“The Assembly thinks you do,” he said. He brushed his cheek down her forearm to the crook of her elbow, inhaling the scent of her skin, then kissed his way back up to her wrist.

Jenna looked up at him, startled.

“They put it to a vote, taking into account several important things. First, there is the matter of your powerful Blood. As your father was the only skinwalker—”

“What the hell does that mean?” Jenna pulled her wrist from his grasp and leaned forward to stare at him with piercing eyes. “Edward said that to me before, that day in the Assembly meeting—what does it mean?”

Leander stared back at her with his eyebrows raised. “You must have known,” he said. “You must have seen it before, when you were a child, your mother must have told you...”

Jenna shook her head no.

Leander folded her hands very gently in his own. “It’s a term we borrowed from the Native American lexicon...the only appropriate thing we could think of to describe what he was, what he could do.”

“What could he do?” Jenna breathed.

Leander hesitated. He rubbed his thumbs back and forth over both her hands, stroking, warming. “Jenna, your father could Shift to anything he chose,” he said softly. “Not just vapor. Not just panther. Any animal on the planet, any human he wanted to resemble, anything organic in nature, anything elemental, anything inanimate. Wind. Water. Fire. A tree. A lamp. Anything.”

She stared at him, breathless, the sound of her pulse banging away in her ears. She made a noise that wasn’t quite coherent as she thought of that night on the lanai so long ago: Her father. The crow. The butterfly.

Leander smiled as he saw recognition dawn across her face. He lifted his hand to stroke her cheek.

“Where was I? Oh, yes, secondly, Morgan’s disclosures of your own quite astonishing Gifts were taken into account, and finally the fact that you risked your own life to save Daria—which, even Durga had to admit, is something only the pure of heart would ever do—they’ve made the formal proclamation that, pending proof of all your Gifts, you are the Queen.”

Jenna swallowed and blinked, breathing unevenly. “Pending proof of all my Gifts? But I...I can only Shift to vapor...and just that once to panther.”

His finger stroked over her cheek, back and forth, back and forth. His smile deepened. “The Ikati have an ancient saying, Blood follows Blood. What your father could do...that could be in your Blood too. Most likely it is. Needless to say, we’re all quite eager to find out.”

A dimple flashed in his cheek. “Some of us more than others.”

She stared at him. Her mouth made several odd shapes, but nothing came out.

“I...I...” she finally managed. She dropped her eyes back to the bed and drew lazy circles with her finger on the fur coverlet between them. “I see. Well. That’s all very...interesting.” She took a long, shaky breath. “To say the least. But—”

She lifted her eyes straight to his and gazed at him steadily, her eyes cool, quiet green.

“I don’t want to be your Queen.”

“Another title, perhaps?” he murmured, watching her closely. “Duchess? Empress? She Who Must Be Obeyed?”

Her expression soured. “You Englishmen are way too fond of your titles.”

He waited, not speaking, holding her gaze.

“What good is it to...rule...over people who have no say in their own fates, people who can’t even decide who they’re going to marry? People who hate you for having what they don’t have—freedom.” She dropped her gaze and shook her head. “I told you before. You have no idea how wonderful it is to be free. If I’m the...whatever you want to call me...and I have a choice—I choose my freedom.”

“So you have no desire to make changes to the Law, then,” Leander said, matter-of-factly.

“Changes?” She frowned at him while he remained gazing at her benignly, handsome and enigmatic with the light sketching patterns of gold and red over his skin. “What do you mean, changes?”

“Well,” he drawled, perfectly serene, raising his eyebrows at her. “Who did you think would be able to make changes to the Law, if not the Queen?”

It was a full thirty seconds before she comprehended him. The blood began rushing through her veins like wildfire.

“Ah. Changes. Yes. Well.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve always thought the Law was too strict. Despotic, in fact.”

He nodded solemnly. “Archaic.”

“Yes, exactly. In dire need of a few...updates.”

“Adjustments,” he agreed.

“Hmmm. Yes, the Law is in need of a few revisions. And if only the Queen can make those kinds of changes...” One shoulder came up. Leander watcher her lips purse, ripe as cherries against the glow of her rose-cream skin.

“Think of it as an opportunity to right the wrongs of an imperfect system,” he murmured. “To bring liberties to the oppressed. You could bring the Law of the Ikati into the twenty-first century.”

Her lowered lashes made a silken dark curve against her cheeks. “I never pictured myself a crusader for change...” The tiniest of smiles played around her lips. “Although I must admit, liberties are something I am particularly fond of.”

“Not to mention trouble making and rule breaking,” he added. She looked up at him. His face was placid, but his eyes were bright, laughing green.

“Don’t forget baubles,” she said.

His smile deepened. He slid his hand up her arm and over her shoulder, his palm skimming over her bare skin. He curled his hand around the nape of her neck, buried his fingers into the cool weight of her hair. “Large baubles, if I remember correctly,” he said, husky.

His eyes took on a new light, burning and intent, as he bent his head toward her.

He brushed a kiss across her cheekbone, her temple. He nosed her hair aside and nuzzled her neck. “And the ever-popular bent knee,” she said breathlessly.

He laughed low into her ear and put his arms around her, pulling her close. Her arms wound up over his shoulders. “I was just getting to that,” he murmured, tightening his embrace. A slight, mocking sigh left his lips. “How much easier my life would be if I weren’t in love with such a headstrong, demanding woman. I think you’re going to be very bad for my blood pressure.”

“Yes,” she agreed, tilting her head to his. “I’m afraid I am going to be a very difficult wife. ‘High-maintenance’ I believe is the correct term.”

Wife. His heart began to swell in his chest, so big he thought it would burst.

“A real hellion,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth. He felt her smile, curving and taut against his kiss.

“That’s Queen Hellion, to you, my love,” she breathed, lying back onto the pillows. She stretched her arms out to him, and he leaned down over her and smiled, a genuine smile this time.

“God, yes,” he whispered. He bent his head to kiss her neck, the fine skin of her throat. His lips skimmed the rise of her breasts exposed in open invitation above the neckline of her dress. “Say it again.” His fingers discovered the delicate pearl buttons of her sundress. He worked the top few open.

“Queen—” She broke off as his tongue probed the flesh the opened buttons had exposed. She twined her fingers into his hair, turned her head to his neck. “Queen Hellion?”

“No, the other part,” he murmured with a low laugh, dropping kisses over her skin. He lifted his head and gazed deep into her eyes with his hand spread against the side of her face.

“Oh, let’s see.” She pretended to think, looking at the ceiling and drawing her eyebrows together. “I’m a bit tired, my memory isn’t quite clear—”

“My love,” he insisted, scowling down at her. “You said ‘my love.’ And I want you to say it again.”

Her eyebrows climbed. “And I’m the demanding one?”

“Jenna—”

“And as for headstrong—”