“She’s graceful. Petite for one of our kind. Her fire shows in her smoldering eyes right along with her intelligence. More gold than green, the pupils dilated and dark, shining, reflecting the light. Her eyes are piercing and gorgeous. Once seen, never forgotten. I can close my eyes and see them among all those dark rosettes scattering through her fur. She’s tawny, like your hair.” He nuzzled her thick hair with his face. “She’s sleek and muscled, with tawny, golden fur and patterns of rosettes that resemble the night sky she loves so much. Her paws are dainty, like your hands.”

His hands covered hers. “Do you feel her close to you?”

Isabeau did. The cat was nearly emerging, so much a part of her, it was nearly a memory. She could see the feline just the way he described, and her hands, trapped beneath his, ached and burned.

“It hurts, Conner,” she whispered, frightened.

“I know, baby.” His voice lowered an octave. Turned husky. “Remember the first time I made love to you? There was pain, Isabeau, but so much pleasure. Take a breath and let it out. Call her, just let it wash over you.”

His voice was pure black velvet, an irresistible seduction. His warm breath. His heat. His body pressed so tightly against hers. Every vivid detail of that first time. His hands on her. His mouth. The way his body moved in hers, so confident, so experienced, hard and strong and right, as if they were made for one another.

“Just let go,” he encouraged, just as he had so many months earlier.

His voice brought back a flood of memories, sending the crackling fire from the low- lying brush straight to the core of her body. She went damp. Her breasts ached, swelling with need, nipples hardening, desperate for his touch. His lips trailed kisses from her earlobe to her shoulder. His mouth nuzzled her, sending sparks of electricity leaping through her bloodstream.

Isabeau reached for the female cat lurking in her body. At once she felt the leap of response, as if her cat had simply been waiting. Her fingers and toes burned and sizzled, a red-hot fire. Involuntarily her hands curled. The skin felt as if it might split wide open. Her breath caught in her throat and she stiffened, feeling something moving inside her hands and feet. Just as she was about to pull back, Conner leaned down and sank his teeth into her shoulder, a bite very reminiscent of when he’d taken her virginity, distracting her, holding her in place, the pleasure and pain of it sweeping through her body, turning her liquid and acquiescent.

Stiletto-like switchblades burst through her skin, thick, hooked claws attached by a ligament to the bone at the very tip of each digit. The tiniest movement of her muscles and tendons allowed her to move her claws.

“Breathe, Hafelina, you’ve done it. We’re going up.”