“I can't help myself,” he said, the fingers of his hand exploring her curves, stopping just beneath one breast. “When it happens, it happens when I'm frightened, or a little anxious.”
“Frightened? You?” her voice rising with disbelief. “What could frighten you?”
“Storms,” he said simply.
Zofia quietly thought on this a few beats. She recalled that nearly every time she encountered the cat, or it had come padding into her room there had been a storm.
“You're afraid of storms?”
“Only the bad ones,” he said. “Ever since I was a boy. Storms just frighten me, and I shiftchange automatically.”
“One would think you'd out-grow it.”
“One would,” he agreed. “But it began when I was very young. I can shiftchange any time I wish, during the waxing moons, or when they're in wanning, the storm ju
