"Music," she'd told him. "I'm interested in music. I'll begin with the piano and see how I do. I can always go away later to learn more if I want to."

It was true she enjoyed music so it wasn't quite a lie. Flexing her fingers, she set them onto the keys and began.

"Oh no!" Druse spoke from the archway. "Not those tuneless exercises again. Why not play something with a melody?"

"Mrs. Arbuthnot says nimble fingers make the difference between a good and an indifferent pianist," Samara said, continuing to run up and down the scales.

Druse, carrying a newspaper, came to lean on the curve of the grand piano. "I can't bear this rain--three days already. Will it never end?"

Samara interpreted her words to mean that Druse was impatient for Stefan's return. Nothing she'd said had made the slightest impression on Druse or Stefan--they were still secret lovers, something Samara had not told her grandparents.

"I take Grandmother's potions," was Druse's answer to the possibility of conceiving a child.

"I don't put Druse at risk--I don't go near her when the moon's full," was all Stefan ever said.

Stefan's infrequent homecomings always coincided with Grandfather's equally infrequent absences. Grandfather had taken the train to Oakland yesterday and was due back tomorrow.

Samara knew Stefan was afraid Grandfather would somehow sense the difference in him and discover what he and Samara had kept hidden from everyone for almost a year--the fact he was a shifter.

"Do stop banging on those keys for a minute," Druse begged. "I want to read you something from the San Francisco Chronicle."

Samara's fingers froze on the keys. She'd seen the Chronicle already and she was afraid she knew what Druse intended to read to her.

"'Spirit Wolves In Valley?'" Druse paused and looked over the top of the newspaper at her. "Are you listening?" Samara nodded stiffly. Did Druse suspect?

"'A San Francisco man," Druse read, "'recently returned from a camping trip into the Sierras, tells a frightening tale of becoming separated from his companions and being chased by a fearsome beast. The beast pursued him and was about to overtake him when he was fortunate enough to find refuge in a foothills Indian village. The Miwok inhabitants of the village knew the beast well.

"'The Miwoks claimed it was the second time this beast has roamed their territory. Some twenty years ago, the village chief told our hiker, what they called a Spirit Wolf was supposedly shot to death. Now he lives again, appearing when the moon is full, to terrorize the Indians.

"'Our hiker, a business man of impeccable repute, insists the beast that chased him was not a wolf, spirit or otherwise, nor any other wild animal native to the mountains. "'If any of our readers has an idea what this mysterious beast could be, please drop us a line. Your intrepid journalist favors that most legendary of beasts, the werewolf, deep in his mountain fastness, emerging to hunt for prey only when the moon is full...'"

A silence fell after Druse finished. "Well?" she said finally, folding the newspaper.

"How should I know what the beast is?" Samara asked. "Likely it's a made-up story anyway."

"Stefan's cabin is in those foothills." Druse's gaze challenged her.

Samara stared back at her, willing her face to remain expressionless. Hearing the article aloud was even worse then seeing it the first time. How many people read the article? Grandfather must have. What would he do?

At last Druse sighed and looked away. "I wish Stefan would come home," she said.

Stefan couldn't wait much longer, Samara knew, because the moon was waxing and would be full in less than a week. He never came near them during a full moon. Last week she'd left a note in their secret hiding place to tell him of Grandfather's upcoming trip. If Stefan had gotten the note, why hadn't he returned to Volek House?

And, oh God, what if the story was true and he'd started hunting men?

Samara forced the morbid thought from her mind and looked determinedly at her music book. She could do nothing until she talked to her brother. But her heart wasn't in piano practice and she couldn't make her fingers begin the scales again.

"I hate not being a twin!" Druse's voice was petulant. "Twins share secrets. Stefan only lets me share one thing with him and you don't let me share anything with you." She flung herself away from the piano and stalked toward the archway.

Liisi, entering the music room, stopped her. Placing an arm around Druse, she led her to the bay windows, motioning with her head for Samara to join them.

Liisi put her other arm around Samara, and, pulling the two girls close, said in a low tone, "The stones warn me trouble is coming. Danger. Death. With your grandfather gone, we must prepare ourselves to withstand the peril without him."

Druse crumpled the newspaper in her hands.

Samara shivered. "What kind of trouble?"

"I wish I knew." Grandmother's voice was tense with worry. "We don't want the servants involved so I've sent them home--except for Jose. Samara, you run and tell him to leave. And warn Chung to lock the gates and keep an eye out for strangers. Druse, you come with me."

While Chung was closing the back gate, Samara went around to the front with Jose to lock the front gate after she let him out. Gray clouds hovered overhead but the rain was now more of a mist. As they reached the gate, she heard horse's hooves approaching. Hurriedly she swung the gate open, hoping Jose would get through it so the gate could be closed and locked before the rider appeared.

Misty rain or not, Jose, who was getting on for sixty, was in no hurry. "Un cabellero ," he said, stopping his horse halfway through the gate and craning his neck to look down the road where a man on a pinto rode toward them.

Warmth flooded through Samara, surprising her, making her glance overhead to see if by some miracle the sun had suddenly appeared. The day was still overcast.

"Hola!" Jose cried. "Mi amigo!" He kicked his old gray into a trot and rode toward the oncoming horseman.

Samara, about to swing the gate shut, held. The flow of warmth came from the rider, from the man on the pinto. She didn't recognize him but somehow she felt she knew him.

Jose leaned from his horse to grasp the man's hand, speaking Spanish so rapidly that Samara couldn't follow what he said. The man, answering him in the same tongue, reached around, lifted a bundle from his back and showed it to Jose. Jose asked a question.

"Hawk," the man said.

After another rapid fire exchange in Spanish, Jose rode on and the stranger came toward the gate. Alarmed, Samara started to close it.

"Wait!" he called. "I'm coming in."

She hurried all the faster.

"Samara?" he said. "Yes, it is you. Don't you know me?"

And then her mind, her entire body knew. "Wolf," she whispered, her relief so great she could hardly push the word out.

He rode through the gap she'd left open. Numbly she swung the gate closed and locked it. Wolf had come home!

He slid from his horse, still holding the bundle. "This is Hawk," he said, thrusting it at her.

Only when she took the bundle did she understand. Hawk was a baby! His dark eyes gazed solemnly at her from inside the wrapped blanket. His black hair grew straight up from his head, giving him the look of an Indian warrior. Samara looked at Wolf questioningly.

"My son," he said, "and Morning Quail's. He's your half-brother."

In her shock Samara almost lost her grip on the baby. "Where is my--my mother?" she finally choked out.

"Dead." Wolf's voice was grim. He put an arm around her shoulders. "There's a shifter running in the hills again."

She couldn't control her gasp of horror as her mind conjured up a terrible picture of Stefan, changed completely into a beast.

Wolf's fingers dug into her shoulder. He stared into her eyes for what seemed like an eternity. At last he let her go. Clenching his fists, he raised his face to the falling rain and shouted, "Why?"

His rage frightened her and she involuntarily tightened her grip on the baby, who began to wail.

The sound caught Wolf's attention. "Take him to the house," he ordered.

"I'll see to my pinto."

Samara gathered her wits. "Chung will take care of your horse for you."

"Chung?"

She realized Wolf had never met him. "Chung lives in a cottage on the grounds. When Chung was a boy Grandfather brought him home from San Francisco and he's been here ever since. We--we trust Chung. Come to think of it, I'd better go with you and explain who you are because he's armed and wary of strangers."

Leaving Wolf with Chung, Samara, carrying the baby, hurried into the house through the back door, her mind in turmoil. The strange rapport she'd felt with Wolf alarmed her. Had he somehow sensed Stefan's secret? She was afraid to know.

In the kitchen, Grandmother lifted the baby from Samara's arms. "Welcome, little Hawk," she said, gazing down at him. "I hope you'll be safe here." She then handed him to Druse. "You'll take charge of him."

"But I don't know how to take care of babies," Druse protested, looking askance at the squirming bundle in her arms.

"You'll learn. Your healing talent will go a long way toward showing you what to do and I'll help with the rest. First of all he'll need milk and diapers." Grandmother turned to Samara. "Lock the house as soon as Wolf is inside. You stay with him. It's important that you do. Thank God he returned when we needed him the most."

Grandmother and Druse took Hawk up the back stairs just as Wolf entered the kitchen.

"Grandmother's happy you're home," Samara told him. "She gave Hawk to Druse to take care of and I'm supposed to stay with you, she says."

He smiled. "Orders already. How like her." His smile faded as he looked at Samara. "Where is he?" he asked. "Where's Stefan?"

Samara eyed him, wondering how much he knew. She couldn't recall how Wolf had looked when he left Volek House but the more she saw of him, the more familiar he seemed. He was half a head shorter than Grandfather, who was well over six feet but they did resemble one another. Wolf was unmistakably a Volek for all that his eyes were brown, not golden and his black hair straight rather than wavy. She didn't know if he'd had a mustache and beard when he left but he did now.

"I'm not sure where Stefan is," she said finally.

"He's somewhere in the hills, though, isn't he?"

She nodded reluctantly.

"Does he ever come home?" Wolf persisted.

"Not often."

"And never when Grandfather's here, am I right?"

Again she nodded, almost certain now that she'd somehow given away Stefan without meaning to.

Wolf began to pace up and down in the kitchen. "Chung told me Grandfather will be home from San Francisco tomorrow. That means Stefan would have to come to Volek House today or tonight or miss his chance because he doesn't dare risk Grandfather sensing his shifter aura. How long since Stefan first shifted?"

Samara swallowed. "Almost a--a year." Relief combined with guilt ran through her once the words were out. "How did you know?"

He half-smiled, a sad smile. "You showed me, just like you used to when you were little. Don't you remember how it is between us, Samara?"

To her embarrassment, tears flooded her eyes. "You left me," she whispered.

Wolf strode to her and wrapped his arms around her. "I'm sorry. But I had to go. You were too young to understand."

"Grandfather said he never blamed you." Her words came through her sobs. "Grandmother doesn't either."

"That's why I had to leave. I knew they wouldn't blame me because they understand more than they should. But it was my fault and I blame myself."

He held her away from him by her shoulders and gave her a slight shake. "Why haven't you told Grandfather about Stefan?"

"He said he'd kill himself if Grandfather locked him up. Stefan's my twin-how could I take the chance?"

"Last month the beast killed the woman who gave birth to the two of you. He killed Morning Quail--your mother and Stefan's. I don't assign blame but who do you think is at fault? Stefan, because the beast he became killed her? Or yourself for keeping his shifting a secret?"

Her mother dead? Killed by the beast? She stared at him in horrified despair, her worst imaginings come true.

Wolf closed his heart to Samara's tear-stained cheeks and horror-struck expression. If anyone knew how she felt, he did. She'd blame herself for the rest of her life, just as he did. It couldn't be helped.

"Stefan can't be allowed to go on killing," he said. "N-no," she quavered.

"What happened when Arno shifted?" he asked.

Samara told him, adding that the twins were at Stanford. "So it's possible Stefan could learn to control his shifting," Wolf said.

"He doesn't want to. He--he likes being a beast."

Wolf clenched his fists. "He does, does he? Well I mean to make sure he stops shifting once and for all. Who's at home?"

"Grandmother, Druse, you, me and your baby. And Chung outside."

"Where's Tanya?"

"She married Rodney McQuade."

Wolf raised his eyebrows.

"They won't have children," she added.

"Whatever happened to Cecelia Kellogg?"

"She's a famous dancer in San Francisco. Haven't you heard of Cece?"

"Good God--that's her?" A picture flitted across Wolf's mind of a graceful young Cecelia in a filmy red dress dancing in the music room while her mother played the piano. And himself, a great lout entranced by her beauty, clumsily bumping into her. And discovering her terrible secret...

He shook his head. He'd been right about Arno and Stefan but apparently he'd been wrong about Cecelia because obviously she'd never shifted. At least not yet.

Bringing himself back to the present, Wolf said, "You must tell Grandmother and Druse about Stefan immediately." "Not Druse!"

He stared at Samara, not understanding. "She--they--they're lovers. Grandmother and Grandfather don't know."

Wolf raked his hand through his hair. "What else have you been hiding from them?"