I look into his cold, hard green eyes and nod. "Of course," I say.

Samantha says to her daughter, "Elizabeth, knowing you have to do this, do you still want Peter? "

She tosses her head back, grins and says, "Of course!"

"Both of you please drink at the same time," Samantha says. "Make sure you finish it all. "

Elizabeth's jowl brushes the side of mine as we drink, the clear liquid almost as tasteless as water, slightly bitter from the Death's Rose and alchemist's powder. At first, I wonder if all this is just tradition, like the sip of wine at a Jewish wedding, but then a warmth starts spreading inside me and a fog starts to settle over my thoughts.

My awareness centers on Elizabeth and me-as if we're in the middle of a photograph with everything and everyone else around us out of focus. Somehow I notice when we've finished the last of the potion and I pull my head up as Elizabeth raises hers. We both stare into each other's eyes and gasp.

"Peter! I can see how I look to you-through your eyes! It makes me dizzy."

I laugh, staring at her, seeing my dragon face as she stares at me. "It makes me dizzy too."

"Oh Peter, can you hear every thought I have? What will you think of me? Do you feel everything I feel too?"

I nuzzle her and feel her sensation of being nuzzled at the same time. "Yes… I feel what you feel… I think. But I only hear what you're thinking as you think it. I don't think I can read your memories.…" I stroke her tail with mine, sigh at the double experience of it. "Do you feel what I feel too?"

She sighs, and says, "Yes, Peter."

Somewhere, from the haze surrounding us, Samantha Blood's thought penetrates my, our, consciousness. "Peter? Elizabeth?"

"Yes," we answer.

"Listen carefully. Death's Rose never completely leaves your system. After tonight, any more potion, just the slightest sip, will turn your blood to poison. Only the correct mixture of Angel Wort and alchemist's powder, taken the right amount of time before drinking the potion, can neutralize it. Otherwise death is certain. You must swear, unless one of you dies and the other remarries, you'll never take the risk of drinking any more potion, ever again."

Elizabeth and I both push away any thoughts of death or separation. We can hear each other's heartbeat, feel the air rush in and out of each other's lungs. We're too vital, too young, too strong for such fears. "I swear," we say.

"I know you're inside each other's minds and souls now," Samantha says. "But that will fade by the time the morning sun arrives.

"Remember, this potion can only be taken by you this once. You'll always be changed by having experienced it, always be connected to each other, but you'll never be inside each other as much as this again. Enjoy this night. Enjoy each other."

"Peter," Charles Blood says. "Elizabeth is now yours. Protect her."

"Elizabeth," Samantha Blood says. "Peter is now yours. Make sure he never suffers for lack of sustenance."

Derek brings over the Jamaican man he's selected, shoves him in front of us, pushes him to his knees.

"Our tradition, Peter, calls for the wife to hunt for her husband and give him the first opportunity to feed on her kill. Elizabeth caught this one in preparation for the feast tonight. Once you feed, you will have signified your acceptance of her as your mate."

I feel Elizabeth's heartbeat quicken. Mine speeds up in sympathy to it. Together we realize the hunger that's been building within us. Elizabeth slashes the man's throat open with one sweep of her right arm and he crumbles to the floor, his blood spilling out, the hot, rich aroma of it filling our nostrils.

Ravenous as I am, we are, I pause, waiting for Elizabeth to feed at the same time. "No, Peter," she says and I feel her form the words just as I hear them. "You must feed first-please."

Charles and Samantha grunt approval as I lower my head and bite into Elizabeth's kill, tear off a chunk of meat and devour it. Then Elizabeth joins me, feeding at my side.

We're vaguely aware of the rest of the family choosing others from the group huddled in the corner. Feasting on them, drinking Dragon's Tear wine from the green flagon, laughing, boasting about their hunts. Charles tells stories as he feeds-about Captain Jack and other ancestors. Derek tries to speak, but is being talked over. Human blood is everywhere.

Elizabeth and I take our bites at the same time, press against each other as we eat. As our hunger abates, we become more and more aware of other urges.

"Peter?" she says.

"Elizabeth?" I say at the same time.

We both giggle. "I know what you feel like now," I say.

"And I can feel you like that," she says.

"For pity's sake, spare us your drivel and take it to your room!" Charles Blood mindspeaks.

Not quite sure how we get there, unaware of how much time has passed, Elizabeth and I lie side by side on the bed of hay in her room and touch and explore each other, everything felt, everything shared, everything magnified by our duality of feeling.

"Peter, this is how it feels for you?" Elizabeth rubs against me and sucks in a breath as the sensation rips through both of us.

I feel her readiness for me build, just as my hardness intensifies until it becomes almost painful.

"Now!" we say at the same time. Both of us gasp as I enter her.

She resides inside every molecule of my being as I do in hers. We press against each other, move in perfect rhythm to each other's needs, stroke and buck and slow and speed up again in unison, roaring at the same time, growling in tandem, scratching, biting, all thought gone, lungs pumping for air, hearts racing-everything, every sense strained to the point just past ecstasy until we reach one, last great explosion of feelings, senses, movements-together, truly united as one.

Afterward, we lie smiling, her head next to mine-our tails, our legs entwined, our breaths mixed. I allow myself to feel her satisfaction, the pleasant aches that run through her from our exertions. She stretches and arches her back and I feel the lazy pleasure of her movement… and something else.

The faintest sign of a heartbeat, a tiny glimpse of an unformed thought.

"Our son, Peter," Elizabeth says. "Your child growing inside me."

We doze off together, the cool evening wind blowing through our window, prompting us to press closer together. Elizabeth's dreams intermix with mine. Images of her valley overlay memories of my island. Her family's faces float in and out with images of my mother and father and her/my memories come and go of oceans, hunts, laughter, love and flying.

Elizabeth nudges me awake shortly before dawn. Already I can sense the distance starting to return between us. I pull her close, as if that act could stop the inevitable separation her mother promised us the morning would bring.

"Peter," Elizabeth says. "We were dreaming such nice things together and then, then something you dreamed scared me."

"What was it?"

"I'm not sure… I can't quite remember. But it was something… someone, who bothered you, threatened us."

"And?" I ask, stroking her.

"I'm not sure. I can't picture any image. I don't know why we felt threatened but I remember you wanted to protect me."

"Of course," I say.

"There was something else but… I don't know." She shrugs, turns quiet, snuggles against me and I listen to her breathing slow, let mine slow in tandem with hers.

Just before we both escape into sleep again, she half awakens, turns in my arms and murmurs, "Peter, who is Jorge Santos?"