She refused to look at Keilor.

It was Keilor who answered her question. He took the bottle from her hands and considered it thoughtfully. "Partly digested feeder beetle and browse." He smiled faintly when Jasmine leaned back in disgust. "For the orphaned young stags." He nodded his head towards the nearby pen holding three of the young creatures and replaced the bottle with the others.

"Stags are omnivores," Jayems explained. Jasmine noticed he stood just close enough to Wiley to make her friend fidget, but not close enough to excuse her from seeming rude if she moved away. The fact that Wiley was fidgeting and not freezing made her frown. She almost acted as if...

"They nurse at birth, but as they grow, they need more nourishment than milk provides. Gradually their mothers wean them onto regurgitated browse and prey..." Jasmine gagged, and even Wiley made a sound of disgust, "until they are old enough to find and digest their own food," he finished wryly.

Jasmine, always the one with the weak stomach, looked at the stags with something close to horror and spoke before she thought. "And we have to ride these things?" She grunted when Wiley jabbed her hard in the ribs with her elbow.

"You need the exercise." Wiley told her, giving her a significant look. "You wouldn't want to lose the little muscle you've got, would you?"

Jasmine bristled. "Just because I can't run triathlons doesn't mean I'm not in shape. I work out."

Wiley snorted. "Sweating to the Oldies doesn't count," she said contemptuously. She regularly won triathlons, and she could be a bit of a prig about physical fitness. Unfortunately, she'd also decided to make keeping Jasmine in shape her life's work, in spite of Jasmine's asthma and the fact that Jasmine could care less about clogged arteries or decaying bone density.

"I never-" Jasmine protested hotly, but Jayems cleared his throat, cutting her off.

"Ladies." He looped his arm through Wiley's with smooth finesse, much to her consternation, and made a sweeping gesture with the other. "Adventure awaits."

Keilor reflected wryly that he was hanging himself with his own rope. Proximity to the charmer was what he needed to avoid, yet where was she? Nestled between his thighs and teasing him with her luscious scent.

Not that she'd wanted to be there. It had taken some well chosen baiting on Rihlia's part and a flat refusal on Jayems' to ride with anyone other than Rihlia to get her into the double saddle at all.

He poked her. "Stop slouching and straighten your back. The stag won't respect a spineless rider." She obeyed him, but persisted in leaning forward to avoid body contact. He sighed in frustration and pulled her back flush to his chest with a small jerk, holding her shoulders to keep her there. "Unless you're racing, you must sit straight in the saddle. You'll never have a proper seat otherwise, and the ride will be uncomfortable."

He released her, and she silently did as he instructed. If her muscles got any stiffer, though, he'd be able to take her off the stag and use her for a poker. With that in mind, he began to massage her shoulders.

She hunched them, trying to discourage him, but he persisted, and slowly she relaxed. "Better," he told her. "A relaxed body will obey you better and help to keep your mount calm."

As they continued down the deserted sunny road in the opposite direction from the gate site, her continued silence began to annoy him. "Are you sulking because we're nowhere near the gate or because you can't shove me off this stag and trample me?"

Her answer, when it came, was not what he'd been expecting.

Jasmine turned her head to look at him. "Why do you make her stay here?" she asked quietly. "I don't understand." They both looked to where Jayems and Rihlia rode, several lengths ahead.

Keilor had seen Jasmine display many emotions, but this aching quiet stirred an answering sympathy in him. He felt the need to comfort, and he hadn't felt such tender emotion in a long time. "Do you know anything of your family?" he asked gently, aware that the subject was likely painful for her.

She shrugged, but her voice was harsh. "Sure. My mother was an exotic dancer and my father was some guy she'd met at a party. She found out later he had a wife and three kids. He owned a used car dealership. What about it?"

He paused, taken aback by her revelation. "You met them?" he asked tentatively, almost dreading her answer.

"My mother," she paused and then admitted with great reluctance, "When she was drunk, before she died, she used to rant on about how I'd ruined her life." She was silent a moment. "It was a lot more pleasant when she was stoned. Then she just ignored me." What could he say to such a revelation? Would she even accept comfort from him? He cleared his throat. "It wasn't like that for Rihlia. She was the baby of the family, and very spoiled. Jayems and I adored her from the moment we saw her. She was terribly charming, and very bossy."

Jasmine shook her head and said in faint amusement, "I'm sure."

"The day she disappeared, we were all frantic. Jayems would not sleep for two days. In spite of the best efforts of the Haunt elite, we could find no trace of her. I didn't see a smile cross Jayems' face for months afterward."

Jasmine's voice was heavy. "That little girl grew up, Keilor. She's not the same person."

He stopped the stag. Splaying his fingers against her jaw, he gently turned her head to look up at him, leaning to the side so she could see him clearly. He held her gaze, letting her see how he felt. "She deserves the chance to find out for herself exactly what she is, don't you think?" He could sense her weakening, so he pushed harder. "Her family loves her and wants her, Jasmine. Give her the opportunity to learn that. Jayems will never let her go while she still thinks we threw her away." He released her and set the stag in motion, giving her a chance to think; glad he'd been able to explain to her how they felt.

He'd deliberately misled her a bit-Jayems would never let Rihlia go, regardless, but he knew if he said as much he might have closed her mind to everything he'd told her. At least this way they had the chance of winning her as a powerful ally in the battle for Rihlia's heart. If she chose, Jasmine could single-handedly win half the war, and he wasn't going to be squeamish about using her to do so.

He looked again at Jayems and Rihlia. More than one heart hung in the balance.

Jasmine couldn't sleep for a long time that night. She kept analyzing every nuance of her conversation with Keilor that afternoon. Everything kept coming back to his eyes, and the way he'd looked when he'd said that Wiley's family wanted her. Earnest. Sincere. But what was best for Wiley? Was she running away because she thought they'd abandoned her?

With an annoyed grunt, she tossed off the covers and got dressed. She really shouldn't have taken that nap earlier in the afternoon, but there was no help for it now.

She opened her door and immediately the two Haunt turned to look at her. She gave them both a rather sick smile. She still wasn't used to having werewolves guarding her door. "Can't sleep," she explained apologetically. She must be crazy to want to wander around in the dark with these two. "Um, is there any reason I can't take a walk out here?" When they glanced at each other but made no move to stop her, she eased out of her room and shut the door.

To the left were Wiley and Jayems' rooms. To the right, the great unknown. She chose the right. In no particular hurry, she meandered at a thoughtful pace down the well-lit stone hall, aimlessly watching the patterns on the parquet flooring. Her guard trailed behind, allowing her privacy. There was something to be said for silence, she decided.

She'd only been walking along for a couple of minutes when she was startled into looking up. Another silent Haunt with the same insignia she'd noticed on Keilor and Jayems blocked her path, and he seemed to have business with her. Uneasy, she looked to her own guards, only to see them salute the newcomer with a fist over their hearts and a slight bow. They gave her a slight nod as well and then returned the way they'd come.

Bewildered, she considered the Haunt in front of her. A replacement?

Deciding to test her theory, she took a step forward as if she intended to go around him and he fell into step with her. Relieved, she continued with her walk, gradually relaxing as he did nothing but accompany her. Her steps slowed and she settled back into an aimless meander.

The hallway opened up unto the head of a broad staircase leading to an inner courtyard, and she stared in awe at the view of the triple moons and scattered stars. Slowly she sank down to absorb the view. The evening breeze caressed her cheek, pleasant with the scent of flowers. Her guard settled unobtrusively against the wall.

After a time, curiosity got to her. "You guys don't talk much, do you?" she said softly, loathe to break the serenity of the night. To her surprise, the Haunt answered her in the sign language she'd seen the guards use. When she continued to watch him, he repeated himself slowly, fingers to chest, an inclination of his head and then fingers to lips.

"You do talk?" she guessed, intrigued. Hm. This could be fun. Maybe these guys weren't too bad after all. She eyed him and decided to accord him a healthy respect, just in case.

She gestured to the stair just above her, but he didn't move. Frowning, she chewed the inside of her bottom lip. "You're on duty?" He inclined his head again and she relaxed, leaning back against the wall and hugging her knees. Touching the spot over her heart, she asked, "The patch, is it an indication of rank?" One nod. "Are you higher ranking than the last guy?" Yes.

Well now, this wasn't so bad. As long as she asked yes or no questions, they'd get along just fine. Scratching her jaw, she stifled a yawn. "Are there Haunt women? I guess there are, but all I've seen are guards. Not that I've seen a lot of this place. Are you married?"

He started slightly, but slowly shook his head.

"Me neither. It's got its advantages, though. There's something to be said for only answering to myself. Though sometimes..." she trailed off. Her bones started to grate against the hard step through the padding of her muscles and she shifted.

The Haunt was an indistinct outline even in the moon-flooded night, and she squinted, trying to see him better. "You see better than I do at night, don't you? And hear better?" He affirmed it, and she considered the matter further. "And your sense of smell...is it much better than mine?" Yes. "As good as a dog's?" This time, when he agreed with her, she shivered, reminded of their differences. What else might be alien between them? Her toes curled. "Are you stronger than humans, faster? Is that why all the Haunt are guards?" He stared at her, and in the moonlight his eyes reflected red.

She shut up, and it was a long time before she got up the nerve to move.

CHAPTER 6.

Jasmine slapped a deck of cards and a decanter of honey liquor on the table. "Prepare to lose, Wiley. I'm feeling lucky tonight."

"Ha!" Wiley plunked down a drawstring bag full of little snail shells. Next to it she set a platter of raw vegetables arranged around a hollowed red pepper filled with creamy dip. "You, my friend, are going down."

Jasmine made a face at the platter and got up to rummage in the pantry of the suite Wiley shared with Jayems. Emerging triumphant with a jar of hot pickles and a bag of sour candies, she packed them to the dining table and went back to search the cold pantry for some cold cuts. Already she missed cheese.

"What are you doing?" Jayems asked as he entered the kitchen with Keilor and Knightin in tow. For some reason, Wiley colored.

"Poker," Jasmine answered. She returned to the table, a large plate of sausages filling her hands and bottle of fiery mustard clamped under one arm. She set those down and went back to reconnoiter the kitchen cupboards.

"What are you doing, Jas, preparing to feed an army?" Wiley asked. She leaned one hand on the table and rested the other on her hip. "Keep this up and there won't be room to play."

"Nag, nag, nag," Jasmine muttered, her voice muffled in the depths of the cupboard, blissfully unaware of the two sets of interested male eyes wandering over her derriere. Twin fires sparked in Knightin and Keilor's eyes as she bumped her head on something and wriggled.

Knightin came to his senses first and jerked his eyes away in annoyance. "On second thought, Jayems, I'll pass on that drink. I just remembered I have some things to deal with before morning. Good evening."

Keilor barely spared him a glance before returning to savor the view. His vision fogged as he inhaled her scent. It was all he could do not to act on the fantasy playing out in his head.

Fingers snapped in front of his face and he blinked at the unwelcome intrusion.

"Your eyes were glazed, my friend," Jayems told him dryly.

Jasmine emerged with a package of savory rye chips, which she poured into a pieced wooden bowl. Munching on a handful, she took the bowl with her and settled into a chair. "Your deal," she told Wiley, leaning back in her chair. Glancing at the watching men she said briskly, "This is not a spectator sport, gentlemen. Play or get lost."

Jayems frowned with annoyance, but before he could remind her that she was in his kitchen, not hers, Wiley said, "Quit trying to rob them, Jas. You know they'd end up without a penny to their names." She poured a splash of liquor into two glasses, adding an extra splash in one of them.

Leering, Jasmine reminded her, "They use gold and silver here, remember?" She eyed the men calculatingly. "I think we ought to let them play, if they provide their own ante."

"Ante?" Keilor asked. He drifted closer and snagged a chip.

"Money, honey," Jasmine supplied, taking the glass with the least amount of liquor. "You'll also have to supply your own booze. I don't think there's enough here to put us all under the table."

"There isn't enough there to put one of me *under the table'," Keilor said with disdain, and went in search of something stronger.

"We wager with real money while you use snails?" Jayems asked with a scowl, pulling out a chair.

"What are we supposed to wager, our virtue?" Jasmine retorted, getting up to grab a glass of juice. All that salt was making her thirsty. Keilor had just returned to the room as she said that, and he froze in his tracks.

Jayems looked at Wiley out of the corner of his eye.

Wiley's eyes narrowed. "Forget it."

"I don't know, I think the idea has merit," he answered smoothly.

"You would."

Keilor brought two glasses with silver crests to the table and poured a generous shot into each. "If I'm going to be playing with real coin against shells, I'd have to agree with Jayems. We should at least get a kiss if we win the game."

"No."

Jasmine hesitated for a moment. Their newest plan depended on robbing these two blind. The question was, what was she willing to do to get home?

Anything.

Well, almost anything. Taking a bracing breath, she negotiated, "No tongues."

"Jasmine!" Wiley cried in disbelief.

Eyes narrowed, Keilor bargained, "If you sit on our laps while delivering it."

Wiley slapped a hand on the table, embarrassed. "Stop it, you two!" She was ignored.

Cupping her chin in thought, Jasmine ran a thumb over her lips, considering Keilor with mercenary eyes. If she had to sit on his lap then she darn sure was going to make it count. "Gold coin for every shell."

Keilor smiled wickedly. "I'll give you two for every shell if you sit astride."

That gave her pause. Some of the fun of bargaining drained out of Jasmine as she considered whether possible bribe money was worth what he was asking. Her eyes flickered as she looked down, counting the cost to her pride.

"Don't you dare," Wiley warned her, breaking the tense silence.

"Oda ouya aveha anothera away ota etga oneyma orfa ibingbra ehta aurdsga, Wi?" Do you have another way to get money for bribing the guards? Jasmine asked casually and then added in English, "Don't be a baby, Wiley. It's just a little kiss." Even as she said it she could feel her hot face betraying her. The very last thing she wanted to do was kiss Keilor, even if it might help them find a way to get home. The thought of sitting on his hard thighs, wrapping her legs around him, with only inches separating significant body parts.... Well, they'd just have to make certain they won most of the time.

"The winner gets the pot, the losers take a shot," Jasmine told them and then explained the rules while Wiley shuffled the cards in nervous silence.

Predictably, the women won the first few hands, pulling in money hand over fist. Jasmine and Keilor had just folded and taken their shots, and Jasmine was watching Wiley with a smug and slightly inebriated smile when Jayems laid down his first winning hand. She blinked, but the cards didn't change.

Slow color flooded Wiley's cheeks. Jayems pushed his chair back and laced his hands together over his stomach, a warm flame of pleasure and expectation in his eyes. Taking a quick breath, Wiley gulped her liqueur, squared her shoulders and then with more haste than grace, she straddled him.

No doubt she'd intended to make the kiss a quick peck, but it quickly became apparent that she was not in command, and tongues or no tongues, when Wiley finally slid off of Jayems' lap, she was clumsy with more than alcohol. She knocked her chair sideways trying to sit down, and Jasmine couldn't help a snort of laughter as she helped set it to rights.

Then she lost.

"Huh," she said in consternation, and slowly tucked an escaping strand of hair behind her ear. She reached for her drink, attempting to stall.

Before her fingers could close around it, Keilor snatched it up. With a wicked glint in his eye, he toasted her. "I'd hate for your senses to be dulled for this, Dragonfly." With a quick toss he finished her drink and then scooted back his chair, waiting.

She looked away from the electric promise in his eyes and told herself sternly to move. Just a little kiss, she reminded herself, rising. It wasn't helping. Reluctance slowed her every movement and made the slide onto Keilor's lap torturous for both of them. When she would have stopped halfway, he grasped her hips and pulled her flush, sending a shockwave of thrill through them both.

Jasmine grit her teeth and gripped his shoulders, stiff with willful desire. He grazed his cheek against hers once in acknowledgment and then slowly slid his mouth to her own. Invisible sparks flew as their lips touched softly. Her mouth parted a little of its own accord, and Keilor sipped, drawing delicately on the soft, damp interior, dragging his lower lip across hers. Her heart thumped like a piston as she slid her fingers into his dark hair, instinctively finding the clasp and freeing the silken strands.

So caught up was she that she failed to remember their audience until Jayems said with amusement, "Do you think we should leave him to her mercy or have pity and toss water on them?"

With a groan of heartfelt reluctance, Keilor ended the kiss and set her back. Aching, Jasmine scooted off his lap and felt her way back into her chair, her eyes still too dilated to focus properly. As her left hand connected with the back of her chair, she heard a clink. Dropping down heavily, she opened her hand to investigate and flushed. It was Keilor's hair clip.

"Keep it." He mimed a kiss. "A memento."

The tide had definitely turned in favor of the men, and Jayems and Keilor kept stealing the ladies' drinks in the name of sharp senses, though the liquor had little noticeable effect on them.

"You must be cheating," Jasmine muttered, eyeing the pile of shells in front of their opponents with suspicion. They were on their last hand, and her cards were good. Almost unbeatable. As time went on she became less willing to take the chance of losing again. As it was she started trembling just thinking about the consequences of defeat.

Still...It was a lot of money. Maybe enough to get them home again. Could she afford to lose this chance when the odds were so completely in their favor?

Keilor raised the bet and Jayems folded. Wiley was already out, and Jasmine couldn't cover the bet. Taking the last shot straight from the bottle for courage, she cleared her throat and asked huskily, "Would you be willing to take a promissory note on a game of strip poker for my ante?"