night. Michael ate his fill. It was a shame to waste the rest of the meat, so he dragged her beneath a dense stand of pines and sprayed a territorial circle around her, in case the farmer’s dog wandered this way. Tomorrow night she’d still be worthy.
The blood and juices energized him. He felt alive again, his muscles vibrant. But he had gore all over his muzzle and belly, and something had to be done about that before he returned to the open window. He loped through the forest, sniffing the air, and in a while he caught the scent of water. Soon he could hear the stream, rushing over rocks. He wallowed in the chilly water, rolling in it to get all the blood off. He licked his paws clean, making sure no blood remained on the nails. Then he lapped to quench his thirst, and started back to the house.
He changed in the woods and stood up on two white legs. He walked silently to the house, his feet cushioned on May grass, and slid through the window into his bedroom.
He smelled her at once. Cinnamon and leather. And there she was, edged in dark blue, sitting in a chair in the corner.
He could hear her heart pounding as he stood before her. Perhaps it was as loud as his own.
“How long have you been here?” he asked.
“An hour.” She was making a valiant effort to keep her voice steady. “Maybe a little longer.” This time her voice betrayed her.
“You waited all that time for me? I’m flattered.”
“I… thought I’d look in on you.” She cleared her throat, as if only incidentally getting around to the next question. “Michael, where have you been?”
“Just out. Walking. I didn’t want to use the front door. I thought I might wake everybody in the hou-”
“It’s past three in the morning,” Chesna interrupted. “Why are you naked?”
“I never wear clothes past midnight. It’s against my religion.”
She stood up. “Don’t try to be amusing! There’s nothing at all amusing about this! My God! Are you out of your mind, or am I? When I saw you gone… and the window open, I didn’t know what to think!”
Michael eased the window shut. “What did you think?”
“That… you’re a… I don’t know, it’s just too insane!”
He turned to face her. “That I’m a what?” he asked quietly.
Chesna started to say the word. It jammed in her throat. “How… did you find the camp that night?” she managed to say. “In the dark. In a forest that was totally unfamiliar. After you’d spent twelve days on starvation rations. How? Tell me, Michael. How?”
“I did tell you.”
“No, you didn’t. You pretended to tell me, and I let it go. Maybe because there was no possible rational explanation for it. And now I come into your room, I find your window open and your bed empty. You slide back in, naked, and try to laugh it off.”
Michael shrugged. “What better to do, when you’re caught with your pants down?”
“You haven’t answered me. Where have you been?”
He spoke calmly and carefully, measuring his words. “I needed some exercise. Dr. Stronberg seems to think that I’m not ready for anything more strenuous than a match of chess-which, by the way, I beat him at today, two out of three. Anyhow, I went out last night and walked, and I did the same tonight. I chose not to wear clothes because it’s a fine warm night and I wanted the feel of the air on my skin. Is that such a terrible thing?”
Chesna didn’t reply for a moment. Then: “You went out walking, even after I told you about the wolf?”
“With all the game in the forest around here, a wolf won’t attack a human.”
“All what game, Michael?” she asked.
He thought fast. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I saw two deer from my window this afternoon.”
“No, you didn’t tell me.” She stood very still, close enough to the door so she could reach it in a hurry. “The wolf I saw… had green eyes. Just like yours. And black hair. Dr. Stronberg has lived here for almost thirty-five years, and he’d never heard of a wolf in these woods. Fritz was born in a village less than fifty kilometers north of here, and he’s never known of any wolves in the area either. Isn’t that very strange?”
“Wolves migrate. Or so I’ve heard.” He smiled in the darkness, but his face was tense. “A wolf with green eyes, huh? Chesna, what are you getting at?”
The moment of truth, Chesna thought. What was she getting at? That this man before her-this British secret agent who had been born a Russian-was a bizarre hybrid of human and beast? That he was a living example of the creature she’d read about in a book on folklore? A man who could transform his body into the shape of a wolf and run on all fours? Maybe Michael Gallatin was eccentric, and perhaps he had a keen sense of smell and an even keener sense of direction, but… a werewolf?
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Michael said as he walked closer to her. A floorboard creaked softly under his weight. Her aroma lured him. She took a step backward. He stopped. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
“Should I be?” A quaver in her voice.
“No,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.” He walked toward her again, and this time she didn’t retreat.
He reached her. She could see his green eyes, even in the gloom. They were hungry eyes, and they awakened a hunger within her. “Why did you come to my room tonight?” Michael asked, his face close to hers.
“I… said I… wanted to look in on-”
“No,” he interrupted gently. “That’s not the real reason, is it?”
She hesitated, her heart hammering, and as Michael slipped his arms around her she shook her head.
Their lips met, and melded. Chesna thought she must truly be losing her mind, because she imagined she tasted a hint of blood on his tongue. But the coppery tang was gone in an instant, and she grasped his back and pressed her body against his with mounting fever. His erection was already large, and its pulse throbbed in her fingers as she caressed him. Michael slowly unbuttoned her nightgown, their kisses deep and urgent, and then he stroked his tongue between her breasts and gently, teasingly, licked up from her breasts to her throat. She felt goose bumps erupt over her skin, a sensation that made her gasp with pleasure. Man or beast, he was what she needed.
The nightgown drifted down around her ankles. She stepped out of its folds, and Michael picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.
On that white plateau their bodies entwined. Heat met heat, and pressed deep. Her damp softness gripped him, her fingers clenched to his shoulders and his hips moving in slow circles that rose and fell with graceful strength. Michael lay on his back, Chesna astride him, and together they made the bedsprings speak. He arched his spine, lifting her as she held him deep inside, and at the height of his arch their bodies shuddered in unison, a sweet hot pulsing that brought a cry from Chesna and a soft gasp from Michael.
They lay together, Chesna’s head cradled against Michael’s shoulder, and talked in hushed voices. For a short time, at least, the war was somewhere far away. Maybe she would go to America, Chesna said. She had never seen California, and perhaps that was the place to begin anew. Did he have anyone special waiting for him in England? she asked, and he said no one. But that was his home, he told her, and that’s where he would return when their mission was done.
Chesna traced his eyebrows with her finger, and laughed quietly.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Oh… nothing. It’s just… well, you would never believe what I was thinking when I saw you coming through the window.”
“I’d like to know.”
“It’s crazy, really. I think my imagination’s been running wild, ever since that wolf scared the daylights out of me.” She turned her attention to the hair on his chest. “But… I thought-don’t laugh now-that you might be a…” She forced the word out. “… werewolf.”
“I am,” he said, and looked into her eyes.
“Oh, you are?” She smiled. “Well, I always suspected you were more of a beast than a baron.”
He made a growling sound, deep in his throat, and his mouth found hers.
This time their lovemaking was more tender, but no less passionate. Michael’s tongue lavished her breasts, and played with joyful abandon across the fields of her body. Chesna clung to him, arms and legs, as he eased into her. She urged him deeper, and like a gentleman he met her request. They lay facing each other, merged iron to silk, and they moved in slow thrusts and circles like dancers to music. Their bodies trembled and strained, glowing
