And as the streetcar rumbled over the spot where Luc had stood only moments before, he was already racing across the street, heading toward his Caitlyn.

  * * *

  “Caitlyn.”

  Startled, she looked up from her notes and into Luc's copper eyes. She expected to feel anger, a sense of violation, instead she felt almost giddy to see him again.

  "How..." She trailed off, the question not worth asking. Somehow, she was his. Of course, he'd found her.

  "You ran," he said.

  She nodded. What had earlier seemed like a survival instinct now seemed kneejerk and foolish. She wanted to be with this man. Wanted to soak up his heat-filled gaze and lose herself in the protection of his arms. She took a deep breath and decided simply to tell him the truth. "I was scared."

  "Of me?"

  "No," she said honestly. "Of us."

  "You feel it, too." Deep relief tinged his voice.

  She frowned, her eyes searching his face. "Didn't you know?"

  "I couldn't be sure." He took the seat that Adam had vacated earlier, then pulled one of the folders to him, ignoring the bright red Confidential stamp.

  "Those are police files."

  "So I see."

  She didn't object further, even though she should. Instead, she simply watched as he flipped through the papers.

  "Will you catch him?"

  She propped her chin on her fist. "Him? Not it?"

  His expression was unreadable. "Human or cat," he said, "it doesn't matter. Both are attacking."

  "I know. And, yes, I'll catch it."

  "It? Not him?" he said, tossing her question back at her.

  "Our perp is a panther. The panther that escaped from the zoo."

  His eyes darkened. "I didn't realize the police had confirmed that yet. The news reports suggest that a human culprit is still being sought.”

  "I know. But this is my theory."

  "Oh?"

  She nodded. "I'm keeping an open mind, of course. But I'm sure I'm right. And in the end, I will catch the panther. It's ... personal."

  His gaze seemed to bore into her. "Personal?"

  She felt her cheeks heat. "I’m sure that seems foolish to you, but I used to go to the panther habitat."

  "And you feel betrayed."

  She squinted at him, surprised he could read her so well. "I ... well, yes. Yes, that's it." She started to gather her papers. "At any rate, I’ll catch him. It's my job. And I owe it to the people he's hurt."

  He nodded thoughtfully, then held out a hand. "Come with me, Caitlyn. I think it's time we talked."

  "I—"

  "Caitlyn. Just come."

  All thoughts of argument abandoned her. She knew she would go with him. Hell, from the moment she'd left her apartment, she’d known she would go with him if he found her. That was, after all, why she'd run in the first place.

  But she wanted this. She truly did. There was something comforting about his presence, and she wondered if that's what happened between soul mates. This soothing, easy compliance. No thought. Simply feelings and trust.

  The trust frightened her. Except for Adam, she'd never really trusted anyone. She'd learned from her mother that loyalty was an illusion and that trusting was the easiest way to get burned.

  With Luc, though, trust had bloomed, despite the frantic lust that sparked between them. Or, perhaps, because of it.

  The trouble, of course, was that now she expected to get burned.

  * * *

  "Wow." Caitlyn turned in a circle, taking in the splendor that was his home. "Wow," she repeated.

  Luc couldn't help his grin. Some of the homes in the famous Garden District had started to fall into ruin. But not the Agassou mansion. The house was his only link to the happiness he'd once enjoyed with his family. He could never let it fall into disrepair.

  "I'm glad you like it."

  "It's stunning." She crossed to the inlaid credenza and picked up an ancient vase. “Um, sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t be handling this? It looks like it cost more than my annual salary.”

  He chuckled. She was probably right. "My father inherited it. His family moved to New Orleans from France, and he can trace his roots back to the thirteenth century."

  Her eyes widened as she returned the vase to its resting place. "It must be amazing to feel all that history tugging at you. All I know about my father is that he was vile. And my mother ran away when she was sixteen and never told me a thing about her parents."

  "I'm sorry."

  "It's okay." She shrugged. "It's my life and I'm used to it. But I do envy you."

  The irony of her words twisted in his stomach. "Believe me, you wouldn't want to share my heritage."

  Her questioning glance was so sincere, so full of interest, that he felt compelled to tell her the truth even if that light might fade in her eyes. Some form of the truth, anyway. "I'm adopted. My blood ancestors are—" He cut himself off. He couldn't simply blurt out the truth. "I don't know anything about them."

  "You know they exist."

  He nodded. "Ever the pragmatist. Yes," he confirmed. "I know they exist. I even know that I have a sibling. A twin brother." He'd often wondered about his brother. Was there someone else out there who shared his curse? An ally he'd never met? Or had his twin escaped the pull of genetics, leaving Luc to bear the burden of their heritage?

  Most likely, he'd never know. "He was adopted first. I assume he lives somewhere in the States, though I suppose he may have moved back to our homeland."

  "Where's that?"

  "South America. My mother and father were from there."

  She nodded, apparently satisfied, then moved across the room and twined her fingers with his. "I think you put too much stock on blood ties. Your parents adopted you. They loved you, cherished you, and took care of you." A tiny smile touched her lips. "I think that you can claim their ancestors as your own."

  "So sweet." He brushed the side of his hand across her cheek. "You're a good woman, Caitlyn Raine."

  Her eyes darkened, and she shook her head. "You don't really know me."

  "I know enough," he said. "I know you're a cop. Cops help people."

  She lifted one shoulder, but didn't meet his eyes. He stepped closer, compelled to stroke her hair, wanting simply to comfort her.

  We'll find a cure, Luc. His mother's voice rang in his head, and he saw her there in his mind, holding fast to his father's hand. We'll find a cure and you, my darling baby boy, I promise you will find someone to love.

  He wanted to cry out, a low moan of pain and longing, a cry to the mother he'd lost and the life he'd always wanted but had never been allowed to have.

  Instead he held tight to Caitlyn, to the promise and hope she represented. He knew her, fully and completely, and yet in so many ways, he didn't know her at all.

  Even so, she was his. His life, his mate. And, he hoped, the love his mother had promised.

  "Luc?" Her voice was soft, muffled by the pressure of her mouth against his chest.

  He stepped back, rubbing his temples as he shook his head just slightly, hoping he looked normal but certain that every ounce of pain was reflected on his face. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't mean to overwhelm you."

  He pressed his hand to his heart. "But you fill me, Caitlyn. You're everything to me, and the knowledge that you are here with me now, in this house, is—" He broke off, once again skirting dangerous territory. "Well, let's just say that I'm very, very glad that you're here."

  He could tell that his words pleased her, but almost immediately she tamped down her reaction, a tiny self-deprecating smile playing on her lips. "I don't really understand what's happening between us. But you should know that I'm not the woman you think I am. I'm not remarkable. I'm not even very good."

  He moved closer, edging against her, breathing deep of her glorious scent. He bent, lifting her hair to press a kiss behind her ear. "I think you're very, very good."

  She didn't answer in words, but the tremor that passed through her body spoke volumes. He wanted her then. Wanted to cherish her, to seduce her. To start on her toes and kiss all the way up to those beautiful lips. This wasn't about need. Not even a hint of the change was upon him. He simply desired this woman, this mate that destiny had brought to him.

  He had told her they would come here to talk, and though they'd spoken of their lives, he had yet to tell her the real truth about himself. Or about the two of them.

  He’d planned to, yes, but now his resolve faded. He was the beast she hunted, the beast by whom she felt betrayed. He would have to tell her sometime—of course he would. But not now. Not yet.

  First, he wanted to court her, to date her, to win her heart as men had done with women through the ages.

  He wanted to be a man with her, not a beast. He wanted to love her.

  And he wanted her to love him. Because only if she loved him would she be able to find it in her heart to forgive him.

  His arms encircled her waist and he drew her close to him. He tilted her head back, and her eyes, wide and full of desire, looked up at him. Her lips parted, and he didn't wait to discover if she was about to demand that he stop or beg him to continue. He took her mouth with his, his tongue demanding entrance with a force born of purely sexual need.

  A man's desire flooded his veins—pure human, pure lust—

  and the only thing feral was the wild demand that fed him, thousands of years of mating instincts driving his need to take this woman, to make her his own, once and for all.

  She melted under his touch, her willing acquiescence to his demands arousing his passion even more. He didn't wait—he couldn't—but instead urged her toward the parlor doors, his fingers fumbling for the button of her jeans. He had to have her right then. And she was just as desperate.

  They tumbled to the floor, rolling over an antique Turkish rug until he was straddling her. She wriggled her hips and he jerked her jeans down, taking both the denim and the soft satin of her panties. She lay before him, exposed and glistening, and her lips formed only one word. "Now."

  He didn't hesitate. He was too hard, too ready, and he clambered out of his own clothes, then spread her legs, his cock teasing her slick folds. He played with her, just a little, but he couldn't stand the strain. And he thrust inside her as she begged for him to take her.

  His climax was fast and sure, and Luc exploded inside her. He rolled over, taking her with him, his lips seeking hers. And as he kissed her, soft and sweet, a new reality settled around him. His cursed bloodline bound him to Caitlyn, it was true. But also, Luc knew, he was bound to her by the ties of love.

  * * *

  By late afternoon, Cate realized that she didn't know herself as well as she thought. She'd always believed she was tough. Certainly not one of those women who bought into the whole Cinderella fantasy. But she was buying into it now, and the more Luc treated her like a princess, the more she found herself enjoying the role.

  They'd spent the afternoon in Luc's castle, because there really was no other way to describe the stunning mansion or the flower-filled gardens. Cate knew nothing about either fine furniture or fantastic horticulture, but she knew enough to recognize the effects of both care and money. And the Agassou estate reflected both. They'd walked slowly through his backyard, her hand tucked in his, the broad branches of the magnolia trees sheltering them. Fabulous purple flowers spilled out of oversized stone pots lining the walkway, and he'd plucked one, then made a show of tucking it behind her ear before brushing a soft kiss on her cheek.

  It had been silly and sentimental and she'd fallen for it utterly.

  Because it was New Orleans, the heat was close to unbearable and they now sat at a small metal table tucked into a fragrant corner of a shady arbor. Martin, Luc's charming butler, had brought them tall, cool glasses filled with mint juleps. The whole afternoon had been thoroughly decadent, and Cate had enjoyed every minute of it.

  She licked her lips. She hated herself for doing it, but she couldn't help second-guessing something that seemed too good to be true. "Luc?"

  He'd been telling her about the history of the house, but she'd tuned him out, simply content to hold his hand and lose herself in her own thoughts. Now he stopped talking, a question in his eyes, but no accusation. Even so, she was certain he knew that her mind had wandered. He squeezed her fingers, the intimate gesture his only response.

  "I don't understand this."

  A grin danced at the comer of his mouth. "It's quite simple. My father brought in two tons of dirt and raised the backyard. That let him—"

  She whacked him on the knee, but couldn't stifle the laugh that bubbled out. “That's not what I meant, and you know it."

  "I know." This time his voice held no tease, and when he squeezed her fingers, the touch was purely sensual. Her body fired in immediate response and she pressed her legs together, unwilling to let a visceral reaction to this man control every waking moment.

  "I don't understand what's happening between us," she elaborated.

  He regarded her quietly for a moment, then traced the line of her jaw with his fingertip before curling a strand of her hair around his forefinger. "Must you understand everything?"

  "It's my nature."

  "And we must all behave in accordance with our nature."

  It was a statement, not a question, and so she didn't respond, simply sat, her eyes focused on his face, as she waited for him to continue. Somehow, she knew that he would.

  "I won't say that I love you, Caitlyn, because that might scare you away."

  She swallowed, not nearly as frightened by his words as she imagined she should be.

  "But I will say that we are connected, you and I."

  "But that's exactly it." She leaned forward, happy to grasp onto something other than love. Right then, it was a word she feared, a word that hit just a little too close. "Why are we connected?"

  He grinned, a sudden mischievous look. "Perhaps if I found the connection unpleasant I would seek out a reason. But since I have no complaints, I'm content to accept the inevitable."

  “The inevitable?"

  "You," he said simply.

  She swallowed, the implications hitting her. Luc was inevitable. For reasons she didn't understand, this man was tied to her future. And damned if she didn't want him there.

  But as much as he filled her soul, violent images still filled her head in the form of darkly erotic dreams. And though there’d been no more nightmares and no more maulings, the cat was still loose. And she knew she couldn't rest until it was found ... and the dreams faded into nothingness.

  "Caitlyn?"

  Those copper eyes were focused intently on her, and she was afraid that he had managed to read her thoughts. She swallowed, shaking her head. "Sorry. Just thinking."

  “The maulings."

  "You're very perceptive."

  His fingers brushed the bare skin on her arm and once again she fought the urge to tremble. "Perhaps. Or perhaps only I understand you."

  He gathered her into his arms, and she clung to him. "Maybe there won't be any more attacks," he said.

  He spoke with an intense conviction, and she wanted to kiss him simply for trying to make her feel better. As it was, his strong assurance was contagious, and she nodded, almost against her will. "I wish I could believe that, but—"

  "Believe it."

  She met his eyes, found them clear and determined. "Why?"

  "Because you have no reason not to. There's been no attack for several days. It's your day off, right?"

  She nodded. "It's ridiculous. I've got a huge caseload, and the bureaucrats are making me take two stinking weeks." She hadn't wanted to take them, but the department number crunchers had finally insisted that Cate, and a few other detectives who'd been squirreling away vacation time, needed to use it. Cate had ignored the memo from brass for three months. But when her captain had finally put his foot down, she'd had no room to argue.

  "Then enjoy those days."

  "I want to," she said. And she did. She really did.

  "Good." He leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to her lips that, while not decadent in itself, offered so much. "Because I thought we'd start with a late-afternoon siesta..."

  * * *

  Cate didn’t actually get to rest during their siesta, but as she stretched naked on the satin sheets after an hour-long bout of lovemaking, she definitely felt sated and relaxed. Across the room, Luc was pulling on slacks in front of the closet, and she was watching him, thoroughly enjoying the view and thinking one very disturbing thought—she could get used to this.

  A tiny buried part of her dared to hope that the voice in her head was wrong. That she could have the whole dream. A husband. Children. A family that loved her.

  No, no, no. She needed to get that thought out of her head. No matter what this thing was that seemed to be filling the air between them, the bottom line remained the same, and the familiar refrain reverberated through her head. Not for you. Never for a girl like you. A girl cursed by the circumstances of her birth to walk in the darkness. Who had badness in her soul.

  "Something wrong?" Luc stood, looking utterly sexy as he buttoned his-starched white shirt. Such a short time and already he knew her too well. A blossom of hope dared to bloom, but Cate ignored it, tucking it instead into the darkest corner of her heart.

  She shook her head, the lie as natural as breathing. "Just enjoying the view."

  "I'm glad you think it's worth watching."

  She shrugged. "It's an empirical fact. Can't have you thinking I'm an idiot."

  He let his eyes roam over her, and her body tingled in response, the sensation starting at her toes and drifting all the way up to the top of her head until her entire body felt warm and malleable, and it was all she could do to keep herself from begging for his touch.

  With his eyes lingering on her, he smiled. "I can't believe these words are coming from my lips, but you really should get dressed. I have plans for you this evening."

  "It's only five."

  As his smile broadened, so did the heat in her belly. "I have plans for a very, very long evening."

 

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