When I awoke, I fully expected Leo to be long gone-and he didn't disappoint me. It was stupid of him, for not only was there the snow to slow him down-and make his trail easy to follow-but I seriously doubted that he had anywhere else to go, no safe haven to which he could retreat. Shaking off the aftereffects of the night before, I called to my mare, Morgana, and we soon found him buried in a snowdrift less than a mile off, as cold and still as death.

Dragging him from the snowdrift, I focused carefully and sent in enough heat to warm him up, hoping to at least keep him alive long enough to get him back to my cottage.

"Stupid male," Morgana snorted. "If they'd just use their brains once in a while, they'd be much better off."

Which was what I had been thinking, myself, but somehow, in his case, I knew there was more to it than mere stupidity and couldn't help but defend him.

"Well, what did you expect him to do, Morgana?

He's a slave! His last master nearly killed him-who could blame him for running? Granted, it was stupid, but it's probably what I would have done, myself. He may not have known he had a month before Rafe would come back for him. It would have been nice if he'd been *23 *09*.

24.

Cheryl Brooks able to trust me, but I can see where trusting anyone would be difficult for him."

"It was still stupid," Morgana insisted. "They all are."

Pulling the poles to the sling down from the saddle, I peered at her out of the corner of my eye. "Oh, by the way, Morgana, I forgot to tell you: Sinjar was here last night. He's the one who brought Leo and Rafe. Sorry you missed him."

She curled her neck around and gave me such a look!

"As if I care," she said haughtily.

"Aw, don't be so mareish," I said. "You'd like him well enough, if he'd ever come around when you were in season."

As I might have expected, she made no reply. Smiling to myself, I rolled Leo's inert form onto the sling, then slid the poles through the sides of it and hitched them to the saddle. Mounting quickly, I sent Morgana off at a steady trot, and we were back home a short time later, though Morgana grumbled the whole way about how heavy he was.

Hauling him inside, I noted that stripping him and burning his clothes hadn't hindered his escape, for, being a resourceful fellow, he'd simply stolen some of mine. Of course, they didn't fit him particularly well, and he'd had to split a few seams to get them on. He was wearing his own boots, which was my mistake. I should have burned them along with his clothes-and I seriously considered it-though I hoped he would realize now that running away was not his best choice.

Delirium was the most logical reason for such an ill-advised attempt, and though he'd seemed lucid *24 *09*.

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enough earlier when first roused by my touch, it was possible that he'd suffered a relapse during the night while I was oblivious. It must have looked like a golden opportunity-though I wondered why he wasn't deterred by the depth of the snow. On the other hand, I'd known cats to bolt in conditions that would definitely have made me think twice.

Stripping him down again, I placed him on his pallet by the fire with a hot brick at his feet and bundled him up with warm blankets. The tisane I'd prepared the night before still sat on the table, and I heated it with a glance before soaking a cloth in it to lay across his chest and neck to allow the volatile herbs to be inhaled as well as absorbed through his skin. It would have worked much more quickly if he'd been able to drink it, but while my great-grandmother had possessed the gift of a form of mind control, I didn't inherit that one, and therefore couldn't make him swallow just because I wanted him to. I chuckled to myself, thinking that it would have been handy, because then I might have been able to put the notion into his head to stay put.

I might have missed out on many other useful powers, but being able to heat things up just by looking at them in a certain way was one that, to the best of my knowledge, none of my ancestors had possessed. It was also a power that I was very careful not to use in anyone else's presence-at least, not if they were paying attention- because it had enormous potential for misuse, and I didn't ever want to be accused of setting someone on fire or roasting them alive. Besides, I had learned early that it was useful to have some secrets, I had discovered my gift quite by accident when, as a *25 *09*.

26.

Cheryl Brooks child, I realized that I could ripen fruit just by looking at it. This was a useful skill in and of itself, but I continued to experiment, finally reaching the point where I could make dried grasses smolder by focusing my gaze on them, and the power continued to grow and develop until, in time, I managed to acquire a fairly precise control of it. I can't explain the actual power involved any more than I can explain any other innate capability, such as the instincts that animals have to guide their migratory behavior-or my ability to communicate with them. These things simply exist in nature, having been put there by the gods.

Just as Leo had been put there-so far from his home, and so completely and utterly alone. Where would he have gone if his escape attempt had been successful?

What would he have done? He had no means to provide for himself; he would either have had to steal or work for someone else-though it was a given that as a hired hand, he would be treated more kindly than he had been as a slave. I still didn't know how he'd come to be in such a state, for I hadn't, as yet, had the opportunity to ask him. Promising myself to do that later, I swept his body with another heated glance to warm him, and then fixed a pot of porridge, hoping at least to get some food into him before he ran off again-if he ever regained consciousness at all.

By midmorning, the animals had all been fed, and I had finished my own breakfast, but Leo had not yet begun to stir. As I'd intended before, I pulled him back to the unsealed part of the floor and washed and combed his hair, separating it into long, spiraling strands. It was every bit as beautiful as I'd imagined it would be-thick *26 *10*.

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and shining and soft to the touch-and even the feel of it was intoxicating, just like everything else about him.

It was as if the gods had designed him with that sole purpose in mind.

As I washed and redressed his wounds, I noted that, while they were not yet healed, at least the poison was gone, and the tissues already seemed healthier. But still, he did not awaken.

Desdemona purred from her perch on the hearth.

"Given up hope yet?" she asked gently.

"No, should I have?" Despair had been creeping into my mind, and Desdemona must have sensed it, though I hadn't admitted it to myself as yet.

"Not necessarily," she replied. "Cats have nine lives, you know."

"I think this one must have more than your average cat," I remarked. "Just think what he must have been through in his life! All the places he's been, the people he's seen, the horrors he's had to endure. It's enough to break your heart just thinking about it!"

"His heart isn't broken, though," Desdemona pointed out. "Nor is his spirit."

Given his earlier behavior, I was forced to agree.

"Must be getting close to it, though," I said. "Everyone has their breaking point. I mean, why else would he run off into a snowstorm?"

When she didn't reply, I peered at her curiously, my head slowly tipping to one side. "You knew when he left, didn't you? Why didn't you wake me?"

Desdemona stretched a hind leg up into the air and licked it, seeming to ignore my question.

"Mona!" I said sharply. "Answer me!"

*27 *10*.

28.

Cheryl Brooks Cats are adept at withdrawing into their own little world, and this cat was no exception. However, her total lack of interest seemed to indicate quite the opposite. She was hiding something. "You're jealous, aren't you?" I accused her. "You're afraid he's going to replace you as the witch's cat!"

Still, she said nothing, but continued to groom herself as though I didn't exist.

"Come on, Mona!" I urged. "Talk to me!"

One thing that can be said about a cat- any cat-is that if she doesn't want to talk, you can't very well make her. Grumbling to myself, I gave up.

"Great! Now I have two cats, and neither one of them will talk! I may have to go out and talk to Morgana!"

Except Morgana would probably just want to tell me more crap about how worthless men were, and granted, many of them were, but I, for one, was getting tired of hearing it! I mean, I thought Sinjar was a great guy, but she wouldn't give him the time of day! Of course, she was right about Rafe...

I sat there a while longer, combing my fingers through Leo's hair, searching my memory for the right combination of herbs and magic that might revive him. Then I remembered what had brought him out of his stupor the day before.

"Oh, surely not!" I muttered. "That would be much too simple!" But I figured it was worth a try-and while it would be for his own good, I wouldn't exactly mind, either...Then, perhaps, I could get some food and medicine into him before he ran off again. I reached under the blankets.

"Oh, not again!" Desdemona groaned, breaking her *28 *10*.

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silence at last. "Do you have to do that while I'm sitting here watching?"

"Well, no," I said nastily. "You don't have to sit there and watch, you can go out and catch some mice!

I'm sure there are plenty of them in the shed."

Turning ever so slightly to peer disdainfully at me over her shoulder, she again made no reply, but resumed her morning ablutions as though I hadn't spoken.

Frustrating creature. I opted for a bit of verbal sparring.

"Yes, there are plenty of them out there," I told her.

"I've heard them. They have this delightful little song they like to sing. Would you like to hear it? Oh, of course you would!" I went on, giving her no opportunity to reply. "It goes like this: Desdemona, the witch's cat, Desdemona, the lazy rat!

Sits all day on the hearth by the fire Wouldn't lift a paw if we ran right by 'er We're out here feasting in the grain With no one but herself to blame While horses starve and mice get fatter And no one sleeps for all our chatter Desdemona sits and purrs-"

"Enough!" Mona hissed.

"And thinks that the whole world is hers!" I finished with fiendish glee.

"Charming," she sneered and stalked off with her tail held high.

Chuckling wickedly, I glanced down just in time to catch the faint smirk on Leo's face. Since I had my hand wrapped around his cock at the time, I gave it a quick squeeze.

*29 *10*.

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Cheryl Brooks "Morning, sleepyhead! It's about time you woke up!" I took a firmer grip on his stiffening shaft and asked, "Mind telling me just what possessed you to run off like that?"

His eyes flew open as my fingers tightened. "It was a momentary fit of madness, I believe, and I was weaker than I realized."

"Hmph!" I snorted. "A likely story! I tell you, there's no justice-or gratitude-in this world! I suck myself into an orgasmic coma, and then you steal my clothes and sneak out on me! Not a very nice thing to do, and you must know it's not wise to anger a witch. After all, I might turn you into a toad!"

Leo smiled up at me. "Are you able to do that?"

"Well, no," I admitted, "but I might try it anyway. Of course, I'd probably botch the spell and turn you into something really disgusting, like a slug or a roach." I paused for a moment to consider the notion. "Do you know, I believe the idea has merit! I should turn you into a slug, because then you wouldn't be stupid enough to go running off into the snow! I mean, even slugs know better than to do anything so idiotic!"

"You are angry with me," Leo observed.

"You bet I'm angry with you!" I said hotly, giving his penis a yank. "You get me hooked on your orgasmic cock syrup and then you run off! What were you thinking? Do you want to die?"

"That was not my intention."