"Listen to yourself." Holm tapped his finger on Straif's chest. "Listen to your heart."

A rap came on the door, and Holm's eyes lit with pleasure, just as T'Ash's had. "That's Lark." He went and opened the door. "Blessings, cuz," he said, closing the door behind him, leaving Straif alone.

As quiet draped the room, Straif's thoughts roiled. His emotions tore at him. He wanted Mitch.e.l.la. He loved Mitch.e.l.la. Deeply, pa.s.sionately.

But if he chose to marry Mitch.e.l.la, he'd forsake any children of his blood.

The idea of her wedding another man, loving another man brought a haze of red fury so strong he shuddered with it, yet he knew that was a certainty. She'd survive, she'd look to the future, she'd find and love and make love with another man. She'd marry and mother a brood of children.

He'd live in a Residence that she had decorated. The notion of having another woman-even a HeartMate-in the Residence was impossible. He couldn't imagine it.

His Family was long gone. His future of a healthy Family had always been an illusion, something he comforted himself with because of the past. But now it was time to free himself from the past and illusions and move into the bright reality of a solid future. Mitch.e.l.la.

With the decision, an image of her, vibrant, laughing came to his mind so strongly that he thought he could touch her.

He had to get her back.

He didn't know where she was.

Straif smiled. He'd track his woman, claim her as his own.

Thirty-two.

Straif set his gla.s.s of whiskey aside, his gut pleasantly warm. He rose from the couch and went to the hidden no-time safe behind a section of the wall. Pa.s.sing his hand over it, he chanted a couplet, and a drawer extended into the room.

He stared at the treasure, the ancient Blackthorn jewels, then reached for a golden pouch. As he lifted it, metallic clinks sounded, and his hands curved around the Blackthorn marriage bands. He tied the pouch to his belt and banished the drawer, strode to the ResidenceDen door, opened it, and left.

The cook, Gwine Honey, grabbed his arm. "I have a confession to make," he whispered, then swallowed hard.

Straif prayed for patience. He didn't need this now, but the young man panted so rapidly he might faint. "Yes?"

"I am Gwine Honey. My uncle is the cook to the Holly's, but T'Holly never recommended me, and neither did my uncle. He just told me of the opening here." Gwine lifted his gaze to Straif. "I came on my own."

Straif didn't have time for this. He clapped a hand on Gwine's shoulder, making him stagger. "You've done a good job. You're hired."

Gwine released his breath in a whistling exhalation of relief. "Thank you, GrandLord, thank you. You'll never be sorry, I swear." He bobbed bow after bow.

"Why don't you check on the kitchen?" Straif asked.

Grat.i.tude in his eyes, the cook hurried away. Straif, realizing his mistake, stepped back into the ResidenceDen and placed a privacy spell on the door.

D'Holly, he called his uncle's wife with his mind.

Here, she replied in melodious tones.

I go to track my Lady and claim her.

D'Holly laughed. Mitch.e.l.la Clover?

Yes.

I know where she is, D'Holly teased.

Please act as my hostess and give my regrets to the guests.

Blessings upon you, D'Holly said.

Stachys Blackthorn. Straif mentally sent to his new relative along their Familial bond. He sensed anxiety from Stachys, but the man hadn't intruded, and that showed a sensitivity Straif hadn't expected.

Here, Stachys said. Did you really teleport your old lover to Death Grove? The priestess there says that it was obvious Lobelia was insane from the condition of her body. Is it true- Stop! That doesn't matter. What is important is that I am now tracking my Lady. I mean to marry Mitch.e.l.la Clover.

There was a long pause.

She is sterile, Stachys said hesitantly.

We will be adopting children. You and I will talk about my Heir in the future, but it will be no one who does not swear the Loyalty Oath to me.

I understand, Stachys said.

We will decide which of our children is best suited to be T'Blackthorn or D'Blackthorn, Straif said.

Agreed, said Stachys.

I go, Straif said, but he wanted his Fam. This should be a Family effort. So he 'ported to Drina's bedroom. She lay on her back, paws curled, mouth open and snuffling. Straif fashioned a carrier like he'd seen Ruis Elder carry his baby daughter in, and strapped it on his own chest. He picked up the limp cat, who continued to sleep, and slipped her into the carrier. She was a soft burden against his chest.

Then he teleported to Kalmi Lobelia's house and found it glowing turquoise.

Laughter broke from him, an emotion so opposite the last one he'd experienced here. He bowed to the House. It seemed to pulse with pride. "Greetyou, Residence. I track Mitch.e.l.la Clover." With one glance, he saw that her trail led away from the place, didn't double back inside.

The House turned gray. Straif sensed fear, so he rea.s.sured it. "I know you will be Mitch.e.l.la's next project."

A tinge of blue green ebbed back to tint the walls. Straif waved a hand and concentrated on Mitch.e.l.la's trace-mixed with Antenn's, a predictable gray green. Both tracks tangled near a public carrier plinth.

Straif grinned and rubbed his hands. More than one public carrier line served this stop. A real challenge. Mitch.e.l.la would never be easy. A bubble of excitement lodged in his chest.

He opened the connection between them wide, completely open on his side-as he'd never been since his Family had died. He could find her that way, too, always. But for now he wanted to rely on his Flair. He needed the time to hunt her as a Blackthorn always hunted their mate, conforming to ancient tradition, as he would break with the past and follow her thread into the future.

A septhour later he was in front of the Clover Compound. Noise rose from the inner courtyard, and the door he'd used when he'd visited last was open. So he pushed through and saw another party. Huge glowing, flashing letters circled the compound-common Flair-blinking "Welcome home, Antenn Clover."

Straif swallowed a bitter lump in his throat. He could imagine the pride and love and joy that Mitch.e.l.la and Antenn had felt when the adoption went through. He had missed being there with them, and that hurt. He'd come to care for the boy.

He looked for Antenn and found him running hard in a game of ball. The boy radiated happiness and didn't notice Straif in the shadows of the short hallway. But another did-Vinni T'Vine.

The boy prophet met Straif's eyes, appearing surprised. Then a grin broke over his face-right before a group of Clover lads piled on top of him.

Straif took a stride back, patting Drina for comfort. It was obvious T'Vine hadn't expected Straif to marry Mitch.e.l.la-equally evident that the prophet was pleased. Straif guessed that meant this particular trail into the future was good for him . . . he hoped. He recalled what the boy had said to him weeks before-Ask yourself this, what price will you pay for that remedy? Straif shivered in the cool pa.s.sage-he'd nearly paid the price of a future of love and happiness. Any other way for him now would be nothing but dreadful duty.

From the corner of his eye he caught Mitch.e.l.la's trail, leading through a door in the short hall he hadn't seen before. He walked up to it, the k.n.o.b turned under his hand. He shook his head, these Commoners were far too lax in their security. With an inhaled breath and squaring his shoulders he went through and climbed the stairs to the third floor. Antic.i.p.ation, excitement-a touch of anxiety at Mitch.e.l.la's reception, she couldn't have fallen out of love with him in a couple of septhours, could she?-trickled through his blood. His pulse and breathing quickened. He couldn't wait to see her, because he'd be seeing her with the knowledge that she would share his life. His loins tightened.

All too soon he was at the corner of the building, in front of a plain wooden door that was no different than any along the corridor. Wouldn't she have decorated it somehow? But he knew the question was minor, he was torn between wanting to see her and knowing that in the next moments his life would change irrevocably. She could refuse him.

He knocked, hard.

She came to the door, her magnificent body draped in an emerald silkeen robe. She was paler than he'd ever seen her, making her green eyes more brilliant and l.u.s.trous, her lips redder and more tempting.

His own mouth had gone dry. "May I come in?"

"Why?"

"I've made a mistake. I've come to apologize and-"

"You've made many mistakes."

He winced and said baldly, "I want you."

"You want children," she said.

He paled but met her eyes. "I know now that there are children of the heart as well as children of the body." His smile was weak. "I wanted to be with you and Antenn when you adopted him. I missed that."

She blinked in amazement, then stepped back and held the door wide. The room beyond looked nothing like Mitch.e.l.la-obviously a temporary abode for her and Antenn.

"Antenn and I have rooms leased in MidCla.s.s Lodge, but the current tenants haven't moved out yet."

Straif cared nothing for that. If he had his wish, they'd be at home in T'Blackthorn Residence before the night was over.

Mitch.e.l.la shut the door, waved to a large, old chair. "Please, sit."

He couldn't, not when she stood and could escape him. "I'm sorry for hurting you."

She shrugged, her face formed into a cool mask that twisted his gut.

"You hurt both of us. Apology accepted. You can go."

He had to touch her. He couldn't find the words without connecting with her, couldn't let her feel what he felt, couldn't convince her. He took her hands. When she didn't pull away, he sent a burst of love to her.

Her eyes widened, and she tugged her fingers. He wouldn't release her. "I can't go. I can't leave you ever again."

"I'm sterile. We can't have children together. You have found a potion so that your future children could be safe from the Blackthorn Curse."

"I don't want it at the cost of you." He kept sending her his feelings-his love, his need, his determination.

Color came to her cheeks, her hands warmed under his, but she didn't open herself or send any emotions back to him.

"What of your HeartMate?" she whispered.

"I couldn't want anyone more than I do you."

She raised her eyebrows, but her gaze was dark and turbulent.

"I love you." It was right saying that, telling her that he'd give her everything.

She stared at him. Her slow, sensuous smile bloomed. She tossed her head and slid her hands away. When she turned and walked to a shabby twoseat, her hips swayed, and he muttered a prayer for control.

She sat on the twoseat, feet together, draping her robe primly about her. Now Straif followed more slowly, the knowledge formed in his mind of what she expected.

He grimaced. "You aren't going to let me off easy."

She smiled. "Never," she replied, her charismatic Flair heightening her beauty. "I will never let you off easy. You should know that."

His breath caught in his throat. He shrugged from the sling holding his sleeping Fam, looked around for somewhere to put her.

Mitch.e.l.la choked with laughter, rose, and took Drina into a room, but left the door open.

His fingers fumbled with the ties to the pouch containing the marriage bands. If he'd been whittling, he'd have cut his fingers. "Come!" he summoned them.

Mitch.e.l.la's smile broadened as she took her seat again. "Baubles, how nice. You do know how to apologize."

What this woman did to him! The marriage bands slid into his hands. He dropped to his knees before her, grabbed her right arm, and shoved one gold armlet around her wrist, placed the other on the twoseat cushion.

"Please marry me." He hadn't wanted to ask but knew she wouldn't be satisfied with anything less than a begging question.

She looked at him narrowly. His heart thundered. He tried not to think that he was dangling over an abyss suspended by only a strand of hope. With all his strength he poured love from his head and his heart. She sank back against the twoseat.

He laid his head on her lap and nuzzled her knee, the scent of her made him never want to move.

She threaded her hands through his hair and pressed him close for an instant before she stood, but he'd heard the quick beating of her pulse, felt the tremor of her fingers.

"I have something of yours." She opened the door of a nearby cabinet and took out a heart-shaped box encased in a square crystal casket. "The Flaired crystal dampens its effect."

Straif stared at the reddwood box he'd carved during his third Pa.s.sage. His HeartGift. The reddwood gleamed from the many hours he'd polished it by hand.

His breathing stopped. "You shouldn't be able to see it or touch it, or take it from-" Where had he left it? He couldn't recall.

"No, I wouldn't have been able to unless . . ."

He gulped in a harsh breath. "HeartMate. My own. Oh flig-"

She frowned. "No swearing."

He captured his whirling wits, found his feet, still focused on his HeartGift. A rush of incredible relief-of pure joy, lit him from within until he thought he glowed with sheer happiness. "My HeartMate." He lifted trembling fingers to stroke her cheek. "My HeartMate." His throat closed.

"You would have been in a deal of trouble trying to woo another woman without your HeartGift," she whispered.