The thought of being one of Fiona's experiments chilled Dougal. She had an evil reputation, even by the standards of the Summer Country. Rumor said that her house-rowan was all that remained of a former lover, showing his blood in the crimson berries. Rumor said that a web spun from human nerves tied her lands together, binding it to her touch.
Maybe she'd decided to make Brian a sentry spirit for her land. Grind his body into a mush of DNA and spin the warrior genes out in a centrifuge, then splice them into every cell of every tree and sprig of grass around her cottage. She'd take the genetic engineering she stole from the humans and warp it to the uses of the Summer Country. That was the way her mind worked, passion ruled by a logic so cold as to make an iceberg seem like Tahiti.
All Dougal wanted to do was kill the bastard.
Work on Sean's hidden anger. There's something about this that little Fiona's little brother doesn't like. Something more than usual.
"And are you happy taking orders from your sister? Is your manhood so damaged you enjoy serving as a ladies' maid? What do you want to do with Brian?"
Sean's sudden glare made the cold hilt of the dagger feel very reassuring. Then the insolent smile was back.
"Touchy, touchy, Dougal me laddie. Killing Brian won't really ease your pain. We both know what the problem is between you and my lovely sister. You're the only man in the Summer Country she's never bedded, never shown the slightest interest in. You're too ugly for her or for any other woman. So you sit up on your hill and stare down at her cottage and wish. I'm surprised that cat isn't female."
Dougal tensed and then relaxed, and smiled quietly. There was Fiona's trap: defensive spells wound around Sean, spells that could slip quietly into Dougal's forest without triggering his own defenses. But if Sean goaded him into an attack . . . then the counterstrike would come. Sparring with Sean or Fiona always seemed like that. Feints within feints within feints. Dougal's own magic worked in other directions.
But that would change. I'll have the Pierce woman soon. She'll rival Fiona in power and beauty. When she's trained, there'll be some changes in the Summer Country.
Malice sparkled in Sean's eyes. He'd seen the instant when their trap edged on success, and then the failure. "My sister sends her love and condolences with the news. Please do come and visit us. It's been so long since we had company for tea." He turned and strode off through the forest, ignoring Shadow.
Tea? Dougal wondered what would be in the cup, if he accepted their invitation. He doubted if it would be wholesome. When he had his woman, then they could pay a social call. Her magics were of Fiona's kind.
Just before Sean disappeared down the trail, he turned back. "We all know you like killing things. Look around for something else to soothe that itch. Stay away from Brian. Fiona wants him." He paused, and smiled. "Besides, I doubt if you could handle him alone. We can."
Then the gray form vanished between the trees.
Dougal glared after him. The eunuch had touched a nerve. Dougal knew exactly why he both hated and feared the witch twins. Yes, Fiona had spurned him. She'd made the reasons clear, in her acid-tongued way.
Certain combinations of the Old One and human genes made the ogres of myth--the kobolds and Nibelungs and other twisted gnomes of earth and forest. Certain combinations made the fairies and the elves, the sidhe, the fair people of light and air. The earth always desired the air, and the air always rejected and mocked the earth.
Shadow stirred. Dougal sensed restless energy in the bond between him and his killer. The cat was bored with these abstract problems. His was an immediate world built of the smells and sounds and dash of prey. Dougal had promised the cat a hunt.
"Yes, my friend. Your kill is near. It hides somewhere down below us. Wake up your nose, wake up your ears and eyes and instincts. Something is hiding in my forest, and you're the one to find it. You're the one to flush it from its den and kill it."
The cat's eyes glowed. Dougal touched Shadow's mind, placing a picture there: the track, the smell, the shape they hunted. The cat smiled back at him, his tail twitching in a slow snake-curve. Some kinds of game attracted Shadow more than others. This was his favorite.
"Ah, my laddie," he whispered. "You're black death, brought to my hand and tamed. Strange, isn't it, the love we have for deadly things, the love for owning and controlling them? So beautiful they are, so satisfying to loose them on our enemies. You wouldn't be half so fair, if you fed on berries or on grass. It's death we love, as much as beauty."
This woman, she would be as beautiful and deadly as a hunting cat. She wasn't, now. She didn't know who she was, either as a woman or a weapon. He would mold her into the mate he needed. Control her weaknesses. Aim her fears. Build her strengths.
Tamed and trained and brought to his bed, he would use her as a rapier to cut the new ways out of the Summer Country, extend his fief, strike his enemies like a thunderbolt out of the cloudless sky. Wipe out Fiona's neat checkerboard of fields and bring back the tangled dangerous wildwood that was the Summer Country's proper face, the face he loved.
And then there would be children, children of the Blood. They would be worth even more than the woman's powers--children with the blending of Old One and human blood, with all the abilities of both races.
She was his perfect mate.
"Not my equal," he whispered to the cat. "No woman is my equal. A woman's
