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“Let me up, Richard.”

Richard went to his hands and knees, leaving me to squirm out from under him. I stood, and he knelt in front of me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Richard.” I stared at Jean-Claude.

Richard ran his hands down my ribs, fingers digging into the flesh as if he were massaging my back. It brought my attention back to him. “I would never hurt you willingly. You know that.”

I did know that. I nodded.

“Trust me now.” His voice was soft and deep, with a roll of bass to it that wasn’t normal. He started pulling my shirt out of my pants. “I want to touch you, smell you, taste you.”

Jean-Claude padded around us, not coming any closer. He circled us like a shark. His midnight blue eyes were still human, more human looking than Richard’s.

Richard raised my shirt free of my pants, pushing it back until he exposed my stomach. He ran his hands over my bare skin and I shuddered, but it wasn’t sex, or not only sex. That warm, electric power of his flowed from his hands across my skin. It was like having a low-level current tracing over me. It didn’t quite hurt, but it might if it didn’t stop. Or it might feel very good, better than anything else. I wasn’t sure which thought scared me more.

Jean-Claude stood just out of reach, watching. That thought scared me, too.

Richard put his hands on either side of my exposed waist, holding the shirt up, draped over his wrists.

Jean-Claude took that last step, pale hand outstretched. I tightened up, fear overriding the remains of desire. He let his hand fall back without touching us.

Richard licked my stomach, a quick, wet motion. I stared down at him, and he stared back with brown eyes. Human eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Anita.”

I didn’t know what it had cost him to swallow his beast back down inside, but I knew it hadn’t been easy. There were many lesser lycanthropes who could not go back once they started to change. It would have been more reassuring if his true brown eyes hadn’t held a darkness all their own. But it wasn’t his beast, it was something more basic, more human: sex. Even lust doesn’t cover that look in a man’s eyes.

Jean-Claude was standing behind me. I could feel him. Without touching me at all, I could feel his power, like a cool, seeking wind. He brushed his face against my hair. My heart was beating so loudly I couldn’t hear anything but the thundering of my own blood in my head.

Jean-Claude brushed my hair to one side. His lips touched my cheek and his power burst over me in a quiet rush, cool as a wind from the grave. It flowed through me, seeking Richard’s warmth. The two energies hit, mingled inside me. I couldn’t breathe. I felt that thing inside me that could call the dead from the grave—magic, for lack of a better word—I felt it coil and flare against them both.

I tried to pull away from Richard, but his fingers dug into my ribs. Jean-Claude’s arms tightened around my shoulders. “Build the power, do not fight it, ma petite.”

I fought the panic, my breath coming in quick gasps. I was going to hyperventilate and pass out if I couldn’t get a handle on it. I rode the power and my own fear, and I was losing.

Richard’s mouth bit gently at my stomach. His mouth sucking my skin. Jean-Claude’s lips touched my neck, nibbling gently. His arms cradled me against his chest. Richard was a growing warmth at my waist. Jean-Claude like some cool fire at my back. I was being eaten from both ends like a piece of wood going up in flames. The power was too much. It had to go somewhere. I had to do something with it or it was going to burn me alive.

My legs buckled, and only Richard’s and Jean-Claude’s hands on me kept me from falling. They lowered me to the floor, still cradled in their arms. My shoulder touched the ground, then my hand, and I knew what I could do with the power. I felt it surge through the ground, seeking, seeking the dead. I rolled onto my stomach. Jean-Claude’s hands were on my shoulders, his face brushing mine. Richard’s hands were under my shirt touching my back, roaming