“Feel better?” he asked.

She couldn’t tell yet. Her nerves were still tingling too much to know what her cramps were like, but she nodded anyway and let her eyes slide shut. His hand continued to smooth across her brow and through her hair, over and over, stroking her to sleep.

“Get dressed, ichuta’a,” she heard him say. He pulled the sheet up over Raven’s shoulders and patted her cheek. “I’ll feed you before we go,” he told her. “But you rest now, if you can.”

Raven roused herself, clutching at his wrist and staring pleadingly up into his face. “Please don’t let her do that again,” she whispered.

His smile widened. “Raven,” he said gently. “Don’t tell me don’t. She’ll fuck you until I say she’s done.” He cupped her chin and leaned down. “And she’s not done.”

Raven blinked her eyes free of water. “I don’t like it.”

“I don’t care.” His gaze broke from hers, traveling down over the shadowed slopes of her concealed body. He leaned closer, his breath warming her skin, and pressed his teeth to the curve of her jaw. He growled, the sound rumbling through her bones, and murmured, “You’ll do as I say, Raven. You have no idea the things I can do to you.”

She supposed it was a threat, but in his smoky purr, it sounded more like a promise of reward for her obedience. She arched back, offering her throat, and he bit again, just above her pulse. She could feel his teeth dimpling her skin. If he wanted to, he could pull her throat out, but his touch now was one of careful passion. He bit, and Raven could feel her body humming with pleasure.

Kane straightened, combing his claws once more through her hair. “All right, ichuta’a,” he said, standing. “Red meat and tea for my Raven, and then let’s make the car ready. I want to leave as soon as she’s fed.”

*

Food. Daria was outside his door, telling him he needed food.

Tagen heard her voice, could even make sense of the N’Glish, but the words themselves held only the impression of meaning, as in the way of distant memory. He was lost in place, gripped on every side by clammy bindings, the light shining through the window on him like pools of molten lead. Heat was coming, as it had done twice already, and the sun had not yet begun to drop. How could anyone eat, knowing that?

The sound of a fist on his door banged him out of his syrupy drift and Daria’s voice called his name again. She sounded frightened. Badly frightened. Perhaps he’d touched her again.

He remembered suddenly touching her in the kitchen. His hand on her back. Feeling her flesh so firm and soft and warm beneath his open palm. And she had smiled. That was yesterday. It had been cooler yesterday. The weather had not turned until late afternoon. He’d had hours and hours without Heat.

“Tagen, answer me! Answer me!” Her voice broke in something that might have been a sob. The doorknob rattled. He had locked it. Couldn’t risk Daria opening on him while he was engaged with his stimulator. He didn’t want to upset her.

“Tagen!” she shouted, and beat on the door, this time with her open hand. “Oh please don’t be dead. Tagen!”

Dead. He smiled weakly. One could not die from Heat. He had suffered it now only three days. Or four. Surely no more than five. In ancient times, Jotan had suffered for the full season. Nine days. Perhaps more. There had been no suppressants in those days.

But there had been mates, he thought dourly. Mates with whom to thrash away the hottest hours. A female’s oils to bring seed swiftly from him and keep Heat from resettling so soon.

“Say something!” Bang bang bang. “I’ll break down the door!”

Such a ferocious little human. Tagen couldn’t imagine her having enough strength to continue knocking, much less to break the lock and force the door. All the same, he was distressing her.

He tried to sit up, but the soaking sheets that lay over him were as good as an iron slab and the effort left him weak and shaking, but at least halfway lucid. “Go!” he rasped.

The hammering on the door cut itself off at once. “Tagen, was that you?”

“Go,” he said again. The single word scoured his throat and burned his lungs. He fell back, his vision graying.

“You have to come downstairs,” she called. “You have to eat something!”

“I am not hungry,” he intoned gravely. “I will never be hungry again.”

“What?”

Tagen raised his head, concentrated, and realized he’d been speaking in Jotan. “Later,” he said in careful N’Glish. “I will try to eat later.” His eyes slid shut. “When it cools.”

“That’ll take hours.”

So it would. Hours more of Heat. Hours more of cloying sweat and the stench of himself filling the room. Hours of the stimulator gripping him indifferently while he fought to keep quiet. Hours and hours of Heat.

Frustration sparked in his gut and tore its way up and out of him in a rusty scream. It split the air and filled the room in tatters he could almost see. Tagen sucked in breath, spots of color exploding behind his eyes, and screamed again until his voice broke into pieces.

“Tagen!” Daria was yanking at the door again, and now she seemed to be kicking it as well. “Tagen, let me in!”

In? Let her in? Very well, if she demanded it, he would let her in and damn the consequences!

He was on his feet and at the door before he could even think ‘no’. He twisted the knob, felt something snap inside it, and then he had the door flung wide. Daria stumbled back and stared at him, her eyes wide and wet, her mouth a circle of shock. The sweat of her struck him like a fist, firing all his senses into clarity. His eyes went to the juncture of her thighs, to the secret sex her clothing concealed, and he had to grip the door’s frame to keep from falling. Or perhaps from lunging out at her.

“Oh Tagen,” she whispered. “You look awful.”

The sorrow in her words made him look up, and in her eyes was enough horror to shock him back to sanity. He was naked. He was naked, Heat was coming, and she was right there.

“Leave me be,” he said hoarsely, and tried to shut the door.

Her hand flew out to stop it. “Come downstairs!”

“When it cools—”

“It’s not getting any cooler!” she shouted. “You can’t do this, Tagen, you’re going to die!”

“I cannot die from Heat!”

“You can die from dehydration, dammit! When did you last drink anything?”

“I…” His anger waned, became confusion. He knuckled sweat from his eyes and his hand shook. “Last night.”

“You never came downstairs last night,” she argued. “You haven’t had anything to eat or drink for almost a whole day. You’re scaring me.”

“Everything scares you.” Tagen tried again to shut her away. “Go, Daria. I am not dressed.”

“You’re not dressed?” She uttered a high, incredulous laugh. “I don’t care! Tagen, if you could see yourself-“

“Later, I have told you! Later!” Tagen took a breath, let it out slow, and said, “Please. I cannot bear to climb your stairs.”

“I’ll help.” She started forward, one hand outstretched to him.

Heat surged, and Tagen swung blindly. His hand struck her on the breastbone and sent her crashing to the floor with her legs wide apart. He sank his claws into the soft wood of the door frame to keep from leaping on her, and his last thread of temper snapped. He fell back on Jotan, knowing she would not understand, but unable to keep silent a moment longer.

“Back, woman!” he roared. “Stay back, or by hell, have me! I have only so much will!”

She screamed, making him think disjointedly that he’d said it in N’Glish after all. But her legs drove out to catch his slamming door and she wouldn’t let panic budge her.

“Damn you!” Tagen’s voice cracked on frustration. “I have tried and tried to woo you and you wait until now not to run from me! Now! Look at me now!” All his body was Heat. He seized the door in both hands and heaved, snarling.