“Jarven. He’s the one who took me to Koskwim, didn’t know what else to do with me. He was pretty much the only one on the whole island who didn’t treat me like a freak.”

Bael opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. Jarven, silent and unemotional, quietly lending Kett the support she needed. A surrogate brother for an orphan child.

She told him how, when she was sixteen, a tall, lean man with chilling blue eyes, dressed all in black, had turned up and said he knew her father. Kett hadn’t believed him-in fact, up until then she’d rarely thought about her father. She’d discovered her mother had been a shapeshifter, but absolutely nothing of her father.

“He said he was taking me home,” she said, “and I told him I already was home. I’d never known anywhere else. I didn’t leave that island until I was sixteen.”

Bael frowned, because all he knew of Koskwim was that it was inhabited by a colony of wild dragons. But then, given Kett’s day job, he wasn’t that surprised.

“Who was he?” he asked, although he figured he already knew the answer.

“Striker. He and my dad go way back. He brought me here.”

She told him how she’d met her father for the first time, and he’d been distinctly underwhelmed, more interested in chasing pretty girls and separating wealthy people from their money than being a father. He’d sent her on to his own father, an Anglish earl, from whom Kett had been kidnapped by men who tried to sell her as a slave.

“Reckon he’d probably have left me there if they hadn’t gone after Nuala too,” she said without rancor.

“Don’t you mind?” Bael asked.

“What, that he prefers her to me? He’s known her longer. He was best mates with her brother-now the king-in their army days, saved his life once or twice. Nuala was like his kid sister-until she grew up, that is.” She smiled. “Funny, everyone thought she was still such a kid, but they treated me like an adult and I’m six years younger than her.”

Bael frowned, and she said gently, “It’s okay. You don’t need to go calling him out or anything. We actually get on okay now.” She gave a faint smile and added, “Apparently, finding out he has a teenage daughter can bloody terrify a man.”

The lamp grew dim as she told him about meeting her father’s exotic, glamorous and sometimes just insane friends. Striker was the tip of the iceberg, just one of many mad, bad and dangerous individuals Tyrnan of Emreland consorted with. Somewhere in between being the son of an earl and marrying a princess, he’d developed an infamous career in highway robbery. Perpetually pardoned by the king in Peneggan, and thrown in jail everywhere else, he spent his days with whom Kett called madmen and freaks.

“Most of them have settled down like my dad,” she said, “and the ones who didn’t are dead. Chalia and my dad knew each other at school. And then, turns out her mother and his father’d had a little…indiscretion. Like father, like son, I guess. Striker was the one who figured out Chalia was my dad’s sister. Lya…of course he made best friends with a kelf, why not? And Striker, they knew each other from their schooldays too.”

“I still can’t believe he was a child.”

“Well, of course he was. You don’t think he just hatched out fully formed, do you?”

“I thought he was something hell spat out.”

Kett smiled at that, stroking Var’s fur in a way that was quite distracting. “Hah,” she said quietly. “Some day I’ll tell you about how Striker got to be Striker. He used to be normal, apparently.”

“I can’t imagine it.”

“No, neither can I. He was a normal kid, a teenager, he joined the army, fell in love with a girl, and then got whisked away to a sort of hell dimension for twelve years. Enough to drive anyone mad. But he came back, mostly I think because he missed his woman.”

“Chalia?”

“Yeah. Funny what love does.”

Bael said nothing, watching her stroke Var. Funny indeed.

“’Cos it was love that got me killed,” Kett said, and looked up at him, as if judging his reaction.

“Killed,” Bael said steadily. Somehow, he wasn’t all that surprised.

“Love’s a curse. Falls on everyone. Everyone I know, anyway. You dreamed I was dead,” Kett said, “and I was, although not as old and moldy as you saw.”

“But-how? I mean…what…?”

She smiled at his confusion and pulled up her shirt to show him a small, jagged scar on her stomach. Bael knew that scar, had kissed and caressed it and wondered where it came from.

“The sorceress who freed Striker from the hell dimension fell in love with him,” she said, “but he left her there, swapped her freedom for his. When she escaped, she came after him and Chalia. And since Striker was impervious to harm, she started bumping off his and Chalia’s friends. Including her brother.”

“Your father.”

“Yep.” She snorted. “Last time I ever try to save his life.”

Bael touched the scar. “It’s an odd shape.”

“I was a tiger at the time. And it was magic. I don’t really remember. How she did it, I mean. I died almost instantly. And I don’t remember that either, before you ask. Everyone always wants to know what it’s like to be dead.”

“I’m happy not finding out,” said Bael honestly, and she smiled again. It was good to see her smile. His hand was still on her stomach, still tracing the length of the scar. Her skin was hot, smooth where it wasn’t scarred, and he could feel the muscles move as she breathed.

Well, it was her fault he was still touching her. She’d been cuddling Var like a favorite pet, stroking his fur, fondling his ears. Bael didn’t feel everything his twin did, but he felt enough, and what she was doing was killing him.

He looked up and she was watching him. Her eyes flashed.

“How did you come back to life?” he asked, not moving his hand.

“Striker,” she said, her voice hoarse. “He-” She cleared her throat. “He undid her magic. She killed my dad and Chalia and a whole load of others, but she did it with magic, not with real weapons. He just…undid it.”

“And you woke up alive?”

She nodded. Bael’s hand flattened on her abdomen, feeling the heat and the strength of her body. Such a body, to have survived what it had. His fingers stroked around to the curve of her waist and Kett let out half a breath.

“Bael-”

“It’s your fault,” he said, gesturing to the black cat still on her lap. “You’ve sent Var almost into a trance.”

She looked down guiltily. “Uh-crap. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. He likes it. I like it.”

His eyes met hers, and there was heat in them. Bael hadn’t even realized how close he’d gotten to her, but all he needed to do was move an inch and his lips would be brushing hers.

His hand tightened on her waist and Kett’s palm rested on his shoulder. He thought she was going to try to push him away, but she didn’t seem to know what to do, holding him away from her at a tiny distance.

It was torture.

“Kett,” he whispered, almost a plea, and her lips touched his. Sitting beside her on the bed, in the near dark, he kissed her gently, sweetly, his hands careful on her bruised, fragile body. Var, purring madly, merged with Bael and he swore he felt himself purr. Kett was kissing him, and nothing could be wrong while she was kissing him.

But she pulled away, her face shuttered.

“We shouldn’t do this,” she said, and Bael’s heart plummeted. “Bael, look. You’re hurt, I’m hurt. Between us we have more stitches than one of Nuala’s party frocks. I don’t think I’m even capable of sex right now.”

He stroked her cheek, where a bruise was still fading. She wasn’t his mate, not anymore. She never had been.

He should tell her he’d slept with Marisa.

“It’s late,” Kett said, moving back. “I’m tired.”

He stood, nodding reluctantly, and let her move away. She tugged off her shirt, wincing when she moved her shoulder, but Bael knew better than to interfere. Naked, she crawled into bed and looked at him standing there.