And how much courage it took to live with that insurmountable obstacle every day of her life.
Her gaze met his. He was the one, now, who recoiled at the assault upon his senses and his heart. It was as raw as an open wound, this terrible sharing. His skin seemed to take heat from hers, though they did not touch; he looked away only to discover the gentle swell of her breasts beneath the fine lawn of her nightdress, and the teasing disarray of her loose brown hair.
He crouched beside the bed, as much to protect himself as to become less threatening in her eyes. He was the invader here. This was her place, her territory; she could order him to leave. He would be smart to obey and run before… before…
"How did you get in?" she demanded. Her voice had grown more sure, though it cracked in midsentence. "The servants—"
"Did not hear me. But you did."
"Yes." She sat up against a bolster of pillows, drawing the blanket with her. "That does not explain why you come in the middle of the night, break into our house, and walk right into my… my room as if you had a right…"
"No right, but a reason," he said quietly, balancing his arms across his knees. "I came to bring you a message. Your brother—"
"If my brother were here—"
"But he is not."
"Do you make a habit of trespassing like a thief, Mr. Holt, when there is no man to stop you?"
He could not help but admire the increasing steadiness of her voice and the directness of her gaze. Nor could he be angry with her after what he had witnessed. Here was not the nice, formally polite, and benevolent lady who had descended from on high to view her brother's surprise gift. This was the woman he had glimpsed briefly in the tent after the near-accident—the she-wolf reawakened—and he liked her the better for her honest annoyance.
Yes, he liked her. Even the word felt strange as he rolled it around in his mind, tasting and exploring it as if he were a cub with an intriguing bit of bone.
"I come and go where I wish," he said, "but not to do you harm."
"I do not suppose that your upbringing, whatever it was, taught you that it does considerable harm to enter a lady's room uninvited and unchaperoned. It is not only impolite—" She swallowed and gripped the edge of her blanket. "Among… townies, reputation is something of value. If anyone were to see you here, mine would be compromised."
"I know about your rules." He shifted, and her eyes flew to track his motion. "You and your friends waste too much time worrying about what isn't important."
"What do you mean by that?" She scooted higher on the pillows, forgetting to adjust her blanket upward. "What do you know of my friends, or any of the niceties of life?"
He dropped his chin onto his folded arms. Now was as good a time as any. He could tell her what he had overheard in the Windsor's restaurant. It might be a kindness to set her free from her illusions.
But he looked at her face and knew that the truth would destroy her. She was not strong enough. Perhaps she would never be. And when the circus left Denver—tomorrow, in a week, in a month—none of it would matter to him.
It shouldn't matter now. It shouldn't matter that her brother had her on a short leash and she chose not to see, or that she'd given up half of herself out of fear of losing what little she had.
What little she had. She would laugh at him if he said that, surrounded as she was with luxury and everything money could buy. All the things his family had done without, that his father had been so hungry for.
"You were right about my upbringing, Miss Munroe," he said. "We didn't have much. We lived in a small cabin in the mountains. One bed and a cot. Only the fire and candles for light. My parents—my ma hunted, and we fished and sold furs in town. We had books, but no schooling." Memories thick with the dust of years emerged from then-hidden places, raising a fog in his mind. "We didn't need anything else, until Pa—"
Stop. He drove the memories back into oblivion and got to his feet. Where in hell had that come from? Why here, with her? She was no part of his past, or his future. And his future stretched no further than the next moment.
"Your parents," Athena said, her voice suddenly gentle. "You said that you hadn't seen your family since you were a boy. To lose them at so young an age… I am sorry that I spoke as I did."
He forced himself to look at her. Her face had resumed that gracious, almost saintly expression, raising in him a desire to snap and snarl until she lost it again. Deliberately he raked his gaze from her eyes to her chin and lower, where the high collar of her nightdress hugged the graceful arc of her neck.
Despite the lace and frills, the sheer fabric of the garment left little to the imagination. The pink tones of her skin gave the white lawn a rosy tint, and where her breasts lifted the cloth he could see the brown circles of her nipples. Each one formed a small, intriguing peak that grew more pronounced as she noticed his stare.
Humans—or werewolves in human form—were much like animals. Their bodies responded to instinct and desires that had nothing to do with intellect. Morgan's body was very much aware of Athena's.
He had not been oblivious to her during their previous encounters. He had been conscious of her sex and tolerated a certain attraction, even before he learned of her true nature. But the attraction had been only that, and easily set aside.
No longer. Something had changed. It wasn't only his respect for her courage in challenging the limitations of her body and spirit, or that he had unwillingly shared her emotions. It wasn't that he stood in her bedchamber, a room humans regarded as the proper place for sex. Nor was it that she wore a diaphanous nightdress instead of the armor of corsets and layered skirts. He had seen many women clothed in less, and regarded them as merely the means to ease his body's needs.
Athena was not like those women. He understood the difference between females raised as she had been, and the worldly inhabitants of the circus or saloon. She had no experience, of that he was certain, and no skill. Her allure was completely unintentional.
She regarded mating as a wanton beast that could tear her precious reputation to shreds, or worse—an enemy capable of making her remember what she had lost.
No matter how carefully she and her proper society friends tried to pretend otherwise, she knew why he looked at her and why she wanted to conceal herself from his gaze. Her skin flushed, color rising from under her collar and sweeping up to the roots of her hair. Her breathing quickened. He could hear the throb of her pulse under the soft flesh of her neck. Her scent had begun a subtle change as her body prepared itself for mating, and his nostrils flared to take in the fragrance of arousal.
She wanted him. And he wanted her. This girl, this haughty, naive woman in her cage of a chair—he wanted her as he had never wanted any woman in his life.
His feet moved of their own accord, carrying him toward her. His hands reached out to touch her, hold her, claim her.
Mine, the wolf howled. Mine.
"Stop," she whispered. "Morgan. Please."
He thought he had imagined the plea, but her hands fumbled at her blankets and her eyes begged for mercy. He stopped. Air flooded into his lungs. He shook his head to snap the spider-silk filaments of lust that bound him to Athena, and they released their tenacious grip.
But not entirely. His body still ached and cried out, refusing to be silenced. All he need do was breathe in her scent, and he was caught again. But he had come with a purpose, and he had yet to carry it out.
Niall Munroe had brought him here. He had betrayed Athena—his own, his family, his pack. And Athena was as ignorant of her brother's deception as she was of the hypocrisy of her society friends.
Morgan had intended to give Athena a chance to fight for herself. Until now, he hadn't questioned his motives. Physical attraction, the drive to help one of his own kind, dislike of Niall Munroe, pity… it all led to this room and this moment. This undeniable need.
He let out a long breath. "It is time I told you why I came—"
"Just go." Athena's blanket w
as up to her chin, framing her pale face. "If you don't leave at once, I will be forced to call my maid. It would be better if I did not, for both our sakes."
He gave his body a final shake and seized the chance for a safer kind of skirmish. "Call your maid, Athena—but I hope that she is a very brave woman. I would not want to frighten her."
"You enjoy that, don't you?" The defiant spark returned to her eyes. "You like to intimidate people just because you can. The feelings of others mean nothing to you. I would remove you myself if I were not…" She lifted her chin. "You are no gentleman, Mr. Holt, preying on unprotected women. If you thought—if you ever thought—that I had any interest in you beyond your part in the circus, you were sadly mistaken."
She had come too close to the truth. Morgan smiled. "Why do you think I am interested? Do you have so many men panting after you, Athena? Do you fight your suitors off with the edge of your tongue, or does your brother do it for you?"
He regretted his cruelty instantly. Her pupils constricted as if he had reached out and shaken her. Then the fierce light in her eyes went out, and she stared down at her hands upon the blanket.
"I have no suitors," she said. "'You can see why I do not. I spoke… out of pride. You have a remarkable ability to turn me into a shrew. I forget my manners… I behave quite abominably unlike myself. But you saved my life, and I will not forget that."
Morgan felt about as tall as Ulysses, and much less honorable. "Athen—"
"No matter why you came, Morgan, it must be obvious that you and I are too different even to speak to each other in a calm and reasonable manner. Let us call a truce, and pretend this misunderstanding never happened."
Misunderstanding? He would have laughed if he hadn't become so keenly sensible of her fragility. A single tear would drive him to his knees.
"Morgan," he said.
She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"You called me Morgan."
"I am sorry. I did not mean—"
"No one calls me Mr. Holt," he said. "That is for gentlemen."
"I apologized for my rudeness—"
"Morgan."
She hesitated a long moment, worrying the blanket between her fingers. "Morgan."
"Good." He sank down where he was, not trusting himself to go closer to her. "I am not your enemy, Athena. I came here to warn you that your brother is working against you."
"Niall? I do not understand."
"He brought us—the troupe—to Denver to play for your orphans. Now he wants to buy us off before the performance, and I don't think he intends to tell you until we're gone."
"Buy you off?"
"I saw him offering Harry money if we would leave. The troupe wanted you to know, so you could decide."
"That is ridiculous. My brother brought you all the way to Denver. Why would he send you away now?"
"Do you want the truth?"
A door shut behind her eyes. "Of course. I still do not understand—"
"He found out about the Wolf-Man act. That was why he was so upset when he came to get you on the lot, and why he wanted you out of the way."
She paled. "He didn't know you were in the show? But you have been with the circus all along—"
"He didn't see me when he hired the troupe, and I don't think he knows that I am the Wolf-Man. It is the idea he hates. He told Caitlin he did not want the children to see something unfit for them, but she thinks he's afraid and hides it by claiming he's protecting you. He would have kept the troupe if it wasn't for me."
"Why should Niall be afraid?" The soft curve of her lips took a stubborn set. "If your act is too frightening for the children, we can leave it out. What you say of my brother—you must have misunderstood him."
He could have stopped there, told her what the troupe had decided, and left it in her hands. That would be the easiest way. Once he started saying what was in his mind, he'd only dig himself in deeper with her.
But wasn't he halfway to hell already?
"I did not misunderstand, Athena. If your brother were an ordinary human, he wouldn't believe my act was anything but a trick. He must suspect that the Wolf-Man is like you… and soon he may realize who and what I am."
"But I have told you that he understands—"
"Why does he fear it so much if he accepts what you are? Why does he want us gone before you see us again?"
Her mouth opened on a sharp intake of breath. "I know my own brother. There must be some other reason for his… acting so strangely."
For all the vehemence of her words, Morgan knew she was lying. Oh, not on purpose, and not to him, but to herself. There was something in this she didn't want to face.
"You said your brother always knew what you were. His mother was human, but your mother was one of us."
"Yes." Her face was pinched, as if she anticipated some terrible pain. "My father loved my mother. He accepted her completely."
"But did your brother? You ran as a wolf before the accident. Maybe he envied you."
"No," she said. "You are wrong." She looked quickly from side to side, like a cornered animal seeking escape. "Were both your parents werewolves?"
"My… father was human."
"And did he envy your mother?"
"I don't know." His throat thickened up, and he had to swallow twice to clear it. "She loved him. He never raised a hand to her or said a harsh word, until he…"
She stared at him, waiting for him to finish. He couldn't. "We're talking about your brother, and why he is afraid," he said harshly. "Maybe he doesn't want you around another of your kind."
What is he protecting you from, Athena ? Does he secretly hate what you are—what we are—the way humans hate what they don't understand? Or does he want you to forget what you were before your accident?
"My brother—" Athena began, struggling with her thoughts as he had with his. "You think he guesses, or will guess, what you are, and wants me away from you. But he has no reason to think you would harm me."
"I could never harm you, Athena."
He felt her reaction like a punch in the belly. "I know you would not," she said in a whisper. "Yet if Niall knew what you did tonight—"
"He doesn't know." He rose, stretching his spine until it cracked. "But you do not want him to find me here. I came to tell you that the troupe will stand by you. If you want us to stay, we will, no matter what your brother says."
Too much had shocked her, too much had been said to dismiss, but she gamely wrestled her bewilderment into submission and fought her way back to firmer ground. "Why would you defy Niall when he offered to pay you?"
"Maybe we don't like being ordered about by townies."
"That is not a good reason. Niall has much influence—"
"Harry knows what the performance means to you. He likes you. So does Caitlin."
"That is kind of them. And… and you?"
"I don't like your brother."
She gave a startled laugh. "You are very blunt."
"I don't like what he does to you."
"To me?"
"Controlling you. Making sure you stay the way you are."
Her eyes widened. "He doesn't try to keep me here… this way. It cannot be helped." She shook her head, denying whatever unpleasant thoughts he had put in her mind. "Niall enables me to do what I can for the destitute and disadvantaged. He wants only what is best for me, to make me happy. He is a good man."
"He is human. You are not."
She was quiet for a long time. "You are a strange man, Morgan Holt. You hardly know me. Neither does Harry, or Caitlin. Yet you would do this for me."
"You help people you don't know. Why should the troupers be different? Or aren't we saintly enough?"
"I am not saint," she said softly. "What do you want me to do?"
"It is not my choice."
"Yet you came here, when you could have sent a message tomorrow."
"Are you afraid to stand up to your brother?" he demanded. "Caitlin said you wouldn't be. She said you had
a will of your own. Do you, Athena? Is it easier to go along and pretend you agree with your brother so that you can forget what you gave up?"
She stared at him, stricken. Caitlin's words came back to Morgan as vividly as if she stood in the room beside him. "Are you testing her, Morgan? Do you want her to fail, so that you will have no reason to care?"
And he realized that he stood on the edge of a precipice, half longing for her to send them away, half hoping that she had the courage to be what her blood made her. Not this cripple in a chair, but a woman of spirit and strength. She was a prisoner who did not recognize her prison or the jailers she trusted. Her independence and social influence were illusions, her good works false consolation, her pride and acceptance of her fate only brittle paper masks that would crumple at a touch.
Yet if she decided to fight, if she dared to face the realities she so willfully ignored, then he was bound to her course. To her. For somewhere, sometime since their first meeting, he had taken Athena Munroe into his pack just as he had the troupers—reluctantly, hating himself for his weakness, but bound just as surely.
He had not wanted this responsibility for another person. He had meant to spend his life alone, unattached, unfeeling.
But the circus had changed him—Caitlin, Harry, Ulysses. He had begun to forget what it was like to live in chains, and what had put him there.
Athena's low sigh called him back from the past. "You asked for my decision," she said, meeting his gaze. "I want you to stay. The children are expecting a special treat, and I will not disappoint them. I will find a way to convince my brother, no matter what it takes."
Chapter 10
Athena waited to see how Morgan would respond, profoundly grateful that she had managed to keep her composure intact—just barely—during this harrowing visit.
The facts that had been brought to light during their conversation still rattled about in her mind, making it difficult to concentrate on any one disquieting revelation. She was unable to decide which was worse: Morgan's untimely intrusion, his witnessing her helplessness, or what he had told her about Niall.
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