"Please don't," Jareshk asked simply, beseeching Aldorsk with his eyes. In horror he'd watched as

Kelsey's memories of their time together had been wiped from her mind. If Aldorsk wiped his memories, too, he would never find his way back to her. It would be as if nothing had ever happened between them.

Jareshk felt tears burn his eyes, and he paced the transport hallway, Must he be required to sacrifice even this? When he'd already given everything to serve his people?

He knew what would come next, felt the tendrils of his mentor's power already reaching into his mind.

"Don't take her from me. Please, Aldorsk, I beg of you."

The elder's kind eyes grew pained. "Son," he said, clasping his shoulder, "the memory jeopardizes your safety. It links you with her."

"It was only a kiss!"

"A kiss that created a memory-bond between you and this human."

"Her name is Kelsey."

"My lord," his beloved councilor said, bowing, "there will be many young women... many kisses and far

more than that. You are entering your first season; that's all that you are feeling. We can make

arrangements to help you through this cycle safely. To meet your needs-""Don't talk to me about my season!" he roared, feeling his face burn at the mere mention of it. "I've nothad such a thing. I will never cycle, not with someone of the council's choosing."

"Mating cycles .are natural for your line, my lord. You know this, even if we've never discussed it openly."

Jareshk's stomach tightened with shame. "I will not cycle, not without Kelsey."

"She won't be the last.""She's special," he whispered, his voice hoa.r.s.e. "I don't want to forget her! I need to remember-I won'tbe able to find her if I forget."

"Your safety, my king, must always come first," Aldorsk said, inclining his head even as he closed his power around Jareshk's mind. "Forgive me, but you must forget."

Jareshk wanted to argue, to protest that he knew it wasn't his own safety, but rather the safety of the succession that the elders were so worried about. Oh, he wanted to cry out a great many things, but he could not seem to find his voice.

What did she look like? Oh, G.o.ds, he couldn't say. What color was her hair? No memory.

"Please," he implored, locking his power of intuition around one image, the only one he could seem to hold fast to, as all the others sifted away from him like sand in an hourgla.s.s. But what was it? He could not even say for sure. "I... beg you not to take her." He gasped, still seeking to lock on to something, anything that he could keep of her. There it was again! And this time he recognized the one image that Aldorsk couldn't seem to touch: her graceful human hand caressing his royal mark; then came another, of her in his arms, kissing him. Except there was a problem: The kiss was like quicksand, impossible to grasp, falling from him. If he could just recall her name, her eyes, anything! Then he could keep the memory of her; it would be his, untouchable. Permanent. Pure. Aldorsk's power tightened around his mind a second time, causing a flash of pain behind his eyes and a strange spasm of grief in his heart.

"There, my lord," Aldorsk soothed softly, gazing into his eyes. He dropped his hands back to his sides. "There, you are well."

"Am I?" Jareshk asked uncertainly, lifting a hand to his head. There was something precious he'd been trying so hard to remember. Wait-it was there, just below the surface, if only he could lay hold of it.

Aldorsk slipped one arm around his shoulder, walking him toward the transport elevator. "You will feel better once you rest, my king."

"Yes, undoubtedly."

"The trip to survey the mitres has been a heavy burden for you." As always, genuine concern filled Aldorsk's eyes. He'd been the closest thing to a father Jareshk had known since his own father's murder almost six years ago.

Jareshk stepped into the lift, nodding politely toward Aldorsk, but a spark of an image in his mind's eye made him stop the closing doors with his palm. A delicate hand, touching his mark. He never revealed his mark to anyone. That image was chased quickly by another, more startling one: He was kissing a woman with dark red hair. He had never kissed anyone!

Aldorsk stared at him expectantly. "My lord?"

Jareshk's head felt fuzzy, as if his memories and thoughts were suddenly expanding far too much to fit inside his brain. Had he been thinking of something? He wasn't even sure.

"I'm to bed," he said with a laugh. "I've no idea what I was going to say."

Then, like a b.u.t.terfly flickering aimlessly on to its next flower, the memory of that kiss-that tender, stolen, unforgettable kiss-floated into the burning sun.

Chapter One.

In the northern portion of the Teton Range stood a mountain as proud and immovable as the man whose revolution hid within its depths. In the grand scheme of the area, it seemed an unspectacular thing. Too small to interest climbers, too low to stand above its siblings in the region, the mountain's jagged face rose, nevertheless, in simple defiance of its averageness. It had the countenance of a warrior, with craggy heights shaped by time and element. Concealing a network of tunnels and machinery, it was Jared Bennett's most important base, crucial to the rebellion he housed within its shadow.

Today, Jared was inspecting one minuscule piece of that vast military framework, staring across a large hangar filled with a fleet of fighters his engineers had spent the past nine months testing. Sleek and black, the planes had moved stealthily along Earth's surface in test flights that had taken his pilots from California to j.a.pan and onward over to Europe, then back across the East Coast of this country they called their temporary home.

A hydraulic lift approached, sounding warning beeps as it backed up to one plane's side. Jared's engineers stood back, waiting, as always, for their commander's approval. He mounted the steps, climbing upward toward the craft's c.o.c.kpit. For a moment, he appraised the plane's design, appreciating its powerful styling.

"Tight little things, aren't they?" Jared remarked to one of the engineers, running his fingertips over the dull black surface of the wing. His deep voice echoed off the hangar's ceiling, which stood a good forty feet overhead.

His chief engineer stepped forward and smiled, obviously pleased with the praise. "We've worked hard on the design," the man said, releasing the hatch with the flick of a switch on his handheld control. "Room for two, but still light enough to go long distances without refueling."

Jared stared into the open c.o.c.kpit, itching to Take the craft out for a test. Even after some narrowing recent engagements, the fighter in him still needed to get off the ground again-and soon. He reached out an appreciative hand to stroke the b.u.t.tery-soft leather of the pilot's seat. "Comfortable too," he said with an admiring nod.

From the cement floor below, Scott Dillon glared up at him, and he could read the warning that flared in his friend's eyes: Don't go getting any ideas, Commander. If his lieutenant had his way, Jared would never go up again, but that simply wasn't an option. Not only did their strategy necessitate his involvement; he also refused to be grounded like some figurehead.

Jared hoisted himself up onto the side of the craft, and was already planting one booted foot inside when his intelligence commander, Thea Haven, trotted across the hangar toward him. From the expression on her face, he could tell long before she reached him that there was a serious problem, and he swung back down to face her.

"The elders have gathered," she announced, standing at ease after he returned her salute. "They're calling you to chambers, sir."

"The occasion?" He glanced across the hangar toward the darkened a.s.sembly room where he always met with his council. Nervousness shot through his heart; the elders never convened unless something truly serious warranted it.

Thea's blue gaze darted toward Scott, and Jared had the sense that his two commanders had already discussed the matter. She seemed ready to tell him more, but then inclined her head respectfully. "Sir, they wait for you," was all she said.

Jared took his place in the data portal, sliding into the large, thronelike chair, and immediately the sensory scan of his vitals began. First his cornea, the red filter light sweeping over both of his eyes. Then, as he flattened his palms on the electrode pads, he felt a slight tingling as his fingerprints and energy readings were verified. For an answering moment, there was only the quiet hum of data renewal, and he allowed his eyes to drift shut, fighting back the wave of anxiety that meeting with his council always evoked.

In the darkened chamber, the council members began to appear in a semicircle about him. Not literally- they were, of course, back on Refaria. But thanks to technology that accessed energy packets flowing faster than the speed of light, he and the elders were able to interact in these chambers in real time, even across the vast distance that separated them. Reflexively his fingers tightened around the metallic arm of his chair. In turn, each elder made the traditional sign of respect: a slight bow, then one hand over the heart, a proud yet reverent stance. And he d.a.m.ned well hated it; he always did. Still, someone along the way- perhaps Scott, or maybe Thea, he wasn't sure-had reminded him that the people needed the traditions, even if he did not require them. Even if he did not want them.

Once the full council had surrounded him, he shifted in his chair in an effort to make himself comfortable, then invited them to speak.

The chief elder, Aldorsk, who had once advised his father, stepped forward into a clear beam of silvery light. "My lord," he began, his voice scratchy as he spoke slowly in their native tongue, "I feel certain you know the reason why we gather today. Indeed, you must."

Oh, indeed. He had hoped it wasn't true, but based on the furtive glances shared between Scott and Thea, he'd been pretty d.a.m.ned sure. Scowling, he waved for the man to continue, but said nothing.

"With all respect, the council feels the need to remind our leader that he has no heir."

"Your leader has no position," he countered, crossing one long leg over the other uncomfortably. If they wanted to force him onto a throne, couldn't they at least create one to accommodate his full height? "Your leader," he reminded all eight of them, his voice curt, "helms a small, fractured rebellion on an alien planet."

A hushed cry swept the room, heard even across the great intergalactic distance that separated them. "You underestimate the situation," the head councilman answered softly. "Need I remind you that the mitres are nearly opened? The tide in this war turns daily."

Unable to help himself, Jared released a rough growl of frustration, closing his eyes against the image of the elders gathered before him, "I am a warrior, not a king," he replied, wrestling to regain his patience. "I do not intend to take a mate."

"My lord, you have but five years left in your fertile time." This remark came from Dalne, the youngest council member. Leave it to a woman to speak so frankly about his approaching infertility. "That is, if we are fortunate. Perhaps less than that."

"You make your leader sound quite inexperienced." He laughed, working to deflect the council's efforts at persuasion. "As if he does not know his own body."

"Sir, it has nothing to do with..." Dalne's words trailed to nothing, and she glanced anxiously at the others for help.

Jared chose to take the lead. "I am no virgin, and do not require these lessons that the council seems determined to issue."

Aldorsk stepped forward, attempting to placate him. "My lord, we mean no-"

Jared continued. "I also know that any other Refarian male would have at least ten years left in his fertile time." He yielded a coa.r.s.e rumble. "Perhaps fifteen. Your leader possesses a finicky, problematic bloodline, does he not?"

Blushing, Dalne made a low bow. "Forgive me for saying what you'd rather not hear, sir." One look into Councilor Dalne's eyes revealed her extreme agitation. It couldn't be an enjoyable task, reminding him that his fertility approached an end-and at such a relatively young age. Of course, if his council knew that he'd never pa.s.sed through so much as a single mating cycle, their concerns would be greatly magnified. Mate or no mate, he should at least have experienced the fever by now; after all, at thirty, such was common for those of his line.

With a cough, he made a polite change of subject. "Dalne, what is the weather like at Mareshtakes today?" As she glanced over her shoulder, he could imagine that she gazed out a window at their council's hidden encampment back on Refaria.

"The sun shines bright, sir," Dalne answered with a cautious smile. "The temperature is mild, breezy."

Tilting his head backward, he tried to. picture his beloved ocean, restless and rolling with waves. He could smell the brine so clearly, his heart physically tightened with the memory of it. He repeated her words like a prayer. "The sun shines bright."

"It is middle day at the moment," she continued. "Cloudless, and the tide ebbs low."

A wistful smile pa.s.sed his lips. "Ah, Mareshtakes was always most beautiful at low tide." That was when the rocks could be seen, refracting the sunlight in all their glorious, prismatic color.

Six years, and he'd not been home. Six years, and he'd led this revolution from Earth, never looking back. With the war's escalation, this alien planet had been deemed the safest place for him, hidden far from his enemies back on Refaria. But he'd grown weary of the campaigns; weary enough that he did long for a mate sometimes, but not on their terms. They had but one woman in mind for him, his second cousin and trusted lieutenant, Thea Haven.

Narrowing his eyes, he allowed his gaze to travel the semicircle. "Make note of one thing," he said, his voice tightening over the words. "I do not intend to bond with Thea. Nor do I intend to mate at all."

A rumble of objection and argument erupted, but he disengaged from the portal, decisively silencing their complaints. He had listened, which was all they required of him; in the end, the decision fell to him, and his decision stood. To remain alone was the only choice for a wartime commander.

Chapter Two.

The Wyoming sun slipped low on the horizon, the mountains forming long winter shadows over the lake area where Kelsey Wells studied the results of the day's geological research. What is my next step? she asked herself, mentally reexamining the data for the umpteenth time. She walked the length of the trail, counting off each of her steps between the sc.r.a.ppy, snow-dusted pines. Somewhere, here in the sedimented layers beneath her feet, had to be the answer to her puzzle, and with it the final touches for her graduate thesis.

She had first come camping here as a teenager with her parents-a few years before her mother's death, and long before her father had dragged them off to live in D.C., the hub of his political consulting universe. Ever since those earliest days, she had felt drawn to the rough-hewn terrain of this particular part of Yellowstone, almost as if this one corner of the land she loved so dearly held extra sway. No matter what she did, or how many varied landscapes she studied as a geologist, images of the Tetons' perfect reflection in the bowl of Mirror Lake beckoned her. They filled her dreams, and haunted the subconscious threads of her waking life with a pervasive sense of melancholy that she could never quite understand.

Then roughly a year ago she'd come camping here with friends from the university. That was when she had noticed a strange pigmentation to the rocks on the lake's eastern sh.o.r.e, and when she'd followed the trail deeper into the woods, more questions had emerged. She'd grown up here, in Yellowstone, studying the formations and tar pits and spewing geysers, and those childhood experiences had influenced her studies as a geologist. These days Kelsey spent a great deal of her life staring at the ground-was in fact more attuned to her natural environment than to the buildings in downtown Laramie or to cars or to clothing, or sometimes even to people. So when she found a potential anomaly such as the formations here at Mirror Lake, she couldn't let it go.

"Whoa, Kelse," came Ethan's familiar voice from down by the lake's sh.o.r.e. "Found something here! Come look." Ethan was her closest friend in the geology department. Although a self-professed science geek like herself, he certainly didn't look the part, not with his wavy blond hair and pale gray eyes and lean s...o...b..arder's physique. The Ethan package was definitely appealing. And she knew he liked her- wanted something more than friendship-but for some inexplicable reason, she couldn't seem to shake the feeling that someone else was waiting for her. Not that she'd found that somebody yet, but she could never give up the nagging hope.

She trotted several yards along the sh.o.r.e and met him partway.

"Look at this," he announced, extending a shiny bit of silvered metal. "What do you make of this sample?"

She drew in a breath of cold mountain air. "That's strange," she agreed, seeing the way it glinted in the late-afternoon sun.

"Looks like mica," he said, scrunching his eyebrows together quizzically.

She finished his thought. "But it's denser." Sc.r.a.ping it into her sample bag, she marked the substance unknown and added notations regarding the time and exact location. Ethan bent back over his filter tray, sifting anew.

"You ever hear back on those samples from last month?" he asked.

"Still waiting on the lab results."

Ethan glanced across the lake, shivering as he stared into the setting sun. "We better go soon," he said, zipping his coat. "Getting cold out here. It'll be dark before long. Don't you want to go make our campfire?" They'd planned to spend the night, two scientists on a mission, but as the day wore on she noticed that he kept mentioning their tent sharing with far more enthusiasm than a mere scientific expedition warranted.

"You go ahead," she said, glancing at the shadowed mountains across the lake. Something in their stark features felt unexpectedly eerie-familiar in a way that had nothing to do with her visits to this lakeside terrain over the past year. The mountains' rugged visage, rising upward toward the setting sun, felt like a lost language that she'd once spoken fluently. She shivered, still staring, almost mesmerized.

Ethan waved a hand in front of her eyes-she'd not even realized that her thoughts had drifted so far away. "Sorry," she said, laughing in embarra.s.sment. "I was just thinking about..." She didn't want to share her unsettling sense of deja vu with Ethan.

"A boyfriend?" he prompted, his gray eyes narrowing with undisguised possessiveness.

"No." She wanted to spare his feelings; yet she had to be honest. "But Ethan, you and I are only friends. You do know that?"

"Sure, Kelsey," he agreed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he turned up the trail that led into the trees and toward their camp. "Course."

But then, right as he was about to vanish around the bend, he turned back. "You know, Kelse," he said. "Maybe one day you'll get tired of waiting for a guy who doesn't exist and notice the one who's right here in front of you."

He made it sound so easy to stop yearning for a soul mate, she thought as she faced the lake, letting Ethan slip away. She'd had a soul mate once-or so she'd thought. A young intern in her father's political consulting firm. That had been the only time Kelsey had actually let herself become part of the whole D.C. scene. Until one night when she walked in on Jamie and another of her father's employees, Jamie's pants down to his ankles, with the other woman wrapped around him like her very own totem pole. Kelsey had never looked back. Except to regret giving Jamie Watson the gift of her virginity. That was one gift she would have saved for someone exceptional if she had only known; even so, she often pretended that it was still hers to give.