by Lorelei Bell
She recalled that the cat had done exactly the same thing when she was young. It would gain its way into her bedroom, and watch her undress, then slept beside her the whole night. Sometimes he remained into the morning, and would sit and watch her dress. It was a little unsettling the way it watched her intently as though—well, as though fascinated by every little thing she did.
Then, as now, it made her somewhat uncomfortable to undress in front of him, so she closed the drapes on the side of the bed where she stepped before her armoire and slipped out of her chemise and camisole, took out her sleeping chemise and tugged it on. She couldn't help but suspect that the cat might be a wizard who was a shiftchanger. But shift-changing wizards were very rare. She didn't know any. Or did she?
Stephen's little note asking her to meet him on her balcony tonight flashed back into the forefront as the rain pelted the window panes. Lightning streaked through the inky sky. And Stephen had not come to her door, either. So, where was he?
Stephen was part god, she reminded herself. Shift changing would be a natural thing for him. He had never alluded to the fact that he was a shift changer to her. She reminded hereself he liked to boast, when he was younger. Wouldn't he have told her this?
While Zofia chewed on these thoughts, she blew out nearly all the candles, and moved toward the bed. The cat had arranged himself across her pillow, kneading it with large white paws.
He greeted her with a half-meow, half-purr, golden eyes half-closed.
Zofia knelt onto the bed and bent down to become almost eye-to-eye with the cat and said, “Stephen, if you're in there, come out.”
Meow.
“This is your last chance,” she said, taking his big paws in her hands and holding them gently, looking deep into his amber eyes. Noticing they had flecks of green in them. Beautiful eyes for a cat.
The cat pulled away from her hold, and flipped onto his back, playfully arching his back and batting his paws at her. Purring loud enough to hear over the thunder.
“Okay, Kitty. You may sleep with me, tonight. But no funny business. Got it?”
The cat moved as she pulled down the covers, slid under the blankets and blew out the last candle. She snuggled under the covers. The cat's purring in her ears, while he affectionately licked her hair, made her giggle.
“Stop that. Go to sleep,” she told him, just as she would have to do, so many years ago.
Lightning shattered the darkness as Zofia lay in the large canopy bed. Thunder crashed outside, and the whole castle shook. Or it seemed to. Heart pounding, Zofia pulled the blankets over her head. She could hear rain pelting the windows, sounding like small ice pellets rapping against the glass. Kitty pressed up beside her, his kneading paws against her neck.
Finally alone, the events of the day came rushing back at her like the stinging ice pellets that hit the eight-foot windows of her room. Dorian's running off like he had, had to take first prize. Of course, Stephen's giving her this crazy assignment was runner up. It was the not-so-surprising note he had sent telling her to meet him that ( now that she thought of it), had probably given her that queasy stomach at dinner. (Probably.)
Lightning threw the room into sudden brilliance, even though she had closed her eyes against it. The deep purring from Kitty nearly vibrated straight through her. She rolled over, and pulled the cat against herself. The feline was large and heavy, but she managed to cradle him to herself like a baby. He coiled up, allowing her indulgence.
“Oh, Kitty,” she said. “I'm just so sad—” the tears suddenly burst to her eyes and her throat tightened. “You've no idea what shitty day I've had,” she sniffled.
The cat turned his large head and licked her cheek. His rough tongue lapped at the salty tears and purred into her ear, and licked there as well. It tickled and shocked her out of the abyss of depression she was heading down into. She giggled from the wild sensation it had given her and she had to cradle his big head in her hand and turn him away. Another minute of that and she'd be beyond help.
“Stop that, Kitty! You're being a very bad boy when you do that,” she scolded, but not harshly, and lay back, setting the cat down beside her on the pillow. The cat pressed its front paws on her face and neck, lightly kneading her skin, careful not to use its claws, all the while keeping that loud purr going like a steady engine. The cat's nearness consoled her, and in a few moments, she dropped off to sleep with the sound of rain, distant thunder, and purring in her ears.
Something woke her, and slowly Zofia became aware of a weight pressing against her ribcage. There was a firm something at her back, which was also warm and pressing up against her. All of her.
Astral bells going off, she pulled in a breath and found the air redolent with ozone, and just a tang of musk, together it was almost ambrosial.
The storm had moved off, and all was quiet. Clouds were parting, revealing just enough moonlight to spill in through the tall windows, past the sheers and heavier drapes, etching ribbons of silver across the floor. It was quiet as a tomb. Quiet except for the steady breathing feathering across the top of her head.
Someone was there in bed with her, she decided, as she climbed out of her half-sleep state. Someone's arm was wrapped about her, holding her, his weight imprisoning her securely against himself. Of course, it was a man. A very large one. Tall. Taller than Dorian. One man came to mind, of course. She reached for the arm, felt its sinew beneath a feathering of hair, and she traced the arm to the large hand. Her own, smaller hand coursed over its contours while her mind went wild with raging thoughts of what this all meant. Her body had a reaction all its own, threatening to veto her objections to this situation.
Hand against his, she caught a bit of skin between the thumb and middle finger and pinched. She heard his steady breath catch, then was drawn in sharply. His whole body moved then. Oh, goddess! She now knew exactly what that was against her back.
“Stephen!” she said with a stern voice, hoping it wasn't shaking too much, or that he would notice.
“Hmmf?” he said in her ear in a way that implied he wasn't invading her space at all, but rather belonged there.
“What are you doing in my bed?” She didn't dare move a muscle, now, as his hand went into motion. The long fingers pressed against her belly, and then toured toward her hip.
“What?” he said sleepily.
“I said, what are you doing in my bed?”
The hand came to a stop and settled on her hip.
“We have some things to discuss.”
“That's why the note?”
“Yes. We need to talk.”
“So, that's why you came into my bed chambers, snuck into my bed to discuss something?”
“I wanted to wait until after you supped,” he said. “And then the storm came.”
“Twilina brought me the note. It said to meet you on my balcony, not my bed.”
“I wasn't counting on the storm. That changed everything.”
“Alright. How did you get in here? I locked my door,” she said very bravely.
“You let me in.”
“I did not!”
“Why don't you turn around?” he suggested. His hand slid up to her waist, and gave her a little squeeze. Tapered fingers felt warm. Inquisitive.
“I don't think so. I think you should get out of my bed.”
“That's alright,” he said, ignoring her request. “I don't mind this side of you.” She felt him nuzzle her hair, close to her ear and it sent shivers through her. Oh, dragon crap.
“Stephen—”
“Yes?”
“You didn't answer me.”
“What?”
“How did you get into my room, and don't say I let you in—”
“But, you did,” he insisted.
“I did not. You didn't come to the door, and I didn't let you in.”
He took in a large breath and let it out almost exasperatedly. “I'm afraid you did,” he said as he let out all the air he took in. It was a gale against her neck a
nd face. “You don't remember my coming to your door?”
“No.”
“As the cat?”
“The cat?”
“Yes. I thought you knew—”
“Knew? That you're a—”
“Shiftchanger. Yes.”
“How could I have known that? You never once told me.”
“I did. A long time ago. You must've forgotten, or thought I was lying, perhaps?”
She quietly thought on this. It was quite possible he had told her, but she'd forgotten, or hadn't believed him. He would tell her the most unusual things about himself, when they were young, and most of it was dragon dung.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I thought you knew all this time I've come to you as the cat.”
“No. I didn't. And I don't appreciate your slinking into my room under the guise of an innocent cat.” Now she was very glad she had not undressed in front of him.
“I can't help myself,” he said, the fingers of his hand exploring her curves, stopping just beneath one breast. “When it happens, it happens when I'm frightened, or a little anxious.”
“Frightened? You?” her voice rising with disbelief. “What could frighten you?”
“Storms,” he said simply.
Zofia quietly thought on this a few beats. She recalled that nearly every time she encountered the cat, or it had come padding into her room there had been a storm.
“You're afraid of storms?”
“Only the bad ones,” he said. “Ever since I was a boy. Storms just frighten me, and I shiftchange automatically.”
“One would think you'd out-grow it.”
“One would,” he agreed. “But it began when I was very young. I can shiftchange any time I wish, during the waxing moons, or when they're in wanning, the storm just pulls it out of me without warning. I don't have any control over it. Obviously, since I knew you were here, in the castle, I sought you, just as I did when I was a child. You consoled and comforted me then. I think we were a solace to one another back then.”
She recalled how, after both her parents were killed by Blood, she had been brought here, to this huge castle, as it was deemed safe, since it was the base for the Witenagemont. But she had felt so alone and frightened. The cat had befriended her, and his cuddling up to her at night had been the only way she could sleep, some nights. Now, come to find out, it was Stephen all along. In a way this didn't surprise her. It didn't even make her angry. If truth be told, she suddenly felt a tug of tenderness toward him; an emotional bond which she never knew even existed between them until now.
“What about yesterday, when I came up to the tower? Was that you as the cat?”
“Of course it was.”
“It wasn't storming then,” she reminded.
“No.” He pulled in another breath and let it out slowly. His hand slid all the way down her side, to her thigh to rest warmly there, skin to skin. She wanted to move away, but she couldn't budge. His one leg was wrapped firmly around her legs. “But I was nervous about that meeting with The Four.”
“Wow,” she breathed, relieved his hand had not taken a detour and gone beneath her nighty, but his hand was slowly running up and down her thigh. “So, anything that frightens you, or makes you nervous sends you into shiftchanging mode?”
“Pretty much, if I'm not paying attention. Most of the time, I can control it.”
“And now that the storm is over, you've become human again.” And nude.
“Yes. We've been sleeping with one another like this since we were children.”
“Goddess!” she said, realizing she had been sleeping with Stephen all this time, and never knew it. If Dorian learned this he'd probably want to kill the both of them.
“Back then, when I was older, I would wake up—as human—knew I shouldn't be there with you, and I'd slip out before you woke. Or, I'd just remain a cat. I can control it.”
“That's why—” she stopped in her thoughts.
“What?”
“You were always so interested in me.”
He chuckled lightly. “It only makes sense, doesn't it?”
“Well, now that we have that straight, you really should leave,” she said, grasping his hand, as it moved up her thigh again.
“Not yet.”
“Fun and games are over, Stephen. You've had a nice snuggle. Now go back to your own bed. I've not sought you out as a lover. If Dorian found out—”
“That's exactly why I came to you,” he said slowly, and his hand grasped hers, fingers twining with hers, then their hands clutched together, he settled them around her middle. “You've forgotten a few things,” he went on.
“Like?”
“We were given permission. Twice, in fact, to become lovers. To become intimate.”
“What are you talking about? By who?” Her skin prickled with heat.
“By the highest source, for one,” he said.
Her memory kicked in. Oh, how stupid of me, she thought. “You mean Dianna?”
“That's right.”
“But I'm pregnant already. Mating with me would accomplish nothing.” Well, almost nothing.
“True. But intimacy isn't just about sex,” he said, and drew her hand up and kissed her fingers over her right shoulder.
“Right. So, that's a two-by-four you've brought to bed with you?”
His rumbling chuckle echoed in her ear. He let go her hand only to curl his arm about her middle again, at the same time, shifting his weight. And there it was, that one part of him that was throbbing, and ready.
“You've forgotten I'm descendant of the fertility god, Emethius?”
“Oh.” That did explain a lot. The argument seemed to be swinging more his way, at the moment. She had to pull out her ace. “Dorian would never forgive me,” she said at last.
Stephen let go another puff of breath and it feathered across the back of her head and cheek. He didn't have terrible night breath. It was somewhat tangy, laced with a hint of cherry wine.
“Dorian has given his permission as well. Or don't you recall?” he said.
“At the luncheon, yesterday? He wasn't serious. He was angry—”
“Zofia,” he cut across her words. “Dorian left this morning on his own. I didn't give him that assignment. I was trying to tell you this this morning, but you seemed to not want to hear it.”
She turned her head now, trying to look into his face. The moonlight spilling in through the windows created enough illumination to see his face; the firm jawline, aquiline nose, and the gold-green eyes, and long, blond hair spilling over his pale shoulders. Everything totally opposite of the man she had married was now looking back at her, in a place that would have been restricted to her husband. And yet—goddess help her—it felt right.
“I was going to give him a few days to be with you before giving him an assignment. Remember that I told you we'd had a heart-to-heart?”
She nodded. Her stomach knotted suddenly, and the back of her throat went dry.
“That's when he gave me permission—again,” he said softly. “Not in anger.”
Zofia's stomach tightened like a drum. Dorian had been serious? The sting of tears burned the corner of her eyes. Stephen coiled both arms around her, pulling her close as she turned into his hug.
“I'm sorry,” he breathed against her head as he held her tightly. Tears dribbled out of her eyes, splattering on his biceps, below and hitting a corner of the pillow. “I couldn't persuade him. And he did it all by Code. Therefore…” he cleared his throat, but didn't go on. In other words, Dorian had relinquished her to Stephen. Seeing that Stephen had been runner up in the Chase and Race for her hand, many years ago, it all made perfect sense. Oddly, it seemed only fitting, now, that Dorian would give Stephen permission to woo her. He had relinquished all bonds to her. She was free to be with any man she wanted. But he'd given Stephen first dibs. Funny how he didn't have time to notify her about all this beforehand. That, in itself, was a slap in the face.
“I know th
is is all very sudden,” he went on.
“How—” her voice failed her; becoming hoarse with the tears and anger from this news. “It's like he's changed overnight. I don't understand it.”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “Dorian seemed different to me, too. He was also very focused on one thing.”
“What was that?” She looked up into his face, noting the fine lines around the eyes, his laugh lines, and some frown lines on his brow.
He hiked a shoulder. “I can only liken it to revenge.”
“Revenge? Against who?”
“I'm not exactly sure,” he said, his hands slid slowly up and then down the small of her back, stopping just at the curve of her buttocks. His overtures were enough to send little chills up and down her spine. She had to grip her lower lip with her teeth to keep herself from moaning. She wanted to respond, and yet couldn't.
“I mean the people who were responsible for his becoming a vampire are both dead, now,” Zofia managed, even though she was terribly aware of where his hand had gone, worried it might just go a little further south.
“I know. But when I spoke to him, I could only get a feeling from him that it was not Blood or Xilomorah who he blamed for all that business.”
“Who then?”
“Phineas Gardner.”
“One of the three missing Knights? Why?”
“I really don't know why. There must be something he recalls from that episode. Something he wouldn't share with me. He simply said he wanted to return to Ravenwood and settle some things. He said he wanted to see if he was right.”
“Right?”
“That's what I'd said. But he wouldn't answer me.”
Zofia and Stephen lie in each other's arms for a few heartbeats wondering about the significance of everything Dorian had said to him.
“At any rate, Zofia, I want you to know, this changes nothing. What I feel for you is genuine.”
She tried to swallow and found it difficult.
“I can offer you so much.”
True. Were they to marry, ladyship notwithstanding, she would have prestige—the kind that so many women had sought, yet never attained, as Stephen remained a bachelor. These things she didn't even care about. There was just one thing that did matter, since she'd learned she had not had it with Dorian.
