then she knew that was a foolish hope. They were Lycaon's men, loyal by choice or out of fear. “What's going to happen to me?” she finally asked, when the soldiers led her down a hallway with few torches. “King Lycaon will use you,” the black-haired soldier said, when the bald one didn't answer. “When he tires of you, his favorites get a turn.” He chuckled and reached for her arm. Anstice sidestepped him, nearly tripping over the other man, who gave her a shove so she stumbled for a few steps. “You’ll be branded, first.” The bald soldier leered at her. “Branded?” Anstice couldn't hold the word back. “On your arm, where everyone can see. He used to brand girls on their buttocks, but that made his first few nights with them unpleasant.” He laughed. Anstice could barely breathe and paid little attention as they led her through the palace. She was to be branded as a slave?

How could she go anywhere in Achaia, do

anything, without someone capturing her and asking who owned her? Anstice could survive losing her virginity, even to Lycaon, but there was no escape once she was branded. The black-haired soldier shoved a door open and they stepped outside. Fresh air and the scent of water and damp dirt filled her nostrils. Reality slapped her hard when she caught the smell of burning charcoal and hot metal. “No,” she whispered. Her stomach twisted into a knot and she stopped short. The bald soldier yanked on her arm. When she refused to budge, the other one prodded her back with the tip of his knife. Anstice stumbled forward. A whimper escaped her tightly clenched jaw. Apprehension flowed through her body, turning her guts to knots and her bones to water. Anstice's mind leaped backwards to when she had first learned to control her wolf shape. The child that she was, she had enjoyed the sense of adventure, out alone at night,

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the sense of being invulnerable, drunk on her heightened wolf senses. Her father had taught her to use and hone the wolf half of her nature. She wished for his presence now, to comfort and protect and fight at her side. She wished for him to ease the pain that waited for her. Nothing her parents had taught her, she realized, did her any good in this moment. They had taught her to control her wolf nature and make it serve her. They had never taught her to fight with everything she had, unhesitating, vicious and desperate, willing to spill blood. She had claws and fangs, strong legs to jump and run, thick fur to protect her from spears, and agility to evade ropes and other traps. She had to fight now and cast all her self-control to the winds. There was no one left in the entire world who cared for her. If she died this night, she would die as a worthy heir of Staffen, commander of the Black Wolves. A grim smile touched Anstice's lips as the soldiers led her into the armory, where a man held a metal rod in the glowing coals. The bald soldier saw her smile and he stopped short. A whiff of sour-sweet fear came through the musk of sweaty linen and leather. Other soldiers appeared from the darkness and surrounded them. Did Lycaon want a wolf-maiden? He would have one and rue the day he had dreamed of controlling the Kreefa. She would best his soldiers and humiliate them. Did they dare to brand the daughter of Staffen of the Black Wolves? Did they think to go unpunished for murdering him with dishonor? “One last chance,” the bald soldier said. He scowled at her. “Lycaon offered to make you his queen. Give him your word to obey and adore him, and you’ll be a queen, not a slave.” “I don't need a madman king to make me a queen,” Anstice said, raising her voice. “I am queen of the night and of blood.” She flexed her hands, feeling her claws pressing to escape her fingertips. The scent of blood filled her imagination and flowed into her senses, scorching her. “Blood enough when the king is finished with you.” The soldier with the knife

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laughed. Anstice dropped forward, yanking free of the soldiers’ hands. She balanced on her hands and kicked back with both legs. Her heel slammed into the leather protecting the man's privates, and anger gave her impetus and strength. He gasped, dropped the knife and stumbled backwards. She tumbled forward and rolled, twisting so she landed on her feet again. She snarled, feeling the ridiculous draping skirts tangle around her legs. “Don't fight us.” No regret softened the voice of the man still holding the branding iron. He reached for a spear in the rack by the door. “Don't fight me!” Anstice gauged the distance between herself and the door, between herself and the soldiers. She felt movement. Another soldier stepped up to the fire and picked up a cudgel and a length of chain. Snarling, she snatched up the first thing to come to hand. Bronze ingots flew through the air, raining on the soldiers. They shouted and two tried to move forward under the heavy rain. More shouts answered them from outside the building. Anstice flung the last ingot and followed it, leaping at the closest man, who was armed with a knife. She shifted to wolf with her second step. A face whiter than apple blossoms filled her vision, his mouth open in a silent scream. Anstice knocked him off his feet. She dug her claws into his chest and belly as they skidded across the stone-paved floor. Blood filled the air, soaking her head and heart with the hot, iron-copper smell. Soldiers shouted, fury mixed with fear. The stink of voided bowels tinged the air and Anstice howled laughter as she barreled into the bald soldier. She knocked him flat and the spear he had snatched up clattered from his fingers to roll across the floor. For three long heartbeats, she crouched on his chest. She stared into his wide eyes. The sour perfume of his terror was more intoxicating than wine. Fury told her the only thing sweeter would be to spill his blood across the floor. “Queen … of blood,” he whispered, breathless. He whimpered when she stretched out her neck, bringing her fangs within easy reach of his throat. Anstice opened her jaws wide and saliva dripped down on the man’s whitened face. He closed his eyes. A sandal scraped on the stone floor behind her. Anstice leaped. The force of her

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movement clawed through leather and linen and broke ribs. She ignored the smell of his blood as she attacked the man with a chain who had crept up behind her. His wrist bones snapped in her jaws.

He screamed and thrashed and she held on, letting his own

movements shred his flesh. His blood tasted bitter, hot and thick as it trickled across her tongue and down her throat. Anstice heard men shout, the clatter of weapons and metalstudded boots on the threshold. She let go and spun to face the others. Red Child! I’m here. For three long heartbeats, she paused, stunned to see a golden wolf leap into the battle. He bowled over two men standing in the doorway of the armory. They screamed and rolled and he jumped over them, aiming straight toward her. Anstice snarled and darted to the right, evading him. Phaon continued straight on and crashed into the man with a long knife in his hand. They went down. A man flung a spear at Phaon. Anstice leaped and took him down, smashing his head against the floor so he lay still. Well done, huntress! Phaon grinned, wolf-fashion, and lunged at another man, taking him down with the man’s sword arm caught in his jaws. Elation flooded through her. Phaon fought for her! Blood filled her eyes and mouth and nose. Fire crackled along the tips of her fur and her crest stood up stiff and straight as she leaped and clawed and snapped and growled. Images flickered across her mind as she let her wolf nature take full sway. Men shouted. Phaon snarled and darted to her side. They worked in concert, each watching the other's back. Someone flung a torch at her. She danced aside, leaping easily over the flickering, guttering flames. Phaon flew at the man and clawed his face. Others tried throwing torches at them and it became a macabre dance, ducking flaming brands and lunging to catch hands, arms, legs and even a throat in their dripping jaws. Fire crept through the armory. Anstice smelled burning oil, wood, and thatch. Fire raced up the trickle of oil escaping a crack amphora, and leaped inside. It exploded. Anstice staggered backwards. The soldiers scattered as bits of pottery flew through the air. She saw the open gate, and beyond it another open gate, and the gardens surrounding Lycaon's palace. And beyond them, darkness and streets leading to the gates

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and open countryside. Phaon nudged her with his head, then ran away, racing through the open gate. He was leaving her. No. Anstice shook her head. He wasn't leaving – he was leading. She followed, her claws digging holes in the bloody, churned ground. The crescent moon rained thin silver fire that filled her blood and bones with strength. Her heart thudded in time with her leaping pace, with every scrape of her claws on the ground. She tasted nothing but the wild, sweet wind as it moaned and called her to freedom and safety. Against the darkness, she saw the pale golden blur of Phaon, running far ahead of her. Phaon howled as they raced through the last gates out of Lycaon’s palace. More wolves answered the cry. Anstice didn’t hesitate, didn’t flinch when sleek black and gray and brown shapes emerged from the darkness and ran alongside them. Throughout the city, the sounds of voices raised in fear, the scent of burning and the smell of blood followed them. The Wolf Pack serves no one but Kreefa, Phaon told her, as they reached the last gate out of the city and fled across open countryside. * * * * * Phaon stared up at the moon. He could still smell fire and blood, filling his senses and overpowering the sweet scents of the forest where he and Anstice had come to rest and wait for his men to rejoin them. Lycaon's city lay so far away across the plain, it was barely visible in the darkness. Just spots of light from the torches on the watchtowers. Yet he still smelled the burning and terror, the pain and fury that filled the air. He turned to Anstice. She curled up, still in wolf form, and stared at nothing. Her sides barely moved. Sometimes he feared she had stopped breathing. What was wrong with her? She had fought bravely. Her father would have been proud. She had torn her enemies to shreds and bathed in their blood. She had won her freedom. She had been beautiful, her fur glowing in the heat of battle and the flickering light of the torches. Every unmated male of the Kreefa would want her as his mate. Phaon shifted to Human, ignoring the sting of the long, seeping gash on his arm. He crept across the thick carpet of dead pine needles and rested a hand on her back. Her ears

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flicked but otherwise she paid him no attention. “You’re mine,” he whispered. “You’re a huntress any male would fight to the death to win. I swear, I’ll protect you and provide for you. You’ll be proud to be my mate.” Anstice ignored him.

Daring, he stroked down her back, reveling in the soft

thickness of her fur. He delicately wove his fingers through the darker streak down her spine. She didn't react, though he touched her crest fur. She was still virgin. The delicate, pure perfume of her made him feel as if coals churned in his loins the longer he sat with her. Her virginity should have made her crest fur even more sensitive to touch. Yet Anstice didn't react to the liberty he took. Phaon's throat closed with anger. Had Lycaon’s men drugged her, when they took her to be branded? No, she wouldn’t have fought so fiercely and well if she had been drugged. So what was wrong with her? Simply tired? It had been an amazing battle tonight. No one would believe him, when he described how Anstice fought. Not until they saw her fight or hunt or play Kreefa wolf games. Then they would believe. He marveled at the color of her fur, like burning blood. Phaon knew he should have taken that as a sign of her fierceness, her skill in battle. Staffen must have trained his daughter from the day she could walk, honed her agility and speed until there was no one who could stop her. He never should have feared for her. She could have fought free and left a river of blood in her wake. Would Anstice be with him right this moment, if he had let her fight her way to freedom on her own? Likely not. She wouldn’t know he had fought to protect her, to break her free of Lycaon. Phaon had fought to avenge his father, true, but he had fought for this beautiful girl who would soon be his mate. “Someday,” he whispered, as his hand stroked down her side, “we’ll return to Arkady and destroy Lycaon. Both of our fathers are dead at Lycaon’s hand. Both died with dishonor, struck down like animals. You and I fight well together, and I promise, we’ll fight again and punish Lycaon for his evil.” Anstice whimpered when his hand touched her leg. Phaon felt sticky warmth and

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realized she had been wounded. He looked closer in the shadows and saw blood seeped from a long gash in her leg. “A fine mate I am, leaving you to ache and bleed while I make empty promises, yes?” He rested his head on hers and pressed a kiss into the soft, thick red fur. “I swear I will take care of you, Anstice. Always. You will be more a queen to me than Lycaon could ever have made you.” He shifted to wolf, angry with himself for his bragging. It reminded him of his father, in those last few moons before he killed Odessa in the Fever. Phaon swore he would never be so careless of his mate. Let's get this cleaned up, before my men get here. Then we must leave for Olympus, he told her. Anstice didn't respond, but she did look at him, finally. Her eyes threatened to drag him deep inside her soul and drown him. He lowered his head to her wounded leg. A shiver went through him as he tasted Anstice's blood. He felt as if lightning had passed over his head, making his fur stand on end. You're wounded, too. Her voice sounded steady but soft, as if she had come back from a far-off place. Anstice licked clean the slash across his foreleg and the sensation staggering through him deepened. He started to rise, to flee, not quite sure what was happening to him, but Anstice whimpered and curled up next to him. She nuzzled him under his jaw and he heard a faint whisper of thanks.

Phaon curled himself around her, and they stayed

together, sharing warmth until the trembling left his flesh. A howl accompanied the first flicker of rose and gold in the silvery light, and dawn crept across the landscape. Who is that? Anstice shuddered to her feet, visibly shaking off her weariness and the pleasant, drowsy contentment Phaon wished could last for hours. The Wolf Pack. Remember? We’re going to Olympus now. Even Kratos? Kratos is dead. Lycaon killed him. Probably so he wouldn’t have to share you. Phaon’s jaw dropped in a wolf grin. You’re all mine, Anstice. I swore I’d kill before I’d let anyone else have

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you. No. She backed away from him. The battle fire returned to her eyes. You can’t force me. Force you? He would have laughed if his throat had allowed it. Anstice, I know you want me. Deny how your body reacts to me. Deny how you’ll feel when the Fever comes on us. That’s not me. Not my soul. I told you once already – I will never give myself to a man unless he – A flood of wolves, black and brown, gray and gold, poured over the last rise in the landscape and into the sheltering grove and formed a triple ring around him and Anstice. She couldn’t run without battling through the fiercest warriors the Kreefa now possessed. Phaon shifted back to Human. “Anstice.” He winced at the renewed ache in his arm. “Come with us. The Kreefa need you.” He waited, but she only crouched low to the ground and glared at him. “Lycaon will send every soldier to hunt the red wolf. He won’t let you escape. You can’t run forever. You’ll be safe only among your own kind.” Anstice sighed, and shifted back to Human. Half his men shifted to Human as well. Phaon felt an ugly tightness grow in his chest when he saw how some stared at Anstice. Hadn’t they ever seen a beautiful woman before? “I was never safe among the Kreefa,” Anstice said. “What about your father’s dream? You’ve proven yourself strong. You’ve beaten the Halfling curse. Do you carry your mother’s gift, to touch the minds and souls of Kreefa and drive away the Fever?” He stared into her eyes, daring her to lie. Phaon heard the murmurs among his followers, their astonishment, and smelled the change in their scents. Hope and excitement, pure and clean and cool, pushed aside the other scents. “I think I do. What of it?” “Will you let your father’s dream die with him?” Tyrsis bowed, arms spread, honoring Anstice as if she were a priestess or a queen. “The Kreefa need the gift you carry. If any insult you or try to hurt you, I will punish them.” Others called out their support. Phaon felt caught between relief, gratitude for his

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men’s reaction, and jealousy. Would one of them convince Anstice to mate with him, simply using sweet words? He had seen her first. He had fought for her. She was his, even if she refused to admit it. What did it matter if she wanted love before she would give herself? Love meant nothing among the Kreefa, who mated for strength and intelligence.

What did such

feelings matter? Women lived in their mothers’ houses, and men lived in their mothers’ houses. They never lived together, husband and wife, as Humans did. Not until the years had woven their souls together in unity and they spent their declining years together. Love wasn’t needed. How could he convince her of that? He did have another weapon to use, to convince Anstice to go to Olympus, however. “Lycaon knows Olympus is home to the Kreefa,” he told her. He only felt a little guilt at the astonishment on her face, cloying in her scent. “Kratos became a fool before his death, and spoke of things better left secret and hidden.” His men muttered and growled their anger, having heard the dread news before. “Now that he has killed my father and his unwilling bride has escaped him, Lycaon will hunt Kreefa on Olympus. We owe our mothers and grandmothers our lives and our blood to defend them. Do you owe your life and blood to anyone, daughter of Staffen?” “My grandmother,” Anstice said, nodding. “My cousins, my aunts.” “Then come with us and use your gift to protect the Kreefa.” “We must do as my father planned.” She stepped closer to him, and Phaon caught a few sweet tendrils of her scent in the air. He wanted to catch her in his arms and draw her close enough to kiss and feel all her soft, lean curves pressed tight against him. “We must take all the Kreefa north, where no one can ever find us. That is the only way to be free.” “Tell your thoughts and your father’s plan to the Elders.” Phaon contemplated the long journey to Olympus, and knew he had plenty of time to convince Anstice to be his mate. The full moon would come before they reached Olympus. He planned to bring Anstice to her grandmother’s door and announce that they were mated. His men wouldn’t try to steal Anstice. However, when they reached Olympus and

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the other Kreefa males saw Anstice’s beauty and learned of the power she carried in her blood, Phaon knew he would have a hundred rivals. Her Halfling status no longer meant anything, now that she had survived her first Fever and proven herself a fierce warrior and huntress. Every unmated male would harass her until she chose one. Unless, of course, Phaon made her his mate before they reached Olympus. * * * * * Phaon was glad to shift back to wolf for the journey to where their horses, weapons and supplies waited. He would have done it if only to dull the fiery tickle running through his senses. It helped, but little. Phaon felt Anstice's blood moving through his veins, strengthening the craving to bind her to him, body and soul. When they stopped to sleep, he found a small hollow in the roots of a tree where Anstice could sleep, hidden from sight. He curled up, nose to tail, in front of the hole, putting himself between her and his men. Even with the wind blowing her scent away from him, he still smelled her. He felt her presence, he itched deep under his fur with the sensation that Anstice shared his skin. What had happened? When he drifted toward sleep, he shared her dreams. Every time Phaon jerked back to wakefulness, he tried to tell himself such a thing was impossible. Yet he knew some bond had formed between himself and Anstice. The certainty of it made him howl in glee deep inside his soul and made his crest fur stand up in apprehension. He sensed that no matter how far away they traveled from each other, he would always know where she was. It comforted him to know she could never run away from him. Anstice was his, no matter how much she denied it. Someday, and soon, she would give herself to him, and he would prove to her just how foolish she had been to doubt and to deny him. Phaon smiled in his half-waking state and dreamed of the day he claimed Anstice as his mate. One night of soul-shaking pleasure wouldn’t be long enough to celebrate.

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Chapter Twelve Anstice woke to the setting sun and the warm, green smell of wheat that had baked all day in the field under a kind, dry sky. The supply wagon where she had curled up to sleep jolted softly beneath her, their traveling party crossed a meadow instead of the rutted track of a trade road. A hawk screamed over her head. She looked up and then around. Anstice took in the landscape, the dusty green rolling plains and groves of trees and the long, silver ribbon of a river far to the west, where the setting sun tinted it with splatters of crimson. She felt the full moon seething in her blood, even with moonrise hours away. All day she had avoided Phaon, insisting on riding in the wagon when she could have been riding beside him on the roan mare he had given her. Anstice couldn’t bear the looks he kept giving her. The hunger, the longing in his gaze made her itch, made her go warm and soft and trembling deep inside. How could she resist him tonight, unless she started now to strengthen herself against the scent, the sight, the sound of him? The last full moon had been easy to handle because there had been no males within scent range. Her anger and grief had helped her resist the burning of the Fever in her blood. Tonight? The lone female in a camp of nearly forty males? Anstice doubted her strength of will to resist Phaon, though she knew she carried Dawn’s ability to control the other men. She had fallen asleep listening to the wagon’s driver and his friends talk about the town ahead of them. Phaon had chosen to go out of their chosen route, to let the men slake

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the Fever with the town’s harlots. Anstice had wondered what was wrong with her when she imagined Phaon with some unknown woman and she disliked it to the point of pain. What did it matter to her if he visited a whore in every village they passed? She didn’t want him, no matter how much he said he wanted her. Still, she couldn’t seem to escape the dreams where Phaon reached for her under a starry sky and she melted into his arms. Anstice sometimes woke from those dreams aching deep inside, in the same place that grew warm, soft and trembling when she caught Phaon’s clean, strong, healthy scent. Just yesterday, Phaon had told her they were only three more days from the slopes of Olympus. His scent grew tangy with longing when he spoke of seeing his great-aunt, the head of his mother’s household, and his cousins, whom he had not seen since he was a child. Anstice envied him, knowing he would be welcome, just as all the men under his command would be welcome. They had broken away from their father’s beliefs and Kratos’ teachings, and willingly returned to Olympus. They had left their fathers behind in Arkady, choosing to return to the ways of their ancestors. They would make their vows before the Elders, foreswearing their fathers’ violence and arrogance and dreams of being gods. They would be forgiven and welcomed to their mothers’ homes with open arms. They had families and homes waiting for them, no matter how long they had wandered Achaia. She had no one. She was alone. No one remained to love her, to want her, except her grandmother, Nioba and a few cousins who had accepted her despite her Halfling status. Anstice thought of the snubbing she had endured as a child when her parents visited Olympus, because she was a Halfling. She had survived the Fever unscathed. Would she be accepted now? “This is as good a place as any,” the driver said with a weary laugh. “Making camp,” he called over his shoulder. Anstice reached out a hand to brace herself against the side of the wagon. She turned around and studied the grove where Phaon’s small army had come to rest. Close enough to make out a few rooftops, she saw the town most of the men would visit. On the opposite side of the wagon, she saw a stream and plenty of grass for the horses to graze,

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and trees to provide firewood and shade. Yes, this would be a good place to spend the night. Whether it was a good place to spend the full moon, she had no idea. * * * * * “It might be wise to bathe, and do it before the sun finishes setting,” Phaon said, coming up behind Anstice. She bit back the urge to fling a sarcastic remark at him. Hadn’t she been standing here on the edge of the stream, contemplating the deep pool formed where the streambed turned, just for that reason? “If I cross to the other side of the stream for safety, would you still hunt me down?” she asked, much more gently than she had spoken to him in the last twelve days. In point of fact, they had hardly spoken at all. He informed her of decisions he had made as leader of their group, and she offered suggestions or disagreement, but they had never really had a conversation. At the time, she thought it was simply because they were always surrounded by his men, listening and watching. Anstice wondered now if he was angry with her. What sort of a blow had she given his ego, when she still refused to be his mate? That thought almost made her smile. “I’d surround you with a ring of fire tonight, if I could.” His voice also held less of the stiffness of the last few days. Phaon managed a thin, crooked smile when she actually looked at him. “I hope you truly did inherit your mother’s powers. I don’t want to have to kill some of my own men to protect you.” She bit back a scalding retort, questioning his ability to control himself. It was wrong to feel even the tiniest flicker of pleasure at the thought of Phaon killing for her sake. “Don’t run away,” he added, as he turned to go back to the campfire, where the smell of baking bread wafted out in tantalizing clouds. “The Kreefa need you. Lycaon will hunt them down as much to obtain you as to punish me and enslave all our people. If I have to tie you hand and foot for the rest of the journey to Olympus, I will.” “My father’s dreams keep me here,” she shot back. “If I wanted to flee, I would have done so days ago, and you never would have found me.” Phaon didn’t respond, and she was glad he didn’t. * * * * *

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Anstice moved away from the ragged remains of the camp as the last dregs of sunset spilled scarlet and gold across the landscape. The distant village glowed with torches and cooking fires, and when the wind was right she could smell smoke and hear music and laughter. Phaon’s men had previously used this town’s harlots for relief at the full moon, and they had camped within sight of the house where the women lived, opposite the temple of Dionysus and several others whose priestesses gave their bodies as an act of worship. Anstice shuddered at the thought, even as she felt deep gratitude that those same men wouldn’t be demanding release with her. She knew how Dawn had calmed the Black Wolves at every full moon. Since childhood, Anstice had followed with her mind, feeling the weaving of Dawn’s strength through the fabric of Kreefa thoughts and hungers.

She calmed them and put new

thoughts into their minds, cooled their blazing hungers and helped them regain the control they had lost. The Black Wolves had wanted to be controlled, calmed, soothed by Dawn. They had never resisted the touch of her mind. They were ashamed of the fire that ate through their veins and made them violent at the full moon, dangerous to their own mates and families. If Phaon’s men didn’t want to be calmed, Anstice didn’t know if she could do more than irritate them. She could speak into every Kreefa mind, whether in wolf form or Human, but what good would that do? Worse, she might make herself vulnerable when she attempted to throw her power over them. She had no time or energy to worry whether she could resist the Fever tonight. On the other side of the stream lay a copse of trees, thickly ringed with bushes, like a fence. Anstice had seen it when they first made camp, and she knew she could spread her blankets inside the ring of bushes and find privacy. She ran as she reached the stream and leaped over it with one bounding step. The wind sang in her ears, smelling sweet and clean, and she welcomed the thudding of her heart against her ribs. She pushed through the barrier of bushes and kicked aside enough fallen branches and leaves to make a clear spot to spread her blanket. Anstice stretched out on her back and pillowed her head on her crossed arms. She would have a good view of the moon when it rose. She could lay here in her safe, sheltered, private place and fight her battle, and she would win.

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“Anstice?” She growled, low in her throat, at the sound of Phaon’s voice. Why had he followed her? A thrill jolted through her a moment later. Of course Phaon would follow her. He would be a fool not to try to use the Fever to convince her to be his mate. A brief, sizzling image raced through her mind and body -- herself and Phaon, locked together here on her blanket, naked and gleaming with sweat. And laughing. She wanted someone to laugh with, not just someone to moan over and burn for. She wanted laughter like she had heard from her parents at every full moon since she was old enough to understand there was something special about the full moon. She wanted someone whose heart reached for hers every day and night, not just in the burning hunger of the full moon. Phaon wasn’t that man. He wanted her body, and she couldn’t deny she liked knowing that. He wanted her power to control and help protect the Kreefa. But he didn’t want her, the girl who knew healing lore from Dawn’s island home and all the in-fighting skills of the Black Wolves. He wasn’t the man to laugh and cry with her and plan for a future with her, as her parents had done. He could be, her heart whispered. “What do you want?” Anstice snarled to fight down the trembling that one tiny thought sent through her body. “Why did you follow me?” “To protect you.” He sounded just as unsettled as she felt, and somehow that helped calm her ragged heartbeat. “Most of my men are gone, but ….” He shoved aside the bushes exactly where she had come through them. He glanced around the clearing and nodded. “Nice. Not very defensible.” “You won’t persuade me. Do you think you can force me to accept you as my mate if you rape me?” “Stupid little girl!” Phaon’s black eyes flashed, his anger sharp as lightning. He drew his sword and in a move almost too fast to see, he slammed it down point first into the dirt at her feet, pinning the edge of her blanket. “I swear – on my mother’s blood – when we come together, no one will be able to call it rape. You’ll ask me to be your mate.

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No, you’ll beg me!” He dropped to his knees to face her, with the sword between them. “I’m here to protect you from my men.” “You don’t believe in the powers I inherited from my mother?” Anstice couldn’t take her gaze off the sword, gleaming dully in the shadows. When the moon rose, it would be brighter than a flame. “If you’ve never used them before, how can you be sure?

While you’re

concentrating on one man, or ten, one might slip past you. That’s what I’m here for. Surely your warrior father taught you to always have someone to watch your back.” “I’m sure it’s not my back you’re worried about.” “No.” Phaon grinned suddenly, laughter wiping away the sullen anger. The beauty and life and humor suddenly revealed took Anstice’s breath away. “I’m protecting my future. You will be mine,” he added, dropping to a whisper. “Even if it takes the rest of our lives, you’ll eventually come to me. And gladly.” His gaze caressed her, and her crest fur prickled and tickled in response, ending in that pleasantly disturbing, melting sensation in her belly. “I think our first time will be well worth the wait. But don’t make me wait too long.” “Halfling.” The distant shout in an unfamiliar male voice stopped Anstice from retorting. She bit back a snarl. She never realized until that moment how much she had hated being called Halfling. She had accepted it for years because it was the truth. It had meant nothing while her parents lived. Anstice thought Phaon’s men accepted her, after learning how she fought in Lycaon’s palace. From the sneer in the man's deep voice, she knew she would never be completely accepted. “No,” she whispered, when Phaon reached for his sword. The sudden burst of spicy anger in his scent took her breath away. “You watch my back, remember?” He muttered something as she got to her feet, but she couldn’t make out the words. From the caress of his gaze on her hips and breasts, Anstice had a good idea what he had said. She hoped the shadows hid her blush. “What do you want?” She stepped through the bushes. “You know what we want,” a second man called. Laughter answered his words.

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Three men. Anstice bit her lip against a smile. She could handle three with little trouble. She hoped. “Wanting is not the same as having.” She emerged from the bushes. The moon showed a thin silver curve above the horizon, but she felt the first tickling brush of its heat. The moon’s influence wasn’t strong enough yet for Fever to drive them. They had come looking for someone to hurt. With Halflings, the blood-bond that came with a virgin’s first mating often failed.

Did they think they could use her and face no

consequences? Either they would kill her to silence her, or they depended on the Fever to make her willing, even eager. “You should use that pretty mouth for something else,” the first man said. All three were cast from the same mold, brothers or cousins, thick-built with mudcolored hair and eyes. Definitely, the Elders had cast out their fathers for brutality and surrendering too easily to their wolfish natures. He stepped closer, lifting a hand as if to reach for her. Anstice held still and put anger into her scent. He stopped. “You know what happens to silly little virgins who aren't careful at the full moon, don't you?” His gaze wandered over her body. Anstice felt soiled and involuntarily compared that to how she felt when Phaon raked her with a hungry look. “Lycaon thought he could rape me and share me with his army commanders.” Anstice made the calm, quiet spot deep inside as her mother had taught her. She reached into it, made it her mental anchor and commanded change in her body. “Then you're better off already.

Just the three of us.”

He paused.

Anstice

wondered if he had heard Phaon’s muffled snarl. Then he grinned wider. “You can even have one of us as mate when we're done.” “I killed to free myself. There were twenty men with weapons. You have no weapons.” Anstice smelled his bitter fury, felt the burst of heat, saw his arm draw back to strike her. She ducked and reached up, slashing at him. Her claws flashed bright in the shadows and found their target.

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He danced backwards, the air sharp with pain and the copper-salt tang of blood. His two brothers stared for one long heartbeat, then they lunged at her. No! Anstice shouted with all her heart and soul. The effort rang inside her head. The two men staggered, hitting the ground before they reached her. Anstice closed her eyes and reached for their minds. She held out her hands, imagining that she held the three men in her grasp. She closed her mental hands around them and thought of long, deep, dark sleep. The sleep of hibernating creatures -- bears and caterpillars and tortoises. Sleep so deep no sound could penetrate. Darkness and quiet, heavier than the mud at the bottom of a deep, ice-crusted pond. Silence pounded on Anstice's ears. She heard her heart beating, her lungs hissing with breath, and nothing else. She opened her eyes. The three slept, crumpled on the ground where they fell. Anstice went to her knees, arched her back, and heaved up everything in her stomach. Phaon leaped out to catch her. She welcomed the hard strength of his arm around her and leaned into him. She bit her lip and tried not to cry when he whispered soothing words and caressed damp hair off her forehead. * * * * * The three men slept. Phaon had taken the lacing from their sandals to bind their wrists and ankles and tied them together. He sat with his back pressed against the trunk of a tree, watching the three prisoners, leaving Anstice in silence. She sat so Phaon couldn’t see her face in the shadows. The breeze didn’t bring his scent to her. She didn’t want to know what he felt after her demonstration of power. Anstice could almost laugh to realize she didn’t want Phaon to fear her. She had been the darling of the Black Wolves, but she had never had a friend near her own age. She wanted Phaon to be her friend. She had more important things to think about. Until now, she had let Phaon’s words pass over her head, but now she concentrated on them. The Kreefa were indeed in danger, both because Kratos had told Lycaon where they lived, and because Lycaon would hunt and destroy in order to possess her.

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He wanted a Kreefa woman to breed Halfling warriors for him. If she couldn’t persuade the Kreefa to follow Staffen’s dream and leave Olympus for safer, far-off lands, Lycaon would eventually capture females and breed them. She had to accept the role Phaon held out to her, and protect the Kreefa. Anstice hated the weight resting on her shoulders, but she refused to let her father’s dream die. “Change must come,” she whispered, staring up at the moon that had no effect now on either her or Phaon. She supposed she had frightened or impressed him with her demonstration of power, so it cooled the Fever. Or was he so angry with his men, he had no room or energy to let the Fever take its course? These men had thought to abuse her because she was a Halfling. Phaon had told his men of her mother’s powers and talents, and that Anstice had inherited them. Yet the three had acted as if she were less than nothing because she was Halfling. They were stupid. They thought like Human men, who considered all women property, not people with minds and souls and cunning and the strength to fight. No wonder the Elders had cast them out when they were boys. She struggled up to her feet. She had to move and work off the restlessness aching through her muscles. She stumbled across the clear ground beneath the trees. Anstice raked her fingers through her sweaty hair and turned to survey the prisoners. They looked as innocent as children in sleep, but their lust had burned strong in her nostrils.

Their leader leaned against a tree, head tipped back in what had to be an

uncomfortable position. Why hadn't she noticed before how handsome he was? Such wide shoulders, such smoothly rolling muscles. Even in sleep, his manhood pressed against his ragged clothes and an answering ache pulsed between her legs. She could wake him with a tickle of mental fingers against his sleeping mind. It would be so easy to take her knife and slit his bonds. So easy to give her hand into his, press herself against him, let the fire in his blood flow into her. He would fill her body, fill the emptiness. It is better to be alone forever, Anstice-child, Dawn said in her memory, than to be joined to a man who will not share his soul with you. I gave myself to your father because his soul called to

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mine and I knew I could not live without him. Wait for that kind of love, even if you wait forever. Anstice shook her head. What could her mother know of the burning in her blood? Had Staffen ever glowed in the firelight, as Phaon did now, bright as if he carried the moon inside his skin? Had the spicy, musky scent of him ever made Dawn's belly twist and melt? Had she ever wanted his touch so badly she was ready to lift her skirts and lie down right there on the rough ground? Don't be a fool, Anstice scolded herself. She settled down on her folded blanket and curled up with her back to the men. All four of them. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on her scent. It was a matter of moments to make it soft, sweet, relaxing. Content. The restlessness seeped from her muscles and she laughed silently at how easily she could trick herself. But she couldn’t fall asleep. She could feel Phaon, watching her, waiting, ready to leap to her defense. She smelled him, felt the heat radiating from his body, heard his heart beating, in time with her own pulse. It was wrong to want Phaon. She wanted what her parents had known. Oneness in soul and heart as well as body. She would never have that with Phaon, no matter how glorious she knew their mating would be. * * * * * Phaon held his breath, counted his racing heartbeats, concentrated on his fury – anything but look at Anstice. He listened to the thudding of his heart and smelled his sweat in the air. The smell of his lust sickened him, and that was shock enough to break him free of the spell that Anstice’s presence wove around him. He couldn’t let his need for Anstice destroy her tentative, grudging partnership. He needed her trust. He needed to woo her, and that galled him. When had he ever had to fight for a girl’s cooperation? Any other girl, he would be wrapped around her right this moment, sleeping off their first passion. But he didn’t want any other girl. He wanted Anstice, in his bed and at his side, destroying Lycaon and protecting the Kreefa. And that meant he had to go slowly. It didn’t help that, despite her self-control and neutral scent, he sensed how she felt. Somehow. That sense of her at the edges of his mind had grown. When she dreamed of

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her parents and woke in tears, he knew it, even if he was on the other side of the camp from her. Anstice had never told him that Dawn was dead, but he knew it, as if he had lit the funeral pyre for Staffen and Dawn himself. He sensed her weariness of soul and longed to wrap himself around her, comfort her, share his warmth and strength. Phaon snorted and scrubbed his eyes with the fist not holding his sword. Did he think he could fool himself? He wanted to share his warmth and strength with Anstice, yes, but only until her blood steamed as his did and she turned to him with eagerness. He knew if he won her body tonight, he wouldn’t have her mind and soul. He needed, wanted all of her. Perhaps the madness that had plagued his father was in the blood, and Phaon had inherited it? Was he a fool, a lunatic, torturing himself with the untouchable, sweetsmelling, warm women sitting only a few paces away? He felt the ache of denied fulfillment, yet his blood didn't boil over. His groin ached, but he was able to ignore it, and that was a marvel. Here in the dark and quiet, with the silver heat strong enough to steam in his blood, Phaon allowed himself one stroke of honesty. He wanted Anstice simply because she was Anstice. She was like no other woman he had ever seen and she drew him, made him hungry so that no harlot satisfied and the strongest wine couldn't dull the ache. Phaon didn't know if she would fill and heal the torn places deep inside him, but he wanted to try. All his noble reasons for making her his mate paled beside the hungry ache that demanded Anstice in his arms, his heart, his bed.

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Chapter Thirteen “You are within your rights to kill them,” Tyrsis said when the cold, gray light of morning brought the last of the Wolf Pack straggling back across the plain to their camp. The three prisoners crouched in furious silence, bound together, with all the warriors gathered around. Phaon was relieved, proud, to know by face and word and scent, nearly all the Wolf Pack was enraged by what the three brothers had attempted last night. His men understood the hope Anstice represented, the power she carried in her blood. Some hoped to win her as mate, and that made them even angrier that these three thought to rape her. “By Kreefa law, rape and attempted rape deserve death,” Phaon’s cousin continued. “The moon was not yet above the horizon, so they came after you knowingly, their blood cold and their intentions cruel.” “There’s been too much death,” Anstice murmured. She sat on a camp stool, not quite facing the prisoners, clutching a pottery cup of warmed, spiced wine in both hands. She seemed more interested in her drink than the prisoners and the trial. Phaon knew better, after spending the night in vigil over her. “If you don’t claim your right, they’ll attack someone else at the next full moon, when they can’t find a harlot to ease them. Someone without your gift to defend herself.” “Then Anstice will teach all women to do what she did,” Phaon said. His grin died when Anstice’s head jerked around to face him. Her face was white with pain. He realized the night had been more of a strain to her than he imagined. His entire vision of her shifted. She wasn’t strong and foolishly independent. She had a fragile

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side. She was still a child, in many ways. This was only her second full moon since she had become a woman. He vowed he would protect her all the more ardently. “It isn't just the power of her mind,” Phaon continued, speaking slowly, speaking to Anstice with his gaze to make her understand. “It’s her scent. Anstice can teach all the women to control their bodies, so they can better control their mates, sons, and brothers. If she can control her scent so no one can know her feelings, her thoughts, she can teach others. We need her. She is more valuable to us than all the Elders.” Anstice turned her gaze back down to her cup, but he saw her lips quirk up in a trembling smile. A blush tinted her cheeks. “Can you?” Tyrsis asked, as the air turned sweet with hope. “I can teach,” Anstice said, not raising her head. “Whether they can learn depends on their strength of will and discipline. My father would want me to do this, I think, even more than he would want us to take the Kreefa to the far north. Our future depends on it, I think.” “All hail the Kreefa Queen,” a man called from the back of the group. Anstice laughed, but her hands trembled around her cup. “Yes, the Kreefa queen,” Tyrsis said, after others had echoed the sentiment. He dropped to one knee before Anstice. “Give us hope, and I will gladly serve you as my queen.” “The Red Queen,” Phaon said. The title tasted bitter, even if he meant it half in teasing, half sensing the truth. Anstice met his gaze, still flushed, her eyes bright with what could have been laughter, or tears. * * * * * The second night of the full moon passed with an eerie quiet that made Phaon’s crest fur bristle with discomfort. He had too much time to think, and couldn’t keep busy protecting Anstice. He had deaths on his mind and conscience. The three brothers had refused to swear loyalty to the Red Queen or admit their crime. Kreefa law demanded their deaths. Phaon suspected his men demanded the deaths because they wanted to go home, and because of the gift of hope Anstice offered them. This act of justice, purifying

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them of the brutality and arrogance of their fathers, could be seen as a gift to their mothers, sisters and the Elders just as much as it was a sign of what they would do to protect Anstice. Most of his men went back to the town to be serviced by temple prostitutes and harlots. A handful of men, however, chose to stay and guard Anstice. Who knew what madness the full moon might release? She was their queen now, and they were eager to serve and protect and adore her. Phaon regretted his words that had been half in jest. How could he have known his men would take the title of Red Queen, wrap it around Anstice like a cloak, and make it solid and weighty only in a day’s time? He should have known it would happen, despite how Kratos scorned the Kreefa beliefs that made women objects of worship. Most of the Elders were women, and women headed the households. Kratos had sneered and spoke of the weakness of the Kreefa because women ruled them. Phaon realized now that the younger men who had chosen to turn their backs on their fathers and return to Olympus wanted a woman to give them guidance. They were the fiercest, most skilled warriors in all Achaia, and they would have fallen down at Anstice’s feet if she had let them. Anstice’s discomfort with the awe and respect the warriors gave her made Phaon pity her, and writhe in guilt. He felt her uneasiness with every new sign of respect. If Kratos were alive, Phaon knew his father would urge him to secure Anstice as his mate, and take advantage of her power. If Kratos were still alive, Phaon knew Anstice would be dead. Either dead, or wishing she were dead, a prisoner kept alive to serve Lycaon’s pleasures. The thought of Anstice brutalized by Lycaon made it a little easier to endure the usurpation of his place as leader. In truth, he hadn’t lost any of his authority, because Anstice turned to him for all decisions and leadership. Phaon wondered if she would ever accept her new role, or keep handing her authority over to him. He was perfectly happy to take that responsibility for as long as she gave it to him. If he could convince her to accept him as her mate, so no one would try to steal his position at her side, then everything would be perfect.

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Perfect, if he didn’t constantly hear her sobs, whispering in his mind. Perfect, if he dreamed of her fleeing into the foothills, outrunning him and vanishing forever. Perfect, if his gut instinct didn’t insist she was terrified and deathly lonely, even surrounded by admiring warriors. What was wrong with him, that he thought sometimes he could see into Anstice’s very thoughts? * * * * * Anstice felt as if she had been riding forever. Perhaps it was her punishment for failing to kill Lycaon. She stared unseeing at the mountains that grew closer with every hour and ignored Phaon on her right, Tyrsis on her left. Were they her guards or her captors? She could never decide. The Wolf Pack reached the lower slopes of Olympus, but her heart was too weary and bruised to care. Dusk came and farmers trudged past them, heading home with their tools over their shoulders or leading teams of oxen dragging carts. Anstice felt her mind slip away so her body seemed awake, but she perched on the edge of sleep. She heard every voice, every bird song, felt every step her horse took. She waited in her half-waking state until the road climbed the mountainside and turned into a path. The night grew chilly, until the waning moon hung bright and silver in the sky. “Home,” she said, and her throat hurt from long silence. “Yes, we’re home.” Phaon smiled at her, and pointed up the slope. “That way leads to my great-aunt’s household.” His smile grew broader and he pointed to the right. “That way is your grandmother’s house.” Anstice jumped from the saddle, shifting to wolf before her feet touched the ground. She ran. Phaon and his warriors shouted – as if their voices could make her return! Anstice ran all the harder, up the trail, following the slope toward the sky. The wind blew from her back and carried her scent ahead of her. Anstice slowed her pace, but not enough to let Phaon and his men catch her. She let the air herald her approach. It had been half her lifetime since she had visited, but she knew the way to her grandmother's household. A pair of eyes gleamed red in the darkness ahead. She stopped in a puddle of moonlight that sliced through the leafy canopy. To the

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right, another pair of eyes. Then another. She waited, head and ears up, refusing to take a submissive posture. These were her kin and if they would not accept her on equal footing …. Anstice refused to think of what she would do if they would not accept her. “Child.” The woman's voice accompanied a ripple of warmth in the air. It held music, but the years were heavy in it and made the notes rough. Anstice turned to the sound, slowly, to face the woman who had been wolf just moments before. “Why have you come back to us alone, with the scent of sorrow enfolding you?” The woman stepped into the thin moonlight, wrapped in a dark mantle, her long hair hanging past her waist, loose and black, streaked with silver that reflected the moonlight. A hint of a smile broke the severity of the woman's long face. Her eyes were green-gray. She was barefoot and multiple beaded bands decorated her ankles. Silver rings decorated her fingers and toes and hung from her ears. Silver held potent healing magic for the Kreefa. Men gave their mates silver rings when they vowed to each other and when children were born. Women gave silver bands to their mates to protect them against the moon's burning.

This woman so heavily

decorated with silver held high honor among the Kreefa. Anstice shivered as she shifted to Human and the chill wind reached thin fingers through her clothes. She held herself straight and tall, despite the trembling in her legs and the aching longing to fall into her grandmother's arms. Even here, sure of her welcome from at least one person in the entire world, she knew better than to show any weakness. Phaon caught up with her then. He glared at her. She stuck her tongue out at him. He burst out in one loud bark of laughter. Anstice’s stomach twisted with the need to laugh and to cry and to keep running. Her duty to her father’s dreams kept her here. “Grandmother.” Anstice trembled with the need to become a child again and weep in Nioba's arms. That comfort would come later, when she was safely inside the walls of her grandmother’s household. “Grandmother, the Kreefa are in danger. The king of Arkady hunts us. Other Kreefa betrayed our secrets to him. He wants to breed a warrior race and become a god. He offered to make me his queen if I would give him sons with wolf blood.”

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Low growls erupted from the dark shapes that ringed Anstice, Nioba and Phaon. “You are home, now. No danger will touch you here.” Nioba held her arms wide. “Where are your parents? Where are the Black Wolves? Why are you here with only this companion?”

She narrowed her eyes as she studied Phaon.

“You have the look of

Odessa.” “I am Odessa’s son,” Phaon said, and gave Nioba a short bow, acknowledging her authority as the head of her household. “My friends and I are skilled warriors. We have returned to renounce our fathers’ beliefs and rejoin the Kreefa.” “Do we have need of warriors?” Nioba turned to Anstice and her brow wrinkled. “Child, what do you have to say about this? Where are your parents?” She opened her arms, drawing the young woman into their shelter. “Dead,” Anstice whispered. She sighed as the warmth and clean, spicy scent of Nioba wrapped around her with the woman’s arms. “Grandmother, there is so much to tell you, and not much time to prepare.” She felt Phaon step closer, sensed the words waiting to burst from his lips. Yet he hesitated, giving her the right to speak first. “My father was more right than he knew. We must flee Olympus if the Kreefa are to survive.” * * * * * Nioba hurried Anstice home with her as if she expected Phaon to drag the weary girl away with him. Despite his frustration and anger, Phaon knew she was right to worry. The men with him had been mere boys when they left Olympus, banished with their fathers, a few leaving every year to follow their arrogant dreams rather than the secretive, protective ways of the Elders. Who knew how these boys had grown up, what odd, foreign ways and thoughts they had brought back with them? Who could know if they were friends, or enemies planning to lie, kill and destroy the Kreefa way of life? Still, it rankled that he lost his chance to persuade Nioba to speak a word for him, to convince Anstice to accept him as her mate while the girl was still weary and unable to think clearly. Anstice was his – she simply hadn’t acknowledged it yet. When would the foolish girl accept the fact that he was right, that they belonged together? What better proof than the strange talent they had for slipping into each other’s thoughts and dreams? Phaon wanted her. It was torment to think of Anstice naked and flushed with the

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glory of the full moon, welcoming him with open arms. He couldn't stop himself. He remembered the sounds his parents made, laughter mixed with the moans of ecstasy. He remembered coming on them sometimes in the morning dew when they had slept outdoors, tangled up in each other and their blankets, smiling in their sleep. How often had he found a woman who soothed his aching needs and wanted him to stay with her after he was sated? How many had continued their tender touches and sweet words after they earned his coins? How many had sought him out purely for pleasure and not to earn bread to feed their families? If any had, he couldn't remember. A man was lucky who found a woman to come to him eagerly and match him, passion for passion. Phaon wanted a woman who came to him with joy, who held onto him long after the fires died to embers, and welcomed him with kisses and smiles even at the new moon. A woman who would curl up next to him, rest her head on his chest, wipe the sweat from his brow and kiss the bitterness from his mouth. Anstice could be that woman, if she would stop being so stubborn and accept what Phaon knew was fate. He couldn’t have her yet. Not tonight. Not for many nights to come. He was a fool to think about his own hunger and pleasure, when the Kreefa were endangered, thanks to his father’s crimes. There was work to be done, and quickly. Phaon set his men free to go to their mothers' households. They agreed to meet in three days and report on everything they had heard and learned. Then he would ask to meet with the Elders and propose his plan to the Kreefa. Lycaon was likely now planning his attack on Olympus. His generals, advisors and soldiers would know he hunted wolves, and where. The Kreefa had to attack and destroy every one of them before Lycaon’s soldiers reached the slopes and valleys holding the houses full of innocent children and the elderly.

But someone would survive, with

knowledge of the truth. They would bring more kings and soldiers to attack, out of fear if not to avenge Lycaon. The Kreefa would have to go to Arkady, first, and destroy Lycaon and anyone who knew the truth. That would require the blessing and cooperation of the Elders. Phaon wanted to propose the idea to the Council of Elders, but first he needed to

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know how the Kreefa thought, if they lived in fear, if they were complacent, if they were willing to listen to the son of Kratos. He didn’t have time to prove himself worthy in his own right, or make the people forget his father's crimes. Thoosa, his mother’s aunt, welcomed Phaon and Tyrsis and their cousins with open arms and laughter. She commanded that a feast be held, which reassured Phaon that his own household had forgiven him. The feast, held on a sloping meadow ringed by pines, brought in friends and distant relatives from other households. Phaon learned all he needed about the health, safety, flocks, hunting and anything else concerning the Kreefa, just in idle conversation. Tongues loosened easily under the influence of wine, plenty of meat and dancing in the moonlight. * * * * * Phaon went on foot to visit Nioba's household two mornings later. He didn't shift to wolf and run the distance. He needed time to think about all the things he had learned in the few days since he had returned to Olympus. All Kreefa bowed to the wisdom that said women were the best ones to raise the children, train young hunters and administer justice. Men were made to hunt and labor and to stand as a protective wall between their mothers' households and the world. Phaon had seen how men ruled and women were relegated to the position of chattel in the rest of Achaia. If the Elders did not agree with his plan, the Kreefa way of life would be destroyed and they would become slaves, bred like animals to send their children into battle for Lycaon, and possibly for other kings in the hazy future. Kratos’ dream of making the Kreefa gods had brought about this danger. Anstice insisted that the only safety for the Kreefa lay in leaving Achaia. If Phaon’s plan to destroy Lycaon and his allies failed, half of Achaia would learn of the Kreefa. They couldn’t stay safely on Olympus, living in obscurity as they had done for generations. They would have to flee. Phaon shoved away all thought of failure when he came within sight of Nioba’s gates. The Kreefa were born warriors, male and female, with wolf fierceness, cunning and strength in their blood. They would battle for their homes. But what if it destroyed everything they held dear?

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Anstice might gladly become his mate if he fully supported her plan, but he refused to bow to that tactic. He would fight to the death to destroy Lycaon and preserve Olympus for the Kreefa. Phaon halted in front of Nioba’s gates and wondered if any woman was truly worth the headaches Anstice gave him. Why did life have to be so complicated? Living like other families did throughout Achaia, with his mate in his arms every night, children playing in the fields outside their simple little home, and growing old in obscurity and safety, sounded like the Elysium Fields. Why couldn’t he have that? Nioba's gates hung open as usual at mid-morning. Children scampered around the paved courtyard inside, attending to chores and finding a few moments to play. Boys prepared to head out for a day of hunting or working the fields or the craft they had chosen to follow into adulthood. Over in one corner, two wall looms clacked and clattered as a team of women tended the weaving. The acrid reek of dye hung in the air. “Welcome, Phaon, son of Kratos.” Nioba came down the steps of the main house that faced the gates. “Son of Odessa.” How many times would he have to correct people before they forgot his father's crimes? While they equated him with Kratos, would anyone listen? He had the training, experience and knowledge needed to save the Kreefa from Lycaon’s soldiers, but would he be allowed to use it? “What brings you to my gates?” “I have come to speak with Staffen’s daughter, if you will welcome me,” he said. His voice cracked and strained, as if he had only recently passed over the threshold of manhood. Was any woman worth the frustration and sleepless nights Anstice put him through? He thought of her sweet scent, the slim grace of her limbs, her speed, the gleam of her fur when in wolf shape, her laughter, her fierceness. And of course, the power of her mind, to put Fevered men into a deep sleep. Yes, she was worth it. Nioba laughed at his attempt at dignity and her gray-green eyes sparkled like moss soaked with dew. Phaon compared her with Thoosa. Nioba was still tall and straight, with

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little silver in her heavy, jet-black hair and only a few wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Like the younger women and nursing mothers, she wore a thick band of cloth wrapped around her upper chest and breasts, and a kilted skirt just past her calves. Her flesh was still firm and she didn't need the loose dresses older women wore to hide sags and wrinkles. Anstice would be magnificent, even in old age, if she took after her grandmother. Phaon grinned when he decided she was a woman to make a man want to live to a ripe old age, instead of dying a glorious, bloody warrior’s death. “Back so soon?” Nioba said, glancing over Phaon’s shoulder as he stepped through the gate. “You have a visitor.” Phaon turned and found Anstice standing behind him, having just come out of the trees that sheltered the house on one side. Her hair, caught up on top of her head in a knot, dripped tiny spatters of water down her short tunic. Her skin gleamed with that clean, rosy glow from cold water. She studied him with those calm, gray-green eyes that revealed nothing of her thoughts or feelings. Her scent revealed nothing. Phaon gritted his teeth, knowing she used her powers to hide her feelings from him. When would she ever trust him? “Good morning, Red Queen.” He bared his teeth in a tight-lipped smile. Phaon knew it was stupid to antagonize Anstice, but the way to win a battle of wills was to start out on the offensive. “Have you decided to sell me to Lycaon after all, to buy the safety of the Kreefa?” Anstice asked as she looked away, dismissing his presence as nothing important. As she stepped past him, into the courtyard, she reached up and let her hair down. It fell in a thick, gleaming waterfall of red curls, past her hips. Phaon's mouth went dry. He wanted to dive into that soft mass and spend hours exploring the texture and scent. “You and I must decide what to do to protect our people.” Somehow, he found his voice. Anstice paused halfway to the steps. Nioba frowned at her and shook her head. “Be welcome as an ally.

Have you eaten?”

Anstice barely glanced over her

shoulder at him. From Nioba's sigh, Phaon guessed her ritual offer of hospitality had been less gracious than the older woman expected.

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“Food would be welcome, thank you.” He followed her across the courtyard and up the steps. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the renewed hot churning in his loins. He envied Anstice her control. She didn't react to the spicy thread of lust tingeing the air around him. Anstice vanished deeper into the house while Nioba set out bread, cheese and figs for the three of them. Phaon sighed at that, but he hadn't honestly expected to be left alone with Anstice. When she re-emerged, she had braided her hair and wrapped it around the back of her head, and wore a long, loose dress that hid every curve and sleek line. Phaon's mouth quirked up in a crooked smile. That said much for how his scent affected her. Even if her face and scent didn't show it, his hunger did unnerve her. It was a step in the right direction. “Between us, we have the power and skills to protect the Kreefa from Lycaon,” he began, when all three were seated. “My son was wise. He foresaw this day coming,” Nioba said, “and he prepared for it. We will not be destroyed as a people.” “But we bring this danger to the Kreefa, Grandmother,” Anstice said, avoiding Phaon’s gaze. “Kratos told Lycaon where our people live. Lycaon wants me, because of my mother’s power and my father’s blood. How could my father have foreseen that?” “My father is to blame, for the approaching danger and for your parents’ deaths,” Phaon began. “Mother died with Father, their spirits bound together.” Anstice spoke softly, but her voice rasped. She clasped her pottery cup so tightly her fingers turned white. He nodded, acknowledging the grief that escaped her control and made the air bittersweet. “You are not to blame. You are as much a victim as all the households of the Kreefa. I am perhaps not as innocent –” He attempted a grim smile. “But I did not betray the Kreefa home to Lycaon. You and I must lead in saving our people.” “True.” She frowned and nodded. “You are the warrior. What do you say we should do?” When he paused, stunned by her easy acquiescence, she actually smiled. “Did you think I would fight you on this? Do you think I'm as mad as Lycaon, just because

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I'm a Halfling?” “I thought you would fight, simply because you hate me,” slipped out while he struggled for control of his thoughts. “My father taught me that a true leader puts aside personal concerns for the greater good of all. Until I have fulfilled my duty, I will act to make my father proud.” Anstice looked away a moment. Phaon saw Nioba struggle not to smile. “I don't hate you.” “Your words and actions tell me otherwise.” “Just because I refuse to be your mate, you think I hate you?” “Anstice?” Nioba glanced back and forth between them. “It doesn’t matter, Grandmother. Nothing matters but saving the Kreefa. Will you call together the Elders, so we can tell them of the danger and our plan?” Her hand shook as she picked up bread and spread soft cheese on it. “I will need to know more before I can call for a council,” the older woman said, nodding slowly. “But from what you two have said already, I think speed is most wise.” “You were born to lead us.” Phaon nodded, saluting her with his raised cup. “Your power will combine with the swords of the Wolf Pack. We were made to save our people.” Anstice studied the piece of bread in her hand for a few heartbeats. She finally put it in her mouth, chewed slowly, washed it down with a cup of wine. Then she raised her head and met his gaze. Her eyes were flat, almost lifeless, but for a hint of extra moisture that made Phaon's chest ache in sympathy. He wanted to offer his shoulder as her resting place. “How soon do you think we can leave Olympus for the north?” Anstice asked after a moment. “We must destroy Lycaon,” Phaon said. “He must die, or he will hunt us wherever we go.” He stopped short for a moment, stunned by the beauty of the smile Anstice granted him. She thought he agreed with her. If he could only guarantee she would smile at him like that for the rest of his life, he would be a happy man. He seriously considered agreeing with her plan to flee, just to win her. “We must ensure no one can follow and find us,” he continued after a breathless

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moment. “What about the innocent ones who could be caught when we are dead? They will be taken as slaves, forced to breed, as Lycaon intended to do with you.” “I would rather all the Kreefa die, than allow that,” Anstice murmured. She sat up straight and he saw the struggle for calm in her eyes. “Everything I can do, with my mother’s power, it is yours to use.” Phaon raised her hand to his lips. Anstice shuddered at his touch. Just for a moment, the sweet perfume of a virgin lost in hunger coiled through the air. He nearly whimpered for the lovely, hot pain that shot through him in response. “You and I were made to stand together.” He held onto her hand. “In all things. You are most beautiful, Anstice, daughter of Staffen. I ask you again, will you be my mate?” Nioba gasped. Phaon dared flatter himself that her scent held only the spice of surprise, and her smile meant approval. “Don’t!” Anstice tugged her hand free and stood.

“My parents were bound

together, heart and soul, so that my mother felt the arrows that killed my father. They died as they lived, bound into one heart and soul. I want nothing less. I will never give myself to a man who does not touch my soul,” she added on a whisper, and fled the room in long, rapid strides.

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Chapter Fourteen Anstice fled up the mountainside, slipping through the shadows in wolf form. All she wanted was time alone, to think and understand, if it were possible to understand everything that thundered through her mind and heart and body. Every time Phaon came near, that sweet, twisting, melting sensation in her belly grew stronger. Would it have been wrong to stand so close that his scent mingled with hers? His scent was of starlight and flames. He made her feel as if she had run for hours. She wanted to feel that way forever, weak but drunk on the strength of him that flowed through her. She needed to keep moving, to burn off the aching, the restless needing that pulsed low in her belly. She found the hidden trails she had known in her childhood and climbed ever higher. Anstice concentrated on controlling her scent, stepping lightly, seeking the places where her paws would leave no print. She became one with the shadows and the hidden paths, until she thought she could move within arm's reach of hunters and she would be invisible. Anstice looked northward, past the snowy fields where few ever roamed. The Kreefa would be safe in the northern lands of snow and beasts, just as Staffen had dreamed. She skidded to a stop, her claws losing their purchase in the thin soil here among the rocks. The air was thinner, so when she let out a bark of canine laughter, it sounded flat in her ears and seemed to echo forever, and slowly. Phaon asked her to be his mate.

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Her body wanted him. That much was easy to admit. She would have to be dead not to want him. But wanting wasn’t enough. Not when she had seen what perfect union could be between two hearts and souls. Even at the high cost her parents had paid for oneness. Anstice knew she could never endure a purely physical mating. She wanted what her parents had. Nothing less would ever satisfy. Even if it killed her someday. Her body knew Phaon's touch would tear her apart and remake her, turn her to ashes and give her new life. Her soul knew devastating sex was still nothing more than sex. Limited to the body. Anstice sat back on her haunches and erupted into a howl that tore at her lungs and echoed off the highest peaks. Despite the knowledge in her soul and heart that she would starve within sight and smell of a feast if she mated with Phaon – she wanted him.

Fractured images and

sensations from her dreams came rushing back to her. Anstice writhed and leaped forward to run again, fighting the melting hunger pooled in her belly. She wanted Phaon's body pressed tight against hers. She wanted his scent soaking into her flesh. She wanted his hands on her bare skin and his voice rumbling in her bones. She wanted to weep. Her arms and her womb and her bed would always be empty, because she wanted Phaon, and she would destroy herself if she took him. * * * * * Two nights later, Nioba brought Anstice and Thoosa brought Phaon to stand before the Elders and give their news to all the households of the Kreefa. The Elders were alarmed, upset, and skeptical by varying degrees. Anstice found it bitterly amusing that some Elders remembered her father with respect, while others thought he was an alarmist fool. While most Elders reviled Phaon’s father and cursed his memory for bringing this danger on them, others held him in higher esteem than Staffen. The end result of talking past midnight was that the Elders needed time to think, to talk with their households, to consider the course of action. Wait and prepare for Lycaon to attack, or go hunt him down? Send the elderly and children away to safety, leaving the warriors and hunters to defend their households?

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Phaon came to Nioba’s household shortly after sunrise the next day with a new tactic. He asked for Anstice’s help, and she couldn’t refuse him. His plan was to go out among the households and speak to them individually, to tell what they had seen in their travels through Achaia, what they knew of Lycaon and the kings and nobles and soldiers of the many disparate city-states. Anstice laughed at herself for being both relieved and disappointed that Phaon didn’t ask her to accompany him. It made sense for them to split up, to reach as many households as possible in the shortest amount of time. She was glad she didn’t have the torment of the sight and scent and sound of him, everywhere she went.

He would

probably ask her again to become his mate, and she knew she could never do that. Anstice knew now, once the Kreefa were safe, she would go her own way. Her relatives accepted her without question, but to the rest of the Kreefa she was still the Halfling, despite having survived her first Fever without damage. She had proven her powers on volunteers, and the wall separating her from the Kreefa seemed stronger than ever. Everywhere she went, people fell silent and watched her. There was no one to laugh and include her in gossip or trips to hunt or gather wood or forage for roots, berries and herbs. Silly young men who should have at least lusted after her avoided her gaze. She would never be one of the Kreefa. Anstice knew she could never live that way. Solitude of the body was better than loneliness in the midst of a crowd. Yet in every household she visited, Anstice always found a handful of the curious – usually young folk – who wanted to know more about her mother’s gift and the things she could teach them. Soon, Anstice had students to learn her discipline and self-control. It amused her and made her ache for those who still feared the dangers of Fever. Her parents had always looked forward to the added passion and hunger that came with the full moon. Why shouldn’t others be able to enjoy the heat in their blood to the fullest? She let students come to her in the meadow below Nioba’s household. They met at twilight when the day slowed, in the quiet time between chores and shifting to wolf to roam the night. The new moon was two days gone, and Anstice waited to meet with her students that evening when tragedy struck. Black soldiers appeared out of the silvery gray mist of a day that had been cloudy and wet. They struck down young men with arrows and spears

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and snatched up the girls who were with them, dragging them into the saddle and clubbing them into silence. The soldiers fled before the first howl of alarm could ring through the air. Iona, a cousin who had always treated Anstice as a sister, was among the taken. Anstice knew she should have foreseen and prevented the abductions. She also knew she wasted time raging at her failure. Time sped by, faster than the wind. With every heartbeat, her cousin and other innocents were another galloping step closer to being raped by Lycaon and used to breed Halfling warriors, slaves to make Lycaon a god. She had to do something, but what? One step at a time, my daughter. Anstice could almost hear Dawn sigh in mixed exasperation and sympathy and love. One step at a time. One task accomplished before facing another. Otherwise, she would waste all her time thinking about what she needed to do and never actually do any of it. “We are hunters,” Anstice told the crowd who had gathered around the gates of Nioba’s household, to share news and learn who was missing. They had come because they knew she would understand. Anstice and Phaon had traveled Achaia all their lives, while the Kreefa had lived here, in hiding. That was a fatal flaw, Anstice knew. It was much harder to hit a moving target. From now on, she decided, the Kreefa must never settle in any one place too long. Not until they found the land that was totally theirs, where they could live in peace and safety and freedom. “The greatest hunt of all waits for us,” she continued, as a plan unfolded in her mind. “Why hunt when our daughters are slaves?” a man shouted as the others quieted to listen. His voice cracked with age and there was more silver than black in his hair and shaggy beard. “They aren't slaves yet,” Anstice retorted. “It’s a long journey, even on a running horse, to reach Arkady. We will take them back. The Kreefa are faster than horses – which need rest and food. The Kreefa can see and hunt in the dark – and Lycaon’s soldiers can’t. They flee through fear, of us and of their king. We will run in anger, with pure hearts, to

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rescue our kin. We will teach Lycaon no one spills Kreefa blood and no one steals a Kreefa woman without paying in their own flesh and blood.” She glared around the too-still, attentive knots of people. Eyes full of anger now brightened with anticipation. “Lycaon is my enemy, first. I will be at the front of the hunters and I will take the first blood and I will free our people. Who will come with me?” Silence. Anstice felt her insides shrivel in dread. Then her cousins, male and female, stepped forward. Others joined in, men and women and even elders who deserved to stay home by the fire. If they could keep up in the race across the countryside, Anstice didn't know. She didn't dare tell them no. This same scene was likely playing out in front of Thoosa’s household, Anstice suspected. She wondered what Phaon planned, and knew she didn’t have time to think or ask. “Grandmother?”

She didn’t have to turn to look for Nioba.

She had felt the

woman’s presence, only a step away, and caught the heady, wine-sweet scent of her approval and pride. “Will you send to Phaon and tell him that we go hunting? If he wishes, he can catch up with us.” “Be careful when he does,” Nioba said with a chuckle, and she nodded. * * * * * Ice settled in his chest when Phaon heard what Anstice had done. It didn’t help that by the time he had gathered his warriors together and came up with a battle plan, she and her hunters had already been gone two hours. He felt a flicker of shame that he hadn’t thought to tell her what he was doing, then pushed it away. She was Red Queen in name only, no matter that his own men looked at her with awe and whispers of respect moved through all the households. No, what mattered most to Phaon right now was the disaster that could fall on the Kreefa if Anstice failed. He choked back a howl of mixed fury and anguish. An image flashed into his mind, of Anstice taken down by a spear, dying in a puddle of her own blood. Or worse, raped and taken as a slave. He nearly snarled his thanks to Nioba’s messenger, a boy who radiated disappointment that he hadn’t been permitted to go on the

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hunt. Then he turned back to his waiting men. Tyrsis met his glance with a grimace. “You were grateful she hadn’t been taken,” his cousin muttered as they checked their weapons one last time. “Things might have been easier if she had. Are you sure you want her?” “I’ll kill anyone who tries to take her from me,” Phaon growled. One advantage of having horses was that the Wolf Pack could ride and sleep in the saddle. Paced properly, the horses could travel day and night. Phaon wagered that Anstice and her followers would pace themselves to conserve their strength for the battle. What good would it do them to catch up with the soldiers within a few hours, only to be too exhausted to fight? Phaon kept to himself the visions of disaster that plagued him. They were Kreefa, skilled in the hunt, but this was war, something he knew far better. Anstice may have willingly led them on this mission, and they may have willingly followed, but Phaon knew he was responsible. He had pledged to protect the Kreefa, to atone for his father’s crimes. More important, he had pledged himself to win Anstice as his mate. She didn't trust him enough to wait for him. Phaon swore he would earn that trust. He swore he would stand by her. He would dedicate all he had, all he knew, all he could do, to the service of the Kreefa and Anstice. He called her the Red Queen, just as his men and a slowly increasing number of Kreefa did, but did he honor and respect her as a queen? He knew the answer to that. He gave her orders, he made decisions, and he made her uncomfortable with his presence and the scent of his hunger and need for her. No wonder she had gone off without him. Phaon swore that would never happen again. He couldn’t risk her, both for the sake of the Kreefa and himself. When the scouts sent back word that Anstice's hunters were only another hour ahead, Phaon had a plan for the rescue. Now he had to persuade Anstice to listen. The smell of roasting meat wafted on the night breeze to greet them when Phaon and his men reached Anstice's camp.

Groans and snatches of laughter and muffled

comments came from the men behind him and Phaon smiled. Hot food and bright fires was a good sign. Anstice and her followers could have sullenly waited in the shadows or even fled when he and his men approached. Fire and food meant welcome and some hope

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that they could work together after all. The hunters had made camp in a broken landscape, where crevices hid springs. Black lines that at a distance were nearly invisible in the light of the thin crescent moon, when seen up close became gaps in the rock face, wide enough for four to walk abreast. Phaon approved when he rode closer and saw sentinels placed in niches in the rock. The camp itself was in a ravine with enough exits the hunters couldn't be trapped by enemies. His approval soured in his belly when he tallied the number of Kreefa who had come hunting. Less than thirty men and women. “Do you have a plan?” Anstice called from above him. Phaon's manhood stirred even before he caught the first faint whiff of her spicy sweet, clean scent. She crouched on a ledge, balancing on her toes and fingertips, head cocked to one side as she studied him. Her hair had been pulled back in a simple knot but the vibrant curls had worked their way loose and were dusty and dark with sweat. Her beltless tunic hung down on one shoulder, exposing creamy skin. “Don't you?” he returned. Phaon gritted his teeth. Why did a thread of contention always appear between him and Anstice? That was the true reason she refused him as her mate, not her ridiculous notions of love and touching souls. No matter what strange thoughts his dreams put into his mind. “The longer we sat and talked, the farther away Lycaon’s soldiers moved.” “And you were in too much of a hurry to wait for me.” “You're here now, aren't you? We found their trail while it was still fresh, and you followed us and we are all here and strong. Their camp is only an hour away. Their horses smell wolves and are fighting them.” “You have scouts watching them.” Phaon nodded, grudging respect in his tone. She wasn’t entirely foolish. He should have remembered she grew up surrounded by soldiers. Anstice smiled, not quite baring her teeth, but there was no humor in her eyes. She nodded salute to him just before she dove headfirst off the ledge. She shifted to wolf,

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turned a somersault and landed on all four feet, then reared up on her hind legs and shifted back to Human. Phaon hoped she was as skilled a fighter as an acrobat. “Steady.” Anstice smiled and rested a hand on his gelding's nose. The beast had barely flicked his ears in reaction to her antics. “Are all your mounts so well-trained?” “Just as well-trained as my men. We are Kreefa, come to help Kreefa. You are the Red Queen, and you lead these people.” He was pleased that she didn’t flinch away from the title, finally. “But I am the commander of these warriors, and we are the only way to defeat Lycaon’s soldiers.” “Then tell me what your plan is, Commander.” She held out a hand to him, palm up, in a salute of equals. He gladly took her hand. “The soldiers are more alert when they're standing still. We think we should wait to attack after they break camp and have to contend with moving prisoners.” “How?” He snorted, amused, when Anstice frowned and tugged her hand away. So, that brief contact disturbed her as much as it did him. He was pleased, it gave him hope. “That's why we stopped to wait. We need your expertise.” Anstice gestured down the narrow ravine, toward the fire. Phaon nodded for her to lead the way. He could hardly breathe, much less talk. An errant breeze molded her tunic against her as he watched her walk. She was everything a Kreefa maiden should be, lean and graceful, with small, high breasts that bobbed ever so slightly with her steps, and hips that swayed like dancing. Phaon let himself dream, just for a moment, of Anstice coming to him with laughter, wrapping her naked body around him and never letting go until they were both sated and numb. He pushed aside that vision of ecstasy. He couldn’t let such glory distract him. If this rescue was successful, perhaps he could gain the support of the Elders, and they could persuade Anstice to take him as her mate? Phaon knew better than to simply kidnap her, carry her away, and ravish her. Only fools thought a woman would give her heart to a man who had to beat her into submission.

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There was no way to win this battle, was there? * * * * * What is wrong with me? Anstice sat back from the fire, fighting to keep her inner turmoil from invading her scent. She owed her followers a serene, confident visage, even if it was false. Phaon sat an arm's length away from her, perched on a fallen tree trunk. He asked questions, learning what they knew about the terrain.

He approved all they had

accomplished, and Anstice allowed herself to preen a little. While they ate, Phaon talked openly with everyone but her. He smiled easily, laughed at rueful or bitterly humorous comments, and talked with the ease of someone who had grown up on Olympus. She knew he had grown up an outcast because of his father. Yet Phaon belonged here more than she ever would. Every time he turned to look at her, the laughter sparks died from his eyes, his smile flattened and she caught the distinctive bitter, burned aroma of a man fighting hard to control some strong reaction in his body. What was wrong with her, that he could talk to everyone else, smile at everyone else, except her? Did he resent having to share leadership with a girl? Shouldn't she at least catch the scent of lust from him? What was wrong with her? Phaon turned back to face her and Anstice realized several seconds too late that she stared at him. Well, who wouldn't stare?

Despite his scars, Phaon was the most compelling,

handsome man she had ever seen. She thought she could fall into his big, deep black eyes. Years of training had built his shoulders to hard, muscled perfection. As a wolf, he was swifter than the wind. He sat straight and tall even when he relaxed. Battling from horseback had developed his leg muscles into hard, rolling sleekness, and the sun had browned his smooth skin until his hair seemed almost white in contrast. There was an elegance to his long features. She imagined his eyes were quick to pick up details others missed. He was a king among men, born to command, made wise through harsh lessons. Are kings as lonely as queens? “Is something wrong?” Phaon asked. The deep smoothness of his voice made her

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insides melt, like always. Anstice had taken that tricky tumble when he arrived just to yank her attention from his body and its affect on her. “Thinking.” “If you had some training under your belts, you wouldn't need us.” Phaon nodded in a salute of equals. He smiled, baring perfect white teeth. “Truly?” Her face ached from the wide smile his words created. Anstice wondered if that had been at least part of the reason for her uneasiness in his presence. She had feared his mockery, his insults and a bitter summation of her flaws. “Truly.” His smile froze and for a moment, all she saw were his bottomless, ebony eyes. Anstice whimpered when that pleasant melting spread inside her. They sat close enough she smelled nothing but the clean, warm scent of him -- musk and leather and sun-warmed skin. And that intriguing, irritating scent of bitter control. It would be so easy to lean forward and touch him. Her palm against his cheek. A hand on his shoulder. A fingertip on the pulse that jumped visibly in his throat. Phaon blinked and looked away and Anstice sighed. She didn't know if she was relieved or worried. He glanced at the fire, took a deep breath, then stretched and groaned, raising his arms to the sky. Anstice's mouth went dry, watching the play of muscles under his tight-stretched tunic. “We have the blood-right to destroy Lycaon’s soldiers,” he said. “Don’t let the thought of their deaths trouble you.” “I'm sick to death of blood and fighting and hatred and fear.” She thought she whispered, but her voice bounced back to her in the cool night air, ringing off every rock in the ravine. “Your feelings have nothing to do with this. What is best for our people?” “To take back what was stolen ... and let no one escape to report to our enemies.” Anstice felt cold inside. Phaon proposed his plan. It was deceptively simple. Anstice accepted it because he had more experience, but he demanded that she and her followers look for flaws. They had to believe it would work, down deep in their souls, or it might fail.

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Chapter Fifteen The raid began perfectly, as if their enemy obeyed Phaon's battle plan. Anstice led the wolves who came at the raiders from the right side. She waited until someone blew a trumpet of warning. Then she howled. An equal number of wolves flew out of hiding from the left, forcing the soldiers to turn. The wolves slowed just enough to lope without effort and still appear to chase the soldiers, who were limited by the speed of their slowest captive. Anstice growled when she saw a whip flash in the air and heard it crack down on flesh. Phaon's mounted warriors thundered out from the forest where they had been hiding. When the mounted soldiers had surrounded the caravan, one sounded the battle horn. Anstice darted forward, flying in her eagerness. She dove between horses' legs and falling men to reach the captives, who had come to a halt, bound together in a long line with ropes. She took the most tricky task for herself, but as Phaon had predicted, no one watched the women. She shifted to Human, pulled the knife from her belt, and slashed at Iona’s bonds. When her cousin was freed, Anstice handed her an extra knife she carried. Iona grinned from a bruised face and crawled away to cut someone else free. The next person she freed, Anstice handed another knife, and the third and the fourth. There were seventeen women in all, and soon everyone was free. Then they joined the battle. The soldiers had held their ground up until that point, but when their captives suddenly leaped on them and shifted to wolf before their eyes, more than one man shrieked pure terror before breaking ranks. Unfortunately, not enough of Lycaon’s soldiers

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panicked. A hulking, scarred brute of a man slipped out between two knots of fighting men and watched a bruised woman help her smaller friend limp away from the battle. He raised a bow, put an arrow to the string and sighted on the two women. Anstice screamed fury and knew she could never reach him in time to prevent that shot. Phaon emerged from the rising dust cloud that obscured the battle. He looked to Anstice and the ground heaved under her feet when their gazes met. She pointed to the women and shifted back to wolf to race to them. Phaon shouted, ran three steps and shifted to wolf. He was closer. The first arrow went wide, scratching a groove in the ground instead of hitting the taller woman. Phaon leaped, knocking over the archer before he could get his second arrow to the string. His claws dug into the man's gut and his jaws clamped down on the man's throat. A shriek of pained terror escaped the man until he hit the ground and the impact cut off all sound. Anstice reached the women and shifted to Human to help carry the wounded one away. Phaon rolled off his downed opponent and staggered back several steps. Anstice imagined he listened to the heart stagger to a stop, watched the blood gush. The intensity of his gaze froze the breath in her lungs. Anstice knew in that moment, she had to do whatever it took to keep Phaon and the Wolf Pack tied to the Kreefa. With such a warrior to lead them, the Kreefa would have nothing to fear. They didn’t need her, if they had Phaon. Anstice raised her hand to signal Phaon that they were safe. He nodded and licked blood from his fur before he ran back to the battle. When the last soldier fell, either torn and bleeding or a pincushion of arrows and spears, Phaon raised a horn to his lips and blew the signal. A howl of victory went up from the Kreefa hunters. Anstice led the charge, her heart thudding in time with her racing paws, and they fled from the place of slaughter. They had won. They had torn their people free and punished their enemies. She knew better than to relax and glory in this one victory. This was just one small skirmish in the war Lycaon had started.

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* * * * * They traveled, the wounded on horseback and the rest in wolf-form, until nightfall, when anyone foolish enough to pursue them would also stop. Some of Phaon’s men stayed behind to fuddle their trail and make it impossible for anyone to follow them. Lycaon would try again, but why give anyone else an excuse to attack them as well? Phaon ordered a halt to make camp. There were wounded to tend to, food to be hunted and a dozen other details in the aftermath of battle. They still had to reach the safety of Olympus without attracting the attention of those who might try to take advantage of the weak and wounded. Even if all the black soldiers had died, someone could pick up their trail, find the site of the battle, and follow the escaped prisoners and their rescuers to retaliate. Anstice curled up as a wolf far from the fire to sleep. Ten sentinels, men who would ride during the first phase of their journey, walked patrol while everyone else slept. The light grew strange, a silver almost as bright as day. Yet the moon was only at half. Anstice stood by a river, but a moment ago she lay curled with her back to the fire and her face to the distant mountains. She stood in cool, lush grass that reached halfway up her calves, but they had camped in a rocky, dry land. A man laughed, low and soft, the sound vibrating through her very bones to settle into a humming warmth in her belly. She turned toward the sound and her limbs moved as reluctantly as if she waded through a river of honey. A large, calloused, hot hand caught hold of hers and turned her so quickly she lost her balance and fell against a hard, bare chest. Crisp, golden hairs scratched her face. The man's hands gripped her shoulders, pulling her upright, setting her on her feet and putting her away to arm's length. Phaon's eyes were huge, bottomless, blacker than a cloudy night with no moon. “Mine,” he said in a wolf's voice. She couldn't make a sound. The scent that seeped from him made her belly twist and burn. Phaon's fingers dug into her arms hard enough to bruise. When she flinched and tried to pull away, he yanked her against his chest and slammed his mouth down against hers, catching her lips between their teeth. She tasted blood. He bit at her. One hand held her pressed tight against him while his other hand roamed over

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her body, squeezing hard enough to bruise, pulling at her tunic until the cloth tore and the seams split. His manhood pressed hard against her belly, and she imagined it would be a knife, ripping her open. He can't steal what you willingly give, Dawn said in her memory. Women must teach their mates how to give. You must lead the way or he will never learn the sweetness you can share. Anstice opened her mouth to Phaon's invasion and pressed herself against him. He stopped, all his muscles turned to stone. She heard the hissing of his indrawn breath and laughed to realize she had startled him. She slid her arms around him. He moaned, low in his throat, the sound rising with every heartbeat until she thought he would scream. Anstice raised one leg to wrap around his, locking them together. The threatening hardness between them lost its sharp sense of danger and a thrill throbbed deep inside her belly. Anstice rolled onto her back and shifted to Human. She stared up at the moon, trembling, glorying in the heat that pulsed through her body, and wished it had not been a dream. She wanted Phaon, wished he were with her that moment, tangled with her in her blankets. * * * * * What had happened? Phaon crouched by the slumbering fire and held his hand as close to the coals as he could get. The heat reassured him he was awake, not dreaming. One moment, he had been trying to rip Anstice's clothes from her, knowing he dreamed and yet unable to break through the curtain of fire that controlled his every movement. Another heartbeat, and he would draw blood. He would make her scream. He couldn’t stop himself. Then she had wrapped herself around him. The fire turned sweeter than honeyed wine. She smiled at him. In that moment, he knew she was his to claim. He shifted his arms to lower her to the grass – and he woke. That had been no dream. Not the way he knew dreams were supposed to be. It was too close to real. It was part of the strange, tormenting sense that he and Anstice somehow had touched in their minds. If only he could persuade her to be as sweetly hot and

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welcoming in reality. The thought of Anstice's body pressed against his, her legs wrapped around his waist, made Phaon shudder. He got up from crouching by the fire and his knees tried to fold. The small dark blot of Anstice was missing from the shadows around the fire. Was it possible she had awakened from the same dream, and fled into the darkness to find some calm? He bared his teeth in a bitter grin and hurried through the darkness. He and Anstice needed to talk. He found Anstice kneeling by a trickling stream in a mossy ravine. She splashed water on her face, down the front of her tunic, spattered her arms. Phaon watched her and knew, with an aching sense of triumph, that she had indeed experienced the same steaming, hungry dream. “Do you hope I’m only a dream?” he said, and crouched next to her by the water. Anstice stared at him, her face pale in the shadows. He felt a flash of guilt, then grinned at this additional sign that he was right. “You throw yourself on me in our dreams, even if you won’t let me touch you when we’re awake,” he continued. “Dreams?” Anstice voice was little more than a whisper. “Our minds touch, Red Child.” Phaon held his breath as he reached out to brush damp curls back from her face.

Anstice didn’t flinch.

He knew better than to take

advantage of her distraction. “We are partners in saving the Kreefa, you can’t deny that you hunger for me just as much as I ache for you, and now this. It’s a sign,” he continued on a whisper. “We are destined to be together.” “Our minds touch.” Her gaze turned distant, and a faint, sad smile caught the corners of her mouth. “How?” “I don’t know, except that I think it began when we fought free of Lycaon and then cleansed each other’s wounds. We shared blood.” He traced the angle of her cheekbone with his fingertip and she tipped her head slightly, welcoming the caress. “There is a bond formed when a man sheds virgin blood. I gave you my blood, Red Child, and took yours. We are joined.” “Not completely.”

She didn’t try to break her gaze free of his and he took

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encouragement from that. “Easily remedied. You welcomed my touch. I felt your heart race. I tasted your mouth in the sweetest kisses a man could ever want. You clung to me. You wanted me.” He leaned close enough that if she turned her head, their lips would meet. “I think you will taste even sweeter than in my dreams. Be my mate. Tonight.” “Tonight,” she echoed on a whisper. Anstice’s eyes slid half-closed. Phaon lifted his other hand and rested it on her shoulder. It was bare where her tunic had slid down it again. Her pulse jumped under his fingertips. Her skin grew warmer and a light sheen of damp spread across her face and shoulders and made her tunic cling to her. Phaon leaned closer, lips parting to claim her mouth in that kiss. His hand gripped her shoulder, pressing into creamy, soft, sweet flesh. “No,” Anstice whimpered. She flinched, twisting free of him, falling backwards. While Phaon struggled not to fall sideways, she scrambled to her feet and fled. He struggled to his feet, but didn’t chase her. The strange bond between them had deepened with that scorching sweet dream. Phaon sensed that if he chased Anstice now, she would never stop running. What had he done wrong? What did she want from him, before she would accept what was destined to be? * * * * * Nioba had been so sure of the hunters’ success, she led the Elders in making a victory celebration when captives and rescuers returned. A feast waited, spread out on the meadow above Nioba's house. Harps and drums and lyres sounded everywhere that night. Anstice couldn't escape the sound. Laughter and dancing met her wherever she turned. Yet she wanted and needed to be alone. People followed her whenever she tried to retreat. Her path was blocked by couples laughing, entangled in the sweet grass. That hurt. Tonight, everyone adored her. Her age-mates in other households, who had refused to even talk to her when they were children, now saluted her with joy and asked to become her students and poured libations in her honor. Five young men asked her to be their mate. Some Elders who had scorned her father for worshipping Verdidan,

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an unknown god, now asked Anstice to teach them about her mother’s people and ways and worship. She could ask the Kreefa to do anything tonight, and they would obey without thinking. Yet no one truly loved her. Anstice felt completely alone among hundreds of people who all knew her name and wanted to speak with her, touch her hand, share their meal and their joy with her. Phaon followed her with his gaze. His anger was all too evident every time a handsome young man stood too close to her. Anstice didn’t know what he would have done if he knew about the five who wanted to be her mate. Anstice wished she could laugh, but knew Phaon wasn’t truly jealous. He didn't love her. He wanted her body. He wanted an alliance like kings who gave their daughters in marriage and took the daughters of kings in marriage, to bind together two powers. Phaon needed her to keep the Kreefa united, so they could fight Lycaon. Anstice wanted someone to hold her tonight. Someone to let her cry in his arms, and kiss her, and share his warmth to drive away the cold eating at her from deep inside. She was afraid to revel in the adoration the people showered on her.

Memories of

childhood taunting and being ignored were far stronger than the present reality. She knew this glory and admiration wouldn’t last. At least Phaon was honest with her, which she found ironic. Anstice knew exactly why Phaon wanted her, what he valued about her, what need he had for her. At least the hunger they shared for each other’s bodies was honest. He saw her as a woman, while others saw her as an icon, a gift, a miracle. Even a goddess. She was the Red Queen. Did anyone besides her grandmother and a few cousins even remember her name was Anstice? Anstice knew taking Phaon as her mate would be a wise and good thing. Something a good queen would do. Should she take him as her mate? She knew she would enjoy herself, but then leaving the Kreefa when they were safe would be so much harder. Like skinning herself alive. * * * * * Despite the evidence of their danger from Lycaon, coordinating the households to

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defend themselves while the warriors attacked Arkady and Lycaon was harder than swimming in sand. Anstice and Phaon traveled from one household to another, again and again, talking with Elders and answering their questions, their fears, solving problems and promising to look for answers. She admired Phaon for his clear thinking and calm manner.

He had learned

diplomacy. Where she would have raged against the foolishness and fears of the people she tried to save, Phaon showed them respect and listened, even if they repeated themselves twenty times. Anstice liked this man, who had grown up from such poisoned roots. She liked listening and watching him work with his men. Anstice understood why they were loyal. Phaon commanded by holding their respect, not their fear. The full moon approached, and as the moon grew larger and brighter in the sky, Anstice still ached for the acceptance that evaded her. They still whispered behind her back. Young women her own age didn’t seek her out to be friends, as she had dreamed when she was a child. Instead of taunting her, they grew pale and quiet when she walked by. No one wanted to speak with her of ordinary, everyday gossip and family matters. No one but her own cousins seemed interested in sharing the simple fabric of their lives with Anstice, and even Iona kept turning conversations to her discipline exercises. Would she ever be welcome among them simply as she was, rather than for what she could give them? The young men, however, fulfilled Anstice’s sweetest dream, and she found it bitter. Every day, young men waited at the gate of Nioba’s household with gifts, either in the morning mists, or in the scarlet and golden light of sunset as Anstice returned home. All wanted to be her mate. Few ever looked her in the eyes. Only a few smelled of hunger for her body. Some smelled of fear, awe, or lust for power. Some boasted of their skills in the hunt, and how they could provide for her and their children. Anstice’s stomach churned at the thought of letting any of them touch her intimately enough to conceive children. Anstice refused them all gently, some sadly. She felt none of the aching, the turmoil, the hunger she felt when Phaon repeatedly asked and demanded that she be his. She roamed the mountains as a wolf in every free moment, to be alone. She kept to the shadows, staying out of the breeze so it wouldn't carry her scent to anyone. She didn't

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want to be found. She didn’t want to remember that when the full moon came, she would be alone while everyone else had a lover waiting. “I don't hate him,” she whispered in the gray light of morning, two days before the full moon. Her scent didn’t reek of the sulfur taint of deception. “I like him. I respect him. We work well together.” She swallowed hard, terrified of the words that hung at the back of her tongue. “I want him in my arms. I simply can’t keep him.” Better to live alone, Dawn had told her, than to join herself to a man who could not share his soul with her. Phaon chased her or embraced her in her dreams, filling her blood with sweet fire and sending tremors through her flesh. Memories of her dreams came to her at the worst possible times. How could Phaon not realize what filled her thoughts, when she couldn't control her body's reactions? He didn’t really want her – just her body, the power she could give him as a tool. She would always be the Halfling, the odd one. Always suspected. Never quite accepted. When the Kreefa no longer needed her help, they would turn their backs on her, and it would hurt far more than childhood taunts ever had. The only defense was to leave before they drove her away. She had to leave before Phaon became disgusted with her. Better to leave him hungry and lusting, rather than sickened. * * * * * Phaon thought the Kreefa would smother Anstice with their adoration. He watched women bend to touch her shadow when she passed by.

Only knowing that Anstice

refused every suitor kept Phaon from killing every man who looked at her with hungry longing. Every woman who asked, Anstice took on as a student. She traveled from sunrise until sunset, visiting households, answering questions and helping wherever she could. She gave healing advice or made potions or salves for anyone who asked. Where she found the energy, Phaon had no idea. Every minute of respectful silence, every head bowed in respect seemed to drain the color and life from her. Phaon didn’t know what to do. Anstice never asked for anything, and that worried him. Where did she find the strength not to use and abuse the power she

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had over those who had once mocked her? The strange bond that had grown between them since sharing blood told Phaon that Anstice bled in her soul. He wanted to help her, as if her every sorrow was his own. That made no more sense than anything else, and sometimes he wondered if he were sickening or falling into madness. The only cure he could find was to throw himself even more fervently into battle plans. Once Lycaon was dead, then he would have time and energy for other concerns. * * * * * Every household had a handful of people who insisted that Lycaon wouldn’t dare attack Olympus. Even though he tried to make himself a god, he would never violate the mountain where the gods of Achaia lived. Therefore, the Kreefa would be safe. Anstice ached with a restless sense of foreboding as the beliefs separating households grew into chasms. She sensed disaster waiting to pounce and shred the Kreefa. Whenever she spoke of abandoning Lycaon’s destruction and simply fleeing Achaia, Phaon grew angry. She didn’t want him angry with her, so she kept quiet. When Lycaon was dead, she knew the danger to the Kreefa would remain, and then she could persuade the Elders that flight was necessary. She counseled herself to wait, and to support Phaon in everything he thought necessary. Then, on the night before the first full moon, Thoosa stood up among the Elders and asked Anstice when she would take a mate. Anstice held still, controlling her scent, praying she wasn’t as pale as she felt, drained completely bloodless. “You are the Red Queen, our hope, our protector. You are young and beautiful and it isn’t right for you to spend every full moon alone. It isn’t right that you live your life alone, your arms and womb empty.” Thoosa paused while the other Elders murmured agreement. Anstice very carefully didn’t look at Phaon. She nearly wept when Nioba, who sat beside her, put an arm around her shoulders and shared her warmth and strength. “You inherited your powers from your mother. Red Queen, you have a duty to your people to pass your powers on to your children. We ask you to choose a mate.” “There is no one –” Anstice began.

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“Every unmated male would gladly be your mate!” Nestor snapped. “Do you think you are too good for any of us? Is that why you refuse every man who asks for you?” “Too good?” Anstice thought her chest would burst, then bitter laughter erupted in a harsh shriek.

“I remember how so many of you wouldn’t even acknowledge my

mother’s presence, when we came to visit my grandmother’s house. Many of you mocked my father and shouted at him to stop his fool’s talk. A year ago, I was nothing to you but a Halfling. Would any of you even have looked at me?” She struggled to her feet, ignoring Nioba’s tugging on her skirt to keep her seated. “None of those men who have asked for me see anything but the prestige and power they will have as the Red Queen’s mate.” “You discredit yourself,” Tisiphone said, her voice dry despite the gleam of sympathy shining wetly in her eyes. “You are a beautiful young woman. A man would have to be blind, not to want you.” “Do any of them know my name?” More harsh laughter tore out of her when startled silence filled the circle of Elders. Phaon was silent, jaw and fists clenched, staring at the fire in the center of the circle. “Do you care about the welfare of the Kreefa? My mate will want to lead with me, and that would be disaster. I may be Red Queen, but Phaon is the one who will save the Kreefa. He is the warrior who knows our enemy and how to defend us against Human warriors. Why should he be replaced because someone else shares my blankets?” “Then take Phaon as your mate,” Nioba said. The ripple of laughter in her voice hurt Anstice more than all the taunts of her childhood. “He has asked you enough times.” The Elders were unanimous in their support of the idea. Anstice heard a few criticize her for being so stubborn and she welcomed those words more than the compliments the Elders often heaped on her. Why not take Phaon? Why not share a few moons of pleasure with him? Anstice knew he was the only male she had ever wanted, and he might likely be the only one she ever would want. Phaon was handsome and strong, a good man, a fine leader, trustworthy and wise beyond his years. She admired and respected him. She felt drawn to him in ways that left a pang deep in her soul. She could even love him, if she let herself. Was she wise to refuse

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to give herself to a man who didn't love her? Would stealing a few moons of bittersweet joy leave a wound on her soul that would never heal? She would leave, eventually. She would have to leave, before he grew tired of her. She wanted him. Wanted his touch on her skin, wanted his scent filling her head, wanted to taste him and feel the warmth of him pressed hard against her.

She had

dreamed of lying in his arms, the melting in her belly growing to fill her entire body. Didn’t she have a right to a little joy, her reward for all her sacrifices and hard work? Taking him as her mate would validate his right to lead. When she left, Phaon would still be here to protect the Kreefa. Anstice knew many beautiful, pure-blooded Kreefa maidens sighed after Phaon. One of them would take her place in his arms easily enough. He would never miss her. Strange, how much the thought of that hurt, and he hadn’t even kissed her yet. “Phaon, son of Odessa.” Her voice sounded hollow in her ears. The murmuring among the Elders quieted. Anstice’s crest fur stood up straight, reacting to the sudden alertness in the air. All those watchful, smiling, triumphant faces. They thought she would docilely take a mate and produce children to guard the Kreefa down through the ages? Anstice refused to bring children into the world to suffer as she had, unwanted except for what they could do for others. Let the Elders think they were getting what they wanted. She knew better. “Anstice, daughter of Staffen.” Phaon stood and met her gaze. His eyes were unreadable, reflecting the dancing flames, giving her no hint of what he thought or felt. “Do you still want to be my mate?” “I have never stopped wanting it.” He held out his hand to her, reaching across the fire. That wasn’t quite the answer she wanted, but Anstice knew it would have to do. She had learned long ago she would never have what she wanted. Never the feast, only the scent, the sight, the sounds. She would always watch others’ enjoyment and imagine how it would be for her. Always the dream, never the reality. She would enjoy the dream, however. Phaon would be hers and she would enjoy the short-lived sweetness granted her.

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* * * * * Phaon wanted to lead Anstice away the moment the Elders spoke the ritual words to witness their joining as mates. Nioba, however, insisted on giving a feast the next day to celebrate. She wrapped an arm around Anstice and led her back to her household, and Anstice never looked back or resisted. That hurt more than Phaon wanted to admit. Everything about that evening ached, gnawing at him with dull, hard teeth. Anstice had been coerced by the Elders into taking him as her mate. She as much as admitted that she was taking him to ensure no one stole his position of authority. She was taking him because she had no other choice. “At least she doesn’t want anyone else.” Alone now, Phaon smiled up at the nearly full moon, feeling the silvery heat in his flesh. Tomorrow, he would hold Anstice in his arms. They would share the fire of the full moon. He would finally taste her mouth in kisses, and he knew it would be sweeter than any wine. Her skin would be soft and smooth, growing hot under his touch. She would eagerly cling to him and scream his name with all the passion he wanted to pour into her. She took him because there was no one else she wanted. Anstice had turned down every man who asked for her. Hadn’t she told him she wouldn’t mate a man unless she loved him? Maybe Anstice had finally decided she loved him, and she was too ashamed to approach him? No, that didn’t feel right. Anstice had never been ashamed to speak her mind, her feelings, before. Why be ashamed to offer her heart to him? Did he have to court her, still, after all he had done to protect her and serve her? Didn’t she realize how precious she was to him? “I’ll prove it to you,” Phaon whispered, and spread his arms to catch the silvery fire pouring down from the moon. He would overwhelm Anstice and delight her. He would find the perfect, private spot for their first mating. He would surround her with luxury and ease her virgin fears, and then bind her to him with all the pleasure he could draw from her sweet, beautiful flesh.

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And maybe, just maybe, he would tease her a little, make her beg for his touch, in payment for making him wait so long.

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Chapter Sixteen Anstice watched Phaon, who glowed with joyous triumph, and he watched her all through the feast Nioba gave to honor them. She felt his gaze on her no matter where she went, whether dancing with her cousins or standing in the gate to receive gifts from unmated girls who sought a blessing. He watched her as intently as a man who feared another would steal his promised mate. She liked that feeling. She had no right to that feeling, because she would leave the Kreefa, and him. Did the strange bond between them give him a whisper of her intentions, and that was why he watched her? There could be no other reason. There was no love between them, no merging of souls. She anticipated the pleasure of mating with him, but she would never know the oneness her parents had enjoyed. So why did she feel this giddy sense of triumph? “Anstice.” Phaon caught her in the middle of the courtyard, as she cuddled her cousin Calliope’s twin daughters in her lap. The twins giggled and scampered back to their mother. Phaon reached down and with one hand brought her to her feet. He held a silver cup full of wine in his other hand, and raised it to her lips. She sipped, barely tasting it. Silence spread through the courtyard as the revelers turned to watch them. Anstice didn’t care, caught in the promises and hunger in Phaon’s eyes. The last streaks of sunset glimmered in the depths of the wine. He turned the cup and drank, putting his lips where hers had been. A few raucous shouts rose up from Phaon’s friends, in response to his gesture of passion and longing.

Anstice blushed,

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suddenly breathless. Tyrsis appeared at his cousin’s side and took the cup. Phaon held out his hands, and Anstice gave both hers into his grasp. “Sweet fire and blessings on you,” Nioba called, as Phaon led Anstice to the gates. She couldn’t look back. She wanted to pretend this was a mating feast like any other, and she was like any other Kreefa maiden, giving her purity to the man of her choice and longing, who entrusted his life and sanity to her. She wanted to pretend that the full moon waiting just beyond the horizon would bring the fulfillment of longings. “Come.” Phaon squeezed her hand and led her at a run. She fled up the mountainside beside him, the air burning in her lungs, her heart shuddering against her ribs. She thought they would go to a sheltered cave where a spring bubbled up sweetly into a mossy pool and crystals in the walls and ceiling reflected light and dazzled the eyes. Anstice’s cousins had been sure Phaon would take her there for their first mating, because so many lovers chose that spot. But when they reached the path leading to the cave, Phaon turned her to the left instead of to the right. “We’re not going there?” she blurted. Darkness like anger flickered across his face. “I hate that place.” He shook his head, as if shaking insects off his fur, then shifted to wolf. Anstice turned wolf and followed when he raced up the mountainside again. Phaon led her up narrow, steep pathways, some of which glistened with spilloff from springs that burst through the sheer rock face, to a plateau where a narrow cave opened before them. Phaon shifted back to Human and he smiled, stepped aside and gestured for her to enter ahead of him. Anstice shifted back to Human. “Why not the spring cave?” “Impatient?” He wrapped his arms around her. “The others – most go to –” Anstice liked the heat, the humming in her flesh when Phaon drew her up close against him. This was even more pleasant than any of her dreams. “They know only pleasure there.” He traced one finger up her back, lightly tickling the edge of her crest fur through her dress. Anstice moaned and melted against him.

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“Phaon?” He slid one hand up the back of her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair. The other hand slid down to cup her bottom and press her against his arousal. Anstice trembled, but she met his gaze, demanding the answer. Phaon sighed. “Kratos killed my mother there.” “In the Fever?” She didn’t need his short, sharp nod to know the answer. “Do you think you’ll hurt me if we mate there? Phaon – “She found it easy to slide one arm around his waist and raise the other hand to cup his cheek. “Phaon, you are ten thousand times better, stronger, wiser than your father ever was. No matter how hotly the Fever burns in your blood, I know you will never hurt me.” “Come,” he whispered, eyes bright, his smile wide, joy flowing through his scent so that she felt drunk and breathless and lighter than air. Anstice let him lead her through the narrow opening into the cave. She inhaled deeply, trying to catch all the scents that swirled through the warm air. The warmth baked into the bare rocks around the cave fought with the chill air as night took over the mountainside, swirling the air currents. Then from inside she caught the mixed perfume of oil lamps, fresh bread, apples and cheese. The cave was like a bubble in the rock, the rounded walls smooth. Lamps sat in niches, flickering flames casting golden light and dancing shadows around the room. The floor was lined with blankets and cushions. Baskets of fruit sat next to cloth-wrapped bundles that were likely loaves of bread. Four wineskins hung from a ledge in the rock. A small bed of coals glimmered in a niche that formed a natural chimney out of the cave. A clay pot sat half-buried in the coals and Anstice smelled meat cooking. Phaon couldn’t have done all this, because he had arrived at the feast at noon. He could have had some of his men, his friends, his cousins arrange this. Tears touched her eyes. She remembered how her parents had feasted together after the Fever ran its course. How they laughed, feeding each other tidbits, drinking from the same cup, kissing the drops of wine from each other's lips. She shivered, wanting that closeness, that sense of completion and satiation, just once in her life. Anstice took a deep breath to brace for … whatever came next. She closed her eyes

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and reached with her senses for the first silvery hot tendrils of the full moon’s light spreading across the landscape.

She was alone with Phaon.

They were mates now,

witnessed before all the Elders. She knew what he expected tonight. Why did she feel this strange mixture of eagerness and dread? She was the Red Queen. She could calm any male who might attack her. She nearly gasped aloud when a contrary voice inside her asked if she wanted to stop Phaon from attacking her. Anstice felt his breath travel over her cheek as he wrapped his arm around her waist. A core of warmth flowed up through her, centered in the embers of Fever. Anstice sighed as the flames reached out and wrapped around her. She thought she had never been warm until that moment. She opened her eyes. Phaon smiled and the Fever glowed at the backs of his eyes. Anstice shuddered when he lifted one hand and touched her cheek. Answering chords trembled deep in her belly. “Sweet, red Anstice,” he whispered, and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Don’t ever be afraid of me. The Elders forced you to choose, and I’m glad they did, but I swear on my mother’s blood, you’ll be glad I’m your mate. I'd give my life for you.” He started to lower his arm. Anstice caught his hand against her cheek, terrified breathless at the thought of losing his touch. “Do you want me, Phaon? Me, not the Red Queen?” “Forever.” His black eyes seemed to take in all the stars of the sky as he gazed into her eyes. All she could hear was her heart thundering in her ears. The world centered around Phaon's hand cupping her cheek. He slid his hand around her neck.

His rough, warm touch made her shiver

pleasantly. Phaon drew her toward him. Anstice tried to relax, tried to let him lead, but every muscle tensed to leap away. She closed her eyes, hoping it would help. Phaon's mouth tasted of wine. Warm, soft, then with a hard core, he moved his mouth across hers. Anstice felt her leg muscles go limp. She would have fallen if Phaon

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hadn't slid both arms around her. Somehow, that seemed ridiculous. She laughed, and the sound buzzed where their lips met. “My Anstice,” he whispered, and kissed a soft line down her neck. “You're mine tonight. You're mine every time I close my eyes.” He slid one hand around, cupping her hip, stroking down the side of her leg, then up, spanning her ribs with his fingers. Anstice gasped when his hand closed over her breast. He claimed her mouth again, muffling the sound. Her mouth felt tingly and bruised when he abruptly released her. She stumbled back a half step, breathless. Her moan of disappointment caught in her throat when Phaon peeled out of his clothes. He was already erect, aroused, and Anstice remembered her dream when she thought his manhood would tear her apart. A tiny yelp of shock escaped her when Phaon tugged up on the hem of her dress. She let him undress her mostly because she couldn’t keep her own hands from trembling. This was expected of her. She thought she wanted this. Hadn’t she awakened from dreams so full of hunger and need, she had ached inside? Why hesitate now, when Phaon’s every touch sent fire through her blood and drove the breath from her body? What was there to fear? “So beautiful. Like living fire,” Phaon whispered, and stepped back to look her over from head to foot. The awe in his eyes made her feel truly beautiful, and the trembling eased in that moment. When Phaon knelt and held out a hand to her, Anstice let him draw her down to the blankets next to him. “My sweet dream,” he murmured. Phaon cupped her face between his hands. Low laughter rumbled out of him when Anstice returned his kisses this time. Anstice released her control over her body, letting the moon’s power stir her blood. Warmth and longing pooled between her hipbones. She rested her hands on Phaon’s chest, then slowly let them slide down, smoothing her hands over his solid, finely-honed muscles, feeling the warmth and damp of the sweat that made both their bodies glow in the firelight. She welcomed the siren song of the moon and felt flames lick through her blood. Phaon inhaled sharply, growing tense under the gentle strokes of her untrained hands. She knew he caught the change in her scent. She could have laughed, but the churning heat in

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her belly took her breath away. Phaon moved her away to arm’s length, gripping her shoulders. His gaze moved over her body, as tactile as a feather's touch, like warm, perfumed water trickling over her naked skin. Her nipples tightened, the sensation spiraling down to her belly where sparks ignited like a torch dropped into a puddle of oil. Anstice leaned in closer to him and Phaon didn’t hold her away. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tilted her head to the side for a better angle. She touched her tongue to his lips, drew back to study his face a moment, then leaned in again to kiss and tease with feather-soft touches. Phaon inhaled sharply, like a man coming up from too long underwater.

He

wrapped his arms around her with painful tightness. When she gasped, he pressed his mouth hard over hers and invaded her mouth. She whimpered, control yanked from her hands when the game had barely begun. Anstice sagged against him as all her joints seemed to melt. If he could do this to her with just his mouth, what would happen if .... Somehow, she pulled back from him, out of reach of his devastating mouth. Phaon let her go only to arm's length. For several long moments they simply watched each other, catching their breaths, shivering in perfect harmony. “Scared?” Phaon smiled, but his mouth trembled. “You told me not to be,” she whispered. He stared at her until Anstice thought she would fall into the bottomless, glistening pools of his eyes. “I could die for wanting you.” He moaned when she moved up close to him again. “I don't know what to do.” Her voice cracked. She felt foolish, asking him to teach her how to make love to him. “I know.” A ragged chuckle escaped him. He stroked one finger up her arm, making her shiver. “It drives me wild, knowing no one has ever touched you before.” “How do you know?” she whispered. “The scent of a virgin ... is the perfume of the flowers in the Elysium Fields. When it changes, all the world will know you chose me.”

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When she leaned forward and pressed her mouth against his, her hands were steady and she sighed in anticipation even as Phaon groaned. He clutched her shoulders and claimed her mouth in a kiss that left her breathless, humming like a harp string about to break. He rearranged them so he knelt and she straddled his thighs. He cupped her bottom in his rough, hard, long-fingered hands. “I swore, I'd kill any other man who tried to claim you.” “No one will. After tonight –” She whimpered when his arousal rubbed against the damp warmth growing between her legs. “After tonight -- all the world will know -- I'm yours, and you're mine.” “Mine.” Phaon stared into her eyes. His smile grew even as she sensed the fire inside him explode like the amphora of oil that had burst in the fire in Lycaon's armory. He laughed and claimed her mouth while the sound still rang against the cave walls. His kisses sent waves of warmth through her. He rocked his hips under her until she felt the heat of him pressed hard between her legs. For just a moment, icy panic seeped through the growing pulse of molten desire and need. It was too soon -- wasn't it? She let out a tiny shriek when his exploring mouth moved in a swift, nibbling, damp line down her neck to her breasts and he captured a nipple in his mouth. Phaon laughed and then sucked on the hard, tingling tip. He held her tight, bruising her arms when she would have twisted away, startled by the strange, new sensation. Two could play at that game, she decided after many long, melting moments. She brushed her hands slowly down Phaon's sides, eliciting a groan, stroking and learning every hard line and angle, warm skin and crisp curling hair. Phaon only slightly relaxed his bruising hold as one hand roamed over her body, leaving fire in its wake, and his mouth worked devastation on her breasts. Then he clasped her under her thighs and lowered her to the nest of cushions and blankets with a swiftness that stunned her. Anstice started to sit up, reaching for him, when Phaon stretched out on top of her, crushing her into the blankets. His hands gripped under her knees, spreading her legs. Too fast!

She opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her with kisses.

Fingertips stroking through the damp curls between her legs startled a squeal out of her.

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She liked it, yet at the same time – Anstice screamed, yanked brutally from the sweet churning by the tearing, burning sensation as Phaon rammed into her. She instinctively raised her hips, trying to lever him off her, and only succeeded in driving him deeper. “Please!” She fought not to cry. Tears burned her eyes. “Phaon. Get off me. Please.” “Sshhh,” he soothed, even as his hands pressed her hips into the blankets. He tried to kiss away her tears but she turned her head away. He pinned her under him, freeing his hands to hold her face still. “It’s all right. The worst is over.” He kissed her, muffling the strangled protests. This was what came of giving herself to a man who didn’t love her. Hadn’t her mother warned her? Why did she think that wanting Phaon would be enough to make it right? She touched his mind, to slam him into sleep.

She froze, paralyzed by the

strangeness of being in two bodies at once. Pleasure coursed through him, twined with bittersweet agony. He fought tearing pressure that grew stronger inside him with every heartbeat. Anstice felt the silvery hot burning of the moon in his blood. “Anstice, hold still!” Every movement of her hips, trying to dislodge him, made the sweet aching in Phaon’s body grow stronger. Yet he resisted it. Why? “Virgins,” he snarled. “Why any man in his right mind would want – “ Phaon stopped with a strangled gasp. Anstice felt his shame, and then she glimpsed his grief. She saw through his eyes, wept with him, hated Kratos with him, as they carried his mother’s broken, cold body out of the spring cave. “Anstice,” he whispered, near tears. “I swore I wouldn’t hurt you. The worst is over. Please, sweetling, trust me. I only want to give you pleasure. Let me. Please.” Anstice gingerly pulled back from his mind as Phaon continued to murmur soft, sweet words, soothing her. His hands caressed her everywhere he could reach, drawing warm, tingling currents through her blood again, undoing the shock of the pain. She smelled her own blood, Phaon’s sweat, her tears, the musky scent of their hunger for each

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other. The stretched, torn feeling deep inside wasn’t quite so bad now. “Phaon – “ “Sshhh, heart-light,” he whispered, and kissed around the curve of her ear. She shivered, enjoying the sensation like chimes down her spine. He slipped his hand under her, stroking her crest fur where her spine arched off the blankets. A purr escaped her as every muscle through her body relaxed. “Better?” he asked, a chuckle at the back of his voice. “Better,” she admitted on a whisper. “The worst is over.” “Promise?” Phaon only laughed and kissed her in earnest. Anstice kissed him back, clutching at him as if he were life and breath in the middle of a stormy sea. She almost cried out in disappointment when his hips moved and he started to slide out of her – was that all? – then he slid back in deeper, slowly. “No. Ssshhh. Relax. Trust me,” he murmured, and slid his hands down to gently grip and guide her hips. Anstice closed her eyes and kept her arms wrapped tight around Phaon’s neck. She tried to let him lead. She thought about the moon burning with silver fire and reached with her mind to drag that pure, sensual heat inside. Gently, Phaon rocked her like the ships she had watched on the stormy sea. His fingers stroked through her crest fur, washing away the ache with liquid fire through her belly. Anstice clung to him, wrapped her legs around him, letting the rhythm from the foundations of the world drive away all thought and emotion, all sensation but that of rising higher on a flood that gradually, astonishingly filled her and carried her away to completion. Just before all conscious thought shattered, she understood what made her parents laugh and smile and put that glow in their eyes. She understood, and just for that moment, as Phaon shouted her name and collapsed on top of her, she wasn’t alone. * * * * *

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Phaon lay still, letting the scent of Anstice, the feel of her in his arms, the trust implied as she rested against him, seep into his body and soul. He wanted to crush her to him, force her to swear she would never leave him. They were mated. She was his forever. He had bound himself to her forever. Why did he fear she would flee now, after she had taken him as her mate? Phaon remembered the day she said she wouldn't give herself to a man she didn't love. Therefore, she loved him. He held back his laughter only to avoid waking her. He wanted to watch her sleep and gloat over the treasure she had given him, just for a little while longer. Still, the certainty that Anstice would slip away like the morning mists nibbled on the edges of his sleepy contentment. He was certain that in their shared dreams, he had touched on her resolve to leave the Kreefa. Phaon smiled at the memories of her eager participation in their mating. The soft sounds she made when he touched her, the hungry touch of her hands. He allowed himself some measure of pride that Anstice wouldn't want to flee him now. He would spend the entire day making sure she never wanted to leave him. He wanted her again. If he kept Anstice here in the cave until the Lovers’ Moon ended, it wouldn't begin to satisfy the need for her. Phaon suspected this devouring hunger had been growing in his blood and bones since the day they met. It would take the rest of their lives to show her how precious she was to him and to fill the empty, Ansticeshaped pit deep inside him. “You will be happy,” he whispered. “I pledge everything I am, you will be happy.” Anstice mumbled and squirmed against him, then went still. Phaon felt her pulse quicken as tension shot through her body. “Phaon?” she whispered. Bitterness nibbled at him. Who did she think lay beside her? Then Phaon pushed that thought aside. Of course Anstice would question. She had likely never shared a blanket with anyone before. Waking up pressed against another body had to be confusing. “I'm here. I'll always be here.” Phaon slid an arm around her and carefully turned Anstice so she lay on her back and he leaned over her, supported on one arm. He wanted to light another torch, so he could see more of her face than shadows and

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her big, luminous eyes. Touching, tasting, smelling Anstice wasn't enough. He wanted to see her smile at him. He wanted to see desire burn in her eyes. But neither did he want to let her out of his arms for the few moments needed to light a new torch. “Are you all right?” he asked, when she only looked up at him, her face somber and her scent carefully controlled. Phaon vowed he would find a way to break through her reserve. No part of her would be hidden from him. Anstice lay so still next to him, he wondered if she even felt the warmth where their naked flesh touched. “A little sore, but ….” Amazingly, a blush tinged her cheeks, visible even in the shadows. “Kiss me?” “Gladly.” He leaned down, intending a gentle kiss, but Anstice wrapped her arm around his neck and he stretched out on top of her again, devouring her with kisses until they were both breathless. “You, sweet Anstice, will be the death of me.” He laughed, inordinately pleased when she smiled at his teasing. “Is it too soon to feel this way again?” “Not soon enough.” Delight cut through him when her smile widened and her sweet scent showed only renewed hunger. “Promise me, heart-light. Promise you’ll use your power to stop me, if I get rough, if I hurt you.” “Why do you think you would hurt me?” Anstice blushed. “Besides the first time – but Mother said it would only hurt the first time.” “I mean, if I get too rough, if I ….” Phaon sighed. Even now, happy and warm, with Anstice in his arms and arousal pushing away the heavy, sweet edges of sleep, cold fear settled into his chest. It had followed him from his childhood. “You’re not your father,” she whispered, and turned onto her side, pressing closer against him. “Perhaps you should fear me, instead, with the power I carry in my mind and blood. Aren’t you afraid of what I could do to you?” “I like to think I’m wise enough to avoid angering you.” Phaon caressed damp curls out of her face. He thought about tasting her mouth again, and a low thrumming began to grow in his belly. “Even if you were the kind of woman to use your power without thought … the risk is worth it.”

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She nodded and closed her eyes and let him tuck her head up under his chin. She slid her arm around him and sighed, her warm breath tickling his chest hairs. “Would you want me,” she asked, slightly louder, “if I weren’t the Red Queen?” “Oh, yes. I like to believe I'm no fool, and any man who could look at you and not want you is the greatest fool of all.” “Don't be silly.” Anstice sat up and turned away, leaving a cold place in his arms. “I'm the Halfling. Most Kreefa wouldn't take me even now. They value the gifts I bring, but if I can teach other women what I can do, what use will there be for me?” “The Kreefa will always need you.” He felt a dropping sensation in his middle, a harbinger of troubles he couldn't comprehend. “We are a mated pair, now. They need both of us, and together we are even stronger.” “They will always need trained warriors.” “You are my mate. Without you, I am half a man.” He sat up and scooted over behind her, so his legs wrapped around her hips and he could wrap his arms around her and draw her back against his chest. “You are in my blood and bones. Without you, what good am I?” He turned her in his embrace and curved his torso around her, so he could see her face. “Phaon –” He stopped her with kisses. Anstice moaned and wriggled around to face him. When she opened her mouth to his kisses and dug her fingers into his crest fur, Phaon forgot everything but the need to claim her, or he would shatter and die. * * * * * They ate, slept curled up around each other, then made love again.

Morning

brought hunger with an edge of starvation. Anstice ached in unaccustomed places, yet that discomfort faded under the sharp pangs radiating from her belly. She and Phaon shifted to wolves and went hunting, hungry for fresh food and blood. They quickly brought down several quail before the birds woke for the day. They shared the chore of cleaning their hunt and shared the remainder of the first skin of wine while the birds cooked on a spit over the fire. The food almost burned when their lazy kisses and caresses ignited another flame

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altogether. They wiled away the daylight, nibbling on the birds and each other, dozing, then making love again. Sometimes they talked, planning the future for the Kreefa. When Phaon tried to turn their talk to their own future together, Anstice distracted him with kisses or asking questions about defense tactics. She didn't lie to herself that she had fooled Phaon. Eventually, he would realize she didn't want to consider their future together, and he would wonder why. He would ask questions, and she doubted she could keep the truth from him. After all, their souls had touched in their dreams. Perhaps taking him as her mate had not been wise, but she couldn't regret the decision while she lay in his arms. Even knowing the future pain she faced couldn't destroy the sweet heat that filled her body and heart and made her believe in a different future altogether.

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Chapter Seventeen Anstice was certain few things were sweeter than the feel of Phaon's arms tight around her, the sound of his breath in her ear, the perfect synchronization of their straining hearts. Phaon smiled every time he looked into her eyes. Every time she touched him, that delicious, musky scent of his lust for her renewed, like opening a perfume bottle. It pleased her more than she had ever anticipated, to know Phaon wanted her, enjoyed her, and a simple touch or a smile could make him reach for her. At noon, she knew they had dallied too long. They had work to do. Anstice reluctantly slid out of Phaon’s arms late in the afternoon and reached for her clothes. “No.” Phaon caught her wrist to stop her. “Not yet. Not until tomorrow morning.” He tugged her close to him and dipped his head down to lightly capture her mouth again. His arms slid around her as their tongues tangled and he stroked one fingertip through her crest fur. Lightning tore through her and her bones turned to liquid metal. She moaned. “How many times can we do this before it kills us?” Phaon burst out laughing. He released her, sat up and sputtered. Red in the face, his entire body shook until he had to bend over, nearly pressing his face into his knees. She decided to laugh with him. She snatched up the second skin of wine and yanked the cord and plug free, to squeeze it and shower him. He retaliated by yanking the skin free of her hands and dousing her in sweet, sticky purple rain. * * * * * They lay in drowsy, warm contentment, tangled together in the damp blankets. Phaon licked a last few drops of wine from her shoulder, then paused. Anstice felt the

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tension returning through the length of his body, like a harp string being tuned. Then she heard the multi-voiced chorus of wolves resounding up the mountainside and echoing off the peaks above them. As one, they shifted to wolf and ran, following their ears and their sense of danger. Too many places, Phaon said. An image flashed between their minds. She shared the same impression of trouble and cries of alarm, howls and the sounds of battle from several different spots. Phaon chose one direction and told her to go another. Anstice agreed and a heartbeat later, they separated. Anstice approached the highest arch of the beaten path that ran between the households. Hooves rumbled on the packed dirt. Her crest fur stood up stiff. She tripled her speed. The breeze brought her the stink of hot metal against sweaty skin, leather that had soaked up sweat and blood, and horses ridden hard and long. She emerged on a knob of rock overlooking the meadow below Tisiphone’s household. Soldiers in black had dismounted before she got there. If one band of soldiers were here, there had to be others, causing the outcry from the meadows and groves where couples shared the second night of the full moon. The Lovers’ Moon. Where were Phaon's sentries? She suspected they had been distracted by their sweethearts or had eased the Fever with wine so thoroughly, they had abandoned their posts. Alert! Anstice staggered from the effort, but she knew she had reached every mind among the Kreefa when she felt their response. Soldiers in black. Lycaon's men attack us! She darted off the knob of rock, back up the slope, to the nearest household. The urge to howl, to vent her rage and fear, burned at her wolf throat. Anstice knew better. Silence, despite the alarms already rising, would be in their favor. When she emerged from the trees in front of the gates and stone wall protecting Nerissian's household, wolves swarmed to meet her in silence. She reached for their minds to speak to them and let them speak with her, and found it deceptively simple, even though it drained her energy. She stayed in wolf shape, belatedly remembering she wore

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no clothes, and drew them all into her mind so everyone could speak. Anstice gave herself no time to marvel at how easily she did this, as if she had done it all her life. She sent the fastest children as messengers to the other households, to spare her aching head. Even as they talked and planned, more arrived, drawn by her call. In moments, they knew what to do and the Kreefa vanished to hunt the black soldiers. People would die tonight. That could not be avoided. The best they could do was to keep those numbers small and make sure most of the dead were soldiers. They had come at night, without torches, armed with bows and spears to kill and nets to take captives. Not one could be allowed to escape. Phaon didn't join them and Anstice knew through their nebulous mental bond that he faced a similar problem elsewhere. More than half the Wolf Pack came running. Most were bare-handed and barefoot when they shifted back to Human, and several had to finish resuming their clothes. They brought news that their fathers, who had followed Kratos, had attacked the households higher up the slopes. The mercenaries saluted her with a fierce light in their eyes, accepted her orders without comment or question, and vanished again into the shadows to lie in wait for the black soldiers. Anstice waited until the first soldiers came up the path to Nerissian's household. Memories of that night she had fought for her life flashed through her mind. Anstice welcomed the fury that cleared her thoughts and gave her strength. She howled and leaped, with a dozen wolves behind her.

The soldiers gaped, their faces pale in the

moonlight. She knocked her first man to the ground, broke his ribs with the impact and sent his helmet tumbling. She left him coughing up blood and went on. She tore clothes and bit hands holding swords and bows, clawed bellies and legs and bit at throats. She let her wolf nature have full reign and kept her Human eyes averted so she would not be sickened. This was necessary for the safety of her people. When the soldiers turned to run, they found wolves blocking the path. When they turned their horses to flee through the trees, more wolves appeared. The horses screamed in terror and wolves howled, their tones rich with laughter and malice. They killed three men before the first wolf fell. Soltis was a hunt leader. An arrow

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pierced his shoulder and the impact sent him tumbling backwards. Immediately, his mate and their two sons jumped to block the soldier who raced forward to finish the job with a spear. The horse he rode reared in terror before the onslaught of fangs and claws. Soltis's sister and brother shifted to Human and dragged him into hiding. Others weren't so lucky. Soon, the smell of blood made the air thick and hot. Anstice wondered how much of the battle ferocity came from the moon and how much was pent up hatred. She soon found she didn't care as she blocked yet another soldier from finishing off a wounded wolf. Blood soaked the ground under her claws and seemed to stain the night sky. No. That was dawn light. A fiery red dawn. With a shout, the remainder of the Wolf Pack appeared, mounted and armed. Phaon led them. The wind gusted from behind him. Anstice smelled pain on him -- bitter, salty sweat and blood and fury, and the faint, cloying sweet reek of death. “The red wolf!” a man screamed. Anstice turned toward the sound, dazed by the onslaught of fear stench. He stared at her as the blood slowly drained from his face. Had no one seen the color of her fur in the night? “For the Red Queen!” Phaon roared, as he led the charge past her. In moments, it seemed, the battle ended. Riderless horses fled. The black soldiers fell as easily as wheat before a scythe, mercilessly run through with spears, hamstrung with swords, their throats slashed by claws. Anstice knew the slaughtered soldiers were her implacable enemies. They deserved what happened to them, but her stomach rebelled. The night's blood and fury crashed down on her in nauseating contrast to the sweet, hedonistic night and day that had gone before. This was necessary. This second attack by Lycaon’s soldiers proved the Kreefa were in grave danger.

Should they be prepared to kill every soldier, every stranger that

appeared among them? Lycaon had to be dealt with, once and for all. Anstice fought a shudder of fury. For just a moment, she saw nothing wrong with

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bathing in Human blood and shredding Human flesh. Phaon’s mind touched hers, his plan clear. Anstice didn’t think to question, but sent out one last thought message to everyone, giving orders for the clean-up and tallying of wounded and dead. Then she and Phaon returned to their cave to wash and dress. Lycaon had attacked the Kreefa twice now. It was time for a council of war, and retribution. Tyrsis waited when they came back down the trail. He reported that no one was unaccounted for. Every horse ridden by an enemy soldier had been captured. There was one dead soldier for every horse. No soldiers had escaped. Of the thirty-four Kreefa men who had stayed in Arkady, twenty were dead now. “They attacked at the full moon,” Anstice said. “They knew we would be the most vulnerable right now.” “The traitors told Lycaon about the Fever.” Phaon cursed, his voice low and jagged. “We have to face Lycaon before he starts to wonder why his soldiers haven’t returned.” “Before he sends more,” Anstice added. She felt only weary amusement at the respect on Tyrsis’ face.

She and Phaon

seemed to think as one person, just as they had reacted to the alarm as one person. Anstice marveled at how well they understood each other and worked together. Was it a result of their mating, enhanced by the blood they had shared? She mourned the years they would not share. But now was not the time for such indulgence. Representatives from every household came to the meeting with the Elders. Anstice felt the maelstrom of emotions thickening the air, creating lightning totally opposite to what had remade her only a day ago. Despite the smell of blood, the bitter, flat scent of death, and more people arriving every moment, all was deathly silent. “We will not stand for this.” Anstice was surprised at the words that slid from her mouth without her volition. “Carefully.” Phaon reached out to grasp her arm. Did he think she would go running off to storm Arkady with bloodlust in her eyes and mouth? Then Anstice looked into his eyes and saw his anger turning cold and calculating. He was right. They needed to be careful. To destroy Lycaon, they needed to pause

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and think and plan. “He wants to possess the Kreefa.

Those who resist, he will destroy,” Phaon

continued. “We must do what he doesn't expect.” “Or perhaps we should give him exactly what he wants?” she murmured, as an idea sprang full-grown into her mind. Fury blazed in his eyes. Then Phaon went still and in his scent Anstice smelled the change from raging jealousy to bitter amusement. He understood what she meant. She was gratified by that flicker of jealousy. She would treasure Phaon's possessive attitude. It would warm her all the cold, lonely years without him. “Red Queen.” Phaon bowed to her and his shadow stretched long and thin in the sunrise that spattered the mountainside with blood. Anstice repressed a shiver, refusing to take it as a premonition of anything but Lycaon's future. Phaon’s hand holding hers was hard, cold, nearly crushing her fingers.

She

remembered his hands skilled and demanding and hot on her flesh, wringing cries from her. It was a warrior's hand now, not a lover's, and she was glad for this dual part of his nature. The Kreefa needed a warrior. “I was there when Lycaon sent you to be branded as a slave, and he waited to rape you. I fought at your side.” He turned to the Elders and looked each one in the eyes as he spoke. “The daughter of Staffen named herself queen that night. Queen of Night and Blood. I say, let her hold that name, and teach these villains what it truly means. It is one thing to kill in a war, to take slaves and geld boys and destroy families. It is another to threaten an entire people who are no danger to you.” “And threaten gods who do not exist,” Anstice muttered. That earned a few wry chuckles and fierce grins from the Elders. “What do you say we should do?” Nioba asked. “The Red Queen will go to Lycaon as a queen, with riches and a fierce escort. Before he realizes his soldiers are dead. The people of Olympus are protected by wolves, so let her be escorted by wolves.” He turned to Anstice, his eyes fierce. “The golden wolf shall walk by her side and sleep at her feet and Lycaon will die the moment he raises a hand against her.”

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* * * * * Phaon scavenged through the households of the Kreefa for jewels and fine clothes. When their war party approached Arkady’s gates, Anstice wore the wealth of kings on her fingers, wrists, ankles and around her neck. Her hair was braided stiff with pearls and precious stones, and she wore silver rings for protection on every toe and finger. You are indeed a queen, Phaon told her, with laughter rich in his mental voice. “Would my father be proud?” she whispered. He would laugh, loud enough to echo off all the mountains. He would say that with you, there would be no need for the entire Wolf Pack, and all our enemies would die of fright. “Lycaon will not die of fright.” Anstice wanted to nestle safe in his arms. She grudged the necessity for Phaon to stay a wolf while they were in the city, until this battle had ended. She wanted his arms around her. She wanted to taste his passion and hunger in his kisses and feel the weight of him crush her body into her blankets. Only Phaon's heat could drive away the cold that filled her. Fear nothing. Phaon's touch on her soul soothed, but couldn't warm her. You are my mate and my queen. Not one hair on your head will be harmed. Anstice wished he could kiss her, to take the nauseating taste of uncertainty from her mouth.

Lycaon would indeed do his worst, and she feared more than just their

enemy's blood would be spilled before this tragedy ended. The Kreefa riding escort were all silver-haired, but they had been born silver-haired. Until someone saw the wolves, two trotting alongside each rider, they gave the appearance of a rich woman with ten aged servants. Anstice looked straight ahead, never glancing to the right or to the left as she rode through the gates of Lycaon's city. She remembered the last time, sneaking in shadows, vengeance bitter in her mouth, sickened by sorrow and anger. There was innocent blood to be recompensed, and she had been chosen by Fate to bring vengeance into the enemy's lap. When they rode through the palace gates, Lycaon’s slaves came forward to take their horses. The wolves snarled and bared their teeth, driving them away. “Show my servants where to go,” Anstice said as she dismounted. She ignored the

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trembling slave who held out a hand to help her down. Phaon moved forward and shoved the old man with his head and he stumbled away, his wrinkled face whiter than clouds. “Give warning that no one shall touch my horses except my own people. The wolves shall exact payment for any disobedience.” She rested her hand on the ruff of fur on Phaon's neck. Slaves and courtiers scattered before them as Anstice followed a soldier into the palace, with Phaon at her side. You smell amused, Phaon thought to her. Confidence is a trap. He turned his head and licked her wrist. Anstice shivered at the caress, remembering what his tongue had done in passion. The steward met them and glanced askance at Anstice. She smelled the fear in his scent when she walked with the golden wolf at her side. Be ready, Anstice called with all the force her mind could muster. Faintly, she heard acknowledgement from the Kreefa waiting outside. They knew the palace, either from having been there as part of the Wolf Pack, or from sketches Phaon had made, and would come to her at a moment's notice. When they reached the garden where Lycaon waited, the stink of madness overwhelmed her. The last time she had been here, the scent had only been a faint, teasing presence in the wind. Lycaon’s eyes burned brightly, sunken into dark pits. His midnight hair hung in dirty clumps instead of being neatly combed and curled and oiled. His white robes showed stains from wine and oil, grease and dirt. He slouched in his throne-like chair and watched from under swollen lids as they approached. “My treasure,” he cooed. “At last, you dress as befits a queen.” A chuckle escaped him, no longer the deep rumble of triumph but something like a giggle. “Your threats forced me to claim a position of power to survive.” Anstice threaded her fingers through the thick fur around Phaon's neck. “Threats? My precious one, I would never harm you. Who has lied to you, to poison your heart toward me?” He shook his head and sighed heavily and sat upright. “Tonight we will celebrate our marriage bed, and you will never fear again.” “I will never fear you again, that is true.”

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“Kiss me, my darling one.” He spread his arms. “The kiss of death is all I will ever give you.” Anstice smiled when Phaon stepped before her and bared his fangs. Lycaon still had enough sanity to go white and sink back into his cushions. “Why do you bring that beast with you?” “He is not a beast. He is my mate.” “Impossible. It is still day. Your kind cannot become wolves except in darkness.” He drew his feet up off the pavement when Phaon growled louder and took a step closer to him. He’s a fool. He thinks we’re creatures of magic and moonlight. Phaon's mind-voice rang with laughter. We are. True. But not ruled by the moon. Kratos had the sense to lie about that. The gods do not exist, and so Lycaon has claimed, but does he truly believe that? I think not! Anstice laughed when she saw Phaon's plan in his thoughts.

She mind-called

several of their number, and in moments she heard distant shouts and screams. Wolves threaded their way through the palace, swift and silent, letting no one and nothing stop them. “I bring you warning, Lycaon of Arkady. You will never set foot on Olympus, the sacred mountain. You will never again harass my people, the servants of the great ones who move unseen among us.” “Great ones,” Lycaon scoffed. “What foolishness is this?” “Only the truth.” Anstice saw movement at the edges of her vision. Six Kreefa entered the garden as wolves and crept into position, hidden from sight by bushes and benches and statues. “Be warned, Lycaon, King of Arkady,” boomed barrel-chested Sostenes as he rose from the bushes in Human form. More than one peasant who had ventured too far up the mountain had mistaken him for Zeus, with his gray eyes, thick black ringlets and penetrating voice. “Learn fear and be wise,” Helena called, stepping out from behind a pillar. She took

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a borrowed war helmet off her head, revealing her black hair and gray eyes. “Bow to our father, our true king, and save your life.” The other four said nothing as they appeared as if from nowhere, but Lycaon startled when he saw them. Helena could be mistaken for Athena, Anstice didn’t care who Lycaon thought the other four Kreefa were, as long as he thought they were gods. To his credit, Lycaon recovered quickly from the scare they gave him. He struggled to stand, and bowed to the newcomers. “You do not give me your names. Have I committed some breach of hospitality that you punish me with your silence?” “You must prove your wisdom and worthiness by guessing our true names,” Helena replied. “Ah. A test. Yes, we will prove our worthiness.” Lycaon nodded. Sweat spotted his forehead, and Anstice knew he finally feared for his life. Perhaps sanity returned. “We shall pass your test, and you shall feast with me tonight as I claim my bride” * * * * * “Something is very wrong,” Phaon muttered. Sostenes nodded and looked around the feasting hall where they had been left alone just a short time ago. With a glance, he asked permission and Phaon nodded. The big man shifted back to wolf and took up watch at the main door. Phaon smelled corruption hidden under rare and expensive perfume. He felt it trembling in the ground under his feet, sizzling in the air like lightning waiting to be born. He glanced at the long couch set up in the middle of the ring of tables, spread with enough blankets and pillows to serve a dozen harlots. It wouldn't surprise him to hear the mad king planned to bed his bride in front of witnesses. Phaon swore he would rip out Lycaon's throat with his fangs before the man laid one hand on Anstice. Anstice sat quietly, her brow furrowed with thought, her back straight and her hands neatly folded in her lap. Dressed richly as she was, Phaon agreed with Lycaon in one thing -- she did indeed look like a queen. He admired her poise and strength and calm. He would gladly throw himself between her and danger, even if she hadn't claimed him as

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her mate. He loved her. Anstice had given him more than the sweetness of her body when she made him tremble with her first hesitant, fumbling attempts at lovemaking. She had validated the role of war leader that he had taken among the Kreefa. She had given him her trust, her support and her love. Her innocence awed him at times, and he wondered what he had ever done to be worthy to hold her in his arms at night. All during the journey to Arkady, he had taken sentry duty simply for the pleasure of watching her sleep. He swore he would live to guard her. He swore to Verdidan, whom she worshipped, that he would never let any danger touch her. Phaon shook his head to fight this tendency to wander in his thoughts. The feast would start soon and then they would know how to act, what to say and do. He smiled, baring his teeth, as he pictured exactly what they needed to do to dismantle Lycaon's plan.

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Chapter Eighteen Lycaon entered his feasting hall with four of his seven concubines to discover his guests had rearranged the tables, removed the couch from the center of the room, and replaced their dining couches with upright chairs. Anstice sat at the middle of the long table with the men on her right and the women on her left and Phaon once again a wolf at her side. Anstice did not stand when Lycaon crossed the empty center of the room. She held her face impassive in response to the upset flush that darkened his cheeks.

He said

nothing, and she silently congratulated Phaon on his tactics. Then slaves entered the room carrying torches. The too-sweet scent of the burning oil reached her nose. The air tasted and felt thick, and her stomach dropped in response. He drugs the air. Phaon howled and dashed for the door.

The other wolves outside the palace

answered his howls and several came running down the hallways. Anstice tracked their progress by the shrieks of serving women and the yelps of men. Serving platters and pottery crashed. She fought another smile, guessing what Phaon intended. Two wolves each took up guard duty on the very threshold of the four doorways leading into the feasting hall. No one could close a door without a wolf baring teeth and growling at them. Fresh air drifted through the hall, removing the drugged smoke. “My queen, what are your beasts doing?” Lycaon asked as silent guests filed into the room, followed by equally silent, trembling servants. “They are wary of anything which smells of a trap. Nets or cages or mazes, all have entrances which suddenly close.” Anstice waved away the serving girl who brought over

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an amphora of golden wine to fill the goblets at her table. “They are wise creatures to protect you so well, but surely they know you are safe here, in your own home.” He beamed genially at her, as if he thought she had made a joke. “This is not my home. My home is the forest. My roof is the starry sky and my couch is sweet grass and moss, wherever my love draws me down into his arms.” With perfect timing, Phaon returned to the stool set between her and Sostenes. He perched there, mouth open to display his fangs. Anstice stroked his head and down his sleek, muscled back. She remembered how he had moaned and bucked when she stroked his crest fur, and the sensations that stole her breath when he returned the favor. How soon until they could love again? “Your love? But I am your love.” He tried to laugh. “Do not torment me with jealous fears, my queen.” “I am not your queen, and you shall never defile my home with the touch of your foot or your foul breath.” A few chuckles whispered through the room, distracting Lycaon before he could respond. The tables were now filled with guests and it was impossible to tell who had laughed. “How odd.” Helena leaned closer to Anstice. “Didn't Phaon say all the concubines attended him at feasts? Where are the other three?” Musicians entered the dining hall with lyres, flutes and drums. They played while jugglers, tumblers and dancers cavorted around the empty center of the room. Anstice stroked Phaon's back and speculated on what those entertainers would have done if the couch had remained there. There was no invocation to the gods, no spilling of wine in libation before the baskets of bread were brought in. Anstice watched the other guests and saw the servants served them from different vessels than those serving her and her companions. Had the food been tainted with potions to steal their will? She refused wine every time it was brought, and the others followed her example. “My honored guests. My beloved bride. May the gods indeed walk among us tonight,” Lycaon called, interrupting the murmurs of his guests as servants served platters

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of meat. He raised his cup high, slopping wine over the side so it stained his white robes like watered blood. Anstice shivered at a premonition and wondered at the intensity of his eyes. “It's nearly raw,” Sostenes whispered, as the servants dropped thick, limp slices of meat onto their platters. Anstice felt her throat tighten and she nodded, watching the slow pooling of blood and juices. It was one thing to eat raw meat when she was wolf; another when she had a woman's taste and teeth and stomach. The meat was scorched on the outside, as if it had been dropped onto the coals and hastily removed. Lycaon watched them. Anstice knew this was a test. Did he serve raw meat because he believed them beasts with Human skins? Calling on all her cold dignity, Anstice picked up the thinnest slice, the most vibrantly red, between forefinger and thumb. She cocked her hand to keep the blood from dripping on her rich robes. Then the scent of the blood filled her head. As a healer, she knew the difference between the scent of blood from beasts, and from Humans. Human flesh! Anstice shrieked the mind-call so that every Kreefa on the highest peaks of Olympus would hear and know the monstrous thing Lycaon had done. “Vile beast!” Sostenes thundered as he erupted to his feet. At the sound of his voice, the entire room rocked and silenced. “You forfeit your soul. You forfeit your life. Your kingdom. May you never find rest from this moment onward!” “You feed your guests Human flesh,” Helena said, standing. “The flesh of your concubines,” Anstice spat as horrified understanding filled her. Burn the palace down! The wolves in the doorways howled in chorus, making Anstice's skin crawl. They fled through the palace. Slaves screamed, marking their progress down the halls. Phaon shifted to Human. He vaulted the table and stalked across the intervening space to where Lycaon sat, frozen and staring, an incomprehensible smile on his face. The guests shouted and screamed and stumbled over each other to flee. The six

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Kreefa shifted to wolf and drove the guests, concubines and servants before them. “My queen.” Lycaon laughed, ignoring Phaon. “What riches you bring to our bridal night!” “The riches of death,” Phaon growled. “She is mine. She gave herself to me. I will destroy your entire city before anyone will take her from me.” “Come to me, my love.” Lycaon spread his arms wide. Anstice stood still, waiting for Phaon to act. This was his battle, his vengeance and justice, and had been from the moment Kratos joined forces with Lycaon and betrayed the Kreefa. “Mine.” Phaon swung hard at Lycaon's face. Blood spurted and his nose cracked loudly as it broke. He staggered backwards two steps, oblivious to the blood splattered across his face and robes. The screams and the scraping of claws on stone faded as the room emptied. Anstice sent her thoughts out and watched the Kreefa warriors spill wine and oil throughout the palace, toss torches down on the fine wall hangings and wooden furniture, tumble vessels of gold, silver, bronze and pottery everywhere they went. Some people were foolish enough to stand and fight instead of fleeing, and died with their throats torn out. Anstice inhaled sharply, sickened by the sight even as she knew it was justice long deserved and delayed. “I will make you a goddess,” Lycaon cried, spitting blood. His mouth twisted in a furious grimace. He lunged at her. Phaon jumped at the same moment Anstice saw the long, curved knife Lycaon brought from among his robes. She shrieked a warning. Her mate shifted to wolf and crashed into Lycaon, knocking him sideways. The two tumbled over and over, knocking aside tables, dragging cloths down on them, spilling amphorae of wine, tumbling the stands that held the torches. One torch fell into a puddle of wine and with a whoosh like a mighty wind, fire streamed across the floor, caught on a soaked tablecloth, and spread up across a table. “Phaon!” Anstice leaped over the table that stood between her and the two men. They lay still and she couldn't hear them breathing through the growing roar of the

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fire. Then Phaon shifted back to Human and climbed off Lycaon. The demented king lay in a puddle of blood, wine and oil, his own knife in his heart and a gaping, glistening red hole where his throat had been. Phaon spat blood and flesh from his mouth and staggered across the room to Lycaon's table. He reached for Lycaon's goblet, but it was empty. Anstice found a full pitcher and held it out to him. Phaon filled his mouth and spat. He spilled wine across his face and chest to wash away the streaks of Lycaon's blood. He shuddered and spat out a second mouthful of wine. They gathered up all the cloth and shattered wood in the deserted feasting hall to bury Lycaon, then poured all the wine and oil on the pile before dropping torches on him. Then they shifted to wolf and fled. Anstice called their band and soon all had joined them outside the palace. The palace courtyard was as bright as day. The stench of burning flesh and boiling oil reached them, and Anstice thought it the sweetest smell she had known since her parents' funeral pyre. Home.

Phaon nuzzled her, and in his wolf's eyes she saw only triumph and

eagerness. Home, she agreed, and sent the word to the others. They fled through the city streets and ignored the fear and screams they generated. Their pace increased when they reached the city gates. In a matter of moments, they slipped into the darkness of the surrounding countryside, heading for home. * * * * * They slept by day, curled up together in dark hollows among the trees or sheltered spots washed out by the river at flood. They ran at night, covering twice as much distance as a horse at full gallop. Anstice wished they could stay in wolf shape forever. Life itself would be so much simpler, pared down to the basics of food and shelter and company. But then she would look at Phaon, always at her side, awake when she woke, keeping watch over her, bringing her the best of their hunt. She longed for his kisses, the hunger in his grasping hands, the feel of his hot, damp flesh sliding against hers, and his voice crying her name in the throes of passion. She might stay in wolf shape for the rest of her life, when

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she fled the Kreefa, but she wanted a few more nights of sweetness in Phaon’s arms before she left. She wondered if perhaps she had been tainted by madness, to drown herself in his loving, like a man enslaved by wine, knowing it had to end. It would end. When the Kreefa were safely away from Achaia, they would no longer need her and they would cast her out. Better to leave than to be driven away. Better to leave Phaon before his hunger and smiles and caresses turned cold and scorn filled his scent. She fled Phaon in her dreams and evaded his questions. During the waking hours, she feared his anger, his questions, and her inability to keep anything hidden from him. But Phaon didn’t scowl, didn’t scold, didn’t ask questions.

When they returned to

Olympus, he carried Anstice away from the celebration feast before sunset had quite turned to dusk. They spent that night in passion, in the cave where they first mated, until she thought they would melt into each other and never be separated. That would never happen, she knew, but it was still pleasant to dream. Anstice spent the next four nights in Phaon’s arms, though she dreaded what other people would say. Mated couples simply didn’t act that way. She told herself she didn’t care, because their time together was coming to an end. * * * * * Phaon dreamed Anstice was in pain. Every night, he woke with the certainty that she wept, yet when he raised his head to look, her face was dry. He told himself he was a fool, to question the sweet, hot hunger that bound them together more tightly every night, just as their easy, perfect partnership bound them together as leaders of the Kreefa. He gladly exhausted himself every night with passion, trying to express to Anstice how precious she was to him -- literally his blood and breath and flesh. Anstice welcomed his every touch, and he refused to ruin what they had by speaking his uneasiness. They had only been back on Olympus five days when he realized he had wasted his effort. Anstice wanted to leave Achaia while the weather was still good for traveling, while they could gather enough supplies to last them through the winter in their new home. The Elders shrugged off her questions and her urging them to hurry, and asked for more reports from Phaon’s spies. They wanted to be sure it was safe before they left. They

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wanted to be sure it was absolutely necessary to leave Achaia at all. Phaon waited for the day Anstice realized he had never intended to take the Kreefa from Achaia at all. She would be furious. He didn’t lie to himself that he could soothe her anger with lovemaking and change her mind with his skill in giving her pleasure. She wouldn’t be the Anstice he adored if she were so weak and so easily manipulated. He tried to talk to her in their dreams, where he knew he could touch her soul and convince her that the Kreefa were safe without leaving their ancestral home. She evaded him. He took hope from her hungry caresses and eagerness for his touch. She couldn’t stay angry with him for long, he would simply have to endure the break when it came. * * * * * The full moon came and went. Anstice listened to the reports from Phaon’s spies and agreed that the Kreefa were still safe on Olympus. The harvest was coming in, and in another moon the weather would be unpleasant for travel. Would it be so dangerous to stay on Olympus through the winter, spend all winter preparing, and leave in the spring? True, there were at least ten of Kratos’ men still wandering Achaia, and they could rouse another powerful madman to attack the Kreefa, but how long could that take? How many people had Lycaon told about his warriors and lovely maidens with wolf blood in their veins? How many had believed him? Lycaon’s madness and lust to control wolves had already worked against him. Because wolves had been seen leaving his burning palace, the tale had already spread that Zeus had punished him for his evil by turning him into a wolf. Anstice wondered how long it would take before men who hated Lycaon started hunting wolves in the hopes of finally destroying their enemy. When she mentioned the fear to Phaon and Tyrsis and then to the Elders, they seemed amused more than concerned. On the afternoon of the new moon, the Elders asked her and Phaon to meet with them. Anstice felt a little breathless with anticipation, because the Elders had not called a meeting since before the full moon. Perhaps now, something would be done, and her father’s plan would begin to move forward. Once the Kreefa were safe, she would leave. Anstice felt cold, suddenly. Had she been that eager to spend the winter with Phaon, she felt disappointment now? What was

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wrong with her? She had gone into his arms knowing it would not last. “Are you all right?” Phaon asked her, when they met on the walk up the slope to the meadow where the Elders waited. “Tired.” She tried to smile for him. Phaon would likely ask her to meet him for the night, and she honestly didn’t know if she should say yes. They had spent practically every night together since becoming mates, either in her room in her grandmother’s house, or in the cave where they first mated, or in his tent among the Wolf Pack. She could avoid the touch of his mind in her dreams if they were apart, but not if she lay in his arms. She should never have fallen into the habit, the luxury of sleeping in his arms, because now she didn’t know if she could stop without tearing out her heart. “You know what they’re going to ask us, don’t you?” Phaon caught hold of her hand and tugged her up close against him. She stumbled and he wrapped his arm around her waist. “No, I don’t.” Her heart raced. Why did she love his touch so much? This need for him would destroy her. She had sworn she wouldn’t give her heart, hadn’t she? Anstice felt everything inside her go still, as she realized what she had done. She loved Phaon. She wanted to stay with him forever, no matter what it cost her. I can’t stay! she screamed in the aching silence deep inside. I won’t kill myself for him, even if I do love him. He doesn’t love me. None of them love me. None of them even know my name. “They want to know if you’re pregnant yet.” “Pregnant?” Anstice staggered back. She had been careful, using the things her mother taught her to prevent conception, from the first night in Phaon’s arms. Her parents had conceived her in love, wanting her, with high hopes for the future. They could never have guessed the things she had suffered as a Halfling. Anstice loved her parents, but she would never put an innocent child through what she had endured. She knew the Elders expected her to produce a child, she had simply never thought they would expect one so quickly, or that Phaon would smile

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when he talked of it. Did Phaon want to have a child with her? She had never considered the possibility, and it made her want to weep. “It’s possible, isn’t it?” Phaon’s smile stiffened. “What business is it of theirs?” She barely recognized her own voice, turned shrill with shock and the ache that throbbed in her chest. “They want to make sure future generations have a Red Queen to lead and protect them.” He reached for her. She evaded him. “Anstice, don’t you want a child?

My

child?” Her bitter laughter startled her. She felt her throat burn, as if she had vomited acid. “Why would you want me pregnant?” “To create a life ….” He shook his head, then looked down at his outstretched hands. He let his hands drop to his side. “You are my mate. Part of mating is creating life. It binds us together. Don’t you want that?” “Bound to you? Bound to all the Kreefa? Like a slave? You can’t own me!” She flinched, hearing her voice echo off the trees and the rocky mountainside. “I don’t want to own you.” “No, you just want to make sure no one else can touch me. How can we make love when I’m pregnant?” She shivered, knowing she sounded like a madwoman. She had to shut up before she spilled her plan to vanish. Phaon would stop her, she knew. “Anstice?” Nioba’s voice startled a shriek out of her. Her grandmother stepped out of the shadows, with Thoosa and Heraclatus. They were also on their way to the meeting. “What’s wrong?” “I won’t give Phaon a child. You can’t force me.” “Dear, why would we force you?” Nioba frowned at her, but Anstice saw the other Elders stared at Phaon. “You forced me to take a mate. You think you can force me to have a child, too? My father raised me to lead the Kreefa to safety, but that doesn’t make me a slave, does it?” Vaguely, she was aware of movement around them, people drifting in to listen to them argue. How many people were on this stretch of the mountainside, and why did they

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all have to come listen? Anstice refused to look at Phaon, knowing he would be angry that she had embarrassed him. Good. It was high time he felt some of the ache she carried. Perhaps he might even miss her when she was gone. She knew suddenly that he had been lying to her all along. The Kreefa never intended to leave Olympus. If she became pregnant, she couldn’t travel. Then she would be tied to the Kreefa until the child was weaned. They depended on her not to abandon her child. She had to leave. Now. Tonight. But it hurt too much. “I’m your mate, and you’re mine,” Phaon said.

His voice sounded cold.

Somewhere in the last moon, he had learned how to block his feelings from his scent. He watched her, his eyes dark with emotion she couldn’t read.

“We’re partners – in

everything, not just leading our people. What do you want? Why are you so angry? Talk to me. You have no right to keep secrets from any of us. Me, your mate, least of all.” “I have nothing that you haven’t forced on me. All of you.” She backed away from him and swept out her arm, taking in her grandmother and the other Elders and the people drifting in to listen. Her voice rose with every step. “I’m your mate, yes, and so you rule the Kreefa. Just as your father dreamed. Isn’t that enough for you?” “My mate – “ “Find a new one!”

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Chapter Nineteen Anstice fled while the shock of her words paralyzed Phaon.

She ran up the

mountainside, but in the opposite direction from where the Elders gathered. Phaon took a step to follow her, but Nioba snatched and caught him by his belt, stopping him. She beckoned, and he followed her down the trail the way he had come. He walked looking over his shoulder, up the way Anstice had gone. Phaon felt the stares, the frowns, the speculative looks from everyone they passed on their way up the mountainside. Phaon took hope from seeing that Nioba didn’t scowl or shout at him. She finally stepped off the path and led the way into a sheltered spot by a spring among some boulders. “Is my granddaughter falling ill?” “I don’t know. I hope so. That would explain things.” He settled down when she gestured for him to sit on a boulder with her. “Maybe she is pregnant, and … why would she be unhappy if she was pregnant? Don’t all women want children?” He bit back the words -- Don’t all women love the fathers of their children? Maybe Anstice didn’t love him. He tried to show her how precious she was to him, but did she understand that? “The Elders want her to have a child. As soon as possible.” “They care more about her powers than they do about her,” he growled. Why hadn’t that occurred to him until now? “How much do you care about my granddaughter? I thought she was merely tired, with so much to do, but now I wonder. The only time she smiles nowadays is when you

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are with her.” That startled him. Yes, Anstice was thinner. He had teased her about it, but she had never responded. In retrospect, he should have realized it was a sign of trouble, because Anstice always had a retort. Did she think he was complaining? His head began to ache as he tried to think back and find other signs of trouble and unhappiness. “She doesn’t – she enjoys our lovemaking,” he said softly, half-afraid Nioba would laugh at him. “But she never comes to me freely, never seeks me out. I always have to go to her.” “So you think she doesn’t truly want you?” Nioba shook her head. Her smile held sympathy, not mockery. “You haven’t been mated long, and with so much turmoil and no chance to go far away and be alone together, everything is still so new. She doesn’t know what she wants. Most girls learn how to act with their mates by listening to their friends talk. She has no friends.” “Everyone loves her,” he blurted, surprised by the statement. What did friends have to do with Anstice being happy as his mate? “She is their queen, who saved them as a people, who joins their minds into one to help them fight. But none of them are people she can laugh and gossip with. No one to cry with. No one to tell her how it is to be newly mated and how to make her mate hunger. No one to tell her to demand pleasure when she wants it, that she doesn’t have to wait for when you want it.” Her smile turned sly and Phaon blushed as he hadn’t since he was eight years old and caught a couple rolling naked in the grass by the river. “I’m her friend,” he whispered. “I know that, because only a friend, or someone even closer to her heart, could make her cry. She still thinks of herself as the Halfling, an outcast. I didn’t worry for her, because you made her happy. Or so I thought.” “I’m an idiot.” He glanced up the mountainside. Somewhere he couldn’t see, Anstice wept because of him. He could feel it, as if he looked out through her eyes. He felt her pain as if they were one heart. If someone else had hurt her enough to make her cry, Phaon would have beaten him unconscious, or challenged him to battle, wolf-fashion. “True. But most men are. Especially young men. That’s why women lead our

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families.” Nioba’s eyes glimmered with humor in her somber face, taking away the sting inherent in the dry, matter-of-fact tone and words. “We need to talk.” He stood. Nioba grabbed hold of his hand when he would have followed Anstice. “She needs to cry, and then sleep. And then eat. You have work to do. Anstice believes the Kreefa should leave Olympus. So do I, and many others. I fear, however, nothing will be done until you agree and act on it, because the warriors follow you.” * * * * * Phaon thought he understood a little how Anstice had felt as a child, the outcast Halfling.

He went to the meeting with the Elders.

Every household had sent

representatives and it seemed everyone watched him. No one smiled. He saw questions in most eyes, and frowns on more than half the faces. Had everyone on Olympus heard how Anstice shouted at him and fled in tears? Did they all blame him? He wondered how Anstice had endured the feeling of being loathed and unwanted so long. He would have left the meeting if he could, but for the first time in his life he was afraid to stand up and walk away. It was bad enough Anstice wasn’t there. He wondered what business of the Elders wasn’t mentioned, because of her absence. No one mentioned the hope that Anstice would soon have a child to inherit her gifts. Other concerns took up the conversation, and Phaon was glad. After the meeting, he walked further up the mountainside, in the general direction that Anstice had run. He sat down to think and to watch the main trail, and waited for her to come past on her way home. Phaon barely noticed the silence around him. He was too far lost in thought, trying to plan what to say to Anstice, how to prove to her how precious she was to him. Should he say outright he wanted her to attack him when she had needs to satisfy? Tell her to say no when he wanted loving and she didn’t? Why should a Kreefa woman have to be told she had the right to pleasure and the right to say no to her mate? Nioba’s words rang in Phaon’s head and heart. Anstice had no friends to tell her the things she should know as a woman and mate. Her cousins, the ones who had always stood with her, were younger and unmated. The older cousins were too busy with their

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own children to spend time teaching Anstice how to be a mated woman. And what time did she have to learn, when she was so busy teaching the women how to change their scent and control their sons, brothers and mates? Anstice was always giving. There was no one to give to her. Phaon felt sick at the realization. He had thought the ache of being an outcast had been healed by the adoration and gratitude and loyalty of the Kreefa. He was wrong, he admitted now. He had likely been wrong about many other things he had never realized, and he would be wrong again in the future. His thoughts consumed him, so that he barely heard the low voices and the stomping of feet approaching. Then the wind shifted and brought him the scent of anger, bitter and spicy, just before a branch hit him in the back. Phaon jumped to his feet and opened his mouth to scald someone for their stupidity. He turned and stopped with the words withering on his tongue. Nearly forty men of the Kreefa, and all the Wolf Pack, gathered in the meadow below the sunny spot where he had come to think. The male Elders stood to one side. The taste of the air, the energy buzzing in the ground, the somber and angry expressions felt too familiar. He was on trial, just as his father had been so many years ago. Phaon thought of the pain on Anstice’s face, in her voice, before she fled. There were other ways to kill a woman than simply battering her until bones broke and flesh bled. “So, now you’ve decided Kratos’ son doesn’t deserve to live among you?” He stepped over the fallen tree that had been his seat, and walked forward to meet his judges. He half expected to see his father and his most vicious followers bound and kneeling before the Elders. This was how it had all started years ago. “It’s not as son of Kratos we condemn you,” Nestor said. “These men challenge your right to be mate to the Red Queen.” “What?”

Phaon would have laughed, but he remembered the witnesses when

Anstice shrieked at him. “She asked me. You are all witnesses. I didn’t force her.” “No.” Nestor and several of the Elders looked shamed. “We forced her to choose a mate. She would have taken no one if we had left her be.” “If Anstice wants to be free of me –” The words tasted foul and choked him, “– let

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her tell me herself, and then I will leave. Silence. He understood, feeling sickened and yet relieved. Anstice hadn’t asked for this. His own men were among his judges and accusers, and he wondered if they had agreed to kill him before Anstice found out what they were doing. Would she care? If she didn’t want to have his child, what made him think she cared about him? “I have the right of challenge.” He forced a bitter laugh and made a scornful gesture at the ragged rows of unmated males only a few paces away. “Do you each plan to fight me until one of you wins and becomes her mate?” “Not to win the Red Queen,” Tyrsis said, coming through the crowd. “Not to the death. Only to cast you out. And one challenger, not one after another.” “Should I thank you for that, cousin?” “I told them you loved her, but no one believed me.” His cousin tried to smile. “You do, don’t you?” “She’s my mate.” Phaon realized how feeble the words sounded. He had once thought that encompassed everything there could ever be between a man and a woman. How could he explain how he felt when Anstice smiled just for him, the glory that filled him when she slipped into his arms? It wasn’t about easing the Fever, but being bound to her, heart and mind and soul. That was what she meant, that first time he asked her to be his mate and she refused. Didn’t she know he loved her? Obviously, no one here did. * * * * * Anstice woke feeling sticky from tears, her stomach achy from emptiness, and sweaty. She had curled up in the sun on a flat rock high up the mountainside where no one traveled, and cried herself to sleep.

Phaon hadn’t followed her, hadn’t wrapped

himself around her while she slept. That had simply been another unfulfilled dream. She was alone, as always. Anstice scolded herself for feeling hurt. Wasn’t that what she wanted? A long swim, no matter how cold the river, would take care of her discomfort. She

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would go home and get something to eat before she went to the river, and pray no one saw her, because she didn’t want to talk to anyone. As for Phaon and needing him … she might as well get used to doing without him. Just as she should get used to being alone. Anstice vowed she would never let anything, or anyone, make her cry, ever again. Halfway down the mountainside, a trembling in the air drew her attention. She walked toward the feeling that made her think the ground was about to heave skyward. When she came through a barrier of trees, she saw the crowd.

A few shouted

encouragement or curses, but most were silent. Anstice heard snarls, the thud of bodies colliding. She smelled blood. She approached a woman on the fringe of the crowd, her dress open as she nursed her blond baby. The woman turned and saw her. Eyes widening, she took a step back from Anstice. Such reactions shouldn’t have hurt anymore, but this tiny bit of distance only strengthened the ache and her resolve to leave. Better to leave by her own choice than to be driven away. “What’s happening? Who’s fighting?” She kept her voice and scent calm and unconcerned. “It’s a casting out,” the woman said, her voice a furtive whisper. None of the people ahead of them paid the two women any attention. “Why? Who?” “Phaon and Dolios.” Anstice knew Dolios. He had been the cruelest bully of all when they were children. Now, he bowed his head, avoiding her gaze whenever they met. He stayed out of the breeze, visibly hiding his scent from her. Some of her cousins said he lusted after her, but Anstice doubted that. “Why are they fighting?” “Over you.” Fear made the woman’s scent bitter. She cast one wide-eyed, whitefaced glance at Anstice and hurried away. Anstice didn’t notice. She looked at no one as she walked through the crowd to the edge of the battle. The people parted like fat melting under a hot knife. Anstice imagined they didn’t even want to breathe the same air that she did.

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The last pair of wide shoulders moved out of her way. Anstice clenched her fists and stared as Phaon-wolf, sleek and agile and glowing with fury, leaped onto the broad, mud-brown back of a hulking wolf with a blunt nose and scars crisscrossing his legs and muzzle. Dolios, obviously. Anstice recalled hearing several girls giggle over his broad shoulders and scars. With his weight and strength, Dolios would have crushed any other opponent. Phaon had the speed and agility and cunning to best him. He dug his claws into his opponent, using his momentum to topple the larger wolf, and darted away before those gleaming fangs snapped shut on his leg. Anstice couldn’t understand why Phaon would fight to keep her from being cast out. When she was gone, he would be free to take a better mate. She supposed he fought to defend her out of a sense of honor, and responsibility.

Maybe he even felt some

gratitude for the pleasure she gave him. Would he fight for her if he knew she had resolved never to sleep with him again? She wished she could tell him he wasted his time, but Anstice knew better. That same sense of honor would drive him to stop her from leaving. She didn’t want to argue with him. She merely wanted to vanish quickly and easily, with no one to mock her one last time. She wished she could say goodbye to her grandmother, Iona and her cousins who were good to her despite her mixed blood. Anstice knew better. Now was her best chance to slip away while everyone was distracted. No one would even notice her absence until nightfall, if she was lucky. “Aren’t you going to watch the end?” a little girl asked, when Anstice passed her, halfway to freedom. “I know how it will end. Phaon will win.” She rubbed angrily at tears that sprang up at the mention of his name. The action earned whispers from a few people she passed. “Don’t you want him to win?” the child persisted, following her. “Phaon is the greatest warrior and leader the Kreefa will ever have.” Her throat ached with the effort to speak calmly. “Only fools who wish for death refuse to obey him.” She met the gazes of a few men and women who seemed startled at her words. Did they think she was a fool, just because she was a Halfling?

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Anstice told herself not to care, not to want anyone’s good opinion, and fled the crowd. It was a matter of moments to reach Nioba’s house and gather up her mementos of her parents, an extra knife, some food, a blanket. Anstice planned to head north, because she knew the Kreefa would not go there. No one would look for her there, if anyone ever would. She supposed Nioba might send some of her cousins after her. She would simply have to run as far as she could, without stopping, until she vanished from all Kreefa memory. Maybe she could even run far enough she would find her mother’s long-vanished kinfolk. Anstice wished she could leave a farewell for Nioba, but she knew better than to linger. She strapped her pitiful, small pack onto her back and slipped out the window of her room. No one saw her shift to wolf, and run. * * * * * Phaon’s knees tried to buckle. He bent over, bracing his hands on his knees, keeping his legs straight and himself standing. Sweat burned in his eyes. He felt bruises deepening all over his body. The pain wasn’t any less when he had been wolf, but the ground was closer. He fought for more than his mate and leadership of the tribe, so he needed to take his victory as a man. Dolios stopped struggling and moaning.

A sigh escaped his crumpled, blood-

streaked form and he went limp, lying in the crushed grass. Phaon held his breath, waiting for another to attack. Dolios had been chosen as challenger, to represent all the Kreefa, but Phaon trusted no one to abide by the rules. Nestor and two other Elders stepped forward to examine Dolios. Phaon almost wished they’d say the crude brute was dead. Too many times, he had wanted to pound him bloody for leering at Anstice, stripping her naked and raping her with his gaze. Maybe he should have, but another challenger would have come at him today instead. Phaon wondered if Anstice would be pleased by what he had done today. “Send for Anstice,” Nioba said from behind Phaon. He could barely turn enough to

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see her. All his muscles had stiffened like boiled leather. “Well done,” Thoosa said. She and Nioba came to Phaon with water and salve and a blanket to wrap around him. He had stripped down for the battle, and had emerged from wolf form covered in sweat. The evening breeze felt icy. Fall approached. “She was here,” a woman said. “My daughter spoke with her. She said the Red Queen cried to see the battle, and she fled.” “Where?” Phaon ignored the burning in his muscles as he hurried over to the woman. Tears from Anstice – tears for his sake – had to be a good sign. He didn’t care how close to broken and dead he felt, he knew he had to talk with her. Maybe now she would listen, and speak to him in return. The woman and her child didn’t know where Anstice had gone, but the girl repeated what Anstice had said about him. Phaon would have gloated any other time and relished the chagrin of those who had tried to take Anstice from him only an hour ago. Right now, he was more concerned about taking Anstice into his arms and keeping her there until she believed he loved her, rather than hearing her praise. By nightfall, no one had found Anstice. Phaon searched everywhere he could think that she would go, disregarding the aches that threatened to tie him to his blankets for days. His dreams of Anstice fleeing had become reality. And his personal nightmare.

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Chapter Twenty Slipping into the wolf mind was far too easy, and Anstice might have feared for her sanity if she hadn't wanted to flee so eagerly. Perhaps she had been mad all her life. She ran until her paws were sore and her muscles burned, then slept, to wake stiff and ravenous and in Human shape. Her body screamed for more sleep, but her dreams had been filled with Phaon, searching for her. Just as she had feared he would read her soul in her dreams when they slept together, she feared he would find her while she dreamed. Anstice caught, killed and devoured the first creature she could find and continued on. She vowed to stay in wolf form, to live in wolf mind, until she knew she was free. In wolf mind, she dreamed no dreams, and that pleased her. If she didn't dream, then Phaon couldn't find her. More important, she would never know that he didn't try. Anstice imagined his surprise, then his relief when he discovered she had vanished. He would miss her in his blankets, but she doubted it would take him long to find another willing girl to share his life. Phaon deserved some happiness. The jagged, seeping feeling where her heart used to be made the sunset hard to face, and dawn when she curled up to sleep even harder. She missed Phaon’s warmth, his arms around her, his smiles and teasing, and the illusion that someone valued her for more than her body and her powers. Anstice scolded herself for a fool, put thoughts of Phaon yet again from her mind, and climbed on. Every time she tried to sleep, she dreamed of Phaon searching for her, drawing

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closer. Even though she went to sleep curled up as a wolf, she woke in her aching, weary Human form. The fourth night came and she found herself in a grassy, lush, sheltered spot in the foothills. The soil was rich and the sweet scents of life filled the air. When Anstice found a grove of apple trees, she deliberately shifted to Human for the first time since she fled the Kreefa, plucked a few apples, and munched as she continued walking. She followed whatever path her feet found and watched the moon. When it reached its zenith and began to slide down the dome of the sky, Anstice didn't care. Her legs felt no weariness and she didn't notice the chill of dew when the first ghostly gray light before dawn touched the horizon.

Then she looked around and found herself on a narrow

plateau. Thick grass carpeted the gently rolling ground. She wandered across it to the edge, where bushes formed a natural barrier between the plateau and the sheer cliff face. Dew covered her legs and she caught strands of grass between her toes. Anstice smelled the tang of pine and the sweet-sour perfume of rotting apples. She watched the shadows stretch across the jagged valleys and ledges below as the sun rose, and wondered if she would ever feel anything again. “Did you come all this way just to kill yourself?” Phaon asked, at the exact moment a long streak of gold lit the bushes in front of her. Anstice spun to face him and gasped for the breath shocked out of her. She stared, unable to reconcile the sight of him standing there. Why had he left the Kreefa? “What are you – did you follow –” She clamped her mouth closed, turned her back on him and wrapped her arms tightly around herself to fight the shivers that took her. Of course he had followed her. What sort of stupid question was that to ask? She had obviously gone too long without sleep. “You led me on a merry chase.” “You shouldn't have followed me.” “I can feel your pain. Only a fool leaves a wound untended, to rot and poison the whole body.” “I am not in pain.” She snorted softly, almost amused at the realization that she felt

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practically nothing. “When did you learn to lie?” “Why did you follow me?” “I won't let you kill yourself.” He rested his hands on her shoulders. The warmth of his touch sent an ache deep inside her, where she prayed she would never feel again. “Kill myself?” Anstice barked harsh laughter. “I might love you, but I’m not so weak I’d kill myself for lack of you.” “What kind of love lets you leave me?” “I told you, I could never give myself to a man whose soul doesn’t touch mine. I was wrong to become your mate. I left to set you free – to set us both free!” “Our souls do touch.” He shook her. “Dreams aren’t enough. Passion isn’t enough.” “Do I have to die for you?” He wrapped both arms around her waist and halfcarried her backwards a few steps. Snarling, Anstice shifted to wolf. Her hind claws gouged his legs as she twisted free. Phaon made no sound. She caught a glimpse of his eyes wide with shock before he shifted to wolf and leaped to block her. She darted sideways and he blocked her escape again. When she resumed Human form, he did likewise. They stood still, facing each other, both breathing loudly. Anstice refused to be the first to speak. “I fought those who thought I wasn’t good enough for you,” Phaon finally said. Anstice snorted, almost choking on bitter laughter. Phaon was a good liar. He even smelled like he spoke the truth, but she knew better. No one cared about her, unless it benefitted them. “They would have cast me out because I didn’t make you happy – and then you vanished,” Phaon ground out between clenched teeth. “Fought? Why would any of them care if I’m happy?” Anstice felt sobs bursting in her chest, but she held them back. “I’m the Halfling. Nobody wants me. They need you, not me! I left so you could find somebody –” The words choked her, but she had to say them, even if she looked like a fool. What did it matter anymore what Phaon thought of her? She made herself face him, when her entire body ached to turn away. “Somebody to

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love.” Phaon stared at her so long, Anstice wondered if she had gone mad, and moments had changed to seem like eternity. “Anstice.” He made a caress of her name. “You little fool,” he whispered, and smiled. His eyes glistened with tears, and she couldn’t understand that, either. “Go back to the Kreefa.” She took a step backwards. “Lead our people without you?” Phaon closed the distance between them. He was close enough to rest his hands on her shoulders, close enough to kiss her, but he didn’t do either. That knowledge hurt like a knife twisting just below her heart. “They were never my people. They won’t go to the safe lands my father found. They don’t need me.” “So we should just toss you away like an old wineskin?” His voice cracked with bitter laughter. “Go back.” She took another step, poised to shift to wolf, ready to battle, if that was what it took to break free. “I can’t. They won’t let me return if you’re not with me.” “That’s … madness.” She took another step, unthinking. In that moment of distraction, Phaon growled and leaped. He bore them both down into the grass and pinned her, his body stretched full-length on hers. “Phaon, let me go!” “I can’t. I won’t. I’ll die without you.” “No.” The sound turned into a growl and she shifted to wolf and wriggled under him, trying to break free. Phaon turned wolf and stayed with her, knocking her off her feet every time she tried to take a step away. Finally, dizzy and bruised, hardly able to breathe, she shifted back to Human and curled into a ball. The tears ached and scorched at the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, even now when the tangle of her hair was a curtain. “Yes,” Phaon whispered, when he turned Human again and wrapped himself around her. “Don’t call me a liar – and don’t say I don’t love you.” She closed her eyes to fight the tears. They slipped from under her lids despite all

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her struggle for control. She could say nothing without making everything worse. If she stayed silent, refused to move, refused to even look at him, eventually he would give up. He would have to let go of her to find something to eat. He would have to sleep. He would have to move when his muscles screamed for relief. Then she would flee. This time, she wouldn’t stop to rest. She would run off the edge of the world. “You can't run from me,” he whispered. “You are my love. I won’t let you leave me.” His breath was warm and sweet against the back of her neck. His arms curved warm and close around her and his fingers wrapped around her wrists. He knelt with his thighs pressing close against her hips. The scent of him filled her head and started a familiar, aching need churning warm in her belly. “No matter where you go, I'll follow. We are joined in our hearts and souls, our minds and bodies, you little fool. You are my life. I knew you loved me when you took me as your mate.” “Madness,” she whispered. “Then you gave the madness to me.” He laughed, his voice cracking. “I’m just as much a fool as you are!” “Yes, we’re both idiots. Now let me go!” “No.” He twisted her around in his arms and dragged her upright, facing him. Anstice felt as helpless as a newborn baby. Though she struggled, he wrapped his arms tight around her, pressing them together, shoulders to knees. He kissed her, invading her mouth despite her struggle to keep him out. She tried to bite him and he jerked back, laughing. “I never told you I loved you, did I?” He laughed more when she pushed free and he let her go so abruptly she fell backwards, to sprawl in the grass like a discarded toy. Phaon followed her down to the ground and gathered her close, this time tenderly. “I thought you’d know. I thought I showed you my love every time I touched you, all the things I did for you. I never thought I’d have to tell you.” “You love me?” she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. All the times he had said the word suddenly collided in her memory like a thunderclap, deafening and

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startling her so she thought her heart had stopped. “All that I am is in your keeping.” A groan that was half laughter escaped Phaon. “How can I make you believe me?” “Tell me.” “I love you, Anstice.” “Again.” “I love you.” He laughed, the sound choked. “Do you still love me, after I was so cruel?” “If I didn’t love you, I think I could have stayed,” she whispered. “If all we had was the pleasure of our mating, and sharing leadership, I could have been happy. But I want what my parents had. That unity in heart and soul. I kept remembering how you laughed, the first time I told you that.” “I was a fool,” he groaned. “You are my love. You hold my heart.” “Tell me again?” Tears blurred his face. Broken laughter escaped her as she rubbed her eyes clear. “I love you Anstice. Forever and always.” “Thinking you didn’t love me, that you only wanted my powers, to make you leader of the Kreefa, it was like starving within sight and smell of a feast.” “We’re both fools.” “If you love me, I don’t care.” She slid her arms around him. A sigh that became a sensuous moan escaped her as they fit their bodies together, heart to heart, hip to hip, mouth to mouth, their legs intertwined, their arms locking them together so tightly it seemed they became one person. END