birth.
He sat beside Ulrich instead, holding his own newborn daughter while Keisha and the other women used their Chanku skills to ease Xandi’s pain.
Ulrich brushed his fingertip over the baby’s satiny cheek. “It’s frightening, isn’t it, the responsibility you feel holding one that tiny? I remember when Camille delivered Tianna. The doctor handed that tiny bundle to me and all I could do was stare and worry about her future.”
Anton sighed, but it was a contented sound. “I know. I can already feel the changes fatherhood has made in my perceptions, the sense I have of myself and those around me. It’s good, though, my friend. All good. These little ones won’t grow up wondering why they’re different, wondering what drives them to be so unlike their friends. They’ll know their heritage, their potential.”
Ulrich nodded, lost in memories and old regrets. He’d not been so open with Tia. His daughter hadn’t known a thing about the Chanku, beyond the fairy tales her mother had told her as a youngster. Thank goodness all had turned out so well.
“I have a favor to ask of you, but I’ll not be unhappy should you refuse.”
“A favor? Of me?” Ulrich sat back in his chair and looked closely at Anton, the acknowledged leader of the Chanku. He was a shapeshifter as well as a powerful wizard adept at many arcane skills, and it was difficult imagining Anton needing anything from anyone.
He smiled at Ulrich, obviously aware of his thoughts. “The High Mountain wolf sanctuary in Colorado has an interesting director. Her name’s Millie West. She’s lived in the area all her life.” Anton glanced away from Ulrich’s direct gaze and brushed his daughter’s fuzzy head. “I met her briefly, a few weeks ago. She’s Chanku. I’d almost swear it, though obviously I have no proof. I want you to meet her, see if my suspicions are correct. If she is, I want you to help her, to bring her over. She’s got to be at least fifty…to my knowledge, she’s never married.”
Anton turned his attention back to Ulrich. “I know how you feel about Camille, but your wife’s been gone for a long time. Chanku mate for life, but once a mate’s life ends, I believe we can still find love.”
It might have been merely his imagination, but Ulrich was almost sure his heart skipped a beat, skittered a little and then settled back into rhythm. He’d never imagined another woman and love in the same thought, never allowed himself to consider loving anyone but Camille.
He raised his head. When he stared into Anton’s amber eyes Ulrich saw both compassion and encouragement. “Was this your goal,” he asked, “when you brought Camille’s spirit back for me? To free Keisha from her presence, or was it to free me?”
Anton’s smile was bittersweet. “Couldn’t it do both things? Camille needed to move on, Keisha needed peace, and you, my friend, needed to remember that, while your wife is no longer alive, you are. What are you? Fifty-nine? Sixty?”
“I’m sixty-four, and on days like this I feel every one of my years and then some.” Ulrich chuckled, but there was little humor in his heart. Damn Camille. He’d hoped that one magical night he’d spent with his long-dead wife’s spirit would help him move beyond the grief, but he still missed her. At least the anger was gone. For that, Ulrich would be forever grateful to Anton Cheval.
“Do you realize you’re only a dozen years older than me, and I’m holding a newborn?” Anton leaned down and kissed the sleeping baby in his arms. “You have a life to live, Ulrich. A future ahead of you. Think about it. I need someone to bring Millie over, if she truly is Chanku. You’re the one to do it.”
Anton watched Ulrich where the older man stood by the window, staring out across the city. His thoughts were as clear to Anton as a written page. Anton debated whether or not to intrude. It was so easy, this slipping in and out of the minds of others, but he honored privacy whenever possible. From this distance, it would be almost as easy to tell by Ulrich’s body language what the man thought.
The door to the birthing room opened and Stefan slipped outside. Anton bit back a grin. His packmate, usually so carefree and lighthearted, looked rumpled and exhausted. Stefan rubbed his injured shoulder, still healing after their plane crash just a few weeks earlier.
“How’s she doing?”
“Better than me.” Stefan flopped down on the chair beside Anton and ran his finger over baby Lily Milina’s silky cheek. “But, if this is the reward, I imagine I’ll be able to cope.” He chuckled quietly. “The women are amazing. They sit beside Xandi while she labors, touch her body gently and take her pain. All of them are showing the strain of her efforts, yet she looks wonderful, still rested and strong.”
“How’s Keisha?” Anton caught a flicker of regret in Stefan’s eyes and immediately frowned. “Is she okay?”
“She’s tired. She wants me to bring Lily in so she can nurse. Said her breasts hurt.”
“Ah. I’m surprised she didn’t contact me directly.” Anton had thought of going into the room, but Keisha had asked him to keep Lily away.
“She’s afraid to link.” Stefan reached for the baby. “She doesn’t want Xandi’s pain to spill over onto the baby. She’s blocking now, but you know women. No way is she going to leave the room and maybe miss something. She said she’d be careful to block while she’s got Lily with her. Xandi said you’re more than welcome to…”
Anton shook his head and nodded in Ulrich’s direction. “Later. Before your son arrives.” He kissed his daughter’s satiny cheek and handed her over to Stefan. Then he kissed his packmate, sensing Stefan’s fear for his wife and his need to return to her side. Conflicted by his strong desire to be with Keisha and his equally powerful need to talk to Ulrich, Anton stayed behind. He watched his tall, handsome lover carry his only daughter to her mother and felt an ache in his heart when the door closed behind them.
Without the baby in his arms, Anton had only Ulrich to keep him busy. He studied the older man, reading his body language without trespassing on his thoughts. Ulrich had stepped outside. He sat alone in the small garden area easily visible through heavy glass doors, apparently lost in thought as he stared in the general direction of Golden Gate Park. Anton concentrated on Ulrich for a moment, and then settled back in the overstuffed chair in the waiting room and closed his eyes. To an observer, he would appear to sleep, but while Anton’s body seemed to slumber, his searching mind silently, surreptitiously wound its way deep inside Ulrich’s thoughts.
It was something he doubted he’d ever get used to, this sharing of minds without the other’s notice. Bits and pieces of Ulrich’s memories whirled in senseless disarray, slowly but surely falling into order as Anton’s searching mind made sense of what he observed.
Within moments, he became Ulrich Mason, the Ulrich of memory. A younger Ulrich, walking hand in hand along a shaded path in Golden Gate Park with his beautiful African American wife. Her skin was as smooth and dark as bittersweet chocolate. When Camille turned and laughed, looking up at him with sparkling eyes and flashing teeth, his heart melted.
“I love you, Ric. I will always love you, but last night was truly spectacular.”
They stopped and Ulrich pulled her into his arms. He breathed deeply of her scent, and Anton recognized the perfume of the ghostly specter that had so upset Keisha less than a year ago. It was hard to believe Camille, this beautiful, vibrant woman of memory, had been dead for over twenty years.
“I hate to admit it,”
