She wriggled against his hand splayed across her chest. “Let go of me. I’m a shifter, same as you. I wanted to hug you and you tossed me back into my seat like I was a rag mop dolly.” Tamara tapped at a single ebony claw extruding from the tip of his index finger. Lars fought a sheepish grin, but it was a losing battle. He sank back into his seat with stern exhortations to his cat to retreat.

He wanted to draw her into his arms, hold her close, but he felt suddenly shy. Just because they shared the same magic—and made each other hotter than hell—it didn’t necessarily mean a thing, other than he could let his guard down a few notches. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. I was more startled than hurt.” She rubbed at the reddened place on her upper chest where he’d held her and shot him a rueful grin. “Either I’ll be learning German, or you’ll be brushing up on your Irish.”

He snorted. “Gaelic, Irish, and Welsh are probably the only languages where I cannot hold my own.”

“That’s often the way of it. German is almost the only one I don’t know.” She folded her fingers together and rested her chin on them. “Sure and you’re a mountain cat. I recognized the claw.”

“What are you?” Curiosity burned deep. He wanted to see her in her other form, wanted to get to know all of her.

“The same.”

Joy burned a path through his soul. What were the odds? To hell with caution. He started to open his arms, invite her into his lap, when the plane beeped a warning. Lars turned his attention to the instruments, made a minor course correction, and got up to shut the cockpit door, which was what had spurred the alarm. Overwhelmed by her revelation, he wanted to simply pull her against him and never let go. Instead, he forced himself to take a few steps back. It was wonderful, stupendous, amazing they shared the same magic, but he still knew next to nothing about her.

He settled for brushing the top of her head with his lips before he returned to his seat and buckled in. He motioned for her to do the same. “Maybe now you can finish telling me about your life. You left off when your family moved to Dublin.”

“So I did.” She smiled broadly. “Well then, three of us were still in school, so it kept us busy. The older three stayed in Drogheda, at least for a while. None of them are there now. Mum developed quite a reputation as a virtuoso. Da’s jewelry business flourished, but no matter how well things went, our life always felt tentative. Like a house of cards that could collapse at any moment if our secret became known.”

Lars nodded sympathetically. He understood exactly what she meant. It was one of many reasons he’d remained a confirmed loner. He gestured for her to keep talking. She had a wonderful voice. Low and lyrical, it was like a balm with her Irish brogue softening the consonants and blurring the vowels.

“Not much more to tell. Not really. I went to University College in Dublin, graduated with a degree in journalism, and went to work for the Irish Times. I’ve traveled much of the world writing stories and taking pictures.”

“Boyfriends?” Lars gripped the edges of his seat. It was a hard question, but he wanted to know.

Tamara shook her head. “Oh, and I’ve had my share, but none of them stuck. See, I had this huge secret.” She winked. “There was no easy way to find men who wouldn’t be blowing my cover. I was engaged once, ten years ago when I was but nineteen.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “What always happens when you’re too young to be in love? Mum warned me he wasn’t like us. I’m still not quite sure how she knew, but she did. Once the first blush of sex wore off, we tired of one another and went our separate ways.” She quirked an inquisitive brow. “Your turn.”

Lars just stared at her. Her request was reasonable. Why was he so unprepared for it?

She laughed, a rich, pleasing sound. “Sure and you look as if you just swallowed an elephant.”

An image of her statement formed in his mind; he laughed too. “I did not think beyond finding out about you. Of course you would want to know more about me.”

Shining blue eyes augured into him. She nodded. “Now that I know what you are, I sense you’re one of the old ones. My parents are old like that. Me and the current batch of sibs are something like their third or fourth family.”

He grinned. “They must like making babies.”

She drew her brows into a thoughtful line. “That too, but I’m thinking more of it is they’re worried our race will die out.”

He tipped his head her way. “Good thing some of us are on top of that. I certainly have not produced so much as one offspring.”

“Tell me,” she said. “Everything.”

Where to begin? Lars picked through the shards of his life and understood he could hit the high points with very little effort. “I have always been what you might call a mercenary—a soldier for hire. The lifestyle appealed to me. Once upon a time, we were warriors, well-loved, revered. Not so much in modern life.”

He took a breath, scanned the instruments to buy himself a moment to think. “You are correct about me being one of the elders, yet I am younger than many. I was born in 1646 and came to the U.S. around the time of the Revolutionary War. I have faded in and out of lives so no one would notice I did not age as they did. I have known Garen—and a few others—for much of my life. We have always worked together.

“The Company is all those like us. It is one reason you would fit.”

“But I’m far from a warrior.” She gazed at her lap and then looked at him. “The bare truth of it is what I did to Jaret sickened me.”

He nodded. “All that means is you have a conscience. You did not back out, or run shrieking from your rooms. You finished what you began. It is the same for us all. When you meet Miranda, perhaps she will tell you about one of her last assignments in a brothel for human slaves. She almost lost everything freeing them.”

“She must be very brave.”

“Courage comes from the heart.” He tapped his breastbone. “You have a big heart.”

Tamara shook her head. “Not so big. I was scared. So scared I dithered back-and-forth. Weeks passed when I could have…done something.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “There were nights I’d circle the bed with my knife in my hand. I’d get the blade close to him, but damn me if I could force myself forward. I’d creep back to the living room and stuff a towel in my mouth so he wouldn’t hear me crying.”

“What made the difference?” Lars thought he knew, but it would be good for her to verbalize it so it sank in.

She pursed her lips; they flattened into a hard line. When she spoke, her voice vibrated with outrage. “I was sick of him.” She patted her chin with the back of one hand. “Sure and I’d had it up to here with Jaret Chen. Every other night he was stoned, so I could get out of sex because he was more interested in his dope and just fell asleep. That night, he put off his shot…” She gulped air. “I, he…” Her voice trailed off, and her face splotched with shame.

“I will not judge you, liebchen.”

She twisted her mouth into a disgusted moue. “I’d already decided back at the casino that I was going to…finish things, but after we got to our rooms, he made me touch myself. He’s a voyeur, one of them that likes to watch. I started out making a game of it, but I made myself come—twice.” She swallowed hard, but didn’t drop her gaze. “I was afraid if I stayed with him much longer, I’d be drawn into his sickness, his craziness. If that happened, I’d have been lost. Even as things were, he’d never have just let me walk away. I knew too much. Eventually, I’d have ended up dead, just like poor Moira.”

Lars reached across the few inches separating their seats and took her hand. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Her nostrils flared. “Sure and that was harder than telling you about my magic.”

“Because your magic is something you were born with and cannot change. Your actions with Jaret were a choice, one which embarrasses you. I have done many things I am not proud of. We make choices in the field, often when we cannot think as clearly as we would like.”