Slowly he made his way down to the bathing cavern and discarded his clothes. He waded into the icy cold water and immersed himself up to his chin. This way he had once managed to regain control over the shifting, just before Catherine had detected him in here. He'd been lucky that she hadn't come upon him sooner or she might have been very confused about what she would have encountered. When he had felt the change come over him, the surface of the water had shown him some incomplete, distorted image of his transformed face. His hair had been just as long but darker, and with the muzzle and cleft upper lip gone, there was no way to tell if he had looked anything like himself. He just wished he could have seen his eyes.
But the chill of the water had quickly pulled him back from the change and anchored him in his true self. With astonishment he realized that it had taken the unsettling side-effects of this particular magic to make him appreciate how right it felt to be what he was. Catherine had been trying to tell him that all along, yet he hadn't understood. He simply hadn't listened.
His thoughts shifted and he wondered what Catherine might have thought when she had seen his naked body earlier. He knew that his build wasn't too different from that of other men, except maybe that his musculature was more exaggerated and his body hair denser. She hadn't appeared repulsed, and he mused that she probably hadn't noticed those differences too clearly in the dim blue light.
He remained in the water until he was feeling so chilled that he could hardly move. Only then did he drag himself to the rocky bank. Reaching for his cloak, he struggled to fight off the bone-deep weariness which suddenly overcame him, but finally he was so tired that he hardly cared about yet another onset of transformation. He wrapped the cloak around him and just dropped to the stony floor, heedless of everything but a gentle hum through the bond, telling him that Catherine was safe and sleeping peacefully nearby.
The sudden silence stunned her in the heavy darkness. There was no light either. She felt her way clumsily through the dark room to the table where her searching hands finally encountered a box of matches. She lit a candle and scanned the chamber for any sign of Vincent. His cloak was nowhere in sight, so she surmised that he wouldn't be back for a while. The memory of the faint tune in her dream came back to her and she felt a wistful longing to go back to sleep and hear it again.
Suddenly a wave of anguish swept through her and she seized the edges of the table to steady herself. Vincent. It had to be him. If that was what he was feeling, she knew she had to find him quickly.
Once outside the chamber, there were only two ways to go. One passage lay in total darkness while the other, which led to the water cavern, was drenched in the soft blue shine she had come to know as magical light. Without further hesitation, Catherine followed that path down to the water. On entering the cavern, she immediately caught sight of the dark figure sprawled on the stony floor on the opposite bank.
"Vincent?" She waded through the shallow water and knelt down beside him. He lay very still and his face was gaunt and pale. Dark circles surrounded his deep-set eyes which were closed as if in sleep. Cautiously Catherine slipped her hand under the collar of his cloak to feel for the pulse at his throat. She wasn't surprised to encounter nothing but bare skin, but it worried her deeply that it felt so cold to her touch. His pulse was strong and regular though, and she relaxed a little.
"Vincent!" she repeated, shaking him gently, but there was no response. She had to get him out of there. He needed to be more comfortable and warm. Surveying his tall, heavy frame, she discarded any hope of moving him without his cooperation, but she knew she had to get him conscious as quickly as possible. His eyes moved restlessly behind closed lids, and she feathered a caress on his cheek to coax his awareness to the surface. Suddenly his lips parted and he started a restless panting which left her helpless and confused as to what to do. Finally she shifted her weight and sat down beside him. Gently massaging his scalp, she whispered words of endearment to him, and he gradually calmed under her caresses.
She called his name over and over again, hoping he would awaken, but he didn't. At last she bent forward and pressed a kiss on his forehead. She trailed her lips down along the bridge of his furry nose and tenderly nibbled its tip. Too shy to actually kiss his lips, she contented herself with stroking them lightly with the tips of her fingers. Her eyes traveled down his neck and then further still. The edges of the cloak had come apart and revealed a large part of his hirsute chest. Working up her courage, she reached out to tease one nipple which was almost completely hidden under a profusion of fur-like, tawny chest hair. She thought that if anything could get him to awaken, this was likely to do the trick.
Her heart constricted in her chest as she heard him moan softly at her intimate touch, and she felt guilty for doing this to him just to coax him awake. A caress like that ought to be bestowed with love and mutual tenderness, and her heart ached longingly at the thought. He moaned again, and she withdrew her hand just in time to prevent him from catching her in the act. His eyes opened slowly, almost languidly, and she could see his struggle to focus on her face. To her delight his first reaction as he caught sight of her was a tentative smile, but then he jerked up his head and brought his hands before his face to study them intently. Obviously reassured by what he saw, he relaxed and lay back again, releasing a small sigh.
Catherine found the throbbing of the pulse in his neck oddly hypnotic. She extended her hand to touch him there as she had after he'd been shot by the savage child.
"There is no scar," she observed with astonishment.
Slowly Vincent levered himself into a sitting position. "I can heal myself, too," he explained quietly, pulling the cloak shut over his chest. Catherine wondered fleetingly why he should feel self-conscious with her now when he had strode toward her in all his nakedness without shame only a few hours ago.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
"Better," he replied, casting her an uncertain glance. "When you found me...was I...?"
"I found you lying unconscious on the floor," she replied, watching him scramble to his feet. He swayed and she hurried to support him. "Vincent," she said entreatingly. "What's wrong with you?" He didn't reply right away, but stepped into the water, wading toward the exit of the cavern and not caring that the hem of his cloak got soaked as it trailed after him. She followed behind, watching over him as best she could. Suddenly a suspicion formed in her mind. "Does that mean something has gone wrong with the magic?" she asked. He froze and squared his shoulders, and she waited breathlessly for his reply.
"We'll talk about it later," he suggested wearily before he walked on.
Back in the chamber, Catherine reached up to help him out of the wet garment. She was surprised to meet no resistance at all. He just bent to retrieve a blanket from the cot and wound it around his hips. Then he straightened to get another blanket which lay folded on the top shelf, and Catherine couldn't help but admire the play of his muscles as he moved about the chamber. His eyes were strangely opaque when he held out the blanket out to her.
"You should get out of your wet jeans," he advised her.
She nodded her agreement and took the blanket from him. She changed quickly, grateful for the warmth the blanket provided when she wound it around her body.
She turned around and found Vincent lying on the cot, covering his face with one forearm. A patched comforter lay folded at the foot of the bed and she reached for it to cover him. He didn't move, and she wished she were able to see his face. After watching him breathe evenly for a while, she tore her gaze away from his massive chest and shoulders and settled herself in his chair. Her eyes strayed along the bookshelves and came to rest on a black goblet with an elegant stem. She rose to investigate her find and took it in both hands to check its contents. It was empty, but there was a sharp scent clinging to it that captured her attention immediately. There were other strange scents in this room, but her senses had grown accustomed to them over the hours. This one, though, was really...bad. It made the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. Could it be that Vincent...?
She didn't proceed further with her thoughts for Vincent stirred on the cot. He started to writhe and thrash about, tossing the comforter to the floor. Quickly she put the goblet back on the shelf and turned toward him just in time to notice a reddish glow emanating from his skin but only for a second, and then it was gone again. Concerned, she hurried to his side, evading his flailing arms as best she could. He seemed to be battling some invisible enemy, and the growls and snarls he produced sent a chill down her spine.
Suddenly he levered himself up off the bed, and she saw him change as if in a horror movie she had seen in her youth. The fur on the backs of his hands receded and the long nails shrunk while the knuckles stood out whitely under the taut, pale skin. Terrified beyond reason, she stared at his face which she feared was about to undergo a similar transformation. Instantly he jerked up his hands to hide his changing features from her; then suddenly all energy seemed spent and he slumped down on the bed, burying his face in the pillow. His shoulders shook with exhaustion, and she sat down beside him, putting her arms around his body. She noted fleetingly that his back was still covered with dense, sleek hair, and when she brushed back a few strands of hair from his face, she could see that his familiar features had returned. She reached out to seize one of his hands which was furred and clawed just as it should be.
"I...need to get back into the water," he rasped, keeping his face averted.
"No," she contradicted. "Your body is already too chilled for your own good."
"But the coldness will keep the transformation away," he protested weakly.
"It doesn't seem so," she replied, rubbing his shoulders soothingly. He didn't answer that, and she wondered what he might be thinking. "What did you do?" she inquired carefully. "What kind of magic did you use?"
He didn't speak; he just turned around and placed his arms around her neck, leaning his head against her shoulder like a child seeking comfort.
Holding him tight, she noted that his skin was warm again, even hot, and she tilted her head to press a tender kiss on his bristled cheek. He released a shuddering breath and pulled slightly away from her, averting his face.
"I was going through the procedure of a special magic of transformation when I felt your presence below," he said quietly.
"Oh, Vincent," she gasped. "I interrupted you."
He nodded his head slowly in affirmation. "Now I'm caught between two phases, and I'll have to find a way to go through with the spell or take it back."
"Take it back," she whispered imploringly and his gaze snapped up to meet hers with aching intensity.
"I'm not certain that's possible," he finally confessed in a hushed voice.
She brought up one hand and ran her fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his face. The tenderness and love she was feeling for him, brought tears to her eyes. If only he would accept that love. If only...
His movement interrupted her thought. He broke the contact of their eyes and gently disengaged himself from her embrace. "I can't fall asleep," he said, rising to his feet, "or I'll be helpless when it starts again."
"What do you mean?" she asked, looking up at him. "Do you think you can influence it in any way while you're alert?"
He threw up his hands in a gesture of helplessness and dropped them again. "I think I can...resist it, fight it back."
"Or carry it through?" she asked apprehensively.
"I don't think so. The magical formula hadn't been finished yet, that's why the transformation remains incomplete. All I can do is repeat the procedure and finish it, but I can't be sure what kind of effect the double dose of the potion might have in the end."
She pondered his words carefully. "Maybe Narcissa could help," she suggested at last.
He shook his head in negation. "I've thought about that myself, but one must never mix different kinds of magic," he said. "The outcome would be entirely unpredictable."
"So, what are we going to do?" she asked.
He expelled his breath forcefully. "I have to find a way to regain my strength," he said. "Only then can I hope to undo the effects of the magic I've partially worked."
"Then you'll need to sleep," she offered.
"The problem is that I must remain alert," he replied.
He looked so defeated standing there, head and shoulders bowed under the weight of his plight. She got to her feet and went to him, taking his hand. "I will watch over you," she said firmly. "I'll remain on guard and wake you when I feel it coming."
"You won't notice in time," he reminded her.
"I will if I'm close enough," she insisted, meeting the confused glance he shot her. "Lay down," she ordered, nudging him toward the cot. He complied hesitantly, and she watched his eyes go wide as she took off her sweater and removed the blanket from her hips. "Is it night or day up top?" she asked, trying to sound casual as she slipped under the covers beside him.
"Night," he replied, edging away from her as far as the relatively narrow cot would allow.
"How can you tell?" she inquired, pulling the covers more tightly around them both.
She heard him swallow. "It's a matter of practice," he said.
"No sorcery?" she teased, and he chuckled softly.
"No sorcery, I promise."
Turning on her side, she placed one arm across his chest and rested her hand just above his heart. "This way I will feel it when you get restless," she explained and felt the movement of his head as he nodded his understanding. "Sleep now," she crooned, knowing how tired he must be after all he'd been through. It didn't take long until he grew utterly still and his breathing deepened. Catherine savored his warmth and nearness more than she could say. Cautiously she snuggled closer, concentrating on the rhythm of his heart as it pounded steadily beneath her palm. She even placed one leg across his thighs, careful to avoid brushing against his sex, knowing that she mustn't risk waking him until he'd had the rest he needed.
At one time during the night, Catherine started awake when Vincent rolled away from her in his sleep. He ended up lying with his back to her, and so she simply spooned herself around him before she drifted off again.
The next time she woke, he lay facing her, and she was grateful for the soft shine of magical light which seemed to come out of nowhere but illuminated the room enough for her to take in every detail of his face. Studying his relaxed features, she imagined how it might be to be kissed by him...deeply, passionately. With a drowsy sigh she closed her eyes. I mustn't fall asleep, she admonished herself, hoping she would sense any change in Vincent's sleeping pattern anyway. I didn't feel it when he turned toward me, she reminded herself worriedly. With a tingle of excitement she was helpless to resist, she became acutely aware of the weight of Vincent's thigh across her hip. Carefully she reached down and touched his knee where it rested heavily at her waist. The blanket he had worn around his hips had come apart and fallen away long ago, and she tried not to think too much of the fact that he was completely naked. Pictures of him as he had stood in the water drifted by her inner eye, and she saw herself wading toward him, placing her palms on his chest to feel the reassuring beat of his heart.