"Xavier," Wulfe said with a low growl.

"Okay, I can't really say 'cause I'm not supposed to know, but I hear more than I should, and it's big, Nat. Save-the-world kind of big. Really cool shit goes on here."

"You can't want to stay here."

Xavier shrugged. "It's not like I have a choice."

Natalie's pained gaze swung to Wulfe, but he shook his head. "I'm sorry. He can't leave unless we find a way to take his memories."

"Do you think that will happen?"

He could lie to her. In a few minutes, she wouldn't remember. But he wouldn't do that to Xavier.

"No."

Her eyes began to glisten with unshed tears as she turned back to her brother, framing his face with her hands. "I can't leave you here. I'll never be able to find you again."

"Nat." The kid gripped his sister's hands, pulling them gently between them, but didn't let go. "You'll think I died, like your friends did. I'm sorry. I know that's going to be hard on you. And Mom." His expression crumbled for just a moment. He visibly swallowed. "But right now you know the truth, that I'm going to be okay. This is a good place, and I can do stuff here that I like. You should meet Pink. She's really cool."

"I'll never see you again." Natalie's voice broke.

Wulfe watched her struggle with tears, hating that she was having to experience this.

"What am I going to do without you, Xave?"

Xavier pulled her back into his arms. "Maybe finally stop worrying about me?"

Natalie's arms tightened in a fierce hug. "I love you, Xavier Cash. I will always love you."

"I know. I'll always love you, too."

Natalie pulled back and looked at him, swiping at the tears that were starting to fall. "If only I had some way to remember this, to know that you're okay."

Xavier pulled a pen from his back pocket, took his sister's hand, and drew on her palm, a circle with a small curved line in it. "A smiley face with no eyes. When you see this, you'll know I'm happy." He kissed her cheek. " 'Bye, Nat." Then he turned away, and Natalie let him leave.

Wulfe watched her, his hands clenching with an inappropriate need to offer her a shoulder to cry on. He might have done it anyway but for the uncertainty of her reaction. It was better to remember her as the one who'd smiled at him, who'd touched his scars without revulsion, than the one who'd backed away when he tried to hug her.

Natalie stood still as stone, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. She whirled on him suddenly, a desperate fire in her eyes. "Promise me you're not going to hurt him, or kill him, or enslave him. Ever. He's a good guy, Wulfe. A good man."

"As long as he's genuinely content to remain here, he has a home. I promise."

But if he ever tried to escape, or call the cops, he was a dead man. Wulfe had told Xavier that, point-blank, and he felt certain the kid had understood. At the moment, the kid appeared to be viewing all this as a grand adventure.

Wulfe just hoped that didn't change.

He reached for Natalie, brushing a tumbling tear from her cheek with his thumb. As she met his gaze with damp eyes, he stroked the softness of her flesh for one indulgent moment, then looked deeply into her eyes and snatched control of her mind.

"When you wake, you won't remember anything that happened from the moment you drove into Harpers Ferry. You'll walk into town, go into one of the shops, and call your fiance. Then you'll look at your palm, see the symbol drawn there, and know Xavier is okay. That he's happy. But for his own safety, you'll never tell anyone that. Nor will you ever try to find him."

Giving in to an urge he didn't entirely understand, he placed a light kiss on her forehead. "Be happy, Natalie."

Then he knocked her out, swung her into his arms, and headed out of the prison block to take her home.

Chapter Eighteen

Kougar watched Ariana dance with hungry eyes, her beauty making him ache. She was exquisite, her dark hair flying around her shoulders, her brilliant eyes shining. She took his hand and twirled around him, her scent enveloping him in a desire that went far deeper than the flesh. As she met his gaze, she threw back her head, her trill of musical laughter filling his heart.

He held her hand as she danced around him in the circular, roofless room, the walls a living jungle, the music flowing over them from the open balcony overlooking the festivities below. She'd kicked the pillows out of the way and now danced across the sleek golden floor.

With every graceful twirl of her body, the band around his chest tightened, his need to pull her against him and never let her go growing more difficult to resist. Slowly, he was coming to realize that it wouldn't matter how much distance he put between them, he would never be free of her. He would be, as he'd always been, incomplete without her by his side.

With a last twirl, she tugged on his hand and pulled him with her onto the open balcony, to the railing where they could watch the party below. And the Ilinas knew how to celebrate. Ribbons of color danced through the air as crystal lights bobbed and weaved above the maidens' heads in time to the lively music. The women danced, nearly four dozen of them, about half with flesh and-blood-feet on stone, the other half twirling, mistlike, in the air.

To a woman, they were lovely, their hair free, their bodies lithe and graceful, their emotions a tangible force. Joy, excitement, and hope leaped and danced, caressing his senses.

But only the woman at his side moved him, body and soul, making his blood rush with a seductive, carnal need.

This night was a time apart. An island in a churning sea. They had yet to find a clear path to saving Hawke and Tighe, one that wouldn't endanger Ariana and those she loved. But he refused to believe they wouldn't.

He refused to let them die.

And he refused to die himself. Not when Ariana was finally back in his life.

She turned to him, a warmth and depth in her eyes he thought he could happily drown in. "Do you remember the time you filled the garden with flowers, Kougar? Wildflowers of every color and type."

Of course he did. He remembered better the happiness the flowers had brought to her brilliant eyes. "You liked flowers."

"I loved them. I still do."

"I liked making you smile." Being in love with her had felt so simple then. So right. "It was all I ever wanted--to make you happy." The words came out, low, a whisper from his heart.

"Was it?" She cocked her head, looking genuinely surprised.

He frowned. "You were happy."

She hesitated. And in that hesitation, something died inside him.

"I loved you, Kougar." But she turned back toward the garden and the festivities, avoiding his question. Below, two of the maidens shed their gowns and leaped, naked, beneath one of the small waterfalls, their laughter so at odds with the cold invading his mind.

"You were happy." His voice was starting to sound belligerent, but he didn't care. I didn't get that wrong, dammit.

"I was happy," she murmured; but she was hedging, he could hear it in her voice.

"You're lying." The ground was shifting beneath his feet, playing havoc with his balance.

She looked at him helplessly. "I was happy most of the time. At least when we were together."

"I had responsibilities. I came to you as often as I could."

"I know. And we made love, which was wonderful. But . . ." Her hand lifted, then dropped. "I never really knew you."

"We were mated," he snapped. She couldn't just rewrite a thousand years of history.

The look she gave him was starting to spark with annoyance. "Joined, yes, body and soul. But that never gave me access to your mind. I never knew what you were thinking, what you were feeling, unless we were making love." Her brows drew down. "I never knew what made you happy."

"You made me happy. You."

"I don't think you ever told me that."

He glared at her. "You knew." The floor had turned to quicksand beneath his feet.

"You don't get it, Kougar. You never let me in. There was always this wall between us. I could see you through it . . . just as I still can . . . but I've never been able to truly reach you. To this day, I have no idea when or where you were born, or when you were first marked as a Feral Warrior. I loved you, Kougar. But you've never let me really know you."

He stood stunned, silent, his mind reeling. She was rewriting everything he remembered of those two years they'd been together. They'd been happy. He'd been happy. Those had been the best damned years of his life. How could she not . . . ?

A thought slammed into him. "That's why you didn't turn to me after you severed the mating bond."

She shook her head, then sighed. "I honestly don't know. Maybe things would have been different if we'd been closer."

If they'd been closer? Goddess, he'd never been closer to anyone. Except his Feral brothers. The Wind and Horse had known everything about him. Everything.

"I loved you." How could she believe he didn't love her? He'd brought her flowers.

"I knew you loved me, in your way. But no, I never thought I had a very big piece of your heart." She turned to him fully, her hand covering his, her eyes pained. "I never thought the rending of the bond would physically injure you the way it did. I'm sorry for that."

The rending of the bond had been the least of his injuries. When she'd died, when he thought she'd died, he'd lost his heart. Even after all this time, the pain was so sharp, he had to close his eyes against the memory of it. A thousand times sharper than the acid destroying him now. How had she not known how deeply he'd loved her?

He stared at the women below, barely noticing that more and more had shed their gowns and were now dancing in the nude, cavorting in the waterfalls and small pools, their laughter ringing gaily over the music. All he could think about was Ariana's words. That he'd never opened up to her.

He didn't talk about his past because it was nobody's business. And yet, just a few days ago, as they'd tried to re-create one of the old Daemon traps, Hawke had asked him questions about the old days, and he'd told him virtually nothing even though the warrior's curiosity had risen thick in the air between them. Even though he'd felt closer to Hawke than he had any of the current Ferals. Even when he knew Hawke possessed a quick mind and an insatiable curiosity, that telling him tales of those old times, of Hawke's own father, the Wind, would be the finest gift he could have given his friend.

Did Hawke even know he considered him a friend? His best friend?

Keeping it all buried had been his way for so long, he wasn't sure he could share the past if he wanted to. But he'd give just about anything to be able to share those stories with Hawke, at that moment.

And sharing himself with Ariana might be his only chance of keeping her in his life. Could telling her his story be any harder than what he'd endured these past thousand years without her? Could it be harder than losing her again?

No. A thousand times, no.

He turned to her, meeting her gaze. "I was born a hundred years before the Sacrifice."

Ariana stared at the man beside her, the man she'd loved for an eternity, with surprise bordering on shock.

The Sacrifice was an old name given to that joining of forces between the Mage and the Therians, both races mortgaging the bulk of their power to defeat the Daemons.

Five thousand years ago.

Kougar stiffened, pacing away from her on the observatory balcony like a caged cat, while the music and laughter of her maidens lifted on the crystalline air from the garden below. She'd hurt him with her honesty, which hadn't been her intent. He was a good man. A strong, honorable warrior who'd probably loved her as much as he was able.

She turned and followed him back into the circular room, feeling the need to touch him, to soften the blow of her words; but his stiffness welcomed no such comfort.

"My father was chief of the cougar clan," he continued, standing before the wall mural as if seeking answers in the lush, painted jungle. "The world was different then--each of the shifter lines a separate community with alliances and enemies, territorial wars and rampant infighting. The cougars' closest allies in those days were the leopards and white wolves. Our biggest rivals were the tigers and the horses, whose chief was a dictator of the worst sort. And the vipers." He glanced at her over his shoulder. "No one allied themselves with the vipers."

He stepped away from the mural, his gaze dropping to the discarded pile of colorful silk cushions, his brows drawn as if he were deep in thought. "But even then, things were changing. Satanan had only recently come into his true power. The Daemons, who'd always kept to the highest elevations and only killed as necessary, were beginning to terrorize the populated regions. They were starting to kill for pleasure and power. Many of their earliest victims were immortals since we took so long to die."

He looked up, his gaze focusing on her briefly. "You know this, or will, when you get your memories from the old queens. The Ilinas had always had little involvement with the other immortal races before that time; but in the century that followed, it took all of us together to defeat Satanan."

As he began to pace again, Ariana clasped her hands together in front of her, awed that he was telling her this, holding her breath as she willed him to continue.

He walked slowly around the room, his unseeing gaze on the floor. "I was still short of my maturity when my mother and one of the other cougar females disappeared. Two years later we found them in a Daemon nest, along with the mutilated bodies of over forty human children. The shifters were still alive, their bodies covered in blood from the tortures they'd endured, but their eyes were empty. The other woman eventually recovered, but my mother never did. She sat in the corner, rocking herself, her mind destroyed. She never shifted again."