I listened. I couldn’t hear anything inside the house or out. I dared to hope that maybe they'd gone. But then … in the void of darkness, something went click downstairs … and then a metal sliding. Someone was pulling open one of the living room windows. They must have decided to abandon the tree.

  My heart pounding in my chest, I crawled as silently as I could into the hallway, feeling in front of me with my hands for the bag of reenactment gear Ray kept at the top of the stairs. My hand grasped something hard. A leather handle. Yes. Never again would I give Ray a hard time about being a Dungeons & Dragons freak.

  I heard a thud from downstairs. Any second now, the burglars could come up to the bedrooms. I fumbled with the bag, pushing aside leather gauntlets, foam swords, and an elven cloak, before my hand clasped the hilt of a long, heavy sword. I lifted it from the bag, pulled off the leather scabbard, and held it in front of me the way I'd seen Ray do it; both hands clasped on the hilt beside my hip, with the tip pointing upward toward my invisible opponent's face. The blade was blunt – designed for reenactment – but it would still cause a great deal of pain. I pressed my back against the wall, my eyes on the dark stairwell, while Miss Havisham circled around my feet.

  Now what? Did I wait up here for them to come up the stairs and around the corner, or did I go downstairs and make the first move? I saw a light flickering from the stairwell, and heard a glass shatter in the kitchen. A man swore.

  They certainly weren't being subtle. If they came up here in the dark, would I be able to hit them? Or would they – with their superior breaking-and-entering skills – simply overpower me? Would I be better to take them by surprise downstairs, where I might have a better shot at making the door if I got into trouble?

  Miss Havisham, using cat logic to discern that anyone banging around in the kitchen in the middle of the night was obviously there to bring her a second dinner, bounded down the stairs. Right then, I guess I'm going down. Thank you, kitty.

  I pressed my back against the wall and slid, inch after terrified inch, around the corner down the narrow staircase, the sword pointed across my body and the point at eye level for anyone trying to climb up. I heard cupboard doors being slammed, packages torn open, things being smashed against the floor.

  And I heard something else … a low, mean growl. What? Did they bring a dog, too? This was just looking worse and worse.

  No turning back now. I paused at the bottom of the stairs, the sword point peeking out into the front hall. I could hear footsteps in the living room, heavy breathing as someone rifled through the couch cushions. I needed to peek around the corner and see what was happening so that I could plan my move. I sucked in a breath, and stretched my neck out, straining to see around the corner without moving from my spot.

  A tall man with jet-black hair that hung down to his shoulders, framing a gaunt, bony face and long hooked nose, bent over my coffee table, sifting through the empty crisp packets and trashy magazines obscuring the surface. His brow furrowed in concentration as he picked up each magazine or piece of trash and shook it, watching to see if something fell out. He tossed the empty ice cream tub into the corner in disgust. Before I could stop her, Miss Havisham raced from the stairs after it, mewling with delight.

  The black-haired man looked up, and recoiled in disgust when he saw the cat streak across the floor in front of him. He backed around the other side of the sofa, closer to me, as he sought to put some distance between himself and Miss Havisham, who was oblivious to his presence as she tried to hook the ice cream tub out from under the tea trolley with her paw. The man made a clicking noise with his throat, almost like a bird in distress.

  This man broke into our flat while we were still inside, and he’s afraid of a cat?

  Another man walked into the room from the kitchen, holding a raw chicken drumstick in his hand. He had sandy hair with a slight reddish tinge, and although he was shorter than his fellow felon, he was broader across the shoulders, his athletic frame completely blocking the kitchen doorway. He wore a tight black t-shirt that showed off every curve of his toned chest. His facial features seemed vaguely familiar, but I didn’t usually associate with raw-food criminals, so I couldn’t think where I might’ve seen him before.

  The sandy-haired man kicked at a magazine on the ground. "What are you reading those for? The paintings aren’t here. They’re too heavy for the girl to move upstairs on her own. I reckon she’s hidden them somewhere else.”

  “But we traced them back here!”

  “She might have tricked us. I've watched the girl – she's not an idiot."

  The black-haired man held up the cover of a Cosmo magazine, and punched the page. "Are you sure about that, Marcus? This is what's she's reading."

  The man in the kitchen – Marcus – took a bite out of the chicken leg … just tore a chunk of raw chicken off with his teeth, and chewed on it, smacking his lips together loudly. What was going on here?

  "You're disgusting." The man named Edgar scowled. No arguments there.

  "You're just jealous that you didn't find the freezer first," Marcus smirked, as he took another bite. "Shall we?" He gestured to the window.

  "We haven't got what we came here for." Edgar frowned. "She'll have them under her bed or something. We should look there."

  "Look at that staircase,” Marcus gestured. I yanked my head back as the black-haired man’s head swung around, then peered out again as his gaze moved past my hiding spot. “She wouldn’t be able to fit them up the stairs without damaging them. They’re priceless paintings. Isengrim is wrong; she’d have locked them up somewhere safe. This whole evening is a waste of our time. We've achieved what we came for. The place is a mess. She's going to know that it's important for her to stay away from the young Raynard. If you want to really ensure she gets the message, we could kill the cat and write something atrocious like ‘stay away from Ryan Raynard' on the wall in its blood."

  "Please?" Edgar squawked, raising his hands and curling his fingers in the air. I saw he wore black nail polish on his long nails, each one sharpened to a point, like talons. I tightened my grip on the sword. They aren't going to touch my kitty. Not if I have anything to say about it. And why are they talking about Ryan as if they know him?

  "I'm not touching it," Marcus growled, the words coming from deep in his throat. He tossed the chicken leg into the corner. Miss Havisham leapt on it, and began licking at the frozen meat. Marcus lifted his chin and sniffed deeply, screwing up his face in a grotesque expression. "It's a cat. Its smell is repugnant—"

  His words were cut off abruptly when a giant fox – at least the size of a large dog – leapt in through the open window and sank his teeth into Marcus' leg.

  What the—

  I jumped so high, I banged my head on the top of the stairs, and nearly dropped my sword.

  "Yeeow!" Marcus cried, as the force of the attack sent him flying against the wall. He grabbed the fox around the neck and tried to pull it off his leg, but the animal hung on tenaciously, shaking Marcus' leg as it dug its teeth in deeper. It was the largest fox I'd ever seen, its fine red coat shining in the dim light as it fought to keep its grip on the intruder, splattering blood across the linoleum. Its long, bushy tail lashed back and forth, knocking a stack of CDs and Kylie's decorated plate collection off the top of the cabinet. I don't know what had compelled it to jump into the house like that, but I wasn't going to waste this chance.

  I hope it's not the rabid fox that's been biting people in the forest …

  Not stopping to contemplate that thought further, I sprung from behind the stairs and rushed at Edgar, holding my sword out in front of me, point aimed at his face. He turned toward me and held up his hands, his face wide with shock. I didn't falter. My blade collided with his face, hitting him in the cheekbone with all the force of my body behind it. He spun and collapsed against the sofa.

  I lifted the blunt blade above my head, and brought it down as hard as I could on his back. I heard it crunch as it connected with bone, and he cried out and thrashed out his arms. "Get out of my house!" I screamed. "And don't you dare touch my cat!"

  I raised the sword to hit him again, but when I brought it down, the man seemed to shrink back into his clothes, his arms and legs fading into nothing, leaving only empty jeans and his black t-shirt draped over the cushions.

  Now I knew that wasn't normal. What was going on?

  I picked up the corner of the t-shirt, but there was nothing underneath except air. Edgar was gone. Somewhere in my house was a naked intruder, probably on his way to my bedroom. The thought made me shudder. I whirled around, but couldn't see or hear anyone on the stairs.

  Where had he gone? How did he do that?

  I kicked the jeans to the ground. A big black raven flew out of them. I screamed, dropping the broadsword and closing my hands to catch the bird as it came at me. It squawked angrily as it landed on my fingers, wings flapping madly as it clawed at my skin, trying to get through my hands to peck out my eyeballs. Its sharp talons dug into the palm of my hand.

  "Argh!" I spun around, slamming the bird against the wall. It let go of my hand and dropped to the floor, dazed. I kicked at it, but it skittered out of the way, hopped through the living room and dived for the open window.

  The bird now taken care of, I turned – clutching my injured, bleeding hand – to the man and fox crashing around the kitchen. But the man was no longer there. In his place, a giant, sandy-coloured fox fought against the other reddish one. On the floor between them lay the black t-shirt and jeans the sandy-haired intruder had worn.

  Okay, now this is out of control.

  Plates crashed from the shelves as the red fox slammed the other against the oven, baring its teeth and snarling menacingly. The sandy one snapped back, raising a paw and swiping at his opponent’s face, leaving a shallow scratch across the red fox's cheek. The red fox went for the neck, but a roasting dish slipped from the top of the oven and clattered on its head, momentarily dazing it.

  Sensing its chance, the sandy fox slipped under the red fox's grip and dived for the window. The red fox sped after it, snapping at its hind legs, but the red fox was still a little dazed, and the sandy fox scrambled free. The red fox turned to me, its large brown eyes giving me a look that said, "I'm sorry," and then it too leapt through the window.

  Kylie came running down the stairs. "What happened?" she cried, casting her eyes around the mess. "I heard crashing and voices—"

  "Shut the window!" I cried as I yanked open the front door and ran – barefoot, wearing only my ex-boyfriend's band t-shirt – into the night. My feet stung as they hit the cold concrete of our front walk, and my heart pounded against my chest as I pumped my arms and tried to pour on enough speed to catch up to the foxes. They ran down the centre of the deserted street, their lithe bodies silhouetted in the moonlight. Down the road, the red fox chased the sandy fox, leaping and snarling at its heels, at each step only inches from taking a bite.

  Are they rabid? Please don't let them be rabid.

  As they reached the end of the cul-de-sac, the sandy fox turned and faced its foe, pulling back its lips and baring its teeth as it snarled, deep and vicious. The red fox moved between the sandy fox and me, holding its ground, staring down the enemy. The sandy fox snarled again, and I raised my hands to my face, ready to turn and run if it became a bloodbath. But then, the sandy fox turned and stalked off down a driveway, into the forest.

  The red fox darted to the edge of the driveway, barking after its sandy-furred foe. Not wanting to be seen by a creature that might have rabies, I ducked into the nearest yard and peered through a bush, feeling in my gut that if I stayed close, I'd get to the bottom of this strange night.

  As I stood behind the bush and watched, the giant red fox stared up at the moon, and barked once. At first, I thought I was imagining its snout decreasing, its hind legs lengthening, its tail shrinking back into its body. But then, as I watched in awe, the creature rose up on two legs, its torso stretching and reshaping and becoming something new. In a matter of seconds, there was no longer a fox standing in the centre of the cul-de-sac, but a tall, naked man with wavy red hair.

  A man I recognised.

  "Ryan Raynard?"

  I clamped my hands over my mouth, but it was too late. He turned toward my voice, his face a mixture of fear and anger. It was no good hiding from him. I stepped out from behind the bush, and took a tentative step toward the very muscled, very tense, very naked figure of Ryan Raynard, his red hair almost glowing under the moonlight. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly.

  "You saw," he said. It wasn't a question.

  7

  Ryan

  Alexandra Kline stared at me, her beautiful eyes wide with shock and awe. I didn’t blame her. I’d have stared at someone the same way if I’d just seen them transform from a fox into a human.

  Dammit, so close.

  I should have guessed she’d follow me. From what little I knew about this woman, she was clearly not above rushing headfirst into potentially harmful situations, like confronting her most prestigious artist when he was being a prick, and rushing Edgar with that sword … I mean, where had she got a sword from? She was certainly an intriguing woman—

  Stop it. My body thrummed with energy, the pull of our connection threatening to overwhelm me. I tried to tear my eyes away from Alexandra, to break the spell she had over me, but I found myself at a loss. Those wide, brown eyes, those red, kissable lips …

  A strand of her hair fell over her face, and my fingers itched to brush it away, to make that first skin-on-skin contact that would pull us both under. But I had to resist. Alexandra was a complication, yes, but I wouldn’t allow myself to get distracted with another woman. Not again, and especially not now.

  It was better to be alone. That way, no one else got hurt. And looking at that stunning woman cowering behind the rosebush, I wanted nothing more than to protect her from pain, even if that meant protecting her from me.

  Which meant that right now I had to come up with an explanation for why I was standing out here, stark naked.

  "What's going on, Ryan?” Alexandra’s head stuck out from behind a bush. Her eyes flashed. “What are you doing here? Why were there men and animals in my house? How did you …?" She left the question hanging, unable to articulate just what she’d just seen. She lowered her gaze, staring intently at the neighbour's rose bushes.

  Go on, Ms. Kline. Ask me how I transformed from a red fox into a naked man. Ask me what I was doing in your house.

  I sighed. I’d give her one last chance to enable her to go back to her life without getting caught up in this mess. If she was smart, she’d take it.

  “I go for walks at night sometimes around Crookshollow," I said lamely. "I gather inspiration for my paintings while I'm unlikely to meet tourists or art groupies along the paths. I happened to be walking past your house when I saw those men enter, and I thought I'd better try to help. I didn't even realise it was your house, Alexandra. Unfortunately, by the time I had run into the street and called the police, that fox had chased them away."

  I knew from the way she shuffled her foot against the dirt that she didn’t believe me. I couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t a particularly good excuse. But she could take it and turn away and that would be the end of everything.

  "Call me Alex. The police aren't coming, are they, Ryan?" She took a step backward, then another, her eyes making a subtle jerk back down the street. Her muscles tensed. Any moment now she would bolt back toward her flat.

  I shook my head. “I knew you wouldn’t fall for that story.”

  Alex took another step backward. "It was a pretty dumb story. I need a real answer. Why are you naked, Ryan? Do you just wander around the neighbourhood starkers?" She folded her arms across her stunning breasts. "I've met some pretty eccentric artists at Halt, but this really takes the prize."

  I switched tactics, settling on wheedling. "Alex, please … I promise I'll explain everything, but could we do it inside?"

  "You want to come inside my house? After you show up here naked and … whatever you are. How do I know you aren't some kind of creepy stalker?"

  I smirked, opening my arms wide. "If I was a creepy stalker, where would I keep my long-range camera? My night-vision goggles?"

  "I can suggest a place," she shot back. I grinned despite myself. Damn, this woman was going to be tough to forget.

  "Please, Alex. Let me sit down inside and I'll explain."

  "Could you maybe … put your pants back on first?"

  “Are you sure about that?” I grinned. Immediately, I snapped the grin off my face. Why was I flirting with her? I didn’t want to flirt with her. That had just slipped out.

  Shit. This was going to be harder than I thought.

  Her voice came out hard. “Oh yes. I’m sure.”

  Good, at least one of us knew we were a bad idea. I knew I definitely deserved her derision. I had treated her like crap back at the Hall, and now, thanks to me, Marcus and Edgar had trashed her apartment. "As you wish."

  She turned away from me and started walking back toward the flat, watching me over her shoulder. Luckily, we’d stopped near one of my caches. I walked over to the house at the end of the street, and pulled a bundle wrapped in plastic out of their bushes. I could feel Alex’s eyes on me as I unwrapped a complete change of clothes, including underwear, jeans, a blue shirt, and a pair of Italian shoes.

  Slowly, deliberately, I pulled everything on, angling my body so she couldn’t see my crotch. My cock wasn’t behaving. I was desperate to forget this woman, and it was throbbing against my leg. Just knowing Alex was watching me was already turning me on. We hadn’t even touched, and the connection shot through my body like an electrical socket. I’d need a cold shower before the night was through.

 

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