Chapter 2

“He’s unconscious, Warrick. Frankly, I don’t know how he managed to fight off the effects of the morphine for as long as he did.”

“At least he gave us the information we needed. This will demoralize the German troops.”

“The local soldiers mutiny before they venture onto our land.”

“With the result the high command constantly sends in soldiers from other parts of the Reich.”

“And unfortunately, some of them don’t have enough imagination to realize what they’re up against and fear us.”

“Then we’ll just kill them. I’ll go speak to the men.”

“Rick…Did you notice this shifter had a British accent?”

“Do you expect me to know him, simply because we’re both British?” Warrick tilted his head to observe him. “Or because we’re both shifters?” In spite of everything, Fox found the motion arousing.

He shook his head, though. “What I meant was—”

The tapping of a cane on the wooden steps leading into the caravan interrupted him, and a glance toward the door saw Syeira, the Romani wise woman, hobble into the space that was becoming more and more crowded.

“Good evening, Grandmother.” Fox greeted her politely.

“My son.” She nodded toward Warrick, then went to the dark shifter and stroked his black hair back off his forehead. When she turned back to them, her smile was pleased.

Warrick frowned at the old woman. “You know this man?”

“I have been waiting for him.”

“Of course you have. Who is he?”

“His name is Errol Dorincourt. He is the Dark One, and has been working with the resistance since before your country joined the war.”

“Why haven’t we seen him before?”

“He was needed elsewhere.”

Fox studied her thoughtfully. “Would we have seen him even now if it hadn’t been for circumstances?”

She smiled, revealing the gap between her teeth, but remained silent.

“Are you going to tell us about him?”

“As you say.” This time her smile deepened the grooves between her eyes.

Warrick gave an annoyed huff, and Fox felt an incipient headache threatening to turn his brain to mush. His lover had always resented the fact the Romani woman had foreseen his unhappy destiny, but her manner of revealing it to him had been so obscure he hadn’t understood until it was too late.

Fox pulled up a stool and placed it so Syeira could sit. “Thank you, my son.” She sank down and turned her head to gaze at Warrick. “You have a daughter.”

“You’re not telling me anything new, old woman. And she’s hardly mine.”

“She is blood of your blood.”

“But she’s being brought up by Thomas Fortescue-Smythe, my…my boyhood friend.”

Fox growled, and Warrick turned startled eyes toward him. After all this time Rick still—”Excuse me, I need to see how Luminitsa is feeling.” The young woman was expecting her first babe and was nervous about the impending birth. Syeira had turned over some of her duties to him, most likely out of kindness and to see he had something to do. Weres were a hardy lot who didn’t have much need for a doctor. He glared at his lover. Unless they were stuck by sacred silver during a full moon.

“Fox—” Warrick held out his hand.

Fox ignored him and stalked out of the caravan, not even bothering to grab up a slicker to keep the rain off. He didn’t like to hear Warrick talking about his “boyhood friend,” who at one point had been more than a friend—they’d been lovers. Not that Warrick often spoke of the man, but dammit, he’d left Fox behind in Canada so he could possess Smythe. Only Warrick had arrived to find his boyhood friendhad a new lover, who Warrick attempted to destroy, with disastrous results.

Fox felt his heart almost stop beating at the memory of Warrick, so badly injured the wise woman hadn’t been certain he’d be able to return to his human form.

Fox firmed his upper lip and continued to stalk across the compound to Luminitsa’s caravan. He’d often wondered if leaving—a threat to do so would be useless, since Warrick would never believe his lover would do such a thing—might shake the obstinate man enough to bring him to his senses.

A cry alerted Fox something was amiss, and when Patrin, Luminitsa’s man, tumbled out of their caravan and raced toward him, Fox was certain of it.

“Dokter! Thank God, thank God,” Patrin babbled. “The baby is coming!”

Fox wasn’t too sure of that, since first babies could be notoriously long in putting in an appearance, and first-time parents could be notoriously wrong, but he jogged to the caravan, calling over his shoulder, “Boil some water.” He didn’t need it, but it would give the man something to do. “Well, now, Luminitsa, let’s see how you’re progressing, shall we?”

* * * *

The full moon had long since set by the time Fox returned to the caravan he shared with his lover. He sat on a chair and leaned forward to tug off his boots.