“The red clan breeds with other clans. If the child looks like the other clan, it’s sent to them to be raised; if it looks like red clan, it stays here with us. But if the baby doesn’t look like either clan, then it stays with the mother, not because she wants it, but because the other clan won’t take it.”
I kept one arm around his waist but raised the other so I could touch his hair. I touched the white and gray of it, and last I stroked the dark, rich streak of red in his bangs, pulling on it just a little. It made me smile up at him, and that made him smile at me.
“You’re beautiful, don’t let anyone tell you different,” I said.
His smile widened. “The clan females won’t have sex with me because they don’t want to bring an impure child into the world. I even had a vasectomy three years ago, so I couldn’t get anyone pregnant. I thought that would make me safe enough for the clan females to want me, but they still saw me as impure, as if just my touch would make them less pure-blooded.”
“I’m so sorry that they’ve been stupid, Ethan.”
He smiled, a little sad around the edges. “Me, too.”
Domino back home was a half-black and half-white tiger. He’d been security for the white clan, but just as alone as Ethan was; at least with Domino the white clan had found him in foster care and adopted him. They hadn’t bargained for his birth and then treated him badly. It seemed somehow worse.
I smiled at him. “Since I don’t want to get pregnant by anyone, it’s a plus for me. Your lycanthropy already protects you from any disease, so with me on the birth control, too, we’re about as safe as we can get.”
“Our lycanthropy,” Ethan said.
“What?”
“You’re a panwere, right? You just don’t change shape, so our lycanthropy protects us from any other disease but the lycanthropy.”
I frowned, because I hadn’t really thought about it like that. “I don’t know; since I can carry multiple strains of lycanthropy, I’m not a hundred percent sure I can’t catch other diseases.”
He nodded. “That’s true, so you still have to worry about STDs.”
“If I’m with humans,” I said.
“Are you ever with humans?”
“No, but I bet you do just fine with the human women,” I said.
He smiled, and it was almost shy. “I tried dating humans, but I can’t tell them what I am, and you can’t hide it forever.”
“No,” I said, “you can’t.”
“It’s like denying what I am, who I am. It’s almost lonelier than not having anyone in my arms.”
I nodded. “I had a boyfriend, a fiancé who wanted me to do the white picket fence—so not my gig.”
He grinned at me. “I can feel that you want me.” He leaned over me, sniffing against the side of my face. “I can still smell the scent of red, and white, and blue . . . and something else I’ve never smelled before. You smell sweet and . . . Why do I see gold in my head? A gold tiger.”
“Because part of you is gold.”
“That’s not possible,” he said.
“I can smell the truth on your skin.”
He drew in a deep breath.
“Gods, you smell like home.”
“I was told that gold tigers don’t look for home.”
He shook his head. “Then they must have already found it, because everyone looks for home in someone.” He whispered it as he turned his face against mine and put his lips on my cheek. It was almost a kiss, but not quite. His breath was warm against my skin.
My pulse was thick in my throat, my body tingling with his nearness. “Do you understand what could happen to you?” I tried to sound reasonable, but it came out as a hoarse whisper.
“I think so.”
“We just have to wait for Alex, and then we can think about it. You can have time to think about it.”
His hand cupped the side of my face, sliding his fingers into my hair. He kissed me, ever so softly on the other side of my face. “I don’t want to think.”
I closed my eyes as he rubbed his face against mine, like a cat scent-marking, his hand tightened in my hair enough that I made a small noise for him. “What do you want?”
“I want to go home,” he whispered.
I drew away enough to look into his eyes; they’d already gone soft, half-focused. His lips were parted, and his lower lip was wet as if he’d licked it. The ardeur pushed at me; the tigers slapped at me, raking their claws down the inside of my body so that I half-crumpled in his arms. He caught me, held me, his face all concern. “Are you all right?”
I nodded. I was, but I wouldn’t be if I fought too much longer. I thought about Alex, and I felt him, he was coming, but I felt his irritation with his mother; she’d delayed him. He was too far away, I couldn’t hold out . . . I smelled Ethan’s skin and was honest with myself: I didn’t want to hold out. Yes, it was the ardeur, yes, it was the tigers inside me, but it was also his loneliness. I’d been lonely for years; I knew what it was like to be different and have no one love you for it.
“Are you all right?” he asked again, his hands on my arms now, as if he were afraid I’d fall.
“I will be,” I said.
“What can I do?”
I drew back from the ardeur, shoved the tigers down, and knew it wouldn’t last. “I need you to understand that I can’t control all of this. I don’t know how much of your free will you’ll lose when we do this. I need you to really understand that, Ethan.”
His gray eyes were very serious as he looked down at me. “I understand.”
“Do you?” I asked.
“No, but for the look in your face just a few minutes ago, for the smell of your skin, for that taste of belonging . . . Don’t leave me here alone.”
I thought at Alex. I thought, too late, Stay away, and then I stopped fighting. Stopped fighting the ardeur, stopped fighting the tigers, and stopped fighting myself. I gave myself to the moment and the man in my arms.
13
IT TOOK TIME to disarm each of us. My concern for my weapons helped chase back the ardeur enough that other issues came up—like the fact that the small room Ethan had kicked open was the machinery room. It was bare and concrete floored. I was down to my bra and jeans with a pile of weapons at my feet when I laughed and said, “Where can we have sex that we won’t lose skin doing it?”
Ethan peeled his shirt over his head and dropped it on his own pile of weapons. I would have tried to find someplace more comfortable to have sex, but seeing him shirtless distracted me. The fine muscles I’d seen in his arms hadn’t quite prepared me for how very nice he looked out of the shirt. There was always that moment when you got the clothes off for the very first time. It never grew old for me, that wonder of the first time, from the clothes coming off, to the first touch, the first kiss. Everyone kept telling me that with this many people in my life, and bed, I’d get jaded, but I never did. It was always fresh wonder, and Ethan standing there shirtless helped me chase back the ardeur even more, or maybe I just had more control of it now. But whatever the reason, I moved toward him, my hand outstretched so that I could run my fingers down the smooth, muscled grace of his chest. I had other men in my life who were more muscled, had more bulk, but Ethan’s level of muscle was just dandy. I ran my hand over the smooth swell of his chest, avoiding the nipples for now, because I actually wanted to caress him before we raised the ardeur too far again.
I ran my hand over the smooth ridges of his stomach. “Hmm, a six-pack, that takes work.”
His breath came out in a shuddering sigh, from just that innocent caress. “All I am to my clan is muscle, so I have to be the best muscle I can be.”
I curved my hands on either side of his waist, following along all that lean, hardworking muscle. Such a small touch, but it made him close his eyes and sigh. That reaction alone let me know just how long it had been since someone touched him. It made me sad for him. And then I felt something in the hallway, something hot and powerful, and angry . . . I turned back and went for my gun in its holster, but like Ethan’s gun it was under my shirt. I was on one knee, my shirt still in the air as I raised my gun up to aim at the door. Ethan was going for his gun, but he wouldn’t reach it in time.