Rainbows in Your Eyes

Carpathian 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.” “I’m sorry, Fox,” Warrick said, rousing Fox from his thoughts. Fox sagged against his lover. He didn’t have the energy to hold onto his hurt. “What did Syeira have to say?” “In four years’ time, the child I fathered—” “Hardly a child, since she’ll be nineteen.” Warrick scowled at him. “Be that as it may, she’ll come to this valley.” “Why?” “That shifter in your surgery will be here.” “I’m sorry, Warrick. It’s been a long day and an even longer night. What difference does this make?” “She’ll be drawn to that bloody bastard.” Fox threw up his hands. “I’m going to bed.” “No, sweetheart, you don’t understand.” “Then I suggest you explain it so I can understand.” It aggravated Fox beyond telling when Warrick used love words to him, knowing they meant nothing. “But be quick about it, I’m about out on my feet.” “Fox, he’ll get her pregnant. She’ll have to marry him. Their children will carry the shifter line.” “Then God bless them. The cabal will be overjoyed.” Warrick growled and spat out a curse. The league of shifters here in Romania had been after the English werewolf to father more shifter children, but he’d stubbornly refused, claiming he needed to feel something more for his partner than lust. That had given Fox a measure of hope, but now… “Good night, Warrick.” He went to the back of the caravan, stripped off his shirt, sank down onto their bed, and began pulling off his boots. Warrick came to stand in the doorway, and Fox paused to study his lover, because no matter what, Warrick Synclaire would always be his lover. “England has been free of werewolves for centuries.” Warrick sounded as tired as Fox felt. “Syeira foresees their return, and it will be because of…of my daughter and that shifter.” Fox rubbed a hand over his face. “Are you saying England means so much to you you’ll do whatever is necessary to prevent that?” “Well…yes?” “All right. What do you propose?” “Excuse me?” “Syeira’s prophecies, obscure as they can sometimes be, invariably come to pass, so how do you propose to deal with this?” Warrick stared at him, his face haggard. “I’d…I’d have to find a way to stop them.” Fox closed his eyes, feeling sick. “You’d kill your daughter?” “What? No, of course I wouldn’t! What kind of an Englishman do you think I am?” Rick demanded, obviously taking offense. Thank God. “I’ll kill the shifter.” Fox lost his temper and did a little growling himself. He leaped to his feet and punched his lover in the jaw so hard Warrick’s feet shot out from under him and he landed on his arse. Warrick cupped his jaw. “What did you do that for?” Fox glared down at him, then put his shirt back on, stepped into his boots, and took a pistol from the cupboard where he kept it. “Where are you going?” Warrick finally had the sense to sound uneasy. Fox paused in the doorway. “To the surgery.” He glanced over his shoulder. “This pistol is loaded with silver bullets.” It wasn’t, really, but Warrick didn’t need to know that. “If you try to enter, I’ll shoot you.” “You wouldn’t.” The expression on his lover’s face—a combination of outrage and confusion—would have been laughable if the situation wasn’t so dire. “Don’t test me, Warrick, because I assure you I wouldn’t hesitate, not for an instant.” “Please don’t go.” Warrick’s shoulders slumped, about breaking Fox’s heart. “Can’t we…can’t we talk about this?” “Will you give up this ridiculous plan to kill the shifter?” “Fox…” “Look, love, you’re anticipating a blood bath. That won’t happen.” “How can you be sure? Look what I did sixteen years ago.” Unable to control his wolf’s bloodlust, Rick had been helpless when the moon hung full in the sky and had killed any number of people—some of whom deserved it, if Fox could go by the tales Djordji had told him. “You did that because you’d been bit. Have you seen any of the shifters here in Carpathia go on a murderous rampage?” Warrick flinched, and Fox regretted hurting him, but it was imperative the man understood. “Nicolae deserved to die. He bit you, and instead of teaching you the way of it, he left you to muddle through alone.” “But he didn’t.” “I. Beg. Your. Pardon.” When Warrick talked ridiculous nonsense like that, Fox wanted to strike him. Again. Of course his lover was too wrapped in his own discontent to notice. “Now when the moon is full, I become a werewolf and…how did you put it? I go on a murderous rampage.” “Jesus, Warrick, get your head out of your arse.” Fox could see his crudity shocked his lover. “In the years before the war, you killed no one. You had your wolf under control. Your daughter, her mate, their future children—their wolves will yield to them. The same will go for their children’s children, and on and on, down through the years. And perhaps they’ll be the salvation of England one day.” “Do you truly think so?” “I—” He had no idea. “Yes, I do.” He didn’t regret his lie—he could see how relieved it left his lover. “Then if I promise not to harm the shifter, will you come to bed with me?” “Yes.” God, you’re a sorry sod, Sullivan, he castigated himself. Warrick throws some sweet words your way, and you’re ready to forgive all. He sighed, but put away the pistol and followed his lover to the back of their caravan. In the morning they would talk to Syeira, and please God they’d get this whole thing sorted out. * * * * Sussex, England, 1945 “Shani enjoyed her birthday party, don’t you think?” Roddy Sayer asked the man he’d loved for so many years as they prepared for bed. The past fifteen years had fled by in what seemed the blink of an eye. Their little girl was growing up. “Yes, love,” Tommy said, and Roddy pretended not to hear the indulgence in his voice. “You know she’ll want an automobile soon.” “I imagine you’re correct. You’ll have to teach her how to drive.” Yes, he would. Lately, Tommy’s depth perception had become more and more off due to the loss of his eye, back during the War to End All Wars, which, as it turned out, hadn’t. Although Roddy did hope the monocle he planned to talk his lover into accepting would be of some help. “I think we’ll wait until—did you hear that?” “Hear what?” Roddy crossed to the curtains that closed out the spring night and drew them back. He sucked in a startled breath. “Tommy!” “What—Oh God.” On the back lawn, a wolf gamboled under the stars, the moonlight silvering her white coat. She sat down, raised her muzzle to the moon, and howled. Somehow it seemed a joyous sound. “Could she have shifted before?” Tommy stared at him blankly. “I…I don’t know. We haven’t heard of any depredations, and we would have.” “Yes.” Years before, the locals of Upper and Lower Flossmere had lived in terror that a homicidal maniac stalked their land, when in fact it had been Tommy’s former lover, the baronet’s son, Warrick Synclaire, who’d been bitten by a werewolf. On the nights when the moon was full, he’d shift into his lupine form and roam the countryside, seeking to slake his unholy thirst for human blood. “Do you think she’s aware?” “I don’t know.” “What do we do?” “What can we do?” Tommy slid an arm around his shoulder. “She’s never asked about her parents—” Roddy gave a curt laugh. “She hasn’t even asked why she has a Pere and a Papa instead of a Mama and a Papa.” It had been decided before the tiny girl child first began to speak, Roddy would be called Papa, and Tommy would be called Pere. However, it was all on Shani’s part that they be referred to collectively as the Papas. “Don’t fret, love. We’ll tell her when she asks.” “Perhaps we shouldn’t wait.” The night the child they named Shani Amala had been born, her birth father had been seriously injured in his wolf form, and so had lost a good deal of his memory. The Romani fortune teller, Syeira, had foreseen all this years before and had informed her vista they would take the unconscious man to their homeland in the shadow of the Carpathian Mountains. “We should have told Shani about her mother,” Roddy said. Eira Gwyn, a charming, winsome young woman who’d had the misfortune to fall in love with and become pregnant by Warrick Synclaire, had run Seek and Ye Shall Find, a curio shop in the village of Upper Flossmere. The poor woman had died shortly after she’d birthed their daughter. “Then we will. In the morning, love.” They would be harder pressed to explain about her father. The dark desire that was the bane—as well as the salvation—of the shape shifter, had driven Warrick Synclaire to attempt an attack on Tommy. Tommy had always been too soft-hearted when it came to his onetime lover, Roddy thought sourly, but thank God the attack had failed, due in large part to the silver chain Tommy wore as a symbol of his commitment to Roddy. They’d lived peacefully for many years, with no word received from the Rom on the Continent, and Roddy had dared to hope they’d heard the last of Synclaire. Unfortunately, all that changed when the Second World War erupted. Rumours began to filter back to their little corner of Sussex of very strange things that occurred under the glow of the full moon. Of course, no one had believed the tales of werewolves defending the local populace. It was just a clever ploy to undermine the enemy’s morale. Still, the fact remained, German soldiers had been on the point of revolting against their commanding officers rather than go anywhere near that area of the Carpathian Mountains. Roddy had exchanged glances with his lover, and they’d both known it hadn’t been a ploy. Now he sighed and shook his head. “I don’t think this is something that can wait till morning.” “All right, then, love. Suppose we go to Shani’s room and wait for her. And perhaps think of what to tell her?” Roddy kissed his lover’s cheek. “Yes, let’s.” * * * * The voice called to her in her dreams. It had done so for years. So it didn’t surprise her when she heard it on the night of her fifteenth birthday. What did surprise her was this particular dream, of a black wolf racing over a countryside she’d never seen before. His tongue lolled from the side of his mouth, and she knew his paws were beginning to hurt, for he’d been running at top speed over a long distance and for a long time. But it would only have to be for a little while longer. Then he would pass on the important news to another wolf, and he’d be able to take refuge somewhere and nurse his tender paws. But when he arrived at the meeting place, the other wolf was nowhere to be seen. The black wolf waited under a bush, catching his breath and licking the pads of his paws. When he’d waited as long as he dared, he hauled himself to his feet. The news had to be brought to the band of shifters miles away. He gave himself a brisk shake and set out again, resolutely ignoring the way the ground tore up his paws. So brave, and such a handsome wolf. You can do it, she whispered. I know you can. The wolf seemed to take encouragement from her words, even though there was no way he could hear her. He raced on and on through the night, at times having to hide from soldiers, but finally, as the moon began to wane, he crossed into territory he knew would be safe. Another mile or two at most… Abruptly everything began to fade. No, wait, what happened? Did you make it safely? Of course there was no one to answer, and she stamped her foot in frustration, thereby waking herself up. “Well, poop,” she muttered. It seemed she wasn’t going to know. She rolled over and glanced toward the window that looked out on the back lawn. She rose, went to it, and pulled back the curtains, expecting the sky to be lightening with the approach of dawn, but except for the moonbeams that danced over the back lawn, it was still dark. She needed to be out there, bathed in the cool light of the moon, and she slipped out of her room and tiptoed down the staircase to the ground floor. The house was silent. She must be the only person awake. Once she reached the back lawn, she found herself restless and warm. She yanked off her nightie and tossed it aside. The night air was cool, and it felt good against her heated skin. Her body began to ache, although it was more arousing than uncomfortable, and she dropped to her hands and knees before curling onto her side. The sensation arrowed down to the center of her body, and she shivered and moaned and climaxed, something she’d done since she’d reached puberty, although never so powerfully. She blinked, startled to discover her vision sharper; inhaled, taking note of the scents of the night, which had never been so vivid. She felt freer than ever before in her life, and she rose to her feet, even more startled to realize she was on four feet and her body was covered with lush white fur. And oh, the joy and the freedom! She would have raced across the property, but she could hear the horses in the paddock, restless and nervous. If she went closer, they might try to jump the fence, which could result in serious injuries, and if they hurt themselves, Papa would be saddened. Instead, she contented herself with chasing moonbeams from one end of the lawn to the other until she grew tired. Then she sat on her haunches, raised her muzzle to the moon, and sang out her happiness. The sound took her by surprise, and she gazed around, hoping she hadn’t wakened anyone. No. No one stirred. She rose to her feet once more, shook out her thick fur, and trotted around the lawn, searching for her nightclothes. It only took a thought before she was back in her human form, and she dressed, hurried into the house, and tiptoed up to her room, drained but very pleased with herself. Until she opened her bedroom door and found the Papas sitting side by side on her bed. “Am I in trouble?” she asked, her voice small in spite of the fact she considered herself grown. “No, petal.” Papa moved over and patted the space between him and Pere. “Pere and I think it’s time we told you about your heritage.” “My heritage?” She crept across the space and wedged herself between the Papas. Did they know what she’d been up to this night? “You shifted tonight. Have you…have you done that before?” Papa asked. “No, I promise, this was the first time. Wait…you’re not surprised?” No, she could see they weren’t. Papa stroked her pale hair, and Pere took her hand and began to tell her of the parents she’d never known. * * * * “So you were a…a good friend of Warrick Synclaire?” Roddy was relieved she hadn’t called the man her father. Tommy would have been devastated, and truth to tell, so would he. “I was,” Tommy said. “Is that why you took me?” “That was what he wanted, but Papa fell in love with you the moment Syeira put you in his arms.” “And you, Pere?” “You were the prettiest baby, and yes, I loved you as soon as I saw you.” She sighed happily. “I’m glad I have you two as my papas.” She yawned so broadly Roddy was afraid her jaw would pop. “Bedtime now.” He and Tommy kissed her and helped her get settled under the covers. “Sleep in. In the morning we’ll show you what mementoes we have of your parents.” “Will you stay until I fall asleep?” “Of course.” “I love you, Papa. I love you, Pere.” “We love you, too.” In a not-so-surprisingly short time, Shani’s breathing became slow and even, indicating she was fast asleep. Roddy turned off the bedside lamp, and he and his lover left her to sweet dreams of romping across the back lawn.