Jasmine hurried through the giant trees at a fast walk. She was still amazed she'd managed to slip away from the guards during the game of *go find'. Even with Wiley's long counts, and the fact that she'd only traveled half this distance before, it would be a matter of minutes before the Haunt guards caught on, and they would find her in no time. Lemming wouldn't know enough to be slow in her tracking, either. At least they'd managed to work their way deep into the woods for this last game, and she was certain the gate between worlds was just up ahead. With any luck, her stuff would still be there; if not on this side, then the other.

It had better be, otherwise, she was in trouble. She couldn't survive the September temperatures of Alaska for long without protection.

She caught a flash of wild animal eyes, and, thinking of the wolves, ran faster. She didn't want to end up a Jasmine burger.

Nothing smelled right. The exotic scent of the redwood forest seduced her brain, invigorating and enervating all at once. Odd calls sounded through the deepening twilight, and she felt something squish against her knee. Giving a little shriek, she looked down to discover she'd plowed over a huge mushroom. It had a brown cap the size of a Stetson hat.

Something skittered through the ferns. She whipped her head around in time to see a black beetle the size of a terrier heading away from her.

She ran.

Without warning a shadow detached itself from the forest and stepped into her path. She cried out and staggered back a step. Then she recognized him. Keilor.

Oh, oh.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, and electric intensity vibrated in his words.

Though he'd half expected it, Keilor wasn't thrilled at the position she'd placed him in. As a Master of the Hunt, it was one of his responsibilities to see to his people's safety. By running away, most likely to bring others of her kind into his world, she was endangering the Haunt and all he held dear. That he could not allow, and he would do what he must to keep her from doing it again.

Even if he wished things could be otherwise.

She hunched over, sucking in air and hiding her eyes. "We were playing *go find'," she offered, knowing he knew the truth but hoping he'd accept her excuse.

He didn't.

He stepped forward. "I win." Her eyes widened in alarm as he invaded her space. "You seem to have a problem with authority," he observed with deliberate menace, and she swallowed. "Perhaps it's time to acquaint yourself with the law of your new land."

Jasmine wasn't immune to intimidation. Unfortunately, whether he knew it or not, Keilor's advance was playing havoc on her body. Nerve endings his dream-self had ignited in the night chose that moment to flash in Technicolor glory through her mind.

A reckless thrill raced through her and flashed in her transparent face, and she prayed he wouldn't notice. She didn't want to feel this way.

The answering flare of heat in his eyes, quickly banked, said he knew.

"Justice is swift," he continued, forcing them both to focus on his point. Whatever it had been. "Punishment, often cruel." His dark gaze swept her, sizzling with what lay unspoken between them. "So reckless, little Dragonfly. So eager to tease danger.'' He stepped back, holding out his hand. "Give me your sash."

Jasmine's hands clamped protectively around the sash at her waist. She took a step back. "Why?"

Arctic chill slipped into his voice. "Do you give it to me, or do I take it?"

She wanted to believe he wouldn't really hurt her. Swallowing hard, she slowly unwound it and gave it to him, her arm at full extension.

He grasped her wrists and raised her arms above her head as he bound them to a convenient branch.

At that point Jasmine should have struggled. She knew it. Maybe he knew it, too. She told herself he was bigger, and stronger, and she'd never get away. All lies. None of that had stopped her before. None of it would have stopped her now if she hadn't wanted...

The air was warm, but she shivered. Let him think its fear, she begged silently, closing her eyes. Just this once I don't want to think about it. Besides, it was too late.

His eyes on hers, he flicked open the clasp of her overnji. She flinched.

As if he owned her, he leisurely trailed his fingers over the fluttering vein in her neck, pausing just a moment to trace the dragonfly on her necklace. Her breathing picked up, and he smiled at the unmistakable scent of charmer desire. For a moment he forgot it was terror and not passion he was supposed to inspire, and he reveled in her response. With his eyes half closed, he drank deeply of her intoxicating perfume.

Whether he knew it or not, Keilor wasn't a man in control. No man could be so close to a charmer and remain his own.

He shook his head as he remembered this was supposed to be a lesson, not a seduction. He moved to kiss her.

She snarled at him.

"Behave," he warned her with sensual promise, "or I'll bite back." She nipped him anyway, and he nipped her back sharply on the bottom lip, careful not to damage her tender skin. She gave a shocked whimper and jerked back. "Behave," he repeated, and licked the small hurt to soothe it. The soothing turned without warning into a commanding kiss, full of hot persuasion.

Jasmine was having second thoughts. Whatever had possessed her to let him do this? The man was arrogant enough as it was without her giving in to him like a fool. Now was a fine time for fear to start speaking sense! Never mind that it was a fear born of inexperience.

She tried to bite him, but it took only moments for thoughts of revenge to be swept away by the siren call of their desire. His was a kiss specially designed to overcome a woman's objections. She moaned and kissed him in return, then jerked back with a mortified gasp.

He laughed softly against her ear, and she shivered. Her response to him was flattering, and he knew she wasn't happy about it. It was not what he'd intended. He'd have done nothing more than scare her into obedience if she hadn't betrayed herself with her unmistakable desire. Now heat like a river poured through him, consuming restraint, daring him to test her limits.

Pulling back, he flashed her a predatory smile, and untied the knot of her bandeau. He left the ends draped loosely over her neck, still protecting her from his eyes, but the slightest movement on her part would cause them to slide right off. She held very still, but her pupils smoked over, and her body spoke of anticipation, not fear.

Barely breathing, she watched him warily as he traced a finger across her lips, to her temple and down her jaw. Ever so slowly it moved down her throat, her breastbone, and all the way down the stripe of skin exposed by her unfastened clothes. It circled her pretty navel and dipped slightly below the first button of her pants.

She shuddered, and it wasn't with fright.

He grinned with wicked delight.

With one hand he grasped the white bandeau where it crossed her back and slowly pulled it away to bare her breasts. She gasped as her nipples were exposed, visibly struggling to control her breathing. It didn't work, and her lovely breasts thrust forward with every inhalation, begging for his attention. The nipples tightened under his gaze. He met her eyes with a look hotter than molten gold. "Very nice," he approved hoarsely, and she shut her eyes and writhed against her constraints. He unfastened the buttons on her pants and heard her breath catch in anticipation.

He was killing her.

With excruciatingly erotic, nerve wracking slowness she felt the soft slide of heavy silk as he lowered her pants just enough to be able to trace the top line of silk he revealed. Another hot tremor seized her, and she sucked in a breath. To cover it, she snapped, "Enjoying yourself?"

His eyes were full of sultry promise. "Oh, yes, but not nearly as much as you're about to." He smiled when her hips jerked in randy enthusiasm at his words.

She swore, furious at the sexual control he had over her body. So I want him, so what? she thought angrily. Its just hormones. He was too arrogant, and he delighted in trying to scare her. Why should she give him even that much without a fight?

Unfortunately, to fight him was to fight her body, and it was showing signs of surrender under his tender assault that even a blind man couldn't miss.

Keilor wasn't blind. He flashed her a wicked smile that made a sheen of sweat break out all over her body. He lightly ran his nails over her hips, up her sensitive sides to cup her tender breasts. She cried out and her body surged forward, begging for more.

"With pleasure," he whispered, and rolled her nipples between his thumbs and fingers. She tried to hide her face against her arm, but could do nothing about her pleasured cries. He kept his touch light; just enough to tease, not enough to satisfy, and her body jerked as she tried to restrain it from thrashing. His hands trailed downward over her flushed skin, pushing her pants down just enough to bare the scandalous panties.

With his hands spanning her hips, his thumbs lightly stroked along the very edges. In a low, dangerous voice, he asked her, "Will you be toying with me again?" He didn't need to be more specific; they both knew he referred to her attempted escape, and now she knew he took it personally. Very personally.

She grit her teeth, unwilling to give him the words, knowing he already understood she wouldn't lightly defy him again. Her hips twisted once under his caressing hands and she let out a strangled sound of frustration and rage. Boldly, he reached down and lightly touched her erotic nerve center-once. Even braced for it, a scream tore loose from her sensitized body.

He removed his hand, but still she thrashed, fighting against losing all dignity and begging him for more. He waited until she regained some shreds of control and opened desperate, glittering eyes. Holding her gaze, he slowly pulled up her pants, savoring each uncontrolled jerk that told him how much her body fought the deprivation of his touch.

Pain, her body cried. Pain from needing it. His eyes told her he understood, and at the slightest word from her he'd ease the hurting, but that he knew better than to expect such a request from such a proud woman.

He dressed her as leisurely as he'd undressed her and set her loose. Without a word she turned on her heel and headed back the way she'd come.

He didn't try to talk, and he seemed content to let her set the pace. It wasn't much, as gallantry went, but she'd take what she could get. She wasn't up to idle chatter just then.

She'd felt desire in her life, she thought, wading through the fern fronds. Even hot, raging lust, but she'd never before walked through fire. The idea that a virtual stranger could do that to her, could make her nearly frantic with need, did not please her.

Maybe there's something in the air, she thought suspiciously, taking a discrete sniff. Maybe it's not me at all, but something to do with that thing he calls me. What was it, a charmer?

Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, she asked, "What is this charmer business about, anyway?"

He looked at her; obviously surprised she would choose to speak to him. He took a moment to answer. "A charmer makes men want her. It's the special pheromone she produces that makes the Haunt male wild."

"I thought a Haunt was a guard," she said with a sharp glance.

"It is a guard, but also the term for our race," he explained, looking at her curiously. Her interest would have to be powerful indeed to cause her to seek knowledge from him so soon after his...chastisement.

She kept her eyes straight ahead, ignoring what his accent was doing to her insides. "So what does this pheromone do to me?"

He stopped in surprise, caught himself, and continued on. But his tone carried definite inquisitiveness as he answered, "Nothing. You've possessed it all your life and it's done you no harm."

She clenched her fists. "Then it doesn't make me..." she left the rest unsaid, not wanting to make a fool of herself. Too late.

She saw him grin out of the corner of her eye. "No," he answered with an insufferable note of male pride. "You can blame me for that."

Humiliated all over again, she kept her head down and walked faster.

CHAPTER 5.

"Are you all right?" Wiley demanded the moment she and Lemming entered Jasmine's room. The door closed behind her, sealing off the illumination from the hall and enclosing them in the deepening gloom.

Jasmine looked at her broodingly from the couch she was lying on. "Where's your keeper?"

Her friend waved an impatient hand. "Gone. But how are you?" She knelt in front of the couch, concern etching her brow. "Did he hurt you?"

"No." Not wanting to pursue that path any further, she quickly asked, "How did he know? There shouldn't have been enough time for them to figure anything out." She'd been going over Keilor's dreadful timing, but had yet to understand how they'd given themselves away. They'd thought they'd been so careful.

Wiley snorted and moved to an armchair, tucking one long leg under the other. "Lights," she ordered and then, "Shutters." Satisfied with their privacy and the improved illumination, she said, "They figured it out right away." Her lower lip protruded just the tiniest bit. "The Haunt brought me back here and Jayems told me that they knew." She shivered, remembering what else he'd said. Her eyes swept down. "I was afraid of what Keilor would do when he found you." She peeked through her lashes to see Jasmine busily avoiding her eyes. Her voice ached when she asked, "What did he do, Jas?"

Hearing that note, Jasmine looked at her and then up at the ceiling. If she didn't tell her, she'd imagine the worst and spend days brooding about it, convinced it was somehow all her fault. Besides, this was Wiley. "He tied me up to a tree and kissed me," she confessed quickly, hoping she'd drop it, knowing she wouldn't.

"What?" Wiley looked as if she didn't know whether to be outraged or titillated. Her expression became thoughtful, even speculative, and her eyes moved as if replaying something in her head. As if thinking out loud, she asked, "How was it?"

Jasmine bounded off the couch, putting an armchair between them as if to stop the flow of curiosity. "Wiley! How could you ask me that?" A casual friend would have raged over Keilor's behavior and called lightning down on his head. Someone else would have made dire threats against his manhood and commiserated with her.

There were definite disadvantages to having a friend who knew you so well.

Wiley regarded her with a touch of skepticism. "I know you're attracted to him. I saw you eyeing his backside earlier." When Jasmine flushed and mumbled, she went on knowingly, "And if he'd hurt you, or you'd hated it, you'd be upset in a different way. So come on," she coaxed. "Spill the beans."

Jasmine kneaded the back of the chair and then grumbled, "It was...okay."

Wiley's eyes brightened and she sat up attentively, drawing her other leg under her. "Just okay?"

"Bah." Jasmine hunched her shoulders and then admitted with extreme reluctance, "All right! Better than okay. More like..." she hesitated as she allowed herself to recall the feel of Keilor's lips on hers, his gentle hands. A shudder passed through her and she admitted softly, "All the stars fell and lit up my sky."

Wiley's eyes widened. "Wow," she breathed.

"But it's not going to happen again." She walked around the chair and sat down. Drawing her knees to her chest, she hugged them protectively. "I'm not going to let that snake get within ten feet of me next time."

They sat in silence for a while, each with their own thoughts. Finally Wiley stirred and sighed with regret. "I guess we won't be going home any time soon."

Jasmine grunted. She wasn't the sort of woman who gave up easily, and it galled her to admit she felt cowed, but the memory of Keilor's brand of sensual domination was enough to wipe out any immediate plans for escape.

She groaned and buried her face in her knees as the memories flashed across the backs of her eyelids. "A gun," she muttered, scrubbing her face. "That's what I need the next time. A gun to shoot the son of a bitch before he gets his hands on me."

Wiley turned troubled eyes on her. "I don't want anyone to get hurt, Jas," she said slowly. "Besides, he doesn't seem like the kind of man to take it well if you turned a gun on him. He might...take it personally."

Jasmine stiffened, considering the ramifications of a really enraged Keilor. If he did what he'd done to her that afternoon over a minor infraction, what would he do to her for threatening his life? It didn't bear thinking about.

Besides, she didn't think she could shoot him, not even a warning shot. Just the thought of it turned her insides cold. She sighed, admitting temporary defeat.

She'd have to sleep on it.

"Of course it would work," Jasmine insisted. Gravel crunched under her new boots as she followed the path to the stables. Her brown ponytail swished across the back of her neck and her black T-shirt while she checked out the area, taking mental notes.

They were speaking in Pig Latin again to ensure their privacy. Acting on a suspicion, Jasmine had subtly tested her Haunt guard's hearing and found it amazingly acute. She didn't dare risk whispering as they had yesterday.

A groom led a haltered riding beast past them, and she saw Wiley raise a bare arm to shade her vision as she eyed the stocky creature. The lucky girl had the good fortune to end up in the Haunt world with a tank top. The beast turned too intelligent eyes back at them and stared evilly, snorting in contempt for good measure. It had the body of a horse, but it sported more muscles than a body builder. More disturbing, its gray hide was covered with scales, and it had the clubbed tail of an ankylosaur. Rhinoceros-like horns sprouted from its nose.

She nudged Wiley. "The Arnold Swartznegger of horses." Wiley's snort of laughter made her smile as well, and she felt her shoulders relax a bit. They could do this.

Jayems hadn't seemed to mind their request for riding lessons; in fact, he'd volunteered himself and Keilor as instructors. Keilor had seemed about to object until he'd noticed Jasmine's obvious displeasure, at which point he'd graciously agreed.

The man did love to torment her.

Jasmine spied a row of tightly capped bottles full of a milky liquid sitting in the sun. She hefted one thoughtfully. With a naughty smile she spun it by its neck and launched into the routine from the bar scene of Cocktail.

Wiley put one hand on her denim covered hip and chuckled as she watched her friend's antics. "You're going to break that."

She grinned and passed the bottle behind her back and up over her shoulder. "Never."

Wiley snorted and flipped the end of her French braid back over her shoulder. "That's what you said the time you dropped the shampoo bottle and it broke open all over the kitchen floor. We were skidding across the tile every day for the next three months."

"Shoddy craftsmanship," she retorted, but caught the bottle deftly and studied the cloudy liquid. "What is this stuff, anyway?" She looked up and saw their instructors approaching. Both were dressed for action in the black uniform and buckled leather vests of the Haunt guard, but with the addition of red embroidered patches on their left breasts, possibly an indication of rank. The patches looked like Celtic knot work. Jayems also wore a torque around his neck.

Of course the tanned skin in place of the pelts of the Haunt made an enormous difference in how she saw the package. Jayems' muscles flexed naturally as he walked, and for a moment Jasmine envied her friend. She looked up and caught Jayems surreptitiously admiring Wiley's backside. He noticed her noticing and raised a regal brow. What of it?