Misty gave him the startled look she always got whenever he told her how violent Shifters were. Why did humans think Shifters had been tamed? Making them wear the shock Collars was like putting a tiny bandage on a gaping wound.

“There must be someone you can talk to,” Misty said. She caressed his face, as though she found something she liked in the scarred, harsh mess of it. “Reid, maybe?”

“I said, I need to think about it.” Graham gentled his impatient answer by kissing the inside of her wrist. “This is the kind of problem a Shifter takes to his leader. Except I am the leader.”

“Eric, then,” Misty said. Sweet lady; she was so naive. “He’s your partner.”

Graham snorted a laugh. “Right. Don’t think so.” Eric had wanted Graham under his thumb since Graham’s Shifters had been forced to move into Eric’s Shiftertown.

Misty didn’t look convinced. Graham kissed her again, letting the kiss turn lingering. He loved that the terrible thirst slaked a bit when his mouth was on hers.

He wanted to stay kissing her forever, the fragrance of the flowers she loved wrapping around them. Misty’s scent was even better than the flowers’, her soft body under his worth every second of his agony.

Graham had to fix this, and fast. And then figure out what the hell to do about his growing mating frenzy for Misty. He’d not be able to stave it off for long, and if the frenzy consumed him, it would be as dangerous to her as any Fae spell.

 • • •

Graham stayed the night at Misty’s, which entailed more pizza. The cubs ate most of it.

Reid departed before the pizza arrived, borrowing the book from Misty, intrigued by it, he said. Graham knew Reid’s real reason to leave was his ache to get back home to the bear Shifter, Peigi. It had been more than a year since Peigi had been rescued from an insane, feral Shifter in Mexico who’d kept her and other women in a basement, more than six months since Reid had moved in with her. And still she and Reid weren’t officially a couple, for some reason.

Graham stayed with Misty not only to protect her but also because it was clear Xavier wasn’t about to leave. Xav might claim he was just doing his job, and had three other DX Security men stationed outside the house, but Xav was inside, with Misty.

In spite of her apparent recovery, Misty was still reluctant to go to bed, afraid to dream, but Graham eventually talked her into it. Misty needed her rest—she’d had a hell of a time. The cubs, as wolves, dashed into her room ahead of her, leapt up on her bed, and curled up on the foot of it. Misty let them, kissed Graham good night, and shut the door on him.

Good thing. If Graham went in there, he’d want to hole up with her and never come out. And then everything in the outside world would go to hell.

Thinking of Misty’s scent, her warmth around his fingers, the taste of her when he’d touched his fingers to his lips, made him not care about the rest of the world. Let it go. Mating frenzy was more important, right?

He made himself turn away and leave her alone.

Graham didn’t blame Misty for fearing to dream. Still under the spell, he didn’t want to sleep either. He talked to Xav. He walked around the house on the outside, sticking to shadows. He checked the backyard; he checked on Misty and the cubs. Matt and Kyle were curled up on her feet, fast asleep, and Misty was breathing evenly, her face relaxed in slumber. Watching Misty lying there made Graham want to go curl himself up around her, but again, he closed the door and let her rest.

Graham watched Misty’s TV, running through the three hundred or so channels he didn’t get in Shiftertown. He looked through Misty’s DVD collection and her downloads after that. As he already knew, Misty liked chick flicks, each of which featured a pretty heroine who blundered into embarrassing situations, had wacky best friends or zany coworkers, and fell in love first with the wrong guy—the bad boy who broke her heart—and then the right one, the nice guy who’d been there all the time. Graham had argued with Misty that females in real life wouldn’t settle for the beta and would keep trying for the alpha, but Misty had rolled her eyes and told him he didn’t understand romance. Well no, he didn’t. Not the kind of romance in those movies, anyway.

But what the hell. Graham decided to give one a try, desperate to stay awake.

It was his downfall. On the heroine’s third fumbled conversation with the geeky-looking nice guy—who didn’t deserve to end up with her—Graham fell asleep.

He woke in the cave with the spring and the fountain.

“Shit.” Graham scrambled to his feet. His side throbbed, and he looked down to see blood soaking through his T-shirt.

“You’ll die of that.” The Fae didn’t enter with a bang; he was just there, when he hadn’t been a second before. He gestured to Graham’s wound. “You should tend it.”

He had the look of all Fae—tall, pointy eared, white haired. He was dressed in silver chain mail, with a sword at his side, as though ready to run off and do battle with something. Over the mail he wore a shimmering silver cloak draped across his shoulders.

Graham deliberately did not press his hand to his wound, as much as he wanted to. “You know why the Shifters rebelled from the Fae?” he asked. “Your crappy fashion sense. You’ve been wearing the same clothes for a thousand years.”

“Time moves differently in Faerie.”

“Good for Faerie. Who the hell are you, and why are you stalking me?”

“You may call me Oison.”

Not his real name, Graham knew. Fae had a thing about true names. “I don’t care about calling you anything,” Graham said. “Get the hell out of my dreams.”

“I can’t,” Oison said. “You have been chosen.”

Chosen. Fae loved to say crap like that. Anything dramatic. “So, un-choose me before I kick your sorry ass.”

“I cannot do that.”

Graham started toward him. Oison watched him come, unworried.

Stupid-ass Fae bastards. This Oison had hurt Misty, had tried to enslave her, and for that, he’d die.

The cave’s floor was slick like glass—no, it was polished obsidian. Graham slipped, the gunshot wound hurting him, but he refused to fall.

The fountain burbled incessantly. Fat vines snaked up the walls and across the floor, turning the rock cave into a jungle of flowers. The scent was thick. Graham thought of Misty’s small garden where the much sparser growth had smelled clean and sweet.