W&W Chapter 41

He burst out of his mother's tent in an awkward stumble of uncertain feet and girlish tears, the frost-blond boy who was usually so graceful and remote. For a panting moment, every wild emotion he had felt in sixteen years of life was painted on his smooth, flawless face, turning him almost unsightly. Many Riders felt Jalin's composure at his age was unnatural, even eerie. Downright suspicious, at times. If anyone had seen him at that moment, they would have realized he was a fairly normal teenager, after all.

The slim pale boy jerked to a halt with one last hitching sob, and then a mask of ice claimed his face. He spun gracefully in his tracks, and dove around the tent without even a furtive glance. Away from door and road, away from curious onlookers (although there were none). Away, and hopefully well hidden, from the wizard's pursuit. Because another look at the redhead, so alive and fierce and angry at him---it would be the end. He'd throw himself into Hawk's arms and confess everything, in a storm of words and tears. Swear to help him no matter the cost.

Jalin had a shimmering, fragile beauty that drew the eye, and caused interest among those not even inclined to like boys. And he'd flaunted that beauty once he realized its effect. Purely to draw attention and feel his own power, he admitted, Until it got him in a whirlwind of trouble., with several folk.

He could move like ghostly smoke, almost disappear if he wished. Do'nar had mentioned it in training. "Great Thor, boy! You're not much for muscle!!!" the big warrior had roared. "But fast and sneaky? Hell, you'll make a great assassin in the Eastern style if you work at it, haw haw haw!"

"I know that," Jalin said shortly, because he hated to see his trainer upset. He pulled a small smile from somewhere, too, since his remark didn't seem convincing enough given the tone. And Do'nar grinned in relief and bawled, "Well, don't just stand there looking pretty! Attack me! Only way to get stronger is to train hard, by Thor!"

Explaining that he took Do'nar's insult as his first real compliment would have been too confusing to the poor fellow. So Jalin attacked "like a man" once more, and got beaten down yet again.

He slipped behind a stack of crates that held decorative rocks for the spring planting of Foxmoon's herb garden. Safe enough place; even Foxmoon's Bonded wouldn't dare come near her planting tools. Jalin's mother was a kind soul, but she tolerated no big oafs mucking around in the mysteries of her housekeeping! And Firehawk---though neither big nor an oaf--was too polite to be digging around her tent for long, looking for someone he was likely to be able to find later on anyway.

After a few minutes, though, Jalin realized there would be no pursuit. He should have known that Do'nar would want to calm the wizard down lest the redhead blow the camp apart in a temper. Still, it stung a bit, that Hawk let himself be talked out of following. And Do'nar had seen Jalin act like a hysterical maiden---he cared for the big man's opinion more than he would ever show, and he cringed a little now. He knew Do'nar was proud of him for being so grimly determined to master fighting despite his fragile physique. Jalin supposed he'd lost that important approval all in five minutes, and that made things even worse!

He'd snuck into Do'nar's tent like a ghost on so many nights. Stood above the snoring man, amazed when his trainer didn't awaken. Do'nar was a seasoned warrior, not some raw boy! He should have leaped up on the instant, aware of danger and cussing his head off. Jalin had seen him jump awake while camping from an insect's buzz, alert as an angry lion despite hours of drinking!

Of course, Jalin had been using his illusion magic as well as basic sneakiness, though he hadn't known it at the time. And he had gone there at first to merely watch Do'nar sleeping; he'd longed to slip into bed beside the big warrior but simply hadn't had the courage. He wasn't used to seducing someone he actually cared about. What if he was clumsy or unpleasing, through his own damn nervousness?

But he remembered standing there that last time, staring down at the happily snoozing warrior. He remembered thinking "I could stab this fool to the heart before he even noticed!"

He'd been horrified. Not so much at the thought of killing, as from the pleasure he got from actually having such power. He ran away as if sand devils were chasing him.

There were others in his life who deserved such a death. He could have ended a select few of his former lovers and felt only a heady vindication at finally being capable of doing it. But to think that of Do'nar!

He couldn't return to his mother's tent of course, not after making such a fool of himself! And Nightwolf's home was barred to him as well. The warchief on his own was scary enough , but now he was possessed by something Jalin had no desire to face. And even if the dark creature hadn't twined around the Nightwolf's soul, still his response to a fool boy who had dared to yell at his Bonded like that, possibly upset the wizard even---

Very well, then. He could hide in Sa'thal's tent; his apprenticeship was excuse enough to go there, that and the right to use her library. Even better, he knew a roundabout way to that tent, mainly untraveled even at the busiest time of day. And perhaps he might work up the courage to ask her again about the horror of knowledge that burdened him.

Jalin unwound from his hiding place and cautiously slipped into the sunlight. Remembering a remark of Firehawk's, he made an effort to look natural instead of "so dang innocent any cop would bust you on principle." While not sure of the literal meaning of this remark, he understand the connotations well. Foxmoon had put it differently when she'd caught a younger Jalin thieving sweets. "That who-me expression wouldn't fool a drunken goose, dear! Why expect it to work on your mother when your face is smeared with honey besides?"

But his acting had improved with time and Hawk's occasional amused critiques. The wizard seemed to know teen-agers a bit too well, it wasn't that Jalin was obvious! Just that Hawk was---very astute. And he didn't seem to understand why Jalin needed to put on an air of indifference, anyway, though he admitted it was "typical of a guy your age."

Still, though moving casually he chose a somewhat roundabout route instead of straight through the busier part of the settlement. This, he thought, was "typical" enough---he wasn't a sociable boy by nature, and preferred to gracefully avoid the usual Tribal chatter.

He loved Hawk, but he also envied him for his effortless way with everyone. Hawk obviously liked people, strange enough to Jalin's thinking. But like them or not, he didn't seem to hold false expectations of them being saintly or even nice. And he certainly wasn't afraid of anyone's opinion! He would insult a dangerous man like Do'nar openly---he always did everything openly come to think, straight to your face and looking you dead in the eye---and not only avoid trouble but actually make the victim laugh and like it. Even when his target took offense, Firehawk didn't worry about that. If he had something to say, out it came; if someone got annoyed at his remarks he considered it that poor soul's problem not his. "Screw 'em if they can't take a joke," was his motto.

Damn. Maybe knowing Hawk was, in fact, a healing thing. The wizard was, after all, Lord of the Northern Land and its people. Lost in the memories of Hawk as a bedmate, the way his eyes changed from brilliant emerald to the heavy green of secret forests when you touched him right, Jalin sometimes forgot that.

The thought came from nowhere. It almost seemed to come from Hawk, though Jalin knew that couldn't be true. Still, Jalin spoke to him in thought. I'll try to do better, he vowed silently. See the funny in stuff, as you said I should. And I'll help you with that shield no matter what, if you'll even accept my aid after this!

He reached mentally into the tent as he approached it, to touch Sa'thal's thoughts and request entrance that way rather than hailing the tent with a shout. Yelling at a building made him feel stupid even when he wasn't trying to pass unnoticed. But to his surprise and annoyance the quick, impatient rustle of her mind was absent.

This was unusal; except for trips to the sacred grove, the woman rarely moved from the structure. "I've lived homeless," she'd declared. "I've lived in my fucking 'car' for months at a time. A place that's mine? I'm not gonna leave it without an emergency; if I need to shop or feel like partying, these bastards can come to me!"

No one, including Jalin, had really understood her remarks or the emotions behind them. Do'nar had speculated---not to her face, of course!---that it sounded rather as if she had been banished from her Tribe for unjust reasons. The big man was extra-nice to her because of this belief, which made Sa'thal eye him suspiciously most of the time. Jalin, though, took it to mean merely that she was people-wary and would stick to her own area stubbornly to avoid them----an attitude that made sense to the boy.

He wondered uneasily what "emergency" had drawn her out, but casting through the whole camp to find her would take too much effort. And also, to do so might mean giving in to the drone in his head; the nagging insistence that knowledge waited like a golden key if he only dared reach out for it. That soft, constant voice that challenged him to use what it could give. Not this time; he would find what he needed in the shaman's scrolls and books. Slower, true, but far less dangerous!

He rushed inside to the shelves of writings, so caught up in finding the volumes he sought he didn't even realize the tent was occupied until he was seized roughly from behind.

As he stood frozen in shock his ear was nuzzled wetly, and a slightly high-pitched but definitely male voice murmured, "Ah, little snowbird, at last! I hoped to get you alone again, but it seemed a lost cause in this campful of chattering idiots! Didn't you see me signaling you at council? Well, I guess you were busy with that sham of a Bonding, but still---it's been long since we touched. I'm sure you're just as eager to resume our friendship." The voice grew sharper, less caressing---something of a relief really. Though being released would have been even better. "My gods, boy---what happened to you? You used to be a soft, sexy little morsel, now I can feel your ribs under your skin! And what the HELL are you wearing? It's deuced unattractive, wherever you got it!"

The voice nattered on, and Jalin twisted uselessly in the man's grip with a sinking heart. Why hadn't his scrying revealed the presence of someone he would have paid good coin to avoid?

Because your search engine was too exact, fool of a human. You should have requested all presences in the area but you only specified your witchwoman. Part of the key to good fishing is knowing how wide a net to cast.

The reply came from inside his head, a dry analytical voice that shocked him even more than the arrogant presence of a former bedmate in the shaman's supposedly hallowed abode.

He didn't lose consciousness, this time. Instead, his awareness remained but was pushed neatly aside, rather like his mother tucking an unsightly but still useful item into a closet. Jalin felt his body move smoothly out of his control, into a long-forgotten evasive move Do'nar had taught him. The boy slipped from Sun Eagle's grasp with a silken, contemptuous ease.

He wailed as the dragon flicked at his Self, sending it tumbling in the direction of the High King's tent, he supposed. Help them? Yes! I want to, but help them how?

Jalin, a structured boy who felt more comfortable with a rigid plan of action, groaned inside himself. Whether from the lack of useful information from this so-called source of knowledge, or the dragon's purely awful imitation of Firehawk, he really wasn't sure.

The sight of the boy entering the tent drove him a little mad, he admitted it. Just as the first time, his body responded before his brain. Silver silk, all soft and helpless despite the frosty beauty, the cool crystal sheen of eyes like starlight reflecting off still water. Then as now, his rod filled and his brain emptied.

Then, he'd made those eyes express something finally; pain and surprise before they shut down into blankness. He still had lewd memories of Jalin's one harsh cry, and the way he'd bitten his lower lip bloody rather than yell again. Well, to master someone with guts was maybe better than to subdue a coward, although a little whimpering for mercy suited Sun Eagle's tastes better. But he had touched something that looked untouchable, and that had been satisfaction enough.

There weren't that many cowards in the North, anyway. And the boy had enjoyed it; he'd come the second time, hadn't he? He'd also silently accepted a gift of expensive jewelry, which counted as approval. The lack of comment or chatter, the downcast eyes, had been pleasing. Jalin knew his place; those who were not warriors were meant to serve warriors. Some newfangled people tended to argue about that, it became annoying quickly!

Still, perhaps jumping Jalin as he daydreamed by the river had been a mistake; Eagle hadn't expected him to be a member of the Shadow Riders tribe, with their stuffy beliefs about forcing sex on the unwilling or unwary. He just didn't look like a Rider; in fact, a child that pretty and fragile barely looked Northern!

Eagle might have argued that Jalin was on Lost River land at the time, but unfortunately that didn't matter. The Tribes traveled (and daydreamed) freely through each others' areas. Only if someone wished to hunt or slay an enemy on another clan's range must permission be asked. Because Jalin was in Sun Eagle's territory gave him no real rights over a lad who was just lying there. Well, except for the right of greater strength perhaps, but that was somewhat barbaric!

But the sight of the slim, shirtless boy on his stomach gravely studying the quick-flowing, chattering water had been too tempting. The twin moons had turned his hair to a sheet of haunted light, his skin to silvered velvet. It was like a man with a sweet tooth finding a honey cake laying on the road and no one around to claim ownership. Hold back from tasting and walk on? That would only mean the treat would go to waste!

And anyway, he'd worked hard the summer before he returned to his home tribe, both to make up the initial meeting to the boy, and also to woo his parents. He wasn't sure if a more permanent arrangement was what he had in mind at the time; of course, he desired to continue bedding the lad without family or friends becoming over-protective, but he also was being cautious. Jalin was just turned fourteen, not considered a man yet by the Tribes. That made little difference in sex play between children, but Sun Eagle was a full-grown warrior and he wanted no later trouble. He certainly didn't feel like he'd done anything wrong, but who knew what nuisance a peculiar tribe like the Riders would stir up on the technicality of age?

The Riders were stark loony anyways; actually claimed the High King had come to them that year. At the time, Eagle had been unimpressed. Of all the gall! No High King had appeared since Blood Wolf hundreds of years ago, and these fools assumed they were special enough to attract one now? Well, the Tribe's spirit animal was the shapeshifting Beast who stalked from the full moon, blood-drinker and flesh reaver. Who wouldn't turn somewhat queer, with an inspiration like that? Thank the Gods he came from the Lost River tribe! Their totem was the strong, fierce and incredibly tasty wild pig; none of these supernatural creatures that no man could claim to have seen! Everyone had seen a goddamn pig, there was no doubt it was a real thing.

Sun Eagle had not exactly met Nightwolf at that time; rather, he had approached the hulking, dark figure that was pointed out to him, intending to offer his good wishes (even if he didn't exactly feel anything of the sort, it was the proper thing to do!)

"By the gods, the bastard growled at me for introducing myself!" he complained later to the real head of the tribe, Do'nar. "Bent a look on me that my worst enemy couldn't have bettered, and snarled like a beast! *This* is our High King? I could find a better-mannered representative from the red bears who gave you your name, and Thor knows how mean those bastards are!"

Instead of sympathizing, Do'nar had given one of those sharp, squint-eyed looks that Sun Eagle rather disliked. The expression made him feel for all his twenty-nine years like a brat caught doing something brainless. "Well, why are you bothering him with such goose-grease anyway? Have you no sense? The man was ripped from his own world days ago, torn from whatever friends and loved ones he had there. Can barely speak our language yet, though he's learning damned quick---he's no brainless animal as you seem to imply, Sir Cluck-a-lot! How would you behave if everything you knew was torn from you and you were dumped in the middle of a new world? You wouldn't be farting daisies and smiling at the trees I'll bet. Or maybe you would---it takes a strong mind not to shatter from such things!"

"What?!" Sun Eagle scowled; Do'nar's tone was cheerful but the grin peeking through his immense beard seemed a little too wicked for politeness' sake. "Well, I'd have sense enough at least, to be agreeable to those I'd fallen in with! If he's going to rule the Tribes---which I think unlikely unless everyone in the Nation goes crazy!--he needs to learn some diplomacy, dammit!"

Do'nar stared at the fuming Sun Eagle for a moment. He pulled a skin bottle from his belt and took a thoughtful swig. "Why?" he finally said agreeably. "Just because you honor the skill of ass-kissing doesn't mean we need that in a king!"

The conversation had gone downhill from there, and finally ended in a fist-fight. Which Do'nar won unfortunately---Sun Eagle couldn't deny the big hammerhead was an excellent brawler! Bruised and seething, he'd departed abruptly, not even saying goodbye to Jalin. In fact, he didn't think of the boy at all till he was many score miles down the road. Then he shrugged regretfully; if he'd been less enraged he might well have urged the lad to come with him, he was so delicious in the furs. And such an impulsive act would have been a dreadful mistake. Aside from any trouble the Shadow Riders probably would have stirred up over such a thing, Sun Eagle didn't need to be tied down to a moody teenager, sexy or not. He liked to sow his oats a little wider in those days!

But this had not been a good year for Sun Eagle. He was high in his tribe but for some reason not popular. Whereas that imbecile Do'nar, also a War Captain despite his lack of charm, seemed to have friends and supporters to spare. Even in Sun Eagle's home tribe there were people who spoke of Do'nar with affection. The former berserker took his fighting serious in those days and he chased Southerners with other tribes as well as his own. "The greatest axeman, loudest cusser, and all-around best warrior to have at your back in battle" seemed to be the theme in general. And Sun Eagle wasn't jealous, exactly, but hearing Do'nar praised enthusiastically when his own men would barely grunt hello to him in the morning---well, it was almost like mutiny!

And now he'd returned and there was the bastard, bigger and brassier than ever---but disturbingly unfamiliar, with his beardless, handsome face and new popularity with the ladies. Sun Eagle's eyes had nearly popped from their sockets when the crabby witchwoman had pounced on Do'nar in the middle of the camp. If he hadn't been so busy trying to fend off a suddenly amorous, hatchet-faced old coot, Eagle would have expressed his disbelief more profoundly. Do'nar was hailed to the skies as a mighty fighter, but he'd never been any kind of lover to anyone's knowledge!

And of course---there was Jalin, too. Sun Eagle had only thought of him occasionally in the stretch of years, but the musings were always pleasant. Apparently, though, the boy had missed HIM much more.

He'd grown taller, but he hadn't filled out much, and the shadows around his eyes were like faint bruises. By the gods---the lad must have been pining for the whole two and half years to look so wan and peaked! Sun Eagle's ego perked up at the thought, but strangely enough his winking and gesturing in the council chamber had been ignored.

And now the boy twisted smoothly out of his arms with a wrestling move that surprised the warrior. "You've been training in hand-to-hand? Who's your master?" he barked, and he received an enigmatic smile in answer. Almost as if the boy knew how upset the idea made him. Of course it was unfair, but now the notion came to him that he should have been the one who instructed the lad in arms. But really, he had to admit the idea of battle skills didn't occur naturally when you looked at Jalin. But if he'd learned despite this, he wasn't as frail as he first appeared--that was a little exciting as well as irritating.

Eagle reached for Jalin's arm without even thinking. And then howled and whipped back his bloodied hand, as the boy moved like colorless lightning, striking quick then leaping lightly away. The warrior stared at the curved, fang-like blade in disbelief as Jalin raised it to study the way the blood drooled from the pale edge of his weapon, tinting it a rather pretty shade of rose.

It wasn't just the fey, wild expression; it was the weird and chilling feeling that Jalin was a moment away from licking his knife clean and then going back to stab for another sample.

"Do'nar taught me knives as well," Jalin purred, in a lush and sensuous voice that laid most of the sex in it all over the War Captain's name. "Knives are very much like claws, don't you think?" With a flick of his slim wrist, another blade appeared, this one straight, thin and unbloodied as yet.

"I *think* it's somewhat foolish, for a lad like you to pull those little stickers on a battle-trained spear fighter," Sun Eagle snapped. His remark lost some force when he took a nervous step backward, but he couldn't help it. He had taken a better look at the dark, short-sleeve shirt the boy was wearing and the closer inspection made his flesh creep.

He hadn't noticed the painting on the front of it, he'd been too caught up in the general lack of pleasing colours in the clothing, and also the fact that it hung on Jalin as if made for someone a couple of sizes bigger. Eagle was something of a dandy for a Northerner; an effort to make a good appearance was important to him, it was how he judged people basically. So he'd focused on lack of stylishness rather than the important fact about the boy's clothing.

The long-haired man blazoned across the boy's chest studied Sun Eagle with the eyes of a wild thing, just as Jalin did. The decoration seemed more alive than Sun Eagle himself, too realistic to be honestly crafted. No, witchery had made that image, and as Sun Eagle stared at it in revolted fascination, the image moved.

With silent, chilling grace, the pictured wizard rose from his seated position. His eyes never left Sun Eagle's, and the appalled warrior was unable to look away from Jalin's chest, where insanity had come to life.

The fire-eyed mage studied the pop-eyed warrior, and swung his cross-shaped weapon negligently. "*I* think it's fuckin' rude, for a fellow to fuck a kid without gettin' to know him first," the image said in a conversational tone. It had an odd accent. This shirt isn't from around these parts! Sun Eagle thought crazily.

"I think the same," the boy agreed in his poison-sweet voice. His smile looked as sharp and hooked as his dripping blade. His eyes and the eyes of the madman depicted on his shirt were the same. "I think we should teach him some manners."

Sun Eagle retreated another step, with a certain amount of dignity. "This is sorcery," he announced in a disapproving tone. "It's---not Tribal, not manly in the least! I came here to ask your witchwoman if there was a possibility of handfasting you, but I see I've had a lucky escape. I'm sorry to say you've changed for the worse, boy!" He hadn't really had any such plan, but the thought came to him and he threw it in Jalin's face just to be mean.

This boy sighed. The thing on his shirt burst out laughing. It was enough to terrify a troll, and Sun Eagle's nerve finally broke. He was no coward, but this was too much.

The warrior passed a hand across his bleeding mouth. He'd broken a tooth again, this time on thin air instead of Do'nar's fist. He hated this Tribe. He would never visit this stinking, pox-rotted place again!

Jain's self---that which was not his body, yet was always connected to the physical---paused before entering the Warchief's tent. He studied that which had guided him here, sightless. His mind and heart, he thought, could find its way to these two through any darkness.

No shadows could conquer that leaf green splendor, moving as fire despite its color. It was the birth of life, dancing lightly on the surface of the Earth it loved and ruled.

There was a mist flowing like a soundless storm over the emerald light. A darker and denser being, majestic blue violet threaded with veins of steel. But now the violet was the purple of recent bruising, and the strong metal of the veining was shot with crimson as much like old blood as the moon they now endured.

He was still clueless about the "how". But he felt more trusting of it. He could faintly feel the part of him that was dragon, back in Smitty's tent scaring the wits out of Sun Eagle. It annoyed him, just a little, to have the dragon taking revenge for him.

The man had raped him, torn whatever silly dreams he'd had about his "first time" away from him in a few scattered minutes. Not even a decent boink, as Hawk would say! And it hadn't been pleasant, true, and he'd been decimated at the time. Even worse, Eagle had continued to visit him for the length of his stay; the man fancied himself a stallion, but his hairy, constantly moist body was not exactly a turn-on. He wasn't unhandsome in an arrogant way, but he snorted like a boar when making love, and Jalin's furs were damp for hours after he left. If he'd loved the man this would have been irrelevant, but Eagle had rather spoiled the chances for that with his rough introduction. Still, the dragon was more outraged by Sun Eagle than he, Jalin, would ever be.

He would have preferred Do'nar as a first lover. Yet, that might have been a mistake also. He wasn't---good enough, yet, to offer himself to someone forever. Not as a real offering, beyond bodies. He wasn't grown into himself enough, to be much good as a partner. To hurt someone he cared for with his own imperfections would have killed him. It was better to be alone, maybe. At least, for awhile.

People mattered, not acts born of lust. The person you chose---that mattered. Whether that person was first in line or a few miles down the road. The little stops along the way could be interesting, or awful. Point was, you didn't have to stay there forever.

The dragon, Mor'gwaine, was old and dominant. But he took things pretty personally. He would leave a piece of himself in Jalin when the boy was ready, not possession but more like a cutting of a strong, exotic plant set to flower in prepared soil. But for now, he possessed the boy in a cruder fashion, because Jalin simply wasn't strong enough in mind or body yet to hold the dragon's coldly burning seed of power and make it work for him.

The dragon saw time as a broad map spread out before him, and the spot on that map where Sun Eagle ravished Jalin was a place he wanted to bomb with lightning.

Well---whatever! Jalin wouldn't stop him, but he thought it was kind of overkill. Sun Eagle was just a brainless dork, after all. He smiled inside himself a little, at this thought straight from the Hawk's brain, as it were.

His spirit self didn't travel fast; he kind of bobbled towards the life-forms he sought, a ridiculous display no doubt, and he was glad no tribesmen could see him!

He finally approached the tent, and tried to focus the sense of sight. He didn't know if he needed to see the pair of them as a human would, to help them. But he wanted to, already had his excuses in line if the dragon disagreed.

Apparently, Mor'gwaine was a voyeur too. His human sight kicked in almost instantly, and he moved through the stormy and vibrant canvases Nightwolf had made of his walls, to settle just above a shimmering sunset that reflected off the burning mirror of more water than Jalin had ever seen in his life in one place. Ocean. Hawk missed the ocean here, and so Wolf painted it for him. Careful! Don't get too cozy, too close to their thoughts, or you might be---noticed by something really bad. Just enough, a breath away from their regard, close enough to monitor but not be tracked----

Firehawk, lying across black furs in a poetry of strong tanned limbs and fire-touched hair. His shirt was ripped off, scattered across the bed obviously torn to bits. His eyes were half-closed, and he was smiling faintly as he gazed up at his lover.

Nightwolf, crouched over him like some massive beast, the muscles of his bare arms defined by the firelight of candles scattered throughout the tent. His nightspun hair was roped back in elaborate braids. Ceremonial braids, for a boink? Hmmm, and all those candlessomething teased at Jalin's memories. He didn't try to chase it down; that was a sure way to lose it. It drove him crazy to relax and gently fish for what he needed, with this sudden sense of urgency biting him.

Nightwolf dangled an odd device from his powerful fingers, elegant circles of bright cold metal joined with a chain. The---candlelight, so damn many candles and all one color, deep red like old blood! The candlelight flowed over the object, turned the connecting links into a gossamer rope woven by a spider of steel. There was a chip of crystal set into each bracelet, and those crystals blazed with black fire, the aura of death magic.

"Come, my love," Nightwolf whispered in that deep voice that should have been coarse, but was instead richer than layered velvet, musical as a low wind through water. "Belong to me. Nothing can take us if you belong to me totally---"

*The Beast is still in him; he's held it back all these days in a show of strength no one else on Khesh could match. But he's tired now, and holding the Beast inside is getting harder. And not what he needs anyway---he needs to be rid of itbut how?*

But since his dragon was busy at the moment, Jalin could do nothing but hang there and wait. And hope, when his time of action came, that he would by then know what the hell to do!