She rose. “How? Please—tell me how.”
“First…” Deliberately he turned his back to her. “Remove your clothing. All of it.”
Her hesitation was brief. She knew he could not see her, and she’d been bold enough when he stood naked after the Change. She had nothing to fear.
But he could not shut off his senses. He heard the rustle of her skirt, the slide of buttons from buttonholes, the swish of fabric skimming shoulders, arms, hips, legs. She wore few layers to discard. He scent dizzied him as she removed the last of her garments and let them fall to the earth.
“I’m finished,” she said. Her voice was very small, as if she expected him to find her wanting. Did she think he would inspect her for flaws like a farmer buying a ewe, even if he could see?
His treacherous imagination broke the bonds of discipline once again. His mind’s eye provided what his outer vision could not: a picture of sleek, clean limbs; long legs woman-soft yet muscled from running; taut stomach and waist; full, firm young breasts peaked by rosy nipples; strong shoulders and shapely arms; slender neck beneath an open, earnest face.
A lovely face. A sleek body graceful even in awkwardness. Telford had declared himself wrong in his first judgment of Cassidy’s appearance. Quentin found her attractive. But the mere thought of Quentin seeing her now—or Telford, or any other male, human or loup-garou—brought an involuntary growl to Braden’s throat.
“Braden?”
He braced himself and turned to her. “Good,” he said. “Close your eyes. Imagine your feet sinking into the ground like the roots of a tree. Feel your blood beat in harmony with the rhythms of the earth. Hear the song of life and let it guide you.”
She caught her breath. “The song… I can’t quite hear—”
“Last night you said that you could feel it. Look for it again. Look deeper than ever before.”
“Last night… you held my hand.”
There was nothing seductive in her request, yet it was all he could do to grant this one little thing she asked of him. He extended his hand, and she took it.
Her body went very still. Her skin conducted the intensity of her effort through his flesh like an electric shock. Strong, slender fingers tightened in a desperate grip.
“I feel it… in you,” she whispered.
The last thing he wanted was that she should reach into the part of himself that defined his being, his soul, his very existence. No one but Milena had ever invaded that private sanctum, and she had barred its doors for all time.
But Cassidy could not fail to notice the growing heat of his skin, the pounding of his pulse, the primeval passion that lay a hairsbreadth from the essence of the Change.
“You will not find what you seek in me,” he said.
“But I can… almost… so close—”
“Feel the earth under your feet, the life around you,” he urged. “Hear the water and the wind. There is no separation between you and every other living thing. The division is imaginary.”
“Even between you and me?”
That was the contradiction he could not, would not explain—how the restraints within himself belied everything he told her: to let go, to free the wolf, to surrender to passion. Passion warred with duty and control, yet both were essential to the Cause—the passion to mate and the control to do so logically and with full awareness of the consequences.
Essential to every part of the Cause but himself. He was the exception. Duty alone was his existence.
“Forget me,” he said roughly. “Can’t you feel nature within you? The water of the burn flows in your veins; fires deep beneath the earth rise up to consume you…”
“Yes… oh, yes.”
“You can command it with your will. You can draw the power through your body and desire yourself to Change—”
“Yes. I want it. I want it so much.”
Braden’s blood thickened in his veins and pooled in his loins. He hissed between his teeth. “Make it come, Cassidy.”
“It’s coming. Oh… Please. Don’t let me go. When you touch me… I—” She swayed, began to fall. He caught her, his hands clasping her waist. She leaned into him, gasping. Her erect nipples grazed his chest, and the scent of her womanhood encircled him like ethereal bonds.