Kestra's breath stopped midexhale as the question impacted her. Her knee-jerk response was to tell him that she was really damn happy with her life, thank you very much, so go piss up a rope. She knew why he was asking. Her heart pounded her ribs into a pulp because he was asking.

"Sometimes." It was all she could force out of her clogged respiratory system. It was a lame response! She was supposed to be taking a stand here! What the hell was wrong with her?

"You strike me as the sort who leads a very full and busy life."

"I do," she agreed with more ease. His acknowledgment compensated for everything she hadn't gotten across to him. "And an unusual one. Both business and pleasure take me all over the world. I see and do things that make my life very...not run-of-the-mill."

"I can understand that. My life is not run-of-the-mill, either."

That she didn't believe. He had roots here in his big, anachronistic castle. She sensed he had a large network of supportive friends. He was just the type who would engender that type of loyalty. All she had to do was remind herself how easily he had slipped past her rather prickly defenses without her even realizing it. That took a skill with people that, frankly, she envied. It was a skill that produced attachments and ties, however, so she had long ago decided she was better off without it. She could see that he didn't make enemies easily, and while she tried not to, it almost invariably happened.

He'd said he was a cultural leader, which, while it could mean anything, implied responsibilities of a political nature. He was clearly some kind of rallying point for his people. He had to be. Only people with that kind of power and devotion used the term "my people" with such soft ease.

"I don't think your life is anywhere near as wild as mine is. I have some fairly hair-raising hobbies."

"Like?" he encouraged.

"Whitewater rafting, spelunking, cliff diving, base jump-" She broke off because she was watching his expression turn to very still stone. Not anger, not rage or irritation. Just still. "Noah," she said carefully, fending off disappointment, "don't ask me questions if you can't handle the answers. I'm trying to be truthful and I'm not by nature a truthful person."

Noah blinked at the rebuke, as gentle as it was. She was right. She was also using her enhanced intuition to see past the mask he tried to use to cover up his reactions to her death-defying list of relaxations. How could he explain to her how terrifying the thought of her being hurt or killed was for him? He couldn't bear life without her. Imprinting or no, he couldn't live in a world without touching her sugar-soft hair, tasting her sweet mouth, laughing at her barbed humor.

She was proving to be wise, stretching her limits to communicate with him, which proved her ability to adapt and be receptive if she wanted to be. He knew there was pain, that all of those hobbies and the rest of the danger she subjected herself to were an attempt to kill off a fear that she couldn't touch no matter how hard she tried. The closer her mind got to his, the more positive he was of that.

Still, he had no right to judge or to place limitations on her. He hadn't even given her the courtesy of telling her that her life would change.

But he would.

"Kes, if you are looking for dangerous things, they are far closer than you might think," he said softly to her, reaching again to touch her hair. "You were born to be great. You were born to be in a position that will always be dangerous."

"I already know that," she said, looking at him with surprise and confusion warring in her features. "I just don't know how you know that."

You were born to be mine.

Noah looked dead into her blue-ice eyes and pushed the thought into her mind with all of his mental strength, with every trick Legna had ever taught him to help her read his mind.

Kestra felt a ferocious chill burst over her skin, her headache flared, and then...

The words entered her mind with a growl of permanence, impossible to be her own because they were in his voice, loud and clear, rich and sexy. There was no mistaking it, and there was no mistaking the look in his eyes that repeated the phrase over and over.

You were born to be mine.

"No," she whispered, instantly shaking her head and trying to dislodge the hand in her hair at the same time.

He only tightened his grip and brought them closer, very nearly placing his mouth against hers, their breath hot as it mingled against their faces in rapid rushes.

"Listen to me very carefully, Kestra. Look into my eyes and remember only one thing. Trust yourself. Trust yourself if you do not trust me. You laugh in the face of fear, remember? It is in everything I have seen and heard you do. I need you to be fearless for me, for just a little while, long enough to hear me out. Do not run away from me without letting me explain."

Kestra's eyes were wide, her breath was quick, but she couldn't form honest fear when she looked into his eyes. Not fear of him. Oh, she was terrified of what that thought floating in her head made her feel. She was screaming with that fear from top to bottom. But that had nothing to do with his belief that she was born to be his, and everything to do with the fact that she believed him.

All the way to her soul.

He shifted his hold on her head, his hand sliding to catch her around the nape of her neck, that soothing, protective grasp that so disarmed her, so relaxed her. God, his touch was like magic. It was magic. She was convinced of it now. He was some sort of magician and he was about to pull a bunch of bunnies out of his hat.

She laughed, not caring that it sounded a little hysterical.

"Okay," she said a bit breathlessly, "explain. Tell me all your secrets and I promise not to run screaming until afterward, if running and screaming are merited."

"Baby," he breathed against her lips, communicating with that single word how he ached to kiss her but wouldn't do so until he felt it was an honorable act. "I swear to you I can never do anything to hurt you. I need you to understand that. It is impossible. Hyperactive lovemaking aside, I will never willingly harm you. Do you believe that?"

"Hyperactive lovemaking?" She found herself grinning in spite of all the emotions holding a civil war inside her. How did he do that? Make her laugh when she was at the worst disadvantage with him? "That's a very good term for it. Elegant, tasteful, yet honest."

"Thank you," he said, eyes sparkling.

"You're welcome."

"But I need to know you believe me."

She did, but she couldn't speak for a minute. She was trying to piece something together in her head. Why had he mentioned their lovemaking, as if he had hurt her? They'd been pretty wild, very intense, but he hadn't truly hurt her. She was tougher than that. Perhaps he thought he had. The male ego could be an enormous thing.

Then she remembered her sunburn. Rug burn? No, no rugs involved. How had she been burned? She hadn't been in the sun, certainly not nude in October, which is what she would have to have been to get burned on her...

Noah could not help himself. Watching her thoughts and her struggle to hide her expressions was painfully poignant, and she looked so damned beautiful it hurt. Before he could curb the impulse, his mouth touched to hers.

Lightning.

It was instant reconnection, hunger, recognition, and a whipping burn of need that didn't like being held in check on either side. He'd meant to reassure her, to express some form of solidarity and faith in her ability to cope. Noah hadn't planned on the instant conflagration that came with kissing Kestra. Why not? When had he kissed her without these levels of passion arising like a wildfire?

Kestra made a sound of pure want, her hands coming into his hair to pull him closer, to push her tongue into his mouth because she needed to taste him. He was as hot as fire, tasted like smoky passions deeply repressed, waiting to be unearthed. She felt the tremor through his entire body everywhere her body contacted his.

She tasted like every sweet confection, her wonderful aggression pure aphrodisiac. Noah dragged her across his lap, needing contact with her, needing to feel the intensity of the heat of her body. He had no idea how he had kept control these past few days. How had he managed to deny himself after the way it had felt when they had come together?

Kestra was asking herself the exact same question. Why had she left him? She couldn't remember. What insanity, to walk away from so much feeling. As she settled into his lap eagerly, she felt how even just her kiss aroused him, the evidence of it snuggled against her bottom. God, she loved knowing that.

"No!"

Noah suddenly surged to his feet, pushing her back down to sit on the bed and forcing himself to back step away from her. He closed his eyes so he could regroup without having to look at the flush of passion on her mouth and the curve of need in her sensual body. Mostly, it was the confusion bordering on hurt in her eyes that was going to kill him.

"I mean..." He cleared his throat, cursing violently in his head at the waxing moon and all its influences. He could control himself. He knew he could. He had to. "Kestra, as badly as I want...Talking must come first."

The statement had his desired effect. The hurt was replaced by understanding, and he even saw respectful gratitude as well. Saw or felt. Their connection was getting stronger with every touch. Every moment.

"Thank you," she said softly, her hands smoothing down her skirt. "Not many men would..." She trailed off, already knowing he understood.

"Kes," he said, her name ardent on his lips as he added the passionate gesture of catching up her hands and kneeling before her feet. "I am not the man you think I am. Not in physical terms." Unbelievably, she arched that smug, knowing little brow at him and made him laugh. "That is not what I am talking about," he scolded her, squeezing her hands as if it were a punishment.

"Then please explain."

"I am not human, Kestra."

Okay, I was not expecting that.

The thought came through loud and clear.

What were you expecting?

Kestra's eyes went fabulously wide, her white lashes flickering with shock.

"Oh my God, you can read my mind!"

Kestra exploded out of his grasp and reach, stumbling across the room as a dizzy spell threatened to take her to the floor. She fought it off long enough to glare at him.

"Stop it right now! No mind reading! How long have you been-?" She broke off, remembering all the things she had been thinking since he'd come to her rescue.

"Relax, Kes, I have only just become attuned to your thoughts within this past half hour or so. I only catch the powerful ones. Our connection is not that strong yet."

"Oh. Okay. I feel much better now." She could not have gotten snider if she had paid others to help her. It cut him as fiercely as her passion did.

"The connection of our minds is a natural evolution to two extremely complementary souls, Kes. You can read my mind, too."

That seemed to give her pause. Instantly she began to concentrate, clearly attempting to read his thoughts of the moment. Her lashes blinked hard a single time.

"You think I am sarcastic and stubborn," she accused.

Noah gave her a charming half smile.

"See? I told you that you could read my mind." He rose to his full height and walked up to her, reaching out to catch her arm when the action of tilting her head back to maintain eye contact with him wreaked havoc on her equilibrium. "Did you get to the part where I think you are so beautiful that it almost hurts to look at you? That it takes every ounce of my willpower to keep from touching you? Kissing you? And nothing stops me from needing you. Soul-deep need, Kes."

Kestra instantly fell into the soft green and gray need reflected in his eyes. She couldn't understand why she wanted that so much, to be needed like he said he needed her. She had never wanted it before, was convinced it wasn't a part of her makeup. The words "I need you" had repulsed her from the beginning of time.

She blinked.

From the time she'd last heard them.

Noah felt the black rush of memories and fear explode over her like a violent malevolence. He had felt her answering need a moment before, but then she had taken a turn into a dark place, a place where evil lurked in her mind, scarring her in a way she thought could never heal. Should never heal. This, he realized, was the heart of her need to fight fear with dangerous hobbies and probably dangerous work.

"I don't do need," she said hoarsely, trying to pull her arm free. "I don't need anyone, and I resent you needing me for anything. You have no idea who I am. You have no idea what you're touching! I don't know you! I don't even know what you are!"

"I am a great many things, Kes," he countered calmly. "I am a King. I am an immortal Nightwalker called Demon. I am Fire. I am a brother, an uncle, and a friend. Most of all, I am your soul mate. We were born into this universe meant for each other. You are for me and I am for you. Your fear will not change that. Do you know what you are? Are you sure?" he pressed before she could speak. "You are Druid, Kestra. You are no longer just a human being. The day we met, the day we came into contact, you became much more than human. You will grow in power, though I do not know how, and you will become immortal."

"The day we met?" she asked weakly.

"When you were born, it was with a specific genetic code. That code is attuned to mine. As mine is to yours. That is why we searched for each other, how we found each other in our dreams. Once I understood you were somewhere out there for me, I must have opened my mind to you. Then, when our bodies came into contact, when I first touched you, it triggered a cascading change in your genetics, birthing your power, making you ready to be my other half, connecting us in life and death for all time."

"You are a madman," Kestra gasped, this time succeeding in yanking free of his hold and backing away from him. "You're crazy!" she screamed, hysteria edging her voice.

"No, I am not. Do you see me?" he demanded in cold, blasting severity. "Do I seem crazed or manic to you? Have I acted rashly and with intent to harm you?"

"No, but you will! I know!" She was gasping for breath, clutching the furniture. "Oh God, how stupid I've been! You think I was born for you? You think we are destined to be together forever? You think these promises are poetry?"

"Kestra, you do not understand, baby. Please calm-"

"No! I do understand!" Kes dragged in a breath, wheezing and hunching over into herself like a wounded animal, grasping at the agony clawing through her chest. "You're insane. It doesn't stop. And I can't..." She shuddered and shook so hard that she couldn't finish speaking. Her face turned a florid red and she collapsed to her knees and hands, trying to breathe and hold herself up at the same time. Noah was there instantly, dragging her into his body, finally realizing that this wasn't just about hysterics or normal disbelief in the face of the unbelievable. He realized she was having a violent panic attack.

His Kes. His fearless Kes.

And suddenly he understood.

He held her as she flailed for breath, gasping, clutching at the incredible pain in her chest, tears of agony streaming down her face.

"Easy, baby, easy," he soothed her in a fast whisper, trying to penetrate the screaming of her brain. "It is not what you think. Shh...I swear it is not. I did not know, Kikilia. I did not know. I would have found another way to say it if I had known. I am so sorry. Shh. Breathe, baby, breathe."

She couldn't. Not when she thought he was like the one from her past. The one who had caused the evil scars within her. The one who had given birth to the fear she tried so hard to fly in the face of.

The one who had hurt her in the name of his love for her.

How could he make her believe that this was not the same? That this was truth and she would know it if she just listened to her own spirit? How to make her believe this was not about obsession, but about Destiny?

How could he make her breathe?

For all his power-the energy, the Fire, and the force he could compel-he could not compel her to breathe!

Noah closed his eyes and tapped that power, his entire soul screaming out in fear and fury as Kestra passed out in his arms and went deathly still.

Every Elder Demon in a hundred-mile radius felt the raging torment of their King. Even some of the adults were sensitive enough to hear the cry. But it was not a summons for them to answer. It was meant for one and only one Demon to hear, and those who were up to date on the workings of the court feared she was too far away to receive the message.

Chapter 13.

Legna leaned over her son, her incredibly long hair falling like a protective curtain around him as she reached to kiss his tummy, making him squeal with laughter. The beautiful Demon mother glowed with love and patience even when her sixteen-month-old son grabbed her hair and held on to his prize for dear life.

"He has his father's penchants," Gideon mused, looking on from a chair very close to where they were settled on the floor at his feet. He leaned forward and stroked loving fingers through her cascade of coffee-colored hair. He wore a necklace made of her tresses, the only jewelry he had ever worn in his Ancient lifetime. It had been a gift from her just after they had wed. The day they had learned their son was coming.

Legna extracted herself from Seth's death grip on her hair, sitting back on her heels and smiling at her husband as his hand lingered on her back.

"That is all well and good, but I think I will have you braid my hair for the next few years. He is a little hard on my poor scalp."

Instantly Gideon reacted. He reached for her abused hairline, his powerful healing abilities more than compensating for her soreness. It was gone in an instant, and she reached to kiss him in gratitude.

She never quite made it. To Gideon's shock, his wife was suddenly plucked from his grasp. She flew backward across the room-a full ten feet-before she crashed into the wall, as if she were a rag doll thrown by a spoiled child having a temper tantrum, and slid to the floor limply. Gideon instantly went to move, but she was still in the air and only halfway across the room before the backlash in her mind reached her Imprinted mate.

Gideon roared with the pain exploding in his head. He heard the answering cry, the torment, felt the path arcing from the brother to the sister and overflowing into the husband. The medic's brain, as powerful and sophisticated as it was, was not made for the abuse. Blood vessels burst and his nose began to bleed in a torrent. It was a tribute to his powers of healing that he didn't lose consciousness, that he managed to avoid the hundreds of little strokes popping in his brain with devastating potential.