“Sweet harmony. Always trying to soothe the savage Wolf, aren’t you? What I would like after dinner is another large bottle of Rose.”

He fit action to words. When Cidra attempted to interest him in a game later that evening, Severance brusquely declined.

“I can’t seem to work up any enthusiasm for winning another pile of worthless sardite from you tonight.” He uncapped the fresh bottle of Renaissance Rose ale and headed for his familiar evening post in the dim cockpit of the cabin. “Go to bed, Cidra.”

She started to say it was too early, but one look at the hard set of his shoulders warned her to keep quiet. She did as she was told, aware that for some reason Fred wasn’t assuming his usual position on Severance’s shoulder. The rockrug followed her into the lav, fussed around her feet while she changed into her sleeping gown, and then undulated pitifully until she picked him up and carried him into the upper bunk.

“What’s the matter?” she whispered. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of him tonight? He’s just a little tense.”

Fred did not appear wildly reassured. He flowed down to Cidra’s feet and went to sleep. Cidra closed her eyes and used several rounds of meditation exercises to put herself to sleep. She was as aware of Severance’s tension as Fred, and she didn’t feel particularly reassured by her own words, either.

She didn’t know what woke her a long time later. Nothing had changed in the quiet cabin. The rockrug was still warm and motionless on her ankle, the lights were still dimmed in the cabin, and when she drowsily opened her eyes, she could see Severance’s figure still sprawled in his seat. There was a third bottle of the potent ale open beside him. As she watched she realized that he was no longer bothering with the formality of a mug. He was drinking straight from the container. She frowned across the cabin at the ship’s clock. Half the sleeping period had passed, and Severance hadn’t yet gone to bed.

Cidra experienced a wave of compassion. She knew she should ignore it. She should bury herself in the bedding, go back to sleep, and forget about Teague Severance sitting in the shadows with his ale. But memories of the way he had looked this afternoon when he’d mentioned his brother filled her mind. The images wouldn’t let her take the sensible approach.

Cidra slipped out of the bunk, leaving Fred behind. Severance had been increasingly tense for the past four days. She didn’t want to think about what his mood would be like by the time they reached Renaissance. He needed less ale and more rest. Perhaps he needed to talk.

Barefoot, she went forward. She didn’t think he had been aware of her approach. He hadn’t moved. But as she came to within a pace of the seat in which he reclined, his graveled voice stopped her.

“Get back into bed, Cidra.”

She hesitated. She had never heard quite that tone from him. It was laced with ale and warning. Firmly she took another step closer. “It’s time you, too, were in bed, Severance.”

“I’m the one who makes the decisions on board, remember?”

“Severance, please. For your own good. Go to bed.”

“For your own good get back into your bunk. I’ve had a lot to drink, Cidra. And my mood isn’t real sweet.”

“It’s your brother, isn’t it?” she asked gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. Severance’s muscles were knotted with tension. “You’re sitting here thinking about him. Perhaps it would help to talk.”

His hand moved, capturing her wrist before Cidra realized what he was doing. When he lifted his head, there was a fierce hunger in Severance’s eyes, a hunger that was clearly visible in the shadows, a look made even more intense by the darkness. Cidra reacted to it physically, a small tremor passing through her. For a moment both of them were completely still. Cidra couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. Her wrist was chained beneath Severance’s marked hand.

“Your intuition doesn’t seem to be working very well tonight, little Saint.” His voice was a husky rasp along Cidra’s nerves. “You should have stayed in your bunk.”

“Should I?” Her mind-body connection was no longer functioning properly. Cidra knew with absolute certainty that Severance was right. But her brain seemed to be filled with a jumbled collection of thoughts and emotions, reminding her of the inside of a light-painting globe.

“Severance’s eyes never left her face. Then, abruptly, his fingers released her wrist. “One last chance. Go on, Cidra. Go back to your bunk.”

He had released her, but she didn’t feel as if she’d been set free. Cidra desperately tried to sort out the conflicting emotions leaping to life within her. There was an element that wanted to offer comfort to this man. Another part of her sought to understand him through the physical act of touching him, something that made no sense at all to her. And there was still another aspect with which to contend: a confusing flare of warmth in the pit of her stomach that seemed to be spreading into her veins.

She didn’t move. “Severance?”

His scarred hand closed once more around her wrist, but somehow the strong grip was more gentle this time. “You had your chance, my sweet, false Harmonic. Come here and let me see how much Wolf blood there is in you. Wondering about it has been driving me slowly out of my mind.”

He used his grip on her wrist to pull her down across his thighs. Before Cidra could analyze the situation further, Severance’s mouth closed over hers.

Chapter Six

Cidra’s first instinct was to free herself. It was an automatic reflex reaction to finding herself so completely off-balance.

She twisted as Severance brought her down into his arms, pressing against his shoulders to try to uncoil herself from the unfamiliar position. But he wasn’t paying any attention to her efforts. He cradled her close, his hands large and strong on her thigh and shoulder. His hold tightened as she tried to push away, and with a shock she felt the heavy strength she had sensed lay beneath his lean frame.

But it was the dark, warm, startlingly intimate feel of his mouth on hers that succeeded in stilling her small struggle. She had been kissed before but only in the ritual expressions of affection and greeting that were exchanged between family members and friends among the Harmonics. Those kisses were brief, fleeting touches of lips to cheek, the barest of intimate contact.

This was different, far different, from anything Cidra had ever experienced. She felt her lips urged apart with an aggressive sensuality. She found she couldn’t help but respond. Something deep within her seemed suddenly bursting to get out. With a shock she realized that although she had never experienced this kind of thing before, she knew about it. Something that had always lain dormant within her knew everything about this. And the knowledge had nothing to do with what she had always been told about sex.