**Facing Sunset, Facing Dawn**
by Renee Carter Hall
"Idiots," Katherine Goss muttered as she stepped off the plane and down the rickety metal staircase. Even at midmorning, the jungle's heat rushed to meet her, making her feel as if she were breathing through wet cloth.
Still, the idiocy in question came as no surprise; she felt, in fact, a certain gratification that her suitcase had been lost entirely as she'd expected. Fortunately, she carried all her essentials in a battered rucksack bought during her undergraduate days, back when she'd dreamed of flying on little tin-can bush planes to remote dig sites like this. She'd learned early on that she could only truly depend on herself.
Case in point, this--she checked the crumpled email printout again--Rafael Toranzo she was supposed to meet, who seemed to be nowhere around even though her plane had touched down an hour late. There were a few locals milling about, mostly Onça porters trading posturing snarls as they looked for work. Toranzo had already hired two of them, he'd said.
She scanned the meager crowd again and sighed. Her legs and back ached from sitting in cramped plane seats, and she fought back a new wave of irritation. That ten-year eyeblink between twenty and thirty had brought the first frustrating hints that her body was no longer entirely hers to command. She could ignore the gray strands scattered through her chestnut hair, but other changes weren't merely cosmetic.
"Dr. Goss?"
She glanced down to see an Onça male offering his hand. One of the porters, apparently. She shrugged off the rucksack and handed it to him. "Is Dr. Toranzo here?"
The jaguar's golden eyes shone with amusement. "I would say so."
She recognized his voice and bit back an oath. "I'm sorry--I wasn't expecting... I thought you would be..." There was no way out of this, so she just stopped before she made herself seem even more ignorant.
"You thought I'd be human," he finished, still with the same amused expression. "It's all right."
Now that she was paying attention, she could see that he was dressed not in the traditional skirt-style loincloth of the porters but in human fashion, with dark gray pants and a long-sleeved shirt left open to expose the ruff of cream-colored fur at his chest.
He shouldered her pack--she could think of no way to ask for it back without making the situation more embarrassing--and led her to the battered beige truck parked several yards beyond the dirt airstrip. She watched how his tail swayed slightly with his stride and marveled that he'd go to all the trouble of cutting a slit in the pants to accommodate it--never mind all the hassle of threading the tail through it every time you had to take the things off. Those loincloths most Onça wore might make them look like refugees from temple frescoes, but at least they were practical.
Toranzo placed her pack carefully in the back of the truck, securing it next to the tent poles, crates of supplies, and various jugs and sacks that made up their provisions. When he was satisfied with the arrangement, he opened her door.
"We're about twelve miles from the site, as the macaw flies," he said with what she took for a smile. "It'll be a bumpy ride, though. It's more of a trail than a road. After that, it's a three-mile hike, and we're there."
She nodded and took the passenger seat as Toranzo slipped behind the wheel. The engine started with a sputtering growl, and they were off.
She had never been in this part of the rainforest before. She'd spent only as much time in the field as was necessary to earn degrees and standing, and after that she'd decided she preferred her discoveries to take place in more predictable, climate-controlled surroundings. She'd forgotten how the jungle closed in around you. It wasn't the kind of denseness that you had to hack your way through--on the contrary, the thick-leafed canopy kept the ground cover to a minimum--but it was a heaviness, a closeness that took over, turning daylight into deep green shadow. It was its own world, and you traveled into it bearing the things you hoped would keep you alive.
"The site doesn't look like much from the outside," Toranzo warned, slowing the truck to ford a muddy stream. "But it's remote enough that the treasure hunters haven't gotten to it yet. I've had good luck in this area before, but I never found any temples, only settlements."
She was surprised at how well he enunciated his words. Even though she'd spoken with him more than once on the phone, she'd had no clue he was Onça--he had sounded completely human, with no hint of the jaguar's mouth structure influencing his speech. She wondered how much training he'd gone through to erase all the impediments.
She stole a glance at him as they continued down the road. Despite the fact that his hands looked more like paws from a distance, he handled the wheel without any trouble. The leathery pads on his palms and fingertips gave him built-in driving gloves, she figured. It looked as if he had retractable claws, though they were all sheathed at the moment.
*Don't stare*, she told herself fiercely, but she couldn't help it.
It was mid-afternoon by the time they reached the site, although the dim jungle made it seem like evening. Unlike the massive pyramids or elaborate courtyards of most of the ancient human temples in the area, the Onça site was so nondescript and screened in by the surrounding jungle that it would have been easy to walk past if she hadn't known what to look for. No statues or other art marked the entrance, just an archway built of flat, stacked stones, leading down three steps into a narrow corridor. Several yards along, as the floor slanted completely underground, the space opened up into a single square room dominated by the large altar-stone in the center and the long, flat stone, the length of a person, that lay before it. The coolness of the temple was a relief--as was the prospect of finally getting down to work. She sat her lantern on the ground, and the light threw eerie, slanted shadows on the walls and ceiling.
To a casual observer, it would have looked as if the site were bare, perhaps already raided by black-market treasure hunters. But most of the temple artifacts had been buried hundreds of years before, when the temples were abandoned. Scholars still disagreed on why--whether to protect the precious items from destruction or looting, or as part of some yet-unknown ritual--but as she stood by the altar-stone, it was as if she could feel the site waiting. It had been silent for more than a thousand years. And now, at last, they would help it speak again.
"I thought you would be tired," Toranzo said, turning up the lantern's flame so that it flickered into the corners.
"Of course I'm tired. What does that have to do with anything?"
Toranzo laughed. "I'm glad you agreed to come, Doctor. Not that Miguel and Astu aren't good company in their own way, but..."
The light touched his golden fur with shifting fire, making it look molten, his rosettes like dark coals...
Damn it all, she was staring again.
"Well," she said finally. She glanced around, looking everywhere but at him. "Where's the best place to start?"
They settled in at two separate spots and began the excavation. Most of the typical small talk had already been used on the trip in--how her flights had been, what the weather tended to be like, what other sites he'd worked on recently--and though the silence was comfortable in its own way, she found herself wanting to talk more than usual.
"This is the first time I've done field work in years. I hope I haven't forgotten what to do."
"I'll keep an eye on you, then, to check for mistakes." He smiled. "It must be difficult," he said a few minutes later, "to leave those you care about to come to a place like this, so far away from home."
She shrugged. "Not really. I... kind of keep to myself anyway."
"No family?"
"Just my mother." *Who I dutifully call every week, informing her that, no, I am still not seeing anyone.*
"Ah." He fell silent.
"What about you?" she asked.
"A few friends, a few relatives. My work," he added, as if it counted as a person. "But they live in the village, and I stay mostly out here, so..." It was his turn to shrug.
"Two separate worlds."
"Yes. And one doesn't understand the other." He paused. "People think that the past is a dead thing. They want you to live right now and never think of anything else."
"But it isn't dead."
His eyes lit, and he nodded. "So you know. It may be only a piece of a jar or the stone floor of a house, but someone used it, lived in it. Cared for it. You can feel that. And you feel then that the past is still alive, still a part of *now*. Not a separate time. And you feel a part of something bigger than you can imagine. Bigger than just today."
He knelt to trace his fingers over the packed earth. "But to them it is a curiosity, a thing to study and write about and argue over, to be pinned like a butterfly--beautiful, but dead. And the gods are native stories." An edge of bitterness sharpened his voice. "Things ignorant people used to believe in."
She looked at the ground, suddenly uncomfortable.
"Forgive me," he said quietly after a moment. "I did not mean you. It is an old wound." He managed a smile. "Perhaps some parts of the past should be dead, after all, eh?"
She smiled back, and he relaxed and continued. "It is difficult to be here, to do this and be Onça. Too many think that we are the thing to be studied, more than the ones to do the studying. We are the natives, so we are not... professional, not educated, too prone to superstition. Too emotional. Too close."
Katherine quirked a wry smile. "And then if you do get somewhere, everyone thinks it was because someone gave it to you--because of who you are, not how hard you worked for it. So you have to work twice as hard as anyone, to prove you really do deserve to be there. And everyone's waiting for you to make a mistake, to prove them right that people like you don't have what it takes--and you wind up being a symbol instead of a person."
Rafael nodded. "I think we do understand each other."
They worked in silence for several minutes, and she replayed their conversation in her head. She wasn't used to having someone really listen to her, instead of just waiting for their turn to speak. She wanted, in some way, to tell him everything--about herself, about her life--and she wanted, as well, to listen, to let the honey-thick tones of his voice flow over her until there was nothing else to say.
"I should apologize myself," she said finally.
He looked up. "For what?"
"For thinking you were the porter."
He smiled. "I said it was all right. It has happened before."
"But that doesn't make it right."
He nodded and thought a moment. "All right, then. We will start over." He extended his hand. "I am Dr. Rafael Toranzo."
She smiled and shook it. "Dr. Katherine Goss."
"A pleasure to meet you at last."
Her fingers tingled as his hand slipped from hers. "Likewise, Doctor."
"Please," he said, "you must call me Rafael. This is hardly the place to be so formal."
She started to protest, then swallowed it and smiled. "All right."
"Then all is well," he said, and they went back to work.
It was hard to tell the passage of time by the small amount of daylight that slanted in from the entrance, and it gave the work an odd feeling, like no time was passing at all. Only her body told her when it was time to stop, and as usual when she worked like this, she sometimes ignored even that.
"Katherine," she heard suddenly, minutes or hours later, and her pulse quickened so much at the sound of him saying her name that she almost missed what he said next. "I think I've found something."
From his tone, it didn't sound like a shard of pottery or a handful of beads. She hurried over to where he was digging.
"Here," he said, and scraped the soil away until she could see a warm metallic glimmer.
Gold.
Carefully they worked around it. Whatever it was, it was roughly a foot high and several inches wide, buried during the endless cycles of rains. Finally Rafael lifted the object free.
"My God," she breathed.
"No," he corrected her lightly, "mine."
It was a statue, the kind she'd normally seen carved in stone. This, though, was gold, dulled by time and weather but unmistakable. It was an Onça figure, a crouching male, his mouth open to show pointed fangs. Though he seemed to be wearing a stylized loincloth, an exaggerated phallus jutted out from an opening in the sculpted garment.
Rafael brushed dirt from the figure's face. "Unbelievable," he said, a giddy wonder bubbling in his voice. "Absolutely unbelievable."
He turned to look at her, his eyes lit with awe at the discovery. She saw, then, how important--how personal--it all truly was to him, and she felt a wild, unexpected leap of joy in her chest at seeing him so happy, watching him share the same feelings she'd always had.
Rafael laughed quietly and shook his head. "I am holding this, and still I don't believe it." He took a cloth from his pack and cleaned the figure. "I think it's time for another introduction. Katherine, meet Nacali, the son of Fire."
Rafael stood and carried the figure to the altar-stone. "And this would be his home," he said, setting it gently in place.
He stepped back, and for an instant Katherine thought he was going to kneel. But instead Rafael turned to her, his eyes shining bright as the idol's gold.
"I'm so glad I can share this with you," he said. "With someone who understands."
She wanted to say something back, something congratulatory, something trivial. But she couldn't--couldn't speak, couldn't look away, couldn't think of anything but the one thing she didn't want to think about.
*You've known him, what, eight hours?*
She managed a casual smile. "It's--a wonderful discovery. Congratulations."
He stood motionless for a moment, then glanced back at the altar. "Yes," he said, his voice flat and distant. "Yes, thank you." He paused, then cleared his throat. "Well, it's late, and you've had a long day. Dinner should be ready at camp."
She followed him to the campsite, and he pointed out which tent was hers. The porters, Miguel and Astu, had already set everything up for the evening meal, which turned out to be a combination of rice, beans, canned tomatoes, and something that tasted like pork--she decided it was best not to question that last ingredient too thoroughly in the jungle. She ate, then fled to her tent, determined to spend at least a few minutes without thinking of him. Even if she had to be asleep to manage it.
\* \* \*
He was already in the temple when she got there the next day, and she smiled at his eagerness. "Good morning," he said, nodding to her. "You slept well?"
"Yes." She went back to her site, digging in methodical strips to ensure that all areas were explored. "Are these temples usually just to one god, or do you think we'll find any other statues?"
"Sometimes related gods are worshipped in the same temple," he replied. "We'll have to see if we're as lucky today as we were yesterday."
She tried to focus on the site instead of him, but the work was admittedly tedious: digging, sifting, more digging, taking a few photographs for documentation, scribbling a few notes, more digging... She had always liked the precision of detail, of putting everything in its proper place, but she had to admit that she preferred the sites where you found *something* every hour or two, even if it was just a bead or shell or potsherd. She was tired and sweat-soaked and discouraged by the time they agreed to stop for the day.
*What a waste,* she thought, and she wasn't sure whether she meant the dig or something else.
Her mood must have shown, because Rafael laid a hand on her arm as they left the temple. "If we find nothing else, it is still beyond what I expected."
She nodded.
He regarded her a moment. "It won't be dark for a while. Would you like to take a walk?"
The trail he led her down veered away from the one that ran to camp. She heard the sound of running water, and he leapt over a stream, then turned to help her step across.
They stopped in a spot ringed by vine-wrapped trees. Birds squawked somewhere overhead, and when she squinted up into the canopy, she caught a flash of scarlet amid the green. In a place like this, she could easily believe that they were the only two people in the jungle--or the world.
"I come here sometimes," Rafael said, "when the work doesn't go well."
She looked around. It was beautiful, but only in the way that all the forest was beautiful--assuming one could overlook the humidity and the ants and a hundred other irritations. And, surprisingly, she found she could.
Rafael smiled. "I know. It looks like nothing. But I was born here."
"Really." She blinked. "Not in the village?"
Rafael shook his head. "My mother spent as much time out here as she could. She studied insects. Anything that could bite you, sting you, or wrap you in a web, she was the expert on it." He smiled. "So she was out here working when her time came. And my first memory is of her carrying me on her back through this jungle, showing me everything--look at this, Raf, look at that. She is gone, but when I am here, I can still hear her voice, telling me to look."
"Another part of the past that doesn't die," she heard herself say softly.
He nodded. And she knew, then, from his expression that he had never shown this place to anyone else.
"It helps, sometimes, to come here," he said. "To remember that there is always so much more than just one day."
"It's beautiful," she said, and meant it.
Then he reached out and took her hands in his. "So are you," he said. He moved closer, and she caught the sweet scent of his fur. "I know this must seem sudden, but... I never expected to feel this way. To care about someone this way."
The pads of his palms were hot against her hands. She had never thought that holding hands could be erotic, but it was. She felt herself caught between fear and a wild, winging ecstasy.
*He's a colleague,* she told herself firmly. *Nothing else. I've worked with plenty of men before--*
--but none like this, none whose eyes held such joy and wonder at the same things she loved, who looked at her as a person, as a woman, as *herself*, not just a symbol or a title. She'd had other men try to flirt with her before, and a few had persisted so much as to ask her out. She'd rebuffed them all politely but coolly, telling herself she had neither the time nor the interest for those kinds of distractions.
But this time...
"Katherine," he said, and there was a question in his tone. Amid the racing of her heart, she realized he was still holding her hands. He seemed in no hurry to let go.
Here was the moment, then, to speak. Here was the time to admit to him--to herself--that this had become more than a moment's curiosity, more than an idle attraction.
She pulled away. "I'm sorry."
His voice was quiet. "Then you don't--"
One word. Easy enough to say, to take care of everything. "No."
He nodded. She had hurt him; she could see that, and she was sorry, but there was nothing else she could do. He led her back to camp in silence.
\* \* \*
She wanted to go to her tent right after they finished dinner, but even though she could have made an easy excuse and fled, something kept her sitting by the fire. She felt like she had to say something else to him, something that would make things feel right and comfortable again. But she had no idea what.
She glanced at Rafael. He had been fiddling with a kettle over the fire, adding something to the hot water, and now he poured the results into two mugs and handed one to her. She took it eagerly, but the steam rising from the cup smelled nothing like the coffee she'd been hoping for.
"What is this?" It looked like tea, at least as far as she knew. She'd never bothered with hot tea--coffee was faster and simpler, at least for people like her who weren't into all the pretentious variations.
"Yerba maté," he said. "Keeps you going like coffee, but better for you." His hands engulfed his own mug as he took a sip. "Try it."
She sipped it warily. It had a sharp, grassy flavor, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. At least holding the mug gave her something to do.
The firelight washed over Rafael's fur as he fed a few more logs to the flames. She found herself staring at him again and desperately tried to think of something to say. The other times she'd turned men down, there had always been a sort of satisfaction afterward--not pleasure, but a sense that things were settled and now they could go on without interference. She didn't feel any of that now.
"The statue we found yesterday," she began, but that made her remember that eager flush of shared discovery, that childlike light in his eyes. "The one you called Nacali. I'm not familiar with that one. Was that one of the local gods?"
Rafael shook his head. "He was a major god. One of the most powerful among them. He isn't found in many of the written accounts, but he appears quite often in the temple art. There are reports of other statues of him being found, but they've always disappeared into the black market. That is what makes this find so unusual. And so wonderful."
"He was a fertility god?" To her horror, she felt herself blushing. For heaven's sake, she'd given lectures on various fertility rites; it wasn't something she was embarrassed about. *Quit acting like a starry-eyed freshman!*
Rafael didn't seem to notice her discomfort. "Not precisely," he said slowly. "He was the embodiment of sexual power, of desire and satisfaction. But not fertility in itself; that was not his realm." He tossed a leaf into the fire and watched it spark and smoke. "My people," he said, hesitating slightly over the words, "have perhaps a different view of sexuality than most cultures I've studied. I have read of some who see sex as good, others as evil. For us, it is both; it can be both. There is the nature of sex as a joining, as a connection to the sacred. A force of life--not just new life, but all life.
"And," he continued, more softly, still looking into the fire, "there is sex as power, as domination and control, the lust that blinds those who seek it to everything else that exists. We acknowledge sex as a force of destruction as well as creation, and Nacali is the guardian and the master of that force. Tempting, alluring, and very powerful." He stared into his mug. "For those who practiced his rites, it is said any desire could be granted."
She nodded and ran her fingers over the rim of her mug, trying to think of what to say, until the silence became unbearable. "Rafael," she said, his name clumsy in her mouth.
He turned to her, open, waiting.
"I'm sorry if I... gave you the wrong idea. I just--"
He shook his head, cutting her off. "I was foolish. I should not have been." He stared into his maté, the mug still nearly full. "It is a great honor to work with you. A great pleasure. I am content with that."
She stood. "I should... get to bed, I suppose. Thank you for the tea."
He nodded and took her empty cup. "Good night, Doctor."
\* \* \*
She woke in the middle of the night with the feeling of having dreamt, but she couldn't remember the dream.
She hated not being able to go back to sleep, hated lying there waiting for it, hated thinking about everything that had happened. The jungle, though never silent, felt strangely muted, the night-sounds farther away.
She unzipped the tent flap and looked outside. Their campfire, guarded by one of the Onça porters, glowed sullenly several yards away, but there was still more light outside than there should have been, even allowing for the small amount of moonlight that slipped down through the canopy.
Then she looked over to the temple site and saw the faint glow along the stone entrance.
She glanced back at the porter by the fire. She didn't see the other one. Raf--*Dr. Toranzo*'s tent, she corrected herself sternly--was dark.
She wondered if she should wake him. Theft at this sort of site made for big business, and coming between a treasure-hunter and his quarry made for dangerous business. She'd taken a few self-defense classes at the university, but even with those in her muscles' memory, she had neither the skill nor the strength to take on an Onça male unaided.
She slipped out of her tent and went to his. She hesitated--then slowly unzipped the flap.
His tent was empty.
She looked back at the light. What was he doing down there? Was he that dedicated, to keep working on the site? Perhaps he was just unable to sleep as well. She'd heard that some of the Onça still kept nocturnal tendencies. All the same, when a glint of moonlight caught her eye, reflecting off the machete bundled with Rafael's pack, she slid the weapon free and felt better with its weight in her hand.
She moved down the worn steps and into the passageway. The light was strong enough to find her way easily, and she recognized the steady flame of the lanterns they'd brought.
She heard breathing then, heavy and animal, and froze for a moment, wondering if something else from the jungle had wandered down into the site. But it sounded more human than animal... Then she reached the spot where passage opened up into the temple itself, and her eyes widened when she looked to the altar.
The idol was still there, grinning gold in the lamplight. But on the low slab of stone before it, an Onça male lay on his back.
She took a careful, quiet step forward. The male wore neither loincloth nor trousers, and yet she was certain. It was Rafael.
She flattened herself against the wall, hoping the shadows would hide her.
Rafael's eyes were closed, and as she watched, he ran his hands down the thick fur of his chest, past his belly, ending with both hands cupping a softly-shadowed white sheath. He gently pulled it back, releasing a pink shaft that looked--she realized with a mixture of detached interest and honest desire--very much like any human male's.
He teased himself slowly until his erection was a living replica of the idol's. In the passage, she felt her heartbeat quicken, her breathing hitch in time with his. She wanted that silken fur against her skin, wanted to rub against it. She would be ready; she could already feel herself loosening, opening to him.
Rafael moaned softly, rolling his hips forward as he grasped the base of his shaft. A pale droplet glittered at its tip, and he smoothed this over the taut skin. She wanted that flavor on her tongue, wanted to feel that heat in her mouth, to feel it throb as she swirled her tongue over it.
He was close now, thrusting his hips in time with the slow, even strokes of his hand. She could feel, somehow, that he was holding himself back, making it last just a little longer, drawing out each sensation. His next moan had the guttural tone of a growl, as if he were no longer concerned about staying quiet. He paused a moment, stroked his fingertips lightly over the soft curve of his scrotum, then slowly resumed the rhythm.
Oh, how she wanted those hands on her, those soft pads hot on her skin, and here and there perhaps even the delicate touch of claws... She could not, now, remember the last time she had pleasured herself. Her clitoris, she knew, would be stiff and sensitive, would pulse under the slightest touch...
Rafael was panting now, a sound that aroused her even more. She knew she shouldn't be watching any of this; she should have turned around, gone back to bed, and yet she could not move, could not take her eyes from the scene, so private and intimate and secret. At last she watched his muscles tense, watched him throw back his head in a silent roar, and at last, at last watched as each milky jet burst from him, pooling on his fur and the stone below.
He drew in a ragged breath, then sighed, and the satisfied sound filled the temple. Then, sitting up, he dipped his fingers in the cooling pool on the stone and touched them to the idol's phallus, smoothing them over the gold surface until it shone wet in the lamplight.
He was murmuring something under his breath, but she couldn't stay to hear it--couldn't bear if he should find out that she'd watched--couldn't help replaying those images in her mind, over and over, imagining her hands bringing him to climax instead of his. She stumbled back to her tent as if in a dream, or perhaps drunk, intoxicated with the sight and the sound and the sweet-musk smell of him.
What would he do, she wondered, if she simply went to his tent? Would she even have to speak, or would he know? Could he read the longing in her scent?
Had he, perhaps, been thinking of her as he'd done it? As even now, in the welcome darkness of her tent, jaw clenched to keep from crying out, fingers smoothing wetness over her clitoris, she dreamed of him?
\* \* \*
In the sweetness of afterglow, she slept, and in the jungle, her dream-self wandered. The mist that hung heavy around her was white at first, a blinding blankness that hid everything, and then it darkened until what surrounded her was a fog made of shadow. The shadows swirled and parted, and a figure emerged.
She was Onça, a wide-hipped, full-breasted jaguar female wearing a headdress of quetzal feathers and a necklace of beaten gold that fanned out in rays from her throat. Her eyes were emerald, her pupils slitted even in the wan moonlight, and her dark nipples shone with milk.
Katherine understood she was dreaming; this was no person of true flesh and blood, not the way her gaze seemed to penetrate beyond normal sight.
The Onça woman reached out her hand and placed it on Katherine's chest, right where her heart fluttered like a netted bird. Katherine realized then that she herself was nude, the jaguaress' palm warm against her bare skin.
She looked into the Onça's eyes, into the pupils dark as shards of obsidian. The jungle seethed and pulsed around them, and for the first time, she felt herself to be part of it, as much as the liana and the monkey and the ants.
She closed her eyes and felt the touch of the woman's tongue on her forehead, delicate as the breeze from a hummingbird's flight. The Onça's fur smelled of orchids and warm rain. And the voice came to her from everywhere, more sense than sound:
*You carry a wildness within you, sister. You must set it free, or there will be no hope for either of us.*
\* \* \*
When she woke, everything felt as if it had been a dream--Rafael on the altar-stone, her own desperate pleasure, the voice of the jaguar-woman. But her own scent was still thick on her fingers, and she knew she had not dreamt what she'd seen in the temple.
She had to say nothing, had to pretend she hadn't seen, hadn't heard, hadn't wanted everything right along with him. And yet she feared he would look at her and know everything, no matter how much she tried to hide.
*Professional,* she thought, taking a deep breath.
Her professionalism lasted for approximately forty-five seconds, the time it took for her to walk down into the temple site. She slipped her arms around him, felt him return the embrace, and held on for what felt like an hour before she trusted herself to speak.
"You weren't foolish," she said. "I was." She hesitated. "It's been a long time since I've felt anything like this. Since I've *let* myself feel anything like this. I'm used to things I can analyze. I'm not good at... things like this."
"Then this is something else we will discover together," he said.
They made an attempt to work, but it was distracted work at best. His musk seemed heavier, more noticeable to her now, and every touch set her skin tingling. She wanted to say something about the night before, but couldn't--it still felt too secret, too raw to share just yet.
When they returned to camp for the day, she washed as well as she could with a bucket of boiled river-water, then put on a fresh shirt from her pack. She wished, suddenly, that she had perfume; no doubt he would appreciate a subtle scent. Then she laughed at herself, thinking how perfumes had never exactly been on her list of essentials before.
At the fireside, Rafael handed her a plate heaped with the same dinner as the night before. "They have outdone themselves tonight," he said wryly. "Remind me to make reservations elsewhere tomorrow."
"The ambience here isn't bad, though."
"Mm... well, the company makes up for quite a bit."
They talked about nothing as they ate, and when Rafael came back from returning their plates, he slipped his arm around her. She settled back against him, and she felt herself relax as if they had always done this. She closed her eyes, listening to his breathing, to the porters scrubbing dishes and humming songs. For the first time since she'd stepped off the plane--or perhaps long before--everything felt right.
Rafael's whiskers brushed her throat, and she shivered.
"Katherine," he breathed, drawing each syllable out. She had never cared much for her name, but he made it sound new.
She had no idea how--or whether--Onça kissed, but she improvised, pressing her mouth to his.
You can't do this. It's unprofessional.
His tongue swept over her lips, rougher than a human's but not as much as she'd expected. She opened her mouth, deepening the kiss.
*You're acting like a teenager.*
She felt like laughing. *I never acted like a teenager when I was one. Might as well make up for lost time.*
She was keenly aware of the faint musky scent of his fur, of the way his breath quickened to match hers. She ran her hand down his chest, her fingers sinking into his fur--he was so *soft*!
*Not everywhere, I bet, not now,* she thought, and remembered the thick shaft peeking out from the fur.
They pulled each other close, pressing against each other, and she could feel him through the fabric, could feel him throbbing stiffly against her. His version of a kiss, it seemed, was to brush her skin with his mouth, touching lightly with his tongue, his breath warm and shuddering.
"Katherine," he whispered in her ear, "if we were alone I would pleasure you here, with this firelight on your skin and only the jungle to see us..."
But they weren't alone, of course. "Your tent or mine?" she managed, smiling slightly.
"Well, I *did* give you the larger tent."
"Very chivalrous of you."
"Mm... I think you'll find that putting women first comes quite naturally to me."
Somehow the banter aroused her as much as his touch. It was a dance, a game, and she enjoyed the anticipation as they stood and left the fireside. There was a new sharpness to the air, an electric sweetness of promise.
He followed her into the tent and zipped the flap closed behind him. Sounds still filtered in from outside--the rustle of leaves high in the canopy, a howler monkey crying in the distance, the closer crackling of the campfire--but these faded rapidly as he kissed the base of her throat and unbuttoned her shirt. He breathed deep, nuzzling her skin; she wore nothing under the shirt. Her nipples tightened as he stroked his tongue over them. Finally he paused and fumbled with his belt until the buckle came free.
"Traditional dress has some advantages, I think," he said, smiling as he saw her watching. He eased the trousers down, and she drank in the sight of him. There was little light in the tent save for the battery-powered lantern she'd switched on, and her shirt covered it as she tossed the garment aside, sending them into a warm bluish glow that softened all the shadows. His erection was full against his belly, and once he was free of the trousers, she reached to stroke the shaft, feeling it leap under her hand. He growled softly, as he had when pleasuring himself, then unbuttoned her slacks, reaching his hand in beneath them, cupping her in his palm through the thin fabric of her panties. She gasped and pressed against him, then reached down to take everything off.
At last, with nothing else between them, he ran his hand along her body, stroking her slowly. "Beautiful," he breathed. He kissed her breasts, her belly, the rise of her vulva, then pressed his mouth to her labia. She felt his tongue there first, searching, then felt it swirl over her stiffened clitoris. It was almost as she'd imagined it--almost, because it was better.
He teased her, first licking steadily, then slowing down, then speeding up. She gave herself over to it, and just when she began to feel the first hints of a building climax, he tapered off and raised his head.
"Yes," she said, and he moved to lie on top of her. Yes, this was what she wanted, this was what she *needed*, his weight on hers, his muscles tight against her. She wrapped her legs around him, moving just a bit, guiding him until at last, he slid smoothly inside.
"Oh," he said softly, a sound of both satisfaction and surprise. "Oh, yes..."
He moved slowly in and out for several moments, and now she heard only their breathing and the blood rushing in her ears. The frenzy, the need that she'd felt quieted somewhat, leaving her to savor the sensation of him moving in her, of the two of them fitting together again and again. At last, though, she pulled him down hard against her, and he took the signal, changing to a deeper, faster rhythm. The angle he chose lit a deep, spreading glow within her, and she forced herself to form words.
"Don't stop," she said, and he didn't.
She wanted it to go on forever, but climax was rising in her, so easy and sweet with his fur brushing the tip of her clitoris. She had wanted this, needed it, denied it for so long, and now her body was tensing to the breaking point.
"Yes," he breathed in her ear, "yes..."
Climax gripped her sudden and swift. She felt her whole body clench as it broke over her, within her, and she cried out without caring if the others heard. Then, as the feeling ebbed, she heard Rafael's low growl and felt his rhythm quicken, felt him pressing deeper inside with each urgent thrust. He tensed, muscles knotting beneath his pelt, and a wordless cry turned into a roar as he came.
Ragged breaths became sighs as they both relaxed, and the sounds from outside the tent slowly filtered back in as he moved to lie beside her.
"I think the porters probably know what we're doing by now," she said.
He chuckled. "They already knew, I think, if they have any sense of smell at all." He nuzzled her cheek, then her throat. "Anyway, they'd better get used to it. This research could take a long time."
"The research out there, or in here?"
He laughed and pulled her close, and she rested her head on his chest until she fell asleep.
\* \* \*
She half-expected him to be gone when she woke, but he was still beside her, snoring softly, his fur tousled in places and matted in others, his face peaceful in sleep as only a feline's could be.
She watched him for a moment, wishing she could go back to sleep against him. She knew, now, what she truly wanted--or rather, what she had wanted before last night and could only now, in this fragile dawn, admit to herself. She'd had some skittering thoughts in the back of her mind that this was a fling, a romantic tempest that would blow over, and she would go back to her apartment, back to her job, back to her regular life. Now she realized that was impossible, because she wanted to wake this way, next to him, from now on. She felt as if she'd walked through an ordinary door and into a world she couldn't even imagine, let alone navigate.
And he felt... what? Oh, she knew what he had *said*, but how many women had heard the same thing from their lovers, and found out the truth only later?
Doubt curled cold within her, and she got up and dressed, heading out of the tent and into the mist-heavy morning. The fire had died down to coals, and she stirred them idly with a stick, watching their red light flutter and fade.
She heard Rafael leave the tent, and a moment later he came to sit beside her.
"Katherine," he said softly.
She laid the stick aside and looked up. His gaze held hers for the space of a heartbeat, and then she looked away.
"I want you to know," he said, "I'm... not in the habit of..." He paused. "Well, of... this. I'm not..." He blew out a breath. "Let me start over," he said, and she felt herself smiling, remembering their second introductions.
He smiled back, perhaps thinking the same thing, then sobered. "What we did last night," he said, "I don't do lightly. I think--perhaps--you're the same way."
She nodded.
He took her hands in his. "My colleagues tease me sometimes, you know. They say I am married to this jungle, that I will never find a wife. And I laugh back and tell them I have not yet found a woman who can compare.
"Until now," he said. "Perhaps they would laugh still, now, to see me in love. But I am. I love you. And I couldn't bear for you to think that last night was--any less than that." He swallowed and looked at her with a mixture of hope and fear in his eyes. "Have I... made a mistake?"
"No." She kissed his cheek, his mouth, again and again, wanting to laugh, wanting to cry, the whole world broken open and new. "I love you, too."
Kisses became touches, touches teased at more, and finally Rafael gave a low, throaty chuckle. "Shall we try my tent this time, my love?"
"We should get back to the site..."
"It's waited a thousand years," Rafael murmured against her skin. "Let it wait a little longer."
\* \* \*
From a professional standpoint, the next few days were fruitless. They found nothing else at the site, but she barely noticed the tedium of the dig. Because from a personal standpoint... well, she found herself humming old love songs as she worked, and she figured that would sum things up pretty well for any outside observer. From time to time, she wondered what she was going to tell her mother, and how, but in truth the world beyond the jungle felt like a dream, a place that was fading as she woke up.
They traded family stories, tales of childhood adventure, and threadbare jokes that each other's laughter made new. The dig, the forest--all of it was a mere backdrop for the story they were playing out. No other discovery could compare.
And then something changed.
It was so subtle at first that she told herself she was imagining things. Rafael seemed tense and unsettled but wouldn't talk about it. Even in his lovemaking, she sensed he wasn't fully there, wasn't letting go as he had before. Afterward, he would leave her side almost immediately, and she would see him pacing by the fire, back and forth, endlessly. He seemed to be saying something under his breath, but she could never make out the words.
One day soon after, he disappeared. He was gone when she woke, and though the porters searched, they found no sign of him. She wanted to send them to the place he had taken her, the place where he had been born. She had a feeling he was there, but she couldn't remember the way, couldn't describe it well enough for anyone else to find it.
Near sunset, he returned, crawling into her tent, pressing his muzzle into her hair.
"Where were you? They were looking--"
"I need you," he said.
"I was worried--"
"I'm all right. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He unbuttoned her shirt, his tongue rasping the skin between her breasts. "Please, Katherine. Please." There was a desperation to his touch that had not been there before, and it both aroused and alarmed her at once.
At last came the night of the storm, when she could no longer fool herself.
There had been rain before, of course, but the thick canopy kept a surprising amount of it from ever reaching the ground. This night, though, wind thrashed in the treetops, sending rain pelting down on the camp. She had forgotten so many things about the jungle--the heat, the darkness, and most of all, how loud the rain could be when it drummed on countless leaves. The tent kept her dry, but it could do nothing for the noise.
She sighed and closed her eyes. If she couldn't truly sleep, at least she could try to rest. She wondered whether Rafael was awake.
Vaguely, she realized she was dozing, drifting down into hazy sleep and then back up again. She was dimly aware of odd thoughts and scraps of memory passing through her mind, and then she was thinking of Rafael's mother carrying him through the forest, wondering what Rafael had looked like as a cub, and imagining her voice.
*Look*, his mother was saying--a bright blue butterfly winging across their path--*look*--and then his mother was the Onça woman with the quetzal-feather headdress, and Rafael was gone, and she woke with the command in her head--
*Look.*
She sat up, and then, for no reason she could explain, she opened the tent flap and looked out at the drenched campsite. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene for an instant, and she caught a glimpse of a creature a few yards in front of her tent. She had to wait for the next lightning-flash to be certain what it was: a peccary, likely separated from its group, its snout twitching as it investigated the camp.
She reached for her battery-powered lantern and switched it on for a better look. Adult peccaries could be dangerous, even deadly, but this one was young, barely half-grown. She hoped Miguel and Astu had secured their food stores well out of its reach. Satisfied, she switched the lantern off--
--just as the peccary's squeal pierced through the rain and wind, a short, desperate sound that cut off an instant later--
*Look*, the voice whispered, and she did.
She didn't turn the lantern back on, but when she squinted out into the night, the next flare of lightning threw everything into horrifying relief.
Rafael stood hunched with the peccary hanging from his jaws. Its eyes were wide and glassy--it was dying, but not yet dead. When he took the animal in his paws--
--*hands, they're hands*--
--it struggled fitfully, kicking one leg, then another, and then Rafael bit down. The dull crack of the peccary's skull breaking in his jaws echoed again and again in her mind.
No lightning lasted this long, this steadily, but still she saw everything in blues and shining blacks--and then red, impossibly vibrant, the blood not purplish-crimson as it should have been in the darkness--wrong, it was all wrong--
Rafael lowered his head and bit into the peccary's belly, pulling at the hide as blood and rainwater coursed down his body. He was not only nude, she saw now, but aroused as well, and as he swallowed the viscera in great, starving gulps, she saw him move one hand to stroke himself.
She closed her eyes, but she could not shut out the sounds: a heavy, grunting moan, over and over, as he gorged himself, and the wet, tearing sound of flesh pulling away from bone.
*Look*, the command came again, and though she didn't want to, she opened her eyes.
He was looking at her.
She froze. She could not tell if he could see her--there was no connection between her gaze and his--but she could not look away. His eyes were as empty and impassive as the idol's in the temple. There was no love there, no speech, no name--nothing more than cold, dark need.
Was this the last thing the peccary had seen?
When he moved his hand away, his erection still shone wet and full in the blue light. Would he come to her? Would he want her to satisfy the other need that still burned wild in him?
*Please, no,* she begged silently, unsure who she was entreating. Bile rose in the back of her throat. *Please, no, please...*
At last she saw him turn and move away, disappearing into the darkness.
The rain slackened, then stopped, and the next morning dawned clear. When she woke, she tried to tell herself she had dreamed everything. But the peccary's hide lay tangled on the ground, white bones seething with ants, just a few yards in front of her tent.
\* \* \*
She did not see Rafael until late in the afternoon. She had retreated to the temple site, pretending to work, hoping that somehow she could be Dr. Goss and he could be Dr. Toranzo and everything would be normal again.
When she did finally see him, she almost mistook him for Miguel or Astu. He had traded his shirt and pants for a traditional dark red loincloth. He moved differently now, she noticed; each step was tight and guarded, as if he were always hunting.
He sat down behind her, slipping his arms around her. Her skin prickled with goosebumps, and she cursed herself for staying in a place that had only one way in or out.
"Where have you been?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.
"The jungle calls to me," he replied, nuzzling her throat. "But I had to come back to you."
His claws grazed her skin where he held her, and she tensed under his touch. "You... changed your clothes," she said, pulling away as much as she dared.
"I wore human clothes to be respected," he said with a shrug. "With you..." He trailed the pads of his fingers along her arm. "I can truly be myself."
Except that he wasn't. Everything about him--his touch, his gaze, even his scent--was strange. Human instincts might be considered paltry next to the Onça's, but still, every nerve of her body warned her there was danger here.
He reached to unbutton her shirt. She shivered as the fabric fell away, as he cupped her breasts in his hands and teased until the sensitive skin tightened. She felt his teeth touch the back of her neck.
"I could be with you every hour," he murmured, "and it would never be enough..."
At any other time, she might have taken that for an endearment, but now the words chilled her. His voice was too much like his gaze had been that night of the storm--too cold, and too empty.
His hands were reaching down to unzip her slacks when Miguel called from the temple entrance. "Dr. Toranzo?"
"Go away," Rafael snapped.
A pause. "Dr. Toranzo, the equipment you sent for has arrived."
"What equipment?"
"I do not know, sir. From the university. There are papers to sign. They must see you."
Rafael snarled softly, hesitated, then stood and stalked out.
Finally she felt as if she could breathe again. She rushed out of the temple, still buttoning her shirt, and nearly ran into Miguel.
"Careful, Doctor," he said, steadying her. Then he frowned. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
Miguel studied her, searching her eyes. "Are you sure," he said carefully, "that you don't need any help?"
So he had noticed the change as well. "I'm sure," she said. "Thank you."
He nodded, then went to help Astu with the crates.
Whatever equipment Rafael had sent for, it was of no interest to him now. The crates sat unopened at the temple entrance until the sun went down, and Rafael did not return. She ate dinner alone, picking at her food while the porters prowled the campsite.
"There is blood on the air," Miguel said. She knew he meant that Rafael was hunting again--in her mind, she heard the peccary's squeal, and that sickening crack--but there was an ominous note in Miguel's voice that made her feel he was talking about more than just a literal scent.
Miguel handed her a cup of maté. "Best to stay awake, I think, as much as we can."
She nodded.
"Do you carry any weapons, Doctor?"
The question chilled her. "A pocket knife. That's all."
He nodded and gave her one of the machetes, its handle faintly scarred with claw-marks. "Keep this close, then. Just in case." He said something softly to Astu, and the other porter nodded.
When Rafael at last returned to camp, he appeared silently at the fireside. His loincloth was torn, and his muzzle was flecked with foam and blood. He sat without speaking to anyone, and somehow his huddled withdrawal frightened her more than his anger. His eyes were clouded and vacant, as if he could see nothing.
Heart pounding, she rose and went to his side. Across the fire, she saw Miguel tense, but the porter said nothing.
"Here," she said quietly, as if speaking to a child--or an animal. She passed him the mug.
He sniffed it, then wrapped his hands tightly around it. She thought she saw a glimmer of something in his gaze, a bit of the person she knew coming back. When he looked at her again, his eyes were wide and frantic.
*Trapped,* she thought, *he looks trapped.*
"Rafael," she said, hoping the sound of his name might focus him, perhaps even calm him. She reached to rest a hand on his arm.
He snarled and jerked away. The mug fell to the ground, splashing its contents into the fire and sending up a plume of hissing smoke.
"Stay away," he said, each word forced out. "Leave me alone." He backed away from them, claws out, then turned and fled into the night.
Katherine bent to pick up the mug. Its dull metal surface was streaked with red.
*He's still in there,* she thought desperately. *Whatever's happening to him, he's fighting it--*
But he was losing, that was clear. Because as frightened as they now were of him, she had seen the fear in his eyes, too.
\* \* \*
She did not expect to sleep, but exhaustion pulled her under. She dreamt in disjointed images: Rafael's panicked expression. A mist that blocked out everything. Her hand gripping the machete. Emerald eyes and the scent of orchids. The storm roaring in the canopy. Rafael stretched out before the idol, but this time wiping bright blood onto the golden phallus--
She woke suddenly to shouting outside her tent, and her throat closed as she heard the smoldering rage in Rafael's voice.
"You think I haven't seen you looking at her?"
Miguel's voice, tense and low: "Doctor, in God's name, I swear--"
"You think I can't smell her on you?"
"Never," Miguel said. "Never. We... We are like brothers, you and I, remember? All the times we have worked together. All these years."
Katherine eased the tent-flap down and dared a glance out at the camp. Miguel was standing with his hands palm-out, every line of his body trying to soothe with submission. Rafael stood almost in a crouch, as if he were about to leap at the other Onça's throat.
Miguel took one slow step back, then another. "Doctor, you're tired, I know. This heat, this work--it gets to all of us. A little rest, and you'll feel better."
Behind Miguel's back, she saw a glimmer of firelight on metal. Miguel had picked up his machete.
"That's all you'll need," Miguel went on calmly. "And then everything will be all right again. You'll see."
Rafael snarled and lunged. The machete's blade flashed, and Rafael's roar of pain drowned out her cry. He stumbled back, blood staining his fur from a slash across his chest, and she saw the same frantic confusion clouding his gaze.
"I don't want to hurt you, my friend," Miguel said softly. "Please."
Rafael moaned and backed away, heading for his tent. When he was gone, Miguel sank to his knees, still clutching the machete. The line of orange light on its blade wavered as he sat shaking by the fire.
*I have to do something*, she thought--but what was there to do? There were no doctors here, no police, no number to dial with a trembling hand. And no way to explain what was happening, even if there'd been someone to tell. How could she explain what she didn't understand herself?
She gritted her teeth against the sob rising in her throat. Despair would bring panic, and she couldn't waste time or strength on either. She sat, fists clenched, stomach and mind churning, for what might have been hours. When the voice came out of the darkness, she nearly cried out.
"Doctor."
Miguel's voice. "Dr. Goss, wake up."
She came out to see the two porters crouched by her tent. "What's going on?"
"Shhh." Miguel looked over his shoulder, sniffed the wind with his mouth slightly open, and then turned back to her. "He is asleep now, in his tent. We are leaving. You must come with us. We can get you safely to the village, but we have to leave now."
"I can't leave."
Astu grabbed her hand. "Doctor, he is mad. You see his eyes--he is mad. You must come. He will kill you."
"He won't kill me." She tried to sound reassuring, but her voice wavered.
Miguel shook his head. "He is not himself, and you know it. I cannot leave you here."
"I'll be all right."
"Doctor, please--"
Astu growled impatiently.
"Go," Katherine said. "Before he wakes up."
Miguel swallowed, then crossed himself. "God be with you, Doctor. There is dark magic here. Be careful." He glanced back at Astu, and the two slipped silently into the night.
She lay back down, heart racing. There was no way she could have left. Rafael was still there; she knew that. She couldn't leave him. Whatever was going on--
*You see his eyes--he is mad.*
She fell asleep with her fingers on the handle of the machete.
\* \* \*
Mist. Spotted pelt. Eyes like emeralds in the moonlight. She recognized the jaguaress and tried to speak. Who are you?
The only one who can save you, as you are the only one who can save me.
You're a goddess.
A faint smile opened the Onça's mouth. I was called that, yes. As my mate was called a god. He is the twilight; I am the dawn.
Her mate. Nacali. So this was your temple as well.
Yes, and it must be again. The Onça's eyes were luminous and fierce. *Your mate has given himself to mine. He is death; he is decay; he is darkness.*
Rafael's jaws, wet with blood.
The peccary's hide, alive with ants.
The flash of the machete blade--
*If you would release him, *the Onça's voice returned, you must find me.
Where?
In the temple. Seek me, sister, and together we will free him.
\* \* \*
After checking that Rafael was still safely asleep, she made her way down into the temple as quietly as she could, her lantern casting a pool of yellow light before her. When she reached the altar, she stood for a moment, scanning the ground, looking for any sign of another artifact.
It was no use. It would take days to comb the entire site--certainly more than the handful of hours she had until Rafael woke.
Sighing, she went back to the spot where they'd found the first idol. She had no idea what she was looking for, but perhaps there was some clue... She crouched by the hole, sifting clumps of damp soil through her fingers.
Was there some purpose to Nacali being in this location? She tried to imagine the temple as it must have looked when it was whole, tried to imagine it in daylight.
*He is the twilight; I am the dawn.*
She looked back at Nacali's site and tried to remember the day they'd found him. She remembered Rafael uncovering it, the first glimmer of gold, the idol's face--
The statue had been facing toward the western end of the temple. Toward sunset.
She grabbed the lantern and went to the other side of the room, glancing back at the other site to mentally measure the space. If the two were intended to be equals and opposites, the goddess' statue should be here, facing toward sunrise. She knelt and tore at the soil with her trowel, digging in frantic clumps, a parody of the careful excavation they'd done.
And then her trowel hit something, and the dull clack tingled up her wrist.
It took only a few minutes more to unearth it: gold as before, Onça, but female, with stylized feathers encircling her face.
"I know you," Katherine whispered. "Help me. Tell me what to do."
In the back of her mind, she was dimly aware of how ludicrous this was--speaking to a statue, to a dream-woman, asking it for help. But she remembered Rafael's eyes, the emptiness and the fear.
There was fact, and there was truth, and she knew which one she was dealing with.
She cleaned the dirt from the statue as best she could, wiping the surface with her sleeve, then carried the idol to the altar and placed it--her--next to Nacali.
"Tell me what to do," she said again, and she reached out to brush her fingers over the gold--
--and touched warm fur instead, and the jungle surrounded them, the scent of orchids heavy and sweet. The goddess' mouth was on hers, her rough tongue meeting Katherine's own. She tasted of honey and ripe fruit. Their kisses were slow; there was no time here, no hurry, nothing else but a bed of ferns and each other.
She kissed the jaguaress' mouth, her throat, her breasts, then pressed her lips to the wet stiffness of one of the Onça's nipples. The goddess growled low, but it was not a warning.
*Drink, sister. You will need my strength.*
She pulled in one mouthful, then another, sweet and rich on her tongue. It did not taste at all as she might have expected; it was more like light than any earthly milk.
But the goddess had more to offer, and she wanted more. Desire hung like a mist around them; they drew it in, exhaled it with every breath. She cupped her hand between the Onça's thighs and sought through the silky fur until she felt a throbbing pulse beneath her fingers. A moment later, she felt the jaguaress' warm finger-pads teasing her own clitoris, as skillfully as she would have done for herself, knowing just the right way, just the right places, the right speed, holding back, even pausing, then gently stroking again. It was as if they shared one body; she could hear the goddess' heartbeat pounding in her ears. She was going to come, she knew it, felt the tension building to its breaking point, and just as keenly she knew that the jaguaress was near her own release. She could not keep it back; neither could, and the goddess' hot breath was against her throat, and the voice was a fierce whisper in her mind:
*Tenaca*, the goddess said.* My name is Tenaca.*
Katherine arched her back and came, her breath forced out in a wordless cry as her muscles clenched into ecstasy. Her climax flowed through her entire body, ebbing only slowly, leaving her trembling but not spent, a sensation that energized more than it exhausted.
When she opened her eyes, she realized she was lying on the altar-stone, her clothes discarded in a heap nearby, her fingers still resting lightly on her labia. She turned her head to glance at the statues again. She could still smell orchids and, below that, the goddess' muskier fragrance mingled with that of her own sex. There was another sensation as well, beyond her normal senses, a kind of otherness to her thoughts. As if someone else were sharing them. She half-expected to look down and see a spotted pelt instead of her human skin.
She felt a smile tug at her mouth.
*The sun will rise soon. Go to him.*
She dipped her fingers deep, then touched them to the statue's vulva and left the temple. Her bare skin tingled at the mist's damp kiss, and she found she did not need the lantern to see. She knew the way to Rafael's tent; his scent was thick and male and teasing in the still air. She was already aroused again.
This time, he would be the prey.
He was still asleep when she slipped into the tent and lay down alongside him, but he woke as she pressed her body against his.
"Mmm..." His hands rested at her waist, then moved to her hips. He pressed his muzzle into the hollow of her throat. "Oh, you smell wonderful..."
He had the scent of blood at the fringes of his fur, but the scent of orchids covered it. She stroked her fingers through the soft fur of his belly. He was still flaccid, the pink head just peeking out from the sheath, and she lowered her mouth to him, enveloping him, teasing him out with her tongue. He responded quickly, and soon he was stiff and full in her mouth.
*Not this way,* she heard, and understood. But she needed him close, and she knew those signs well enough by now, so she continued for another long moment, pulling him deep, moving her tongue over his hot skin. When he began to pant, she pulled away. She was already wet, already open, and she straddled him, rubbing against him, guiding him inside.
*Yes*, she heard.
The rhythm began slowly but intensified in moments, her hips in time with his. He throbbed inside her, and she made a sound halfway between a moan and a purr.
Too long, they had been trapped down there too long, unable to see each other, unable to *touch*...
*Yes, yes, yes...*
In her fever-heat, she felt her tail lashing behind her, felt her nails lengthen into hooked claws. She wanted to give in, wanted the release, but fought it. She knew, now, that there was something else she had to do first.
Rafael's breath hitched. Katherine looked down at him and spoke, but the voice was not hers, and as Rafael's eyes opened in surprise, she knew it was the god looking out.
"Nacali," she said, "I bind you. In my name, Tenaca, you are joined with me."
Rafael's body trembled and jerked beneath her. She knew the god would fight to hold back, knew just as well that he couldn't. The mortal body could not be denied.
"By the seed you spill in me," she said, "you are bound."
He came as she spoke the last words, and she felt each jet as it burst forth, again and again, an impossible amount that filled her and flowed out to soak his fur where they were joined.
Rafael groaned and thrust one last time, then relaxed. When he opened his eyes, it was as if he'd awakened after sleeping for days. His gaze wandered, found her, and focused slowly, and she knew at once that it was him and only him--as she was only, now, herself.
"Katherine?"
"Yes."
Rafael swallowed, then closed his eyes and exhaled a long, slow breath. "He's gone."
She kissed his mouth. "Yes, he's gone. They both are." She moved to lie beside him, and they held each other in silence until she touched his cheek and whispered, "Why?"
He did not look at her. "Because I loved you, and he promised I would have you."
"You didn't need his help for that."
"I know, I know, I was--"
"It doesn't matter." She lifted his chin until he met her gaze. "It's over. And I'm still here."
She kissed him again, and neither spoke for several minutes. At last Rafael pulled away and nuzzled her ear. "You haven't come, have you."
"Not yet."
"Mm..." His whiskers brushed her inner thighs, and she opened her legs to him. "I think I can take care of that," he murmured.
And in the moment before climax, before her body's pleasure shut everything else out, there came a faint voice in her mind, fading but still unmistakable, over the rush of blood and breath.
*Well done, sister. Rejoice.*
\* \* \*
Katherine took a glass of champagne from a passing tray and tried to nod and smile in all the right places as the museum director gushed over the plans for the upcoming exhibit.
"--recreate the jungle itself, in a completely immersive experience. Hidden speakers with jungle sounds, birds and monkeys and all that, and then they'll come down into the temple itself, with the idols in the center." He glanced over his shoulder at the glass case that held the pair of statues. "Such an incredible find, isn't it, Dr. Go--ah, I'm sorry, it's--what now?" His gaze flicked to the emerald-and-gold ring she wore on her left hand.
"Toranzo," she said.
"Yes, congratulations."
She murmured an acknowledgment, looking back at the idols. The golden figures of Nacali and Tenaca shone almost unnaturally, as if they bore their own light. She shivered.
"You were working on an Onça temple site, too, weren't you?" the director continued. "I hadn't heard anything about your dig. What did you find?"
Katherine forced a regretful smile. "Just the site itself. Stones and dirt and forest. If there was ever anything there, it was all gone by the time we showed up."
It had taken the two of them days to put everything back in place. There had been notes to burn or delete, holes to fill and pack down, and most importantly, two idols to carefully replace, one facing sunset, one facing dawn, in the jungle where they belonged.
She knew she was expected to envy the archaeologist who had brought back these idols. He would be remembered, renowned, respected--everything she'd always thought she wanted.
But discoveries took many forms.
The director spotted someone more important in the crowd and left. Katherine held back a sigh of relief and looked to the glass case again. She had not heard the goddess' voice since the night they bound Nacali and freed Rafael, but now, even without words, she felt a vague swirling mist at the edges of her mind, and then a slow, sinuous warmth enveloped her, relaxing her even as her pulse leapt and quickened.
She looked at the glass she was holding. It was still half full--
Rafael was behind her, draping her coat over her shoulders. "It's not the champagne," he whispered in her ear.
"It's--*them?*"
"Shhh. As long as they're together--as long as no one can touch them--they're safe." He chuckled. "But this will be a very popular exhibit, I think. And no one will ever understand why."
She looked back at the crowd and saw, now, how the reception's attendees--academics and socialites alike--had paired off. Glances, smiles, furtive touches, blushes and moistened lips... She caught Rafael's musk-sweet scent in the heavy air and felt her body responding.
He sniffed along the nape of her neck. "Katherine, love--tell me we've stayed here long enough."
She placed her champagne flute on a tray of empties. This place--this world of high-rises and cocktail dresses and university degrees--had been her home once, but no longer. Tomorrow, they would board the first of many flights, heading back to the jungle. Back home.
But tonight, crisp white sheets waited in their hotel room, and home was her husband's fur warm on her skin.
"Let's get out of here," she said softly, smiling.
The low rumble in Rafael's chest was a purr and a promise. He slipped his arm around her, and they headed out into the night.
*This work and all characters (c) 2009 Renee Carter Hall ("Poetigress"). May not be reprinted or redistributed without written permission.*