I am a Watcher

My name is Mia Valerio. I live in a small studio apartment that faces Ocean Beach Boulevard. The street is always filled with energetic tourist enjoying the warm California sun. The back of my apartment is my personal refuge that offers the pleasant and peaceful view of the Pacific Ocean. I am not rich enough to own such a place-not on a Watcher's pay. I inherited this little bungalow. When I am not on assignment, this is the place I spend my time. It was the place I had spent the last year-since the immortal, Liam O'Rourke was killed. A fine piece of work was Liam. Treacherous, greedy, and lacking in most emotions one might call humane.

I was both relieved to see the end of this immortal, and a little uneasy. Liam was not a good man-but he was a man I understood. He had been my first assignment. My only assignment. I had known no other immortal but him-and my uneasiness stemmed from the unknown. I believed having knowledge of someone-even if it was knowledge that told you that the person you were dealing with was a predator-was better than dealing with a person you knew nothing about at all.

Months had passed since Liam O'Rourke's death-months with no assignment, and precious time on my hands. Time to enjoy life, to laugh and even begin to believe that there was not this whole other world out there-the world beneath the surface of civilization-where a game was played, where lives were lost-where someday, some how, how this game was played would determine whether mortals lived a happy existence or one of slavery, pain, desecration and despair.

I didn't want to be a prawn. I didn't want to be disposable. I sure has hell didn't want to be a slave-but as a Watcher I could do nothing, change nothing. I was a historian who recorded the lives of those who were Princes of this World-perhaps of the entire Universe.

The day started off as any other day, with a mile long jog up and down the sandy beach, followed by a cool, refreshing dip in the waves. I was strolling up the beach to my back patio door when I spotted Joe Dawson, looking very comfortable in one of my lounge chairs. I smiled at the rayon Hawaiian patterned shirt he was wearing. It rather matched that silly straw hat on his head.

“Hey, old man,” I called, my smile warm and friendly. `Old man' was an endearment I used for Joe. He had taken me under his wing when I was no more than 18. He had shown me how to be a successful watcher-a good watcher. I saw the thick envelope setting beside his laptop on my crystal and black patio table and knew this was more than just a social visit. An immortal had been assigned to me at last.

“Yes, actually, I did, but thanks for this.” He pulled the tab and took a long drink. He gave a heavy sigh. “The decision to assign you to this immortal was not easy for me-and I even had to fight a few others in the organization to see that it happened, but I sincerely believe you are the woman for this job.”

His hand closed over mine. “Not yet.” He opened his laptop, turned it on and smiled at me while we waited for the software to load and the Watcher's database to appear on the screen. “You have been up into the Seacouver area, have you not, Mia? I thought you were there several years ago.”

I nodded. “Yes, Jim Coltec…Liam had some devious plan for him, but that all changed when he took on the Dark Quickening. Liam was there to see it, and the fact the he knew what had happened to Jim only confirmed my belief that Liam was evil reincarnate.”

“Well, then-tell me what your gut feeling says to you about this face.” Joe offered, and turned the laptop in such a way that the full screen was directly in front of me. I stared at the man on the screen and swallowed loudly.

I nodded. I stared, looking into the sightless caramel colored eyes, examining that perfect face, the high check bones, straight nose and heavy winged brows. His chestnut brown hair was long in the picture but I knew that he had sheared it at that Buddhist monastery he had sought refuge at in Tibet. The last time I had seen this immortal he had used his sword to take Liam's quickening-and I had rejoiced silently.

I did not know a great deal about him, but whenever my path had crossed this particular immortal there had always been much honor, valor and humanity in his dealings with both mortals and immortals alike. He was more than just a handsome face. And that was good, for Liam had been handsome as well-but not fitting of the final prize.

I leaned forward and hugged Joe's neck. It was perhaps the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me-behind those words was a mountain of emotion and love. This immortal was important to Joe. Joe had been his watcher. I understood how difficult it was to be separated from the immortal you were to watch. As much as I had disliked Liam, I felt intimately acquainted with him and I would never have given the care of his life into another's hands.

I released Joe and sat back, frowning as I did so. Why was Joe relinquishing his rights to this Immortal? I wasn't fool enough to believe that something very dramatic had not happened to cause this. I resisted the urge to ask what it was.

“There is a lady who runs a health and healing shop in Seacouver. She will be your contact-” he smiled reassuringly at me, and added, “everything you need to know in inside this.”

Joe patted the large envelope and got to his feet. He continued to smile down at me. I knew everything I needed to know about the Immortal I had been assigned--from his birth through the last few days that had passed would be inside that envelope. I also knew that information on the health and healing shop owner would be listed somewhere inside there as well. Was the shop owner another Watcher, an Immortal, or just a mortal that didn't ask questions when a service was requested.

I said goodbye to Joe and even as I watched him go I reached with trembling fingers for the envelope. I wanted to know it all-all there was to know about Duncan Macleod of the clan Macleod.

I was startled to find that what I had come to believe about Duncan Macleod was actually true. He was one of the good guys. And he loved-really loved-- mortals. Time and time again throughout his history he had taken mortal lovers; he had embraced friendships with mortals-mortals that would die leaving him behind. Perhaps he envied us our short, yet fleeting existence; for while we might live only a fraction in time that he did, we lived our lives with a burning intensity that didn't harbor a safety net. If we were stabbed, shot or run over by a car it could very well mean death for us-permanent death. This immortal understood permanent death. It became apparent as I read through the years of his life that he had seen much of it. Tears gathered in my eyes as I felt empathy with him over the loss of lovers, friends-and even life's great teachers.

I understand now-a year later--why he walked away from his immortal and mortal friends after killing Liam O'Rourke. He did it to protect them. Never again! I closed my eyes, knowing how much of a sacrifice that must have been for him. I recognized what a lonely existence it must be-and yet he sought such seclusion in the mountains above Seacouver.

He was not completely alone. But then, a man such as him rarely was. The report stated that he had found a lover, another immortal. Elena Cordova. There were notes inside these notes from Elena's watcher that explained how the relationship started and why it was now imperative that Duncan Macleod's watcher arrived soon to categorize any future events. The lovers would soon become combatants. It concerned me, for I had read Duncan's history and he was not a man who found it easy to kill women that he had loved. In his 400 some years he had only killed two immortal women-but there had been scores he had walked away from-allowing to live.

Was it weakness? He could not be weak. Was it compassion? He needed to temper it with reason. The Jicarilla Apache Indians raised Elena Cordova. She was a product of her upbringing-that of war, that of rebellion, that of desperation and the need to survive. In the last decade, she had used her killing skills as an Apache Warrior on dozens of unsuspecting immortal men-she lured them in, gained their trust, perhaps even their love, than beheaded them without remorse.

I was far too passionate to understand how Elena could cold-bloodedly eliminate former lovers without shedding a tear. Yet, Joe had reminded me repeatedly, especially while watching Liam that killing another immortal was not to be looked upon in the same way as two mortals killing each other. Immortals killed one another, out of necessity-the call to the ultimate prize was strong. Each immortal had a choice-that of good and that of evil. The game consisted of an age-old struggle that even mortals should understand. Good verses evil. In the end there could be only one-and I wanted it to be good.

Elena had a small ranch house that was surrounded by land owned by the State Parks and Recreation Department. She had retained ownership of the 10 acre spread one hundred and ten years ago. The public records, while odd, showed that the land had been inherit by only women-and each woman's name had been Elena Cordova. The Immortal, Elena Cordova, ran a Bed and Breakfast out of the ranch so it wasn't hard for me to integrate myself into the normal workings of her life. The easiest way for me to do this was to apply for the kitchen helper position she had posted at the front door. There were times when a Watcher stayed out of sight, and there were times when you needed to be in the thick of things. This was not one of those times when it was prudent to hide.

As the days passed into weeks and I watched Elena with Duncan Macleod I found myself warring with myself, with my ethics, with my need to stay impartial. You are a Watcher, I would repeat silently to myself-but always I watched for Elena to make her lethal move-and I was never quite sure if I would follow my oath and watch-or try to interfere in some way by warning Duncan Macleod away from this female preying mantis.

I stayed clear of Duncan Macleod-I tried, in fact, to become as invisible as possible-and believe me-I had been taught how to do that. I had been extremely successful at it so far-and while this played havoc with my pride-I consoled myself by telling myself it was necessary. Who knew how long I could have remained the fly upon the wall if the accident had not happened just as it did, just when it did.

It was hot in the kitchen, and I could feel the perspiration pouring down my back and between my breasts. I pushed a strand of damp black hair off my forehead with the back of one hand impatiently, wishing that my fingers were not so slippery and my mind so active . . . and then it happened.

The knife slipped. All I can recall now is feeling a sharp, stinging sensation, and then I heard the knife clatter down onto the table, and I was staring down stupidly at my fingers as if they did not belong to me, and at the blood that spurted from the deep cut across two of them. I knew I had should do something about it. I could not stand here bleeding all over the meat I had been cutting up for dinner. I'm sure it was a combination of shock and annoyance at myself for having been so clumsy that held me there as if I had been paralyzed, disinterestedly watching the gushing of my blood.

The doorway was low enough to make him duck his head when he came in, narrow enough so that he seemed to block out the bright sunlight that had streamed in from a moment, almost blinding me with its sudden brilliance. I was dressed as Elena usually dressed and I think that during those first few moments, until his eyes became use to the dimness, he mistook me for Elena.

“I do not know if it is the heat that is causing it, making everyone take off for a siesta, but I can find no one in the stables! Something spooked the horses and one of them was injured. I had to shoot the horse.” He turned away to reach inside the refrigerator. He came away with a bottle of chilled water and began to drink thirstily from it, grumbling all the while. “Of course it had to be the one I was riding, and then I had to walk all the way back here in the hot sun.”

And then over the rim of the bottle I saw his eyes widen very slightly, the caramel coloring coming alive in them when he recognized me at last and realized he had not spoken to Elena.

I think I must already have been rather light-headed from loss of blood, for I began to back away from the look of surprise on his face, and felt suddenly weak, so that I almost fell, and had to clutch at the table for support. I felt the sticky warmth of my own blood through the material of my tank top, and then with an angry exclamation, he was there, clearing the room in a single stride.

He dragged me across the room with him by the wrist. Sheer weakness made me fall against him when he stopped, tearing the red bandanna from around his neck and running water over it with no regard for hygiene or cleanliness.

“Damn!” He swore again, making me wince as much from pain as from the sheer anger in his voice. “How did you even manage to do a fool thing like this? You're cut almost as deep as the bone across two fingers. You are lucky you didn't manage to slice them off!”

“You better sit down. Here . . . now just hold still . . .” I heard the scrape of wood across the floor and felt myself pushed unceremoniously into a sitting position.

“Put your head between your knees,” and he gave the back of my neck a shove. “Hold your hands-both hands-in front of you. Try holding your left wrist with your other hand if you can, and for God's sake try not to fall off the chair.”

I frowned, wondering why he was grumbling at me so. He was always so polite and kind, not this abrupt and matter-of-fact. I started to lift my head so I could look at him, and I did get a glance at the concern in his caramel colored eyes, but his hand pushed my head down once more and I was too weak to resist.

I didn't allow him to finish before I said, “Oh!” in an extremely aggregated tone of voice. I attempted to lift my head one more time, but he pushed it down yet again . . . I gritted my teeth against the pain, and could not repress a shameful whimper when I felt him dab gingerly at my wounded fingers again with a dripping wet cloth.

“You're bleedin' like a . . .” he bit the words off, growling something low under his breath. “There is only one thing to do to stop that bleeding and it's going to hurt like hell for a little while, so if you know how to faint, you might want to do it.”

“What . . .” I tried to sit up, my eyes opening to stare at him. I heard the click of the knob being turned on the gas stove and heard the sound of the flame flaring up. He was standing over me, with a knife in his hand, its tip glowing red-hot.

My eyes went wide! Dear Lord-did he think I was an immortal like he was? Was he going to take my head with that rather large, but quite blunt carving knife? All I could think was of the fact that it was going to hurt-and he would probably have to saw at my neck in order to decapitate me!

I flinched as he bent down even closer to me, and then, before I quite realized what he intended, he had grabbed my wrist, and I cried out as he drew the flat of the knife blade across my shrinking agonizing flesh.

He did it too quickly for me to have time to draw back, and the next moment he was wrapping the wet cloth around my fingers, working swiftly and efficiently. I think I might have actually fainted then, for the next thing I remember I was being held in his strong arms, the touch of his steady heartbeat vibrated against the flesh of my cheek. I do remember that I tried to struggle and his hold on me became even more intimate.

I felt him stiffen, but his hold on me still remained. We were in the main sitting room-the one that Elena usually welcomed all her guests into before showing them to their rooms. I felt him drop down onto the sofa, and the rush it caused my head to feel made me moan.

Before the words were out I regretted saying them. You are a watcher. You are supposed to watch…not interact with the Immortal! You are not allowed to say provocative things like that-things that were bound to get her good and noticed. I felt the tightening of his arms and the sudden rigidity of his muscles against my check-and what was I doing, resting my cheek up against his neck so trustingly?

I opened my eyes and his were dark and dangerous. His nostrils flared ever so slightly when he was angry I just discovered, and at the moment I thought he might just decide to strangle me. I don't know what else he might have said, or I might have said, for at precisely that moment Elena entered the room.

And suddenly I felt that I couldn't bear to see her face, nor his either, with that naked curiously revealing look that always came to it when he looked at her. So I closed my eyes and bit my lip and pretended to go limp, although I'm sure I did not deceive him.

He had come to his feet and I felt triumph when he walked passed her without answering, but it did not last. I should not have said it-not yet. I should have had more sense than to blurt out aloud the thought that was uppermost in my mind, whether it was the truth or not. Remember-dummy-you are a watcher-they do not interfere.

He pushed open the door to my room with a savage kick, and he roughly laid me down on my bed. He grabbed my arm, holding my wrist exposed - displaying the watcher's tattoo that marred it.

He was staring down at me, and his face was still very angry. “You would have had me allow you to bleed to death? And you would have-for you had done nothing to save yourself!”

I tried to sit up, but fell back against the thin pillow. I heard the door open, then close behind him, and could only stare at it, feeling the reverberation of its slamming in my ears. That did not go well! It didn't go well at all! So much for getting into the thick of things…. I so needed to get unattached and hidden. And if possible, I needed to do it quickly…

I had not heard Elena come in. Perhaps I was too deep in thought. I wasn't sure what I should do. I had blown my cover! I might as well have screamed to the world that I was a watcher. I looked down at the Tattoo on my wrist and swiftly covered it with my other hand. I think that sopping wet bandana he had used to clean away the blood on my fingers must have brushed up against the waterproof makeup I had use to cover the Tattoo.

Elena was smiling at me. A smile I did not trust. It wasn't that her eyes betrayed her hatred, for her eyes were impossible to read. It was the calculated, even tone of her soft voice.

I didn't know whether she was mocking me or commiserating with me, but it infuriated me. Her so-called sons-mortal men of Apache descent-all chambered around her wants and needs like worker bees fulfilling the wishes of the queen bee. I did not know Diego except by sight. He wasn't an attractive man. He wasn't even a very talkative man. He had eyes for only Elena. Ramon? Ah, he was different. And yet, did Elena think to muddy the water by throwing her sons into the mix? Did she think I would not see that she was subtly trying to keep me out of the way-to force me to stay in this room? Did she not wish for me to attend the fiesta tomorrow night?

I put on my most innocent expression, and said in a rather confused tone of voice. “I want to see Duncan." I did not thank him for what he did. I am afraid I was very rude to him.”

“Oh, but I'm sure Duncan is by no means bewitched! Besides, he is taken, is he not? I do feel grateful towards him. I must have seemed ungrateful, I'm afraid. He hurt me, and at the time I did not realize that he did what he had to for my own good. I'm sure you understand how uncomfortable this makes me feel?”

She bent down to me, touching my arm lightly. “How much you remind me of myself, when I was younger! I always thought I wanted what I could not have.” With an equivocal shrug of her shoulders, she stepped back. “But if it is Duncan you want to see, I will send him to you, at the risk of making Ramon very angry.”

I couldn't resist the question. What did it matter-while Elena might not know I was a Watcher, she did know that I wasn't here for the Job I had been doing for the last two months. I was a watcher-my job was to watch, but not this time. I'm sorry, Joe. I just can't let the vile nature of this woman take its course. Not when the sacrifice would be Duncan Macleod.

“Why shouldn't I be? I think you understand that already. But you have perhaps come here for a man-one of my men? It is okay-simply make a choice. Diego will have you, use you and forget you. Ramon-you should choose him. He has desire for you, and I would not mind seeing one of my son's happy. Duncan is my lover? I think he is a little intrigued by you at the moment and if you are clever enough to maneuver things, you will have to share him with me. But remember this-I will always have the greater share.”

I lay back after she had left and closed my eyes. My hand released the wrist with the tattoo and I started to relax. The throbbing in my hand was already less painful, and I was beginning to feel drowsy. Why had I insisted that I must see Duncan? Until I had seen Elena, and watched her smile, there had been nothing further from my mind. But now it had become a challenge between us.

I did not doubt that she would send him to me, and I would send him back more intrigued than ever? I needed to save him-and I would use myself to do so if it became necessary. I thought suddenly of a chessboard and the pieces that moved upon it. The black queen and the white. Who were the pawns in all of this? Diego? Ramon? Who was the king? Chess was a game of powerful women, and I would match Elena for the sake of matching her-and to save my immortal's life.

“Apparently all I wished for was not pleasant,” I murmured in an exaggeratedly pained voice and caught the wicked caramel brown gleam of his eyes through my shuttered lashes. He appeared to be baffled by my summons, and even a little angered by it.

“Elena said she send you to me. Why? Because I felt I had to thank you for your presence of mind. That is what I told her, and she chose to believe me, I think. And I was rude. I must apologize for that too.

“Oh, but I wanted to talk to you-Duncan Macleod.” His head turned swiftly and his narrowed, stormy caramel-colored eyes locked onto my gaze. “You see Ramon doesn't know I am a watcher. He doesn't even know that his mama is -let's say-rather indestructible.”

“More like a lifetime-but that is neither here nor there! I play a game of my own-on my own, one that little mortal watchers such as yourself really shouldn't try to get involved in.”

“I would have you survive!” He walked toward me and grasped my wrist holding it before my eyes. “That is not something you should show to an immortal. “ I knew he referred to my watcher's tattoo. “Not unless you know them to be friend or plan to kill them. Is that what you plan? To kill me?”

“Isn't that what Elena Cordova will want to eventually do?” I lowered my tone, and met his darkly troubled eyes. “There can be only one-will you kill her?” He released my wrist abruptly, and stepped back. “Methos will not be here to finish her off for you-”

“You aim below the belt!” His voice was disapproving. Another note to make about Duncan Macleod-on a personal level-he did not like to have his life placed under a microscope, nor did he wish to discuss any of his past shortcomings.

I smiled sweetly and nodded. “ Why do you despise in me the same traits that you must obviously admire in your-in Elena?” He noticed my studied pause, as I had meant him to, and his eyes squinted at me dangerously.

“Enough! Why don't you just come right out and say whatever it was that was so urgent you couldn't rest?” His voice was carefully controlled, but the huskiness in it was even more apparent than usual, and I could sense his eagerness to leave. It made me even more determined to keep him here longer-long enough, perhaps, for Elena to wonder.

“I am hoping I can trust you.” I told him softly, but I already knew that I could. He was one of the good guys. He would protect me-and my secret. I came to my knees on the bed and move closer to the edge, where he was standing. “Do you plan to tell Elena that I am a watcher?”

Both his strong hands closed around my wrists, holding them and his dark, sensuous dark eyes roamed over my tank top that had become askew with my movements. One strap had fallen down off my tanned shoulder, and the bottom edge in the front had ridden up, exposing my belly button, and the tiny rhinestone stud above it. I know his eyes were captured by the tiny dangling image-not the Rhinestone.

One of his hands loosened my wrist and his fingers moved, flicking the tiny silver snowflake. The heat of his touch made my nerve endings quiver. His eyes moved back up to meet mine. “How innocent you can look! And I could almost swear your mouth is trembling.” In an abrupt tone of voice he said, “You should leave here.”

“No?” With a lithe, startling movement he pushed me back and dropped his body onto the bed, holding me down against the coverlet by the shoulders while his eyes looked narrowly into mine.

“Listen, and listen good-” His voice had gone all soft, husky, but there was a threat in it that held me still and silent while he was speaking. “I owe you nothing-and if I keep my silence about who you are-I still owe you nothing.”

He looked down at him with those angry caramel colored eyes. He was very different than I had imagined…or was it that I simply brought out the worse in him. I had read that he was a great romantic, a caring and loyal lover, and a diehard friend. He was in love with mortality-rather than immortality. He had been a friend to Joe-he had also been an enemy.

“I don't know who you are watching-Elena or me. I just want you to know that I am finished with your whole cult of eavesdroppers. I will stay with my kind-the rules are clear and if someone dies, it is the way it should be-”

He shook his head at me. “You are so very innocent. And unfortunately naiveté will do nothing but get you killed. You should leave here. Accept Ramon if you must-and leave with him.”

My eyes flared with a hot emotion I tried with difficulty to suppress. I prayed the screening of my lashes did that. I had no business being jealous, but I had seen that look on his face before and knew that he was now thinking of Elena. Was he thinking how convenient it would be if I did find a way to remove Elena's overzealous sons from her side. Was he being a romantic, instead of a realist? Every immortal man that Elena had killed had been one who wanted to get her alone.

I don't know what madness took hold of me then, if it was the loss of blood, or simply the forlorn look on his face. I decided I hated Elena for putting that expression there, and I disliked Macleod for being weak enough to fall under that immortal femme fatale's spell! I said in a voice I hardly recognized as my own:

“Perhaps all you need is somebody else to think about-to make you forget your game, a woman who is just as unattainable and just as calculating….” And I put my uninjured hand up and touched the hair at the back of his neck, pulling his head down to mine.

I cannot remember now what it was I meant to prove. Did I mean to punish him for his earlier denial of me? Had I intended to show him that Elena wasn't the only woman capable of using her lips and her bodies to arouse a passion she intend only to use, never to fulfill. Or was it Elena's sureness of him that I challenged?

Whatever I had meant to prove, or to achieve was all forgotten, when Duncan kissed me. The emotions that erupted from nowhere, to take possession of me, completely drained my will, completely surprised me, for I had thought ice water ran through my veins when it came to passion. I had been sure no man could make me feel anything more than a simply mild pleasure.

Duncan kissed me like-a whirlwind, like an uncontrollable force-as if he couldn't help himself, after that first instinctive moment of withdrawal I sensed in him-as if he was a man who had reached the depths of some revelation-and could no long deny his need for it.

I was there. I was female and my lips were warm, and I had deliberately maneuvered him into this. I was mortal-and this Immortal had a thing for mortal women. I knew it, and wonder if he knew I knew in those first few seconds when his hands moved from my shoulders and along my neck. And then he was holding my face with his palms against my temples, fingers tangling in my hair so that I could not escape his hot, fiery kisses, even if I had wanted to do so-

It was then that I realized I did not want to escape, and the discovery was frightening, as I felt myself swept across the threshold of feeling…feeling! Me, who thought everything out in cold logical terms. Me, who called all the body parts, male and female by there anatomically correct titles. A kiss was nothing more than an exchange of affection-at least that is what I had thought until Duncan's mouth had taken mine and I realized that a kiss could strip me naked, a kiss could take control. A kiss could be lethally dangerous.

I moaned under the onslaught of his kisses. I forgot the pain in my fingers as my hands ripped at his shirt until I felt his bare, warm flesh under my seeking hands. I wanted him, and it was a terrifying feeling, to realize I could push aside the logic that told me he was not for me-that he was immortal-that he would outlive me by centuries, not just decades-that said my oath to the watchers did not allow me to become intimate with an immortal-especially the one I had been appointed to watch.

Whatever devil had seized us both, I know that he felt it too. I had manipulated him, quite by accident, into feeling the kiss of a mortal woman-of feeling the wonder of a mortal woman's passion-and I had become a drug he craved…and it was as if he had never pushed the mortal world away-and at this point-as long as I lay in his arms-he never would. His body lay against mine, and I felt the heat and weight of his desire as he moved over me. His lips moved from my mouth to my eyes, crushing them closed, and then to my earlobes. The way he whispered my name, “Mia” sounded like a wicked, carnal promise of further sinful delights.

It was Duncan who proved to be the stronger one of us that hot, sunlit afternoon when the Valerio fervor, that “taint of my blood: made me forget everything else but the impulses of my body.

After he had pulled himself away from me abruptly, leaving me gasping with the shock of my return to reality, I heard Elena's cool, amused laughter drifting up through the open window. She was talking to someone, but I hardly heard what she was saying-her voice was beguiling, seductive-a black widow spider laying in wait. The sound of my own breathing drowned out her words, but not her tone or her siren call.

Duncan was staring down at me, but I couldn't read the expression in his eyes, for his back was to the window and the sunlight that streamed through it, yellowing the floor. I began to suspect how I must look to him-my lips swollen and bruised from the force of his kisses, my hair in tangles, and my tank top askew. I must have looked like a woman dazed with desire, and I hated myself for it.

Those dark eyes glowered at me; I had made him angry-again. I seemed to be extremely proficient at doing that. It was a good thing this time, however, for now perhaps he would not recognize my shameful betrayal of myself for what it had been. Weakness. Wanting.

The slamming of the door-something Duncan only seem to do to my door-hurt my ears. Thank God, I had the presence of mind to adjust my clothing, sit up and run a brush through my hair before Ramon came upstairs to see me, his face drawn with anger and hurt.

“Mia mine! If you only knew how worried I've been. But my mother said it was Duncan you wanted to see, and I-” he had started to pace about the room. I had never seen him so tense and angry. “I didn't know what to think! What do you want with him-what did he say to you? What has he done to you?” It was then, as he stared at my mouth, that I realized my lips were probably still swollen. “If he has touched you, I swear I'll kill him-my mother be damned!”

He moved to the bed then, sitting down beside me, and for the second time in an afternoon I was taken into a pair of strong male arms, my lips were parted by a roaming tongue, I was kissed and petted-and dear God-I felt nothing-nothing really. Ramon's touch was pleasant, warm and vibrant, but it didn't make me feel-not really. I just felt comforted -exactly how I had always thought a kiss would be-nothing more than a show of affection.

Ramon brought my supper that evening. Ramon kept me company. It was like Ramon had become my bodyguard. But what was he guarding me from? His mother Elena, or her lover Duncan Macleod. He did finally leave me that night, but he returned first thing in the morning with my breakfast. When I told him I should get dress and go to work in the kitchen, he shook his head.

“Do you call entertaining me, nothing?” His smile was warm, and his voice somehow too intimate. I couldn't help wondering what he meant by that, but before I could form the question, he continued, “You must have something proper to wear tonight for the fiesta.”

He nodded, still smiling. “I will fuel up the jeep and meet you out front in an hour. We will go to Seacouver and find you something attractive to compliment your beauty.”

I flushed at his words, but decided not to comment. I didn't want to get dressed up for the fiesta. A pair of jeans and a tank top would do me just fine-especially with this suppressive heat, but if I was to say that I wouldn't be able to go to Seacouver-and right now I wanted to see the lady at the Health and Healing Shop. I needed to use my cell phone as well, and my service provider didn't have a signal out here in the rugged mountains of Washington State.

By four in the afternoon I am sure Ramon was regretting this invitation into town. We had stopped at all the clothing stores in Seacouver and I had tried on dress after dress, only to turn them all down in the end. When I mentioned my desire to stop at the Health and Healing shop his eyes fairly blazed his dissatisfaction with me. I would have argued with him if he had forced me into it, but that was not Ramon's way. He did not come out and say exactly what was on his mind-not like Duncan had seemed fond of doing yesterday afternoon.

No! Ramon played games! Ramon liked games - and now I understood why Duncan had said what he had said to me yesterday afternoon. The only problem was that I didn't care for the game that Ramon would play with me. It was one of quilt-everything was a trade off. If he did this for me-well, then I must do this for him…

I eyed him speculatively and thought that poor Ramon was going to be sorely disappointed. Guilt trips were not my thing-well, I really should amend that thought. Guilt trips had not been my thing before I royally fucked up my job as a watcher. I needed to talk to Joe Dawson-and I needed to talk to him now.

“Ramon, why don't you run across the street to that Starbucks and get me a Café Mocha-only one shot of espresso please.” I smiled sweetly at him, allowing him to bend over me, kiss my mouth, and then he was striding across the street and I ducked into the Health and Healing shop.

The lady at the counter did not know me. She wasn't anyone special, other than the proprietor of this establishment. Besides being a Health and Healing shop this placed doubled as a Cyber café. Of course, I didn't have a notebook with me, and I didn't need to use a computer to email Joe. I simply needed privacy in order to place one simple call.

I did so quickly, while examining the various salts and scents in the bath section of the store. The whole shop was a feast to all the erogenous senses in a person's body. I saw some peach massaging cream in a long tube and decided it was a need as well as a want purchase.

“I know,” I commented guiltily. “It has been difficult to leave the ranch-and now as you probably suspected I have blotched everything up and so here I am-calling you.”

Joe did not seem to think Duncan's knowledge of who I was mattered-and I knew that was because Duncan was one of the good guys. He had once been Joe's friend-the only problem was-I didn't want him to be my friend-and worse, I really didn't see us as only being friends-no, after the way he touched me and I touched him-if I stayed we would be so much more.

“Does Elena know-“ Joe countered, adding, “You must keep your tattoo hidden-if you run low on the water proof makeup to cover it, the lady at the Health and Healing shop carries it.”

I sighed, realizing that Joe would give me the pep talk and the counseling, but he would not take me off this assignment. I was stuck with it-and my barely controlled feelings for the immortal I was to only watch.

Ramon and I arrived back at the ranch at a quarter past five. The fiesta was scheduled to begin at seven sharp. Ramon glanced down at the jeans and tank top I was wearing and shook his head.

I wagged my finger at him, saying, “But I will wear a skirt tonight, and a matching top…you will see, the outfit will look so much better than any of those dresses I tried on this afternoon.”

I smiled and caressed his hard jaw. “Because you asked me to go, silly.” And then I met his dark eyes at about the same time I heard Duncan's approaching and found myself playing a role I had not originally planned to play. If Elena had not been at his side, if she had not been listening, judging me with her youngest son, I would never had said to him, “and besides, I wanted to be alone with you.”

I swept away from Ramon and moved passed Duncan and Elena with a confident smile. Duncan's eyes had followed me. I could feel them. I could also remember how troubled they had looked when I had met them for just a brief second.

For the evening I changed into a jersey black skirt that had a scarf like hem. Bold red embossed roses patterned the shirt. I wore a cream white blouse and a vest that matched the skirt. I did not look like the kitchen help. Not the way I was dressed-not the way I wore my hair, up high-my ears were accented with dangling silver snowflakes. I wondered if Duncan would see them and remember touching my belly adornment.

The moon was lopsided and enormous this evening. I could see it peering over the mountain ridges. The glowing, yellowish light cast by the large barbecue fire behind the house, made me think of gypsies dancing in the firelight-and tonight, for whatever reason that was what I felt like: a gypsy from a century ago…. here to dance and entertain.

Dancing I did in abundance. I was startled the first time Diego swept me into his arms. He was a tall man-very tall-for I stood only two inches shy of six feet. I rarely had to look up at a man-let alone crank my head up, but with Diego I needed to in order to see his face, watch his eyes. Ramon did not care for the fact that I danced with his brother and before I knew it I became a trophy to acquire-and they were both determined to win. It was the Apache blood in them-the lessons they had learned at their “mother's” knee.

I probably should have been flattered. I was not. I was highly annoyed. I had all but decided that I would have one more glass of wine and find my bedroom when a warm arm encircled my waist-and I didn't need to see his face to recognize his touch-Duncan's touch. He led me off into a darkened corner of the patio and lifted me up onto the top of the stonewall.

I had had no time to struggle, or even protest. I just knew that I now sat eye level with him and yet the moon was behind him and made my ability to see his face almost impossible. I could see the bronze glints of his hair as he continued to hold me, his hands still on either side of my waist.

I frowned at him, not sure what he meant, but before I could say anything he nodded his head in the direction of Elena's two sons. “When will you stop playing these games with me? And why only with me? I didn't drag you off here to start another argument with you, only to ask you something.”

It was to combat my own surprise that cause my voice to sound so chilly. “I don't understand you, Duncan Macleod. I have stayed out of your way-in fact, I was just about to go to my room!”

“And Diego was waiting to join you.” His voice was quiet, but I felt the involuntary tightening of his hands about my waist and flinched. “Is that what you want?” he asked, and stepped back with a shrug of his shoulders. “Go then. Diego awaits you!”

“Yes! Let's speak of Ramon,” he hissed between his teeth. His head moved very close to my own and at last I could see the hot flash of anger swirling in the depths of his caramel colored eyes. My God! He was furious.

“Damn you, you told me to leave with him if I could, so why are you treating me this way?” My voice shook with aggregation, and perhaps it was that emotion that caused me to misjudge the height of the wall, which seemed low. Perhaps I had too much wine, or maybe it was just that the cuts on my fingers had begun to sting and throb painfully again. But I felt myself pitch forward, and then his arms caught me. I was being held far too tightly and too closely, my face pressed against his shoulder, and I was too weak with surprise to move.

No, that wasn't true. I didn't want to move. I discovered that I was breathing far too fast, and that it made my head dizzy, so that I was forced to lean even closer against him, and the most treacherous thought of all occurred to me then; the thought that I could not bear it if he released me now.

There are certain times when certain actions seem nature. Still holding me against him, Duncan put his hand in my hair, using it to pull my head back. Perhaps he read in my face what I could see in his: Startled wonder-and physical hunger. Then he kissed me, with that equivocal longing he had used on me yesterday and I was lost.

I felt the wall against my back, and his body against mine as I pressed myself closer to him with a shameless ardor I would not have believed myself capable of. I could no more have denied my longing for him then I could have commanded myself to stop breathing. We kissed, and kissing wasn't enough. With a passion I had never known I was capable of, but now became natural and artless for me, I slipped my hand under his shirt; holding him with my palms against his skin, feeling the muscles of his back move.

I felt him wrench his lips away from mine and almost cried out loud as my eyes flew open. His breathing was as uneven as mine-I noticed that, and wondered why he had stopped kissing me.

But then I heard Ramon's voice behind Duncan. My fingers clenched onto Duncan's biceps as my eyes widened with fear. When had Ramon discovered us? And how long had he been standing there? I would have stepped around Duncan-perhaps even in front of him---but Duncan would not let me protect him, shield him. Nor would he hide or make excuses for the fact that he held me in his arms-in the face of Ramon's cries of ownership, Diego's lustful hopes, and Elena's very obvious displeasure.

“You should have chosen a more isolated place for seducing Mia?” Ramon growled. “You shame my mother,” he added before saying softly, “And for both these wrongs I shall kill you!”

I had never known Ramon's usually easygoing, pleasant voice to sound so hard, nor seen his eyes so narrow and cold. I felt ashamed and humiliated, but his eyes had merely flickered over me, their expression unreadable, and now they were fastened on Duncan, who turned slowly to face him.

Duncan spoke softly. “What do you intend to do with that?” And for the first time I noticed the gun in Ramon's hand. “If shooting me will salvage your pride, then shoot me.”

Even in my half dazed state I could not mistake the soft, deliberate taunting note in Duncan Macleod's voice. And it seemed to me in that tiny, suspended moment when they faced each other-Ramon with the gun in his hand, his face grim, and Duncan, standing so negligently, his arms at his side, that some men appeared to court death deliberately, and that for whatever reason, Duncan Macleod was now one of these. I remembered his comment to my question about why he was so bitter-it was not because of what had taken place a little over a year ago-it was from what 400 hundred years of living had caused. I felt unbelievably saddened by this.

I also felt a rising alarm. Was it possible that Elena used her sons in her efforts to claim an immortal's quickening? Her Watcher had said she acted alone, but I could see that if Ramon was to kill Duncan with that gun he would be defenseless against Elena's sword-at least until he revived-and I didn't think Elena would allow him to revive. Not after he had humiliated her so openly by kissing me this evening.

But Duncan, although he must have seen it too, merely raised an insolent eyebrow and started to walk past him. Perhaps he meant to take the gun from Ramon; maybe he did not really believe that Ramon, the soft-spoken gentleman, would actually shoot him.

The gun went off, with a blinding flash. I think I screamed, and the smell of powder was bitter in my nostrils. I remember I leaned back against the wall, not because I wanted to, but because my legs felt so weak. Ramon had taken a step backwards, and now he took another, the gun still steady. Duncan had seemed to stumble, but now he stood still, staring at Ramon. Very slowly he touched his right arm, and I saw him look down at fingers that were sticky with blood. He looked back at Ramon then, and his voice sounded vague.

“Of course it does not,” Ramon replied and I decided right then and there that enough was enough. I rushed forward, pushing passed Duncan and closed my hands around the gun. Ramon tried to jerk the gun free but I wouldn't release it. I turned and called to Duncan, “Leave, damn you! Go! Before he kills you and Elena see to it that you stay dead.”

I did not stop to see if he listened, instead I flung my arms around Ramon and this seemed to distract him from this great hatred he had for Duncan. He tossed the gun at Duncan's feet and picked me up in his arms. I felt rather than saw the arrogance in his posturing. I closed my eyes, telling myself that what I did would save Duncan's life-if only he was wise enough to leave-leave now, tonight-before Ramon changed his mind, Diego took it in his head to avenge his brother, or Elena decided to use this situation to gain Duncan's quickening.

He was a grown man-one who had been alive for over 400 years-one who should understand the game much better than I-one who should have understood what I had just said to him. I could not force him to leave. I could not prevent a confrontation with Elena if he did not leave. I only knew that I could help, and the way I had chosen to help was to go with Ramon. I would take away one of the threats. At least, give Macleod a fair chance if he did decide to remain stubborn and actually draw his sword against Elena Cordova.

Ramon was still angry. His painful grip on my wrist did not slacken, and he almost dragged me for part of the way to the door, before I realized I was subconsciously dragging my feet-not wanting to leave Macleod behind. I had to leave him behind-and my feet began to cooperate.

Elena met us at the door, and I saw the gleam of the blade she hid in the folds of the white silky formal gown she wore. I had wondered at her chose of dress when the evening started, but now, I think, I was beginning to see Elena-and her sons-in an entirely different light. Ah, the family that slays together….

Insanity surely had taken me, for her words made me actually pull away from Ramon as if I would move to her side. Elena would use that sword to take Duncan's life and acquire his quickening. Elena, who had been watching, listening all evening and was smart enough to have figure out just who I was-which meant I should be leaving with Duncan-not staying. And I would leave…

Ramon's hand held me fast and my eyes went beyond Elena and into the dark of the night where the firelight shadowed the backyard, to the tall wall-and thank God Duncan was no longing there leaning against it. The wall had been painted or whitewashed and even in the semi-light I could see the smears of blood on it.

“I forget nothing, mamacita. But I would advise you not to come knocking at my door, filled with hypocritical morality!” He tugged me forward by my wrists as if I had been bound, so that I fell against him. “You still have your man-I took her from him. And now I have my woman.”

I think I must have gasp then, so shocked to learn that Ramon knew who and what his mother was! He had known what Duncan was as well! He had not said anything about Elena killing Duncan with that sword, but the implications were there in the very fact that she held a sword. Elena stared after us, probably as astounded as I was by Ramon-not because of his knowledge-but because he had spoken to her in the way he had. I stumbled on the stairs, and Ramon lifted me up in his arms, in spite of my feeble-half-dazed protests.

It was, I think, the way he kicked the door of his room shut behind him that brought me back to my senses. That, and the way he carefully bolted the door behind him, having flung me across his bed like an unwanted package. I watched him turn the light on, and then turn back to me, casually unbuttoning his shirt.

“What has gotten into you?” I flung the words at him, and I knew, from the moment that door was bolted that I was in Ramon's world-and I would have to play Ramon's games. He smiled, his mouth twisting mirthlessly and I realized that I had truly underestimated Elena's sons.

He came to me, leaned over me, and I felt myself pressed backward on the bed. Suddenly, he had thrown his large body over mine, his hands gripping my wrists, pulling them over my head. The thought came that with all this physical contact with my wrists, surely the makeup hiding my tattoo would get rubbed away. If Ramon knew about immortals, did he also know about watchers?

“Did I coerce you into showing an interest in me? Did I even once force you to accept my kiss?” he asked. His face was furious. “No, I only showed you from the beginning that I wanted you-there is no crime in that!” His eyes moved down over me, pausing on my panting breasts outlined against the cloth of my blouse. He licked his lips. “The man you would have belongs to my mother. And you now belong to me.”

I bit back the hot words of denial. Just claiming me would not make it so. But it would give Duncan more time to get to holy ground. Where was this holy place that these immortals knew existed up here in the mountains? When Ramon was through with me, would I be able to find it? I would need to, for Elena could not kill Duncan there, but her sons could shot him, and then drag him beyond holy ground for Elena to use the cutting edge of her sword.

I let my lips part under his. This felt different than his kiss the other afternoon. Then, he had not been lying on top of me, making me feel stifled, buried alive, because of his weight. Perhaps if I had not had the comparison-between when Duncan had held me much this same way, and now when Ramon did, I would have found it easier to let him kiss me. I couldn't respond to Ramon in anyway. I suffered his body on mine, his hands on my breasts, and a voice in my head kept telling me dully that if I could only keep this son occupied, then Elena would only have her other son as an ally, and I had enough confidence in Macleod to believe he could handle Diego.

Ramon's fingers were fumbling with the tiny rose shaped buttons that held my blouse together in front, opening it down to my waist. His lips moved against the skin of my neck, his teeth tugged at the lace of my bra. And I could feel-nothing. I lay there, unmoving, remembering yesterday afternoon, one room away, and the smell and taste of another man.

I suddenly became aware that Ramon had raised himself up on his elbow and was staring down at me. His fingers opened the two front hooks that held my bra together and touched my naked breast. My instinctive reaction was to shudder away from that hand and I wasn't quite able to prevent that movement now.

His face changed. I thought for a moment that he would strike me, and I didn't care. Instead he shook me, catching my shoulders with fingers that bit into my flesh like iron claws. “Did you come here with me tonight only to make sure I would not shoot Duncan Macleod dead?”

He was silent as he waited for my reply. Outside I could hear the sound of the rising wind, and the thunder sounded loudly. Or was it thunder? I thought I heard voices; the sound of horses' hooves, and something of my sudden apprehension must have shown on my face, for Ramon suddenly put his face close to mine, and I smelled the wine on his breath. This time I decided that I would not answer him. I made myself stare coldly back up at him, and his laugh was an ugly sound.

“A short while ago you were hysterical. Do you realize that it was the first time you have ever showed any real emotion? Emotion you show towards Duncan Macleod. With me it is this condescending tolerance.”

I glared at him then, and decided that I had put up with just about enough. I had been enduring his man's touch for well over an hour, and if I must also put up with his probing and accusatory questions as well, then it was time to make tracks out of here.

I had no more answers for him. We looked at each other for a moment longer, and then I got up from the bed, and he made no move to stop me. I efficiently and swiftly snapped my bra closed and buttoned up my blouse. I walked to the door and unbolted it, and Ramon said behind me, his voice flat and without expression. “I suppose you are going to find him. Don't forget to try my mother's bedroom first.”

I didn't look back at him. I simply closed the door. Duncan would not be making love to Elena. Not this night. I didn't worry that Diego or Elena might stop me. And I knew they were here-the wind, the thunder, it meant an approaching storm and in these mountains the storms could be deadly. Duncan was safe.

I was truly past the point of caring what Elena and her brood might do to me-too much had happened tonight and right now I just wanted to find a horse and follow the trail that would lead to holy ground. I actually had a clue as to where this place might be. In Duncan's history there was an entry made about a large sacred rock that was up in these mountains. Duncan's mortal lover Tessa Noel had been taking photographs of its surface one day when Caleb Cole and his son kidnapped her.

I thought I saw a dim orange glow high above me, but the lightening was too close and too fierce for me to judge properly. It orientated from behind me-where I had left Elena Cordova and her sons-so if this lightening wasn't created by the raging storm around me, then either Ramon or Diego had taken Elena's head-and I rather doubted that! Besides the lightening was accompanied by thunder that echoed against the narrow, rocky walls that I faced. The sound of it split my eardrums open.

“Duncan!” I screamed his name frantically and uselessly between cannon like explosions of sound, and I thought I heard the noise of rushing water as my mare, as frantic and frightened now as I had become, seemed to stumble and then scramble for balance as she headed for the least steep portion of the slippery and rocky path. I had lost the reins, and clung obstinately to her mane, feeling how the sudden ominous onslaught of rain seemed to beat angrily against my body.

In a flash of white light I saw the face of the ancient wall I had hoped to find, but I also saw for the first time, the water that swirled as high as my ankles. I kicked my feet free of the stirrup as a wall of water roared down the wash toward me and the horse. Only my most primitive instincts drove me on. Without conscious thought I jumped free of the struggling, terrified animal under me, and found myself clutching at an outcropping of rock, pulling myself upward; unmindful of the way my fingers were cut and scraped as I grasped and scrambled and pulled myself upward, cursing the sodden wetness of my jersey skirt that clung to me in all the wrong places.

I don't know how I managed it-but after I ripped the skirt from me, I was able to claw my way up the rock face. I clung to it; using my hands and my feet, and feeling the rocks tear into my flesh and the water suck greedily at my ankles. I heard myself cursing, using language I had always felt far beneath me, while the wind and the rain seemed to snatch away my breath, and the water, rushing like a riptide, came higher, pulling at me.

My grasping hands found a stunted tree that seemed to grow straight out of the side of the cliff. I found it and clung, and felt the water tug at me forcefully. And I screamed his name again.

“DUNCAN!” Lightening flooded everything with a blinding glow of white fire, and I screamed once more before the thunder came on its heels, making me cower. I heard the high, whinnying scream of my mare from somewhere below me and did not dare look down, although my senses told me what had happened. She had been swept away by the water, and if Duncan didn't hear me and care enough to come and assist me, I was going to follow her.

I had just about given up hope, and yet I couldn't seem to stop screaming his name. I thought I heard his voice from somewhere above me, and it only made me scream his name all the louder, using all the force and breath left in my lungs.

I began to sob helplessly, the breath rasping in my throat. I clung to the tiny tree limb, feeling the water rushing over me, tearing at me, and was only conscious of the numbness that was creeping into my fingers.

The rope dangled in front of my face, slapping wetly against my cheeks with every gust of wind. With an effort I managed to loosen the fingers of my right hand, deliberately trying to close my mind to the fate of the mare. With my right hand I fumbled with the knot, pulled the loop wide and managed to lower it over my head, past my shoulders. It was under one arm, but how was I to get it under my other arm without letting go of the tree limb?

My mind gave the commands then and I followed them. I took a firm hold of the tree limb with my right hand-the hand with the cut and throbbing fingers-and quickly slipped my left arm into the loop. At last the rope was around me, and I gave the tug to it. I heard myself gasp and moan, over the distancing thunder, and while the lightening flashed again I heard his voice. Was it possible that there was a note of anxiety, almost of desperation in it?

Automatically I obeyed him, feeling the cold numbness creeping up to invade all of me, not just my fingers. But I clung to the knot now and felt my body behind to slide upward-unbelievably, joyously. What did I care if the rock face scraped more skin off my hips, thighs, knees, or that the rope tighten almost painfully around my chest. It hurt, but then I hurt all over already, and I clutched at the knot, fingers wrapping fiercely around the rope.

His hands were on me, biting into my bruised flesh, almost as painful as the rope had been. And then I found myself lying face down in a puddle of water, hearing my own gasping breaths.

“Hold still. Don't move yet.” The biting pressure of the rope eased as he tugged it off me, and he was a dark shape, silhouetted against a flash of lightning as he bent over me.

“Who else did you expect to find up here?” His voice sounded amused almost. His hands were gentle as they pushed my hair off my face. “Can you get up? You're going to have to, because I am not in any shape right now to carry you.”

I frowned at him, and even in my near exhausted state of mind I wondered what he could possibly mean. Ramon had shot him hours ago-surely he had healed by now. He had turned away and was talking softly to the horse that had dragged me up here. I saw that he was untying the rope from a ring on the saddle. Lightening flashed and I saw the blood that trickled from a wound in his chest, another in his side. What in the world had happened? He looked as if someone had used him for target practice…but who, and how long ago.

My voice must have sounded nearly hysterical, for that was how I felt as I looked at his body torn, scarred. I could see that he was beginning to heal, but not nearly fast enough.

He reached down to me and I clung to his outstretched arm, clambering laboriously to my feet. He flinched away from me, and I said, “Who shot you --Ramon only shot you once-and that was hours ago!”

His hands closed around my shoulders. They tightened and his touch seemed to ground me. “I tied him up-someplace safe. When this storm stops I will contact the Park Rangers and see that he is arrested.” I sighed and felt a calmness slowly settle over me. “Come on. You can see the cabin lights from here, can't you?

We moved then, me staggering, Duncan assisting me even as he flinched from the contact. The cabin's door was flapping open. I could see the snapping and crackling fire burning in a fireplace and dragged myself across the threshold. I heard the door slam shut behind me as I dropped down on my knees on the bearskin rug. I collapsed and rolled flat on my back, closing my eyes in wonder at the silky softness of the fur beneath me. The warmth given off from the fireplace was heavenly.

I lifted my head with effort, opened my eyes and saw him leaning against the door. I noticed then that there was only smeared blood remaining where open wounds had been earlier. Had he died, than come back to life? Just how long ago had Diego done this to him? He was staring down at me now, and he looked very much like I must have--as if he could not believe what he saw.

The first thing I noticed was the blood soaking the makeshift bandages he wore, running in rivulets. I suspected the wounds underneath were all but healed. It was a good thing he was immortal, for no one could lose so much blood and stay on their feet.

“You're the crazy one! Shouldn't you sleep or something?” In spite of the wet clothing remaining on me, and my own soreness, I came to my feet. “How do you heal? You sleep, right?” He looked very confused, but he didn't correct me. Just stood there, staring at me. “I'll see to the horse-you should rest. Right now!”

“Why must you always argue with me?” He sounded angry, and when I reach him he swore at me in English, French and Spanish. That didn't stop him from putting his arms around me, hauling me up tightly against him as he leaned against the wood panel of the door. His mouth took mine in a fiery kiss of possession, and I surrendered totally to it.

He gave a strangled laugh, his voice husky and endearing, “If you're going to say what I think you're going to say, I'll have to take a rain check.” The sound of the pounding rain outside the door, made my lips twitch and he said, “No pun intended.”

He pushed me forward into the room, then down on the bearskin rug. I half expected him to actually lie down beside me, but there was the horse to tend to, and he was determined that it be he who tended the beast. The door opened and a rush of wind and rain pelted me, before it closed behind him. I heard the thunder, saw the following lightening and knew the storm in all its fury was directly over us now. I lay there, waiting for him to return and found myself wondering what I was doing here. Why had I risk life and limb to make it to his side?

My eyes snapped open-I didn't remember hearing him return. He still had not joined me on the fur rug-but I had striped away my wet clothing as he suggested. I saw a shiver rush through his body and I came to my feet. Most of the bandages were white now, or only pink, but the one on his shoulder still showed a dark red.

“You're still bleeding!” I crossed the room to him, reached for his hand and pulled him toward the bear skin rug and the fire. Water dripped off of him, flying everywhere. The fire was hot, but I was still feeling chilled. I sat down on the furry rug, and waited for him to undress. I watched as he grabbed a bottle of scotch from the cupboard and brought it to me.

No glasses, just the bottle. His eyes lighted on mine as he tilted his head back and swallowed a goodly amount of the stuff. I knew the liquor would warm me. That was the only reason I snatched up the bottle from him, tilting it as he had done to let the fiery-warm liquid trickle down my throat. Almost tasteless, it burned me all the way down to my stomach, leaving me coughing and spluttering afterward, so that I almost dropped the bottle.

“Believe me-it is all yours.” My voice sounded angry-royally pissed off-actually, but it softened as my eyes fell on that bright red bandage again. “Let me look at what is under that.”

“Not on your life, woman!” he gasped, “keep you hand off . . . ugh!” He groaned with pain and closed his caramel-colored eyes as I ripped the bandage away ruthlessly.

I was startled, utterly astounded by the bullet wound in his shoulder for it was an ugly cavity, with the flesh already red and mounded, as if it wanted to heal but could not.

“Every once in a while, something in the metal of the bullet slug-a sliver of metal left behind after a stabbing can prevent the healing. It simply needs to be removed.” His voice sounded so weak, drained almost.

I shivered and shook my head. My fingers were still trembling with cold and reaction. It would not be a good idea-unless he was into pain, and from everything I had read about him, that wasn't the case. I handed him the knife and turned away-staring into the fire. I waited, and after a long groan, followed by a hiss I knew he was finished.

The door opened and only a wet wind rushed against me. I spun around but he had closed the door behind him already. Where was he going? A half hour passed and I started to rise up, to follow after him, but I had no more come to my feet, then the door opened. My eyes flew to his shoulder, but it was just as smooth and strong as I remembered it being in the passed. He was completely free of any trace of blood and I guessed he must have used a nearby creek or maybe a rain barrel to wash.

He came to me and we lay down on the bear skin rug. Because of the heat from the fire and the warmth of his arms, I had no need of a blanket. I rested my head on his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. I started to relax, and only then was I aware that I was a mass of aching bruises, and that I was so tired I was shaking and limp with exhaustion. His arms tightened around me, comfortingly and I realized that the rain had started again. I could hear it beating down on the roof and against the door. The receding mutter of thunder was more distant now and came in longer intervals.

I felt lightheaded and I dozed fitfully. I dreamed that the whole hillside came crashing down on top of us, burying us under acres of mud and rock. I dreamed Elena and Ramon crashed through that weak bearer of a door and in our humble state of near exhaustion; Elena managed to take Duncan's head while Ramon held me pinned against his large body, unable to break free in time to save him.

“I thought I'd dreamed you up!” he said huskily, and I felt his arm tighten around my shoulders. I had been lying on my side, my head resting on his shoulder, my body pressed far too closely against the length of his. “You're safe here, Mia. Sleep.”

I did try to sleep, but I felt so terribly restless. It was also difficult to simply turn off my emotions. My mind wouldn't rest, and my thoughts were all centered on why I had come chasing after this man who lay beside me. I warred with my oath to the watchers-but I didn't intend to let go of any of our secrets, nor was I hoping to gain any inside knowledge of immortals from Duncan. My internal battle had more to do with my physical cravings for him-I was stunned by it. It was far too powerful, made even more so, by the scent of him, and the warmth of his touch.

Hardly aware of my own action I turned to face him, put my hand up, and touched his beard-stubbled face. He was still awake, and his caramel-colored eyes stared into mine for all of a second before his mouth came down over mine-seeking, impatient, hungry. I sighed as if I had been waiting a long time for this to happen, and had been holding my breath in anticipation.

“Don't go! Not yet, Mia. . .” his husky, shaken whisper sounded like a cry of reproach, but his arms released me. This time it had been I who had been the first to wrench myself away from the clinging, desperate pressure of those sensuous lips. I did it because I had to, and not because I wanted to: I did it because the rush of violent emotion that seized me when his mouth first covered mine came close to making me lose all control of myself. We were like animals, pressing closely against each other for body heat, until that heat was replaced by the force of our desire; wanting more than kisses, but I couldn't allow myself to slip up-at least-not that completely-and not this quickly.

And so I pushed away from him, and he grumbled a compliant to me about it-and I shrugged mentally, because it seemed as if since Duncan had first designed to speak to me-he had been grumbling at me. This time it surely wasn't a negative grumble. He didn't want me to leave him. I stood up anyways, belatedly remembering, when I saw the look in his eyes, that I wore nothing to cover myself.