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woman’s hair. Bad enough to be an outlander in Sánge territory with winter about to trap her inside the city for several cycles, but with the bad luck of shorn hair besides?
    Not for the first time Reule wondered how long the girl had been confined in that attic. Had she been a prisoner? Had they thrown her away up there after they’d finished using her?
    The thought ripped a furrow of rage in his gut, and his teeth locked tightly together as he fought back the rushing fury. Often, his most potent emotions would spill over, emanating without his intention to those surrounding him. Though normally no one could read his thoughts without his permission, his unique power of emanation took some effort to control. With emanation, Reule could make those around him know and feel his needs. Just as, without a single spoken word, the slamming of a door could leave a perfect impression of the departer’s displeasure, he could create the same effect with the flexing of his mind. The trick was preventing it when it wasn’t desired.
    The Sánge leader reached out to touch the exposed skin of the girl’s hands and arms. She was still chilled, but nowhere near as cold as she had been. The blanket and vigorous ride had done their part, and now the heat of the steam seeped into her as well. Reule stood up and ran a hand through his dampened hair, the steam curling the black locks into the natural waves that he usually brushed out or braided back. He grasped his short, brown fleece-lined jacket and his tan hunter’s vest, shedding them both into a careless pile at his feet. His coffee-brown leather knee boots were the next to go, their perfect cobbling allowing him to slide them free without Drago’s usual assistance. He stripped off his beige linen shirt, the fabric already soaked with moisture from the steam and his sweat. He was three days out from his last bath and he was looking forward to shedding the grime of riding, stalking, and death.
    Just then he heard the click of the door opening and shutting, and though it wasn’t far from where he stood, he couldn’t see who entered through the dense wall of white mist. But he could feel her well enough.
    “Come here, Para.”
    Pariedes moved unerringly through the fog of moisture to find him. When she caught sight of him half naked and standing over the girl, he could feel her disapproval even without seeing the prim press of her lips.
    “Now, now, Para,” he teased her, “I still have my breeches on. Isn’t that what covers all the important parts?” When Para blushed from neck to hairline, Reule threw back his head and laughed. The housekeeper recovered quickly enough to wave him back with a threatening swing of her hand.
    “You’re a scoundrel, My Prime!” she accused after almost smacking him in the nose with that dangerously flailing hand.
    “Aye, and you’re not the first woman to tell me so,” he countered as he watched her bend over the small girl.
    “She’s badly neglected,” Para said, tsking in disgust. “Bloody bastard Jakals. The lot of them should burn to death staked in the desert sun.”
    Reule folded his arms across the breadth of his chest and peered down at her. “Who said Jakals had anything to do with it?”
    Her head snapped up and her dark eyes flashed with indignant pride. “I’ve eyes in my head and a brain as well, haven’t I?” She scoffed at him. “What else would keep you a day overdue and have you bringing home two victims as your only game? Really, My Prime!”
    “My apologies, Pariedes,” he said with graciousness and a conceding bow. “You are right. What of my hunting trophy, Para? Do you think she’ll survive?”
    “I cannot tell you that. She’s an outlander, Prime Reule. I know not what she is. She’s too fair to be Gemin or Opia, and while she’s got the build of a Jakal, she’s—”
    “This girl is no Jakal,” Reule said sharply, the impulsive urge to defend her riding him hard. “I located her by sheer feeling