Rainbows in Your Eyes

PrologueCarpathian Mountains, 1945 The door of the caravan in which Fox Sullivan had set up as his surgery burst open, letting in a spattering of rain. “Close the door, please,” he ordered mildly. Once he would have wheeled in fury on whoever was letting germs into his sterile operating theatre, but that time was long past. For the past fifteen years, he and Warrick Synclaire, his lover, had lived in the Carpathian Mountains with the vista of travelers who at one time had summered on Synclaire land in Kent. Now he made do as best he could. Warrick ducked in out of the rain and shook off stray drops. “How is he, Fox?” “He’ll survive, although it will take a while for his hands and feet to recover.” “I can believe that. He’ll probably need to shift a few times. He’d run the skin off his pads by the time Djordji found him and carried him here.” Fox wasn’t surprised by the words his lover used. He’d learned Warrick was a shifter—the local inhabitants called them werewolves—years before, although he needed the light of the full moon in order to turn into his wolf form, unlike shifters who’d been born that way. Fox had to smile to himself. If it came to that, he was a shifter himself, and on those occasions when he needed to shake loose the fidgets, he’d shift into his fox form and dash across the countryside. However, there had been times, before this dreadful war had started, when he and his lover had shifted and made love in the moonlight. Fox rose to wrap his arms around Warrick in a brief hug. Times were perilous, and as little as he cared to admit it, the German threat was always near, and he never wanted to take his lover for granted. Warrick tipped up Fox’s chin. “I’m getting you all wet.” “No matter.” Still, Fox released him when Warrick stepped back. Even though they’d been together all these years—they’d shared digs back in Canada, before Warrick insisted on returning to Thorny Walk, his home in Kent—Warrick had never been a demonstrative lover. In bed, however…Fox smiled for a moment before pushing the arousing memories aside. This was hardly the time. “What’s the news? Do we have any idea where Vasil is?” “Vasil never arrived at the meeting point,” a strained voice whispered. “I had no choice but to continue on.” Fox whirled to look down at his patient, who he’d given enough morphine to knock out an elephant for a week. “How are you conscious?” “Never mind that,” Warrick ordered. “What do you mean Vasil never arrived?” “What I said. Pavel wasn’t at the point where I was to meet him either.” “That’s why you made such a long, dangerous journey?” “I had no choice. The news had to be delivered.” “You were supposed to relay it to Pavel?” Warrick asked. “I was. At the Hungary border.” “That means you covered more than three hundred miles.” “It had to be done.” And it was no wonder his paws—his hands and feet—were in such sorry shape. “Fox, we must know what’s been going on.” Warrick intended to question Fox’s patient, and Fox understood why. For long stretches, they’d heard nothing. “Then be quick about it. This shifter grows tired.” “What news do you bring, shifter?” It took the shifter a moment to battle through the fog of the morphine, but finally he was able to huff out, “The Monster is dead.” Fox felt his heart lurch. This war had been going on for so long, and as Syeira, the wise woman, had foretold, they’d lost so many. “How can this be true?” Warrick raised a quick hand when the shifter bared his teeth. “I’m not questioning your veracity. The allies haven’t yet reached Berlin.” And of course Warrick would be aware of that; Fox’s lover worked closely with the resistance. “From what I could learn, he took a cyanide capsule. When it didn’t seem to work fast enough, he shot himself in the head.” The shifter’s lips curled back to reveal abnormally long, sharp canine teeth. “Or perhaps the pain was more than he expected and could bear.” He sank down onto his cot. “S-sorry,” he panted. “S-so tired.” “Dammit,” Warrick snarled. Fox’s fingers tightened into a fist. He had to agree. Even this late in the war, the SS were still trying to wipe their kind from the face of Terra. “And you said there was no sign of Vasil?” The dark shifter was so exhausted he could barely shake his head. “No, and I d-daren’t wait.” “We’ll have to go on the assumption we’ve lost both Pavel and Vasil.” A frown darkened Warrick’s handsome features. “And they call us monsters. Might it be too much to hope the bastard’s death was long and painful?” In spite of the fact Warrick was the son of a baronet, he did tend to have a bloodthirsty streak. “He’s unconscious, Warrick. Frankly, I don’t know how he managed to fight off the effects of the morphine for as long as he did.” “At least he gave us the information we needed. This will demoralize the German troops.” “The local soldiers mutiny before they venture onto our land.” “With the result the high command constantly sends in soldiers from other parts of the Reich.” “And unfortunately, some of them don’t have enough imagination to realize what they’re up against and fear us.” “Then we’ll just kill them. I’ll go speak to the men.” “Rick…Did you notice this shifter had a British accent?” “Do you expect me to know him, simply because we’re both British?” Warrick tilted his head to observe him. “Or because we’re both shifters?” In spite of everything, Fox found the motion arousing. He shook his head, though. “What I meant was—” The tapping of a cane on the wooden steps leading into the caravan interrupted him, and a glance toward the door saw Syeira, the Romani wise woman, hobble into the space that was becoming more and more crowded. “Good evening, Grandmother.” Fox greeted her politely. “My son.” She nodded toward Warrick, then went to the dark shifter and stroked his black hair back off his forehead. When she turned back to them, her smile was pleased. Warrick frowned at the old woman. “You know this man?” “I have been waiting for him.” “Of course you have. Who is he?” “His name is Errol Dorincourt. He is the Dark One, and has been working with the resistance since before your country joined the war.” “Why haven’t we seen him before?” “He was needed elsewhere.” Fox studied her thoughtfully. “Would we have seen him even now if it hadn’t been for circumstances?” She smiled, revealing the gap between her teeth, but remained silent. “Are you going to tell us about him?” “As you say.” This time her smile deepened the grooves between her eyes. Warrick gave an annoyed huff, and Fox felt an incipient headache threatening to turn his brain to mush. His lover had always resented the fact the Romani woman had foreseen his unhappy destiny, but her manner of revealing it to him had been so obscure he hadn’t understood until it was too late. Fox pulled up a stool and placed it so Syeira could sit. “Thank you, my son.” She sank down and turned her head to gaze at Warrick. “You have a daughter.” “You’re not telling me anything new, old woman. And she’s hardly mine.” “She is blood of your blood.” “But she’s being brought up by Thomas Fortescue-Smythe, my…my boyhood friend.” Fox growled, and Warrick turned startled eyes toward him. After all this time Rick still—”Excuse me, I need to see how Luminitsa is feeling.” The young woman was expecting her first babe and was nervous about the impending birth. Syeira had turned over some of her duties to him, most likely out of kindness and to see he had something to do. Weres were a hardy lot who didn’t have much need for a doctor. He glared at his lover. Unless they were stuck by sacred silver during a full moon. “Fox—” Warrick held out his hand. Fox ignored him and stalked out of the caravan, not even bothering to grab up a slicker to keep the rain off. He didn’t like to hear Warrick talking about his “boyhood friend,” who at one point had been more than a friend—they’d been lovers. Not that Warrick often spoke of the man, but dammit, he’d left Fox behind in Canada so he could possess Smythe. Only Warrick had arrived to find his boyhood friend had a new lover, who Warrick attempted to destroy, with disastrous results. Fox felt his heart almost stop beating at the memory of Warrick, so badly injured the wise woman hadn’t been certain he’d be able to return to his human form. Fox firmed his upper lip and continued to stalk across the compound to Luminitsa’s caravan. He’d often wondered if leaving—a threat to do so would be useless, since Warrick would never believe his lover would do such a thing—might shake the obstinate man enough to bring him to his senses. A cry alerted Fox something was amiss, and when Patrin, Luminitsa’s man, tumbled out of their caravan and raced toward him, Fox was certain of it. “Dokter! Thank God, thank God,” Patrin babbled. “The baby is coming!” Fox wasn’t too sure of that, since first babies could be notoriously long in putting in an appearance, and first-time parents could be notoriously wrong, but he jogged to the caravan, calling over his shoulder, “Boil some water.” He didn’t need it, but it would give the man something to do. “Well, now, Luminitsa, let’s see how you’re progressing, shall we?” * * * * The full moon had long since set by the time Fox returned to the caravan he shared with his lover. He sat on a chair and leaned forward to tug off his boots. “Fox?” He started and sat up, his boots forgotten. “I didn’t expect you to still be up.” “Of course I’d be. I went to Patrin’s campfire when I saw him pacing, and he told me Luminitsa was having her baby. How is it?” “She.” “Ah. Patrin was hoping for a boy.” “They all do, not realizing we wouldn’t survive if there were no girls.” “How is she?” “Luminitsa is well. Her baby—” “What’s wrong?” Warrick must have heard the distress in his voice. His lover came to him and knelt at his side. “Oh, Rick, the poor little mite was born blind.” Fox couldn’t help a bitter laugh. “She’s so perfect, otherwise, her little head covered with a cap of black curls. But her eyes…” They were milky white, and once her parents had seen them, they’d shied back in horror and crossed themselves, demanding Fox get rid of her. “If you don’t, we will!” Perhaps it would be kinder in the long run, but Fox just couldn’t. She was such a pretty little thing. Warrick would help him bring her up. Somehow, they’d find a way. Fortunately, the wise woman arrived before he’d taken more than a half dozen steps from the caravan. “I will take her, Fox Sullivan,” she said, and she held out her arms. “To what end?” Fox held the baby close to his chest. “To see she grows strong and well.” “Will you?” For the first time he felt a glimmer of hope. “Grandmother, she can live a good life. It won’t matter that she can’t see. There are dogs that can be trained to help her. And if people are disturbed by the sight of her eyes…well, there are dark glasses available to conceal them.” “Worry not, my son. I have seen her future, and I promise you, this child will thrive. She has been blessed by Lilitu and is destined to become a powerful seer, ever more so than I.” She stroked his hair, then reached again for the baby. This time he gave the child to the wise woman’s hands. The baby let out a thin wail. “Hush, precious one. You will eat soon.” Syeira smiled at Fox, the satisfaction in her expression quickly suppressed. “In the morning I will take Dodona to my sister’s vista on the other side of the mountains.” “Dodona?” “That is her name.” This time she stroked his cheek. “And worry not. Vadoma will keep her safe.”