Trilogy

by Vee Horning

Part 1

No More Need to Hide

Chapter 1

He claimed her with the right of a conqueror, self-assured and triumphant. Her body was his to command, however he pleased. His hands explored every inch of her submissive frame. His mouth feasted upon her, hungrily. His manhood probed deep, taking possession of all that belonged to him. She was his now. His victorious roar echoed throughout the chamber as his torrent surged within her, lifting her into blinding insensibility.

Catherine sat up, flinging aside the satin sheet, soaked with sweat. Rising from the hazy mist between sleeping and waking, she felt strangely lightheaded and dizzy. The dream. She thought. That dream again. Shaking her head, she reached for the alarm clock on the bedside table. 3:47am. Exactly like last night. I can’t stand it. God, please, don’t do this to me every night. She pushed herself up from the bed and running a hand through her damp hair, padded into the bathroom. No way am I getting any more sleep tonight. Might as well take a shower and do some more work on that Taylor brief.

Far below, in his darkened chamber, Vincent paced back and forth, retracing the time-worn pattern of the carpet. Through the bond connecting them, he knew she was awake now and safe. But the knowledge had no comfort for him. A storm of emotions raged within him. In the past, he had often witnessed her more powerful dreams. Beautiful dreams. Some with vague blurry images of her mother smiling down at the child she used to be. This was different. This was much, much worse.

After the ‘Lisa incident’, he had developed an involuntary habit of moderating his innate need for physical contact. Since Catherine came into his life, he had become even more meticulously diligent, always camouflaging his growing desire with chaste embraces. Vincent had always believed that, as much as she loved him, she never thought of him in sexual terms. Further, he had firmly convinced himself she would be appalled if she knew of his hunger for her.

Now, the vivid erotic images of the dream and the feelings they evoked within him threatened that carefully maintained façade. The passion coursing through their bond was growing stronger with each passing day. He could no longer deceive himself into believing theirs was only a spiritual connection, pure and virtuous.

Suddenly the ceiling above his head felt too low, the walls too close and confining. Losing his struggle to control the rising tide of his emotions, Vincent hurriedly dressed then left the chamber. Thanks to the early hour, he found it was easy to avoid the few community members still awake. The moment his foot fell beyond the ring of the main living quarters, he broke into a frenzied blind run.

Sentries hidden behind granite walls took note as he sprinted past, his face streaked with sweat, his cloak billowing behind him like the dark wings of a bat. As soon as Pascal piped the notation of the six o’clock hour, a runner delivered a dispatch to the patriarch of the tunnels.

**************

Coming home late that night Catherine was surprised by an envelope taped to her apartment door. Dropping her briefcase and purse at her feet, she snatched it open, finding two neatly folded notes. The first was in Father’s hurried doctor’s scrawl.

Her hands shook as she unfolded the second note instantly recognizing Vincent’s elegant calligraphic handwriting

Bewildered, Catherine reread both notes. Questions swirled about in her mind.

Father said he left unannounced that morning. Maybe he didn’t want to disturb him that early, but why didn’t he at least take food and supplies with him? Her analytical legal mind concluded that Vincent had undoubtedly left the home tunnels on the spur of the moment, unprepared for an extended journey. Why? His note specifically said he had not lost himself. Something must have happened to drive him away from home.

Suddenly aware that she was still standing in the hallway, she retrieved her apartment key from her purse and shouldered the door open. The letters and envelope still clutched in her hand, she kicked her briefcase into the room ahead of her, stepped inside, and then slammed the door shut. Leaving the briefcase where it lay, she crossed the room and dropped onto the loveseat.

His note said he needed to discuss something. Why hadn’t he just come to me? He’s come to the balcony in the middle of the night before. We haven’t seen each other since Sunday night but that’s not unusual. Nothing upsetting happened over the weekend. Whatever it is, it had to have happened during the night.

"My dream! Damn it! He must have felt that damn dream."

Although she had not mastered his skill of manipulating their bond, she closed her eyes and struggled to reach out to him. Unable to feel anything, she couldn’t stop her rush of anger. So I dreamt of making love with you. So what? You can’t expect me to control unconscious dreams. Do you think I can turn my love on and off with the bloody light switch? Furious, Catherine changed into running clothes and spent the last daylight hour racing around Central Park.

**************

Approaching the hub just after 9 am Saturday morning, Vincent opened the bond he’d kept tightly clamped for two days. Momentarily stunned to sense her Below so soon, he quickened his pace, listening as the sentries announced his return over the pipes. After depositing his camping gear in a storeroom near the kitchen, Vincent headed directly to the study, in part out of respect for his father and in part, to stall for more time before seeing her again.

"Hello, Father."

"Vincent! Thank heavens you’re back! Are you all right? I’m really annoyed with you, I must say."

"I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to worry you."

"But that you have. To disappear so suddenly, in the middle of the night, without a word."

"Mouse gave you the message I left, didn’t he?"

"That note only made matters worse. Vincent, what on earth could you have been thinking?"

"Father, please. Chastise me another time, not now."

Father’s anger evaporated as he looked more closely at his son’s drawn expression. Rising from his chair, he rounded the desk and reached up to place a physician’s hand on Vincent’s forehead. "Son, sit down. Your note said you were well but now I have to wonder. You look as if you haven’t slept at all. Tell me. What’s happened?"

Shaking his head, Vincent took his father’s hand in his. "I’m all right. Nothing has happened, Father. Not yet. I must speak with Catherine. Do you know where she is?"

"I believe she is still sequestered in your chamber. The poor girl has been there since yesterday afternoon. Joe Something-or-other made her take an early weekend."

Vincent turned to climb the stairs but stopped in mid-step. Without turning to face his father, he allowed his distress to surface when he spoke. "Father. Please stay close."

Before Father could respond, Vincent disappeared into the corridor leading to his chamber toward possibly the most difficult conversation they would ever have.

Taking a moment to order his thoughts Vincent stepped into the dimly lit room. Catherine sat on his bed with several pillows supporting her back and a shawl draped loosely around her shoulders. A book lay open in her lap. When she looked up at him, he saw something in her green eyes that sent a shudder down his spine. Shaking it off, he tossed his empty pack in a corner and laid his cloak on the foot of the bed.

"Good Morning, Catherine."

She sat very still, watching him. Her voice was soft and strained. "Are you all right?"

"I am not ill, if that’s what you mean."

Dropping heavily into his throne-like chair, Vincent raised a hand to his eyes, distractedly rubbing them. Although he had grown up in this chamber, he felt oddly out of place now, as though he were intruding somehow. "Catherine, we must talk."

She had learned to dread those words. She decided to face whatever was going to happen head on. "About the dreams I’ve been having about us?"

Vincent looked up, startled.

A brief smile touched her face but faded quickly. "I’m an attorney, Vincent. I’m trained in the art of deductive reasoning. Why else would you have left the home tunnels that night, without a word to anyone?"

"I suppose I should have spoken to Father first. But I...wasn’t thinking clearly."

"So I’m right? You did sense my dream through our bond? And it disturbed you?"

"To say the least."

"So that’s why you sent for me? To talk about my fantasies?"

Pushing himself to his feet, he crossed the room to stand in front of his large maple armoire. Bracing both hands against the carvings, he leaned into it. Instinctively, she rose from the bed and stepped closer to him.

"Please, Catherine. Don’t touch me." Since entering, he hadn’t been certain if the thick air of apprehension within the chamber was the result of his own emotions or a combination of hers mixed with his. However, at that instant, the sensation of a slashing knife wound undoubtedly came from her. Before she could draw another breath, he spun around and gently pulled her into his arms. "Forgive me, Catherine. I didn’t mean to say that so harshly."

She pushed against his chest, forcing him to release her. Looking up, she took a bit of pleasure at the shocked expression on his face. "No, Vincent. I’m not going to cry. While I was waiting for you to come home, I made up my mind. No matter what you say, or what you do to us. I will not cry."

Staring down at her, he saw it again. The shadowy something that sent the chill through him when he first arrived. Consumed by his own state of mind, he hadn’t recognized it then. Now he clearly saw the fire in her eyes. Catherine was furious.

"I only meant...there are things I must tell you. Difficult things that I can not say if you embrace me."

"All right. Say them then." Without turning, Catherine stepped back to reclaim her seat on the bed. "But before you do, know this, Vincent. I refuse to apologize for loving you. Or for wanting you."

In spite of the icy finger running down his spine again, he felt a strong sense of pride. Standing before her with his hands at his sides, palms turned outward, the thought of his unarmed posture brought a smile to his face.

"Catherine, you are magnificent. I have no words to explain how very much you mean to me."

Ignoring her frown, he settled into his throne-chair again. This time he leaned toward her, resting his arms on his thighs while he clasped his hands together between his knees.

"I started this badly. Please, let me begin again. First, there is no need for you to apologize to me, for anything. I’m the one who must beg your forgiveness, Catherine. I have to admit that...I am guilty of a hideous offence against you."

He rose to his feet again, and began to pace circles around the room. "I have to tell you that for some time now, I have used our bond to...perhaps trespass is the best word for what I’ve done. I’ve trespassed on your private thoughts and feelings. Not only to ensure myself of your well-being, but also to experience the sense of having you near."

"Vincent, I’ve always known..."

"Please. Let me finish. It is very difficult to confess this...assault." Finally, he stopped pacing to lean onto his desk and dropped his head, hiding his face within a cloud of golden hair. His voice was now a tortured whisper. "Catherine, the dreams you’ve had, about us. The truth is...the truth is the dreams are not yours. They are mine."

Catherine didn’t realize she had been holding her breath. The bed seemed to fade away and the room began to spin around her.

"Forgive me, Catherine, please. I am so sorry and so very ashamed of what I’ve done to you. You see, most of the time, when the dreams come to me, I wake before...well, before anything happens. But twice now, I found myself trapped, unable to escape. Things...progress in the dream. Progress to the point of overpowering me and I can’t find my way out. I feel myself reach out to you, through the bond, but I can’t stop, Catherine. I can’t pull back. It’s only when I...when my...hunger is...quenched, only then will the dream release me. That’s when I realized that I’ve pulled you into the dream with me. Catherine, I feel your feelings when you awaken. Your confusion and frustration. I know what I’ve done to you. I feel such shame. I feel that I have...violated you. Oh, Catherine, please, please forgive me. Please don’t be angry with me any longer. Catherine!"

Turning toward her, he couldn’t prevent his roaring call that echoed through the chamber as he leapt across the room to catch her just before her limp body hit the floor.

Chapter Two

Catherine opened her eyes to Mary sitting on the bed beside her, gently dabbing her brow with a damp cloth. Looking around the chamber, she found Vincent backed into the dark corner nearest the foot of the bed, his face a stone mask. Standing beside him, Father looked as though he were holding him up.

"There, you see, Vincent? She’s coming around now. How do you feel, Catherine?"

"I’m...not sure. What happened?"

She tried to sit up but Mary’s hand on her shoulder easily restrained her. "As often happens when someone doesn’t eat or sleep for two days, you fainted, child." Mary stood up and lifting the water basin from the bedside table, looked down at her with a motherly frown.

"Now, you stay right where you are, young lady. You need to rest and have something to eat. I’ll go fetch some of that good vegetable soup William made for lunch. Vincent, you come with me. We’ll let Father take a good look at her."

Vincent didn’t move. With his gaze locked upon Catherine, his expression was unreadable. Father gently touched him on the arm. "Vincent? I will take a quick look at her, just to be sure. But you know Mary is usually right about such things, son."

"I’m fine now, Vincent. I promise."

Mary handed Vincent the water basin and lovingly but firmly turned him toward the door. "There, you see? Now come, dear. She’ll feel right as rain after she’s eaten."

Vincent finally relented and followed Mary out of the chamber. Father performed a cursory examination and once satisfied, the physician transformed into the caring father.

"Once again, Mary has hit the mark. But if there are any more dizzy spells, you are to send for me immediately, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. Right away. Thank you, Father."

"Good. Now, Catherine. I will not ask what has happened between you and Vincent. I’m sure I’ll only get the same non-answer I got from him. I do know, however, that something has frightened him into believing he’s about to lose you. Whatever is wrong, Catherine, I must tell you. I’ve come to believe that, should the worst happen, some part of him would wither and die without you. I hope you know that.

"Now, in the past, I think I may have been...perhaps misguided, shall we say? But if there is anything I can do now, for either of you, I hope you know you can come to me."

Catherine couldn’t help herself. She sat up and kissed him on the cheek. The instant he closed his arms around her in a fatherly embrace, her tears began to fall. "Oh, Father. You can’t know how much I’ve needed to hear you say that. I just don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to make him see how very wrong he is, about a lot of things."

"All I can tell you now, dear, is to rely on the extraordinary connection you share. Remind him that the answers he seeks lies there. Whatever is possible between you, you must move cautiously and trust the voice of your hearts."

Vincent returned shortly thereafter with a tray of soup and sandwiches. Father ordered Catherine to eat every bite and to stay in bed the rest of the afternoon. After placing a kiss on his son’s forehead, he excused himself, leaving them to share lunch alone.

They ate in silence, Vincent watching her closely but refusing to meet her eyes. When Catherine had obediently finished her lunch, he removed the tray from her lap and turned to place it on the table in the center of the room when her voice halted his steps.

"Vincent, would you please do something for me?"

"Of course, Catherine. Anything."

Patting the quilt, she inched over to make room on the bed beside her. "First of all, please sit down here."

Putting the tray down, he hesitantly returned to her and sat down, keeping his eyes averted. She placed a hand along his jaw line and fought to keep her voice low and steady. "Please look at me."

His hair fluttered about his face as he shook his head. "I...I can’t, Catherine. What I’ve done to you...shames us both."

"All right then, use our bond, Vincent. You know everything I feel, if you try. Look at my heart and tell me what you find. Do you think I feel violated?"

He shook his head slowly.

"Do I feel ashamed or disgusted?"

Again, only a shake of the head.

"Vincent, please answer me. What does our bond tell you? Is there anything like disgust or even revulsion within me?"

Almost imperceptibly, his cheek leaned into her hand. "No."

"Vincent, am I in love?"

Slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet hers. She sat very still, giving him time to search their bond as deeply as he needed. Large teardrops pooled in his eyes and spilled individually onto his bronze skin. She allowed only the movement of a thumb, brushing aside one droplet. "Answer me. Am I in love?" she repeated.

"Yes."

"With you?"

Another searching moment. At last, he closed his eyes and heaved a deep sigh of acceptance. "Yes."

"Don’t you see, my love? All the doubts are yours. Not mine. All the fears and questions are within you, Vincent. They are not inside me. Once you accept that as our first truth, you won’t be ashamed of what you feel for me. You’ll begin to see your dreams as possibilities. Can’t you try to believe that?"

Drained of all strength, Vincent leaned forward into her shoulder. She gently urged him to lie down beside her, guiding his head to rest in her lap. Settling into her, he placed both arms around her hips and timidly positioned one leg over hers. Although his voice sounded muffled against her thigh, she clearly heard his anguish.

"Oh, Catherine. I need to believe you. Please help me. I can’t go on like this. There is so much inside me. You are so much more than I can explain, Beloved. I need to feel free to love you. In every way possible. Even so, I’m afraid, Catherine. I’m so afraid of what I am. Of the power within me. If I ever hurt you, my beloved, it would destroy me. I can not live without you but I’m so afraid. Help me, Catherine. Please. Help me."

He wept freely, now. She didn’t try to stop his tears. He needed to rid himself of the poisoning guilt. She gently stroked his hair and as much of his back as she could reach. When Father appeared in the doorway, summoned by the sounds of Vincent’s sobs, Catherine held up a hand and firmly shook her head denying him entry. Father took a step forward and Catherine raised both hands pressing her palms together in a desperate plea, her eyes silently begging him not to interfere. Indecisively, Father moved back into the shadows, waited a moment then turned and made his way slowly back down the corridor toward his study, limping and praying with each step. Chapter Three

Vincent refused to open his eyes but growled softly at the spiteful thing forcing him to rise out of the warmth and safety of blissful sleep. Irritated, he searched within to identify the rude thing waking him and found his internal clock. It nudged him again, repeating that was nearly the dinner hour, insisting that The Family did not expect him to wallow in bed the entire day. Resigned, he opened his eyes to find Catherine in bed beside him.

Her head rested on his arm outstretched on the pillow. His free arm held her around her mid-section and her back snuggled comfortably against his chest and belly. Their legs nested together in a manner that allowed his thighs full contact with hers.

Initially horrified at the possessive way he held her close to him, he automatically searched the bond for any hint of unease. More than a little surprised by Catherine’s contented slumber, Vincent remembered her assurance that all his doubts were his alone. The tenderness and sincerity of her words soothed him, and his initial alarm vanished. Catherine slept peacefully in his arms, in his bed. And by some miracle, it was all right.

Vincent knew what he should do, but he could not bring himself to wake her. Instead, he gave himself permission to indulge in deliberate avarice. He intended to experience this tender opportunity with the fullest possible acuity.

Closing his eyes and parting his lips, he inhaled deeply, drawing air into his mouth as if he were drawing liquid through a straw. Not even Father knew he had the ability to taste scent. Normally, he reserved the action for walks in the park on a rainy night or his most favorite foods. Aside from being further evidence of his different-ness, it was simply too complicated to explain.

Never allowing himself such an extremely intimate act with Catherine before, Vincent held her scent on his tongue for some moments, examining every nuance, every subtle flavor of her sexual condition and receptivity. The result was wholly beyond description and he was unaware of the purring rumble deep in his chest. His heart raced, and then, abruptly, skipped a beat. Shaken, he exhaled, incapable of holding her inside him any longer. It was several minutes before conscious thought returned to him. Rechecking the bond to be sure Catherine still slept undisturbed; he decided to venture on, promising himself not to be quite so reckless from that point on.

Clearing his mind, he focused on the calm serenity of her heartbeat against his chest and the steady in-and-out motion of her breathing. Much more familiar and soothing, he lingered there letting his pulse slow to match hers. This, he had done many, many times before.

This wasn’t shameful or scandalous. This was life. This was as it should be. His existence beating in time with hers. The passage of time reasserted itself again and he shifted his attention lower. Shyly, he examined the sensation of her buttocks cradled against his groin and her thighs cuddled snugly against his.

Catherine’s bottom was subtly warmer than the rest of her body, the variance transmitting easily through his heavy jeans. Her sinuous curves and the firm athletic muscles of her thighs proved entirely too much for his control. Evidence of arousal began to strain against his zipper. He had no choice but to pull away from her, quickly, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

"Vincent?"

"I’m...I’m here, Catherine."

Catherine sat up, rubbed her eyes and then, automatically, reached out to caress his back. "Oh, crap, I fell asleep, didn’t I? I’m sorry Vincent."

"No, Beloved. It’s all right. I slept too."

"What time is it?"

"Late. Nearly dinnertime."

"We slept all afternoon? Mary will be pleased."

Suddenly Catherine realized he hadn’t turned to face her. The muscles in his back trembled beneath her hand and his voice sounded hoarse and strained. "You’re not feeling any better, are you?"

"Yes, Catherine. I’m all right."

She rose up to kneel behind him and peeked around his shoulder. Embarrassed, he turned his face from her. That told her what she needed to know.

"No, you’re not. Vincent, please don’t try to lie to me. You’re still feeling guilty. You can’t even bring yourself to look at me."

"No, Beloved. You’re wrong." Stiffly, he stood up pulling his shirttail out of his waistband to cover his indiscretion. Crossing the carpet to his big chair, he angled it to face toward but not directly in front of her and sat down, drawing one foot up and onto the opposite knee. Satisfied that he’d gotten away with his deception, he made a point to look her in the eye. "It always takes a moment or two for me to fully wake up. I’m afraid I’m not very sociable at first."

Catherine sat very still, studying him. Finally, she made a strange face, stood up front of him and held out her hand. "I’m sorry, sir. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. My name is Catherine Chandler and I make my living knowing when someone is hiding something."

In spite of his embarrassing situation, Vincent couldn’t resist laughing out loud. Answering his laughter with her own, she stepped forward to sit on his lap. Gently but firmly, he caught her hips with both hands, stopping her approach.

"Forgive me, Beloved. I find myself in a rather...compromising condition at the moment. I will explain but right now, I would much prefer you sit there. Please." He hooked the leg of a smaller chair with his foot and drew it closer. Bodily turning her away from him, he made the indication clear. As she took her seat, her confused expression made him shake his head.

"No, Catherine. It’s not what you think, I did not lie to you. Well, not exactly. I do feel better about...my dreams. Please believe that. Although I’m not quite sure what to do about them. How to lessen their affects... for either of us."

"I have an idea, Vincent."

Such overt flirtation would have unnerved him only a short week before. Now, her teasing delighted him. Noting that titanic change, Vincent answered with a suggestive smile. "No doubt I should have to rely on your wisdom, My Beloved, when the time comes. But, with apologies, I am not eager for that particular conversation just yet."

"Okay, okay. I’ll behave. We were talking about a condition you have." When did he start calling me Beloved? I like that. I like that a lot.

"Yes. I promised an explanation for my behavior. The condition I mentioned is not quite as...critical now as it was a moment ago. You see, Catherine, you were sleeping in my arms, so warm and beautiful. And I felt...well, I became..."

She held up a hand and nodded. "It’s okay, Vincent, I understand. This has happened to you before. I’ve never said anything about it because I know how upset you can get. I swear to you, it really is okay. In fact, I find it immensely gratifying. And, in case you didn’t know, I share the same feelings that cause your...situation."

Relieved, he closed his eyes, let his head fall back against the chair, and sighed heavily.

All the gods in all the heavens, thank you. "Thank you, Beloved. You will never understand the gift you’ve just given me."

"Are you...all right now? Do you need a minute? I can go down..."

"No, don’t go. I do not want to send you away from me. Not now."

"Okay, love. I won’t go. Do you want to talk about this?"

"Yes. I think I can tell you almost anything now. I’m just not sure if we should begin that discussion right now. Father and the others will be expecting us for dinner."

A flash of disappointment in her eyes mirrored his regret. "I know, Beloved. Now that we’re free to talk about these issues openly, I don’t want the moment to pass by either. I did leave rather abruptly the other night. I feel obligated to at least share the dinner hour with them."

Catherine shrugged her shoulders, stood up and extended her hand to him.

"Okay, I’ll go with you. But only if you promise not to feel obligated to a chess match with Father. I’m feeling too selfish to wait that long to be alone with you again."

Vincent rose to his feet and pulled her up into his arms. Content to melt into his broad chest, Catherine was stunned when he lifted her chin and stared at the line of her lips. His gaze shifted to meet her eyes. "Speaking of selfishness."

She read the longing in his eyes and heard the question in his voice. Oh, lord, Vincent. Yes, yes. Wrapping both arms around his waist, she pressed a spot low in the center of his back, praying he would find her answer in her touch, and within their bond. His expression changed. His eyes were no longer questioning yet not quite confident. He pulled her closer into him. Beloved, precious one. She felt a quivering pulsation against her belly. She knew he was about to release her before his erection could reassert itself.

Standing on her toes, she put her arms around his neck and urged him downward. Please, Vincent. Oh, please. His head tilted to one side and she closed her eyes and held her breath. His mouth descended, tentatively brushing hers. Her lips parted of their own volition. His tongue, rougher and drier than she’d expected, ventured forward to trace the outline of her lips. An involuntarily moan escaped her then and he froze.

He didn’t retreat nor did he advance. His mouth was still upon hers, his tongue still touching her lower lip. He held her body tightly against him and she realized he was holding his breath. Catherine parted her lips a bit more and felt him jump when her tongue met his. In that moment, he took complete control.

With a low reverberating rumble from deep within his chest, Vincent lifted her off her feet, took three large steps forward, and before she knew it, deposited her on his bed, at right angles to the headboard. The full weight of his body pinned her beneath him. His mouth never left hers as he held her face between his hands. Catherine responded to his passion with her own, her fingers burrowing under his full mane to find the nape of his neck.

NO! He didn’t want her to touch him. He didn’t want to be distracted. Reaching up, he pulled her arms from around him, raised them over her head and held her wrists tightly with both hands. Then, shifting his position, he pressed his groin firmly against her thigh. Raising his torso, he glared down at her; the rumbling purr in his chest became a low snarl of dominance. Don’t move! Submissively, she relaxed her arms, abandoning herself to his will, totally unaware of the sexually charged moans emanating from her own throat.

Satisfied with her obedience, Vincent released her wrists and holding her face in his hands again, he reclaimed her mouth. His tongue toyed with hers, hungrily slipping in out and around, making love to her mouth with his own. After a blissful eternity his mouth abruptly left hers and turning her face to the side, he began to journey along her jaw line coming to rest just under her left ear where her blood raced through the large artery.

There he stayed, tasting her, almost feasting off the heat of her pulse. Lower down her body, his pelvis ground against her thigh. When the thrusts began, his guttural growls combined with her whimpering gasps to fill the room around them.

"Catherine. Catherine."

She was unsure if he cried out her name aloud or only through their bond but it didn’t matter. His unrestrained alpha-male virility was both frightfully primal and overwhelmingly sensual. Not knowing how far he intended to go, trapped under his weight, and forbidden even to touch him, she thought Vincent seemed quite content to drive her insane. Catherine was certain nothing could be more sexually maddening then this. As if to prove her wrong, a voice reached into the chamber from just beyond the door.

"Catherine? Vincent?"

Oh god, no!

His pelvis halted its movements. His face fell onto her shoulder, his breath coming in short agonized gasps and sputters.

No! Please don’t stop!

"Catherine? Vincent?"

Pressing both hands into the mattress, Vincent slowly lifted himself off her and maneuvered to lay flat on his stomach beside her. Suddenly she felt the rush of cold air across her body and it felt oddly wrong to be able to take a deep breath. "What is it, Father?" Her tone sounded angry even to her own ears but she didn’t care.

"It’s supper time, Catherine."

Damn, damn, damn.

Drifting in from the corridor, Father’s voice sounded edgy and nervous.

"Yes, okay."

"Is...everything all right?"

"Yes, Father. Everything’s fine. (Damn it!) Don’t wait dinner for us. We’ll be there in a minute."

"All right. If you’re sure."

"I’m sure, Father."(Go away!)

"Well, I’ll be in the dining hall if you need...I’ll be in the dining hall."

Catherine listened to his cane tapping his way down the corridor. Once she was sure he was gone, she turned her attention to Vincent. He lay very still, beside her, his breathing not as labored but not quite normal. She was suddenly terrified. "Vincent? Vincent, please talk to me."

"I...I can’t, Catherine. I have no words."

"Please try, Vincent. You knew everything I was feeling. I need you to tell me to know what you’re feeling."

Vincent rolled onto his back and reached out to caress that revered spot just under her ear. "I feel blessed, my Beloved. My Catherine. I feel loved and...I can’t believe I’m saying this. But I even feel...desirable."

With a rush of relief, she collapsed onto his chest. "Thank God. I was so afraid you would...Oh, Vincent. I do love you. More now than I did thirty minutes ago. As far as desirable goes, if I’d known this, I would have pinned you to the mat myself. Years ago!"

Their laughter echoed throughout the chamber as Vincent helped her to her feet and into his arms. She hugged him closely, savoring his sexually charged scent, until he gently pushed her away. "Beloved, we had better go. I think it would be safest, for the moment, to be among as many people as possible."

"Vincent, I just had an awful thought. What if Father had barged in here like he always does instead of staying outside the door?"

Vincent released her hands, squared his shoulders and stared toward the entrance. Suddenly, his voice was low and humorless. "Catherine. He did."

"What! When? Are you sure?"

"I knew he was here. But, I couldn’t stop. I wasn’t strong enough to make myself stop."

"Oh, good lord, Vincent. What are we going..."

"Catherine, stay out of this. This is between Father and me."

"I’m already in this. I can’t let you face him alone."

Vincent bent low to level his eyes with hers, grasping her shoulders rather roughly. "Catherine. I do not want you to discuss what happens between us with Father. Do you understand?"

His eyes bore deeply into hers, emphasizing his command with such intensity that she actually shuddered at the thought of disobeying him.

"Yes, Vincent. I mean, no. No, I won’t."

Satisfied, he eased his grip, absently rubbing the areas where he knew he had left handprints. "I must apologize to you, once again, Beloved. You see, I’ve taken a great deal of comfort in watching the two of you grow closer over the past months. I need you to remain on good terms. I need you both, Catherine. Please, let me handle this."

"Vincent, I’ll do whatever you say. You should know that by now."

"Thank you. If you’re ready, we’ll go now."

"I need to make a stop in the bathing chamber first. Just give me ten minutes to freshen up." Chapter Three

Vincent was waiting for her in the alcove separating the latrine and the bathing chamber. He had changed into a clean shirt and corduroy pants. Under his cloak, he wore a black doublet that, to Catherine, looked like a military style flak jacket. Just before entering the large communal dining hall, he put his arm possessively around her waist then steered her to a table at the far side of the room, away from where Father sat with Mary and several other long time residents.

Catherine noticed that Vincent ate almost nothing at all but hovered close to her as she chatted with Olivia and Lena. The only extended conversation he had was with Mouse who explained, in detail, his latest contraption meant to add to the tunnel defenses. After dinner, small clustered groups were scattered around the perimeter of the hall. Catherine saw a slight frown crease Vincent’s brow and looked around to see Father approach.

"Vincent, if you have a moment, I’ll like a word in my study."

"Of course."

Avoiding Father’s eyes, Catherine lifting baby Katy from Lena’s arms, settling her on one hip. "If you gentlemen will excuse us, I haven’t read my god-daughter a bedtime story in almost a week."

"Catherine, I want to speak with both you and Vincent, if Katy doesn’t mind."

"I mind." Vincent towered over them like a statue. Catherine watched a nonverbal exchange between father and son, and saw Father’s face pale as a result. Vincent took a step closer, placing a hand in the small of her back.

"Catherine, go read to Kate. I’ll see you in our chamber shortly."

Catherine actually gasped. Our chamber? Did he really say our chamber? Right in front of Father? Becoming inordinately interested in straightening the baby’s dress, she was terrified of looking either man in the eye. Vincent leaned down and gently kissed the baby’s forehead.

"Sweet dreams, small one. Lena, I believe you missed a literature class last week. Will you be able to join us tomorrow?"

"Uh, yeah, Vincent. Sorry about that. No excuse. I’ll be there tomorrow, though. Promise."

"Good."

By the slight but undeniable pressure of his hand on her back, Catherine knew they were being dismissed. Mumbling her goodnights, she grabbed Lena by the wrist and made her escape. Just beyond the chamber, her knees went weak. Handing Katy back to Lena, Catherine leaned against the rough-hewn wall not knowing if she was about to laugh or cry. Lena stared at her a moment then stepped closer and whispered. "Cath? You okay?"

"I have no idea."

The bewilderment on Lena’s face brought a burst of laughter rather than tears. Looking around guiltily, she reached for Lena’s elbow. "Come on. We’ve got to go before they come out."

"Who? Vincent and Father? Cathy, what was that back there? What the hell is going on?"

"Lena, it’s been a long day and it’s not over yet."

"That doesn’t tell me anything."

"I know. Come on!"

**************

Vincent stood propped against the front of Father’s desk staring at an ancient stain in the carpet. His arms folded defensively across his chest and a cloud of golden hair obscured his features. Behind him, Father sat at the opposite side of the desk, seething with anger.

"Vincent, I had hoped to talk with both of you about..."

"I know what you want to discuss. I know you were in my chamber earlier. With all due respect, Father, I am not interested in your opinion of what you saw."

Taken aback by the finality of Vincent’s tone, he decided to ignore it and press on.

"Vincent, please. Listen to reason. You must understand. The risks..."

"No!" Vincent wheeled around, both fists slammed hard on the desk scattering papers to the floor. His fiery glare matched the force of his snarl, literally driving his father against the back of the chair.

"You must understand! She’s mine! She belongs to me, now. And, by some miracle I will never fathom, I belong to her. We will become whatever we will become. I will allow no one to interfere. Not even you."

The shocked and offended expression on the older man’s face melted his rage as quickly as it had flared. Dropping his chin to his chest, Vincent’s booming voice became subdued and softer now, almost pleading. "Father. Please. You must know. After all this time, my entire life, how can you not know?"

Looking up, Vincent felt as though his father had never really known him at all, had never understood anything about him, and never would. Deflated, he stood upright, turned and dropped into a nearby chair. Several long empty minutes passed as both men fought to regain composure and civility. Eventually, Father broke the silence, clearing his throat. "Is Catherine...is she...all right?"

Vincent let his head fall back against the top of the chair and closed his eyes. "She told you that."

"Yes. Yes, I know she did. I just thought perhaps she might not want me to..."

"I did not hurt her, Father."

"Vincent, I’m sorry. I am truly sorry."

Vincent shook his head. He had never felt so deeply isolated in his father’s presence. "You keep talking about risks as if I don’t know them even better than you. I know what I am. More importantly, Catherine knows what I am. She has seen the darkest, most terrifying parts of what I am. And she loves me. Father, Catherine loves me. That truth alone leaves me no choice. I can not...I haven’t the strength to ignore, disguise, or pretend any longer. I must follow her truth wherever it leads me. As far as she will allow."

"I think I understand, son."

"No, Father. I don’t think you ever will."

There was truly nothing more for to say. Wearily, Vincent pushed himself up from his chair and wandered toward the steps leading to Catherine. His father’s voice made him stop. But he simply couldn’t bring himself to turn around.

"Vincent, please. If there is anything I can do...to help. Please tell me, son. Please?"

"Love me, Father. Be happy for me." Taking the four steps to the landing, Vincent stopped again and turned to face his father, now standing in the center of the room, leaning heavily on his cane. Vincent looked him squarely in the eye. "And Father. Please don’t force me to make a choice neither of us can live with." With that, he turned and left the study in which, as a child, he’d always felt safe and loved.

Catherine stood in the doorway of Vincent’s chamber watching as he sat in his throne-chair, one hand covering his eyes. Nervously, she stepped inside, taking a seat on his bed. He sat still as stone, not looking at her. "Vincent? What happened?"

"It doesn’t matter."

All the joy they had shared just three hours ago seemed drained from him. She could think of nothing else to say. "I love you, Vincent. Completely and without reservation."

He lifted his head but still didn’t look at her. "I know you do, Beloved. But even you don’t know. No one knows how very much I need."

Catherine thought for a moment, and then moved to sit cross-legged on the floor beside his chair. "No, maybe I don’t. I have tried to understand. The last time you lost yourself, I sat here for hours and hours thinking about our little triangle. You, your father, and me. Shall I tell you what I think?"

He didn’t answer but stared at the ceiling. Catherine found it too painful to look at his downhearted expression. Dropping her gaze, she began toying with the leather lace on one of his boots, twisting it around her finger. "I think you need an anchor when the storms rage inside, Vincent. Someone strong enough to hold onto you when you can’t hold on to yourself. I think he’s been that for you, all your life. Maybe Mary too, to a lesser degree. But for the most part, he’s the one who always keeps you from being blown too far out to sea. I think that’s why it hurts you so badly to argue with him.

"I think you’re afraid, because he’s getting older. I think some tiny part of you wonders if everyone will continue to accept you here if...something happened to him. I think you’re worried that someday there’ll be no one there, to keep you from getting lost in the storm."

Vincent was staring at her now, incredulous. He was astonished to know that she had considered any of this so methodically.

"Vincent, I think that’s what you’re looking for in me, in our love. I think you’re hoping our bond will make me strong enough to pull you back from...well, from madness."

When Vincent reached down to caress her hair, his hand shook. "Catherine. I am so deeply sorry."

"For what?"

"For asking so much of you."

"Love, you’ve never asked anything of me. Ever. You never thought you had the right. Not yet, anyway."

Taking her by the shoulders, he pulled her to her feet and into his lap. His kiss was much gentler than the one they’d shared earlier. More appreciative than demanding. When his lips left hers, he nuzzled into the hollow of her neck, and parting his lips, he inhaled deeply, taking her scent into his mouth as he had when she slept beside him. A soft purring sound rumbled though him.

"My beloved Catherine. You are truly my hearts desire. I need you. Please, don’t leave me." Raising his head, he looked into her eyes yet she knew he was searching their bond. She watched a decision begin to form in the depths of his eyes. "Catherine?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Catherine. Each Sunday night, when you leave me...You are here only a few precious hours at the end of the week. Then our time ends. I walk with you to the sub-basement and you turn away and leave me. You return to your life Above, where I can not follow."

Wait, Cathy, wait. Don’t push him. Let him say it in his own time.

"Please stop, Catherine. Stop walking away from me. Come Below. I need you here, with me. Always. Please, Beloved."

Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you. Throwing her arms around his neck, Catherine kissed each azure blue eye. "Oh yes, Vincent. Yes, my love. I have waited and dreamed and planned for this moment. For so long. I know exactly what I have to do, my job, my apartment. Everything. None of it matters. It hasn’t mattered for a long time. Vincent, I will come to you as soon as I can arrange everything. When I come Below, my love, when I come to you, I swear I will never walk away from you again. I swear."

Part 2

My Brother’s Keeper

Kipper jumped when Vincent laid a hand on his shoulder. He’d been watching the intruders with such concentration that he hadn’t heard Vincent approach. Stepping aside, Kipper held up two fingers and pointed to the view port cut unobtrusively in the granite wall. Vincent stooped to nearly half his height and peered through the portal. Immediately, he stood upright, his hands on his hips and look of stunned confusion on his face. Again, he bent to observe the couple standing in the corridor just beyond.

The man was tall, with shaggy dark hair streaked with gray at the temples. Dressed in a pea coat and jeans, he leaned against the rock wall with an air of blatant arrogance; his arms folded across his chest, a cigarette between his lips. Two large duffle bags waited at his feet. The woman beside him retrieved the cigarette, dropped it into the dust and tamped out its fire with a leather booted foot.

"You promised to quit."

"Come on, Duchess. You know you can’t trust me."

Vincent did not try to stifle the sputter of laughter as she punched the man hard in the stomach.

"Did you hear that?" Her whisper fairly vibrated with trepidation and excitement as she turned toward the sound. Vincent caught his breath at the light shining from her dark eyes.

She stood a full foot shorter than the man. Perhaps ten years younger, her skin was a soft mocha color and her hair was arranged in long thick braids that fell over the hood of a leather parka. Despite her lack of height, or perhaps because of it, she could only be described as elegant.

"I told you, Duchess. They know we’re here. They’re just trying to figure out if they want to acknowledge me or not."

The man looked straight at Vincent, still hidden from his view, and spoke in a loud mocking tone. "Damn it, Vincent! Open the door, will ya? We’re freezing."

Vincent reached above Kipper’s head and pressed a mechanism releasing a gate some ten feet beyond the couple. Shaking his head, Vincent moved quickly to intercept them while calling over his shoulder.

"Kipper, will you please send word to Father that Devin’s come home? And tell him that he’s brought a friend."

***********

Devin jumped down the four steps leading to Father’s library and dropped into a chair beside Vincent. Father closed the book he’d been pretending to read and folded his hands on his desk.

"Has Mary gotten Ilia settled in?"

"Yeah. They’re chatting like magpies in the guest chamber next to mine. I knew they’d get along great. They’re a lot alike."

"Good. She’s...uh...she seems like a...lovely girl, Devin."

Father let his eyes drop as he fidgeted with his glasses. He was obviously trying to think of something non-confrontational to say and failing miserably. Sighing at the familiar silence between father and son, Vincent turned in his chair to face Devin.

"Yes, she is striking. But I don’t understand, Devin. You never wrote that you had been...I mean we never suspected you’d gotten..."

He fell silent, suddenly uncharacteristically tongue-tied. Devin laughed aloud and clipped Vincent on the arm.

"Relax, you two. I haven’t brought a wife home to meet the folks, if that’s what you’re thinking."

Angered by Father’s audible sigh of relief, Devin wondered if he’d ever stop feeling like a bad little boy in his father’s presence.

"Don’t get me wrong, Pop. I’d marry her in a minute if she were dumb enough to allow it. But the Duchess knows me too well. It’s...not that way with us."

Father cleared his throat and passed a hand across his face.

"Devin. You know the rules about bringing strangers down here. Do you mind if I ask, precisely, who is she?"

Devin rose and crossed the room in four strides. He suddenly needed to put some distance between himself and his father. An overloaded section of bookcase stood in a corner just beneath the landing. Devin placed both hands on a shelf and leaned into it as if to push the bookcase over. Vincent stood up, but did not approach. He recognized the stance as the one of helpless frustration he himself employed often. Devin’s voice was almost inaudible.

"Ilia is not a stranger, Pop. She’s the one who took care of Charlie."

They knew few details of Charles’s illness other than he’d been diagnosed with cancer soon after he and Devin had reached Alaska. Devin had written they had found someone to move in with him when Devin was out at sea on the fishing boat, The Madeline Mae. But no one had any idea how serious the cancer was until Peter received the phone call letting them know Charles had died.

In the intervening six months they had heard nothing more from Devin. Vincent’s letters, mailed with Peter’s help, came back unopened. All Catherine’s official inquiries found no trace of him. They did not even know if Devin had stayed in Alaska, or relocated elsewhere.

Vincent knew that his unexplained disappearance and, now, sudden arrival was the source of Father’s reserved attitude. He also knew Devin always misinterpreted Father’s reactions.

Vincent took a step forward then turned to look down at Father, waiting for him to say something, anything. But he sat silent, stoically studying his hands.

Irritated, Vincent turned back toward Devin only to be stopped in his tracks as Ilia appeared on the landing above. Upon their first meeting, Vincent had found her eyes deep and caring, instantly accepting of his otherworldly appearance. Now, those same eyes seethed with anger.

"Vincent. Miss Mary said I might find somebody still up. Do you know where Devin is?"

Vincent wondered at the shiver of dread that ran down his back at the tenor of her voice. Before he could speak, Devin squared his shoulders and stepped out from his hiding place beneath her into the center of the room.

"I’m right here, Duchess. You need something?"

"Yeah, I need to beat you with a big purple stick."

Spreading his hands at his sides in a supplicant manner, Devin glanced first at Father, then Vincent, before redirecting his gaze back to the young woman addressing him. "Why? What’d I do now?"

Vincent was aware that Father had, at last, risen from his chair. All three men stood captivated by the force of nature winding her way around the landing and down the stairs into the room.

Dressed in jeans, a black cowl necked blouse, and a wool cardigan, her bare feet would later stand out in Vincent’s memory as somehow quite natural.

Ilia pulled up beside the desk and, without releasing Devin from her glare, she greeted Father with a dignified air of respect. "Excuse me, sir. I hope you’ll forgive me for interrupting."

"Of course, child. Is there something...wrong?"

She withdrew something from the pocket of her sweater and placed it pointedly on Father’s desk. Both Vincent and Father looked at Devin, who stared at the bottle of dark liquid as though she had just placed a cobra before them. Her voice was velvet, smooth and soft. "I went into your bag to steal a pair of socks, Devin. The label says bourbon. Devin. I am reading that right? Is this a bottle of bourbon?"

Devin swore under his breath as he reached for her. "Now...wait. Wait a minute, Baby-girl."

"Don’t touch me." Her expression did not change. Not one muscle moved. With a look of panic, Devin dropped his arms to his sides. Immediately, Vincent read the truth on his face. Devin was in love, and terrified. Vincent wanted to do something to rescue his brother. But to his amazement, he found that he was nearly frozen in awe by the character of this tiny woman, barely five feet tall.

As Vincent watched the scene unfold, something suddenly changed in Devin’s face. A dark mask of defiance appeared as his tone became belligerent.

"Now, you just listen to me. Yeah, I bought a fifth last week. So what? I told you how bad things get when I come home. Don’t start with me about this, all right? Not now. Hell, I haven’t even opened the damn thing yet."

Velvet turned to steel. "Open it now, Devin. Please."

"Did you not hear me say don’t start?"

"Did you hear me say I am not going through that again?"

"I know. I know. Look, it’s not a big deal, Ilia, all right? It’s not a big deal if you just...leave me alone!!" Devin seemed to regret his outburst and literally, childishly, clamped a hand over his mouth. Ilia seemed to grow taller somehow. As she took a step forward Devin took two steps back.

"Okay. I can do that. I can leave you alone. If that’s what you really want, just say it again, Devin. Please."

Instantly, Vincent stepped protectively between them, though he was not certain precisely whom he was protecting.

Just as quickly, Father took charge. Rounding the table, his afflicted hip and cane forgotten, he picked up the bourbon and pushed it into Vincent’s hand.

"Get rid of this, Vincent. Take him with you."

Vincent grabbed Devin by the arm and forcefully shoved him up the steps and down the corridor toward the nearest latrine. Only Vincent’s sensitive ears heard Ilia break down the moment they left the library.

Once the liquor had been properly dispatched, Vincent led a shaken Devin into the chamber they had shared as boys. Devin immediately collapsed on the bed and hid his face in his hands. To give him a few private moments, Vincent busied himself moving quietly about the chamber, lighting a few candles and touching off a fire under a small brass brazier in the corner of room.

Finally Devin sat up on the bed, sniffed loudly and cleared his throat. Without a word, Vincent filled a glass with cold water from the cooler and passed it to his brother who drained it in one gulp. Vincent refilled his glass and then turned to make himself a mug of tea. An unidentified angel, probably Lena, had left a covered plate of pastries on his desk. Pulling a chair nearer the bed, Vincent handed Devin the plate, retrieved his tea, sat down, and waited.

A mouthful of raspberry Danish was not nearly sufficient to hide the remaining distress in Devin’s voice.

"It’s good. You find a helper that’s a pastry chef?"

"No. William offers cooking lessons to anyone interested. I am honored with their successes."

"Who gets the failures?"

"Father."

Vincent could not resist a self-satisfied smile. Being a favorite has its perks.

"That’s perfect, little brother. You’ve got it made."

Vincent’s smile faded quickly. After what he’d just witnessed, he was in no mood for levity. "Devin..."

"So where’s Cathy? I understand she lives down here now."

"Yes. She’s in Chicago on business for her father’s estate. She returns next week."

Vincent put his mug on the bedside table and took the pastries platter from Devin, placing it beside his mug. He leaned forward, his arms braced on his knees, and pinned Devin with an expression allowing no escape. "Devin."

"Yeah, I know, Vinnie. I’m sorry. I always seem to blow in on a hurricane, don’t I?"

"We heard nothing for months after Charles passed. Now, you have come home. We are glad you’re here. Truly, Devin. We are all glad you have come home again. Ilia seems to be a very...strong woman, who obviously cares a great deal for you."

"Too much. Sometimes she cares so much she actually scares the hell out of me. Don’t you think for a minute that was an idle threat back there."

"Nevertheless, Devin, what just happened was about something other than the liquor."

"Yeah, you’re right. Truth is I screwed up, Vinnie. Again. The last time I made her that mad, she disappeared for six weeks. I still don’t know why she came back."

"You said Ilia was Charles’ nurse."

"A nursing student. The last year of training was to take care of him. But she did a helluva lot more than that. For both of us."

Vincent retrieved his mug of tea and sat back in his chair, certain Devin was ready to share the heavy weight he carried on his shoulders. "Tell me."

Devin rose from the bed to pace the small room. He began slowly at first but as he circled, his words came faster, wholly unedited.

"She started out as his nurse. I’d be out on a crabber for weeks at a time and Charlie hated hospitals. So she moved in to take care of him. Vinnie, she was great. She knew how to handle him. She reminded me of Mary so much. Just the way she talked to him, you know? She used to tell him that he belonged to her and she never wasted her valuable time on worthless people.

"Charlie was crazy about her. I mean he loved her because she didn’t take any of his crap. And he loved her because she made him feel special, you know? Not deformed or ugly. She’d make him take his meds. She’d cook for him. When the chemo made him sick, he’d refuse to eat. But she’d cook something special. Just for him. And I’d have to eat a burger or something." Devin sat down on the bed, took another pastry, but replaced it uneaten.

He fell silent for some minutes while Vincent simply watched and waited. Devin stared down at his hands clasped tightly in his lap but Vincent knew he saw Charles instead. When he spoke again his voice carried a distant, faraway quality. Knowing he returned to the Alaskan shore, Vincent went with him, willingly.

"See, that night...Charlie had been really sick all day. He was in a lot of pain. The drugs didn’t do a damn thing for him any more and he was really bad. He was throwing up and crying. I got scared. But not Ilia. She knew just what to do, just like always. She was always calm and sort of peaceful with him. She has the patience of a saint, Vinnie, I swear. She worked all day to get his fever down. She never left him. Never.

"Anyway, late that night we finally got him to bed. She curled up beside him. And she held him. And she started singing to him. See, as big as he was, Charlie loved to curl up like a big bear, with his head in her lap. There was this...one song she always sang and he always fell asleep. So... she was singing and rubbing his back and I thought he went to sleep. Vinnie, I thought he just conked out. That he’d be okay by morning. Just like always. I swear, I thought he just went to sleep.

"So, what’d I do? I left, Vinnie! Yeah. I left them alone! I went down the hill to get a beer. I was...going to have just one beer and then go right back. He was a pain in the ass all day and I needed a drink! But I got into this...pool game. And one led to two and...so, that’s it, Vinnie. I ended up getting drunk. I got plastered while Charlie was dying in her arms!"

Vincent was unaware of the tears streaming down his own face as he moved to sit beside Devin. He laid an arm around his shoulders but Devin would not allow himself to be comforted. Rising to pace the room again, his tone was now filled with bitterness and self-loathing.

"When I finally stumbled back home the next morning, half the damn village was in my house. They helped her. They were taking care of his body. So, wonderful friend and brother that I am, I ran. Only this time I did not bother going back home again. This time I stayed drunk for a whole bloody month. I don’t know where the hell I slept. But I did not go home. I couldn’t face her, Vinnie. I just couldn’t stand to see that look in her eyes. You know the look. You saw it tonight. That I’m-so-disappointed-in-you look. God, she reminds me of Pop with that look! It makes me feel like I’m twelve years old again. Sometimes I could just...uhhh!!"

Exhausted, Devin threw himself into Vincent huge throne-like chair, utterly depleted. "I don’t know what I’m doing, Vinnie. I don’t even know why the hell I came back here."

Vincent crossed the floor in a single stride, coming down on one knee beside his brother, not knowing how to erase years of torment and self-recrimination.

"This is your home, Devin. It will always be your home. We are always here for you. "You must forgive yourself. You must not think you have failed Charles. You gave him a nearly two years of devotion and love, unlike anything he’d ever known."

Devin shook his head back and forth against the high-backed chair squeezing his eyes tightly shut. His voice was now only a frail whisper. "Vincent, I left him. When he needed me I was not there. Charlie was my chance...to make up for...well, for a lot of things."

Vincent understood immediately. He’d suspected the truth when Devin first brought Charles to the tunnels. Though he’d never discussed it with Father or Catherine, there was a glaring irony in Devin rescuing Charles from a carnival sideshow and the cage his brother had forced upon him.

"Devin, please look at me."

Wearily, Devin turned toward him. A violent shudder raced down Vincent’s spine at the sheer weight of his older brother’s heartbreaking countenance. Desperately, he forced his voice to remain calm and steady.

"You did not abandon me."

For emphasis, Vincent intentionally let the statement float between them a moment longer than necessary.

"I know you think that, but I don’t. I never have. You had to find your life, your own path. That path led you away from us. From me. I could not go with you. I could not travel your path any more than you could travel mine."

Devin looked away again but Vincent would not allow it. The time had come for them to face difficult truths about their relationship. Vincent was determined that they would face them together. His command fell just short of a snarl.

"Look at me!"

Shocked, Devin obeyed. Vincent did not leave him an opportunity to retreat again.

"I was young, Devin. But even I could see how you yearned for the sunlight. I felt the tension between you and Father although, as it turns out, I could not have imagined its root. I knew part of your restlessness stemmed from that. For some time after you left, I blamed him. I thought he drove you away. With time and age, I was able to release that blame. I had to release it before it destroyed my respect for him. I needed him too much to allow that.

Now, I watch children grow up around me everyday. I see the same restless spirit in them that I remember dwelt within you. I can tell, reliably well, which child will leave the tunnels to make their way in the world Above. Devin, I understand why some must go just as I understand why some must stay. I know these youngsters are moving toward something, and not away from us. Not away from me. I know, now, you were no different."

When he spoke, Devin’s voice sounded strange to his own ears. At this point nothing mattered but to make Vincent understand how ridiculously wrong his tidy logic really was.

"Vincent, you just don’t get it. I was not just some average dirty-faced kid running around in the shadows down here."

"Why, Devin? Why should you have been held to a standard different from anyone else?"

"We were brothers, Vinnie. And brothers are supposed to stick together. I had a responsibility to stay here, to stay with you."

"Devin. I have always loved you with a brother’s heart. And I will love you all the days of my life. Please, know that. Always. But, Devin, we are not brothers. Not in the way Father tried to pretend. Not in the way he tried to force upon us. He was wrong about your obligation to me.

"When we were boys, I did look up to you. In many ways I still do. But at seventeen years old, your only obligation was to be true to yourself. At forty, your responsibility is still to be true to yourself. You did that with Charles, with the life you gave to him. At thirty-six, my responsibility is to get off this knee before it becomes as angry with me as Father’s hip is with him."

Their laughter seemed to clear the air within the small chamber. Even the candlelight seemed to glow brighter, somehow. Vincent was not completely exaggerating as he stiffly pulled himself to his feet, distributing his weight between the arm of Devin’s chair and the table. Devin rose with him and they shared a much-needed embrace.

"I love you too, Vincent. I don’t believe you. But I love you, Fuzzy."

Vincent growled in his ear. "I hated that ridiculous nickname when I was five and I still hate it." Their laughter rang out again.

"Sorry. It just kind of slipped out. Accidentally on purpose."

"May we join you? A bit of humor would do us all some good."

Their arms still about each other, Vincent and Devin turned toward Father’s voice. He stood in the entranceway with Ilia at his side, each somewhat supporting the other. She kept her eyes averted but there was no mistaking their swollen redness.

"I’m sorry, Devin. I overreacted. I don’t want to beat you up anymore."

Devin held open his arms and she slid into them easily.

"Never mind, Baby-girl. I’m the one who should apologize. Even if I didn’t drink it, I should never have bought that bottle. I came too close to breaking my promise and I’m sorry. I’m an idiot and I deserve to be beaten with a big stick."

Father leaned heavily on his cane in the absence of her shoulder.

"Please, let’s not start that again. Is everything...all right, Devin? Is there...anything I can do?"

Devin glanced down at Ilia who stood slightly wedged between him and Vincent. He noticed furred fingers gently holding her hand and smiled.

That’s the effect she has on anyone she meets. Although there’s no doubt she can hold her own against just about anybody, you still just want to take care of her.

"Yeah, Pop. I think everything’s okay now. The storm’s passed over, at least for tonight. Right, Vinnie?"

Vincent hesitated as if there were something he wanted to say but lacked the words. He felt the need to reassure everyone within reach, but he just did not know how.

"Yes. But it’s late, Father. And you look tired. Perhaps you should go to bed."

"I just feel that we haven’t properly welcomed Devin and Ilia home yet."

Devin approached his father, a bit wearily at first, then relaxed and placed an arm around his shoulders. "Don’t worry about it, Pop. Vinnie’s right. You do look a bit done in, as the Brits say."

"I’m certain Mary is still up. Some of the others may still be milling about somewhere. Perhaps, if we make an announcement over the pipes..."

Vincent was watching the tremor of Father’s hand. He had seen it briefly a week before, then again this afternoon, before Devin’s arrival. Alarmed by its return, he vowed to speak to Peter again at the earliest opportunity.

"Father, please. You know you haven’t felt very well the past few days."

"Nonsense, Vincent. You and Peter worry too much. I told you both I’m perfectly fine."

Devin saw the concern in Vincent’s eyes. Until there was time to ask about it, he decided to follow his brother’s lead.

With a nod in Vincent’s direction, he reached down to take control of the cane, neatly arranging the need for Father to lean on his arm. Devin did not miss the slight relaxation of Vincent’s brow line. Yep, he thought, something is definitely going on.

"Come on, Pop. We’ll walk back to your chamber and have a little visit all our own. Vinnie, you’ll take care of my girl, won’t you?"

"Of course. I can make another pot of tea."

"Great. Duchess, I’ll be back in a little while."

"Take your time, Hon. I’m in good hands. Good night, Sir. I’m sorry for all the uproar tonight."

"Don’t concern yourself, dear. We can always count on our Devin for a bit of...excitement. Good night Ilia, Vincent."

"Good night, Father. Sleep well."

Although feeling somewhat off-balance by the events of the evening, Vincent politely offered Ilia his chair in the center of the room then turned to the brazier to prepare a fresh kettle of tea. He reached for a clean ceramic mug on the shelf above, thought better of it, and chose a delicate china cup with its matching saucer; one of the few treasures Catherine brought with her when she moved Below.

Setting the cup and saucer on the table before Ilia, he turned to reclaim his own mug from the nightstand, pulled up the chair he’d occupied during his talk with Devin, and settled into it. All this was done deliberately to gain time to gather his thoughts. Within a moment her hesitant voice broke the silence.

"If you want to turn in, Vincent, I can wait for Devin in my room. It’s been a long day for you too."

"No, please. Stay. I would like us to become friends, Ilia. You’re very important to Devin. More so than he realizes, I think."

"Is he really okay?"

"He’s...struggling. With many things. Chief among them are his actions the night Charles died."

"He told you about that? I’m surprised."

"I don’t think he meant to tell me, originally. He was...frightened. Afraid of losing you again."

He looked up to find himself, once again, stunned by her soft brown eyes. In them, he found the same depth he’d become accustomed to seeing only in Catherine’s emerald eyes. "He loves you."

Something flashed in that dark gaze but faded too quickly for him to understand its origin. Long lashes hid what remained.

"I know. I know he does. And, contrary to earlier evidence, Vincent, I love him too. Not the same way, of course. But I do love him. I have to. He and Charlie belong to me. The universe gave me both those boys, to watch over. I don’t have a choice."

"You speak of Charles as if he were still here."

Her expression changed to one of incredulity. Her left hand reached up to stroke her right shoulder.

"Well, of course, he is. Charlie’s always right here. Can I show you something?"

With a nod of his head, she swivelled in her seat and, with her back to him, she pulled at the collar of her sweater to reveal a small tattoo high up on her shoulder blade. He had to lean forward to discern the shape.

"An angel?"

Shaking her head she straightened in her chair rearranging the elaborate collar, a clear bright smile on her face.

"Nope. That’s Charlie. I got this the day we spread his ashes in Prince William Sound. He just sits there, whispering in my ear. Just like he always did."

Amazed at the vivid light shining from within her, Vincent felt as though he were in the presence of something quite mystical. It was the same serene feeling he found sitting on his favorite perch near the Thundering Falls. Her giggle and a high-pitched whistle brought him out of himself.

"Your teapot’s calling you."

They sat in comfortable companionship for over an hour talking about all the people they loved. By the time Devin returned from Father’s chamber, Vincent and Ilia had become fast friends. Even sooner than he had hoped.

************

More than anyone could have predicted, Ilia and Catherine developed an instant kinship spending the next two weeks side-by-side. Ilia shared Catherine’s duties in William’s kitchen and even in the laundry room. Because an extra pair of hands is always welcome Below, and because everyone around them knew the two women had a great deal in common, Ilia was quickly accepted nearly everywhere.

For all her training, Father allowed Ilia to trespass into the hospital chamber only once. A helper had unexpectedly arrived with several boxes of much needed supplies. Mary was preoccupied with a crying infant at the time and, caught off guard, Father could not justifiably refuse Ilia’s offer to assist with the inventory.

Devin spent his days supervising Vincent and other workers on three large-scale maintenance projects, partly out of boredom and partly to avoid spending time alone with his father.

Weekends were reserved for tunnel exploration. Much had changed during Devin’s absence and Vincent, with Catherine at his side, offered his services as a volunteer tour guide. During one particular outing to the Thundering Falls, Devin and Vincent were lounging on an outstretched blanket contentedly munching fruit stolen from William’s pantry.

"Hey, Vinnie. What do you suppose they’re talking about now?"

Vincent rose up on an elbow to observe the two women sitting near the edge of the river that flowed beneath the falls. Their voices were too low for even his ears to hear.

"Probably you and I."

"Do you think we’re in trouble?"

Through their bond Vincent knew Catherine was still slightly upset. He had worked hard to control his emotions when she returned from her business trip, limiting himself to a warm, loving but chaste welcome home greeting. Of course they had never discussed it. But he knew his restraint had wounded her badly.

"No. I’m sure they are only talking."

Silently he, once again, thanked the heavens for sending Ilia to them. At least now Catherine had someone Below in whom she could confide.

"You know, Vinnie, you have never really told me what you think of the Duchess."

Considering the question carefully, Vincent reached for another apple then settled back against the rock wall.

"I believe it is remarkable that such an enormous heart could be found in such a small frame."

"Yeah. She is pretty great, isn’t she? I’m still amazed she puts up with me."

With a characteristic tilt of the head, Vincent could not resist a good-natured gibe. "So am I, Devin. So am I."

************

"Cathy, I don’t understand. Devin said you have been together for what, two years? Three? Are telling me you two have never...been together?"

"Believe me, it’s not my idea. Sometimes I feel like there’s a flashing neon sign on my forehead."

"Do you mind if I ask what the problem is?"

"It’s not really a problem. As problems go. Things have just always been rather...complicated in that department."

"I don’t get it. Greek gods would envy that man."

Catherine smiled and stared into the swirling waters then shrugged her shoulders, sadly.

"There are things about who and what he is that Vincent is reluctant to share with me. Things that frighten him into believing that he could injure me, physically. It’s why I have my own chamber. I know he loves me. The passion and desire is there. Sometimes I can feel it so strongly it takes my breath away. But he’s still very afraid. So he’s erected boundaries between us, limiting what we could become. He thinks he has to protect me from himself."

"And you’re happy with that?"

"I have to be, Ilia. It’s either that or live without him. And that’s just unthinkable."

"I don’t know if I could live like that."

Catherine bristled. She saw an inherent hypocrisy in the statement and she allowed herself a sarcastic mocking tone.

"Oh, you don’t? Sure, whatever you say. You know something? You and Vincent are not all that different."

"Okay, what’s that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Ilia. Admit it. You’re doing exactly the same thing to Devin!"

"Whoa, wait a minute, Cath. Don’t bring me and Devin into this."

"Why not? Why don’t you admit you’re as bad as Vincent? Oh no, wait, you’re worse. Your walls are thicker and much higher. At least Vincent is willing to admit that he loves me."

"You know, Cathy. If we were not such good friends we could have a problem right now."

Behind them, against the granite wall, Vincent stiffened as the flash of Catherine’s anger raced through the bond. He felt it dissolve as quickly as it had erupted. Bewildered, he held the bond open wide, carefully tracking Catherine’s emotions. Stretched out on his stomach, Devin noticed the momentary tensing of Vincent’s leg muscles.

"What’s the matter?"

"Catherine was angry. Truly angry."

Devin sat up just in time to see the women pull each other into a sisterly hug.

"Looks like she’s okay, now."

************

"I’m sorry, Ilia. I did not mean to turn on you like that. I guess you just struck a nerve. I apologize."

"Don’t worry about it, Cath. What else are friends for, if you can’t bite each others heads off occasionally?"

The girls settled into a companionable silence, their toes trailing ripples in the chilly water. "I don’t know, Cathy. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I have ‘built walls’ as you say. Things got pretty ugly between me and Devin for a while after we lost Charlie. When I went back to Anchorage, I was going to finish school and move on. I fully intended to never see that man again."

"But you went back?"

"I had to. A girlfriend called to tell me he’d been picked up in a drunken bar fight somewhere. Nobody wanted to bail him out. You see, everybody in the village loved Charlie. A lot of them were still upset that Devin stayed so drunk that he couldn’t even attend the funeral. They would have just as soon left him locked up. All I could think was that Charlie would have hated the very idea of his ‘Dev’ behind bars."

Catherine knew how much Charles idolized Devin. All his letters that first year had been filled with gratitude for all Devin was doing for him.

"So, yeah. I went back for him. Cathy, I had to. I got him out of jail, dried him out and I’ve tried to take care of him ever since. I think I’ve been honest with Devin. I think he knows he’s important to me."

"The question is how important? This is more than a friendship on Devin’s side. Anyone with eyes can see that. But with you, who can tell? Surely he can’t. You’ve closed yourself off just as much as Vincent has."

"Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you two but I do not want to be in love with Devin Wells!"

"Wanting it or not is beside the point."

"I knew you’d say something like that."

"Ilia, what are you afraid of?"

"Look, Cath, the man is nine years older than I am and he’s...he’s a big kid. He’s Peter Pan. Refusing to grow up and scared of his own shadow."

"Most men are. But if love is strong enough it doesn’t matter."

"Cathy, he’s unpredictable. The boy carries a ton of emotional baggage. And he cheats at cards! I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him."

"Then why are you still here, Ilia? He’s not drinking now. He’s safe, sober and back home with his family. Why are you staying with him?"

Ilia sat very still, her gaze locked on the waterfall. Presently, she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes against what she did not want to see. Catherine scooted closer, lovingly stroking her back as she whispered in her ear.

"You’re right about one thing. Devin is a big kid. A big kid who lost his way a long time ago. But don’t you see? If you can help him find himself again, it’s cruel to hold back."

************

Vincent had been concentrating on the bond so intently it took him a while to realize Devin had shifted position. Now as he sat cross-legged in front of him, Devin’s use of his proper name caught him by surprise.

"Vincent. Can I ask you something? I mean would you tell the truth?"

Once Devin had his full attention, Vincent became aware of something indescribable written on his face.

"Of course."

"Listen, um, I was talking to the Duchess last night. And, uh, well, she likes it down here. A lot. She said it reminds her of the village we lived in, with Charlie. You know, everybody knows everybody and everybody pitches in to help everybody else."

Vincent felt Devin’s hesitation but his expression was unreadable. He tried to encourage him to continue.

"Yes. I suppose all communities this small are tightly knit."

"Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, she and Cathy have gotten really close, really fast. They act they’ve known each other for years."

"I am sincerely glad of that, Devin. I know Catherine treasures their friendship. In the four months she’s been Below things have been... difficult. There is much we still must work out between us."

"I thought as much. Seeing as how she has her own chamber, I figured things hadn’t changed all that much for you two."

"No."

Vincent had no desire to discuss the relationship. Conflicted and confused, he was still unable to express his thoughts and fears properly. Not even to Catherine. Incapable of sleeping more than two or three hours, he patrolled the perimeter of their world every night, alone, searching for clarity. For either permission or absolution. But the dark passages held no answers for him. Somehow, he knew something had to be done soon, for her sake as much as his own.

"So, Vincent, let me ask you something. Do you think...I mean, since the girls get along so well and everybody seems to like the Duchess. I mean, what do you think the council would say if, um. Oh, hell. Forget it."

Vincent was deeply disturbed by the futility in Devin’s voice.

"Devin, what is it?"

"I was just thinking. What do you think would happen if I asked the council if we could stay down here? I mean, maybe for good?"

"Devin, this is your home. I have told you that many times. There is no need for you to go to the council. Everyone wants you to stay."

"Well, at least you do. You and Cathy."

Vincent tossed his half-eaten apple into the trash bin with a bit more force than he’d intended.

"You and Father! Will you ever learn to understand each other? To trust each other?"

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.

"Devin, Father loves you. He’s worried about you. He told me he hoped to use this time to become closer with you. To try to help with whatever has been troubling you."

"He said that?"

"Yes. Just two nights ago. He asked if I knew how long you intended to stay Below. He said he was reluctant to ask you himself. He was certain you would misinterpret his meaning. That you would think he wanted you to shorten your visit."

"You know, I probably would have." Devin chuckled derisively. "Poor Vinnie. You always get stuck in the middle playing referee, don’t you?"

"I’ll do whatever I must to help you and Father find each other."

Devin turned to watch the ladies at the rivers edge. By his posture, Vincent knew his mind had traveled elsewhere. When he spoke, Devin’s voice carried a heavy sense of loss.

"I’ve got a lot of fences to mend, little brother."

"Devin. What happened in the past should be left there."

"I know. I wish I could do that. I feel like I need..."

"What? Devin, please tell me."

"I don’t know, Vincent. I just feel the need to be connected to something. To have something to depend on, you know? I’ve spent my life wandering around the world looking for God knows what. Maybe a sense of peace. Or the feeling of belonging to something again. I guess I’d just like to stay put for a while. Fix things with Pop. You know, the old man’s not going to be around forever."

A shiver ran down Vincent’s spine at that. He quickly pushed the thought aside and refocused on his brother who sat fidgeting with a shoelace.

"Hell, Vinnie. I guess I’m just feeling like time’s catching up with me. I never really lost someone important before. I mean, leaving you behind, that hurt. But what I mean is losing someone like...like the way I lost Charlie, you know? I mean, watching him slowly slip away like that, in so much pain. It kind of...shook me up. I don’t know, maybe that’s why I wanted to come back here. To get back in touch with...something that... means something. Hell, I’m not making much sense, am I?"

"It’s all right, Devin. I think I understand. You had a safe happy childhood here. Restless but happy. Perhaps what you’re searching for is, is the security and love of family."

"Yeah. Yeah, maybe that’s it. So what do you think, little brother? You think it would be okay to hang around here a while? I mean, okay with the old man?"

"Of course, Devin. Of course, it is all right. I will even volunteer to act as referee, interpreter and mediator if need be."

"Well, since you’re volunteering, maybe we ought to get the girls and head back. Maybe we could talk to Pop, tonight."

"Yes. I would like that. We’ll go home, Devin. All of us."

Epilog

Noticing a light coming from the guest chamber, Devin called from outside the door; certain he wouldn’t get an answer.

"Duchess?"

"Yeah, come on in, Devin."

Stepping inside, he found her sitting up in bed while a single candle burned low on the bedside table. Ilia patted the bed beside her and Devin bent to place a kiss on her forehead before settling down on the quilt.

"It’s late, Baby girl. I thought you’d be asleep by now."

"Uh uh. Thinking. Have you been with your father all evening?"

"Yep. I just left him."

"And?"

"And it’s good, Duchess. We talked about a lot of things. I think we got rid of stuff we’ve both been carrying way too long. I think it’s going to be okay."

Taking both his hands in hers, she pulled him forward, hugging him tightly around the neck. "Oh, Devin, I am so glad. I know that tension between you and your dad has worried you for a long time."

"Yeah, it feels good, baby girl. Really good. Oh, by the way, we talked about you and me staying here a while. Pop said you brought me home so now this place is your home too."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"I would like to stay, Devin. I have never had a girlfriend as up front, or as pushy as Cathy is. I’d like to get to know her better. And of course, there’s Miss Mary. I swear that woman has adopted me. I think it would be good for you too, being around Vincent and your father for a while. Sort of going back and starting all over again"

"Well, you got it, Duchess. I play it your way. Look, it is late, and I know how you are about your beauty sleep. I just wanted to say goodnight and thank you."

"Vincent’s the one you should thank. He’s the one who got you to talk to each other instead of at each other."

"I will. I’ll do that too. But right now, I’m thanking you, for everything. I just want you to know that your valuable time isn’t wasted on me."

"I love you, Devin."

"I know you do, baby girl."

"No, Devin. You don’t know. That’s why I’m telling you. I love you."

"You do?"

"Yes, Devin. I do."

"Wait, are you sure you’ve got the right guy, here? I mean, this is me, Duchess. Devin, remember?"

"Yeah, I know. I know exactly who you are. You are Peter Pan. And I love you."

"Duchess. My God, Ilia. I never thought...I mean, I don’t know what the hell I mean. You never said anything..."

"Devin."

"Yes, Ma’am?"

"Shut up and come here."

"Yes, Ma’am!"

Part 3

Some Remote and Silent Spot

Vincent found Devin at a buffet table pouring coffee into a large mug. "Good morning, Devin."

"Hey, morning, Vinnie. Wow, you look like hell. No sleep again last night?"

"Not very much. Devin, I was wondering if we could talk this morning, before work begins."

"Sure. I’m not anxious to get down to that storeroom anyway. My back isn’t used to so much hard labor yet. What’s up?"

Vincent looked around the bustling dining hall. "Not here. It’s... personal."

"Okay. How about your classroom? I guarantee none of the kids are going near the place on a Saturday morning."

**********

Devin propped his feet upon a desk while Vincent lit torches around the small classroom. Watching his brother closely, Devin noticed his unkempt appearance and wondered if those were the same clothes Vincent had worn the day before. Once enough torches were lit, Vincent came back to lean against the large desk he occupied during lessons. Devin took another sip of coffee, purposefully observing his brother’s posture over the rim of the mug.

"So, little brother. What’s the big mystery?"

When Vincent didn’t answer, an alarm bell ring began to ring in Devin’s mind. Placing his mug on the desk behind him, Devin sat upright. Planting his feet firmly on the floor, he was determined to give Vincent no opportunity to back out of the talk that Vincent himself had asked for.

"Vinnie, you’ve been working on that new storeroom like a fiend all week. First one in, last one out. And you’ve been biting everybody’s heads off, over unimportant crap. Do you know you scared poor Mouse almost out of his boots yesterday?"

"Yes, I know. I apologized to him last night. I also owe you an apology, as well the others. I feel badly about the way I’ve behaved."

"So, you’ll make it up to me later. Spill it, Vincent. What’s going on in that shaggy head of yours?"

Vincent stared down at the floor, suddenly uneasy about revealing such private concerns, even to his brother. Knowing there was no alternative but to seek help, he decided to take a chance. "Devin. I need...guidance about something very...personal. I can’t talk to Father, not about this. Catherine tries to understand, but..."

"It’s okay, Vinnie. That’s what brothers are for. To talk about stuff you can’t tell anybody else."

Vincent shifted from one foot to another, then pulled up a chair and sat down. "Devin, for months I’ve been having.. dreams. I need your advice on how to make them stop."

"Dreams? What kind of dreams, nightmares?"

"No. Not nightmares."

"Vinnie, come on, man. It’s too early for twenty questions. What kind of dreams are we talking about here?"

Vincent stared down at his hands and his voice became so low that Devin had to lean forward to hear. "Dreams about...Catherine and me. About us being...together."

"You mean together, like in the biblical sense, together? Those kinds of dreams?"

Vincent only nodded his head while his face turned a ruddy copper color.

"Well, Vinnie, I mean what’s the big deal, here? You’re dreaming about your woman. Join the club."

Vincent leapt to his feet and began to pace around the room.

"You don’t understand, Devin. The dreams are...explicit. And our bond links us. Catherine dreams the same dreams when I do. She experiences the same...sensations. I pull her into the dream with me. It must stop, for both our sakes."

"Whoa, hold on, Vincent. First of all, will you please sit down? You’re making me dizzy."

Vincent’s chair creaked loudly as he dropped into it. Devin would have laughed at the sound had he not felt so much compassion for his brother.

"Listen, Vinnie. Dreams like this are.. well, kind of...Look, didn’t you ever talk to Pop about this kind of stuff?"

Vincent looked up with an air of cynicism. "Did you?"

"Touché." Devin ran a hand through his thick hair and decided to be as open as possible. "Okay, look. First, I’ve got to tell you, little brother. There’s no way to stop having dreams like that. Trust me. Even when I was drinking, I’d still have wet dreams. I’m sorry, but you can’t always control what goes on in your head, Vinnie. Not when you’re sound asleep. And sure as hell not when you’ve got a woman like Cathy, somebody you happen to be head over heels about. It’s gonna happen, man. There’s not a damn thing you can do about it, short of staying awake for the rest of your life."

Vincent shook his head, sadly. "Devin, our bond had grown so much stronger since Catherine moved Below. It’s even more difficult to shield her from all that I feel."

"Look, I can’t pretend to understand this psychic stuff of yours. I don’t even know how to begin to approach that. What does Cathy say about this dream-sharing thing?"

"She doesn’t seem to mind."

"Doesn’t seem to. Vincent, the first thing I ever learned about that girl is that she’s not a fence-sitter. What did she say?"

"She said it was...natural. That we should have expected to share, through the bond, what we cannot share otherwise."

"Well, there you go. Lesson number one, little brother. Women are always right. See, they actually think, Vinnie. About all kinds of stuff. We guys just kind of stumble and bumble through life, making it by the skin of our teeth. But a woman will sit down in a nice comfortable chair under a nice comfortable blanket, have a nice cup of tea and actually think!"

That brought a smile to Vincent’s face. Many, many times he had walked into her chamber and seen her exactly so.

"But hold up a minute, Vinnie. When you said things you can’t share, you don’t mean that you can’t? I mean you can, can’t you?"

Vincent hadn’t originally intended to take the conversation in that direction. But since Devin’s return to the tunnels, they had grown even closer than they were as boys. Vincent shook his head, letting his hair conceal his eyes.

"I mean...things I must not allow."

"You are kidding, right?"

"No, I’m not. Catherine and I have never actually...been together. I mean not...entirely. Aside from my dreams, of course."

"Why the hell not! You and Cathy have been seeing each other for years. And she’s been Below, what? Three or four months now? You’re saying never, ever?"

"Devin, it’s not her. It’s me."

"You’re telling me she’s willing but you’re not? Are you nuts?"

Vincent stood again and held open his cloak. "Look at me, Devin. Can’t you see? I’m not a man. I don’t know what I am, but I am not a man. Look at the scars on your own face. I did that. To my best friend. My brother. Devin, these hands were created for death and destruction. Certainly not for making love to a woman." Suddenly humiliated, Vincent dropped his hands, turned and headed for the door. "We had better go. The work crew has probably begun by now."

"Oh, no you don’t! You get your fuzzy ass back here. You’re not going to drop something like that on me and just walk away. Vincent?"

Vincent stood as still as a statue. Deeply saddened, Devin rose and crossed the room to stand just behind his brother.

"Vincent. I don’t believe a word of it. It’s a load of crap, and I’d bet my teeth that Cathy doesn’t believe it either. Or else she wouldn’t have walked away from everything she’s ever known just to be near you."

Vincent’s shoulders dropped as Devin stepped a foot closer. "You big idiot. Think about it, will ya? That lady had money, a career, and connections. She had a life that most folks read about in the society columns and envy. She walked away from all that, for what? You think she likes living in a hole in the ground? You don’t. Why should she? No, she came down here because you are down here. And after what you just told me, I bet she figures just being around you every day is better than nothing; that this is probably as close as you’re ever going to let her get. I bet she’s even said something pretty much like that, lots of times. Right?"

Vincent’s hair floated around his face as he nodded. Devin laid a casual arm over his shoulder, allowing his voice to become a soft whisper. "Vincent? Are you afraid to touch her, to make love to her?"

Again, Vincent answered with only a nod of the head.

"And you’ve been trying to figure this stuff out all by yourself. Is that it? Can’t talk about sex to the old man or anybody else down here, right?"

Vincent groaned and shrugged his shoulders. "I’ve...read books."

"Yeah, okay, that always works." Devin snorted cynically. "You know what? I’m your big brother, right? So here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to come back over here, sit down, and you’re going to tell me what’s really going on."

Devin hooked his arm around Vincent’s and led him back to their seats. "Now, I want you to talk to me, Vincent. I mean honestly, no bull. Let me try to clear up some of this for you, okay? Tell me exactly what you’re so afraid of. What do you think is going to happen if you and Cathy make love?"

**********

Two nights later, Catherine snuggled cozily in her favorite position; nestled against Vincent’s bended knee, her head resting in the center of his chest. They were in their music chamber beneath the Great Lawn of Central Park. The decrease of noise overhead, told them most of the patrons had left and the orchestra had nearly finished packing their instruments. Vincent tilted his head and looked down but couldn’t see her face. "Beloved? Are you asleep?"

"Hmm. I’m floating."

"Does Vivaldi always make you float?"

"Uh huh. Not Vivaldi. It’s you, my love. It’s your strong arms holding me. The smell of candle wax and kerosene smoke in your clothes. And that precious heartbeat of yours. You make me float, Vincent."

He smiled and shook his head in disbelief. "Beloved, sometimes you make me feel as if I were still dreaming. Only now I don’t want to wake up."

He saw the twinkle in her green eyes when she shifted position to look up at him. "Would you like to confirm that I’m really...real, Vincent?" Cradling her body in the crook of one arm, he raised her chin upward and kissed her. The night air drifted through the grating above them as his hand wandered down her throat and along her shoulder, savoring the texture of her silk blouse. He suddenly withdrew from the kiss and stared down at her. His shocked expression made Catherine blush as she coyly shrugged her shoulders. "No bra tonight. Easy access if you choose."

His frown deepened as he considered the dilemma. Catherine witnessed the instant he made his decision. With a flick of his thumb and forefinger, he released the top button of her blouse. A moment later, he opened the second button and then the third. As he pushed the lacy border to one side, he parted his lips and drew air into his mouth as if drawing liquid threw a straw. Catherine had seen him perform this ritual before but she had no idea with that action, Vincent, quite literally, tasted her bare skin.

He exhaled, and then closed his eyes just long enough for his head to stop spinning. Refocused, he opened his eyes to study the sight of the lethal claw-like nail of his forefinger tracing a path between her breasts. Then, when her nipples swelled as if to greet him, he laid his palm flat against her flesh. Catherine sat mesmerized by his steely touch. His hair tickled the side of her face and she looked up into his eyes. Vincent shook his head in disbelief.

"I don’t understand. How is this possible? How can this be my life, now?" He whispered. His gaze met hers. "Catherine, how can this be?" Before she could answer, he pulled her into him, reclaiming her mouth as his fingers caressed and kneaded her flesh. The power of this kiss, infused with passionate hunger, shook her to the core. When he released her, he threw his head hard against the wall behind him and a visceral growling groan emanated from deep within his chest.

Suddenly angry with herself for teasing him, Catherine sat up and forced herself to wait until he regained his composure and opened his eyes.

"Beloved. I’m...sorry." He said.

"No, Vincent. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t do this to you. Oh, my love, what are we going to do?"

He took her hands in his. "Catherine, please. I am what I am. We cannot ignore that."

"I know that. And I’m not ignoring anything. I’m just afraid of what this is doing to you. I want so much to help you. To find a way to make it easier for you. But, Vincent, I don’t know what to do."

"I think I may have found a way. At least I think there may be a bit of light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak." He sat up straighter and cleared his throat. "Catherine, I’ve done something that I need to tell you about." Reaching out to re-button her shirt, he kept his eyes averted from hers. "I’ve...talked with Devin about us. Twice. Once Saturday morning and then again late last night. I hope you’re not upset with me. I know I asked you not to discuss our relationship with anyone."

"Oh but Vincent, this is different. You told me not to talk with Father. Of course I’m not upset. In fact, I’m relieved. That is, if Devin is being helpful. I mean, I love him but Devin is...well, he’s Devin."

Vincent smiled at the implication and shook his head. "No, he’s been very serious. Sympathetic and candid. He understands the gravity of my concerns and what it means to both of us. Apparently, Ilia has taught him the value of a...full relationship. He wants that for you and me. Catherine, I trust him."

"Thank God." She threw her arms around him and hugged him, furiously. "You said these talks were candid. May I ask? I hope you’re being as open as you need to be, to get some real guidance."

"Very much so, beloved. I’ve told him nearly everything. I’ve told him I’m afraid of physically hurting you, either by accident or by losing my hold on myself. He believes, as you do, that my instinct to protect you should keep you safe if we...when, Catherine, when we...make love."

She caught his correction and its unvarnished meaning. Speechless, she bit her bottom lip, took a deep breath and nodded. Within their bond, Vincent sensed her relief and anticipation. Certain that Catherine understood, finally, that he intended to destroy the boundaries he had set between them, he continued speaking.

"Catherine, Devin told me that there is always a moment when all rational thought...vanishes. A moment when any man can to lose himself. Injury is always possible though not likely, according to him. There seems to be many different ways a man can...respond during that moment. I have his permission to tell you, as an example, that during his first experience with Ilia, he found that moment so profound that he...he wept in her arms."

"That sounds more frightening than helpful."

"It’s honest, beloved. I have no other way to know what to expect. We must be prepared, Catherine. Devin told me of some steps I can take, detailed techniques, so that I can be...gentle with you when that moment comes. He suggested that when we are ready, it would be safest for you to take the lead, as he put it. If you’re willing."

"If I’m willing? You know I’ll do anything, Vincent, anything to help us move forward. But can you do that? Can you let me guide us?"

"That’s what concerns me now, Catherine. When we’re close, it’s difficult for me to be...passive. Devin suggested we take small steps at first, until we can both be sure; like what happened just now. Beloved, I need you to be strong enough, and assertive enough, so that you can stop whatever is happening if I do anything that...if I can’t...restrain myself. I need you to help me, Catherine, please. You know what I’m capable of, what these hands have done. Please don’t let me hurt you."

Catherine took both his hands in hers and firmly kissed each one, trying to project as much love and reassurance as possible through their bond. Feeling that effort inadequate, she released her grip and held his face, forcing him to look into her eyes.

"Vincent, listen to me. I will not let you hurt me. I swear it. I understand what that would do to you. I will not let your desire for me destroy either of us. We’ll take our time, my love. As much time as you need to learn to trust yourself as much as I trust you. When the time is right, I promise you, I will keep us both safe. I swear, Vincent. I swear."

**********

"Catherine, please, don’t...leave."

"I’m not going anywhere, my love."

"I...I can’t breathe."

"It’s all right, Vincent. You’re breathing just fine. Just try to slow down a little."

They lay naked amid a pile of sleeping bags and blankets in a small grotto just outside the Crystal Cavern. Catherine sat up and tossed two more logs onto the campfire nearby. Smiling to herself, she poked the embers until they burst in life again, threw in her stirring stick and then directed her gaze back down at him. Vincent was lying on his back with his eyes closed tightly. His arms were raised above his head and his fists still clinched the pillow beneath the wild halo of his hair. Evaluating the sweat glistening on the fur-like hair of his chest, stomach and legs, Catherine couldn’t resist hugging herself with a sigh of satisfaction. They had finally achieved everything the bond had promised them.

Catherine had surprised even herself with her assertiveness and self-discipline during the nearly two weeks since he had told her about his conversations with Devin. Despite her own sexual desires, she was able to keep her promise to protect both Vincent and herself during his explorations of her body. She never felt threatened in Vincent’s bed, yet she did not allow him to venture beyond the point at which his lovemaking became too unrestrained. Vincent always relented, albeit grudgingly, whenever she nudged him to curb his passion. After some minutes of recuperation, he always expressed his loving gratitude that she never allowed him to advance further than he could comfortably accept.

When he suggested they spend the weekend at the Crystal Cavern, something within their bond gave her the intuitive sense that the time had come. Catherine had every intention of leading him, at last, through the final crucial stage of their progression. Knowing that his greatest terror was the possibility of losing himself in the uninhibited throes of an orgasm, Catherine refused to give that idea the opportunity to enter his mind. She had employed all of her sexual prowess, limited though it was, to provide him the most fulfilling experience of his existence, unbound from all fear and doubt. Now, as he lay beside her, gasping for breath, she felt a quiet, euphoric sense of accomplishment. Vincent was free to accept what he, as much as anyone, truly deserved; a full and rewarding life of love and acceptance.

"Catherine...what you...just did...to me..."

"I did precisely what I wanted to do. I wanted to make our first time extraordinarily special."

"Are you...did I...by the gods, I can’t even think."

"Shhh. Hush, love. Just lay quietly. You’ll be all right in a couple of minutes."

She fought to suppress the giggles that threatened to erupt at the mere thought of his vulnerability. Checking the fire once more, Catherine tugged at the blanket under his legs and he opened his eyes.

"I...I’m sorry. I don’t think I can move."

"It’s okay, my love. I’ve got it." Catherine pulled the blanket from under him and spread it across their legs. Immediately, he growled and kicked the blanket away.

Catherine lost her battle with the giggles. "I thought you couldn’t move."

"You find this funny, do you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. My Vincent, my big strong he-man. Macho, my foot."

Vincent growled low in his throat again, pulled her down across his chest and placed a playful swat on her backside. "Just because I relinquished control of our...activities, temporarily, you should not think I’m easily manipulated."

She turned her head and let her tongue tease his nipple; then her hand traveled below his belly. "I wouldn’t be so sure, if I were you." His sharp intake of air, the sudden tensing of his muscles and the tremble beneath her hand was precisely the reaction she expected. She meant to reposition her hand but he caught her wrist, holding her tightly against him. The low purring hum she cherished began to echo from deep in his chest again as her fingers encircled him. "Please, Catherine, my beloved. Please."

**********

Much, much later, Vincent sat against the rock face, a blanket tossed casually across his lap. Catherine slept peacefully on her right side facing him. The firelight cast shadows that danced over her face and hair. Leaning forward, he gently traced the red abrasion on her left shoulder with the tip of a claw, then adjusted the blanket to shield her from the chilled air. As he had many times over the hours they had spent beside the fire, he examined the bond and found serenity deeper and more pure than anything he had ever felt in her. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His hair still carried her fragrance. The air around him was alive with the scent of their lovemaking. Letting his head fall back against the cool granite, he opened his eyes and stared into the darkness toward the ceiling of the chamber.

He had brought her here, secure in the knowledge that he was no danger to her. Even so, he was fully prepared to allow Catherine full authority. The ultimate choice had to be hers. He disrobed in front of her for the first time, giving her every opportunity to see all that he was. He remembered standing there, trembling, terrified to look at her. The moment she rose to her feet and silently began to remove her own clothes, he knew the words he had spoken to his father before Catherine came below were about to come true. They were about to become everything to each other.

Now, as the cold stone cut into his bare back, he desperately tried to recall her face as she straddled his body and guided him inside her for the first time. But all he could remember was the responses of his own body as she slowly inched his length into her. He was too large for her to accept easily. She had been honest in admitting that. It had to be a process. She had to move slowly to prevent causing herself pain. His impatience with her caution was overwhelming. That memory reawakened the pain in his hands and he looked down at the four deep indentations in each palm. He had dug his claws deeply into his palms in a frantic effort to keep from grasping her hips and forcing her down around him, abruptly ending the agonizing anticipation.

Now, staring at droplets of his own dried blood, he indulged in a moment of self-satisfaction. He had hurt himself but not her. He had conquered the unthinking part of himself. He had protected her during the moment he had most feared. However, once Catherine held him inside her, he had lost his hold on himself, never realizing he had bitten her shoulder until after they had made love the third time. Gazing down at her now, he examined the bite mark again. His teeth had only grazed the surface of her skin, not severe enough to draw blood. Although he could clearly see a bruise forming around the site, he was, nonetheless, quite proud of himself. He had protected her from the grievous injuries that plagued his imagination for so long. Absentmindedly, his hand drifted to his neck, his fingers massaging the reddening bruise Catherine had given him. It was all right. It was all so very right.

With each successive episode, his confidence grew until he felt secure enough to take back the dominant position he had surrendered to her. The last time they made love, Vincent held total jurisdiction of both their bodies. He allowed his hands and his mouth to explore every inch of her, as she had done to him. Instinctively, he knew precisely how to tease and confound her, turning her this way and that, until at last, she could endure no more. When he entered her, it was unlike anything that had gone before. Explosive orgasms ravaged their bodies simultaneously, leaving them so hypersensitive that neither could tolerate being touched for several minutes. Finally, she curled up next to him, tenderly kissed his chest and instantly fell into a deep tranquil sleep.

Sitting against the wall, watching her sleeping, the hunger within him began to build again. This was something else he would need to learn to conquer. His body was ready again. But he knew another lovemaking session would be too much for her. The untamed thing within him would simply have to wait. As he shifted his position uncomfortably, Catherine began to stir. Turning onto her back, she stretched and yawned. Then her hand reached out to search the blanket beside her.

"Vincent?"

"I’m here, beloved."

"You’re too far away."

Obligingly, he lay down beside her and gathered her into his arms. "Better?"

"Mmm. Much better." Her fingers began to trace patterns in the fur of his chest. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, beloved. I have never been so all right in my life. Are you?"

"Mmm hum. You know I am."

He placed soft kisses on the crown of her head and began to stroke her back lovingly. "Catherine?"

"Hum?"

"Promise me something."

"Anything."

"Promise that you’ll never leave me. Even if you never hold me inside you again." A cold shudder raced down his spine as he spoke those words. "Please, beloved, don’t ever leave me."

Catherine raised her head just enough to meet his eyes. "Never, my love. I will never leave you. Even if something horrible happens, even if my life should end. I will always, always belong to you."

Not the end, only the beginning.