Cassidy was staring. He was naked from the Change, but Cassidy didn’t turn away with the shock of a gently bred English girl. Among his own kind he ordinarily had no concern for modesty, but at the moment his body was not in a cooperative state. It, too, was bent on betraying him.
In the library last night he’d been at least half-dressed, with some measure of safety. Now there was none. He was envisioning Quentin’s kiss and Cassidy’s response, reliving his own irrational reaction—and imagining himself in Quentin’s place. His own body taunted him and evaded his control as if he were merely human.
“Oh, my,” Cassidy said.
Braden dropped into a crouch in the grass. “Mount your horse. I’ll lead you back to Greyburn.”
“But I came here to learn to Change. You sent Quentin away.”
“He was—he has no discipline. I had hoped he would improve, but—”
“Then you must teach me.” Her voice dropped low. “You, Braden.”
That simple statement held him imprisoned like the jaws of a trap. If he agreed, he would be her mentor, her guide, helping her to reach inside herself to a place even she had never found. He would be close to her body and spirit, all barriers dissolved. And in the midst of that unwanted intimacy, he must be as insensible as stone to her nearness, her scent, her fresh simplicity and raw honesty.
If he met this challenge, everything that came after would be child’s play. And he would know he was still worthy of some small part of his Grandfather’s charge.
“Very well,” he said. “Remain here until I return.” He Changed before she could reply and ran for the nearest cache of clothing, concealed in the hollowed fork of a low tree. He Changed again, and dressed in the shirt, trousers and boots, much like those left in many hidden places around the estate.
She was still waiting when he returned on foot. Her mare snorted and pawed the grass, tack jingling.
“Mount up,” he said.
“You haven’t got a horse,” she said. “We can share—”
“I’ll run,” he said. “Come.” He started off ahead other, settling into the even, loping stride he could maintain for miles even in human form. She kept her horse at a steady pace, always at his side or just behind.
Before, when they’d run together, it had been as wolf and woman. Now they were both human, yet he was just as conscious other nearness. He focused his thoughts on the path ahead, the small obstacles he could anticipate and those new ones he might encounter, the invisible cushion of space around him that acted as shield and warning.
When her horse entered that space, he could almost hear Cassidy’s thoughts. Her excitement, her hope, her yearning overwhelmed him, and then the mare fell behind and he was left to gather his shattered concentration.
It was not to Greyburn itself that he led her, but the woods beyond. They welcomed him with the promise of peace, but he could not relax his guard. By the side of the burn he stopped, and Cassidy dismounted. He slapped the mare’s rump, sending her back to the stables.
Cassidy sat down on the bank. He heard her boots thump on the ground as she took them off one by one; water chortled at the touch other toes.
“I love it here,” she said. “I knew I would the first time I saw it.”
He resisted the longing to kneel beside her and taste the crystal sweetness of the wafer. “Then you have a great advantage,” he said. “That is the first thing you must understand. You are part of all this—the trees, the earth, the water. The Change is merely an extension of that understanding. Our people are born to the Change as the ash is made to lose its leaves in autumn and bud in spring. There is nothing I can teach you that is not already within yourself.”
“I knew that,” she said. “Even” on the ranch. But I could never find it.”
“You must.” He listened to the play of the burn, seeking his own calm in its tranquil melody. “You must eliminate every barrier that stands between you and the essence of life.”