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He seemed completely comfortable with the situation, and in fact chuckled as if he were used to such a reaction. For some reason his lack of embarrassment overcame the awkwardness of the situation, and she was able to maintain—albeit with difficulty—her composure, though it was hard not to gape. “I said, who are you? Answer, or so help me, I’ll blast a hole right through you.”
He inclined his head, though it had the solemnity of an old-fashioned courtier’s bow. Difficult to pull off nude, but he managed it. “Do you not recognize me?”
She studied him more closely—from the waist up. Medium height and lean—not a spare inch of fat marred the compact muscles. His hair was black as night, though here and there a few silver strands shown through. Premature silver, since he didn’t look more than in his mid-twenties. His eyes were brown, his gaze amused and wary at the same time.
A grin pulled at the corners of his mouth, eyes twinkling. She’d seen that tongue-in-cheek amusement before, but where—
“Mop with legs? Fur ball? Blasted mutt? Anything sound familiar?” he asked.
Unfortunately it did. Frighteningly, jaw-droppingly familiar. A dog that had changed into a man. Or was it a man that had changed into a dog? No time to ponder details. She’d add it to the tottering pile of strangeness her life had become and mull it over another day.
“You’re Other,” she whispered.
“I am not.” He drew himself up with a huff of insulted dignity. Impressively done for a naked man. “I am of the Imnada.”
He pronounced it with such solemnity, Elisabeth half expected a clap of thunder to follow.
“Who are they? I’ve never heard of them before.”
“No.” He knelt beside Rogan’s body, began tugging at his boots.
Like a puppet with cut strings, the harper’s body rolled limply, limbs flopping. For some reason, that finally brought everything crashing down around her. Rogan was dead. Brendan was missing. She was keeping company with a naked, shape-shifting dog-man. Her head began to spin, and she found it difficult to catch her breath. “You can’t—I mean, Rogan—”
Killer glanced up. “Do
es not need them anymore, though if you are uncomfortable with my taking them, I will remain as I am.” He sat back, awaiting her decision. Astonishment must be doing things to her. All she could think of was how incredibly polite he was being. That and how very, very undressed he was.
Heat crawled into her cheeks. A bit late, but perhaps it was a delayed reaction. “I suppose if you must, you must. I mean, you . . . you can’t be comfortable like that, can you?”
She tried looking everywhere but at him, which was hard to do. There wasn’t much else to look at other than trees. A muscular, handsome, gentleman in the buff was a hard thing to ignore.
“Cold doesn’t bother me as it does most humans, but you would be more comfortable with me clothed, I think. You look a bit . . . dazed.” Again the teasing smile, dimples carved into his cheeks.
“Can you blame me? I’m talking to my . . . my . . . pet.”
“Neither you nor Douglas would have trusted a companion in human form.”
As he hastily appropriated Rogan’s clothes, Elisabeth averted her gaze and tried not to remember how many times the dog had been in her chamber as she’d dressed. How many revealing conversations she’d had with him curled in her lap. Yikes! She’d scratched his stomach, for heaven’s sake. “So what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Killer.”
“That’s as good a name as any.”
“Why show yourself to me this way?”
There was a silence as if he was pondering his response. “It’s a risk, but one I felt necessary. Until now, we’ve chosen to remain unknown to the race of Other, but events no longer allow for such choice. We’re not so unwise as to think a war between races would not pull us in as well, however much we’ve barricaded ourselves away.”
She heard the rustle of fabric, a colorful oath that had her smiling despite herself. He might be a shape-changer, but his cursing was all human. “How did you find us? Last I saw, you were gnawing on a man’s leg.”
There was a bark of quick laughter. “So I was. I tracked you along the coast as far north as Balbriggen before I lost your trail. Then, just as I found you again, the mage storm blew me off course. It took me longer than I’d hoped to make land.”
“So you’re saying you—”
“I am a shape-changer.” His tone said, end of discussion. “You can turn around now. I’m clothed.”
He had taken only Rogan’s breeches and boots and had wrapped Rogan’s body in his coat, laying him out beneath the sky, closing his eyes, hands crossed upon his chest. As she watched, he appropriated Rogan’s knife and pistol.
“Can’t you bury him?” she asked.
“Had we the time, I would burn him as is proper, but this will have to do.”
