"Certainly. For example, I think you're too warm." His hands deserted their post to find the zipper in the back of her dress. He pulled it down slowly, drowning her in another kiss, this one deeper, richer.

Seconds later, her dress crumpled to the floor, and his hands found new places to touch while his mouth tended to a spot on her neck he liked.

"Hey." The stirring was sweet, familiar, new. Always new. "I have a question. Something I've been wondering all night." Her hands slid to his denim-clad butt. "Commando?"

"Mmm. I can't remember. Perhaps you should check."

She did. She slid the shorts down to discover that, indeed, there was nothing beneath them but Rule.

He clasped her hand and her waist, leaving several inches between them, and murmured, "We missed our dance." And he began humming.

So she danced in bra and panties with her beautiful, naked Rule, with the lights of the city twinkling at them from the window wall. He danced her into the living area, humming a 1930s torch song, one that had been old-fashioned even back when he was born.

Lily didn't dance with him because he was right, though he was. She did need to shut off her mind. But a quick, hot bout between the sheets-or on top of them, or in the foyer, wherever-would have taken care of that. She didn't need to spin around the floor at nearly 3 A.M.

He did. He needed surcease, comfort, sex, and sleep.

The sex was easy. Sleep? She couldn't guarantee that, but sex would surely help it along. She had a good shot at comfort, too, thanks to the mate bond. As for surcease . . . that's what this dance was for, wasn't it? Surcease means to bring to an end, and he meant to bring this long, difficult day to an end his way, with the stubborn insistence that blood and violence might be part of their lives, but only part.

Play was just as real. What was romance but a lovely bit of play between man and woman?

Absurd, stubborn, impossibly romantic man. He kept touching her, but nothing they couldn't have done on any dance floor.

Not yet.

He paused their motion to bend and switch off the one lamp they'd left on. She laughed softly at the sudden darkness, the city lights, and herself.

His hands settled on her hips as he continued to move to his own music, but the tune changed to one with a hard, definite beat. "Something's funny?"

"Me." She looped her arms around his neck, swaying with him, humming along this time. So selfless she was, willing to give up a little sleep for a man who was clearly determined to make sure it would be no sacrifice. How did a woman give to a man who was so determined to give to her?

She tried harder. Lily smiled into the dimness and eased closer. Now she brushed against him with every motion.

He liked that. He rumbled low in his throat in a way she wouldn't dream of calling a purr-even if it did remind her of Dirty Harry. His hands tightened on her hips. One of them began wandering . . . brushing her lightly here and there, but never in the place that had begun to ache for him. She pressed closer.

"Uh-uh." The hand at her hip tightened, keeping a hint of space between them. Suddenly he whirled her around-once, then again-making her laugh in spite of her frustration, ending with them at the dark tunnel of the hall. Once more he slowed.

Two slow, humming turns into the hall, her bra fell to the floor.

Her panties slid down her legs at the entrance to the bedroom.

His fingers slid between her legs just as they reached the bed. An easy caress, a gentle rub, one quick stroke-and she went over.

The climax whited out her brain. She forgot about legs and standing. Fortunately, he scooped her up and tossed her on the bed before she collapsed. He followed her down and, with the aftershocks still pinging through her, he slid inside.

He'd dawdled all he wanted, it seemed, for he finished with quick, hard strokes that overloaded her sensitized flesh, bringing her a second pop.

The next she knew, he'd collapsed on top of her, his breath coming heavy and fast on the side of her head. She lifted one limp hand, stroked his chin. "Mmm. Tangy," she murmured.

"Tangy?" He was amused, sleepy.

She nodded, eyes closed. "Like a whole-body SweeTART. The second one, I mean, not the first. The first was . . ." Her drowsy brain couldn't find a sufficiently explosive food to compare it to. She settled for, "Wow."

"Ah." He lifted off. "Wow here, too. Scoot. I'll get the cover."

She scooted, tugged with him, and wiggled herself under the covers. There was a wet spot on the comforter-the only disadvantage of sex with a lupus. They couldn't get or give STDs, so no condoms were needed. No condoms meant wet spots, unless you took precautions. Which they'd forgotten to do . . . again.

But no matter. She'd wash the comforter in the morning.

Rule draped one arm over her. Lily snuggled close, closing her eyes, savoring the comfort of the bed and the contact, enjoying her limp body, the drugging pull of sleep.

A thought wiggled up from somewhere.

Rule hadn't made love like a jealous man, had he? There'd been no possessiveness, no claiming, in either part of their dance. Was she relieved or disappointed?

She couldn't tell. It didn't matter. Lily sighed and let go.

FIFTEEN.

IT was still full dark when Rule stood in front of the window wall in the living area the next morning, sipping coffee. His view faced west, out toward the ocean. The moon hung near the horizon, her face half shadow, half light. Lily still slept. He'd reset the alarm to make sure of that. She wasn't always realistic about how much sleep she needed.

He watched the darkness and listened to the song of the partly veiled moon and remembered jealousy.

He'd experienced it, of course. Lupi weren't immune to the urge to hoard, whether it be toys, attention, love, or sex. Young lupi in particular-those who hadn't yet been received into the mantle-were subject to the flashy emotional noise of jealousy.

Sometimes adult lupi were, too.

A familiar sadness stole over Rule as he remembered his brother Mick. Mick had been ten years older than Rule, nine years younger than Benedict. Unlike Rule and Benedict, though, he'd been raised away from Clanhome until puberty rendered that impossible. His mother had refused to let Isen have custody until almost too late.

Rule often wondered how much that had shaped him.

Others had seen a simple dominance struggle between Mick and Rule-normal and even healthy. Rule knew it had gone deeper, been more twisted. Mick had been jealous of Rule. Jealous when Rule was young because of the time Rule had with their father. Jealous when they were both adults because Isen had named Rule Lu Nuncio. Mick's thinking had been so deformed by the bitter emotion he could see that only as a father's preference, not a Rho's choice. A theft of love.

Lupi had a name for that particular form of jealousy: fratriodi, or brother hatred. It was a grave sin. The poison of Mick's jealousy had left him open to the manipulations of a woman named Helen, who'd used it-and an ancient staff-to control him.

Yet in the end Mick had chosen to save Rule instead of killing him. He'd died, but he'd died clean of fratriodi.

Sexual jealousy was as poisonous as any other type. Rule had no intention of indulging in it. But this wasn't jealousy, he decided as he turned away from the window. He crossed to the breakfast bar, where his laptop waited. An illicit curiosity, perhaps.

The program had long since finished running the calculations he needed. He'd begun dabbling in currency trading, needing a way to bring Leidolf's disastrous finances into better shape. It was risky, no doubt about that, especially with the shaky state of the world economy.

But that very instability left room for traders to make-or lose-large amounts of money with a relatively small initial stake.

He checked his input figures one last time, then put in his buy order. Then he opened his browser and logged on to the site he used for background information on those he did business with. Google was handy, but this site, operated by a detective agency, offered a bit more. For his monthly fee he could obtain a records check on almost anyone. If that raised questions for him, he could contact the agency for a deeper look.

Beck, Cody, he typed in the first field. In one of the other fields he entered San Diego County Sheriff's Department. Then he hit SEARCH.

Short of death, it was impossible for him to lose Lily. She'd agreed to marry him, and would have been faithful even without the conventional human bond. She loved him. He knew that.

But he wanted very much to learn what he could of the man she'd spoken of with such smothered regret.

"You changed the alarm setting."

Rule smiled. Lily looked so disgruntled and tidy standing there in her pressed dress slacks, sleeveless white shirt, and bare feet. Her hair was still damp from her shower. She held the bunched-up comforter under one arm. "Only by forty-five minutes," he said.

"Which isn't enough to help. Just means I'll be running late all day." She came into the kitchen, where Rule was getting his second cup of coffee, took down a mug, and held it out. "Harry didn't wake me, either."

"I bribed him with ham." Rule filled Lily's mug and took the comforter from her. "I'll wash it."

She slid him a grin, took a sip, closed her eyes, and took another one.

He loved to watch her enjoy coffee. His coffee. She drank the stuff regurgitated by cop shop coffeemakers, but she didn't enjoy it.

He opened the sliders that concealed the washer and dryer in their nook off the kitchen. "Nettie's still asleep, as she should be. She expended a great deal on Cullen yesterday. Max won a hundred dollars from Jason at poker. Either he didn't cheat or Jason is smarter than I realized. Cynna and Cullen are asleep, or were an hour ago. Toby's with my father. When I spoke with him, he was worried about Cullen, but, ah, unaware of the spell. I decided to allow him that ignorance."

"He's not too upset?"

Rule shook his head. "He thinks Cullen is healing normally. He wanted to go see Cullen, but when told he couldn't, fell back on wheedling for permission to hike up into the mountains with some of the other children."

"Hmm." Lily followed, coffee cup in hand. "You've been busy. Up awhile?" She glanced at the breakfast bar, where his laptop was up and humming, though with a screensaver at the moment. She didn't say a word, but she didn't have to.

"I'm fine, Lily. You know I don't need much sleep."

"You need some, though, and the way things have been going lately-"

"Is temporary. I may have found someone to help with Leidolf's investments. Your father recommended him."

Her eyebrows lifted. "A human?"

"Unfortunately, Leidolf hasn't invested in its members' education sufficiently. I don't have anyone within the clan who can handle the sort of transactions I'm interested in." He wouldn't mention just whom Lily's father had recommended. More fun to surprise her, if things worked out. "Will you be going to the hospital right away?"

She grimaced. "I need two of me. Maybe three. I'll get to the hospital, but not yet. I had an idea while I was showering. A way to guard Cullen pretty damned effectively that doesn't involve me or Cynna, and it just might help with something else, too. Uh . . . I wondered if you wanted to go along. If you drove, I could get some work done on the way."

Amused, he tugged her hair. "You wouldn't be trying to guard me, would you?"

"Maybe a little. I don't really think she's involved. According to what Cynna told us it's unlikely, and besides, she would have tried for you or your father. Or that's what I think, but maybe I don't know how an Old One with a really big grudge lays her plans, so . . ." She shrugged. "Either way, I can use the drive time to read some stuff I requested. Research is getting me a list of suspected professional hits that might match this perp's MO."

"All right." Since he'd already planned to find a way to intrude himself into her day so he could guard her, that worked for him. "Where are we going?"

"Well." She sipped, smiled . . . but it was a complex smile, woven of many strands of emotion. "I dreamed of dragons last night."

SIXTEEN.

HAD it been up to Washington, San Diego would not have received a dragon. True, it was home to a major naval base, and there was an Air Force base just north of the city. But after the Turning hit and ambient magic levels began rising, lots of cities wanted a dragon. Dragons were immense magic sponges-they soaked up all the free-floating magic that interfered with technology. The government had, not unreasonably, wanted a dragon sopping up excess magic in L.A., not the smaller city.

It hadn't been up to the government. The Dragon Accords that Grandmother had negotiated awarded each dragon a permanent base, but made an exception for one of them: the black dragon, the eldest of them, known to Lily and Rule as Sam and to others as Sun Mzao. Officially, Sam's territory was wherever he happened to be.

In practice-and in the eyes of the dragons-Sam's territory included much of the West Coast, down into Mexico. He'd agreed to overfly Los Angeles frequently, and Sacra mento occasionally, but he laired just outside of San Diego.

At slightly under half a mile high, San Miguel Mountain wasn't the largest peak around, but it was close to the city and highly visible. To the consternation of environmentalists, that was where Sam had dug his lair-in the west side of the mountain, facing the Sweetwater Reservoir. An unusually large dragon needed a great deal of fresh water, after all.

That's where Lily and Rule headed shortly before eight A.M. that morning, taking Highway 54 out to Reservoir Road. There was no guarantee that Sam would be home, but he usually flew at night, so they had a good chance of catching him.

Or he might know they were coming and either wait for them or leave to avoid them. Lily didn't know what the limits were on his ability to touch other minds or read thoughts outright. Distance mattered, but she didn't know what his range was. Earth and stone mattered, too, which was one reason most dragons liked a rocky lair. It cut out the ambient mind-noise.

On the way, Lily made a couple calls, then took out her laptop. She pulled up the list of suspected professional hits that headquarters had sent her, skimmed it . . . and thought about dragons.

In the Western world, dragons had been considered a myth for centuries. Lily had certainly believed that-right up until one seized her in his talons and carried her off. That happened in Dis, otherwise known as the hell region, where the dragons had emigrated more than three hundred years ago when Earth's magic grew too thin for them.

And now they were back.

At least some of them were-twenty-three, to be precise. Lily had the idea there might be more dragons in some distant realm. Sam wouldn't say, but they must have a home realm. She was pretty sure dragons weren't native to Earth.

Sam's bunch had lived here a very long time, though, before temporarily relocating to Dis when Earth's magic grew too thin for them. How long? No one knew except the dragons, and they weren't saying.

Lily did know a few things about dragons, at least about the ones living here. They were compulsively curious, hoarders of knowledge more than gold-but they liked gold, too. Part of their fee for overflying their assigned territories, soaking up excess magic, was a measure of gold dust. No one knew why they wanted it.

She knew that dragons were mostly solitary, but they got together at times that fit some internal rhythm rather than the calendar . . . and sang. They sang to fulfill needs she couldn't guess. They also sang to work magic.

That's how Sam brought them all back from hell. The dragons couldn't open a gate themselves-which did not make sense, because they'd left Earth once, so why couldn't they make a gate? But dragons weren't big on explaining, so that question resided in Lily's find-out-one-day mental file. Sam had either taken advantage of the arrival of Lily and Rule in Dis, or he'd in some obscure way been counting on it so he could use their gate.

Only their gate had been far too small for dragons, and they hadn't been able to open it for reasons that had to do with there being two of Lily at the time. Lily had taken care of the latter problem the only way she could. Sam had handled the first problem, singing the gate large, singing it open long enough to bring his people home . . . and with them, Max and Cullen and Cynna and Rule. And Lily, of course.

One of her. Most of her. She tried not to think about that too much.

She also knew why Sam had chosen San Diego for his lair. Li Lei Yu lived here. Therefore, so did the black dragon.

Lily wanted badly to know what her tiny, indomitable grandmother had shared with the enormous black dragon back in China so long ago. But Grandmother was impervious to questions-a trait she might have learned from Sam more than three centuries before Lily was born. Until this year, Lily had known Grandmother was older than she appeared; she hadn't known how much older. She assumed Grandmother's longevity had something to do with her interlude with Sam, but she didn't know what.

Lily supposed to she had no real right to ask for details. but dammit, she wasn't good at not asking questions.

Is there a verb for that? she wondered as she closed her laptop. They'd left the highway for Reservoir Road, and she knew from experience coverage was spotty here. Maybe she should call it minding her own . . .

Her phone sang out the first bar of "The Star Spangled Banner." She answered. The caller turned out to be Ida, Ruben's secretary, rather than Ruben himself. Her news was not welcome.

"She's going to what?" she exclaimed. "That's crazy. I can't be sued for performing my duty." She listened a moment. "That's crazy, too. Jesus. Okay, sure, thanks for letting me know."