Circle of Death

  Doyle ushered her through the back door. “Go have a nice, long bath. I’ll prepare dinner.”

  “You don’t want me to help?”

  He raised a dark eyebrow and dumped the bags on the bench. “Did Helen?”

  She grinned. “No, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help you.”

  “I think I’ll take it as a sign.” He tossed her one of the plastic bags. “Don’t turn on the light. Use the candle I bought instead.”

  She looked inside the bag. There wasn’t only a candle and lighter, but bath oil, herbal shampoo, conditioner and soap. “Why did you buy me these? I did bring my own toiletries, you know.”

  “You have a ceremony to perform at midnight, remember? There are rituals to follow if you don’t want to attract the wrong sort of attention. One of them is cleansing.”

  Unease slithered through her. She’d all but forgotten about the ceremony. “So using these will help keep the bad things away?”

  He nodded. “Partly. There are other things we have to do, but we’ll worry about them later. Go have your bath. Let me worry about that side of things.”

  When it came to magic, she had no choice but to trust him. She’d never really taken much notice of the ways of witchcraft, even though Helen had often warned her that she might regret it. Still, she hesitated. “What about the bandages I’m wearing?”

  “Take them off. Camille’s herbs should have worked their magic on the wounds by now anyway.”

  She nodded and walked into the bathroom. Turning on the taps, she poured in the oil, then sat on the edge of the tub as she waited for it to fill. Scents filled the air—an odd combination of basil, geranium and pine, mixed in with something else she couldn’t define. It was relaxing and yet somehow invigorating.

  She turned off the water, then stripped and climbed in. For a long time she lay there, enjoying the heat and the moment of peace. When the water finally began to cool, she reluctantly sat up and washed. Climbing out, she dragged some clothes out of her bag and dressed. Then she blew out the candle and walked barefoot to the kitchen.

  Only to stop in surprise at the doorway. Doyle hadn’t just cooked, he’d created magic. A pristine white cloth covered the table. Candles flickered in the center, flushing warmth across the length of the table but barely touching the darkness beyond that. Wineglasses and cutlery glimmered in the golden light, and the mismatched patterns on the side plates somehow added to the appeal.

  He appeared out of the shadows and walked toward her, eyes as warm as the atmosphere he’d created. “Table for two? I think we can manage to squeeze you in. This way, my lady.”

  He offered her his arm. Smiling, she hooked her arm through his and let herself be led to the table.

  “For your dining pleasure tonight,” he continued, seating her, “we have a warm chicken salad, followed by a simple but appetizing dessert of strawberries soaked in Cointreau accompanied with freshly whipped cream.”

  He picked up a paper napkin, fluffed it out and placed it on her lap. His fingers brushed her legs, and warmth shivered through her. She wondered again how she was going to survive the night without giving in to desire.

  Wondered if she even really wanted to survive.

  He opened the wine and poured them both a glass. Then he disappeared into the shadows, coming back moments later with the two entrées. He placed them, then sat opposite her and picked up his wine.

  “To the bravest woman I have ever met,” he said softly.

  Heat flushed through her cheeks. She wasn’t brave. If she were, she wouldn’t be sitting here dithering about her feelings for this man. She’d take what fate offered and let the future worry about itself.

  She picked up her glass and met his gaze. No matter what her personal fears might be, right now he deserved some sort of honesty from her. “To the only man I have ever been tempted to trust. To the sexiest thief I have ever met.”

  His smile shimmered right through her, settling warmly in her heart. He touched his glass lightly to hers, then motioned to her salad. “Eat, before the chicken gets cold.”

  She ate. The meal was perfect, soothing her hunger without sitting like a weight in her stomach. She sighed with contentment when she finished and picked up her wine.

  “Thank you,” she said. “That was delicious.”

  He smiled and leaned back in the chair, his face half in the shadows, blue eyes gleaming cobalt in the flickering light. “Thank my mother. She was the one who insisted her sons know how to cook.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Sons?”

  He nodded. “I have three brothers, all younger, and two sisters, both older.”

  She couldn’t help feeling a twinge of envy. It must have been wonderful growing up with so many siblings. Noisy, but wonderful. Especially at Christmas. Or birthdays. She blinked. Today was her birthday. And would have been Helen’s, too.

  She took a sip of wine, then said, “Do you see much of them?”

  “No. They all live in Oregon, in a small town up near the Crater Lake National Park. My work—past and present—has always conspired to keep me away. But I’m in the process of buying a house up there and hope to correct that.”

  His words sliced through her. She lowered her gaze, concentrating instead on her wine. So, the truth was there for them both to see. No matter what happened between them, he wouldn’t stay here in Australia.

  “Kirby—”

  She raised a hand. “Don’t.” Don’t tell me you care for me. Don’t tell me you might love me, because in the end, it doesn’t really matter. Nothing did, beyond the fact that he would go back to America.

  Take heed, my foolish heart. Because knowing he would leave didn’t alter the fact that she wanted him as she’d never wanted a man before.

  “I’m not—”

  She met his gaze. “Are you going to tell me you’re not going back?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then I don’t want to hear it.”

  “And you have the gall to call me irritating.” He sighed and thrust a hand through his dark hair. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”

  Take me with you, she thought, and she knew that just wasn’t an option. His work was too important—to him and to the other people he was destined to save. He didn’t need someone permanently in his life, particularly when that someone was as flawed as she was.

  Besides, Helen was here, even if only in spirit.

  She raised her wineglass. “How about pouring me some more wine?”

  He did as she requested, then collected the plates and rose. “Do you feel like dessert now, or would you rather wait a little?”

  “I think I’ll let dinner settle a bit more, thanks,” she said.

  He disappeared into the darkness. Flame flickered briefly, then a tiny patch of warmth appeared. “I can’t see how a flame that size is going to do you much good,” she said, amused. “Why not borrow one of the candles on the table?”

  “Because this candle suits my purpose just fine.” He appeared out of the shadows, the tiny flame becoming a birthday candle sitting on the top of a cupcake.

  “Happy birthday,” he said, placing the cake in front of her. “Don’t forget to make a wish.”

  Her smile felt tremulous. She blew out the candle, then closed her eyes and made her wish. Time was all she asked for. Time with Doyle.

  She opened her eyes and he held out a small, carefully wrapped present. She didn’t take it. Could barely see it through the tears stinging her eyes.

  “You shouldn’t have.” Her throat felt so constricted, her voice came out as little more than a hoarse whisper.

  “Birthdays are important.” His smile was warm and sexy, and was reflected deep in his eyes. “And you should never let one go by uncelebrated. Go on, open your present. It doesn’t bite and it doesn’t hold any magic. I promise.”

  She smiled, and with trembling fingers began unwrapping the dark-red tissue paper. As the layers fell away, a long, plush velvet box was revealed. Her stomach chu
rned. It looked expensive. Felt expensive. I don’t deserve something like this …

  She bit her lip and carefully opened the box. Her breath caught. Inside, attached to a flat silver chain, was a delicate, black stone panther. She picked up the necklace, and the panther’s eyes sparkled in the golden candlelight. Diamonds, she knew without doubt.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “But I can’t—”

  “You can and will,” he said. “Here, let me.”

  He took the chain from her and placed it around her neck. His fingers caressed her skin, chasing warmth down to her toes. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation.

  “I couldn’t resist buying this when I saw it,” he said, his words brushing heat past her ear. “Especially given your reaction when you discovered I shapeshift.”

  “A constant reminder of what you are, huh?” She could barely get the words out, her throat was so tight. She quickly drank some wine, but all it did was make her head spin. Or was that merely a side effect of his closeness?

  “Or maybe a reminder of what I am not.” She tilted her head back and met his gaze. “Will you show me?”

  He frowned and brushed his fingers down her cheek and neck. A tremor ran through her, and deep down a familiar ache began.

  “Are you sure you’re ready to see it?”

  “No.” But she was sure she had to see it before their relationship could progress any further. To trust him, she had to know him—both versions of him.

  He nodded, as if agreeing with her thoughts. “Then watch,” he said and stepped away from her.

  For an instant, nothing happened. Then motes of light began to appear around him, fairy dust that glimmered silver and gold. It snaked up his body, blurring the night and his outline as it did so, until there was nothing left of him except for that glitter. Then it was gone, and in his place stood a huge black panther with dark blue eyes.

  She gasped softly, but not from fear. Far from it. His shifting shape had been nothing like she’d expected.

  It was both awe-inspiring and beautiful—two words she’d never thought could be connected to such an act.

  The shimmer appeared again, sweeping up from the big cat’s tail and encompassing its body. Once again, Doyle stood before her.

  “You didn’t run screaming from the room, so I take that as a good sign.” Despite his easy grin, there was a hint of worry in his eyes and in his thoughts.

  She nodded and somehow found her voice. “That was amazing.” She hesitated, a thousand questions tumbling through her mind. “But where the hell do your clothes go?”

  He laughed—a rich sound that was edged with relief. “I don’t know. It’s just part of the magic, I suppose. I never really questioned it.”

  “Is there anything that doesn’t change with you?”

  He nodded. “Anything that’s pure silver. That chain wouldn’t, for instance.”

  She touched the panther. It felt warm against her skin, almost as if it were a living thing rather than being made of stone. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Pure silver is immune to the force of magic.”

  “Are your whole family shapeshifters?”

  He nodded and sat down in the chair nearest hers. “Except for my mother and one of my sisters.”

  “And your children, when you have them?”

  He regarded her for a minute, a slight smile tugging his lips. “My children, when we have them, will have a seventy-five percent chance of being shifters.”

  His use of we made her smile. He really was convinced they were meant to be; she just wished she were brave enough to feel the same. “Why seventy-five percent? If your mom is a normal human, why wasn’t the distribution of shifter genes fifty-fifty?”

  He shrugged. “Obviously the shifter gene is stronger. I’m not a scientist, Kirby. I’m a retired thief turned private investigator. Don’t expect me to explain the technicalities. It just is, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Well, a fat lot of good that does my curiosity.” She hesitated and sipped her wine. “What about control? Is there ever a time you come close to losing it?”

  “It hasn’t happened yet.” Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I can see the question burning through your mind, and the answer is no—not even in the heat of passion.”

  Heat flushed through her cheeks. “Well, I guess that’s something of a relief for everyone involved.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Everyone? Don’t know about you, but I generally only go to bed with one woman at a time.”

  “And I,” she said, in the haughtiest tone she could manage, “don’t go to bed with any.”

  He grinned and saluted her with his glass. Then he froze. Her stomach fell through to her toes. “What?” she said, voice edgy and harsh.

  “A car coming up the driveway.” He quickly blew out the candles. Lights swept across the curtained windows, and the sound of a car engine seemed as loud as thunder in the silence.

  Alarm raced through her. He touched her hand, squeezing her fingers lightly. “Don’t panic.”

  “But what if they come into the house? What are we going to do?”

  “Nothing yet. Stay here.”

  He left the chair and disappeared into the darkness. A moment later she saw the curtain move slightly to one side. In the stillness, two doors slammed. Jaunty whistling moved away from the house, and a water pump kicked into gear.

  He’s watering the stock.

  What if he wants to feed them? Our car is in the shed.

  He’s making no move toward the shed just yet. If he does, I’ll deal with it. He hesitated. Someone else is moving toward us. Grab the glasses and wrap everything else in the tablecloth.

  She quickly gathered everything, her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold the glasses. He was beside her in an instant, one hand full of plastic bags and wet dishcloths. He took her free hand and led her quickly down the hall. Did you leave much mess in the bathroom?

  Other than a damp towel, my bag and those oils you gave me, no.

  Wait here. He let her go and disappeared again. She heard him moving about, then the sound of vigorous wiping. What are you doing?

  Wiping the moisture off the bathtub.

  Behind them, in the living room, came the sound of a key scraping in the lock. She shifted from one foot to the other, battling the urge to run. Hurry.

  Hurrying will get us caught. Caution is the key—believe me.

  Tension drew her muscles so tight they were beginning to ache. In the living room, the door opened and lights were swept on. If you don’t move right now, it’ll be caution that gets us caught.

  He appeared out of the bathroom and ushered her into the nearest bedroom. Quick, under the bed.

  She pushed aside the comforter and slithered under the old fashioned, high-off-the-floor wooden bed. Dust stirred, tickling her nose. She held back a sneeze and pulled in the bags, towels and tablecloth that he shoved in, trying to leave him some room.

  He’d barely pulled the comforter back into place when the hall lights came on. Footsteps approached, loud and heavy despite the carpet. Fear squeezed her throat so tightly she could barely breathe, and for an instant, it felt as though her heart were going to leap out of her chest. She closed her eyes, battling the terror pounding through her.

  It’s okay. We’re okay. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, but his attention was on the hall outside. They were hardly out of the woods yet.

  The footsteps moved past their bedroom hideaway, and another light burned brightly. After a few seconds came the sound of soft tinkling.

  Despite her fear, laughter bubbled through her. The intruder was using the toilet?

  Minutes ticked by. Finally, the toilet flushed, lights went out and the footsteps moved back down the hall. But they didn’t entirely retreat. From the kitchen came the sound of running water.

  She’s filling something. He shifted around until he was facing her.

  Oh God, don’t tell me they’re settling in
to have a cup of coffee?

  Could be. There’s nothing much we can do but wait them out.

  He pulled her close. Then he slipped his hand down to her rear and pulled her closer still, so that every inch of their bodies seemed to be touching. Her breath caught and her heart raced, but not from fear this time. Far from it. Her whole body felt as if it were on fire, and part of that came from the deliciously erotic sensation of lying here in the darkness with him, while the chance of discovery loomed only a few footsteps away.

  We shouldn’t … this is dangerous. Lord, even her mind-voice sounded breathless.

  We’re only lying here. What can be so dangerous in that? But even as the words whispered into her mind, he slowly began undoing her shirt buttons.

  You need to concentrate on our intruders, not on trying to seduce me. She tried to add a touch of sarcasm to her thoughts, but failed miserably. They still sounded as breathy as she was feeling.

  In reality, we’re the intruders here. And if they move this way, I’ll hear them, believe me.

  She did believe him. He’d made a successful living from being a thief and had no doubt been caught in tougher situations than this.

  His amusement washed through her. But never before have I had such a lovely way to pass the time.

  The last of her buttons came undone. He brushed the shirt back over her shoulders, then teasingly ran his fingers across her bra and up her neck, until his hand cupped her cheek.

  His lips grazed hers, feather light and tender. I’ll stop if you want me to.

  She closed her eyes. For an instant, she considered telling him to do just that. To back away and leave her alone. But only for half a second. He was going back to America once the murderer was caught, no matter what happened between them. Did she really want to lose him without at least knowing his touch, without feeling his caress, inside and out?

  No, she thought. Definitely not. Damn it, she’d spent most of life erring on the side of caution, and what had it achieved for her? Very little. And certainly not happiness. If she lost her heart in the process of making love to him, what of it? At least she would have finally taken a chance, stepped beyond the shackles of memories and mistakes and done something simply for the hell of it.