Gregori moved, a flowing of his body, gliding silently, and his large frame was blanketing Savannah’s, blocking out the captain’s enticing view. Gregori leaned into her, his arms coming down on either side of the railing to imprison her against him. You are doing it again.His words brushed softly in her mind even as his warm breath teased the tendrils of hair at her neck.

Savannah leaned back into him, fitting her bottom into the cradle of his hips. She was happy, free of the oppressive weight of the hunt, of death and violence. There were only the two of them.

Three,he reminded her, his teeth scraping her sensitive pulse. He could feel the answering surge of her blood, the molten lava spreading in his.

My mother thinks my father is a cave man. I’m beginning to think you could give him a run for his money.

Disrespectful little thing.

“Which legend? There are so many,” Beau said.

“About an old alligator that lies in wait to eat hunting dogs and little children,” Savannah said.

Gregori tugged at her long braid so that she tilted her head back. His mouth brushed the line of her throat. I could be a hungry alligator,he offered softly.

“The old man,” Beau said. “Everybody loves that story. It’s been handed down for a hundred years or more, and the critter grows with each telling.” He paused for a moment, maneuvering his craft along a snag in the canal. Cypress trees bent low, looking like macabre stick figures dressed in long strands of hanging moss. Occasionally splashes could be heard as a snake plopped into the water.

“It’s said that old man alligator has lived forever. He’s huge now, growing fat with his kills and more wily and cunning than anything else in the bayou. He claims his territory, and the other gators give him wide berth. They say he kills any alligator stupid enough to wander into his territory, young or old alike, male or female. Trappers have disappeared in that area from time to time and old man alligator gets the blame.”

Beau allowed the boat to stop, so that they bobbed gently in the water. “It’s funny you should ask about that particular tale. The man who gave me the tickets for your concert was very interested in that alligator. We used to come out here at night together, gathering herbs and bark, and we poked around looking for the monster. We never did find it, though.”

“Who gave you tickets to Savannah’s show?” Gregori asked softly, already knowing the answer.

“A man named Selvaggio, Julian Selvaggio. His family has been in New Orleans almost from the first founding. I met him years ago. We’re good friends”—he grinned engagingly—”despite the fact that he’s Italian.”

Gregori’s eyebrows shot up. Julian was born and raised in the Carpathian Mountains. He was no more Italian than Gregori was French. Julian had spent considerable time in Italy, just as Gregori had in France, but both were Carpathian through and through.

“I know Julian,” Gregori volunteered, his white teeth gleaming in the darkness. Water lapped at the boat, making a peculiar slapping sound. The rocking was more soothing and peaceful than disturbing.

Beau looked smug. “I thought you might You both have a connection to Savannah, you both ask the same questions about natural medicine, and you both look as intimidating as hell.”

“I am nicer than he is,” Gregori said, straight-faced.

Savannah’s head brushed his chest Her laughter was sweet music in the stifling heat of the swamp. “So you never found the alligator. Is it true he eats large dogs?”

“Well, the fact is, a great number of hounds have been lost in the bayou along a particular trail. It’s in the old man’s supposed territory. A couple of hunters say they saw him lying in wait to bushwhack the dogs. They couldn’t nail him, though. No one can. He’s been around so long, he knows all the ways of the bayou. One small warning and he’s gone.” The captain rubbed his forehead as if it was pounding.

“You are talking as if you believe he is real,” Gregori pointed out gently. “Yet you say you and Julian did not find him. Julian is a hunter without equal. If there was such a creature, he would find it.” He was reading the captain’s mind, baiting him. Beside him, Savannah stirred as if to contradict his statement, but Gregori silenced her with an upraised palm.

“Julian knew he was there. He felt him.”

“But you saw him.” Gregori pushed the man a little harder, suddenly interested in this beast that could survive when so many others had not.

Beau glanced around the canal, uncomfortable in the dark of night. He was superstitious, and he had seen things, unexplainable things, and he didn’t like to speak of them without light of the sun. “Maybe. Maybe I have seen the old man,” he admitted, his voice low. “But out here, if you admit such a thing, the newcomers think you’re loco.”

“Tell us about it,” Gregori urged, his voice velvet, mesmerizing, impossible to resist.

Chapter Sixteen

For a moment the wind ceased to blow, and the insects in the bayou were silent. A dark shadow seemed to pass overhead. Gregori looked at Savannah. Beau pulled a can of beer out of a cooler, offering drinks to the couple. When they declined, he downed a third of the contents in a single gulp.

“My father was a trapper,” Beau told them. “I spent a lot of time in the bayou with him, trapping. When I was about sixteen, we were camped out at the old cabin, the one I pointed out to you earlier. There were some kids partying on a boat, kids from the city. They had a real nice boat, not like the old thing we took to school. I was jealous, you know. The girls were beautiful, and the boys dressed just right. When they saw me and my father, they laughed and pointed at us in our old skiff. I felt ashamed.”

Savannah made a soft sound of sympathy, her natural inclination to comfort him. Gregori laced his fingers through hers, clamping her to his side. She was such a compassionate little thing, and she wove such a spell of enchantment around men without even realizing it. He turned her knuckles up to the warmth of his mouth in appreciation of her character.

Beau took another swig of the beer, then wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “We watched them go down the fork leading deep into the swamp. Their boat was large and shouldn’t have made it that far into the reeds. Roots are thick there, sticking up out of the water every which way. The insects swarm around you, biting until you’re covered in blood. It was impossible for that boat, yet somehow they did it, as if the way had been cleared for them. An invitation to death.”

Savannah felt a cold chill, a dark, brooding dread that brought a shadow across her heart. “Why would anyone want to go to such a place?” she asked with a shiver.

Gregori’s arm circled her shoulders and pulled her into the protection of his body. “There is nothing to fear, ma petite.I am with you. Nothing can harm you when you are with me.”

Beau believed Gregori’s whispered promise to Savannah. Believed it absolutely. He had already noticed the lack of mosquitoes and gnats. It had been so with Julian Selvaggio, too. A strange phenomenon, but then, Beau had witnessed many strange things in the bayou.

The captain’s voice dropped even lower, as if the very water beneath the boat could carry his tale to the outside world. “Many go to see if the legend is true. Trappers, poachers hunting a trophy, those hungry, in need of food and money. Those from the outside think it’s all voodoo nonsense. They don’t understand the power of magic or of the bayou itself. So they hunt what they don’t understand. Julian respected nature, respected our ways and the magic here. That is why I told him, why I went on the hunts with him.”

“Why would everyone want to kill it?” Savannah’s sympathies swung to the alligator. “It just wants to survive.”