“You did a convincing job yourself . . . of worried friend and cranky bird.” His hand moved to my back.

“Worried wasn’t that difficult.” I narrowed my eyes and he amended wryly, “Mildly worried. I know you’ve set the bar more than once for tricksters, but this was different. This was personal, the majority of it, and we’re all capable of being reckless when it’s personal, especially when it’s family.”

There was no denying that, and I didn’t as his hand stroked lower to the small of my back. “I knew it. You are so damn stubborn.” He sighed, feeling, I knew, the still-rough texture of the healing skin through my top. It was the road rash I’d received in the alley where Zeke had been wounded. That was what Leo had meant at Jeb’s wake in the desert when he’d said that I could make things easier on myself. I could’ve simply shifted form enough for my back to be healed. But Griffin might have picked up on the lack of pain, although it was unlikely, as concerned with his partner as he was. To be honest, that wasn’t the real reason. I’d lived as Trixa for long enough that I was Trixa. I wanted it all, the bad with the good. When my shape-changing abilities eventually returned, I thought I would still always be Trixa, no matter what I looked like. Just as Zeke and Griffin had been remade, so had I. And I liked it.

“What’s a scar or two?” I asked.

“The sign of a warrior.” He turned me around and bent to press his lips gently to the area between my shoulder blades. I felt the tingle of half pain, half pleasure. In other words, I felt life, because that was what living was. Pain and pleasure. “Or a trickster too distracted by personal vengeance to keep her eye on the ball.”

The enjoyable drift of anticipation that I’d fallen into disappeared instantly. “Is that a comment on my career competency?” I demanded as I turned back to face him.

“No, on the incredible depth of your ability to love.” He cupped my hand in his, the feather still cradled against my palm. “You’re right. We are still too much alike.”

“But?”

He smiled as I said it before he did. “But we might not always be. I’ve changed over the years. Same spots, as you’re always saying, but a different leopard underneath them. You’ve changed as well. You’re darker. You’ve lost. You’re not as cocky. You know now that things aren’t always as you thought they’d be. That the world still holds mystery and the unpredictable, even for us. Griffin and Zeke taught you that.”

He touched my jaw with callused fingers and kissed me, and it was all pleasure this time. No pain. No thought. Only the pressure of lips, the silk of tongue, the warmth of skin. Our first kiss, but it was as intimate as if we’d done it thousands of times before. It was like watching your favorite movie or reading your favorite book over and over and discovering something new. Something bright and dark, joyful and melancholy, all at once.

I was proud to be a trickster, but it was also good to be this—a silver point of light high and blazing in the apricot and violet morning sky, a moment that seemed as long as my life. Then the kiss ended; the morning star fell, as it always did. Leo carefully folded my fingers over the feather. “A token of my future esteem. Someday, if we’re ever less alike than more, give this back to me.”

Waiting was hard, not knowing for certain even more so. It could be years. It could be never. It could be the best thing that happened to me, but then again, Leo already was the best thing to happen to me. No matter if we changed or if we didn’t, that wouldn’t. Couldn’t. A book, written not that long ago from my perspective, said a wise thing. It applied to burning down demon nightclubs, to avenging brothers, and it applied now. To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. So elegant, so true, that even a païen like me could appreciate it, embrace it. To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. I broke a lifetime of habit to give that wise saying what it deserved.

Amen.

Amen.

About the Author

Rob, short for Robyn (yes, he is really a she) Thurman lives in Indiana, land of rolling hills and cows, deer, and wild turkeys. Many, many turkeys. She is also the author of the Cal Leandros series: Nightlife, Moonshine, Madhouse, and Deathwish; has a story in the anthology Wolfsbane and Mistletoe; and is the author of Trick of the Light, the first book in the Trickster series.

Besides wild, ravenous turkeys, she has a dog (if you don’t have a dog, how do you live?)—one hundred pounds of Siberian husky. He looks like a wolf, has paws the size of a person’s hand, ice blue eyes, teeth out of a Godzilla movie, and the ferocious habit of hiding under the kitchen table and peeing on himself when strangers come by. Fortunately, she has another dog that is a little more invested in keeping the food source alive. By the way, the dogs were adopted from shelters. They were fully grown, already house-trained, and grateful as hell. Think about it next time you’re looking for a Rover or Fluffy.

For updates, teasers, deleted scenes, and various other extras, visit the author at www.robthurman.netand at her LiveJournal.