Ferral stiffened as he surveyed the wreckage of his mansion, like a wild animal who smells a trap. "Who was here, Subi?" he asked in a coiled voice. "Who ransacked the house while I was away? Are you all right, darling?"

The Geisha hadn't stopped jabbering--or pointing at me--while he was talking, and in fact, the volume of her tirade went up a few notches. Her kohled eyes made angry slashes in her white face, and her jade kimono shivered so violently around her body that its gold threads flashed warnings at us. Had the master of Raven Crest not been standing beside me, I'd have been railing back at this spiteful virago. All the blissful hours I'd just spent with my wolf in his cabin faded away, and the funereal foreboding of Ravenna's house held sway over us all again.

"No, Subi," Ferral was saying, his voice rising above his maid's, "Caressa did not come in the night to tear the place apart. She was with me. Every moment for the past two days."

But the Oriental's wrath only increased, ridden into a frenzy by the green demon of her envy. "But she wear Missy Ravenna's nightgown! She invite evil spirits to this house! She must go! Now!"

"Caressa is my guest, and I'm telling you, Subi, she was at the cabin with--"

The livid servant's hysteria again increased, until I wanted to go outside to escape that strident voice in the dark, echoing entryway. What pictures were left on the wall quaked in their places, until even Ferral reached the end of his tether.

Two strides took him to the raging woman's side, where he speared his fingers into her raven hair and tilted her head back in a kiss. The sheer force of this act stunned me. I could only gape in dismay as Ferral began a rapid transformation into that demonic creature who'd lured me into his lair two days ago: his widow's peak lowered into a devilish point between his bristling brows, as those alluring sideburns spread along a jawline lean with predatory hunger. His ragged breathing filled the room around us--far more threatening than Subi's hysterical accusations had been.

But was it passion or anger inspiring his change? I could only watch, gripping the door jamb as though grasping at my last straws of reality, while Ferral Graves devoured his servant. The daggers he plucked from her hair clattered onto the parquet floor, and her blue-black mane fell out of its tucks and topknots, to cascade down her back. His silver-furred hands roamed her body, displacing the silk kimono until it shredded beneath the force of his...claws. My God, had this beast actually made love to me? I'd been too caught up in my own passions to see him clearly then, but from my current vantage point, I stood in helpless awe.

And while I felt peeved that my lover had turned to this other woman so soon, after what we'd shared in his cabin, I couldn't deny my fascination. If only I had my camera....

But what a foolish thought! I was shaking too hard with my own desire to handle the cumbersome equipment that would capture this incredible sight. My legs clenched together at the first trickle of dew down my thigh. Subi--far from subdued, but still caught up in Ferral's masterful kiss--had turned to putty in his embrace. The last remnants of her kimono slithered down her sleek body, and she pressed herself against him with a fervor designed to inspire my jealousy. True, no woman could resist a man like Graves. But I could see the Oriental's triumph as she gripped the erection bulging behind his fly.

He groaned, humping her hand. Still he kissed her, violently, madly, making her respond in kind as their mouths waged war. She tore open his trousers and he jerked them down past his hips...a backside just as attractive while covered in glossy gray hair as it was in a more human form. I gasped at the size of his cock, at the frantic speed he pumped it up and down inside her fist. Its purple head popped up and then rapidly disappeared, again and again, seeking more contact with her palm.

My own palm had found its way to my mound, from the pocket of my skirt. The two I watched were too caught up to notice my furtive fumblings, so I poked a hole in the pocket seam, enough to touch my wet cleft with two wiggling fingers. I'd felt brazen enough, leaving the cabin this morning without any drawers on--at Ferral's roguish suggestion--and now I'd fallen to the level of fondling myself in front of other lovers. Leaning forward, inching my legs apart, I could disguise the telltale motions going on beneath my dress, and this wicked thought only made me yearn for more.

Subi's lush hips undulated, mimicking the the rhythm of her fingers around Ferral's prick. What a sight she was, with her breasts aquiver and those nipples bobbing like little brown corks on a cresting, golden sea! A furred knuckle slipped into her wet cleft, and my own fingers danced attendance on my aching clit, pretending to be Ferral's.

But then Graves brought his dew-slicked hand up to his nostrils, which flared as he inhaled deeply. "Hold on," he growled, backing his servant roughly toward the newel post at the bottom of the stairway.

The Geisha gripped the glossy pillar of mahogany, and was swung backwards as her predator parted her legs. One foot landed on a step, where she bent at the knee, while the other ended up slung over his shoulder as he kissed his way down the hollow of her stomach. By the time Graves was in a crouch, his back to me so I had full view of Subi's dark triangle of thatch, her thighs were wide apart and her white face made a mask of mingled agony and ecstasy...agony because she wanted to come so badly. Ecstasy, knowing I must witness the extreme pleasure our benefactor was about to bestow upon her.

I swallowed hard, to disguise my rapid panting. It was one thing to watch this pair through the door's glass with Lovejoy. It was another matter entirely to stand a mere fifteen feet away, with my fingers shoved up my cunt, hearing every little grunt and thrust, watching the chandelier's muted light play upon silvery hair and whiskey skin...smelling the Oriental's exotic essence mixing with the savage musk of the wolf who lapped at her.

My other hand came into play...lifting my mound through the other pocket so my wet fingers could strum my clit. Rocking on my toes, my weight against the doorway's frame, I chased the coils of lightning that streaked through my body to strike me between the legs. I sucked air, desperate not to cry out--and then realized Subi's eyes were wide open. From above Ferral's bobbing head she watched me, knowing full well what I was doing. Knowing that the sight of her spread legs and our mutual lover's licking had driven me to it.

A whimper escaped me. And my traitorous fingers took up the call, until I was clenching my teeth together, holding my breath against a climax that shattered me from the core outward. With a cry I fell forward, slipping against the polished woodwork--my hands were tangled in my skirt, so I couldn't stop my fall! A high-pitched giggle came from the stairway--

And Ferral was on me, his corded arms catching me just before I hit the hard floor. "What the hell--are you all right, Caressa?" His growl was raspy with passion. His face was caught in a feral leer that longed for release, despite his obvious concern, and his shirt gaped open to reveal the heaving, muscular chest of a rutting wolf. Those sharp teeth gave me pause; made me recall Red Riding Hood's line about her wolf's big teeth, and his reply about eating her. But this was no fairy tale.

What could I say? That I'd played into the hands of my own voyeuristic needs? His flickering smile told me he'd smelled what was going on, from across the room; he was just seeing if I'd admit to it. His maid, however, wasn't as subtle.

"Seance-Lady finger-fucking! Wants what Subi getting!" came that lilting Japanese chant. "But this wolf belong to me, little bitch! You excite his cock for a while. But he never, never turn his back on Geisha who love him when nobody else would."

The woman in me couldn't ignore the Oriental's taunt. If I'd had my fantasies about a future with Ferral Graves, they were now tempered by his maid, who knew him far better than I. Yet the man--the animal--who gazed at me now, crouched with me on the floor, once again drove out all distracting thoughts with the predatory gaze of those eyes...crystalline blue eyes that burned with a frightening fire of unquenchable lust. Lust for me, now that he was holding me again. I tried to work my hands from my pockets, but he pinned my arms in place, grinning wickedly.

"Finish what you started," he whispered. "I'm going to watch."

I looked helplessly into his face, which shimmered with the silver strands of his transformation. There was no denying Ferral Graves, ever. And to drive this point home, the beast pivoted me quickly, propping me against the wall before I could fathom what was happening. He flipped up my skirt, exposing my naked legs and those damning fingers poking through the seams I'd split...and the face that flushed with embarrassment at having my private act put on display.

"Finger yourself, Caressa," he crooned, easing back to sit on the floor across from me. "Open your hole. Tickle your folds and flick your clit, until I can see you quivering...in there where I'm going to shoot my spunk."

Again my body obeyed when my mind rebelled. My fingertips continued their titillation of the warm, wet skin and rekindled that inner fire--fueled by the sight of Graves yanking his pants the rest of the way off. His erection swayed and throbbed, thick and virile, shaded in pinks that darkened from his balls into an intense mulberry shade at its bulbous head. It was my turn to gloat, for Subi sat pouting on the stairway. Probably plotting how to attract him back, so she could finish what he'd started with her.

Ferral, however, began stroking his cock, ringing it with his finger and thumb so I could watch the circlet of furred skin ride the smooth, hairless length of it. His hips couldn't stay still--nor could mine--and as we worked ourselves, we assumed each other's rhythm, with our fingers and our rapid breathing. Inch by inch he scooted toward me, that engorged prick pointing at my slit. I clenched, anticipating the warm splatter of his seed against my skin...the way he might lap it up with that rough, animal tongue....

I groaned with a climax that refused to be restrained. Frantically I rubbed myself, spreading the honey that oozed out with each quiver of my incited body--and as the waves of excitement overtook me, so did Ferral. He propelled himself forward and levered my hips up to receive him, driving my ass against his own to complete himself. We howled like wild beasts mating in the moonlight, heedless of time and place and propriety. Never had he filled me with such a driving heat, ramming his cock into me as though he couldn't get enough.

And then he screamed, releasing his demons with the torrent of seed that pumped on and on. It raised the hairs on my neck, that primal cry, but I was too deeply, darkly involved with this creature to turn back--or to turn him away in his moment of need. Ferral Graves had become much more than my means of starting up a studio. He was a bad habit turned into an addiction.

"My God, Graves! Have the three of you gone so mad you've torn the place to pieces?"

At the sound of that modulated voice we froze. My hands were still tangled in my pockets, balancing me against Ferral's body as he held me between his thighs. With his shirt thrown open, his fur was clearly visible, and the expression on his silver-bristled face told me he'd gotten caught in a position that compromised him far more than it did me. He curled his lip at Aaron Lovejoy, who stood gawking at us from the open doorway, taking in the disarray and our joined bodies--and the naked maid who hurried up the stairs, with her dark hair swaying down to cover her butt.

"I told you never to come back here," Graves growled.

Any intelligent guest would've heeded the bestial aggression in that voice. But Aaron brushed the shock of blonde hair back from his flawless face, gaping at Dr. Graves with obvious interest. "Are you going to tell me what the hell happened here?"

"None of your damn business. Or is it?"

Ferral had gone rigid beneath me, and I felt distinctly uncomfortable, cradled in his lap with our honey running out of me, while the two adversaries stared each other down. The accusation sounded obvious, considering the way these men had last tangled--and why Aaron had left with a bitten wrist.

"Was anything stolen?" Aaron persisted. "Someone of ill intent was obviously looking for--"

"A letter, perhaps?" Ferral jeered. "If Ravenna was indeed upset enough to write you such an epistle, she could only incriminate you, Lovejoy. Better leave now, before you dig yourself a deeper grave."

But the singer remained unruffled. "I've just returned from a three-day engagement in Denver," he said, reaching inside the lapel of his coat to hand us a circular. "I merely stopped to check on Caressa, and to invite her to my concerts here in the Springs. From the looks of this house, she'd be wise to come back to town with me. Did an intruder do all this damage? Or has Subi the Samurai gone berserk again?"

Ferral snatched the paper Lovejoy was offering me, gave it a cursory glance, and tossed it aside. "How magnanimous of you to avail us your operatic and Shakespearean talents here in Colorado, when you could be in Paris or Milan or Vienna," he said in a voice smacking of sarcasm. "But as any blind man could see, Caressa is in my care. Perfectly safe. She has neither the need nor the inclination to return to town with you, Lovejoy."

"You can't tell me you allowed this--this rampage!--to happen while you were here in the house?" the singer demanded. His arms rose theatrically to encompass the destruction surrounding us. "Have you informed the police? The authorities will be terribly interested in--"

"If the sheriff comes poking his nose where it doesn't belong, I'll know you informed him," Graves snarled. He pointed a threatening finger at Aaron...a finger which now had a flat fingernail and far less fur on it. "Your concern has been duly noted, Mr. Lovejoy. Get back to your singing. And stay the hell out of my life."

I was about to protest this whole conversation--I detested having my welfare discussed as though I weren't in the room! I also wanted to quiz the Byronic songbird about that letter he'd asked for at the seance. And yet, when his nostrils flared at the sight of our joined hips, and his tawny gaze riveted mine with an ulterior motive I didn't want to think about, I kept my mouth shut. I'd learned too late the consequences of speaking my mind around men who fit my meanings to their own devious needs.

Aaron's face relaxed. And when he reached again into his stylishly-cut overcoat, it was a pair of tickets he dropped onto my lover's chest. "Nothing I can do about your bull-headed stupidity, Graves, but I'm inviting Caressa to my next concert--with you as her body guard, of course--for an evening of cultural...stimulation. Perhaps it will provide a pleasant distraction from this unfortunate invasion of your premises."

With a final appraisal of the wreckage around us, Lovejoy turned smartly on his heel to leave. Moments later, the clatter of hooves on the brick drive announced his departure and made me frighteningly aware that his carriage had made the same noise coming in, and that I hadn't heard it. Too caught up in slaking a thirst that had burned through my body like an infection.

With a snort, Ferral eased me off his lap. He had returned to his normal form now, but a wildness still glowed in his ice-blue eyes. "Damn bastard thinks he can just sashay in here and--fine way to show his gratitude for the fact that I even speak to him--"

"And for his voice lessons? And the boost you gave his career?" I asked, skimming the content of the circular. The concert dates in Denver proved Aaron Lovejoy couldn't have ransacked the house, but Graves was in no mood for that information.

"Who told you that?" he barked. Once again his features narrowed into a beastlike tightness.

"Katy DeShay, the night of the seance. She merely--"

"Katy doesn't know all the facts. She's a dear friend who'll do anything in her power to protect me--whether I need it or not," he added. He stood to fasten his pants, looking down at my disarray with the same aloof arrogance he'd shown from the start. "So don't draw false conclusions from misleading scraps of evidence, Miss Caine. It'll only get you into trouble."

He turned to go upstairs, dismissing me as part of the wreckage of his rooms, but I wasn't letting him off that easily! I snatched the two tickets from the floor, noting the concert's date. "We should accept Aaron's invitation for this Sunday's matinee--"

"Not a chance!" he said from halfway up the stairs.

"--if only to give me another view of him--of his professional aura--so I can ascertain his emotional investment...his possible participation in Ravenna's death."

Graves turned on the landing, facing me, with his wife's larger-than-life portrait looking over his shoulder. "Ravenna will reveal everything we need to know, Miss Caine. At our next seance."

With that he ascended to the second floor, leaving me seated in a pool of spunk, in the midst of his home's devastation. Raven Crest grew chillingly quiet. As I gazed more purposefully at the emptied desk drawers, and the misplaced paintings, and the exquisite pieces of glass from Dr. Graves's collection, strewn by a malicious hand, I sensed a dangerous force at work here--the same malevolence I tried to escape on my initial visit. Gooseflesh tickled at my spine and I stood to straighten my skirts, sticking those tickets in my pocket.

Didn't Ferral care if anything were missing? His mercurial mood changes were another enigma about a very complicated man; a puzzle I couldn't piece together yet. It wasn't my job to set these rooms to rights--I'd let Subi earn her keep! But I couldn't resist some sleuthing while the Oriental and her mysterious master had left me to my own devices. In each room I looked for a pattern of destruction, and I checked the windows and doors--all of which were intact and properly locked. Either someone had a key to those massive front doors and the service entry into the kitchen, or Subi had locked them after the fact, to cover her negligence. Or this crime was committed from within.

Had Subi gone berserk? Her jealousy shone like the daggers she fastened into her hair--and her flight upstairs when Aaron appeared bespoke something other than modesty. She could have spied on our lovemaking at the cabin, and then torn Raven Crest inside-out to give further credence to Lovejoy's demand for a letter from Ravenna...a letter she could only know about if she had floated along the gallery railing, veiled in gauze and mystery, to scare us all out of any future seances.

She probably didn't know Aaron's concert schedule. Just wanted to place the blame on a man she considered vermin, and leave Ravenna's soul at peace. I, too, wanted to believe the obnoxious singer responsible for wrecking these rooms, searching for the love note his best friend's wife supposedly wrote him.

Katy DeShay would take the same emotional train of thought. And the impish madam wasn't above slipping in here to search for that note before her client could find it: her way of presenting Ravenna's last shred of evidence to the husband it rightfully belonged to.

I climbed the stairs pondering these mysteries, noting that the drawers in the hallway tables had also been left gaping--and that my room, too, had been ransacked! Terror pierced my heart. This invasion didn't set well, even though I sensed our intruder wasn't punishing me, personally. Yet as I straightened my bed, I noticed a round, white pillow was missing from those that had been crocheted to match my counterpane. And when I checked my faded valise, my stomach knotted.

My ambrotype of Mama was missing, along with her handkerchief and my Bible.

I fell feebly into the wing chair by the window, my pulse racing. My mind struggled toward rational thought about when I'd last seen these precious mementos...in the dining room for the seance, where everyone present knew what they represented. While Katy had teased me out of using them to invoke Mama's spirit, a knell of doom sounded in the back of my mind: if my focus objects had been stolen, was my ability to summon the spirits gone, as well?

I awoke, several hours later, from a bout of bad dreams, no doubt brought on by my uncomfortable position in the chair--and the twang of unsettling music drifting in from Ravenna's room. I shivered, for no fire had been built, and the clock on my mantel hadn't been wound during my absence with Ferral. Outside, the diminishing moon held court over craggy mountaintops and bare trees reaching upward in homage, but here in the house the atmosphere felt darker. More ominous than ever before.