Monique raised his head lazily from the soft pillows, parting his mouth to lick his dry lips. He tried to raise his head then, but found himself too sore to even do that. Yawning widely, he eased his head to the left to look at his bed partner.

The man was long and lean - in so many senses! - and his angular face was considered quite attractive in these feudal times. A strong nose, chiseled cheekbones and narrowed gray eyes that had a habit of glinting dangerously . . . well those eyes were closed now, but he was by no means a sleeping angel.

The youth traced two of his fingers down the rigid chest to the solid abdomen muscles. He liked the aura of strength that radiated from Theaof of the Silver Wolves Clan. It was something dependable and sturdy, yet uncannily unpredictable . . . he consumed and supported, like fiercely hot sandstorm.

Monique tilted his head a little away from his pillow, lifting his fingers away as if he had been burnt. His felt his mind ebb away from him, and at the last moment he realized he'd loosened control over . . . no, he . . . he was slipping . . . NO!

~**~He was hovering in a dimly lit room, and it took a
while for him to realize it was his lover below him,
shouting - screaming in rage! At him . . . He was alarmed
to see Theaof reach for him suddenly, like a wildcat,
seizing him by the wrist, pulling him down into their bed,
forcing Monique's petite body to bend beneath his.

Monique watched now with disinterest . . . this was no
different than other times when the Black Wolf felt like
being needlessly rough and dominant. He was the alpha of
his pack, and as such, usually took out his frustration in
Monique's golden fey body.

But there was something wrong . . . he could see himself
trembling in fear, instead of his usual wanton mask of
"pretending to like it". And "Different" reeked in the air,
something was different . . . what was it? Where was it?

Ah . . . there!

A tall man stepped away from the shadows, casting his own
dark silhouette across the dark red bed. Monique strained
to see his face, but couldn't . . . there was fighting . .
. killing . . . did he just imagine a sickening sound and
the slosh of blood?~**~

Monique snapped very sharply back into the present. He moaned softly, grasping his head with one hand. With a weary sigh he leaned back into his place on the bed, breathing as deeply as he could.

(So . . . Theaof is to die . . . by that man . . . and would he hurt me too?) He bit off that thought before it started. He couldn't worry about that - he mustn't. Things would fall into place eventually, as they always did for his visions. For he never Saw wrong, and his Sight had always been true.