The memory made her toes curl. “Got any new etchings to show me?” She closed her hands over his arms, loving the warm, solid feel of him. My Riley.

“As a matter of fact…” Riley nuzzled at Mercy. “Want to go for a walk first?” The night was stunning as only a Sierra night could be, lit by a full moon and a million stars.

Mercy did a feline stretch in his arms. “I feel too lazy after Bas’s concoctions. Can I sit in your lap instead?”

“Come here, kitty cat.” Tugging her back, he took a seat in one of the large cushioned wicker chairs her parents had gifted them on their mating. Mercy immediately curled into him, her legs hanging over the arm of the chair, her head against his shoulder. Fiery curls of hair cascaded down his arm where he braced her back, the lithe muscle of her thigh warm under his other hand.

Content in a way he’d rarely been before Mercy, he simply stroked her until she purred. It delighted him as it always did. “I made you purr.”

A lazy yawn. “I’m faking it.”

Lips curving, he dipped his head to kiss her. It was a familiar exchange, a little private game they could play because they were utterly besotted with one another. The word “besotted” had first been used by a disgusted Sage, but Riley didn’t mind being besotted with Mercy. “Fake it some more,” he said, his hand on her abdomen.

However, when she tilted back her head, a smile tugging at her lips, he froze, caught by a delicate softness to her features that struck him out of nowhere. Mercy wasn’t a vulnerable woman—and yet at that instant, his wolf roared to the surface, wanting to protect, to shelter, to take care of her. The urge was so violent that he fisted a hand in her hair, the one on her abdomen flexing until all his tendons stood out in stark relief.

“Riley? What’s wrong?” Sitting up from her languorous position, Mercy ran her hands through his hair, over his nape, down his chest.

Petting him. She was petting him in an effort to comfort.

“Talk to me, tough guy.” Open concern, her eyes night-glow.

Riley tried to fight the primitive impulse, only to feel it shoving back with so much urgency he stood no chance. Shocked, he shuddered as the wolf took over, but instead of using that control to initiate the shift, it retreated … leaving him with a luminous piece of knowledge, a brilliant faceted jewel that almost blinded.

“Oh,” he whispered, looking down. “I didn’t understand.” It was an apology to his wolf. “It’s my first time.”

Mercy tugged on his hair. Hard. “You’re scaring me.”

He looked up, wonder in every heartbeat. “Guess what?”

Mercy’s gaze dropped to where he’d spread his hand. She went motionless, eyes huge. “Riley, are we—Do you—How—”

“Yes,” he answered. “We are, and I know because a changeling male always knows before anyone else when it comes to his mate.” He’d heard the healers hypothesize that the realization was caused by a minute change in a woman’s scent, a change so subtle no one else would sense anything, but that the wolf in Riley had scented at once.

Mercy’s eyes held equal parts shock, and delight. “Riley.”

He felt his lips stretch even wider. “I think we need to celebrate with some brand-new etchings.”

His cat’s laugh was surprised and warm and the sound of home. “It’s your etchings that got us into this position.” Stealing a kiss when he bent his head, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m so happy.” It was a conspiratorial whisper.

Cuddling her tight, he said, “Can I tell everyone?”

AFTER Drew tugged Indigo away somewhere a small distance from the den, Tai and Evie decided to stop at the waterfall, leaving Riaz and Adria to make the rest of the journey alone. Neither of them spoke, and it wasn’t quite a comfortable silence, but it wasn’t the edgy anger that had existed between them for so long either.

The night air a cool kiss against their skin, they passed into the White Zone not long afterward, and then they were at the den. Instead of splitting with her, he walked her to her room. Reaching the door to her quarters, he waited for her to unlock it, but made no move to cross the threshold. She, in turn, made no move to invite him in, her eyes dark with a dawning awareness that something had changed, the bonds they’d forged that afternoon deeper than they should be. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Waiting until she closed her door, he walked back out of the den, his wolf needing the quiet freedom of the night. Stripping in a secluded area, he put his clothes carefully in the hollow created between two pines that had grown into each other, and shifted.

Agony and ecstasy, pleasure and pain.

The black wolf that lived within him took form in sparks of color, its nose picking up a thousand unique tendrils of scent. Shaking its head to clear it after the shift, it began to run, disturbed by its own confusion. All its life, the wolf had been the one who felt nothing but certainty, been alternately amused and frustrated by the man’s way of complicating things.

Not now. Now it asked the man for clarity … and together they ran, the wind ruffling through the pitch black of the wolf’s fur, the forest a familiar playground, the trees watchful sentinels. The freedom of it was intoxicating, until the wolf could almost forget the strange turmoil within. But when the sky grew lighter, and its steps slower, it knew the time had come to return home. The wild called to both parts of Riaz, yet something drew man and wolf to the den, the tug so deep that he rubbed a fisted hand over his heart after shifting.

Time to get some sleep, he thought, and having dressed, began to walk toward his quarters … then suddenly, he was tracking another scent. Delicate and strong. Fragile and steely. A puzzle that suited the enigma of a woman for whom the need in him burned hot and intense. He caught up to her just as she reached her door.

A pregnant pause, last night repeated.

Not turning, she pushed through.

Entering behind her, he shut the door, turned the lock.

Chapter 31

HIS CRAVING FOR her, a craving that hadn’t abated even a fraction, roared to the surface when she reached down and pulled off the T-shirt she’d been wearing, baring the long, toned sweep of her back, broken only by the lines of a black sports bra. He used a claw to shred the bra off her body, his hands sliding around her torso to close over her breasts.

Her breath hitched, her nipples tight points against his palms. When she tilted her neck to the side, the invitation was clear. Taking it, he sucked a dark red mark on the lower slope, making her twist against him. So, she was exquisitely sensitive there. Something to remember.

An acid stab of guilt, a reminder that this was not the lover he should be learning how to please, how to adore. He strangled the voice, determined to hold to his decision to move forward … but it wouldn’t quieten, the black tendrils of betrayal wrapping around his mind and twining through his blood.

Slender, warm fingers on his own. “We aren’t the only people in this room right now, are we, Riaz?”

Backing off, he shoved his hands through his hair, beyond angry at himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to go like this.” He’d come to her in honest need, but now that need was tangled with the caustic taste of infidelity, the chill rain of grief. The fact that he knew he had no rational reason to feel disloyal meant nothing when the primal heart of him was fighting itself, tooth and claw.

Instead of turning on him in fury, a reaction he would’ve understood from a predatory changeling female of her dominance, Adria toed off her boots and crawled into bed, still dressed in her jeans. Giving him her back, she said, “Come here. Lie with me.”

Every muscle in his body locked, torn between two fiercely opposed desires. “I don’t know if I can.” The admission was ripped out of him.

“No expectations, just two wolves taking comfort from one another.” A pause heavy with things unsaid. “I need the touch, too.”

The hidden pain of her, it smashed through the tumult inside him to touch the protective core. Kicking off his own shoes, he stripped off his T-shirt and stretched out behind her. He’d left enough space between their bodies that he could see the graceful curve of her spine, the creamy gold of her skin flawless. It was instinct to run his hand over her back, to accept the skin privileges she’d offered him, even as he petted the pain out of her for a fragment of time.

Sighing, she swept her braid off her back and over her shoulder, saying nothing as he continued to touch. Though she was the one who was ostensibly receiving pleasure, he gained as much from the contact. He’d come to her broken and lost, and with her vulnerability, she’d given him the tools he needed to reclaim the reins—to help him, this strong woman had had the courage to rip open her own scars. Driven by protective instinct, he curved his bigger, heavier body around hers, his chest pressed to her back, his hand stroking down her arm, slow and easy.

Her eyes, he saw, were closed, but he knew she was awake. So when she spoke, he wasn’t startled—but neither was he ready for her question. “Will you tell me about her?”

His answer was automatic. “There’s nothing to say.”

Her lashes remained soft shadows on her cheeks. “Of course there is, and you can’t speak to anyone else. I won’t make any judgments or offer any advice. I’m just here to listen.”

His hand clenched on her arm before he forced himself to relax his grip. The only reason he’d said anything to Indigo when he first arrived home was because he hadn’t wanted to see her mess up what he’d sensed was the right relationship for her. He didn’t regret that choice, made as it had been out of friendship, but he still sometimes wished she didn’t know—because it was his greatest weakness.

And Indigo knew the barest facts. Adria already saw too much of him … and was a woman strong enough, honest enough, to admit to her own wounds. “Her name,” he said, knowing that honesty deserved his own, “is Lisette.”

Speaking of her caused a sweet, dark pain inside of him, but there was wild joy, too. At last, he could say her name, share her with someone. “She’s French but works in Venice.” He’d seen her at an elegant ball held in one of the oldest buildings in the sunken city, its stately lower half submerged, its upper half a masterpiece of ornate architecture.