The walls of the tower room echoed with one brief curse. Betrayed—by herself—Morgana threw up a hand. The candles winked out. She stayed where she was, sulking in the dark.

She cursed herself, thinking she'd have been better off not knowing.

A few miles away, Nash woke from a catnap he'd taken in front of a blaring television. Groggy, he rubbed his hands over his face and struggled to sit up.

Hell of a dream, he thought as he worked out the kinks in his neck. Vivid enough to make him ache in several sensitive areas. And it was his own fault, he decided on a yawn as he reached absently for the bowl of popcorn he'd burned.

He hadn't made enough of an effort to get Morgana out of his mind. So if he was going to end up fantasizing about watching her do some kind of witch dance in the woods, about peeling her out of white silk and making love with her on the soft ground in the moonlight, he had no one to blame but himself.

He gave a quick shudder and groped for his lukewarm beer. It was the damnedest thing, he mused. He could have sworn he smelled candles burning.

Chapter 3

Morgana was already annoyed when she turned into her driveway Monday evening. An expected shipment had been delayed in Chicago, and she'd spent the last hour on the phone trying to track it down. She was tempted to deal with the matter her own way—nothing irked her more than ineptitude—but she was fully aware that such impulses often caused complications.

As it was, she'd lost valuable time, and it was nearly dusk before she parked her car. She'd hoped for a quiet walk among the trees to clear her mind—and, yes, damn it, to settle her nerves before she dealt with Nash. But that wasn't to be.

She sat for a moment, scowling at the gleaming black-and-chrome motorcycle in front of her car.

Sebastian. Perfect. Just what she didn't need.

Luna slid out of the car ahead of her to pad up the drive and rub herself against the Harley's back wheel.

"You would," Morgana said in disgust as she slammed the door. "As long as it's a man."

Luna muttered something that sounded uncomplimentary and stalked on ahead. Pan greeted them both at the front door with his wise eyes and his loving tongue. While Luna moved on, ignoring him, Morgana took a moment to stroke his fur before tossing her purse aside. She could hear the soft strains of Beethoven drifting from her stereo.

She found Sebastian exactly where she'd expected. He was sprawled on her couch, booted feet comfortably crossed on her coffee table, his eyes half-closed and a glass of wine in his hand. His smile might have devastated an ordinary woman, with the way it shifted the planes and angles of his dusky face, curved those sculptured, sensuous lips, deepened the color of the heavy-lidded eyes that were as tawny and sharp as Luna's.

Lazily he lifted a long, lean-fingered hand in an ancient sign of greeting. "Morgana, my own true love."

He'd always been too handsome for his own good, she thought, even as a boy. "Make yourself at home, Cousin."

"Thank you, darling." He raised his glass to her. "The wine's excellent. Yours or Ana's?"

"Mine."

"My compliments." He rose, graceful as a dancer. It always irritated her that she had to tilt her head to keep her eyes level with his. At six-three, he had five full inches on her. "Here you go." He passed her the glass. "You look like you could use it."

"I've had an annoying day." He grinned. "I know."

She would have sipped, but her teeth had clenched. "You know I hate it when you poke into my mind."

"I didn't have to." In a gesture of truce, he spread his hands. A ring with a square amethyst and intricately twisted gold winked on his little finger. "You were sending out signals. You know how loud you get when you're annoyed."

"Then I must be screaming now."

Since she wasn't drinking the wine, he took it back. "Darling, I haven't seen you since Candlemas." His eyes were laughing at her. "Haven't you missed me?"

The hell of it was, she had. No matter how often Sebastian teased her—and he'd been doing it since she was in the cradle—she enjoyed him. But that wasn't any reason to be too friendly too soon.

"I've been busy."

"So I hear." He chucked her under the chin because he knew it annoyed her. "Tell me about Nash Kirkland."

Fury snapped into her eyes. "Damn you, Sebastian, you keep your psychic fingers out of my brain."

"I didn't peek." He made a good show of looking offended. "I'm a seer, an artist, not a voyeur. Ana told me."

"Oh." She pouted a moment. "Sorry." She knew that, at least since he'd gained some maturity and control, Sebastian rarely invaded anyone's private thoughts. Unless he considered it necessary. "Well, there's nothing to tell. He's a writer."

"I know that. Haven't I enjoyed his movies? What's his business with you?"

"Research. He wants a witch tale."

"T-a-l-e, as in story, I hope."

She fought back a chuckle. "Don't be crude, Sebastian."

"Just looking out for my baby cousin."

"Well, don't." She tugged, hard, on a lock of his hair that lay over his collar. "I can look after myself. And he's going to be here in a couple of hours, so—''

"Good. That'll give you time to feed me." He swung a friendly arm over her shoulders. He'd decided she'd have to blast him out of the house to make him leave before meeting the writer. "I talked to my parents over the weekend."

"By phone?"

His eyes widened in shock. When he spoke, the faint wisps of Ireland that occasionally surfaced in his voice enlivened his tone. "Really, Morgana, you know how much they charge you for overseas calls? They positively soak you."

Laughing, she slipped an arm around his waist. "All right, I'll give you some dinner and you can catch me up."

She could never stay annoyed with him. After all, he was family. When one was different, family was sometimes all that could be relied on. They ate in the kitchen while he told her of the latest exploits of her parents, her aunts and uncles. By the end of an hour, she was completely relaxed again.

"It's been years since I've seen Ireland by moonlight," Morgana murmured.

"Take a trip. You know they'd all love to see you."