She began climbing the crooked path up from the base of Tor Rock. If he followed she couldn't hear over the rumble of landslides and roar of the wind. Besides, werewolves moved quietly, even in human form. Also, Tara was cursing loudly inside her own head.

When she stopped abruptly to avoid a boulder rolling across the path, Alistair bumped hard into her back. She was knocked forwards, but his hands came around her waist to keep her from falling. He didn't let go, but turned her to face him.

"We need to talk, Tara."

There was nothing but sadness and sincerity in his deep voice and blue eyes. She didn't believe a bit of it, though her heart wanted to.

"Plus, we should get away from Tor Rock," he added. "It's not safe here."

Safer than having his arms around her. "Please let go of me," she said.

He didn't. Instead, he pulled her back down the path and into a stand of trees surrounding a bubbling spring at the base of the hill. A stream threaded away from the spring across Thomas land. Locally, it was known as the Roman Spring, and there were complaints about filmmakers stealing the name for movie titles from older generations of the family.

He swung her up on the huge worn boulder which had always been used as a bench and moved in very close. He stood between her legs, with his hands on her shoulders. The warmth of his skin permeated her. His closeness tried to overwhelm her.

"We are now going to have the talk we should have had a decade ago," he told her.

"A talk you seem to think we'd already had," she snapped back. "It's too late now."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I've been sorry I hurt you every day for the last dozen years. I ran away from you, I did you wrong"

"You slept with every woman you met off the island."

He nodded. "Aye. I did. For a while. I didn't try to hide it from you. I didn't sneak around and pretend I wasn't a complete bastard. I am so sorry about the time you walked in on my flat in Glasgow."

"Two women!" she shouted. "You were in bed with two women! And you laughed when you saw me standing there. You didn't try to explain. You didn't come after me when I ran out."

"I was in no condition to run after you!" he shouted back. "There was no reason to try to make excuses for what was obvious! I'm sorry if I laughed I don't remember laughing."

"I've heard that laugh in my nightmares for years!"

He winced. "Damn it, Tara, I'm sorry!" He stroked her cheek. "I've missed you. Missed you and wanted you ... but I did what I did and all I can do is ask you for a chance to start over. We're fated to be together, love, don't you remember that?"

She caught herself leaning into his cupped hand and jerked away. "Fated? Then why did you?"

"Because we were fated to be together! I fought fate," he told her. "When I left the island all I wanted to do for a while was run away from everything and everyone Wolf Crag represented. I wanted my freedom. I wanted to find out who I was. I wanted to make my own choices and decisions and to hell with magic and fate and all the nonsense that I'd had fed to me from birth."

"Our love was nonsense?"

He gave a tight nod. "Yes, it was. For a while. I went looking for something better because I was a young idiot. I never found anyone I cared for more than you. I stopped looking soon enough. By the time I knew you were the only love of my life the damage had been done. I accepted that the curse of a Douglas and Thomas had taken over my life."

"Oh, I see. You didn't believe in fate, but you believe in the curse?"

He stroked his hands down her arms. "What I believe now is that we can start again. When we met again in Glasgow, I knew that if we both went home, I'd have a chance to make everything up to you here, where we belong."

She wanted to believe it especially when he was so close to her, especially with his hands touching her so sensually, so gently. Need raced through her, but Tara wasn't going to fall for it just because she'd never stopped wanting him.

"Liar!" she said at last. "The Crag's dying without people. You tricked me into coming back!"

"The devil with Wolf Crag! I need you!"

"Don't talk of the devil, you fool!"

"I need you," he repeated. "I love you. I want you. I tricked you, all right. I admit I exaggerated about your granda. I teased you to come and see the changes in the place. I reminded you of home. But I wanted you here to be with me."

His sincerity touched her deep in her soul. His hands stirred her other senses. She couldn't stop her fingers from touching his stubbled cheek, tracing his lips. She wanted to believe him. She fought not to believe him.

Then it didn't matter, because the earth started shaking so hard it knocked her off the boulder, and Alistair came down with her. They tangled together as the world bucked and rolled beneath them. Daylight turned to twilight, and a thick blue mist began to boil through the trees. The spring began to hiss and steam.

The world was coming to an end. Tara didn't doubt that for a moment.

Funny thing though she wasn't scared.

She pulled Alistair's mouth to hers and kissed him. Desire roared through them. Her hands tugged at the waist of his sweatpants. Then cupped his bare ass. He growled in response. She arched against him as his hands found her breasts.

There was no way the world was ending before she'd had her way with her werewolf love one last time. One new time as a woman, not a girl. She needed him now in ways her mind fogged with teenage lust could never have imagined. But, this being the end of the world, she'd settle for a quick, hard shag.

Alistair came up from a deep, hard kiss. "No! Wait!"

"What?" she shouted back.

The earth was still bouncing them around with bruising force. A freight train roar filled the air. The mist drew closer, grew darker. This was no time to talk!

He held her face in his hands, made her look him in the eye. "Say it!" he demanded. "Tell me!"

"Of course I love you!" she told him. She'd never spoken words more intensely in her life. Or more truthful. "I've always loved you. Always will. You're my fate. Now kiss me."

He did.

Tara forgot the chaos around them completely. She lost herself in every kiss, caress and thrust. He moved inside her and she moved to meet him. They reached the shattering point together and she didn't care one bit if the world ended then and there.

Only, it didn't.

Once she came down from the soaring pleasure she became aware that they were surrounded by stillness. By silence except for their ragged breaths. All she could feel was Alistair's racing heartbeat against her chest.

All she heard was his rough whisper in her ear, "Did the world just stop moving for you, too?"

Tara couldn't stop the laugh, and he laughed with her. They held each other, hugged and kissed for a while. It was wonderful to be alive, to be together, to be naked and entwined and holding on to each other. The past didn't fade away, but the pain of it was overridden by hope for the future.

"The world didn't end," she said eventually. "At least, the Crag's still here." She looked over Alistair's naked shoulder. "Does Tor Rock look normal to you?"

He rolled off her and helped her to stand before glancing up at the sheer cliff behind them. "It looks as obviously phallic as ever," he judged.

"The mist is gone," Tara said.

Alistair rubbed his jaw. "I'm thinking the curse has been lifted." He hugged her tightly, then lifted her in the air and swung her around. "Tara, we did it!"

"So we did," she said with a sex-drunk grin when he put her down. "Let's do it again." She tried to drag him back to the ground.

But Alistair wouldn't budge, and he was serious. Damn.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"We broke the curse! You and I making love, broke the curse."

He'd tried not to believe in fate, now he was believing in curses. "Which curse? The one about the island disappearing?"

"Of course."

"But, I thought that had to do with humans leaving the Crag. What's that got to do with a Douglas and a Thomas having sex?"

"Being in love," he corrected.

"That too."

He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "Don't you recall the prophecy, the one about the Weaver and the Wolf? We learned it in school."

The curriculum on Wolf Crag was a bit different than what students learned on the mainland. "Weaver and Wolf does sound familiar. How did it go? When the Weaver and the Wolf hearts be at peace and as one something something vanishing something banished something the Crag as solid as love will be. You think that prophecy is about us?"

"You're a weaver. I'm a werewolf. The world didn't end. Let's not try to analyze it any more than that, shall we?"

She took his point.

He took her hands in his. "My world's solid as long as you love me."

She pulled his head down for a kiss. "Then I believe Wolf Crag is going to be here for a good long time."

Beloved Beast.

Lois Greiman.

Swift Torree smiled as she swung her beaded reticule in time to her lively stride. It was a braw day in New Town. The bluebells were just beginning to bloom, the apple blossoms smelled like a wee bit of heaven, and the sun had made a rare spring appearance, sparkling on Edinburgh like firelight on brilliants. Stilling her tiny purse so as to avoid striking any oncoming pedestrians, she tucked it tight between her arm and her well-dressed ribcage. Today she wore a walking gown of pink muslin decorated with intricate embroidered flowers she had stitched herself. It was, after all, the details that separated the middling pickpocket from the truly gifted. And she was gifted.

Her pert little sleeves were capped at her shoulders, then hugged her arms all the way to her knuckles, making it frightfully simple to slip recently purloined items from her hand into hiding. Her straw chapeau was wide-brimmed enough to conceal her face, and her undergarments were nonexistent; she was all for keeping up appearances, but why bother with frills no mark would ever have a chance to appreciate.

Besides it was a warm April day and ...

Ho there. A likely looking couple had just turned the corner on to Princes Street and was strolling towards her. The woman was small, plump and cute as a kitten. The man was tall and fit, which was rather a disappointment, for though Swift's name was aptly given, it spoke more of her dexterity than fleetness of foot. Just then, however, the gentleman glanced into the lady's upturned face, and in that instant Swift recognized his expression: adoration. Fascination. And maybe ... if her luck held ... maybe a smidgen of obsession.

Swift smiled to herself. Fifteen feet separated her from them, and there was no easier mark in the world than a man in love. It addled his thinking, slowed his reflexes, lightened his mood.

And this one ... this one kept his wallet in his breast pocket. How very kind of him. Oh, and the lady, paragon of generosity that she was, seemed to be wearing a diamond bracelet. What a big-hearted lass. That little bauble would go a far ways towards Tavis's education.

Unfortunately the cobbled walkways were all but empty, making it impossible to appear to have been jostled from behind. Another tactic, then, Swift thought, and gripped the little reticule in her right hand. Inside, the initials SVT were embroidered, but that didn't bother her. For all she knew her own name had contained just those letters. She'd pilfered the bonny bag from a manor house on Brunswick. Perhaps she should have taken the snuffbox she'd seen there, too, but 'twas wrong to be greedy. Blind Pete had instilled that thought into her consciousness from her earliest memory.

The couple was closing the gap between them. Just enough time to glance into the reticule's empty interior. Just a second to bobble inattentively on the uneven stone. Just an instant to gasp and teeter and grapple for stability. But too late. Oh dear, she was already falling, hands splayed, skirts flying, and eyes wide with dismay as she lifted them towards the gentleman.

With the grace of a diving swallow, she collapsed five inches in front of him.

"Gracious!"

"Careful there!"

The pair took a guarded step to the rear. Swift knew that without glancing up, knew and realized she must do something quick. A little moan might turn the trick.

She emitted a soft sigh of misery, remained absolutely still and hoped to God her feet were tucked firmly beneath her beribboned skirt. Her gown may be Parisian in design, but her shoes were better suited for the mines ... or a lively chase. Despite her eye for detail, she was no slave to fashion. Or anything else come to that.

"My dear?" The lady lisped a little as she crouched. "My dear, are you quite all right?"

"Yes. Yes," Swift said and lifted her head as if disoriented.

"Here then, you've taken a nasty spill. Let me help you sit up."

"Oh." She looked into the woman's eyes, catching her full attention as they clasped fingers. "I fear I am a dreadful clod. Murdoch always says as much."

"You're no such thing," said the lady. "Is she, Henry?"

The man seemed late to the party, but rallied when he realized he was about to look the clod should he fail to show some sympathy post-haste. "Certainly not," he said. "'Tis these damnable cobbles. Rough as the sea at midday. You didn't twist your ankle did you?"

"No."

"Better let me take a look. I'm a physician, you know, and"

"No!" she repeated and jerked her feet more firmly beneath the lacy hem of her stolen skirt. If the damned thing had any more frippery, she'd be tripping for real and earnest. "I'm quite well. Not to worry."

"Ah, well, can I give you a hand up at the least?"

She caught his gaze with her own lavender eyes. He had a long, hooked nose, a narrow face, and sallow skin. While Swift was ... well ... today she had chosen to be almost plain. She'd made certain of that in the small shard of mirror she kept stowed beneath her bed.

"That's ever so kind of you," she said, and carefully keeping her homely footwear well hidden, shifted her feet beneath her. She was the best dipper in all of Edinburgh, but it was entirely possible that she'd have to be hot-footing it down Hanover Street in another few seconds. Reaching for his hands, she held his gaze as they rose in unison.

"My thanks, good sir," she said and smiled tremulously into his eyes.

"'Twas nothing at all. Are you certain you're quite all right?"

"Of course," she said, then let her eyes drift closed and bobbled as if about to faint.

He caught her about the waist. "Here now," he crooned and drew her close to his chest ... and his wallet.

"Oh my," she said and lifted her hand to her heart as if to still its palpitations. It was just a matter of inches and nerve to his inside pocket. Inches, nerve, and the innate ability to appear to be what you are not. "Oh, my most abject apologies." She stood with her back to the lady and steadied herself on the gentleman's chest for a fraction of a second. If what Terrible Tull said was true, most things involving men took no longer than that.

"You'd best sit."