Then it was as if the dog's body split asunder, like a seed, and something huge, and black, and slicker-furred than dog sprang out of him. Rhys and I were left to scramble back. Frost grabbed me around the waist and ran us backward to the wall, giving room to the huge shape growing at the foot of the bed.

It spilled upward like a genie from a bottle, except that the bottle was Doyle's body. A great black horse shape flowed upward, as if something of flesh could be formed of water and smoke, because solid flesh did not push into the air like a fountain, or smoke rising from some great fire.

Maeve and Sage came through the door in time to see the horse become truly solid. The dog form was simply gone, like black smoke that faded around huge dark hooves.

The dog had been the size of a small pony, so the horse was even more massive. It tossed its black head and nearly scraped its nose on the ceiling. The neck was thicker than my waist. It stamped on the carpet with hooves the size of dinner plates. It moved uneasily on its huge legs, and even little movements made everyone back up. All the men were staring. Kitto seemed more frightened than the rest. He had moved back through the crowd so that he stood near the door, and I think only Maeve and Sage blocking the door kept him in the room. Another phobia to add to the list for the goblin.

It was Sage who broke the silence. "I'll be damned."

"Probably," the horse said. It was still Doyle's voice, but instead of the growl of the dog, it was higher-pitched and had lost that near-animal undertone. To say that the horse's voice sounded more human seemed wrong, but was still true.

Doyle shook out a mane as black as his own hair. "I have not been in this form since the first weirding."

Rhys came forward and passed a hand down the side of that smooth neck. The horse's body gleamed like some dark jewel.

I started forward, but Frost held me tighter, pressing the back of my nude body against the front of his, but he wasn't excited to be there. He whispered, "It's not over. Can't you feel it?"

"What?"

"Magic," he breathed.

"Pressed this close to you, all I can feel is you. You all feel like magic to me."

He looked down at me then, and I saw a thought in his eyes, as if he hadn't known that before. "Then we make it harder for you to sense other magic?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"That is not good," he said.

I rubbed my body against his, and felt him swell against me, instantly. "I love it," I said, "I love being with you, all of you."

I don't know what he would have said, because the horse tried to rear and found there was no room. It rose above us like some black demon, hooves slicing the air. Rhys threw himself backward, rolling across the floor to end up against the others' legs.

The great form seemed to spread like a black coat, opening down the middle. Black wings stretched out of that opening, and the horse's form faded into smoke, or black mist. When the mist cleared there was a huge black eagle standing on the carpet. Its outspread wings must have been eight feet, maybe more. One wing brushed the far wall and folded against it. There simply wasn't room.

Standing, the bird was almost as tall as I was. I'd never been that close to anything that large that was supposed to be a bird. It cocked a head at me, and I saw those black-on-black eyes, and strangely, the look was still Doyle.

Rhys had regained his feet. "An eagle, cool. I never knew you were a bird."

The ebony beak opened, flashing paler colors. "I have never been this." The words sounded even higher-pitched yet, as if it were a voice meant for eagle screams, not human speech.

No one tried to get closer this time. No one tried to touch him. He folded his wings in against his body for only a moment, then they spread wide again, and the thick breast opened, like a coat, and Doyle stepped out in a swirl of darkness that moved like smoke but smelled like mist.

He stood naked before us for a second, then collapsed slowly to the floor. I would have rushed forward, but Frost still held me tight. It was Rhys and Nicca who reached his side first. Doyle managed to catch himself on one hand.

"Are you hurt, Captain?" Nicca asked.

Rhys was grinning. "That was a hell of a show."

I think Doyle tried to smile, but his arm began to tremble and slowly collapse, until he lay on the carpet on his side. Strangely, along with his clothes, the tie to his braid was gone, and that long plait of hair was starting to unwind across the floor.

"Let go of me, Frost, now!"

"You want to go to him," he said, and there was such sorrow in his voice.

I looked up at him. "Yes, as I'd want to go to any of you who was hurt."

He shook his head. "No, Doyle is special to you."

I frowned up at him. "Yes, as you are."

He shook his head again. He leaned over, whispered against my face. "Since he entered your bed, you have distanced yourself from me." He drew back and let me go. I watched him pull himself upright until he was the tall, handsome Frost. Imposing, impersonal, arrogant of face and bearing. But the look in his grey eyes was hurt, angry.

I shook my head. "I do not have time for this."

He just looked away as if I weren't there.

I turned to the others. "Rhys, is he going to be all right?"

"Yeah, he's just tired. I think from that first change. He fought like a son of a bitch."

Doyle's voice came tired but clear. "The less I fought, the easier it became."

"Good. Get him into the bed, so he can rest," I said, and turned back to Frost. I looked at him while I said, "Everybody out, except Doyle, Rhys, and Frost."

They all looked at each other. "Just do it, guys. Now." I was tired, too. A tired that went beyond the physical. And I'd had enough. Enough of my beautiful Frost. I'd decided to resort to brutal honesty, because I'd tried everything else.

There must have been something in my voice, because no one argued with me. How refreshing.

When the door closed behind them and Rhys was helping Doyle into the bed, I gave my full attention to Frost. "Normally, I would do this in private, but none of you believes me, most of the time, without one of the other guards to back me up. I don't want any misunderstandings, Frost."

Frost gave me a very cold look. "I understand that Doyle will be in your bed tonight."

I shook my head. "Frost, it is not Doyle being in my bed that's made me pull back from you. It's you who's made me pull back."

He looked away, as if he was at full attention but didn't see anything.

I slapped his chest, hard, because I couldn't reach his face. It startled him, made him look at me, and for a moment I saw something real in those eyes again, but only for a moment. Then he was all cold arrogance again.

"This pouting has got to stop."

He gave me cold eyes. "I do not pout."

"Yes, you do." I turned to the two men at the bed.

Rhys was tucking Doyle under the covers. He nodded. "You do pout."

Doyle lay heavily on the pillows, as if raising his head would have been an effort. "You do, my old friend, you do."

"I don't know what you mean," Frost said, "any of you."

"Something hurts your feelings, you pout. You perceive that something threatens your place in my affections, you pout. Things don't go your way in a debate, you pout."

"I do not pout."

"You're pouting, right now, this very second."

He opened his mouth, closed it, and a moment of puzzlement showed through. "I do not see this as pouting. Children pout, warriors do not."

"Then what do you call this?" I asked, hands on hips.

He seemed to think a moment, then said, "I merely react to what you do. If you prefer Doyle to me, then there is nothing I can do. I have given you the best of me, and it is not good enough."