Date: 2006-09-15 04:15:48+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Kung fu; Martial Arts; Romance; Adventure
Description: Shan Westin -- half-Chinese, half-American, one hundred percent kung fu badass -- is on a mission to recover five mystical jade animals before they fall into the wrong hands. Over 15 years ago, Shan's mother led a secret society of female martial artists sworn to protect the statues. When the Jade Circle lost four of the five statues during a murderous attack on their sanctuary, 12-year-old Shan's destiny was sealed. It was she who carried the remaining tiger statue all the way to America; she who felt it clawing at her with the need to recover the crane, snake, leopard and dragon. The Circle
Publisher: Juno

Jade Tiger

Jenn Reese

EBook Edition copyright 2011 by Jenn Reese

Print edition copyright 2007 by Jenn Reese

Cover art copyright 2007 by Timothy Lantz

Originally published by JUNO BOOKS

All rights reserved.

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

EPILOGUE

Acknowledgments

About the Author

About the Artist

To every woman who wants to be strong.

PROLOGUE

Hunan Province, China
Sanctuary of the Jade Circle
Sixteen Years Ago

"But Mother, why can't we fight?"

They hurried through the tunnel in a quiet line. Her mother first, Shan second, her father last, carrying their things. The torches tossed shadows against the uneven stone walls, and even the familiar dirt floor offered no comfort. The rat-tat-tat of machine guns and the determined crack of pistols filled the distance above them and behind them. Wood and glass shattered. Men shouted guttural commands in Cantonese and Mandarin.

But even if this were the storm, her mother was at its eye, calm and focused. Lin-Yao stopped and crouched by Shan. Shan saw the dust in her mother's long black braid and thought, for the first time, that her mother had become wise like the ancients while Shan had been busy playing with her dolls and studying her numbers.

"Mother, we are strong. There are almost thirty of us now. We can defend ourselves from these intruders." Her voice rose in a whine, so close to tears, but held.

"They are too many, my little tigress," her mother said, smoothing the hair away from Shan's face. "The man who leads them hates us very much. He'll sacrifice anything to destroy what we have built."

"But Mother--"

"No, Shan." Her mother placed one thin finger on Shan's lips. "Did you know you have your father's eyes? Yes, green. The very same color as his. They will bring you great fortune in America."

Behind them, much too close, wood smashed into rock.

"They found the trap door," her father said. He shifted the bags to his left hand and pulled a gun from his waistband with his right. Her mother stood.

"No, let me take care of this, John. There's little enough time as it is."

They both looked down at Shan. Her father towered above them, his head almost touching the ceiling, a giant with skin the color of steamed rice and hair the color of sand. In every memory Shan had of him, he was sitting with a book, or teaching one of the women to speak English. The gun was not at home in his hand, and it hurt Shan to look at it.

But even with the gun, Shan knew her mother was the more dangerous of the two. It was her mother who practiced the old ways every day of her life. Her mother who called all five of the ancient animals to her when she fought.

Her parents switched places in the narrow hallway as Shan stood still, her feet like lead. Her mother's shoulder brushed against her father's chest, but they said nothing, made no move to prolong the contact. Then they were past.

"Do you have it?" her mother said.

"Yes." Her father hefted the bags. "It's safe." Her father, so often smiling, remained grim tonight. The straight line of his mouth brought tears to Shan's eyes for the first time since the sanctuary had been invaded.

Without a sound, in a blink of an eye, her mother crouched by Shan's side again.

"Teeth are strong and fall out," she said. "Gums are soft and remain."

Shan let her mother pull her into a hug. Shan closed her eyes and felt the embroidered silk of her mother's shirt rub against her arms. She inhaled the fullness of her mother's sweat, the scent of green tea still clinging to her mother's clothes.

A man shouted behind them. A gun cracked, and stone sparked near her mother's head.

"Now, go!" her mother said.

Her mother stood and turned around, her back to the family. Shan felt her father tugging at her arm. Her legs started to move in his direction, but slowly. Shan couldn't stop looking at her mother. The green silks, dusty and old, shimmered like scales in firelight. She pictured her mother's eyes, thin slits of black swimming in gold.

The eyes of a dragon.

The first man around the corner fell screaming, hands covering one of his eyes. Her mother's move had been too quick for Shan to see. The dragon strikes fast, without warning. Shan almost envied the man. His life would probably end quickly, without much suffering. But Shan's misery would continue...without her mother and on some distant, unforgiving shore, far away from her ancestors.

Her father pulled Shan along the passageway and, finally, her mother passed out of view. Shan watched the flickering shadows on the wall. A spinning braid became the whip of a huge tail. The curved hands struck, shimmering into a gaping maw around her next victim's head, then shrinking instantly back down to hands.

"Shan!" Her father's voice stung sharper than a slap. Shan turned from the shadows, from her mother's fate, and embarked on her own.

CHAPTER 1

Risley University, Upstate New York
Now

"You've got to be kidding me."

Professor Ian Dashell rubbed his eyes and stared at the offending paper again, willing the words to be different the second time around. "The Vikings' primary weapon in battle was their famed horned helmets. Helmets which they wielded by bending over and charging their enemies."

Ian let the red felt-tip pen slip from his fingertips and onto the mountain of final exams covering his desk. His forehead followed shortly afterward with a satisfying thunk.

"Mmm. Comfy."

He closed his eyes. It was well past midnight but still long before dawn. All self-respecting archaeologists were snuggled deep in their beds, or their tents, or their hammocks at this hour. He would have settled for his own disastrously messy--but surprisingly warm--bed just off campus. On most nights, he elaborated on the fantasy with an attractive female colleague who just adored his doctoral thesis on the ritual significance of jade in Shang Dynasty China. But tonight he wanted the imaginary bed all to himself.

"Mmm," Ian groaned again, amazed at how comfortable a pillow a D-worthy exam paper could be. Would a C paper be better, or worse? How about an A or a B? Oh, the possibilities.

Ian rolled his head to the left, bringing his cheek in contact with the cool pages. Just a little nap. Drool dried invisibly. No one would ever have to know.

The painful sound of shattering glass echoed through the empty hallway.

Ian wrenched his head up.

The artifacts.

His chair screeched across the slick floor as he pushed back from the desk. He darted out the door and ran, the fog of sleep still thick in his head.

"If this is some stupid, frat boy prank..." Ian couldn't even finish the sentence in his thoughts. No one, but no one, touched those artifacts. Not without permission. And supervision. And a god-damned note from their mother.

The hallowed halls of Risley University projected sound like a three-story megaphone. Even Ian's scuffed shoes thudded appallingly on the faux marble floor. Another smash from the room ahead swallowed the sound of his running feet, but Ian's relief was fleeting. More priceless remnants from the past possibly destroyed.

Ian slowed at the door. The solid brown wood, plastered with department fliers, stood stalwart as ever...except for the ragged hole where the doorknob used to be. Someone was definitely inside. Touching. Moving. Breaking. Where the hell was that security guard? Sure, he was sixty or something, but at least the man had a billy club and some experience with this sort of thing. Maybe Ian should head downstairs and get him.

Ian took one step toward the stairwell at the end of the hall and stopped.

He saw a boot in the distance. Black and dull in the darkness, toes pointed toward the ceiling. The white rim of a sock, the listless folds of a pant leg. Whatever this macabre image was attached to lay just out of sight in the stairwell. Ian struggled to swallow. The security guard wouldn't be helping him anytime soon.

But decades of work cowered helplessly in the artifact room. Countless hours of research and back-breaking labor in the field. The promise of exhibits and careers and the overall idea that past could be saved and cherished and...

Ian kicked open the door with his foot and yelled, "Stop!"

He'd been expecting a surprised curse, or maybe the snick of a bullet cutting into the wall by his head. He certainly hadn't anticipated getting hit in the face with what felt like a speeding train.

The man's fist took Ian squarely across the jaw, and his kick slammed into Ian's chest. Ian sprawled on his ass and slid across the floor into the heavy metal shelves against the left wall. Behind him, the door slammed shut.

"Stay down," the man said, his voice thick with a Mandarin accent. "I don't like to kill teachers."

Ian shook his head, trying to recover his vision and pushed himself onto his knees. He took two deep, rasping breaths, but neither brought enough oxygen to relieve the pain in his chest. He coughed, surprised at how cold and dirty the floor felt against his palms, and annoyed that his mind chose such inopportune moments to notice such things.

He looked up. The man, clearly Asian, stood against the far wall and pulled another bin off the shelf. The man placed the bin on one of the desks in the center of the room and began pulling out the bagged and labeled artifacts. He ignored the labels and stared directly at the contents. Bag after bag dropped to the floor or exploded against the wall near Ian.

Ian's lungs finally filled with air, and he drank it in deep gulps. Bins were everywhere--overturned on desks, spilled onto the floor. His throat clenched. Venetian glass. Incan pottery. Cuneiform tablets. Artifacts that hadn't yet made it into museums, and now never would.

Ian huddled against the shelf behind him. He'd been thrown against the European wall, near the locked weapons bin. Slowly, he reached into his left pocket for his key ring. The man across the room seemed completely occupied with his search and destroy mission, but Ian couldn't count on it. The man had obviously anticipated Ian's flamboyant entrance into the room. There was no guessing at the extent of his awareness.

More baggies dropped to the floor. Red cinnabar. Ivory. Blown glass. The man's feet crushed them absently as he hefted another bin to the table.

Ian's hand remained surprisingly steady as he pulled the keys from his pocket and slipped them behind his back. His fingers searched for a small round key amidst a dozen others of various shapes and sizes.

The thief had another bin on the table. Ian's teeth ground together. That simple container represented his last five summers of work in China.

"Please," Ian said. "Stop." His voice pleased him. It divulged no sign of his faltering pulse. Ian found the small key on his key ring and started feeling the bin for the lock.

"I'm looking for something," the man said. "I'll stop when I find it." As if to make his point, the thief dropped a shard of pottery to the floor and ground it beneath his shiny black boot.

"I know," Ian said quickly. He had to get the man to stop. "I'll help you find what you're looking for. I know where everything is."

The man dropped the new bag in his hands back into the bin and started to crunch his way toward Ian. "Now I know why I like teachers," he said.

The man's dark crop of hair was cut flat like a lawn on top of his head. A pale scar radiated from the man's right eye in a painful sunburst. The eye itself seemed glazed over, as if a sheet of thin vellum had been glued to its surface. Judging from the man's excellent depth perception at the door, Ian doubted that he was blind. But he also doubted the man got laid very often, despite the expensive black leather outfit that hugged the man's steroid-sized muscles. Just too creepy.

Twenty more steps, now fifteen.

Behind his back, Ian found the small indent of the lock and maneuvered the key into place.

Ten more steps and it'd be too late.

Ian twisted the key. He yanked the lock open and pried it off the box.

Five more steps, and the man smiled without showing his teeth.

Ian flipped open the lid to the bin and thrust his hand inside. His fingers wrapped around the worn leather. He used his right hand to push himself to his feet just as the thief came within range. Ian whipped his left hand out of the weapon bin and thrust the broken blade of a seventeenth century Italian rapier at the man's chest.

The blade, dull from centuries' neglect, snagged in the man's clothes above his heart and dragged a bloody gash across his torso as the man jumped away.

Before Ian could pull back and strike again, before he could even think about parrying, the blade flew out of his hands. He was dimly aware of it clattering in the distance as the man's foot connected with Ian's temple. This time Ian hit the floor hard.

His head throbbed. His vision spun. Those papers would never get graded. Maybe the kid with the horned Viking helmets deserved a C instead of a D. Maybe he should have pursued that relationship with Rachel Sexton after the Tenochtitlán dig in college. Maybe he should have gone yachting with his dad once in awhile.

"You surprised me, teacher," said the man. His voice seemed to echo between Ian's ears. "And I really don't like surprises." Another kick slammed into Ian's ribs. The force of the blow sent him upward and spinning onto his back. He landed hard again, and his skull threatened to explode.

"Well, then, you're gonna hate this," said a new voice. A woman's voice. A nice woman's voice. Did she have a yacht?

No. Ian groaned and rolled his head to the side. Strange new noises filled the air: the snap of clothing and the muffled thud of bone pounding flesh.

"No," Ian tried again. "Run." But he knew his words were too weak. Ian felt something thick and warm and metallic fill his mouth and dribble down his cheek. Drool? How fitting. No, wait. Blood.

His vision cleared enough to show him a new figure in the room, but none of the details. Her body blazed across the drab room like a flame. So bright! Her arms and legs moved in time with the thief's black-clad limbs, like two lovers in some evil, acrobatic bastard-stepchild of the tango. She stood taller than the thief. Her long black hair spun with her, but just a heartbeat behind. It swished into her face until the next dance step had her spinning again, or flying through the air.

It was clear to Ian, even in his current state, that this woman--this bright angel of vengeance--was going to give the thief quite a run for his money. It was also clear to Ian, even in his current state, that he was already falling in love with her.

Or at least in worship.

As usual, his timing was terrible. Ian tried to laugh, but ended up choking on his own blood instead.

Shan ducked under an uppercut and snapped a backfist at the man's temple. He blocked and tried to grab her wrist at a pressure point. Twisting, Shan snaked her other hand around and reversed the hold.

Stalemate.

This man was good. Probably the best she'd fought in years. And there was something about his face that tugged a memory she couldn't place.

She spun. Kicked to the chest. Blocked. Jumped over a speeding foot. Raked his face. Twisted out of his grip again.

Shan leaped up and back, did a somersault in the air, and landed in a low snake stance on one of the desks in the middle of the room, her hands open and waiting.

The wounded man, probably a professor at the university, judging from the button-down and khakis, hadn't made a noise in far too long. How had he managed to score that bloody gash across her opponent's chest? Amazing for someone untrained in martial arts. Especially considering that she hadn't even scratched the bastard yet, let alone drawn blood. With any luck, the professor would live. Shan wanted to ask him about his fight, and find out what he knew about the crane.

No, she just needed the information about the crane. That's all that she had time to worry about, wounded man or not.

Her one-eyed opponent, breathing hard, thrust his heel into the table leg of Shan's desk. The desk rocked forward, suddenly unstable. Shan used the momentum and angle to launch herself at the man. She flipped over him and landed with her back to his. Her right arm whipped back, and she hooked two of her fingers in the man's mouth. She yanked hard and crouched low, throwing the man over her shoulder.

One-eye yelped. He slammed into another desk covered in boxes. The whole thing collapsed in an implosion of wood and small plastic bags.

Behind her, the wounded man moaned and said something. Shan turned to look. Just the facts? What the hell did that mean?

A chunk of wood collided with Shan's face, and she stopped wondering. She fell onto her back and kept rolling until she was on her feet again, ready.

Her enemy swung the table leg at her again. She ducked low as it whooshed overhead, then focused her mind on the leopard. Its thick muscles. The power it drew from the earth. Years of meditation helped her find the leopard's strength in her own body and harness it. Shan spun and kicked backward, releasing a scream of focused energy. The man's weapon smashed in two, and he stumbled backward, surprised.

"You..." he said in Mandarin, his eyes wide. Up close, Shan pegged him as late thirties, early forties...and so familiar. There was something about that fiery scar around his eye that made her suddenly think of green tea.

No time for that. She needed to stay focused, keep her mind empty, and feed the leopard energy she had built. Shan curled her fingers into leopard's paws and struck.

One, two, three--solar plexus, throat, and nose. The man only blocked the first two. A spray of warm red caught Shan across the face.

She pressed her advantage.

They whirred and tumbled, kicked and sprang into the air. Shan slammed hard into one of the heavy metal shelves lining the wall, and another cry went up from the crumpled form at the other end of the room.

"Artifacts!"

Well, now that made a lot more sense than her first guess.

The man's fist found her stomach. Shan doubled over with a gasp. His booted foot followed, faster than she could even see, and connected with her skull. Shan was knocked sideways onto the floor and the multitude of smashed objects littering it. Something sharp slid into the skin of her thigh.

"Your mother was better," the man said. She smelled his arrogance more thickly than his sweat or her own blood. Shan's mushin, her empty mind, flooded with heat. This pig had fought her mother? Had he been there that night, the night Shan had fled her home? Or had he fought her years later, in a different place, or even recently?

"Is she--"

He dropped his heel onto her chest in a flash of motion. Pain detonated across her torso. Shan felt frozen in time, unable to move or even tell her body to keep breathing. The pain held her like a straightjacket, wrapped tight around every muscle. The man swung his foot off her chest and smiled.

"It is so much better if you die without knowing," the man said.

Finally, Shan's arms agreed to listen to her brain. She pushed herself backward, her wounded thigh leaving a slug-trail of blood across the floor. Above her, a three-foot-wide window was sandwiched between two towering shelves. And, unfortunately, barred from the outside. Shan backed into the space, keeping her eyes on the bastard in front of her. A lever. There was always a lever to release security bars. Her left hand slapped the wall behind her until she found a dented, hollow rectangle of metal wedged almost behind the left shelf. And in it, a solid rubber pedal.

Shan wailed from the pain as she shifted her position and snapped the pedal down. He bought the distraction. A faint click from outside the glass told her the bars had been released from their lock.

The man grinned wildly now. Most people stopped to gloat during a fight, given half a chance. It made them vulnerable. Shan preferred to wrap things up before stopping to chat. Far more practical.

"Where are your animals now?" the man said. "You Jade Circle bitches are nothing without your little statues."

He grabbed the front of Shan's crimson blouse and hauled her to her feet. Shan whimpered again, her body limp, her eyes wide with feigned fear. Blood continued to dribble down her leg. He wasn't tall enough to keep her off the ground, but she stayed light on her feet, letting him do most of the work to keep her upright.

"I think I'll take your eye first," the man said, "to replace the one your mother stole from me." His breath smelled of greasy fish. Her mother had taken his eye. Her mother would always be a better fighter.

This was not the time.

Shan let the thoughts flow away from her, like a river into the ocean, until her mind was empty--a vessel waiting to be filled. Only then did her mind and body act as one.

She planted her left foot on the floor and thrust at his knee with her right heel. He screamed. Shan grabbed his right bicep with one hand and the cloth covering his left shoulder with the other. Dropping her weight, she rolled onto her back and thrust upward with both arms and a leg, throwing him behind her.

The man soared through the window, smashing glass and wood, and slammed into the bars outside. They swung open with the deafening scrape of rusted metal on metal and crashed into the stone façade of the building. Shan protected her face from the shower of sharp rain. When she opened her eyes again, the man was gone.

Shan shook off the shards and splinters without using her hands. It was so easy to drop one's guard at the first respite from fighting, and so easy to get dangerously hurt because of it. She stood up slowly, keeping her weight off her wounded leg, and looked out the window.

Some mangled bushes two stories down stared back up at her. She scanned the quad, looking for limping martial arts bad-asses. No luck. Too bad she hadn't broken his kneecap. That would have slowed him down enough for her to finish the job.

But he'd definitely be back. Shan needed to find the statue and get herself, and the professor, out of the building before the thief did.

As if on cue, the professor groaned. Shan glared into the trees a few more seconds, then turned and shuffled over to the man. Her leg hurt, but it wasn't serious. The rest of the bruises she'd discover tomorrow or the day after.

The man was sitting up against a shelf, his face hidden in his hand. At first glance, nothing looked broken. His limbs looked straight, and he seemed to be breathing fine. Internal injuries weren't out of the question, though, given the professor's blood-stained chin.

Shan eased into a crouch in front of him, ignoring the complaint from her leg, and gently pried his arm from his face.

"Here, let me look."

The man was a lot younger than she'd expected. "Professor" always summoned images of pipe-smoking, white-bearded old men.      Probably since she'd never gone to college and had a chance to debunk the stereotype. But no, her professor looked mid-thirties, with short, unkempt brown hair matted with blood in odd places. At first she thought he'd gotten a gash along his face, but it was just his almost painfully sharp cheekbones poking out from a layer of drying blood. Shan pressed two fingers to his brow, cheek, nose, and chin, feeling for fractures. He shivered, probably from shock, and let her search.

His whole face was covered in angles and ridges. She turned it from side to side slowly, trying to get a better look. It always remained hidden at least half in shadow. Shan blamed his nose. It rose long and thin and proud, demanding her attention from every angle. Especially with the blood, the man looked like some doomed fairytale prince, European-style.

"Can you see me?" Shan asked. "Try to focus on my eyes."

He looked up at her, the full moons of his pupils ringed ever so slightly in warm brown. Eye dilation and shivers, Shan thought. Definitely shock. Definitely not good.

A police siren wailed in the distance, and then another. No doubt they were headed this way. But Shan couldn't afford to chat with the cops. Not when some poor security guard with a broken neck lay waiting down the hall.

"You're doing well," Shan lied. "Just keep trying to focus. What color are my eyes?"

His pupils retracted slightly.

"Greeb," he said.

"Good--"

"Green," the man corrected. "'N' flecks of yellow."

The man smiled and, miraculously, almost every severe angle on his face dissolved into a boyish roundness. Only the nose stubbornly kept its shape.

"Ian," he said. "And yes, I think I can walk."

"Good. I'm Shan." She stood up and held out her arm. "We can't afford to wait for the police."

Ian grabbed her hand, and Shan pulled him to his feet. His fingers were long, his palms huge compared to hers. Standing, he was at least half a foot higher. Ian grinned and looked down at their hands. Shan smiled back patiently, even as the heat rushed to her face. Good ol' half-Asian blood probably kept Ian from knowing that, though.

"Look, Ian," she began, "we need to go now. Fast. Before that man comes back. But I can't leave without the statue he was looking for. A small, jade crane. Do you know where it is?"

Ian's grin faded, replaced by a new wariness that creased his brow and turned down the edges of his mouth. "So you're a thief, too? I thought you were one of the good guys. My mistake." He took a step past Shan, but wobbled.

Shan snaked an arm under his to steady him. "I am one of the good guys. Get me that statue, and I'll explain everything."

"Everything?" He arched an eyebrow. "I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt because you saved my life, but I'll definitely need answers."

"Fine," Shan said. "You'll get answers." She felt the weight of him on her shoulder. His warmth soaked into her neck and arm, down her ribs and across her belly.

"Good enough for me," Ian said. "Now let's get the hell out of here."

"The statue--"

"Isn't here," he said. "It never was."

Shan looked at him. The shadows were back, hiding his eyes and the whole far side of his face. Was he just protecting the statue, or was it really someplace else? Her mother, when she'd been near the Jade Circle, had been able to discern truth from lie, to see through any ruse. Now the Circle was broken, and Shan had only her own instincts to rely on. Instincts which had proved more adept at fighting than diplomacy.

And absolutely pitiful at reading attractive men.

But regardless of Ian's intent, she'd never be able to search the room before the police arrived. Maybe this was just the break she needed. After all these years of searching, she still had only the tiger statue that she'd started with. And now she knew that someone else was looking for the Jade Circle animals, too. If Ian knew about the crane, maybe he had other information as well.

"Lead on," she said finally. "It looks like I'm going to trust you, at least for now."

"Excellent," said Ian, "because I think I'm going to pass out."

CHAPTER 2

"Oh, no you don't!" Shan altered her stance to take more of his weight. "I can help you walk, but there's no way on earth I can carry you. Stay with me. Talk. Tell me about your research. Or your love life. Whichever is more interesting."

They started to hobble toward the door. Shan's wounded leg buckled once, and she silently rebuked it.

Ian laughed. The sound was low and warm, and made Shan smile. "That would be the research, I'm afraid," he said.

Shan became suddenly and intensely aware of his smell. A dusty, dark scent that reminded her of her father's study. Suddenly his head lolled forward, and Shan braced herself against the increase in weight.

"Wake up! Dammit, Ian."

His head circled around and up. "Stop screaming. I'm right here." And then, "Maybe we should sing."

Stunned, Shan could only help him walk as he started warbling something about a Scotsman and a kilt. Good voice, too. A baritone.

They made it into the hallway and stumbled the hundred or so steps to the elevator. Shan punched the button and shifted her weight again. "Okay, Sinatra," she said, "let's quiet down for a while, okay?"

"Mmm," said Ian. "Did I really say greeb?"

"Yes. I hope you're not an English teacher. It'll be hard to live that one down."

"I should get points for the wounding. And the blood. Greeb is almost eloquent considering the circumstances."

The elevator arrived, and they collapsed against the far wall. Shan hit the button for the garage and took another look at Ian. Yup, the shadows were still there, even in the omnipresent fluorescent lighting of the elevator. He tilted his head and looked down at her. A little smile appeared across his thin, almost aristocratic lips, and the shadows softened once again.

"Thanks again for that whole life-saving bit," he said. "I feel like hell, but I'm not actually in hell. I'm going to call that an upside."

"You're welcome," Shan said, "especially if you can get me that crane."

She regretted saying it almost immediately, and then chided herself for the regret. It was the truth. She wanted, needed that crane, and it was probably a good idea to remind Ian of that every chance she got.

Since he passed out as soon as she got him into her rental car, the other opportunities would have to wait.

Shan managed to wake him up long enough to get his address, and then for some directions when she got lost on the dark, curvy, snow-lined streets near the campus. Eventually, Shan shut off the headlights and coasted into the driveway of a cute two-story Tudor. She didn't want the neighbors remembering any late-night arrivals in case the cops started asking questions.

Shan maneuvered Ian down the lane carved out of the snow and to the front door. Ian was falling in and out of consciousness, sometimes in mid-sentence. She asked him for the keys, and he answered something about a pot shard. Shan propped him up in the alcove by the door and searched his pockets. The frayed seams of his ancient khakis tickled her hand and she wriggled in deeper. Shan was amazed at the warmth emanating from his leg. He seemed too skinny to be such a furnace.

No keys. He must have left them in some other room of the building they'd been in. She should have thought to grab them before they left. If the police found them, their time at Ian's would be short lived.

Shan checked his pockets again, just to be sure.

In the end, she had to climb a tree and hop onto the roof near an open window on the second floor. Shan felt the tear in her leg reopen, and the warmth of fresh blood soak into her jeans. Irritating, but not dangerous.

The first window she checked was locked. Just as well, as it looked like Ian's bedroom. True to his earlier statement about his relationships, the bed was empty and mussed. A bachelor's bed. Shan shimmied on to the next window.

Bingo. The window sat halfway open, and not even a screen barred her entrance. Shan wiggled her way in, afraid to risk the noise of opening it further, and tumbled to the floor. She tucked her head in and rolled into a low crouch.

A big desk squatted in the middle of the room atop a thread-bare rug. Dark shelves lined the walls, covered in books and knickknacks of every shape and size. Her father would have been in heaven. His study in China had looked just like this, but with only a handful of books. It had been hard for him to find the editions he wanted under the Communist regime. And, after they moved to the United States, all their money had gone back to China, to the search for Shan's mother. The three of them had lived together for all those years: Shan, her father, and her mother's ghost.

A pair of cool orange eyes regarded Shan from the desk. The eyes were attached to a remarkably fluffy cat, gray in the darkness of the room. Shan smiled. So Ian was a cat person? Interesting. She walked toward the desk, her palm extended.

"Hello, little prince." Shan stopped in her tracks and looked around the room again. Familiar. Everything was suddenly familiar.

She pulled out the Archaeology Today magazine clipping from her back pocket and unfolded it carefully. A man she didn't recognize sat behind a desk, but the caption named him as Dr. Daniel Buckley of Risley University. The article itself talked about the man's recent field study in Thailand. It didn't matter. All that mattered was the small jade crane nestled between two stacks of books on the shelf in the background.

The desk was Ian's. The shelves were Ian's.

Shan raised her eyes from the photo slowly, almost too terrified to look at the shelves beyond.

And there it was.

Shan squeezed her eyes shut. Her pulse thudded in her throat. Every ache, every shred of fatigue, fled from her body. She stepped around the desk and walked to the crane.

It stood there in the shadow of the shelf, dull green and perfectly still. Just five inches high, it had simply-carved wings that stretched out and up on both sides. Shan ran a finger over the tip of its left wing, along the slender groove where her tiger would slide into place. The missing leopard statue would slip onto the right wing, and the circular dragon would sit in the center, attached to the crane's head and the cats' tails. The sinuous snake would slide along the top. Together, the five animals would form the Jade Circle.

Shan lifted the crane from its dusty home and cleaned it with her shirtsleeve. In her hands, the crane radiated power. Unlike her tiger, stashed safely back in Los Angeles, the crane's power granted grace and balance, something sorely lacking in Shan's life. How different would she be if her mother had entrusted her with this statue instead of the tiger for all these years? Perhaps she'd be someone's lover, able to balance a man and a career and even college. Instead, she'd gone from dojo to dojang to kwoon since high school--studying with the best masters during the day and scouring the news and the Internet at night in search of the missing animals. The disparity made her want to laugh.

Ian!

He was downstairs on the porch, waiting for Shan to let him in. She stared at the statue in her hands, so heavy and warm, so full of energy. She could just leave now, back out the window and to her car. Ian didn't know her last name and would have no way of finding her. He'd tell the police about her, yes, and they'd find her blood at the university building. But it wasn't enough to track her. Even if she had to lay low for a while, the crane would be hers.

But Ian had a concussion. Ian had stabbed her enemy. Ian had sung and made jokes and trusted her to take care of him. He could have stayed at the school, waited for an ambulance, and kept his life simple. Instead, he'd taken a chance.

Shan took a deep breath and carefully placed the statue back on the shelf. She knew where it was now. She could always come back up here and get it, regardless of what happened with Ian. No way, no how, was she leaving this house without it.

Something thunked against her calf. Shan looked down, and the fluffy cat looked back up at her, eyes bright and whiskers wide.

"Come on, mao, let's go rescue your master."

She held the office door open, and the cat trotted out. Shan looked at the statue one last time, then closed the door behind her.

Ian had fallen asleep on the front stoop. Angles still dominated his face, but much of the boyishness was there, too. He looked...cute. Shan couldn't help but smile.

"Come on, sleepyhead," she said, and touched his shoulder.

"Mmm. Rachel?"

"Nope. Care to try again?"

Ian opened his eyes. "Shan. Sorry." He shifted his weight and started to stand. "Did I mention I have a head wound?"

"I believe it's come up a few times, yes." Shan helped him to his feet. "Doesn't sound like your love life is that boring, after all."

"What?"

"Rachel." They stumbled inside. Shan kicked the door closed with her foot.

"Ancient history," Ian said. "Almost literally. We met on a dig."

"Please don't say, 'And you really dug each other.' I'll have to kill myself." Shan deposited Ian on the couch and pulled out the magazine article again. "Not that I don't want to hear about your past loves, which I don't," she grinned, "but I need you to look at this." She handed him the article. All she really wanted was the crane, but if this man was sitting in Ian's office, he was probably a friend. A friend who was in for a world of pain if they didn't find him before her enemies did.

Ian took the wrinkled paper, damp from her sweat, and a huge smile erupted on his face.

"Buckley's interview! The ol' boy looks good; I have to admit it."

Shan pulled the edge of the paper down and pointed to the faint image of the jade crane.

"This is how we found the university. Me and the goon from the fight. We got the name of the school, and of your friend. Your pal Buckley is in a lot of danger."

Ian's eyes darted upstairs, an unconscious look toward the crane, she was sure. He brought them back to the article right away, but his face had paled, his smile gone hiding in the shadows. "Bring me the phone," Ian said quietly. "Please."

She did, and he dialed a number. "No answer at his house. That's good, right?"

"Or very bad."

Ian frowned. "Right. I'll try his mobile." He dialed another number, and they both waited in silence as it rang. And rang. And rang.

"Bucks?...Yeah, Ian...Where are you?...Nadine? I thought you two ended it...Oh, right. I see." Ian looked at Shan, his left eyebrow raised. She mouthed "not here," and Ian nodded. "Look, Bucks, there's a problem. Can you meet us--meet me--at the Marmoset?...Ten minutes...Yeah, sorry about that. And Daniel," Ian paused, pursed his lips. "It's important."

Ian hung up. "He'll meet us."

"Good," Shan said. "Now all we need is the crane..." A little test. She'd been more than accommodating so far. She could have just taken it.

Ian stared at her, his deep-set eyes glowing like a cat's in the darkness. "Give me a minute," he said finally. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled up the stairs.

Shan watched him go, irritated at the pang of concern in her gut and her almost irrepressible urge to help him. She forced herself to pull her eyes away. The magazine article. It lay on the table by the phone. Shan smoothed out the page against the dark, waxed-wood surface, folded it, and slid it back into her pocket.

This whole thing was getting too complicated. It was supposed to be a quick trip to grab the artifact and fly back to Los Angeles. Now she had the police to deal with, a rogue martial arts master, and not one but two professors to worry about. Her mother would never have gotten herself into this situation. And if she had, she'd know the best way out of it. Shan could only ride the wind for now, and look for the right opportunities.

Ian hobbled back down the stairs looking more determined than wounded. Adrenaline, probably. Or maybe loyalty to his friend. Whatever it was, Shan appreciated the effect it had on his features--the angles seemed more majestic. Ian seemed to have as many facets in his personality as he carried on his face.

Shan, on the other hand, considered herself a one-note personality. Driven. The tiger spirit and her parent's legacy made sure of that.

Ian met her by the sofa. "I've got it," he said quietly, patting the worn leather messenger bag draped around his neck to hang at his side. "We can go."

Shan raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "I'll need directions. You up for that?"

"What, you think you're driving?" Ian grinned.

"Hm," said Shan. "Concussion. History of passing out and hallucinating about past loves. Car and keys several miles away." She nodded. "You should definitely drive."

"I knew you'd see it my way."

They walked out to Shan's rental car in silence. Shan unlocked the passenger door and held it open for Ian. He grinned and folded his tall frame into her sub-compact. She took another look at his messenger bag, another look at his head wound, then closed the door firmly behind him.

She drove five miles above the speed limit, just like a normal person. Ian stayed awake this time, gave her coherent directions. Shan turned onto a street lined with bars and markets and coffee shops, many of which were still open at two thirty in the morning.

"Nice cat," Shan said.

"Hm? Oh, you mean Tybalt. He's not mine," Ian said. "I can't have a cat with my schedule. I'm gone too many months out of the year. But Tybalt keeps me company when I'm here. I leave one of the windows cracked for him, and he comes and goes as he pleases."

"No commitment."

"None."

"Sounds perfect," Shan said, and she meant it. "I could use a cat like that back at my place."

"Well, don't get any ideas about stealing Tybalt," Ian said. "I'll be watching you."

Shan drove in silence, her stomach knotting and unknotting. Finally, she said, "I'm not a thief."

Ian looked at her. She saw his head turn out of the corner of her eye. But she didn't want to turn and stare back at him. She needed to keep her eyes on the road, and on the Jade Circle. Most definitely not on Ian.

"I want to believe you," he said. "Please help me."

"Let me ask you this," Shan said. "When did you get the crane?"

"Fair enough," Ian said. Thankfully, he also turned his head and faced forward again, removing that powerful gaze from the side of her face. "My parents gave me the statue ten years ago, as a graduation present when I got my Ph.D. They bought it at a private auction the autumn before. It had no papers, no recorded archaeological context, so I didn't donate it to a museum, as I do with most of their other gifts."

"Ten years," said Shan. "That's a long time." She turned left down a small side road when Ian pointed at it. "My family has owned that particular statue for almost fifteen hundred years."

She heard Ian's breath falter. "That's a long time, too," he said.

"That statue and its four siblings have been guarded by my ancestors for more generations than I can count. It's the cornerstone of our past and our future, of our power and our pride." Ian pointed again, and Shan turned right, fast. The tires squealed. "So you tell me, Professor. Which one of us is the thief?"

Before he could answer, Shan saw the bright neon sign advertising the Mighty Marmoset Sports Bar. What kind of stupid mascot was a marmoset? She whipped the car into an open spot just past the door, yanked on the parking brake, and looked at Ian. The car continued to rumble beneath them. Shan shifted into park and twisted the ignition to off. The engine died, and silence filled the vehicle.

"I'm--"

"No. Save it," Shan said. "This isn't the time. Let's just shelve the name calling and get out of this alive. Okay?"

She turned to Ian, forcing herself to look him in the eyes, even though she really wanted to just stare at his shoulder, or look past him out the window. She was afraid to see the effect of her words, and angry that she had let herself lash out. Most people didn't understand. They didn't have the kind of past she had, the kind of responsibility. But Ian was an archaeologist dedicated to finding the truth about ancient cultures. Something told her that he would understand, or at least try to. He didn't deserve the guilt trip she was trying to foist on him. She looked into his eyes, silently begging him to say something.

"Okay," he said quietly. Shan's gut twisted. That wasn't the something she'd been hoping for. An arrogant backlash would have made it easier for her to maintain her anger and resolve. Hell, everything would be easier if she didn't like Ian. She could take the statue and leave him to run to the police for safety. It wasn't her fault that Ian had the crane, or that his friend Buckley was clueless enough to have it photographed. It wasn't her fault, and they weren't her responsibility.

But her mother would disagree. The women of the Jade Circle devoted themselves to the protection of the helpless, the underdogs. The Circle was broken, but Shan couldn't knowingly dishonor its mission.

"Let's go meet Buckley."

Ian said nothing as they got out of the car and walked into the bar. If his head was bothering him, he hid it well behind a mask of determination. Already, she missed his quirky smile. She couldn't help but feel like she had banished it.

The Mighty Marmoset was a small, dark room filled with the raucous noise of a hockey game blaring on the multitude of TV sets embedded in the walls. Taped, no doubt, since few people played hockey in the middle of the night. The place smelled of cheap beer and greasy pizza. About half of the tables and ripped-vinyl booths were occupied by students, their books and papers and cups of coffee or beer arrayed before them like objects on an altar. Shan was momentarily glad that she had skipped the whole college thing. They looked like zombies.

Except for one.

The man from the magazine article, Dr. Daniel Buckley, sat in a booth with an almost-empty plastic cup of beer in one hand and a fistful of pretzels in another. He had a round face, a crop of short blond hair, and a stocky build. More like an ex-football player gone soft than a man using his brain for a living.

"Bucks," Ian said. Shan nodded and motioned for Ian to go first. He squeezed into the booth opposite Buckley, and Shan followed, the messenger bag nestled safely between them. Shan looked up to find Buckley unapologetically scanning her features and breasts.

"I thought you were grading exams tonight, Dash," said Buckley, keeping his eyes on Shan.

Shan raised an eyebrow and smirked. Oh, joy. Buckley possessed a frat boy attitude to match his looks.

"I was grading exams," Ian said quickly. Too quickly. Shan kept her eyes on Buckley, just in case Ian was blushing. For a second, though, she felt her smile become just a bit more genuine than she'd intended.

"Oh?" said Buckley. "Then I should borrow your syllabus." He extended one meaty paw--thankfully not the one full of pretzels--toward Shan. "Daniel Buckley. Professor Daniel Buckley."

How, exactly, was the man making every sentence feel lewd? It was a true talent. Shan shook his hand, irritated that she hadn't washed the blood off her knuckles back at Ian's house.

"Shan."

Buckley stared deep into her eyes as he changed his grip and pulled her hand toward his mouth for a kiss. Shan smiled sweetly and let him. Was it her fault he was such a stereotypical schmuck? Too bad Buckley looked down at the last second, even as his big, football-player lips were ready to brush her flesh. Apparently, Buckley wasn't a big fan of blood. He dropped her hand instantly and scanned Ian's battered face.

"What the hell is going on here?"

"If you're done looking like an idiot, I'll tell you," Ian said. Shan pulled her hand back but left it on the table. She enjoyed the idea that it might make Buckley squirm.

Ian told Buckley about the crane. He had Shan produce the magazine article. He left out the details of their fight, saying only that the thief had killed the security guard, and that they'd barely escaped with their lives. The account was efficient and accurate, up to a point. She admired Ian's apparent understanding of what Buckley needed to know, and what he didn't need to know. Shrewd, that's what Ian was. Maybe he and Buckley would be able to evade the bad guys after all.

"Okay," said Buckley. He tossed a pretzel into his mouth and proceeded to talk while eating it. "Assuming I believe you, which I probably do, what's next?" He threw two more pretzels in. "I bet there's some great reason why we can't go to the police, right?"

Shan and Ian looked at each other. Her turn.

"Yes, there is," she said. "The people who want the crane have a lot of money. The police, no matter where we are, can't be trusted."

"Now wait a minute--"

"The crane belongs to me and my family," Shan continued, "but I doubt the Chinese government would see it that way. I can't afford to have the authorities involved."

"Come on, Bucks, you know how governments get with their trinkets," Ian said. Shan disliked the word trinket, but she suspected Ian had chosen it on purpose.

"Yeah, I know how it is," Buckley said, "but this means you're picking up the tab, Dash. And I'm about to get very, very drunk."

"No, you're not," Shan said. "You and Ian need to get out of town, tonight. As soon as we're done talking."

"Wait a minute--" Ian tried.

"Look, you either go on vacation before that goon comes back, or you'll be lucky to live out the week." Shan looked at Buckley. "Do you understand?"

"It can't be as bad as that," Buckley said.

"Oh, yes it can," Shan snapped. "That security guard, the one with the billy club he never got to pull out of its holder, was dead in seconds." The security guard's distorted face filled Shan's mind. She thought of Ian's head twisted unnaturally, his neck purple and ugly. No. She couldn't let that happen. Ian had a brain. Ian would understand.

"I don't understand," Ian said. "It's okay for you to risk your life, but not for me? Or Bucks?" he added.

"Exactly right," said Shan. She took a quick look around the room, but no one seemed to be paying attention to them. Good. "I have no doubt that you guys mean well, but you're professors. You need to stick to your books and let me handle this."

Buckley snorted. "It's not like we're historians," he said. "We're archaeologists!"

Shan raised an eyebrow.

"Archaeologists are made of sterner stuff," Ian said, his tone and expression deadly serious.

Shan couldn't help it. She laughed.

Buckley turned to Ian. "She obviously hasn't seen you in a pit. The man wields a mean trowel."

"Okay, not even I can keep my dignity with praise like that," Ian said.

Shan laughed again. Damn. She liked Ian, and now even Buckley was starting to grown on her.

Which, of course, was all the more reason to send them off someplace far away. Someplace safe.

"I could try to blackmail you," Ian said. "I've got an almost photographic memory, and there's a dead man back at the university. You didn't do it, but it would take you a long time to untangle yourself from the mess if I gave them a good description of you."

"You wouldn't--"

"No, I wouldn't," said Ian. "I'm merely trying to illustrate some of my options."

"And now that's my option, too," said Buckley.

Ian frowned at Buckley. "Bucks, the point was that I'm not going to use blackmail. You're undermining my argument."

"Right. Sorry," said Buckley. "Please continue." He tossed three more pretzels into his mouth and chomped down.

Shan looked back at Ian, her irritation growing. It was late. Her leg ached from the cut, and every time she moved, the dried blood cracked and reopened the wound. Worse, she was sitting on a vinyl seat in a collegetown bar at almost three o'clock in the morning. She should have just taken the crane and disappeared.

Ian cleared his throat. "As I was saying, I have no intention of turning you in to the police, or of reporting the crane missing, or anything like that--"

"What a relief," Shan said wryly.

"--but I do think we can help each other out." Ian leaned in. Shan and Buckley followed suit. This close, Shan could smell the beer on Buckley's breath and hear the crunching of his jaw as he ate his pretzels.

"We're in danger," continued Ian. "Bucks and me. Big danger." He spared a glance at Buckley, who simply shrugged his agreement. "And you need the other jade animals," he said to Shan. She hadn't told him about the other animals, but yet he knew. How? She nodded slowly. Ian took a big breath. "And I think I know where the next piece is. The dragon. I know where the dragon is."

Shan stilled the muscles of her face, forcing herself to remain calm. "Tell me," Shan said, her voice quiet and dark. Then she remembered what Ian had been through this night, and added, "Please."

Ian opened his mouth to speak, but it was Buckley's voice she heard.

"Oh, shit."

Shan turned toward the front door in time to see her one-eyed opponent from the university send three well-toned men and one dangerous-looking woman in their direction.

"Why do bars always lead to bar fights?" Shan muttered as she squeezed out of the booth.

CHAPTER 3

Shan stood up next to their booth and reached back to grab the crane. Ian snatched the messenger bag just before her fingers got hold of it and slipped the strap over his head.

"Go. Fight," he said. "I'll take care of this."

Shan frowned, but only for a second. Then she had to turn and throw the first man over her shoulder and into a table full of books and empty plastic cups. People flew pretty far when you used their own momentum against them, but Shan was still surprised at the loud crack of the table breaking and the ensuing chaos.

The other bar patrons scrambled to gather their things and headed for the back door. Actually, there weren't as many screams as she had expected. Perhaps the late hour or general inebriation of the crowd was to blame. Or maybe bar fights had become passé from overuse. The bartender, a burly fellow in a tight black T-shirt, remained stoic behind the bar, watching. He must have tripped the silent police alarm. That gave them less than ten minutes to get the hell out of Dodge.

Shan tried to keep herself between the bad guys and the booth. She told herself she was protecting the crane, but she really didn't want to see Ian take another blow to the head, or worse. If he knew where the dragon was, she needed him alive and thinking clearly.

Yeah, that was the reason. It had nothing to do with Ian's boyish smile, lanky frame, or sense of humor.

Shan dodged and kicked, blocked and rolled. Behind her, she heard Buckley trading punches with one of the goons. Luckily, One-eye stayed by the door. He must have been severely injured in their previous tussle. The woman came at Shan. Probably in her late thirties, she wore an army-green tank top and a pair of tight, black jeans. Her blonde hair was pulled out of her face in a long ponytail.

The woman drove her heeled boot into Shan's chest with astounding speed. Shan stumbled backward, gasping for breath. She grabbed the offending boot and twisted it sharply. Ponytail had no choice but to spin horizontally through the air in order to keep her knee from breaking.

"We have to get out of here!" Shan yelled.

"Tell me about it," Ian growled. Shan caught a glimpse of him throwing a handful of something white--salt?--in his opponent's eyes. Smart lad.

"Okay," said Buckley. He ducked under a goon's fist and thrust upward into the man's groin. "But you'd better take us the hell with you, then."

Shan leaped backward, narrowly avoiding another one of Ponytail's lightning kicks. She countered by spinning around and whipping out her foot, heel first, at the last minute. Ponytail ducked just in time and shoved upward, upsetting Shan's balance. Shan used her leg's sudden change in direction to flip over backward to get out of Ponytail's range.

"If you've got a brilliant plan, Buckley, let's see it," said Shan. "The police will be here before we can finish this."

The next sound Shan heard was a gun being cocked. Such a small sound, and, at the same time, so deafening. The room fell silent instantly.

"Okay, back off," said Buckley, his voice low and steady.

Shan turned and saw some sort of gun held solidly in Buckley's hands. He seemed calm as he pointed it first at one goon, then the next. Wisely, the goons backed up.

"Don't suppose you have a permit to carry a concealed weapon?" Ian asked quietly.

"Not exactly," said Buckley.

"Brilliant."

"Come on, boys," Shan said. "We'll have time to point fingers later." She backed toward the rear of the bar and motioned for Ian to follow. She needn't have bothered. Ian was already moving, clutching the messenger bag to his side. Buckley came last, the look in his eyes cold as he stared at their opponents.

"You will die," said One-eye in Mandarin.

"But not before you do," Shan answered. And then they were off, running for Buckley's car. Shan's rental was still parked in front. Buckley tucked the gun back in his waistband.

"We'll have to ditch the gun," Shan said.

"This gun just saved our lives." Buckley pulled keys out of his pocket and pressed the key fob. A huge Explorer beeped and blinked a few feet away.

Shan let Buckley slip past her before opening the rear passenger door. "Even so," she said, "we're not going to make it through the airport with that thing."

"The airport?" Buckley got into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut. Shan looked at Ian, who was now buckling himself into the front passenger seat.

"The airport," Ian said. "We're all going to France."

Buckley shifted into reverse and took them out of the parking lot at a disturbing speed. "France," he said. "That's one hell of a road trip."

"We'll need to stop by your houses and get your passports," Shan said. "If I create a distraction, can you..."

In the front seat, the men were looking at each other and grinning. Almost as one, they each reached into their back pockets and pulled out little blue books.

"Archaeologists," Ian said. "Remember?"

"Sterner stuff," said Buckley, as if that explained it all.

And in the backseat, Shan rolled down her window and laughed.

"Coffee or tea?" asked the flight attendant.

"No, thank you," said Shan. Ian sat beside her, asleep. He'd insisted on stopping at a pay phone to call his teaching assistant before they left. Shan didn't want to risk it--didn't want to stop for anything. But her mission was about duty. She didn't want to be the kind of hypocrite that would deny Ian the right to fulfill his.

Buckley was back five rows and on the other side of the plane, also asleep, if he knew what was good for him. Shan held the crane on her lap, covered by a thin blue airline blanket. She ran her hands over the crane's wings and age-dulled beak. More than fifteen years had passed since she'd seen or touched it.

Fifteen years since she'd watched her mother's early morning martial arts rituals, brought her mother tea, or even hugged her. It was strange, but even after all this time, Shan could remember every detail. Her mother's black eyes that breathed red dragon flames when she was angry. The pink silk dress she wore all the time, embroidered with butterflies and hummingbirds. Shan hated that dress. Pink looked terrible on her mother. But her mother laughed when Shan complained. "Many things which appear to be opposites are actually perfect for each other," she would say. "A sword and a scabbard exist for very different purposes, yet wouldn't you say they were meant to be together?" Shan remembered pouting, not wanting to think about yet another one of her mother's riddles.

"Those look like pleasant memories."

Shan covered the crane at the sound of the voice, but it was just Ian.

"You should be asleep," she said quietly. "You need your rest."

"Oh, and you don't? Even superheroes need to sleep."

In the quiet light of the nighttime airplane, Ian's eyes seemed impossibly dark. His hair stuck up in a variety of all-new directions. Maybe that was the style he was going for, after all, she mused. It certainly captured his carefree charm well enough.

"I'm not a superhero," she said, still rubbing the crane. But my mother certainly was, she added silently.

Ian leaned his head closer to hers when he talked, probably so they wouldn't disturb the elderly lady sleeping to his right. His shoulder pressed against hers, his left arm touching the length of hers along the armrest. Shan felt suddenly aware of her own breathing and the tremendous effort it seemed to be taking.

"You're not going to give me some crap about being just an ordinary woman, are you?" Ian said.

Shan turned her face toward his. They were remarkably close now in the darkness. More intimate than a candlelight dinner at some fancy restaurant, with the white noise of the airplane creating a cushion of sound all around them.

"There's nothing ordinary about being a woman," Shan countered. "A few of my skills just happen to be a bit more exotic than most. But you should see me try to make scrambled eggs," she said, smiling. "I'd trade all my flying kicks for a decent scrambled egg skill any day."

Ian laughed softly. "Eggs, it turns out, are one of my specialties. Eggs and every form of potato you can cook over a campfire."

"Another archaeologist skill?"

"You bet," he said. "It's not all monkey brains and live snakes like Indiana Jones would have you believe."

"I don't know," Shan said, "monkey brains don't sound so bad after that so-called meal they served us an hour ago. I think the ham sandwich is trying to pick a fight with my stomach."

"What? You don't know stomach-fu? That's a shame." Ian's arm rubbed against hers, probably accidentally. Shan leaned in, casually increasing the pressure. And the heat. She felt the skin on the back of her neck tingle. Ian smiled. "Being defeated by a ham sandwich is pretty pathetic. Worse even than saying 'greeb,' I'd wager."

"Oh, now you're pushing your luck," Shan said. Or did she just mean to say that? She found herself staring into the playful shadows of Ian's face, fascinated by the way his lips curled at the ends when he smiled.

These sensations came with little red warning flags. At this point, Ian was practically covered in the damn things. So many men say they aren't threatened by your strength, Shan thought. They say it more to convince themselves than to convince you. Trouble is, you end up believing them just when they figure out the truth.

"Something's wrong," Ian said.

"No," said Shan, too quickly. She took a deep breath and smiled. "Tell me about your life since you graduated."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "You mean since I got the crane?"

"Busted," Shan admitted.

Ian leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"When I was in college--no, even before that. From the first time I went with my father to a museum--I was all of eight--I've been fascinated with the past." Ian's voice was more than wistful, thought Shan. It sounded almost euphoric. "I read voraciously, I traveled with my parents and made them drag me to castle ruins, museums, and even lectures. I studied languages."

"A man with a mission," Shan said. Maybe Ian would be able to understand her mission and how important it was to her. How it was her.

"Everything was great up through grad school," Ian continued. "I went on digs, I worked on my thesis, I made contacts. Everyone thought I was really going places."

"And somewhere in there you met Rachel?" Shan asked.

Ian blushed. Or was it just another shadow appearing on his face? Hard to tell. "Yes, on a dig. We both thought it was love, but we were both too ambitious. Neither one of us wanted to move or change areas of study or make sacrifices of any kind. So I guess it wasn't."

"So what happened after grad school?" Shan asked.

Ian gave a quiet snort. "Well, now, that's the real question, isn't it?" He shook his head, as if in disbelief. "Everything just sort of slowed down. I got my job at the university and I just started doing it. I got a respectable and thoroughly unexciting archeology project lined up in Ireland, and I've been making slow, unexciting progress on it for the last ten years." Ian shrugged. "What happened after college? The hell if I know."

But Shan did. She held the reason in her hands, hidden beneath a thin piece of synthetic fabric. The crane represented balance and grace. Shan had been foolish to think those virtues alone would have solved her problems. Balance, by itself, was just stasis.

"I'm...I'm feeling a little tired," Shan said. "I'm going to try to catch some sleep."

"Sounds like a good plan," Ian said, but he had that same look of concerned suspicion he'd worn earlier in the conversation.

She didn't want to explain. Her muscles ached. She felt grimy from all the traveling and fighting. She was afraid their current trip to France, which was testing the limits of her last credit card, would be for nothing. Or worse, would get one of them killed.

Her brain simply couldn't handle the idea that she'd somehow failed Ian as well as her mother. She should have found the five Jade Circle animals years ago. If she added the guilt of Ian's ruined life to her shoulders, she was afraid she just might collapse from the weight.

One thing was certain, however. Shan would happily let Ian carry the crane for the rest of this trip. She couldn't afford to be swayed by its power, to lose her focus. Not when the pieces--ancient and powerful--were finally starting to fall into place.

"I look like a raspberry muffin," said Shan, regarding herself critically in the mirror of a small tourist shop at the airport. She wore a puffy pink jacket, a striped knit hat, and matching gloves. Price tags dangled as she twisted and turned before her reflection.

"I'll give you strawberry muffin," Ian said diplomatically, "or even watermelon, if they made such a thing. But you're simply too pink to be raspberry."

"Gee, thanks," said Shan. "Are you sure this is the only one in my size?"

"Let me get this straight," said Buckley, leaning against the shop wall near a stack of stuffed animals dressed in skiing outfits, "you have no problem with Ian and me dressed like friggin' Pillsbury doughboys, but you've got a problem with pink?"

Shan looked at Ian, resplendent in a white jacket with orange lightning bolts along his sleeves, and then Buckley, who was trying to look cool in a light-blue jacket with the words "SKI GOD" written on the back.

Shan sighed. "We're going to get attacked before we even find the bad guys in these things."

"C'est la vie," said Ian, with an accent that made Shan melt. "Let's pay and hit the road."

"Ooh, look who's mister French all of a sudden," said Buckley.

Ian held up his hands defensively. "Hey, I'm not the one who decided to study Swahili because a certain 'golden-skinned goddess' was in the class. You made your bed, now lie in it."

"And so I did," chuckled Buckley. Then he said something that somehow managed to sound lewd in what Shan could only assume was Swahili.

She couldn't complain, though, because Buckley pulled out a credit card and paid for all their clothes without a word. Then again, this whole stop had been his idea, once Ian had said they were headed for the Alps. Shan probably would have trudged ahead without thinking about the cold. It was that damn tiger mentality again. Maybe being around Ian and Buckley was a good thing, as long as she could keep them both safe.

It felt like five hours before they were finally zooming along the road in their little green Renault 14. Realistically, it had only taken an hour and a half for them to deal with money conversions and arrange for the rental. And, luckily for Shan, both Ian and Buckley possessed international driver's licenses. She would have had to take a train or a bus if she'd come here alone.

As it was, Shan curled herself up in the claustrophobic backseat and tried to catch some more sleep. Ian, with his goofy hair and playful eyes, drove like a speed demon along the already darkening highways toward the tourist city of Chamonix in the French Alps. At first, Ian's roadway daring surprised her. In her mind, the mild-mannered professor stereotype drove a respectable Volvo at the speed limit or just above it. But here they were in France, less than a day after they'd met, following the trail of an ancient jade dragon.

It made an odd sort of sense, considering the dragon's powers. While all the other animals were normally associated with concrete aspects, such as the tiger's speed and tenacity, the dragon represented mutability. "Ride the wind," her mother always said. Chinese dragons, unlike their Western counterparts, were long, sinuous things twisting in the sky as they rode the invisible currents of wind. And, also unlike Western dragons, they were wise and often benevolent. Certainly not the types to eat virgins and hoard gold. They took opportunities where they found them, acted swiftly and with great confidence. What sort of man would Ian's friend be, after living with the statue for so long?

Shan dozed, calmed by the drone of the car's engine and the quiet rumble of conversation from the front seat. They stopped and stretched every few hours, giving Shan a chance to soak in the landscape. She'd never been to France. In fact, she'd never been anywhere except China and the United States, though she'd traveled extensively in the latter researching leads on the jade animals.

But France felt different from America, even though the geography was technically similar. The hills just seemed greener, the sky bluer. And their little car would be drowned in an ocean of SUVs like Buckley's Explorer back in the States. The architecture, too, felt different. Shan saw cottages, rustic vineyards, and Roman ruins scattered along their way. The whole place just felt old. It reminded her of her childhood, when she had routinely sipped tea from cups that had been hand made centuries earlier. China's great history breathed in every fiber of silk and every move of her mother's hand.

Shan's chest tightened. It did her no good to think of these things. Her mother was gone, along with the entire secret order of the Jade Circle. And if Shan didn't stay focused and recover all the animals, it would stay dead forever.

The air grew steadily colder as they ascended into the Alps. They had only a few hours of fading sun to admire the frosted peaks of the mountains, but Shan plastered her nose to the window in the backseat to reap every last minute of the view.

"Put the Rockies to shame, don't they?" said Buckley, grinning. His hair was too short to be mussed from the long day of travel, but the redness in his eyes betrayed his fatigue. Ian was driving again. Or was he still driving from his last shift? The day had collapsed into sleep-fogged memories of roads and gas stations and an endless display of scenery.

"Yes," Shan said. "They're not even in the same league."

"Maybe we'll have time for a little skiing while we're here," Ian said, far too cheerily for Shan's mood. "I used to ski quite a bit in my youth."

"I was always more for the lodges than the actual slopes," countered Buckley. The two seemed tireless in their ability and desire to banter. "You get to meet more snow bunnies that way."

The sun disappeared behind the mountaintops, but still lit up the countryside behind them, land that wasn't shrouded in the shadow of the great Alps.

"I've never been skiing," said Shan. "I'll put it on the list."

"Which list is that?" asked Ian.

Shan sighed and leaned back against her seat. She massaged the muscles in her shoulder. "The list of things I'm going to do when I get my life back. Wait, that implies I once had a life. I should've said when I get a life, period." But she'd had a life once. In China.

"You'll get that chance soon enough," said Ian. "With me and Bucks helping, of course." Ian kept his eyes on the road and his tone light, but Shan felt more conviction than levity in his statement.

"Right," said Buckley, grinning. "We're your passport to success."

"Right now, I'd just like you to be my passport to Chamonix. How close are we?" Shan asked.

"Almost there, despite Buckley's two wrong turns," said Ian. "But I'll have to stop and ask someone for directions to Charles's lodge. The street isn't listed on our map."

"I vote we stop somewhere with a bathroom," said Buckley. "I shouldn't have had that seventh cup of coffee."

The traffic picked up as they neared Chamonix. Most of the other cars had skis attached to their roofs or hanging out their rear windows. Snowboards were almost as plentiful. Occasionally, a snowmobile skated up beside them on the snow-packed roads, or raced over the embankments.

When Ian finally pulled the car into the lot of a small gas station and inn, Shan jumped out to pump the gas just as Buckley bolted for the bathrooms. Ian got out of the car more slowly, careful not to bump his badly-bruised head, and stretched near Shan.

"You've put up with Buckley longer than most women," Ian said. He reached back into the car and grabbed the maps.

"Probably because I'm not attracted to him," Shan said. "And his faults are easy to overlook in light of our current situation. Not everyone would be up for a late-night trip to another continent."

"So you're not attracted to him?" Ian said. Shan got the distinct feeling that he hadn't even heard the second part of her statement. She smiled.

"No, I'm not. Does that surprise you?"

Ian shrugged, obviously trying to recover some of his nonchalance. "A little bit, yes," he said. "I've often been told that women like assholes."

Shan laughed. "It probably looks like that since we date so many of them, but I assure you, it's not on purpose in my case. The macho thing never did much for me."

"What does? Do much for you, that is..." Ian looked down at his maps and folded one of them into a tight, thick square.

Shan's breath caught in her throat, making it almost impossible for her to speak. Skinny, awkward archaeologists with goofy hair, she wanted to say. Instead, something horribly noncommittal came out of her throat, along with a shrug.

Fortunately, Buckley returned with much fanfare from the bathroom, and Ian fled inside the building to ask for directions in that dark, silky accent of his. Somewhere in there, Shan remembered to start pumping the gas.

"You like him," Buckley said, grinning like a schoolboy. "You like Ian."

"What, are you going to spray paint it on the wall during recess? Of course I like him. He's a smart, funny guy who's agreed to help me in my life's quest. What kind of lunatic wouldn't like that?" It came out in one long blurt, and Shan desperately wished to take it back, refine it. Make it sound less defensive. But the damage was done.

"Ooh, Shan likes Ian!" said Buckley. And he did a little dance in the snow. At least that's what it almost looked like, with him hopping from one foot to the other like a marionette. Or, his feet were on fire. Or, being attacked by rabid wolverines. Whatever it was, it hurt just to watch.

Shan frowned and returned her eyes to the gas meter. She watched idly as the numbers advanced in metric. The valve shut itself off just as Ian rejoined them.

"We're all set, folks," Ian said. "It's about twenty minutes away."

"Does Dr. Fortier know we're coming?" Shan asked.

Ian shook his head. "Nope. No phones. But I sent him an email from the airport on the off chance he might check. But basically, we'll be barging in unannounced and asking for one of his priceless artifacts."

"Sounds like a plan," said Buckley.

"Sounds like your kind of plan," grumbled Shan. But she really couldn't complain...her visit to the university hadn't had much strategy behind it, either. The image of the crane from that magazine article had burned itself into her brain, and she had acted without thinking. Good thing for Ian, since she'd arrived just in time to save his life.

They crammed themselves back into the car. Buckley drove so that Ian could navigate. The town around them had come alive with tourists in small bars and restaurants, but they drove up, deeper into the mountains, farther away from the lights and bustle. A light snow started to drift down from the darkness. The little flakes glowed in the headlights like so many lightning bugs.

Shan was staring at the snow, amazed at the sheer amount of it, when a child jumped in front of their car, hands raised.

"Watch out!"

Buckley spun the wheel. The car skidded on the slick road, swerved away from the child and toward the embankment. Shan braced herself in the backseat and watched the collision in slow motion. Buckley turned the wheel hard right, but the car kept sliding in the same direction. Ian's hands went to the dashboard, his maps forgotten.

"Straighten her out," Ian said, far more calmly than Shan thought possible.

Buckley said nothing, but turned the wheel back to the left, in the same direction they were sliding. Just over the embankment's gentle slope, a crowd of trees waited silently. Their little car, jam packed with the three of them, drove straight toward the imposing trunks. Buckley turned right again, and this time the car obeyed. They skimmed across the embankment and back onto the road, leaving the trees to wait for other victims. The car slowed to a stop, and Buckley engaged the parking brake.

Shan heard her own heart pounding and the raspy dissonance of their breathing.

"Good job," Ian said quietly. "Excellent job."

Buckley simply nodded, then let his forehead rest on the steering wheel.

"The child," said Shan. She shook the slow motion from her head, popped off her seat belt, and got out of the car. The kid stood a few hundred feet back, staring at them. Shan walked toward him--a boy of maybe eight or ten--with her hands raised.

"I'm a friend," she said. "Are you hurt?"

The boy shook his head, but stayed where he was. She saw his shoulders start to shake before she was close enough to see the tears. He blurted out something in French, a long stream of words interrupted only by sobs. Shan looked back and found Ian just a few feet behind her, the messenger bag securely over one shoulder.

"He says they have guns," Ian translated. "They slapped his mother."

"Who are 'they'?"

Ian shook his head, listening to the next stream of words from the child. "They took his mother and his sister into a room on the second floor. The boy hid in the attic, then climbed out the window. They told his father--Charles Fortier, I'm assuming--that they'd kill his family if he didn't cooperate." Ian interrupted the boy with his own question in French. He frowned and looked back at Shan. "Four men and a woman. One of the men has a scarred eye."

"Damn," Shan said. She took off her puffy pink jacket and wrapped it around the boy's shoulders. "This is Fortier's son?"

Ian nodded. "Etienne." Ian introduced himself and Shan to the boy, and the three of them hurried back to the car. Buckley met them halfway, and Shan filled him in on the situation. The Fortier house was a half mile through the woods to the east.

"Why are they doing this?" Shan said. "If Fortier had the dragon, they should have taken it and headed back to the airport."

"Maybe Charles sold the dragon," said Ian. "I contacted him almost a decade ago, shortly after I got the crane. We corresponded for a few years, sharing information about the jade animals, but I haven't talked to him in ages."

Shan walked away from Buckley and the boy, who were standing near the car. Buckley was distracting the boy with his broken French. Ian followed her, and they lowered their voices.

"They must think Fortier knows something," Shan whispered. "There'd be no reason to take his family hostage otherwise."

"Or," Ian said, pacing in the small spot in front of her, "they think I know something. I mean, how did they find out about this place? I only told you about it last night."

"Could they have broken into your computer? Found the emails from Fortier?"

"Well, it's not like I labeled them 'Jade Dragon' or anything," grumbled Ian. "It would've taken them a long time to sort through years of email to find those old messages."

Shan stared up into the night. Snowflakes landed on her cheeks and nose. She shivered. Ian had offered her his coat, but she had refused. The cold helped keep her mind sharp. "Then we were followed," she said. "They hit the gas station after us and found out where we were going, then somehow managed to beat us to the house."

"Snowmobiles?"

Shan nodded. "Yes, maybe that's it."

Ian let out a long breath. "It really doesn't matter how they found out. We brought them here, and we've got to save Charles and his family before one of them gets hurt."

"Agreed," said Shan. "And I think the only way to do it is to split up."

CHAPTER 4

"Are you crazy?" said Ian. "It never pays to split up in the movies. That's when the guy with the axe takes us out."

Shan dropped into a low stretch. She needed to get her muscles warmed up and loose in a hurry. "I'm not afraid of guys with axes," Shan said. "And I'll be doing the dangerous part here. I want you and Buckley to go to the house like everything is okay. Stall for as long as you can."

"What if Charles is already dead?" whispered Ian with a quick glance at the boy. "What if they pull out guns and just mow us down right away?"

"No chance," said Shan. "They need the crane--"

"Which they can take easily enough from my dead body," said Ian, hefting the messenger bag.

"That's why you need to give the bag to me for now," she said. She continued with her stretches, alternating sides. "And you led them to the dragon. They'll want to find out if you have any leads on the other pieces."

"But I don't."

"They don't need to know that," Shan said, trying to sound calm. She needed Ian focused for this, unafraid. Of course, he had every right to be terrified. This whole thing wasn't even his fight. "In fact, feel free to hint about the tiger piece."

Ian pulled the messenger bag's strap over his head and handed it to Shan. "Why the tiger specifically? Why not the leopard or the snake?"

Shan winced. She hadn't meant to be that obvious. "Because...they may already have the leopard or the snake, or both."

"But not the tiger?"

"No," she said simply. "Not the tiger."

She stopped stretching and looked into his eyes. He looked back into hers, obviously searching for something. Finally, he nodded.

"Please, don't tell--"

"Not even Buckley," he said.

Shan let out the breath trapped in her chest and closed her eyes. No one knew about that tiger except for her father and her friend–student–business partner, Lydia. And it was in Lydia's best interest to keep that knowledge to herself. In fact, Shan needed to check in with her the next time she found herself some privacy near a phone. The woman had probably called all the hospitals and morgues in New York by now. Shan put the thought aside. In the now, only the Fortier family and the dragon mattered.

"I'll take the boy with me," Shan said. "Give us a thirty-minute head start to walk back to the house and try to free the family. When One-eye sees that I'm not with you, he'll be a lot more dangerous."

"I understand," said Ian. "I'll explain this to Etienne and tell him what he needs to do."

"Thank you," Shan said.

She wanted to kiss him just then. To take him in her arms and show him how much she appreciated his help, his bravery. The thought surprised her, even scared her, and she suppressed the urge. Those were the wrong reasons to kiss someone. Instead, Shan returned to her warm-ups, throwing punches and kicks in the air to get her blood flowing. As Ian talked to Buckley and the boy, she performed a set of standing meditation. Energy coursed through her body. Chi, the Chinese called it. Over the years, Shan had learned to harness its power and even to control its flow. Now, she directed it to her toes and her fingertips, warming them even as the snow continued to fall. Her fingers curled into claws as she tightened the muscles in each digit. Power. Speed. Tenacity. She had studied all the animals growing up, but it was with the tiger that she felt the most affinity. A mighty hunter, swift and deadly.

Shan was ready to find her prey.

The boy Etienne moved quickly through the dark woods, despite the thick layer of snow covering everything in their path. There was a quiet intensity to the boy that reminded Shan of herself at that age. And resourcefulness. The boy had escaped from five armed grown-ups and successfully found help. His parents, if they were still alive, should be very proud.

Shan focused on the flow of chi through her body. The boy still wore her coat. Her pant legs were soaked and starting to freeze, and every time the wind blew, it felt as if icy ghosts were flying right through her flesh. Snow. Winter. She'd given up these luxuries when she'd moved to Los Angeles with her father. Just now, the idea of living in a desert didn't sound so bad.

They headed toward a soft glow in the forest. The Fortier lodge sat on a gentle slope, securely nestled between trees and sweeping snow drifts. Lights flickered along a shoveled driveway and path toward the front door. In only a few minutes, Ian and Buckley would be bringing the little green rental this way. Etienne caught her eye and said something in French. Shan read his body movements as "Follow me," and so she did.

Shan spotted the first guard, one of the men, lounging against the side of the house near a snowmobile. The man pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit a cigarette with shaking hands. Good. Apparently One-eye hadn't stopped for warmer clothes. Shan pulled Etienne back by his shoulder and motioned that they should take a wider path around. She had no doubt that another guard patrolled the other side of the house, with possibly a third in back.

They circled wide, winding their way between trees and bushes. Shan heard the soft sound of running water...no, of water falling from a height. She crouched low and pulled Etienne with her. He obeyed without question and sat still as a statue in the snow by her side, his breathing but a faint whisper in the night air. Shan held out her palm in front of Etienne, telling him to stay. The boy nodded and sank lower into his crouch.

The sound faded just as Shan found its source. One of the guards had been relieving himself against a tree. As he zipped his fly, Shan pounced. The man went down face-first in a puff of snow when she swept his legs. Shan kept an iron grip on the man's left hand, twisting his wrist in one of the most powerful and painful holds she knew. He groaned and tried to yell. Shan tightened her grip and drove his face deeper into the snow. Fortunately, the man wasn't wearing a bulky coat. Shan found the necessary pressure points on the back of his skull and sent him into unconsciousness.

"Etienne," she whispered toward the boy's shadowy form. He rose immediately and jogged silently to her side.

"Rope?" She pantomimed tying up their captive. Etienne nodded. A small shed rested against the side of the house, not too far from their position. With the guard gone, Shan and the boy snuck over to it. The door was old and warped open. Etienne slid inside without a sound. A second later, he slipped back out holding several feet of chain.

Shan took the chain, motioned for him to stay, and ran back to the guard. They had maybe five minutes left--maybe a little more--before Ian and Buckley pulled into the driveway. Five minutes to get inside and rescue the Fortier family.

The chain was a bit bulky, but it did the job. Shan secured the man, sitting up, to the tree trunk he'd peed on earlier. Poetic justice, in her opinion. More importantly, though, it was the closest trunk to where that lumbering hulk had landed.

Shan rejoined Etienne, and the boy pointed up to an attic window three stories above them. Shan jumped and pulled herself onto the roof of the tool shed. The other handholds were just as easy to find: an awning, a ledge, a drainpipe, a roof. Finally, she wrapped her fingers around the pane of the attic window and pulled herself up.

The room's only light came through the window she had just entered. Boxes filled the space, stacked high along most of three walls. Dust filled her nose. Shan snorted slightly to expel it. Sneezing later could prove fatal. The section of the room where she had entered appeared to be the boy's sleeping area. A small bed crowded against the sloping wall to her left, with a clear view of the sky through the window. Books and clothes littered the floor, the small bedside table, and the low, fat dresser to her right. It was a younger, slightly neater version of Ian's bedroom. Shan pulled the messenger bag over her head and placed it on the floor by a pile of comics. It would be safe enough here until this was over.

Shan looked out the window. Etienne was following her path up the side of the house, although at a much slower pace. It was clear from his calm demeanor that the boy had performed this routine on a number of occasions. In fact, he probably had a fort and a little stash of blankets and candles somewhere out in the woods. She smiled. Was that what Ian had been like as a child? Adventurous and brave, with books scattered everywhere? Shan felt a slight pang in her chest, the sadness of knowing that she'd never get to see Ian that young.

Shan flipped the latch on the trap door and lowered it carefully. Its little stairs unfolded into a bright, light-filled hallway on the second floor of the lodge. Shan closed her eyes, listening.

Outside, she heard the gentle scrapes of Etienne scaling the side of the house. Up the hallway, she felt a slight rhythmic vibration--someone pacing in heavy shoes. Probably the guard holding the family. Charles Fortier and whoever was watching him would be downstairs waiting to greet their guests. Three guards outside meant that there were still three enemies inside the house--One-eye, Ponytail, and another man. But two of the men from outside would be able to run inside if the warning was given. Shan opened her eyes. She could take out these bastards if she needed to, but with so many defenseless people to protect, the odds dropped significantly.

And she still needed to find the dragon.

Shan lowered herself to the floor and closed the trap door behind her. She didn't want Etienne seeing it as an invitation to follow her. If he was smart, he'd stay quietly in the attic until this was all over. Shan gritted her teeth. But is that what she would have done if her father hadn't taken her away from the Jade Circle that deadly night when she was twelve? Not a chance. She had wanted to fight with the Circle against the intruders. To fight and die with them, if necessary. To be by her mother's side until the end, and then to join her in the afterlife. Shan had belonged with the Jade Circle, in life and in death. Why had her mother and father forced her to leave, robbed her of her right to die for a cause she loved?

Shan's throat felt suddenly thick. No, Etienne would definitely follow her, trying to save his family. And she'd have to protect him when he did.

The door at the end of the hallway was closed. Someone was pacing just beyond it, causing the light emanating through the crack at the bottom to dim in regular intervals. Halfway up the corridor on the left, a wide set of stairs led down to the first level.

Shan focused her chi in the center of her body, feeling the heat pool just below her bellybutton. Light, weightless, a feather. The energy pulsed through her limbs as she pictured herself quiet and floating. Shan crept along the old, hardwood floor, her feet barely contacting the surface. When she reached the staircase, she crouched low and flattened her body against the wall, listening.

"Come on, Ian," she mouthed silently. Her heartbeat started to quicken as she waited. Shan focused her energy and stilled it to a normal speed. Even the deadly tiger can stay low in the grass until the time is right.

There. She heard it. The distant growl of a car on the driveway.

"Stay quiet now," said a woman's muffled voice from behind the door at the end of the hallway. Ponytail, Shan figured. The woman with the lightning foot. And she was talking to the hostages.

Movement below. Shan stilled her breathing even further and craned her neck slowly around the corner of the stairwell. Through the smooth slats of the banister, she saw One-eye and one of his goons.

"There's only two of them in the car," said the goon--a great slab of a man with dark olive skin and a shiny bald head.

"Which two?" said One-eye, his Mandarin accent covering his English like a blanket. "The men?"

"Yeah," said Baldy. "The bitch is missing."

One-eye gave a low growl that may have been a chuckle.

"Missing? I don't think so," he said. "Go upstairs and tell Dart to expect company."

"Yes, sir," said Baldy. "You want the guys to take care of the teacher?"

Shan clenched her fist.

"No, of course not, you idiot," said One-eye. "We need the information first." Shan closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. They wanted Ian alive.

"Afterward," continued One-eye, "I will kill the man myself." Shan gritted her teeth. So much for that safety net. She saw One-eye run a hand over his chest...over the wound that Ian had given him. It must have been a deeper cut than she had suspected. Shan smiled, pleased.

"Enough. They are almost here. Go tell Dart and help her with the bitch. After you've killed her, join me in the side chamber for other instructions." One-eye grabbed Baldy just as the huge goon was about to head for the stairs. "Quietly! Don't make a noise," he said. "The teacher suspects something, or they wouldn't have split up. But he'll do something stupid if he thinks the woman is dead. Do not let that happen."

Oh, don't worry, Shan thought. It's not going to.

One-eye disappeared through a door she could hear, but not see, and Baldy headed up the stairs, taking them two at a time by the sound of it.

He popped into view the next second and turned down the corridor, heading for the door at the end of the hallway concealing Dart and her prisoners. Shan leaped up behind him and struck the sides of his neck with her thumb, forefinger, and middle fingers bunched into a point. The snakebite strike. Baldy stopped immediately and tried to turn around. Shan had already stepped backward, ready to catch him. Baldy gurgled, his eyes confused, and lurched forward into her waiting arms.

Her knees almost buckled under his immense bulk. She wished she had the strength to stow him in the attic, but there was simply no way she could lift him. As it was, she barely managed to drag him backward, past the trap door in the ceiling, and into a bathroom just beyond it. The man smelled strongly of wine, and Shan wondered if One-eye knew his men were helping themselves to the Fortier's collection. Shan looked around the bathroom for something to tie Baldy's hands together, but found nothing. More people needed to keep rope handy, she decided.

In the end, she propped up Baldy's torso against the toilet. The snakebites to his neck had sent a quick blast of blood to his brain. In order to compensate, his brain had told his body to lessen the flow. So, when the quick surge ended, there was less than the necessary amount of blood in the man's brain, causing him to pass out. Keeping his head elevated would prolong the effects for as long as possible. Long enough, Shan hoped.

Now, it was time to take out Dart. If their fight made any noise, One-eye would assume that Dart and Baldy were winning the tussle, and that Shan would soon be dead.

Interesting, she thought suddenly, that One-eye wanted to take out Ian personally, but had no problem if his lackeys shot her in the back. Things just hadn't changed over the years, had they? Her ancestors had formed the Order of the Jade Circle so that women could learn the ancient martial arts of her people, because they weren't allowed to study at the Shaolin temple, or with any of the martial monks. And now, even after the Jade Circle had proven itself formidable, One-eye dismissed her as unworthy of his personal attention. Amazing.

When Shan stepped back into the hallway, she heard laughter from downstairs. The charade had begun. Charles Fortier, whom she had yet to see, would put on a great show of welcoming Ian and Buckley into his house, all the time worrying about his family, dead or alive, hidden upstairs. And Ian and Buckley had games to play, too. Shan had it easy. Kicking ass was a lot less stressful than word games, in her opinion.

Speaking of thrashings, Ponytail-Dart was certainly due.

Shan strode down the hallway this time, not caring if she made noise. When she got to the door, she knocked lightly on it three times and wrapped her hand around the knob.

Dart moved inside the room. "Who's there?" she whispered from the other side of the door.

Shan didn't answer. Instead, she twisted the doorknob and smashed the door inward, into Dart's face. Dart staggered backward. The woman clutched at her blood-streaked nose with one hand and held a long, curved knife in the other. Shan slipped into the room and maneuvered herself between Dart and the two figures tied to chairs in the middle of the room.

While Dart was still trying to regain her composure, Shan struck with her double snakebites, aiming for Dart's neck. Dart twisted and leaped to the side, already slashing with her evil-looking knife.

Shan whipped her hands out of the way. Not surprisingly, Dart held the weapon like an expert, the hilt gripped tightly in her hand and the blade back, waiting close to her forearm. Dart used the knife like it was an extension of her own fist, and that made her very, very dangerous.

There wasn't much room to fight. A frilly yellow twin bed was pushed up against the far wall, with a matching yellow bookshelf and vanity squeezed against the left wall. With the mother and daughter tied up in the middle of the room, Shan and Dart had very little space to operate. Luckily, thought Shan, Dart seemed to be under orders to keep quiet, too, since she hadn't given the alarm, or even cried out when the door had smashed into her face. Shan glanced at the hostages. Both were still alive, and clearly breathing hard behind their gags. The girl was a tiny thing in a floral nightgown, maybe five years old. The mother, her brown hair hanging disheveled around her face, bled from a long gash along her cheekbone. Dart had clearly gotten bored.

Shan held back, waiting for Dart to make the first move. She eased backward, closing the door as she went. The girl's thick terrycloth robe hung on a hook behind the door. Shan grabbed the robe's wide belt and whipped it away from the robe in one swift motion.

"Interesting," said Dart through clenched teeth, and punched at Shan's face with the knife. Shan stepped to the side and deflected the strike with the belt held taught between her two hands. Dart came back for another slash. Shan sidestepped again, pushed the knife away with her belt, then wrapped one end of the belt around Dart's wrist, trapping it.

Dart still held the knife, but with both of Shan's hands controlling her wrist, she couldn't use it. Shan pulled back hard on the belt and kicked. Dart came stumbling into Shan's foot and took it hard in the stomach.

"Let go of the knife," Shan growled. "I don't want to kill you."

"That's not a choice you get to make," spat Dart.

"I think it is." Shan punctuated her sentence with another kick to Dart's gut. The woman doubled over with a grunt, but kept her grip on the knife. Both of Shan's hands were occupied with the belt, so she had no choice but to continue kicking. This time, she jumped and kicked Dart in the face with her left foot. Dart started to fall backward toward the hostages. Shan yanked on the belt, and Dart jerked forward.

As she was stumbling toward Shan, Dart slid to the ground and scissored her legs around Shan's torso and the back of her knees. Shan tumbled to the ground, her back smashing into the wall. Still, she maintained her grip on the belt. The skin of Dart's wrist was already red and bleeding. From the ground, Dart twisted and smashed the tip of her boot into Shan's ribs. Shan rolled to her feet.

Harnessing her energy, her chi, Shan pulled on either end of the belt with all her strength. She kept her stance low, pulling in the earth's power as well as her own. Dart's shoulder popped out of its socket, and she dropped the knife. Finally.

Dart swallowed her screams. Shan saw the tears of pain well in her eyes. Dart shook them away, cradling her arm against her chest.

"You'll pay for that," Dart seethed.

"Oh, please," Shan said.

Dart's booted foot shot out toward Shan's chest. Shan leaped back, but not in time. A second kick, unbelievably fast, followed and connected with Shan's stomach.

All the air abandoned Shan's body. As she bent over, she saw the curved knife Dart had dropped. Shan knocked it under a dresser with her foot. She had no intention of spending the rest of her life in jail for manslaughter.

Shan's lungs still refused to admit air. She sucked in great mouthfuls as she blocked a flurry of Dart's kicks. All Shan could do was knock the attacks away, trying to dodge. Dart had speed, but she also had power to back it up. Those pointed boots of hers could easily break a rib, or even her skull. Maybe she needed the knife after all.

But soon, almost imperceptibly, Dart started to tire. Kicking took a lot more energy than punching, and the woman had been at it for quite some time. The blink-of-an-eye's difference in speed was all the opening Shan needed.

Dart's next roundhouse kick, intended to sneak around Shan's defenses, landed squarely in Shan's waiting arms. She trapped the kick and moved Dart's leg to the side, giving Shan the opening she wanted. Shan lashed out with her own foot and smashed Dart's dislocated arm against her body.

Dart barely managed to muffle her scream as she fell to the floor and curled her body around her wounded limb. Shan grabbed the discarded belt and quickly looped it around Dart's ankles. She pulled it into a tight knot and headed for the knife. As she bent over to retrieve it from under the dresser, a pain in her chest made her gasp. Shan's free hand pressed against her ribs reflexively. Probably a crack. Something to look at later.

Dart's eyes widened as Shan stood back up, the long knife in her hand.

"Not too scared to use that now that I'm tied up," Dart growled. "How brave."

Shan ignored her. She strode over to the two hostages, her other hand still pressed against her ribs, and cut the ropes binding them to the chairs. The woman pulled the gag out of her mouth and helped her daughter. Shan took the discarded rope and headed back to Dart.

"Roll over and make this easy," Shan said quietly.

"You wish," Dart said, her eyes glinting.

"Not really," said Shan, as she kicked Dart in the shoulder again.

Dart howled. Shan quickly covered Dart's mouth with her hand. When the noise subsided, Shan lifted her hand and spun Dart onto her belly. More carefully than the woman deserved, Shan pulled Dart's wrists behind her back, ignoring the whimpers, and tied them firmly together.

"Etienne? Where is my son?" said Mrs. Fortier from behind Shan.

"You speak English," said Shan, immediately irritated that she had chosen to state the obvious. "He's fine. He's in the attic."

The woman stood and handed Shan her gag. Shan took it and looped it over Dart's head and into her mouth. The five-year-old girl, her face streaked with dried tears, said nothing but stared coldly at Dart.

"And Charles?" the woman said. "My husband?"

"He's downstairs," said Shan. "I'm going for him next. I want you and your daughter safely in the attic first."

The wife nodded. "I don't know who you are, but thank you."

Shan nodded, her insides twisting. None of this would have happened if not for Shan. This family, who knew nothing of the animals or Shan's enemies, had been swept into the fray without their knowledge. Disposable and nameless.

"Let me check the hallway first," said Shan gruffly, grabbing the remaining rope from the girl's chair. She opened the door quietly, not sure what to expect in the hallway. Behind her, the mother comforted her daughter in low tones. Ahead of her, Shan heard a grunt from the bathroom.

"What next?" Shan muttered. She sprinted down the hallway and entered the bathroom. Baldy was just starting to stand, using the toilet to help himself up. Shan took two steps closer and once again struck him in both sides of his neck. Her aim was true. The man's head lolled to the side, and he once again collapsed. This time, however, Shan had rope and a gag.

The trap door to the attic opened just as Shan was leaving the bathroom. She saw Etienne's scrawny legs descending far too quickly.

"Stop," she whispered, wishing desperately that she had learned more French than "Please," "Thank you," and "The pencil of my aunt is blue."

The legs not only stopped descending, but they scrambled back into the attic. Shan hurried over and caught the door just as Etienne was closing it. She met his frightened gaze and smiled.

"Shh," she said, holding a finger to her lips. She pulled the trap door back open slowly, and the boy let her. Mrs. Fortier and the daughter had been waiting at the end of the hallway. They crept forward and joined Shan.

"Etienne!" the little girl said. Mrs. Fortier quickly covered her daughter's mouth with her hand, but she was smiling, too. Etienne, ever the little gentlemen, extended his hand and helped his mother and sister climb into the attic.

"Stay quiet," Shan told them. "Someone will come for you when it's safe." To Etienne, she said simply, "Protect them." She knew he would understand her meaning, even if the words made no sense. That little boy was full of surprises.

Much like Ian, it turned out.

Shan slunk down the staircase to the sounds of full-blown laughter coming from the front room.

"You can't be serious, Ian!" Shan heard a voice say. Charles Fortier, judging from the accent. "I thought most cuneiform tablets were trade related, just 'I'll give you two sheep if you give me ten barrels of oats.'"

"It's true," said Ian, laughing. "That's what made this find so astonishing. You should have seen Dr. Simmons's face when he had to ask me to confirm his translation of the word 'breast.'"

Buckley guffawed. Charles laughed, too, but even from a distance, Shan could sense it was forced, nervous. Who could blame him? Shan found a darkened nook and put her ear against the wall to listen better. Before she found One-eye, she wanted to see what kind of man Charles Fortier had become, living with the dragon for so long.

"But seriously, Ian," Charles began, "you flew across an ocean to get here, with not so much as an email to let me know. What's going on with these animals? Have you found the other three?"

Shan breathed calmly, keeping her heart rate normal, her blood flowing smoothly and evenly through her body. Come on, Ian, she thought.

"Would you believe I'm doing it all for a woman?" laughed Ian.

"I thought Buckley here was that sort--"

"Oh, I am!" Buckley interrupted.

"--but you've always seemed more sensible," Charles continued.

"Makes perfect sense to me," Buckley added.

There was a brief silence, and Shan imagined the look Mr. Fortier must have been leveling at Buckley. "It must be the animals," Fortier said, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Tell me, where did you find the others?"

"I haven't found the others," said Ian. She heard him walk across the room, heard glass clinking on glass. "At least not yet. Though I do have a good idea where the tiger is..."

"Ah!" said Fortier, too quickly. "Where?"

Shan shook her head. Fortier was trying to play One-eye's game. He thought he could save his family by betraying his friends. People never realize that men and women like One-eye lie as often as they breathe. It would make no sense for One-eye to leave the Fortiers alive when this charade was over.

But, at the same time, what wouldn't Shan have done to save her mother? It's a rare judgment that doesn't also reflect the judge, her mother used to say. Why couldn't she have been wrong once in a while?

As Ian started to describe how he had tracked down the jade tiger, Shan slid along the wall, hunting for One-eye. It was time to end this, to let Charles Fortier know that his family was safe.

Ian's story was certainly inventive. Shan could never have woven Tibetan monks and a Mexican fortune-teller into the same tale. Hopefully, it didn't sound too farfetched to her prey. Shan needed to catch him by surprise. If he had recovered from his wounding at the university, he would be dangerous when she fought him. Capable of killing Fortier or Ian or Buckley, if she wasn't fast enough.

Shan sighed. Everything was so much easier when she worked by herself.

Ian's story grew to involve the black market in Cairo. Buckley was interrupting at odd moments, asking for clarifications about the dialect spoken by the monk, or the weather in Cairo over Christmas, or if the fortune-teller's tarot cards were written in English or Spanish.

Shan circled the room. The three men were in what appeared to be a front study or living room just off the foyer containing the stairs up. Shan slunk away from the front door, following the path she'd seen One-eye take earlier. A dark hallway led around the back of the room. At the far end, Shan saw a refrigerator and a sink. On the left, just before the kitchen, was another door, presumably to a dining room. She guessed that One-eye was camped out in there.

"So you have the tiger?" she heard Fortier ask from the study. "Do you have it with you?"

"No, no," Ian answered quickly. "But now I know where to get it. And I've told my contacts to deal exclusively with me."

Good boy, Shan thought. Keep yourself valuable.

She made it to the dining room door and pressed herself to the floor near the doorframe. Her rib sent her a sharp pain to remind her that it was probably cracked, but the irritation was worth it to Shan. One-eye might notice a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye if she looked into the room, but she doubted he'd be able to spot her head so close to the floor.

As Shan moved her body forward slightly and looked into the room, she stared straight into One-eye's scarred, smiling face. He was sitting next to the closed study door in a tall, straight-backed chair of a dark polished wood, but he was facing the dining room archway.

"Damn," Shan muttered. One-eye'd been waiting for her.

CHAPTER 5

Shan picked herself up off the floor and stood slowly. "You should at least tell me your name," she said in Mandarin, "so I know what to put on your headstone."

One-eye smiled.

"Thank you for bringing the crane," he said, also in Mandarin. "It's going to look very good in the collection."

"You don't have them all," said Shan. She took a step into the room. One-eye's hands were hidden behind the huge dining room table. She needed to know if he had a gun.

"No, not all," said One-eye. "But soon." His eyes followed her progress, but the rest of him remained motionless in his chair. "And the dragon is important, wouldn't you agree? It sits at the center of the circle, after all."

Some things never changed, thought Shan. Yes, the dragon sat at the center of the circle and acted as a hub for the other four animals. But it did not follow that it was the most powerful. Size had nothing to do with power.

"Yes," Shan lied, taking another step, "the dragon is the emperor of the sky, the ruler of us all. Even we know that." She used the word emperor to appeal to his patriarchal mindset, though it seemed to burn her tongue as she said it. One-eye smiled, his wide slit of a grin oozing malice.

"Don't try to placate me, girl," he said. "It's unbecoming."

"So is that eye," Shan said, giving up the pretense happily. "You know, plastic surgery has come a long way in the last few years." Shan switched between English and Mandarin as she spoke. It had been a long time since she had spoken in Chinese, and she certainly hadn't learned words for "plastic surgery." Her fluency was yet another legacy of her childhood that had begun to fade.

The smile eroded from One-eye's face at her latest insult. Shan hadn't expected it to be quite that successful; surely he got regular abuse about the sunburst scar around his eye. In the next room, the archaeologists continued to trade quips of their own. Shan quieted her mind as she took another step toward her enemy. She needed mushin, the no-mind state, if she hoped to defeat the man before her. She needed stillness of thought, but not of body; she needed both yin and yang, both action and inaction.

One-eye leaped out of his seat, moving almost as fast as his henchman Dart, and onto the table. Just as one leg landed, his other circled around in a wide arc. Shan watched it come toward her face. She bent backward and it zoomed past, an inch over her nose, as if in slow motion. When she righted herself, Shan sliced the back of One-eye's knee with the edge of her hand. He rolled backward onto the table, but put his hands behind his head and used the momentum of the roll to jump back up onto his feet. A kip.

Shan joined him on the table, drawing her front foot back into a deep, low cat stance. Like pulling back the string of a bow, the cat stance created energy and potential power. Shan's fingers curled into tiger claws.

"The animals of power have changed," One-eye hissed. He stood across the table from her in his own fighting stance, hands fisted in front of him, protecting his face and chest. "Money is a much stronger creature now."

Shan circled her arms, clawed fingers still out, and drew in even more power toward her body. "Then why seek these ancient relics? What do you care about the detritus of a forgotten Order?"

"I don't," said One-eye. "I worship the green god now. But I will enjoy killing the daughter of the bitch that took my eye."

Shan's reverie, her oneness with her surroundings, shattered like an old mirror.

"Who's paying you to do this, then?" she asked, her heart suddenly beating loudly in her ears. A rush of memories threatened to fill her mind: the darkened passageway the night she and her father had fled, the scent of green tea on her mother's clothes, the man her mother had subdued with a flick of her fingers in the torchlight.

One-eye was that man, dropped in a heartbeat to the ground at her mother's feet. And here Shan stood, facing him like an equal, like a foe to be respected. Her mother had disposed of him as if he were no more trouble than a soap bubble.

"I think it better for you to die without knowing," One-eye said, clearly unaware of her mental distraction. "You women should never have been taught to fight. It gives you arrogance you do not deserve."

Shan wondered what Dart would think about that. But only for a second.

"We're not so good with patience, either," said Shan, and she sprang at him, trying to rake his face with her taut fingers. She wanted the other eye, the one her mother hadn't taken.

Her first hand caught One-eye along the cheek, and four streaks of blood followed in its wake. One-eye caught her other arm and used Shan's momentum to twist her into a rear headlock. Shan dropped her weight instantly and fell through One-eye's arms. She rolled onto her back and kicked up with her feet, catching him under the chin.

One-eye stumbled back and jumped off the table. Shan kipped to her feet and spun around, trying to kick him in the face with the top of her foot. The man ducked under her leg and yanked on it, pulling her off the table. Shan somersaulted in the air, trying to get her feet under her, but failed. Her back smashed into the door between the dining room and the study, splintering it. She found herself dazed and lying on the floor of the study surrounded by Ian, Buckley, and the man Fortier.

"Shan!" Ian called.

"My family," Fortier squawked. In person, and even from her position on the floor, the man look small and weak. He clutched his drinking glass to his chest as if it would protect him from the chaos. He was no dragon. Had Ian been wrong about this place from the start?

Shan scrambled to her feet just in time to block a series of strikes and kicks from One-eye, who had obviously given up all pretense of secrecy.

"Your family's safe," Shan yelled to Fortier. "Ian, get him out of--"

One-eye landed a solid kick on Shan's already weakened ribcage. Her vision blurred from the pain, and she stumbled back, her mouth bitter from the sudden taste of bile. She wanted to flip and get away, but there were too many people in the room, and her ribs would never make it.

Shan gritted her teeth. She advanced on One-eye, a growl deep in her throat. They traded punches, kicks. Shan was faster, but her damaged ribs evened the playing field. She spun and kicked at his head. He ducked and swept for her legs. Shan's mind had emptied again. Her body reacted without needing to consult her brain. After a lifetime of practice, it knew what to do.

They fought, circling each other in the room like wary animals. Shan was vaguely aware of the other men moving around them, but kept her focus on One-eye. His grin was long gone, replaced by a look of animal ferocity. Then, at last, Shan saw an opening in his defense and went for it with a powerful side kick. Her foot hit One-eye squarely in the throat. At the same time, something shattered over his head. A vase? One-eye staggered backward and collapsed on the floor, just across the threshold into the dining room.

"Sorry it took so long," Ian said breathlessly. "We were debating which of the vases was least archeologically significant." Ian glared at Fortier and Buckley, the latter of whom shrugged. He turned back to Shan. "We decided on the Greek amphora."

"What a relief," said Shan. She bent over and breathed deeply in through her nose and out through her mouth. Her skin was sticky with sweat. At least she hoped it was sweat. Her left hand went to her ribs, and she winced.

"My family," said Charles Fortier from behind her. "You said they were safe."

"Attic," Shan breathed.

Fortier hurried out the door leading to the foyer. She heard his footsteps on the stairs.

"Dragon," Shan hissed, "not...here." She took another breath. "Fortier...not...dragon."

"What? It's not here? After all that?" said Buckley. Shan was surprised by his vehemence. He'd shown little interest in the jade animals until now.

"Oh, it's here," said another voice. Shan gritted her teeth again and stood up, air still rasping in and out of her lungs. One-eye stood in the doorway, blood trickling down his face in numerous rivulets, his throat already showing signs of bruising.

And in his arms was the boy Etienne.

One of One-eye's hands was hooked under the boy's chin, while the other gripped the hair at the back of his head. With one quick movement, he could snap the boy's neck. It was worse than if he'd held a knife to the boy's throat.

Ian started to move forward, but Shan held out a hand, stopping him.

"What do you want?" she asked quietly.

"Don't be stupid, bitch," One-eye said. "You know what I want."

The dragon, Shan knew. But it wasn't here. She couldn't believe that Charles Fortier had been exposed to the dragon for even so much as a year, judging from his bearing. How could she save the boy without any bargaining chips?

Shan looked at Etienne. His blue eyes regarded her coolly. He held his chin high, as if daring One-eye to kill him.

And then Shan knew.

"We'll give you the dragon. Just release the boy," she said to One-eye. Ian raised an eyebrow in her direction, but she ignored him.

"You know how this works," One-eye countered. "Dragon first, then the boy goes. Hurry, though," he added. "I have little patience left." One-eye stroked Etienne's hair, then gave it a rough tug with his fist.

Shan looked around the room. Buckley and Ian were watching her. "You hurt anyone," said Shan to One-eye, "anyone, and I'll take the dragon and go. You know how much it means to me."

"Threat acknowledged," said One-eye, but she had no way of knowing if he cared.

"I'll be right back," she told Ian. "Don't do anything. Please."

Ian nodded. Shan raced out of the room and up the stairs. She met Charles Fortier in the hallway as he descended from the attic stairs.

"My son," Fortier huffed, "my son is missing."

"He's downstairs," Shan said calmly. "The man with the scar has him. We're going to trade for the dragon."

"But I don't know where it is!" Fortier's shoulders were so hunched that Shan thought he might collapse in on himself. He pulled at the lowest button on his tweed waistcoat compulsively.

"I do," she said. "Please go back into the attic. The dragon is there."

"Yes, yes, I know it's in the attic," Fortier said. "But there are hundreds of boxes up there. It could take hours--"

"It is not in a box, Mr. Fortier," said Shan. She was starting to lose her patience again. "Look, if you're not going back up there, get out of my way."

Her tone of voice seemed to surprise him. His hand stopped fidgeting with the button for a second. Then, quietly, he stepped away from the makeshift stairs.

Shan bolted up the ladder and into the attic. Mrs. Fortier and her daughter sat together on Etienne's bed by the far window. As Shan ran toward them, Mrs. Fortier shielded her daughter with her body.

"What do you want?" the woman said, clearly frightened. Oh, how quickly they forget, thought Shan. But it didn't matter. She didn't need Mrs. Fortier's trust, nor her gratitude. Shan just needed her to stay out of the way.

Shan reached Etienne's area of the room and started picking up clothes, shifting stacks of books. The dragon had to be here somewhere, she just knew it. Her mistake had been in assuming the father, Charles Fortier, would keep the dragon close to himself. But the boy had shown amazing bravery all night. He seemed to take direction well, to adapt his mind and his body to the needs of the moment. Even the position of the boy's bed, under the window, sent her a belated clue. The dragon was ever a creature of the sky. Etienne must have been drawn to the wind and freedom it promised. His had been a complex childhood, she was sure.

"Ah, there you are," she muttered. A suspicious pile of socks by the head of the bed had been covering the dull green beauty of the jade dragon. Shan lifted the dragon gently from its soft, white nest. She ran her fingertips along its circumference, along all the grooves where the other animals would slide into place. Socks. Shan snorted. She would have loved to see her mother's expression at finding one of the ancient animals under a pile of dirty laundry.

"My son," said Fortier. She hadn't heard him walk over. The animals did that to her sometimes--assaulted her mind with memories and fantasies and the bitter taste of what might have been.

"Please stay up here," said Shan. "I'll trade the dragon for the boy, do everything I can." She looked from Charles Fortier to his wife, but avoided looking at the daughter. "But this man," she said quietly, "he doesn't value life."

Mrs. Fortier's shoulders shook but Shan didn't wait to hear her tears. True, her family had done nothing to deserve this terror, but few people in the world ever deserved such tragedy. And now Shan had no time for tears. She had a boy to save and a man to kill, if she could.

Shan dropped down into the hallway of the second floor and took a second to fold up the ladder and close the attic hatch again. If Charles Fortier had wanted to go with her, to defend his child or die trying, Shan would have let him. But no, the man had made no move to follow her. At first, she found herself condemning him for his cowardice. But hadn't her own father left her mother in the middle of the fight? They had decided that Shan's life--and the jade tiger--were worth the price all three of them had to pay. Shan swallowed a lump in her throat and ran down the steps four at a time.

The tableau in the study had changed. One-eye still stood in the doorway with Etienne, but now he was laughing. Buckley restrained a struggling Ian, whose face burned red. And his eyes. Even from across the room, Ian's eyes surprised her. The craggy bones of his cheek and brow barely contained a blazing ferocity in his eyes. What the hell had One-eye said to inspire such a reaction?

"I have the dragon," Shan announced. The three men and the boy all turned to look at her. As she hoped, her arrival seemed to diffuse Ian's anger. The angles of his face receded as he relaxed his struggling. Buckley released his hold on Ian's arms and took a step away from his friend.

"Against that wall," said One-eye, motioning to the wall furthest from the door Shan had just entered. He needed to be closer to the exit, or Shan would stop him. They both knew it. "And you," he said to Shan, "put the dragon on that table by the door."

She did as he asked and set the dragon on a small round table that looked as if it had recently supported a large vase. The dragon, so heavy in her hand, barely made a sound on the polished wood. Less than five minutes she'd held it in her hand. Giving it up again so soon after she'd recovered it... Anger rolled over her skin in waves of heat. No, she wasn't ready to give up that easily.

Shan joined Ian and Buckley by the far wall, keeping her eyes locked on One-eye. One slip, that's all she needed. If he took his hands off Etienne's head for a heartbeat, she could pounce. The boy would get out of the way--take the opportunity that was offered. He would ride the wind. Even a young dragon inspires awe.

One-eye was careful. He watched her as he walked toward the dragon, his hands gripping the boy's chin and hair firmly, his steps even and slow. They reached the table.

"Take the dragon, boy," One-eye said in English. But Etienne didn't speak English, Shan thought. Or Mandarin. He wouldn't be able to obey the bastard. Even as her hope grew, Etienne reached a hand toward the jade sculpture and picked it up. Of course, he picked it up, she chided herself. He loves the statue. He wants to keep it. She'd have done exactly the same thing.

One-eye smiled. The blood on his face had stopped flowing and now lay in shiny, coagulated tendrils along his cheeks and across his nose.

"The boy and I will be taking a snowmobile ride together," One-eye said.

"No, you won't," said Shan. "The boy doesn't leave the house with you." Shan felt Ian shift his weight beside her. Buckley remained uncharacteristically silent on the other side of Ian.

"I can certainly arrange that," One-eye said. "But if you want to see him alive, then he will safeguard my passage a little longer."

"No," Shan said again. "No deal."

"Shan," Ian began, but his words just trailed off. Perhaps he realized what Shan already knew, that One-eye would kill the boy regardless. Shan's only chance at saving Etienne required the boy to stay in the house. She was fast, but she'd have no chance keeping up with a snowmobile if One-eye got Etienne that far.

One-eye's hands tightened on Etienne, but the boy seemed oblivious. Etienne cradled the dragon in the palm of one hand and ran his fingertips over its sinuous curves. Shan had held it the same exact way in the attic.

The boy must not die.

But now she'd told herself that the boy couldn't die, and that she couldn't let the dragon escape with One-eye. Given the situation, that outcome seemed highly unlikely. It would be easy to sacrifice Etienne and keep the dragon. One-eye knew it, too. That bastard was banking on her common human decency. The Order of the Jade Circle held the animals as sacred, but not more sacred than human life. That was one of the tenets that separated the women of the Order from their male counterparts in the monasteries. Monks were more willing to sacrifice themselves and each other for a scroll, or an ancient incense burner, or a sword. Women were more likely to sacrifice themselves for each other and their families.

"It's your choice," One-eye said. "And you need to choose now."

Etienne had been studying the dragon with such intensity that Shan would have sworn he was oblivious to everything else. But at One-eye's latest words, the boy tossed the jade dragon into the air like an old baseball.

The room erupted with movement.

One-eye released Etienne's chin and grabbed for the dragon. Shan leaped onto the overstuffed armchair between her and One-eye and launched herself into the air at her enemy. Etienne tore himself away from One-eye with a scream. Shan saw the huge clump of the boy's hair clutched in One-eye's fist. Behind her, Ian and Buckley both started to move.

One-eye snatched the dragon from mid-air just as he spotted Shan flying at him. He vaulted backward onto the hand that had been holding the scrap of Etienne's bloody hair. Shan landed where he had first been and rolled to her feet. She leaped at One-eye again just as he continued his back flip. One-eye's legs smashed through the huge bay window lining the front of the study in an explosion of glass, and he disappeared into the darkness outside. Shan never hesitated. Her second leap took her to the window seat, now covered in glass, and then out into the frigid night air.

Her jump took her over a low, snow-covered shrub just below the window. Once again, she tucked in her head and rolled. As she stood up, covered in wet, white powder, One-eye was already running. Running toward the snowmobiles parked by the house, the dragon still firmly in his possession.

She bolted after him, her feet slipping on the snow, her arms pumping at her sides, her ribs aching. Her breath came in puffs of white from her nose and mouth. Shan knew she could catch him before he could start the vehicle. One of the tiger's main attributes was speed, and Shan knew she was a blur of red against the snow as she ran.

One-eye made it to the first snowmobile as the two remaining goons stepped out of the shadows by the vehicle to stand between her and her prey.

Shan continued to run straight at them. The men crouched into fighting stances. When she was close enough, Shan gathered her energy, her chi, and sprang into the air.

She soared over the men, flipping above their heads. Shan looked down into their astonished faces and smiled. She landed behind them in a quiet puff of snow just as the snowmobile bellowed to life. One-eye looked back and saw her there, only a few feet behind him. His good eye widened, and Shan's smile turned grim. She could almost smell his fear.

One-eye gunned the engine, and snow spattered from the back of the vehicle. Shan shielded her eyes and jumped again. She landed on the seat behind One-eye as the snowmobile jerked forward.

Even with the headlights on, Shan could barely see ten feet in front of them. She held One-eye with her left arm around his chest and reached for the dragon with her right. The snowmobile swerved violently as One-eye maneuvered it between the trees and shrubs that seemed to appear out of nowhere in front of them.

"Drop the dragon," she yelled in his ear.

He answered by accelerating. They veered to the left to avoid a huge tree trunk almost hidden by a snow drift, then to the right to avoid a dense copse of pines. One-eye was gunning for the dragon or death, and Shan had no say in the decision. She stretched her arm forward again, and her fingertips brushed the dragon in his grip. One-eye swerved sharply. Shan almost toppled off, but managed to regain her balance on the seat.

They zigged and zagged between a dozen more blurry trees before Shan reached for the dragon again. She felt the dragon's heat in her fingertips as she touched it, a sense of belonging and rightness. She gritted her teeth and leaned farther, straining to wrap her fingers around the dragon's smooth body.

Suddenly, One-eye's elbow slammed back into her already bruised ribs. Black clouds of pain filled Shan's vision. She released her hold on One-eye and fell backward off the snowmobile.

Shan tried to protect her ribs as she tumbled in the snow. Her shoulders and legs smacked against the ground. She kept her head tucked in, her tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth so that she wouldn't bite it. Each impact with the earth sent sharp spears of pain spiraling up through her ribcage and into her skull. She screamed.

When the world finally stopped spinning, Shan opened her eyes to utter darkness. She was lying face down in the snow, still clutching her side. Somewhere, off in the distance, she could hear the gloating rumble of One-eye's snowmobile. Her own irregular breathing resounded in her ears, irritating her. Shan rolled slowly onto her back, dispersing the sound into the darkness. She stared straight up into the oppressive tree branches that covered her like a too-thick blanket in the summer.

Failure. Pain. Frustration.

Snowflakes melted on her face and mixed with a few sparse tears, the ones she wasn't able to stop. Shan probed her ribs with a finger. Three cracked, maybe one broken. She was lucky that she hadn't punctured a lung with that latest set of acrobatics. She tried to sit up and screamed. Definitely felt like a broken rib. Shan eased herself back onto the ground. Dr. Lee would be able to help when she made it back to Los Angeles. He was the best acupuncturist she'd found, almost as good as the Jade Circle's healers back in China. And luckily he spoke English, as her Korean had never been more than shaky at best. Yes, that's what she'd do. Go see Dr. Lee and get the chi flowing to the right places in her body. Even a broken bone could be healed quickly with the right applications of energy.

The pain in her ribs subsided as the snow numbed her body. Shan stared up at the trees again, grateful this time for their comforting presence. She should get herself up, start walking back to the house. But she was so comfortable here. The silence of the woods, the softness of the snow, the smell of wet pine and distant smoke. Just a few more minutes, that's all she needed. Yes, just a few more minutes.

"Shan!"

Ian's voice floated above the snow, tried to rise higher but got caught in those encroaching tree branches overhead. She heard her name again, closer this time, more insistent. He sounded worried, maybe even scared. How selfish of her to have rested here on the cool ground for so long. How selfish, and how stupid. She didn't need to add frostbite to her list of injuries.

"Here," Shan called, much softer than she'd intended. She winced, a hand immediately on her ribs again, protecting them. "Here," she said again, a little louder.

"Shan!"

His voice sounded farther away this time. The word "here" was too hard. Shan sucked air into her lungs and yelled. It was the wordless scream she used in martial arts to focus her chi and deliver power to her blows. The sound ripped from her mouth, heightened by the swift, sharp pain it caused in her side. When the echo of her voice faded, she heard swift footsteps. Soon, she felt their vibration through the ground.

"Shan!"

And then Ian was on his knees at her side, his cheeks bright red, his eyes an even brighter blue. "Oh, god, Shan. How bad is it?"

"It's not bad," she said quickly. "Just some ribs. Nothing life-threatening."

Shan watched him close his eyes and take a deep breath.

"I'm okay," she said. "I'm okay."

Ian nodded, his eyes still closed.

"Is everyone else all right?"

"Yes," Ian said, opening his eyes. "They're fine. One of the thugs got away, though. Sorry."

"Don't be," Shan said. "Mine got away, too. With the dragon."

"Oh, Shan, I'm so sorry." His hand found her shoulder. Even on a cold night, she felt his heat through her clothes.

"Me, too," she said, "but it's not over. And besides, ol' One-eye is going to feel worse than I do when he realizes he could have asked for the crane, too."

Ian laughed, and the oppressive weight of pain and fatigue pinning Shan to the ground lessened. Shan tried to laugh, too, but ended up wincing.

"We need to get you back to the house," he said. "I don't suppose..."

"What?"

He looked sheepish all of a sudden. That funny mouth of his was hitched up on one side, along with one of his eyebrows. Shan couldn't help it; she tried to laugh again.

Ian grinned. "I...I don't suppose you'd let me carry you back to the house?"

"Absolutely," Shan said. "That's a great idea."

She could have sprouted wings and produced less surprise than was now apparent on his face. Ian wore his emotions in every angle and shadow of his face, in the way he hunched his shoulders or let them relax. It was a rare and endearing quality, to say the least.

"Really?" Ian said. "You'll let me carry you?"

"It sounds a lot better than trying to walk it by myself," Shan said. "But I'm not sure why you're so surprised. Am I that scary?"

"Scary? That's not the adjective I'd pick." He gave her a look then that could have melted the polar ice caps. It certainly sent the blood flowing through her body again, hot and fast. "But are you intimidating? A little. I guess I wasn't sure if you'd find the offer insulting."

"Ah, I get it," said Shan. She could feel heat rising to her face, fueled now by an old, familiar anger. "Just because I can handle myself in a fight, I'm incapable of asking for, or accepting, help when I need it. What a convenient stereotype."

Shan expected them to get into a knock-down, drag-out fight. Sure, she was flat on her back with a broken rib in the middle of the French Alps. That hardly mattered when a good argument was at stake. She was more than ready.

But Ian, man of limitless surprises, shocked her yet again. He simply blinked at her twice and laughed.

"You're completely right," he said. "That was a stupid thing to say, and I'm ashamed for even thinking it. You ready for your trip back to the house?"

Shan stared at him and did some eye blinking of her own. "Let me get this straight," she said slowly. "You make an offhand comment, I call you on it, and you apologize?"

"That about sums it up, yes," he said.

"Unbelievable." Shan shook her head. "I'm stunned."

"Good," Ian said. "That'll make it easier to pick you up."

And with those words, he slipped one arm carefully under her back and the other under her knees. Shan wrapped her arms around him, only briefly distracted by the incredibly soft hair at the base of his neck.

"Ready?" he whispered, his face just inches from hers. Shan nodded. Ian adjusted his balance and plucked Shan gently from her nest of snow. Then he was off, trudging carefully toward the house. Her ribs complained, but the pain quickly subsided into a bearable ache.

"You need to eat more," Ian said. "You weigh less than a mummified dog."

"Oh, how flattering," Shan replied.

And then, because his chin was so damnably close, she leaned up and kissed it.

CHAPTER 6

Shan's heart thudded in her throat, and she couldn't keep a huge grin from spreading across her face. It probably made her look like a homicidal maniac. But his skin had been so soft and warm. And the taste--she couldn't describe it, except that it left her wanting another kiss. Maybe even a nibble. Definitely a nibble. Ian stopped dead in his tracks.

"Did you just kiss my chin?"

His face was, for once, difficult to read. "Um, yes?" she said, "unless you'd like the answer to be no. In which case I'd be lying."

Ian grinned. From this close, his teeth were as white as the snow surrounding them. "Yes will do just fine."

His eyes fixed on hers with such intensity that Shan's entire body felt like it wanted to burst into flames. He brought his head closer to hers, and the scent of his skin filled her nose. Shan was suddenly aware of Ian's arms around her back and legs, keeping her close to his body, to his heartbeat.

"We kung-fu women are notorious harlots," she whispered, her voice husky. The pupils of his eyes grew huge, like a cat's eyes at night.

"Is that so?" Ian's gaze traveled from her eyes to her lips, lingered there for several breathless moments, and then traveled back to her eyes again.

Shan squirmed even closer to his chest. "Absolutely," she breathed. "We've been kissing men's chins for centuries."

Ian swallowed. She watched the movement of his Adam's apple and silently added his neck to the list of body parts she wanted to sample. "Just chins?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Some of us are a little more adventurous." She breathed deep and lifted her mouth to his. He met her halfway.

Shan shivered as their lips pressed together. So soft, so warm. Her heart pounded. Ian made a little noise, partway between a moan and a whimper. He pulled her closer. Shan sank into the heat. She hadn't expected this. She hadn't expected Ian's reaction or her own, not to a simple chaste kiss. Why did she suddenly feel like she was going to pass out?

"Shan..." Ian whispered, his lips still on hers.

Shan shifted her head. She ended their first kiss and started another. Little explosions flashed behind her closed eyelids, and the small gasp she heard was her own.

"Shan," Ian repeated, his voice breathless. "I can't..."

Shan summoned every shred of willpower remaining in her body and pulled her mouth from his. She closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to catch her breath.

"I can't kiss you," Ian breathed, "and keep standing here." His eyes were half closed, his cheeks red. "My legs are going to give." He managed a cute little smile that sent Shan reeling with the desire to kiss him again, to kiss him until he fell right over into the snow with her on top of him.

"Okay, okay," she said. Shan turned her head away from him, trying to get some clarity. It didn't work. "The house. Right. We're supposed to go to the house."

"Oh, no," breathed Ian, "my legs don't work, so I need to sit down. I never meant to imply that we should stop..."

Shan turned back to him, grinning. "There. That tree."

"Done."

Ian slogged a few paces to the tree, leaned his back against it, then lowered them both slowly to the ground. Funny, terra firma did little to stop the wild careening of Shan's heart in her ribcage. She suspected all her internal organs were getting in on the action.

Ian continued cradling Shan's back, but removed his other hand from beneath her legs. With his freed hand, he ran three blazing fingertips along her face, from forehead to chin. Shan leaned into his touch, struggling to keep her eyes open. She wanted to share this with him, to see every second of exploration from his eyes as well as her own.

He said nothing as he stroked her face, gently moving a strand of hair from her eyes. Rather, he said nothing with his voice. In his face, Shan read amazement and surprise. He was treating her like a bubble that he knew would burst, so he treasured every moment until it did.

Shan shuddered and closed her eyes, suddenly close to tears. It had been so easy to tell herself she didn't need this. She had convinced herself that the pain of failed relationships far outweighed the potential benefits that a steady sweetheart could bring. She had even tried the one-night stand route--exactly once. But that encounter had left her feeling even more empty and unfulfilled than before.

Now, sitting in Ian's arms just a few days after meeting him, her past conclusions seemed ridiculous, short sighted, and downright stupid. Two kisses from this man, and it was all worthwhile.

Shan rested her cheek on Ian's collarbone and quietly nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. He shivered and pulled her close.

"Shan..."

"Yes?" she murmured, sucking in his scent through her nose and exhaling hot breath over his skin from her mouth.

"Just checking to make sure you were real," Ian said, leaning his head back against the tree trunk. She felt him swallow.

"Mmm." Shan kissed his neck. He tasted slightly salty, and oh-so soft and intoxicating.

"Oh, god," Ian said, shuddering again. She felt his heart hammering against her body. "Shan..."

"Not so eloquent now, are you, Professor?" Shan chuckled against his throat.

"I was eloquent at some point?" he countered. "I think you've been kissing the wrong guy."

"Well, in that case..." She started to pull away from him, but his arms resisted.

"But I'm a quick learner," Ian said, and then his mouth found hers and they fell into another endless kiss.

"Ian!"

Which was, of course, ruined by Buckley. Shan let him call three more times before she relinquished Ian.

"That boy has impeccable timing," Ian murmured. "Are you ready to face the inquisition?"

"Is anyone ever ready to deal with Buckley?" Shan replied. She watched Ian's pulse in his throat and struggled with another urge to nibble.

"Let's get it over with, then, shall we?" The edge of his mouth curled into a wry smile and his fingertips once again traced the bones of her face. Shan was dimly aware of nodding. Ian's touch had released a new volley of tingles down her spine.

Sadly, Ian moved his head away from hers in order to shout to Buckley. In far too short a time, Buckley was standing a few feet away, huffing. Shan steeled herself for his jibes. Frankly, she didn't care what he thought about her and Ian. It was none of his business. And even if it was his business, it didn't matter.

"Fortier's wife called the cops," Buckley said between breaths. "We've got to get out of here."

"Damn," said Shan. Her body still buzzed from kissing Ian. She needed to regain focus, to clear her mind. "We need to get back to the car." She turned to Ian. "Can you?"

"Yes," he said simply. He wobbled a little, but made it to his feet still carrying her. "Let's go."

They said nothing as they jogged through the forest. Shan's ribs reminded her of their compromised state almost immediately, but the pain didn't seem as bad. She smiled. Ian was just that good. And maybe, just maybe, the ribs were only cracked after all. For now, all that mattered was getting the crane out of Etienne's room and getting the hell out of France.

When they made it back to the house, Charles and Etienne Fortier were waiting by the little green rental car. Etienne wore Shan's strawberry-pink ski jacket with Ian's messenger bag over his shoulder.

"Put me down next to the car?" Shan asked.

"Anything you want," whispered Ian, just to her. Shan growled softly and gave him what she hoped was a smoldering look. Ian lowered her to her feet, and she leaned against the car for support.

"We have four of them," Charles Fortier said as he rubbed his hands together. "Three men and a woman."

"Be careful with her," Shan said. "Don't get close to her, no matter what. Let the police handle her."

Fortier nodded. Etienne removed the messenger bag and handed it to Shan. She took it with a grim nod.

"When this is all over," Shan said to Fortier, "I'll contact you. The boy needs to come to Los Angeles and study with me."

Charles Fortier pursed his lips and looked to Ian, apparently for help, but Ian was watching the boy.

"He will grow wild, even with the dragon gone," continued Shan. "He will be unpredictable, dangerous. I'm sure you've seen the signs."

"I thought the child was merely reaching puberty," Fortier said. He put one hand on his son's shoulder, but the boy didn't react. Fortier removed it hastily. "I'll discuss it with my wife."

Shan nodded. Slowly, she lowered herself into a crouch in order to look Etienne in the eye. "You must come study with me," she said quietly. She pointed a finger at him and then at herself, willing him to understand despite their language barrier. "If they do not let you, you must find me yourself when you are old enough."

"Do not say such things to my son!" Fortier exclaimed, but Ian held up a hand, silencing him.

Shan folded back the flap of the messenger bag and pulled out the jade crane. Its milky green body seemed to trap the moon's light and keep it within. Etienne's eyes widened, and he reached out a hand to touch the statue. Shan let him.

"You," she said again, pointing the boy, "come to me." She pointed to herself. "Do you understand?"

Etienne removed his hand from the crane, looked at Shan, and nodded.

"Good." Shan stood and turned back to Fortier. "You have a duty to this boy. Please don't fail him."

Ian and Charles exchanged a few more words, many of them heated, but Shan shut them out. She focused on maneuvering herself into the backseat of the car without puncturing a lung. A noble goal, in her opinion. Buckley climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.

"Remind me to take martial artists on all my vacations," he grinned. "You people are pretty useful."

Shan merely grunted her response, but she couldn't help smiling. Buckley's levity was often ill-timed, but she appreciated it now.

"You need to work on your snowmobiling, though," Buckley added, and Shan immediately retracted her silent praise.

The passenger door opened, and Ian folded himself into the little European seat. Buckley barely waited for Ian to shut his door before he shifted into gear and headed for the road.

"Sorry I took so long," said Ian, snapping his seatbelt on. "I remembered something about how Fortier got the dragon. He was in Cairo fifteen years ago, in a secret market for stolen artifacts, when a Chinese woman approached him and gave him the statue."

"That doesn't make any sense," Shan interrupted. "No Jade Circle woman would knowingly give up an animal in her guardianship."

Ian twisted in his seat so that he could see Shan as he talked. "Fortier said she looked nervous. She told him she was being followed. She said he could have the dragon as long as he never sold it or displayed it publicly."

Shan frowned. "Does he have any idea where the woman is now?"

Ian shook his head. "Hasn't seen her since Cairo. Of course, he wasn't really looking. Charles isn't an archaeologist; he just likes old things. Has quite a collection, in fact." He smiled wryly. "I've been trying to get him to donate his artifacts to a museum, but the man is surprisingly stubborn on that issue. He likes having them to himself."

"Are you two done yapping?" Buckley asked. They'd almost made it back to the main highway in Chamonix, and the traffic was already starting to thicken. "Because I'll think you'll be interested in what I learned while you were both off on your forest expedition."

Shan refused to give Buckley the satisfaction of seeing her blush. Ian, however, turned as red as a raspberry. Almost the color his cheeks had been in the woods, just after they'd kissed for the first, hopefully not the last, time. "Tell us," Shan said quickly.

Buckley merged into a heavy stream of cars. "Well, it seems that Mrs. Fortier overheard some interesting snippets from her captors," he said.

"They probably didn't care what they said in front of her," Shan interjected. "They planned on killing the whole family before they left, I'm sure."

"Yeah, well, they mentioned this big auction," Buckley continued. "Said they needed the dragon for it. Mentioned some guy named Ashton--"

"Victor Ashton?" said Ian. "I've heard of him. He's rich, collects antiques. Like our friend Fortier, but on a much larger scale. Holds some function at his estate in China almost every year--my parents get invited, but they haven't gone to one yet."

"An auction?" Shan asked. She didn't like where this was going. The jade animals were sacred and meant to be kept secret. The last thing the Jade Circle needed was the exposure of a huge auction. Then she'd have to fight every filthy rich collector in the world to get them back.

Ian nodded grimly. "Probably."

"So what do we do now?" Buckley said.

Shan looked out the window and watched the trees streak by. In the darkness, they felt like an endless stream of her ancestors, tall and shadowed, looking down on her with disappointment. Her journey was far from over.

"You both go somewhere safe," she said eventually, "while I infiltrate the auction and recover the dragon."

"Now, wait just a minute--"

"I have a better idea," Ian said. His voice sounded hard. Shan could tell he was trying to quell her arguments before she even made them. "We go to my parent's house," he continued, staring right at her, "we take their invitations, and we go to the auction together."

"It's too..." She started to say "dangerous," but the look on Ian's face stopped her. And he was right. What part of the last two days hadn't been dangerous? She tried a different tack. "Look, you saw how it went in the Fortier's house. If the family hadn't been held as hostages, the situation would have been much simpler. If I bring you to the auction, I'll spend most of my time protecting you."

Ian wanted to argue with her, she could tell. The muscles on his face seemed to quiver slightly just below his skin. His soft, kissable skin. Whoa. That comes later, she told herself. Possibly much later.

"I'm sorry that I'll complicate your mission," Ian said slowly, "but I'm going to insist. You need the invitations. I can get them for you. The invitation is for both my parents, so it will look less fishy if we go together. They'll assume my parents sent me in their place." Ian reached into the backseat and took Shan's hand. Her skin tingled where their flesh touched, and she felt, once again, as if she might melt from his heat. "I'll be useful to you, Shan. I promise."

Shan closed her eyes and swallowed, her whole body and mind focused on the sensations of that one hand touching Ian.

Ian was comfortable with his skills and knew his limitations. He deserved to be treated like the intelligent adult he repeatedly proved that he was. If she allowed him to come, her mission would be easier in many ways. The invitations, the cover story. But was it selfish of her to say yes? Was she giving in to Ian, putting his life at risk, in order to help her restore the legacy of the Jade Circle? Or, even worse, did she simply want him nearby for the high of an occasional caress or the bliss of yet another kiss?

"Okay," she said quietly.

"Okay?" Ian turned to Buckley. "You heard her say it, right?"

"Don't bring me into this. I don't speak Chinese, and I don't hobnob with the rich. I'll be happy to sit this one out."

"What?"

"Excellent," Shan said. "But you still need to stay safe until this is over. I think you should hide out in my martial arts school in Los Angeles."

Buckley grinned. "Ah, Hollywood. Failed actresses with boob jobs, too desperate to hold out for that big break or the leading man, ready for the dashing archaeologist to sweep them into bed. Or onto the carpet. Or into an elevator. That's more my style."

Shan rolled her eyes. "You'll have to curb your carnal instincts for a while and lay low at the school. Lydia will help you."

"Lydia?" Buckley said. "Sounds like failed actress material to me."

"Lydia owns the school where I teach," Shan said firmly. "She's one of my best students. I have no doubt she'll be able to handle you."

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Buckley grinned. Shan could only shake her head.

"How is it that you teach, but she owns the school?" Ian asked.

Shan didn't want to get into the details. Those were for Lydia to divulge, if and only if she wanted to. "She saw me in action once," Shan said carefully. "She had the money to buy the property, and I agreed to start the school. It was excellent timing for both of us." Especially for Lydia, Shan added silently. Without Shan's arrival in that darkened parking lot behind the strip mall, Lydia would have been gang raped. Now, the two of them were almost as close as sisters. And their school, The Way of the River, was teaching more and more people how to defend themselves every day.

"I'll do it," said Buckley. "You guys can drop me off in Paris and continue up to the Dashell estate, or whatever the hell pretentious name they've given the place."

"Dashell Manor," said Ian. "I'm hurt that you've forgotten."

Shan looked from Ian to Buckley and back again. "You guys are kidding, right? Your parents live in France?"

"Oh, no," said Ian, adopting an exaggerated aristocratic air. "France is so last century. My parents are both Anglophiles, so nothing but jolly old England would suit them for a home."

"Yeah," said Buckley, "you're going to love their place. All zillion acres of it."

Shan gulped. "Uh, maybe you should go alone, Ian. I, uh, have to protect Buckley."

"Oh, there's no way I'm going to visit my parents without one of you as a shield," Ian said. "You either come with me or we forget about the auction."

Shan sighed heavily, making sure he could see. "Fine. Have it your way. You big baby."

In the front seat, Buckley laughed. "I see that my presence is having a good influence on you, Shan. Excellent."

"Yeah," groaned Ian. "It's bloody great."

"Lydia will pick you up at the airport," Shan said over the roar of vehicles in the departures area of Charles de Gaulle Airport. "Don't call or write to anyone. Got it?"

"Gotten," Buckley said. "I'll stay in public areas at all times, I'll buckle my seat belt, and I'll drink my milk. Anything else?"

"And don't give Lydia a hard time," Shan added.

"And keep your hands off her, too," grinned Ian. "We wouldn't want you to alienate the woman responsible for your safety, now would we?" Ian and Buckley did the guy hug, complete with back slapping. Shan snuck in and gave Buckley a hug of her own in order to avoid that whole French cheek kissing thing. She was more of a chin kisser anyway, but only with the right chin. Shan smiled to herself.

"And you're sure I can't take the crane to L.A. with me?" Buckley asked for the third time.

"Absolutely," Shan said. "It would just make you more of a target than you already are. And besides," she hefted the messenger bag that had been over her shoulder for the last few hours, "I'm kind of attached to the statue myself. The only way they're getting this is at my funeral."

"All right, then. Be good, kids," he said, and he was off, winding his way through hordes of travelers like a seasoned pro.

Ian scrunched back into the car as Shan lowered herself gently into the front passenger seat. Damn ribs. She closed her door, buckled in, and they were once again driving off into the unknown.

This time, however, the unknown scared the hell out of her. Growing up in an underground secret organization, then moving to America and being raised by a relatively clueless father did not make for a savvy socialite. It wasn't that Shan was a total tomboy--the Jade Circle had encouraged well-rounded women, and most of the older members had been wives and mothers. But Shan had never really "lunched with the ladies" or "dressed to the nines" or any of those other phrases she only marginally understood. Oh, yes, she was definitely terrified of Dashell Manor.

They drove in silence for a while, heading for Calais and the Channel Tunnel that would take them to England. Shan rested her forehead against the cool glass of the window and lost herself in the scenery. For sixteen years, she'd lived in the United States and searched for signs of the jade animals: on the news, in magazines, at museums, by word of mouth, on the Internet. Suddenly, one goofy archaeologist publishes an interview and all hell breaks loose. The security guard at the university died. The Fortiers had been held captive. Ian and Buckley were on the run. She'd dragged so many people into her fight. Her mother would never have permitted such a thing to happen. Her mother, the great protector, the greatest martial artist the Jade Circle had ever known. A true leader.

"If it makes you feel any better," Ian said suddenly, "you'll probably like my parents. Most people do."

"Just not you?"

"It's complicated," Ian said, staring straight ahead as he drove. "I definitely love them, but sometimes the liking part is a bit harder. We see the world through such different eyes."

"Sometimes that's a good thing," Shan said. She and her father had both been obsessed with finding Shan's mother, neither one of them wanting to give up, or even pause to gain perspective. Maybe they should have.

"I suppose," said Ian. "And I certainly get along with them better than my sister does."

"Sister?"

"Oh, yes," said Ian. "Her name is Isabelle, which rhymes nicely with 'Spawn of Hell.' I think she's in Tokyo right now. She should be in college, but we haven't found one strong enough to keep her yet."

Shan smirked. "Sounds like my kind of woman."

Ian glanced over at her, his face thoughtful. "You know, I think you two would probably hit it off. Interesting."

"Does that make me a hell-spawn, too?"

"Most definitely," Ian laughed. He looked at her again, his face warm. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and intimate. "You should try to sleep," he said, "even your body needs rest once in a while. I don't suppose we have time to grab a couple of hotel rooms?"

Shan smiled. How carefully Ian chose his words, making it clear that he didn't expect to share a bed with her.

"Your mother is expecting us for dinner, and we need to get the invitation and rejoin Buckley." She said all this to convince herself more than Ian. The hotel room sounded like heaven, and even the strength of the tiger occasionally wavered.

"That's what I figured," Ian said. "But in that case, I think you should sleep now. I've driven this route plenty of times, so I shouldn't need your help with the map."

"Deal." Shan reclined her seat and used Ian's puffy ski jacket as a pillow. She smelled the synthetic material and caught a hint of something distinctly Ian. Shan smiled and breathed in through her nose. Mmm. With the quiet rumble of the car beneath her and Ian's comforting presence beside her, Shan fell asleep.

"Shan, wake up."

"Uhh?" Shan opened her eyes slowly. She would much rather have kept them closed. Or at least have had a nice cup of tea shoved into her hands before she was required to think. Or speak. Or be even remotely pleasant.

"We're in Calais. I'm heading toward the Channel Tunnel. From there, it'll be a quick thirty-five minutes or so on the shuttle train before we're in Folkstone, England."

"So I'm awake because...?"

"Because I think we're being followed."

"Oh," said Shan, sitting up faster than she should have. Her hand went to her ribs. "That's a pretty good reason."

Ian navigated their car down a street packed with cars, bicycles, pedestrians, and an occasional dog. For the umpteenth time, Shan was grateful that Ian was driving, and that he seemed so at ease with the chaos. She still got angry driving to the grocery store in L.A.

"How long?" Shan asked.

"I noticed him right after you fell asleep, but I lost him so easily that I figured I was just being paranoid. Then he showed up again twenty minutes ago when I took a wrong turn and doubled back--"

"Wait a minute..."

"What?"

"You took a wrong turn?" Shan grinned. True, she should be worried about whoever was tailing them, but opportunities to tease Ian were hard to come by. He was way too perfect most of the time. Adorably so.

"Oh, laugh it up, kung-fu queen," Ian countered. "If you drive cars like you ride snowmobiles..."

"Okay, okay, you've made your point," Shan laughed. "Please, finish the story."

"You're sure? You don't have another jibe tucked in there somewhere?"

Shan folded her hands on her lap and shook her head.

"Good," said Ian in a tone of voice that Shan imagined he used with his students. "As I was saying--oh! There he is again! Four cars back and one lane over."

Shan twisted in her seat, ignoring the pain in her side. Sunlight glared rudely from every car hood and roof. Finally, she spotted a black car that seemed to be keeping pace with them.

"The driver's wearing a hat," she said. "I can't see if it's a man or a woman."

Ian checked his mirrors. "Well, whoever it is, they're backing off again. They must have seen us looking."

Shan watched the black sedan disappear out of sight. "Maybe One-eye remembered the crane and is just waiting for a good opportunity to attack."

"I don't think so," said Ian. "I pulled off to get gas a while back, and the place was almost deserted. He could have taken me easily."

Shan marveled at how Ian could say things like that. Martial artists, herself included, were not prone to admitting their weaknesses.

"Well," said Shan, "we really can't lead them straight to your parent's house. I'm not up for a repeat of what happened with the Fortier's."

"I'm not excited about that either," said Ian, "but Dashell Manor is a fortress. They've got every state-of-the-art thingy-mabob that money can buy. Apparently all the mansions got an update after that George Harrison stabbing in 1999. And besides," he grinned at Shan, "he's working with a lot fewer henchmen--henchpeople--than he was before, thanks to you."

Shan sighed. "That's all true, but I'm still worried. They probably didn't plan these security systems with evil martial arts badasses in mind. We're an unpredictable lot."

"You don't say?" said Ian.

Shan tried to frown at him, but her mouth twisted into a smile against her will.

"Well, we're almost at the Channel Tunnel," said Ian. "We'll be in England and at Casa de Dashell in no time. Excited?"

"Thrilled," said Shan, trying to keep her smile from fading too visibly.

You're doing it for the Jade Circle, she told herself, but it wasn't entirely true. For a long time now, Shan's responsibility to the Circle had been eclipsed by her mother's legacy. Shan needed to prove herself worthy of her lineage, worthy of her mother's sacrifice. And if she needed to face an entire army of Ian's parents in order to do it, well...

Shan gulped. Well, she'd probably run away screaming.

CHAPTER 7

The grounds of Dashell Manor were, if possible, even bigger than Shan had imagined. Minutes ago they had passed a stone obelisk engraved with the estate's name. Minutes ago. And only now were they actually approaching the house. They drove around a sharp bend, and Shan gasped.

Shan wanted to describe the mansion as nestled in the trees, but nothing so huge could actually nestle, in her opinion. "It's...it's..."

"Obscene," Ian finished for her. "Ludicrous. Outrageous. A colossal waste of money."

"Beautiful!" Shan gasped.

And it was. Two stories of pure old England charm surrounding by rolling, snow-dusted hills. The building itself was shaped like a shoebox, but somehow that just made it seem more exotic.

"There's nothing like this in China or Los Angeles," Shan said, still in awe.

"And thank god for that," Ian said. He stopped the car in front of the mansion, near a wide stone staircase leading up to a pair of huge wooden front doors. The whole scene would have made even Cinderella green with envy.

Shan looked down at her clothes. Dirt and blood stained her shirt and pants in irregular patches, and a nice blood-caked rip still adorned her pant leg from the fight at the university. She hadn't showered in two days, or changed her socks or underwear. Some first impression she was about to make. The Dashells would probably have her hauled off to a mental institution by tea time tomorrow.

Ian switched the car off and unlocked his seatbelt. "Come on, let's get this over with, shall we?"

"Over with. Sounds good," Shan said dully. She removed her seatbelt and opened the door. It's like a bandage, she thought. Rip it off quick and the pain will fade before you know it. Shan stood and tried to brush off some of the grime on her shirt. Her hand grazed her ribs, and she winced.

"Don't worry," said Ian. "My mother is used to me showing up under all sorts of circumstances. I used to pop over for visits during my field work sometimes. At this point, she gets worried if I don't look like a drowned rat."

"How comforting," Shan said. She managed a small smile, and Ian laughed.

"Brave until the bitter end, I see."

Shan had been hoping for another kiss before the whole "meet the parents" debacle, but Ian seemed to be keeping his distance. It made perfect sense, of course. The only thing more difficult than dropping in on your parents, covered in blood, was doing it with a new... A new what? Did they even deserve a label after only two real kisses? You couldn't really introduce someone to your parents as a potential lover or girlfriend, now could you? No, it would be far simpler to just avoid the whole issue, even if it meant keeping her distance from Ian during their stay. Shan hugged the messenger bag carrying the crane to the unwounded side of her body. She could use a little of its grace and balance right about now.

They climbed the massive stone steps to the front door. Shan noticed video cameras hidden in the awnings and plants, covering the entire front of the house. The gate at the front of the property hadn't impressed her much, but it would certainly stop vehicles from entering the property without permission, given the huge numbers of rocks, tree, and shrubs scattering the acres of yard. She guessed that the windows and doors were also wired, given Ian's insistence that the place was secure. If One-eye intended to stroll up to the front door and knock, he was in for a surprise.

Of course, that's what they did. Strolled right up to the door and knocked. After a minute or so, the huge door swung open and the butler stood before them. At least Shan assumed it was the butler, judging from his nice but wholly inappropriate clothes. Who else would wear a waistcoat on a beautiful day in late spring? The man looked to be in his mid-thirties with a football player build. Maybe he worked part-time as a bodyguard or a bouncer.

"Geof!" Ian said, and gave the man a brisk handshake and a half-hug. "Good to see you again."

Geof smiled warmly. "Likewise, sir."

Ian motioned to Shan. She took a step toward the butler and held out her hand. "Geof, this is Shan. Shan, Geof."

"A pleasure to meet you, miss," Geof said, shaking Shan's hand. His grip was loose, his hands enormous. "May I take your bags to your rooms?"

"Oh, no bags this time," Ian said without apology. "But we'll need to find some fresh clothes for Shan."

Geof looked Shan up and down, clearly calculating. Then he nodded and said the very British, "As you wish, sir."

"Thanks a bunch," said Shan. If she let Ian do all the talking, it might become a habit, and she had no intention of playing to the shy little Chinese girl stereotype on this trip. Though, to be honest, she'd rather fight off a group of gang members than try to figure out which fork to use with a salad. Yet another reason why chopsticks were a superior utensil.

"It will be my pleasure, miss," Geof said simply. Shan looked for insincerity in his voice, but found none. The man seemed to take great pride in his job. Geof turned to Ian. "After you freshen up, you'll find Mrs. Dashell on the veranda with the dogs."

"Excellent," Ian said. "Come on, Shan, let me give you a quick tour." He looked at her hand, which seemed to gravitate to her ribs when she wasn't thinking about it. "Of the first floor," he added.

By the time Shan's eyes adjusted to the dark, castle-like interior of Dashell Manor, they were standing at the base of a huge, sweeping staircase in a cavernous foyer. Which was, she guessed, roughly five times the size of her room over the school in L.A. Maybe six. Portraits lined the walls, all the way up the twenty- or thirty-foot high ceiling. Pedestals squatted against the walls at regular intervals and sported various antiquities. Shan recognized one as a Ming-style vase. If it was authentic, the Dashells were even wealthier than Buckley had said.

As Ian gave her the tour, Shan made all sorts of oohing and aahing noises, sometimes without trying. This wasn't a house; it was a palace. And Ian had said that her parents lived here alone, except when they were entertaining. How could two people possibly need or use this much house? It was so thoroughly un-Chinese, and so very Los Angeles. Likewise, she was both awed by its glory and sickened by the waste of space.

Shan saw the contradiction in Ian now. His love of artifacts as priceless things of beauty, versus the simple life he had chosen for himself as an archaeologist and professor. His mind was a more complicated landscape than she had suspected.

Ian marooned her in one of several bathrooms on the first floor and went off to find another one for himself. After Shan finished the requisite admiration for the decor and size, she settled into the much more intimidating task of making herself presentable. She scrubbed her face with decorative soaps and found a full set of accoutrements in one drawer labeled "For guests" in a flowing script. With gusto, Shan helped herself to a fresh toothbrush and toothpaste, then worked her way through the rest of the items. There was really no hope for her red silk shirt, her jeans, or her shoes, though she did attempt to wipe the dirt off them one more time before putting them back on. By the time she opened the door to leave, Shan was feeling almost entirely human again.

Happily, Ian was waiting for her on a padded wooden bench just a little way down the hallway. He stood when he saw her, a huge grin on his face, like some goofy groom watching his bride-to-be walk down the aisle.

"You clean up pretty well," he said.

"Wish I could say the same for you," Shan countered, "but I guess archaeologists and dirt go hand-in-hand."

"Speaking of hand-in-hand..."

Ian reached for her hand and intertwined her fingers with his. Shan's whole body relaxed at his touch. She felt like she'd been running a marathon and had finally crossed the finish line. Another huge grin came unbidden to her face, and she let it linger. Ian made her happy, and he deserved to know it.

"I talked to Geof about our mystery follower, by the way," Ian said. "He's going to alert the servants and security staff."

"Oh, good," Shan said. "Thanks." She swung Ian's arm back and forth, testing the distance. It felt good, natural. Ian led them through the house and toward the backyard. His hand fit so well with hers that she couldn't even summon panic about meeting his mother.

Ian opened the door to the veranda, and Shan once again found herself gasping at the sight. Beautiful gray stone tiles covered the huge patio area like the pebbles at the bottom of a river. Gnarly old trees made little islands, with comfy looking chairs and tables underneath their branches. The yard itself extended back until it disappeared into a thick copse of trees. A partially shaded pool with trickling fountains sat off to the left. The air was cold, promising snow, but only a few small drifts of the stuff clung to the shadows.

"Beautiful," Shan breathed, for possibly the hundredth time on this trip.

"Yeah, the landscapers outdid themselves, didn't they?" Ian looked left and waved. Belatedly, Shan remembered his mother. She followed Ian's gaze and saw a lone woman sitting in one of those comfortable chairs, two huge piles of fur at her feet and a fire blazing in a round stone hearth nearby.

"Let's do this," Shan said quietly. Ian kept waving at his mother, but he looked at Shan.

"You're dazzling."

Her heart thumped loudly in response. Dazzling? But Ian was already walking toward his mother, and pulling her along with him.

Dazzling?

Ian's mother wore a trim pair of pale slacks, a turtleneck, and a red and green sweater. Her light brown hair was cut stylishly short and seemed designed to show off the sparkling stud earrings she wore. Her face was long and a bit angular like Ian's, but still feminine. Mrs. Dashell had to be in her late fifties or sixties, judging from Ian's age, but she wore the years extremely well.

As they approached, Mrs. Dashell and her dogs stood up to greet them.

"Ian!"

"Mother." Ian released Shan's hand to pull the older woman into an awkward hug. "Mom, this is Shan. Shan, this is Janet."

Shan shook hands with the woman and smiled. "Thank you so much for letting us visit on such short notice."

"Oh, it's nothing, dear," said Janet Dashell. "Please, have a seat and join me. No doubt Geof is already on the way with drinks."

Ian offered a chair to Shan, then took one himself. One of the huge dogs waddled toward Shan. "It's a Chow Chow," Shan said, surprised. She let the plush, cinnamon-colored dog sniff her hand. It panted, letting its notorious black tongue hang out of its mouth.

"Be careful, dear," Janet Dashell said, "Ginger is probably sizing you up as a threat."

"Thanks for the warning," Shan said. "We used to have several of these dogs in the...where I grew up. They make excellent guardians and are extremely loyal." Ginger apparently decided not to push Shan over and go for her jugular. Instead, Ginger sat down on her haunches and allowed Shan to bury her hands in the thick fur of the dog's head.

"Mom and Dad used to breed Chow Chows," Ian said. "Now it's just Fred and Ginger." Fred, an even more densely furred dog, lifted up his head when he heard his name and waggled his crescent-shaped tail.

"They're my little babies," Janet said. "They're all Henry and I have, since we haven't been blessed with any grandchildren." Mrs. Dashell smiled sadly at Shan, clearly trying to get sympathy from a fellow woman.

"Gee, Mother, I think that was a record. You waited a whole minute before pulling out the grandkid card." Ian's voice said he was joking, but his eyes were anything but jovial.

Mrs. Dashell reached a hand over her chair arm and stroked Fred. "Well, you aren't getting any younger, and neither are we," Janet said firmly. "I'm not telling you what to do; I'm just telling you how your decision affects your father and me. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"No, of course not," Ian answered. "Oh, look. Here comes Geof with our drinks."

Shan got the distinct impression that this exchange happened frequently, but that fact didn't make her any more happy about the waves of tension washing over the three of them. Respect for one's elders was a virtue instilled in most Chinese from an early age, and Shan had certainly had cause to respect the older men and women she had known in the Jade Circle. By twelve, Shan had found it impossible to disobey her mother, let alone argue with her about personal issues in front of a stranger. Americans raised their children so differently.

Geof placed a tray of steaming mugs and bowls on the table. Shan said yes to the mulled cider and the barley soup. Homemade food was a marvel to her. Her normal diet consisted of far too many protein bars, and since she'd been on the road, they'd been stopping at fast food joints so they could keep driving.

"Geof, come and sit with us for a while," Mrs. Dashell said. It's going to be a beautiful night."

"Yes, Geof, join us," Ian added. Shan guessed they both wanted more of a social buffer than she was currently providing.

"Thank you, but I've got a few more items to take care of before dinner." He turned to Shan. "Does the lady have any special eating requirements?"

Shan paused, a spoonful of soup on its way to her mouth, as everyone looked at her. She shook her head, "None that I know of."

"Very well," Geof said. Shan watched his well-tailored back disappear into the house.

"Do you play tennis, dear?" Janet asked Shan.

Shan swallowed a mouthful of food abruptly. "No, I've never played before."

"Oh, well you look like a tennis player. Very athletic. I'm sure you'll do just fine."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, excuse me?" added Ian.

"Oh, do let me have my fun, Ian. Henry and I so rarely get a chance to play doubles anymore. You're far better than we are, so you and Shan versus your father and I will be even teams."

"We'd love to play," Ian said quickly, "but Shan...took a nasty fall recently and hurt her ribs. She shouldn't be moving around that much."

Janet Dashell never missed a beat. "Well, in that case, you absolutely must see my doctor while you're here, Shan. He's very good."

"I'm not fond of doctors," Shan said honestly. "I prefer Eastern practitioners."

"Then I'll send you to my acupuncturist," Janet countered. "She's really excellent."

"You have an acupuncturist?" said Ian. Shan suppressed a smile. Ian looked rather silly with his mouth hanging open.

"Well, it's not like I'm locked in the Dark Ages, son. I am capable of trying new things. In fact," Janet said, admiring her nails, "you should try that sometime. You've been in such a rut."

"The acupuncturist sounds great," Shan said quickly. "I really appreciate your help."

The three of them passed the next hour in polite conversation. Ian's normally balanced personality fluctuated more than Shan had ever seen it. Perhaps she'd been premature in casting him into an almost perfect mold after so short an acquaintance. On the other hand, family had a way of bringing out the best and worst of people. Usually the worst.

Ian's father arrived shortly after that, and his presence had a mollifying affect on both Janet and Ian. Henry Dashell was tall and lanky like his son, but with a rounder face. He hugged Shan when they met and invited her to stay at Dashell Manor whenever she wanted. At dinner, as the four of them sat at one end of a table meant for twenty, Ian finally got around to mentioning the invitations to the auction.

"The Ashton affair?" Henry said, dabbing his mouth with a cloth napkin.

"Yes," said Ian. "I was wondering if I might use your invitation this year. It's very important."

"Excellent!" Janet said. "We've already RSVP'd, but I'll have Geof call and change the number. Will you be joining us as well, Shan?"

"You're going?" Ian said. "You've never gone before."

Henry shrugged. "We've never been to Hong Kong, and our collection is looking rather thin of late."

"And it's been so long since we've taken a vacation together," Janet said. "It'll be fun! Like an exotic double date." She looked at Shan and smiled.

"Actually," Ian said quickly, "Just Shan and I are going. I'd like you two to stay home."

"Don't be ridiculous," his father said. "We've always wanted to go to Victor's auction, and this year will be perfect now that we've got our own expert coming. You can't be that embarrassed by us, can you?"

"It's nothing like that," Shan interrupted. "We have reason to believe that the event will be dangerous this year. Ian just wants to keep you safe."

"Dangerous? Victor Ashton has an army at his disposal," Henry said. "We'll be safer with him than we are in London."

"I'm sorry, but I can't explain everything," said Ian. He stole a glance at Shan, then looked quickly back at his parents. "You just have to trust me. The event is going to be very dangerous this year."

"Well, if it's that dangerous, then why are you going?" Janet asked. The woman stabbed at a spear of asparagus with her fork absently as she spoke. "Do you expect us to sit here in England knowing you're in grave danger half the world away?"

"We can protect ourselves," Shan said, letting her tone of voice convey both her confidence and her resolve. Mrs. Dashell looked like she wanted to respond, but couldn't do so politely.

"Look," Henry Dashell said, "you rarely ask us for anything, Ian, so I'm inclined to let you have your way in this. But, for the record, I agree with your mother. If it's not safe for us, then you shouldn't be going, either."

"I appreciate your concern--I really do," said Ian. "But we're going with or without the invitation."

"Oh, Ian!" Mrs. Dashell exclaimed.

"It wouldn't be the end of the world to crash a party, Mother."

"Still!"

"You've been in England far too long--"

"Let it go. Both of you," said Henry Dashell. His voice held the hard edge Shan occasionally heard in Ian's. "Just promise me one thing, Ian," Henry continued. "Promise me that you won't get this young woman hurt in one of your crazy quests for adventure. Your mother and I barely survived your graduate school years."

Ian looked at Shan, clearly amused.

"I assure you, Mr. and Mrs. Dashell," Shan said, not allowing Ian a chance to respond, "that any crazy quests will be my fault, and not Ian's."

The Dashells looked at their son, but Ian merely shrugged. Then Mrs. Dashell smiled a new and dangerous smile, and said, "Oh, I see. I understand completely now." She looked at her son fondly. "Such a nice girl, Ian. So smart and pretty. You two make a sweet couple."

Shan's ears burned, and Ian sputtered. Mr. Dashell just leaned back in his chair and laughed.

Shan opened the huge window in her room, letting the cold night air sweep in and tickle the thick fabric of the drapes and canopy bed. She'd never slept in a room so large by herself. In China, she had shared sleeping quarters with a dozen other girls her age. In Los Angeles, she'd had a small room in the tiny apartment she had shared with her father. And now, her entire living space was just one room on the second floor of the martial arts school where she spent all her time teaching and practicing.

The high ceilings and distant walls of the room seemed to magnify the emptiness in Shan's heart. Her mother was lost forever. Her father had fled to Asia to lose himself in teaching. She had no siblings, no real lovers, and only a small scattering of friends, very few of them close. The tiger was a solitary hunter, but Shan was human. Being so close to Ian and his family, despite all the bickering, was giving her a bitter taste of what she was missing.

She breathed in the fresh air from the window, then walked back to the bed. Geof had laid out an array of clothes in her size, including a sleeping gown of forest green silk. Shan couldn't strip off her own worn clothes fast enough. The silk slid over her body like water, cooling her and calming her spirit.

Inspired, Shan moved a chair and an old trunk out of the middle of the room and began a twenty-one step meditation set. As she moved from one stance to the next, breathing slowly seven times in between, her mind began to clear. "Holding the Moon" to "Golden Rooster" pose, "Golden Rooster" to "Shield and Spear." She'd rarely gone this long without practicing, and the familiar moves filled her body with pleasant warmth. She directed the gathering energy to her ribs, willing them to heal. Her battles were far from over, and she needed to return her body to its best form as soon as possible. Shan was, for the millionth time, grateful for training that allowed her to channel and control her chi.

A light rap on the door pulled Shan from her semi-trance. She knew who it was, or at least whom she hoped it was.

"Come in."

The door opened, revealing Ian, still dressed in his khaki pants but now wearing a plain white T-shirt. It stretched over his torso, molding itself to his toned shoulders and chest. He left the door open behind him, always the gentleman. And what a pity that was, Shan mused.

"Greeb is a good color on you," he said, grinning.

"Thanks." Shan pulled herself out of her last meditation stance and returned the room's furnishings to their assigned spots. "Have a seat?"

Ian flopped into a leather wingback chair, but not before casting a furtive glance toward the bed. He blushed when he saw Shan watching him.

"I, uh, hope you don't have a bad impression of the Dashells after witnessing our normal bickering rituals."

Shan laughed. "Not at all. Though I don't think I'm the sort of woman your mother would choose for you."

"Are you kidding? She's probably just relieved that you're a woman, and not a man. She never met Rachel the archaeologist, and I think she's always been suspicious about my relationship with Buckley."

"I don't blame her. I'm suspicious about that, too," Shan teased.

"Well, in your case, I'd be happy to prove my preference," Ian said, his voice low and husky. "And there are bonus points for getting to prove it in my parent's house." Amazingly, his voice was all it took to send Shan's heart into overdrive again. The fancy shaded lights on the nightstands cast a warm yellow glow into the room, but weren't nearly bright enough to erase the shadows of Ian's face. In this low light, his face changed with every movement, every smile or frown or quirk. It was a face of infinite possibilities.

Shan stood, letting Ian drink in the full length of her in her silk sheathe. Then, slowly, she walked over and shut the door. She'd never been more aware of fabric against her skin, the way it rose and fell with her hips and stretched across her breasts. From the look on Ian's face, he was pretty damn aware of it, too. He stood and put himself in her way when she turned to walk back to her chair.

"It wasn't just a fluke, then? Back in the woods?" he breathed.

"A fluke? Is that what you think?"

"No. Yes. I don't know," Ian said. His gaze traveled up and down her again. "You're just so impossible, like something out of a dream." He reached up and let his hand trail down her arm, lightly brushing the silk and then the skin of her arm. Shan took a small step closer, putting their bodies just inches apart.

"Most of my life has felt like a dream," she said softly, "but not this." Shan placed her right palm on Ian's chest over his heart. It pounded, warm and alive, against her hand. She looked up into Ian's face and found his eyes closed, his breathing heavy. Her own pulse quickened. Shan swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. From zero to sixty in record time, she thought. She wouldn't have believed it possible if she hadn't experienced it for herself.

"Sometimes," Ian said, opening his eyes, "sometimes I think I can see the tiger in you. The way you walk, the way you run. The way you stand silently, like you're gathering your power to pounce on something." He looked down at her, his cloudy eyes once again in shadow. "But in my mind, I'm the crane. A bird, an animal that's hunted. Sometimes," he whispered, "I wonder if you'll destroy me."

They were so close now. She felt his breath on her face, across her lips. She wanted to take his mouth first, and then his body. She wanted to claim him, to encompass him.

She wanted to devour.

"No."

Shan pushed him back and stumbled away in the other direction. The tiger, is that what this was? At one time, the spirits of all five animals had danced in her veins. Had the tiger devoured them, too? Left her with nothing but the drive to hunt and kill?

And Ian had lived with the crane for ten years. Was she really some dream come true to him, or a nightmare? The five animal statues belonged together, as surely as yin and yang, as love and hate. Were the ancient forces of the statues pulling her and Ian together, molding them into some human form of the Jade Circle? Shan looked at Ian, now outlined by the moonlit window behind him. How could she ever know for sure?

"Shan, what is it? I didn't mean--"

"Yes, you did," she said quickly. "It's the animals. They're clouding our judgment." She couldn't look at him. This was her fault, the fault of her ancestors. They had failed to protect the jade animals, and now the power of the Jade Circle was seeping out into the world, one statue at a time, affecting innocent people like Ian and Etienne. If anyone ever harnessed the power of the full Jade Circle, how many more would suffer?

"Shan, I don't need mystic powers to show me how beautiful you are." Ian started to walk toward her. "That stuff about the tiger... That was just my mouth running away from me." Another step. "Please, Shan. Don't push me away again."

"Maybe it is all a dream, Ian, and we both need to wake up." Her voice sounded cold and distant, even to her.

"You don't mean that." In contrast, Ian's voice almost bled in the air between them, open and raw and on the verge of pain. He stopped walking toward her. The moon glared just above his shoulder. The wind gusted, and the branches of a huge tree scratched against the house like an army of rats.

"Tell me you don't mean that," he said again, softer. "Please."

Shan turned away again from him again. She couldn't think straight when she looked at him. His face twisted her heart and made reason impossible. No, she didn't want this--whatever her relationship with Ian was--to be a dream. And if it was, she certainly didn't want to wake up from it. Even if the jade statues were involved in her desire for this man, she needed to trust them. She had trained her mind and body to harness their powers when she fought and when she centered herself. Why did she want to fight them now, just because her heart was involved?

"Ian, I--"

Shan turned around just as Ian groaned and slumped to the floor unconscious, his white shirt still glowing in the moonlight. A figure wrapped in black stepped out of the shadows and stood where Ian had been just seconds before.

"Ian!" Shan grabbed the nearest thing in reach--a heavy crystal ashtray--and whipped it at the figure's head. The figure stepped quickly to the side and deflected the ashtray with the palm of a hand. But Shan was already moving, ready to claw and kick and snap the figure's head off its shoulders if she could.

"Stop it," the figure said in Mandarin. "Is that how you greet an elder now, Song Shan?" The voice was raspy and old, and distinctly female. It took only a second for the memories to spread like lightning through Shan's mind. She stopped her attack instantly.

"Sifu!" Shan fell to her knees, pressed her palms together in front of her, and bowed low until her forehead touched the ground. "Forgive me, Revered One. Forgive me."

CHAPTER 8

Shan continued to bow low as the woman laughed.

"I see you have not forgotten everything from your childhood, Shan. There is still hope for you."

As Shan bowed, she glanced at Ian, still crumpled on the floor a few feet away. His white T-shirt rose and fell in a slow rhythm. Shan closed her eyes for a moment, relieved that her teacher, Sifu Xia, had not killed him.

"Get up," Xia snarled. "I can see you looking at the man."

Shan stood slowly, trying to calm herself. The last time she had seen Sifu Xia, Shan had been twelve, and children of twelve respected their elders without question. It seemed Xia was determined to re-establish that arrangement.

"You had no right to hurt the man, Sifu," Shan said quietly.

Xia stepped out of the shadows and lowered her hood, revealing the blood-red scar across her cheek that had terrified Shan as a student. Xia never spoke of it, although Shan had overheard other adults mentioning it once. Xia had spent three months healing after they'd brought her to the Jade Circle when she was young. And ever since then, Xia had fought against men being allowed in the Circle--as husbands, sons, or members.

"I can do whatever I please, Song Shan," Xia said.

"My name is Shan Westfall."

Xia spat onto the expensive rug. "You take your father's Western name instead of your mother's, and you still claim allegiance to the Jade Circle? Disgusting."

"They are both my parents, Sifu, and both worthy of my respect." Shan continued to use the honorific sifu as a reminder to herself that this woman deserved respect as well as her parents. As Shan's teacher--her sifu--Xia had spent more time helping Shan perfect her technique than anyone, including Shan's own mother. Xia let no girl leave the confines of the Jade Circle unless she could defend herself and kill whoever attacked her.

"Tell me, Song Shan," Xia growled, "how would your mother feel about you giving the jade dragon to one of her mortal enemies?"

Shan's face burned. "You have been following us," Shan said. "Why didn't you help us keep the dragon?"

"Oh, it's going to be my fault, now, is it?" Xia walked closer and began to circle Shan. "You left the Circle too young. You are ignorant and incompetent. You are not worthy."

It was the same lecture Shan had heard again and again as a child. The other teachers did not approve of Xia's methods, but they couldn't argue with the woman's results. Shan knew she was stronger for all Xia's pushing and put-downs. Now, however, Shan had no use for her rebukes.

Shan stood.

"Why did you give the dragon to Fortier?" she said, proud of the even tone in her voice. "And if you were watching him, where were you when our enemies arrived?"

"Ah," laughed Xia, "I see how it is with you, Song Shan. Too old for our games now. We shall see about that." Xia continued her circling. Shan held her breath every time the older woman walked near Ian. Xia had been the guardian of the dragon for several years before she had given it to Fortier, and before that, she'd had the power of all five animals flowing through her veins. If she wanted to hurt Ian again, she would move without warning and almost impossibly fast.

"You did not answer my questions, Sifu."

"I gave the dragon to that man for safekeeping," Xia said. "The dragon's influence was making me wild, erratic. I began to think I would do something foolish without the other animals to balance it." Xia's voice softened slightly as she spoke. The woman missed her sisters of the Jade Circle, probably even more than Shan. "So I gave it to that sniveling man, and he hid and coveted it, as all men do."

Shan nodded. It made sense. She could never have parted with the tiger, her last link to the mother and the Jade Circle, but Xia was wiser than her gruff demeanor. It had been a good plan.

"Except--"

"Except where was I? I was off answering the call of a fellow sister, the one entrusted with the jade snake." Xia's face contorted, her scar an angry wave amidst her wrinkles. "Chen Sun is dead. I found her beaten and..." Xia's eyes hardened.

Shan lowered her gaze.

"Raped. She was raped," Xia said finally. "There are things not even the Jade Circle would ask of us, but Sun gave them all. Stupid bitch."

Xia's face held so much anger and so much pain, yet the woman refused to let any of it out. Only now, after so many decades of collecting it, Xia's prison walls were crumbling. How soon before all that emotion shattered through Xia's formidable defenses? Would she ever be able to contain it again?

In Shan's memory, Xia had been six feet tall at least, and scarier than almost anyone. But now, the sixty-year-old looked like a child, short and thin and not at all terrifying. Shan wanted to take two steps toward Xia and pull the older woman against her shoulder. To offer her the safety and the release that she so obviously needed.

Instead, Shan remembered Sun. Most of Shan's childhood memories came in snippets of sound or scent or motion, as if the past was playing hide-and-seek with her. Now, however, the image of Sun's smiling face filled Shan's mind. Sun had loved food, especially the sweets Shan's father would bring her from America. She had been an expert with the sword, and one of Xia's best students. Sun had been widowed the year before the Circle fell, and her two sons had chosen not to stay after the funeral. Shan tried not to picture Sun's round face bloodied and swollen, her body ravaged, but the images came anyway.

Xia's harsh voice pulled Shan from her waking nightmares. "They have the dragon and snake now," Xia said. "And you have?"

"The tiger and the crane."

Xia nodded. Shan looked at the nightstand where Ian's messenger bag lay. She walked over to the bag, pulled out the crane, and offered it to Xia.

The older woman smiled and accepted the statue gently into shaking hands. "So beautiful," Xia breathed. She closed her eyes and let her fingers trace the crane's curves and angles. The crane glowed softly in response, adding its milky-green aura to the yellow light of the room. Shan felt the power radiating from the jade animal and Xia, and herself.

"Who has the leopard?" Shan asked.

Xia shook her head. "I don't know. I don't even know how Sun found me. We were not supposed to know the location of the other animals. Lin-Yao knew them all, and they died with her."

"So my mother is dead, then?" The energy coursing through Shan's body seemed to slow and stop all at once.

Xia spat again. "I did not see her fall, child, but not even she could have survived all those attackers. Men are cowards."

As if on cue, Ian groaned and started to sit up.

Shan saw Xia starting to move toward him and managed to put her own body between them. She suppressed the thought of her mother and tried to focus.

"Please do not harm him again, Sifu," Shan said, crouching by Ian's side to help him sit. "He is neither cruel nor a coward."

Xia snorted. "Then he is no man."

Shan frowned but said nothing. It was far too late to heal Xia's hatred, and Shan had never been good at that sort of thing anyway. When the tiger wanted a heart-to-heart, it used claws, not conversation.

Ian opened his eyes, saw Shan, and tried to smile.

"You really need to stop falling unconscious," Shan said softly in English.

"I agree," said Ian, "but the waking up part is always so nice."

From behind her, Xia grunted. Ian's eyes widened.

"He's still here?"

Shan switched to Mandarin and tilted her body to give Ian a good look at Xia. "Sifu Xia, this is Ian Dashell, carrier of the sacred crane. Ian, this is Xia, one of my honored teachers from the Jade Circle."

Ian struggled to his feet. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Respected One," Ian said in Mandarin, bowing his head. His accent was excellent. Shan dared Xia to find fault with it.

Xia snorted again, her arms folded across her chest, but her eyes sparkled slightly. "So, boy, you carried the crane?"

"Yes, I had that honor for ten years, Respected One," Ian said.

The edges of Xia's mouth twitched, almost into a smile. Shan wanted to dance wildly about the room in celebration. Xia hadn't even liked Shan's father enough to almost smile at him. It was a good sign. A very good sign.

Shan couldn't help but think that if Xia had met Buckley instead of Ian, she'd be digging a shallow grave right about now.

"You must be thirsty from your journey," Ian continued in Mandarin. "Please allow me to get you some tea."

"I would enjoy tea," said Xia, "but none of that dreadful English shit."

Now it was Ian's turn to smile. "Of course not, Respected One." He bowed again, winked at Shan, and left the room. The door made a soft click as it closed behind him. Thank goodness Xia had rendered him unconscious without hitting him in the head. One concussion was enough for the poor man.

Xia stared at the closed door, her look thoughtful. "Interesting," she said, and Shan raised another silent "Hurrah!" for Ian.

"Now," Xia said, making herself comfortable in a huge leather armchair, "you'll tell me why we're on this island, and everything else you know."

Shan nodded. She seated herself in a chair opposite Xia and began the tale, from the magazine interview that had led her to Buckley, Ian, and the crane, to the invitation that had brought them to England. Somewhere in the middle, Ian arrived with a tray of hot green tea in exquisite Chinese cups. Xia's eyes sparkled at the sight. Ian's eyes sparkled at Shan. She tried to thank him with her eyes, to let him know how much she appreciated his cooperation. He smiled slyly and took a seat in the chair next to hers.

Xia closed her eyes and inhaled the tea's steam. "Aaaaah. So, a fancy auction? With places reserved in this man's name?" Xia nodded toward Ian as she sipped her tea. "Then I will go with him."

"No, Sifu--"

"What did you say?" Xia placed her tea cup on the table and sat up straight in her chair. "Did Lin-Yao's child just tell me no?"

Shan sensed Ian tensing in the chair beside her.

"Yes, Sifu," Shan said carefully, "I said no." She matched Xia's posture with her own, happy that she had almost a foot of height on her teacher. "I will be going to the auction with Ian."

"Impossible," Xia said at once. "This is too important."

"I understand its importance, Sifu," Shan said, "but this is my journey, not yours."

"You are not ready. You did not spend enough time in the Jade Circle to learn all you need for this."

Shan stared into Xia's eyes. "Yes, I am ready."

Xia stared back. "Then you will need to prove it to me."

"I accept your challenge," Shan said.

"What are you talking about?" Ian interjected. "I don't like the way this sounds."

"It doesn't matter what you like or don't like, boy," Xia said. "This is between Lin-Yao's daughter and myself."

"I have a name," Shan said tersely.

"Song Shan," said Xia. "I remember."

Shan stood. "Outside. By the pool. Now."

"Agreed." Xia leaped to her feet, ran past Shan, and jumped headfirst out the open window. Shan moved to the window and watched Xia somersault through the air and land on her feet like a cat. Xia's eyes glowed in the moonlight as she looked up at Shan and smiled.

Shan felt Ian's hand on her arm. "Shan, wait," he said. "Do you have to do this?"

"Yes," she said, "I do." Shan turned and touched Ian's hand resting on her arm. "Unless you're looking forward to a week on a remote island resort with Sifu Xia..."

Ian grunted. "Yeah, that's my fondest wish. And then I'm going to have a voluntary lobotomy."

"Then I need to do this," Shan said. "As much as I hate to admit it, Sifu Xia is right. The most capable one of us should go to the auction. Now I just need to show her that it's me."

Ian took a step closer, enveloping Shan in his aura of warmth. "What about your ribs?" he said softly. "You're injured."

"It's nothing," Shan said, but the words came out slowly. Ian's scent and the sharp white of his shirt were blocking her mind from rational thought.

"This isn't one of those to-the-death things, is it?" Ian skimmed his hand along her skin--up to her shoulder then back down to her forearm. Shan barely resisted the urge to groan and slip further into his arms.

"Members of the Jade Circle don't kill each other," Shan whispered. She stared into Ian's eyes and saw the heat that they both felt.

Something whizzed by Shan's head and lodged itself in the window frame. A nut of some kind. Shan looked down at the lawn and saw Xia aiming another one.

"I'm surprised she missed," Ian said softly.

"She didn't. First one was a warning."

"Can I watch the fight?" Ian asked.

Shan nodded. "But only if you don't interfere. Xia might use that as an excuse to kill you."

She couldn't risk another look at Ian's face, not with his body so close. Shan put her hands on the windowsill and vaulted out the window. She landed and rolled in the soft grass. Pain erupted in her side, but she gritted her teeth and didn't cry out. Her adrenaline was already flowing, and, combined with her body's chi, would prove sufficient to dull the pain for the upcoming fight. Provided it didn't go on too long, that was.

She stood. A cool night breeze plastered her silk nightgown against her skin and caused it to snap at the bottom.

"Damn." Shan had forgotten what she was wearing. She doubted she'd be able to kick very high wrapped in a tight sheath. At her side, already hidden in the shadows of the house, Xia chuckled. Shan spared her teacher a glower, then reached down and ripped the nightgown along the seam, stopping when it reached the top of her thigh. She mirrored the rip on the other side.

"Much better," Shan muttered.

"Let's go," Xia said in Mandarin, and the old woman was off, running across the lawn at an incredible speed. Shan bolted after her. It felt like the old games they used to play outside the sanctuary. The cool grass and warm earth caressed her feet as she ran. Laughter welled in her lungs, and she longed to release it into the night. But the Dashells and their servants slept just a few feet away, and the fewer spectators they had for their fight, the better.

Ahead of her, Xia paused at odd intervals; she seemed to jump into the air and somersault for no reason. Shan looked to the house and saw the cameras. She altered her own path and dodged their gaze as well. Together, she and Xia leaped, rolled, and ran their way to the expansive backyard of Dashell Manor.

The pool sat back, away from the house, and trickled darkly. A wide, circular spa rested at one end, dribbling its contents slowly into the large, oval pool. A rope cut the pool across its middle and floated quietly with the help of several white buoys. A five-foot-wide path of concrete outlined the pool and separated it from the surrounding grass and trees. Chairs and tables were scattered around the concrete.

Xia stepped onto the concrete and turned to face Shan. Shan arrived a second later and took her place opposite her teacher. Behind them, Shan could hear Ian's footsteps across the grass.

"I am sorry to prove your weakness in front of your man," Xia said, though the smile on her face spoke otherwise.

"I will do my best, Sifu, as I was taught."

Shan placed her palms together and bowed low. Xia deserved, and would always deserve, such respect from her. Shan didn't always agree with Xia's methods, but the woman's skills and devotion to the Jade Circle were an inspiration to Shan, as well as to any of the other students who had cared to see beyond Xia's coarse words and painful reproaches.

Xia bowed as well, but not as low.

Shan began the attack, using a standard method taught at the Jade Circle. Xia knew nothing of Shan's training since the Circle was broken, and Shan wanted to keep it that way until later in the fight. Hopefully, Xia would grow overconfident.

Xia countered Shan's initial attacks easily. The older woman's hands and feet blurred with speed in the darkness. Xia was small, but she had learned to compensate. Her lightning responses almost caught Shan off guard. Silently, Shan thanked the ponytailed woman named Dart for warming her up for such attacks.

They circled each other, crossing from the concrete onto the grass, and back again. Xia tested Shan with another series of attacks, these based on the five animals. She used two fingers to whip at Shan's temple, like a dragon tail. Her hands lashed out, alternating between leopard paws, tiger claws, snake's tooth, and the crane's beak. As Shan dodged and blocked, she understood. Xia was reminding her of the Jade Circle and their duty. She was reminding Shan that she had spent five decades in the presence of the jade animals, whereas Shan had spent barely more than one.

And she was showing off.

Shan dropped back, switched her fighting stance. Xia's eyes widened. It was not a stance taught at the Jade Circle. Shan had learned this style while studying Jeet Kune Do, the martial art devised by Bruce Lee. It was more practical than many of the older ways. As Xia kicked, Shan deflected the woman's leg with a kick of her own. Jeet Kune Do meant "way of the intercepting fist," and Shan had studied its methods long and hard.

Xia spun and kicked toward Shan's head, only to find herself blocked again. Shan aimed her answering blow at the woman's solar plexus, but only connected lightly with Xia's shoulder.

If Bruce Lee were still alive, and the Jade Circle still whole, Shan would have fought to join forces with him. Like the Circle, Lee wanted to bring martial arts to people who didn't have access to it. The Jade Circle had taught mainly women, and Lee had moved to America and taught non-Asians. Shan had often thought that the Jade Circle should have become public, like Lee's Jeet Kune Do schools. But would her mother and the other elders ever have permitted such a thing? Tradition can be a powerful master, even to those who purport to fight it.

Xia fought more warily now. She seemed to be studying Shan's movements. Shan kept herself light, shifted her weight from her lead leg to her back leg, then switched stances and did it again. Even with the element of surprise, Xia countered her attacks easily.

"So the martial arts of your ancestors aren't good enough for you, eh, girl?" Xia said.

"I had little choice but to seek out new masters," Shan said, "as you well know."

"Then who is your master now?" Xia flipped over Shan, landed, and tried to sweep Shan's legs. Shan ducked as Xia flew overhead, then leaped over the woman's spinning leg.

Shan smiled grimly. "I live and die for the Jade Circle."

Ian kept his distance, but Shan was glad for his balancing presence. She and Xia danced around the pool, assessing each other's strengths and weaknesses. Unfortunately, Shan was having trouble finding any of the latter.

Xia went on the offensive, and Shan found herself leaning more heavily on her Aikido training. The Japanese art contained no attacks, but its defensive techniques were some of the best in the world. Xia punched, and Shan used the woman's own momentum to lift and throw her teacher to the ground. Xia rolled quickly to the side. Shan's axe kick, intended for Xia's head, drove Shan's heel several inches into the soft dirt instead.

On her feet in an instant, Xia let loose with a blazing series of attacks that drove Shan backward, toward the pool. Shan's body reacted to the assault as it was born to do. Her arms and legs moved to block and dodge even before her brain could register the need to protect itself. Shan could see the mushin, the no-mind state, in Xia's eyes as well. The two of them blurred into one animal, twisting and darting endlessly.

Xia caught Shan in the chest with a kick. The blow sent Shan stumbling back and reeling from the pain in her ribs. Her foot tripped on the edge of the pool. Shan arched her back and flipped onto the buoy rope stretching across the pool. Her legs sank into the icy water up to her calves, and the tips of her silk gown clung to her flesh. She balanced carefully and stepped further back, motioning for Xia to join her on the watery tightrope. They'd been fighting for ten minutes at least, and it was time to up the stakes.

"You fancy a dip in the pool, is that it?" Xia said. "I'll be happy to give you hand. Or a foot. Maybe both."

But the old woman looked apprehensive as she eyed the rope. Or maybe Shan was just hoping she looked apprehensive. Xia somersaulted into the air and landed on the rope in her fighting stance. The rope wobbled beneath their feet. Shan thought of the crane, its wings outstretched, and found her balance.

Xia launched a vicious kick at Shan's face. Shan caught Xia's leg, the old woman's ankle impossibly small in her hand, and yanked, trying to pull Xia into the water. Instead, the old woman used the energy to jump high and kick Shan with her other foot. The sole of Xia's shoe smacked Shan square in the nose. She let go of Xia's leg and staggered back, trying to keep the rope below her center of gravity, despite the stinging in her face. A trickle of warm blood dribbled onto Shan's lips.

The rope jerked slightly as Xia landed.

"First blood to me, child."

"It's the last blood that matters," growled Shan. She hopped up as Xia's leg swept under her, and landed back on the rope. Shan feinted with a kick, then went for a sweeping blow to Xia's temple. Xia blocked, but the angle of the strike almost caused her to lose her balance. Shan followed up with a flurry of strikes on that side: hook punches, ridgehands, roundhouses. Xia blocked and deflected each one. Suddenly, Shan feinted to that side again, then spun fast and hit Xia with a kick from the other side. The old woman's arms swung wildly as she tried to regain her balance. Shan crouched on the rope and swept Xia's legs.

Xia jumped awkwardly from the rope and landed hard on the concrete surrounding the pool. She rolled to her feet, but the cloth over her left shoulder was ripped, revealing bloodied flesh below. Shan's conscience flared. She hated using her training against a friend. But this was Xia's choice, and the woman's right. If Shan pulled her punches, she would disrespect and demean a woman whom she truly admired.

She had no choice but to continue until Xia called stop.

Shan ran along the rope toward Xia. Just before she reached the edge of the pool, Shan kicked water into Xia's face. The smell of chlorine had hung in the air since they arrived, giving her the idea. Xia wiped at her eyes and stepped backward, but not before Shan was on her.

There weren't many people in the world that Shan outweighed, but Xia was definitely one of them. Shan tackled the older woman, and the two of them tumbled into the grass. The Jade Circle had never emphasized grappling, since women were almost always at a disadvantage when doing it. Xia squirmed, but Shan contained her. Xia tried to punch, to kick, to scratch, to poke, but Shan stopped her.

"I win, Sifu," Shan huffed in Mandarin.

Xia managed to drive her knee into Shan's side, dangerously close to her wounded ribs, but Shan kept her grip.

"I win," she repeated. "You must concede."

Shan heard Ian's footsteps behind her and, at first, thought he was walking closer. But the sound lessened, and she realized that he was giving them privacy. Giving Xia the space she needed to admit defeat.

"You cheated," Xia spat. "Kicking water in my eyes. Where's the honor in that?"

Shan grinned. "A wise woman once told me there was no limit to the number of weapons the earth provides, and that we should seek to see them all, at all times."

"Must have been an idiot who told you that," Xia said, but she stopped struggling. Shan released the older woman and sat up into a crouch.

"One woman's idiot is another woman's Buddha."

Xia laughed. She sat up and put a hand to her wounded shoulder. "You win," she said, "at least for now."

"We're going to have to do this again?" Shan couldn't keep the weariness from her voice.

"Yes," said Xia, "but only after you teach me some of those fancy steps. This old bitch can still learn new tricks."

Shan laughed and tackled Xia again, this time in a hug. She ignored the woman's indignant sputtering but eventually released her again.

"You've been tainted by the West," Xia said scornfully. "All this hugging and mushiness. Disgusting."

Shan lay back on the grass and stared up at the stars. "Yes, Sifu, I suppose I have been." In more ways that you know, she added silently, thinking of Ian. But not as many as she'd like.

Ian gave Xia the spare bedroom next to Shan's, though her teacher had wanted to stay in the same room with Shan. Back at the Jade Circle sanctuary, the women had always shared rooms and beds with each other unless they were married or had children. Shan had almost agreed to Xia's wish, but something stopped her. Maybe Xia was right, and she had been tainted in a bad way by living in America. But the freedoms she'd had growing up were exactly the sort of things that the Jade Circle had been fighting for.

Shan walked over to the open window. A breeze welcomed her. She sat on the windowsill and let the breeze cool the sweat on her face.

What a day. What a night. What a week.

Being around Ian brought out feelings she'd thought had been lost to her forever. His presence tugged at her heart and her body, and they brought her mind kicking and screaming along with them.

On the other hand, she'd never been closer to recovering the Jade Circle animals. Their absence had driven every decision she'd made since she came to America, and now the path to their recovery lay before her. The tiger in her growled, eager to leap forward and reap its destiny.

How could she be so certain about one thing, and so uncertain about another?

Shan laughed. Yin and yang. No love without hate, no happiness without sadness, no decision without indecision. The Chinese were so damn smart about everything.

Shan walked to the bed and peeled the remnants of her silk nightgown over her head. Ick. Chlorine, blood from her nose, grass stains, and two big rips up the sides. She tossed it in the little enameled trashcan by the nightstand and started digging through the clothes Geof had put on her bed.

Bingo.

Shan's underwear followed the nightgown into the trash, and she pulled on a fresh pair. Clean underwear was better than sex, Shan thought. At least, from what she knew of sex so far. She found a soft oversized T-shirt in light blue and pulled it on.

Absolute heaven.

Shan moved the rest of the clothes into the wingback chair, then searched for the crystal ashtray she'd used as a missile weapon earlier. She found it embedded halfway into the wall. In the end, she decided it looked better there than the big hole she'd create by removing it.

Besides, none of the Dashells smoked.

Shan climbed onto the bed and stretched. After so much activity, so much yang, her body certainly needed its fair share of yin. Then why was her mind so busy? Images flittered in and out of her brain like butterflies.

The dead security guard at the university. Buckley's leering smile. Ian's ruffled hair. Fred and Ginger, the Chow Chows. The jade tiger at her studio. The jade crane in its bag. The jade dragon at the tip of her fingers. One-eye. Xia.

Her mother.

Shan rolled to her feet, pulled back the bed's layers of sheets and comforters, and crawled into its warmth. The bed was huge, and canopied, and made her feel like a little girl. The playful breeze was back, this time swishing the gauzy drapes hanging from the canopy.

Someone rapped lightly on the door.

"Xia," Shan said.

But when the door opened, it was Ian.

"I know it's late," he said, "but I couldn't sleep without..."

"Without what?" Shan said. The bed covers were suddenly too heavy, too hot.

"Without making a complete fool of myself? No, wait. I already did that a few times today."

Shan laughed. "You did no such thing." She sat up in the bed, her back cushioned by a mountain of pillows. Her mind immediately summoned the image of Ian resting against the pillows at her side, their hands exploring, the wind blowing, their mouths about to touch...

"Are you okay?"

Shan gulped. "Yes, sorry." She felt the heat in her cheeks and laughed again. "Apparently it's my turn to make a fool of myself."

"I don't see how that's possible," Ian said.

He hadn't moved from his spot just inside the doorway. Shan was still in the bed. The distance between them seemed both unfathomably large and almost nonexistent. The sexual tension was asphyxiating her.

Shan was not a woman to wait for her fate. Not even a fate that terrified her.

"Ian," she said.

"Yes?"

"Close the door."

CHAPTER 9

Ian took a step back and closed the door without removing his gaze from Shan. The hair on his head stood up in its trademark disarray.

"It's late," he said.

"Yes." Shan pulled back the covers and slid her feet onto the floor. She stood, feeling every bit as sexy in her oversized cotton nightshirt as she had in the silk gown.

"We both need sleep."

"Yes." Shan padded toward him.

"You have an appointment in the morning."

Shan stopped inches in front of Ian and looked up into his eyes. "One kiss."

Ian's gaze wandered down her face, her neck, her body. "Just one?" he croaked.

"Just one," Shan said. "Then we go to separate beds."

Ian gulped and nodded, still tracing her curves with his stare. "One kiss. Then bed. Got it."

"Do you?"

Shan brought her body even closer to his and mirrored his pose. Their fingers wavered a mere inch apart. Their forearms, their biceps, their shoulders. Her chest brushed against his, cotton on cotton. Their hips and thighs and knees, separated by just inches of flimsy, inconsequential air.

Keeping her eyes locked on Ian's, Shan brought one hand up to his face. She brushed the tips of his hair, his eyelid, the side of his nose, the corner of his mouth. She drew a long, thin line down the length of this throat and heard him groan.

Energy surged through her body. Her fingertips tingled, feeling like they would spark against his flesh. Ian's face softened around his mouth, but grew yet more intense around his eyes. Deep, shadowed secrets lay within, and Shan wanted to explore.

She brought her lips to his, but didn't touch him. Not yet. She wanted him to feel the chi leaping between them, drawing them closer. Driving them mad.

Ian growled deep in his throat and turned his head, careful not to touch their mouths together. The sooner they kissed, the sooner it would be over, and Shan didn't want that. But each heartbeat that kept her from that joining drove her closer to losing control and kissing him anyway.

Shan swallowed, her mouth dry. Every nerve ending in her body prickled. As she and Ian stood there, wavering, their bodies brushed each other and parted a dozen times.

More. She wanted more.

Ian's hand caressed the cotton at her waist and traveled upward, to her uninjured ribs. His thumb grazed the bottom of her breast and Shan gasped, her eyes wide. Ian stepped back, and Shan pursued. She led him to a wide chair, the one not covered in clothes. Still facing her, Ian braced himself on the chair's arms and sat.

Shan followed, putting one knee to the right of his thighs, the other to the left. Their legs pressed warmly against each other, their bellies flattened into one. Shan burned like a bonfire, dangerous and almost out of control. Her entire body felt consumed with flames, and each touch from Ian's body added more fuel to the fire.

Her face was higher than his. Shan gripped the back of the chair on either side of his head and stared into his eyes. An animal need stared back at her. Shan had no idea how they stayed so much in control with such elemental forces driving them to lose it.

She said nothing. She didn't need to.

Shan communicated only with her hands, her eyes, the parting of her lips. Ian answered by tilting his head, letting his eyelids slip almost all the way closed. It was an irrefutable language, more powerful, more meaningful, more primal than any involving words.

And they kissed.

Shan fell, spiraling into a deep abyss filled with explosions of light and color. Her heart thrummed in every vein. She sank against Ian, trying to join as much of their flesh as possible.

Ian moaned. His hand found the small of her back and pulled. Her mouth opened wider; his followed, lip against lip. The harder she pressed him, the longer it would last. If she tried, it might last forever.

Shan closed her eyes, lost in sensation, then forced herself to open them again. She found Ian's eyes staring back into hers, and wanted to roar.

His lips. The taste of his flesh. The smooth feel of his skin and his cotton shirt, rubbing against her.

Those impossible eyes in that impossible face.

How long did it last? Shan had no idea. Was it long enough? No. No. A world of no.

Shan felt their combined energy change its shape. Lust gave way to passion and, if possible, something new. Startled, frightened, Shan severed the gentle expanse of their kiss.

She studied his eyes, searching, as he studied hers.

Shan couldn't speak. Slowly, she stood up and released him from the chair. Her body felt strangely incomplete standing there by itself.

Ian rose to his feet, clearly incapable of words. He shook his head and smiled, the edges of his mouth twisting wryly. Shan managed a small smile in return, but was likewise without a voice.

One kiss? One kiss? What had she been thinking?

Ian wobbled slightly on his way to door and stopped to steady himself on the bedpost. It would be so easy to knock him backward onto the bed and finish what they had started. But the clock on the nightstand glared at her. It was almost three in the morning, and her appointment was for eight. If she touched Ian again, she'd get no sleep tonight. And she might damage her ribs further. And she might lose the next fight she was in. And maybe she'd be fighting to defend Ian.

Shan closed her eyes, breaking the intensity that flashed between them like lightning. She heard him move to the door and open it. After a second, she heard it snick closed again. He was gone.

Inside, however, her body continued to burn.

Shan escaped Dashell Manor early in the morning with Geof, leaving Ian to explain the sudden appearance of "Aunt Xia" to his parents. Ian could certainly handle the social awkwardness, and Xia could handle most physical threats in case One-eye showed up. Of course, now Shan had to worry that Xia would injure Ian, or Ian's father, or one of the servants. But her Sifu would probably show them the respect due to a host. As least Shan hoped she would.

Geof held the back door of the car open for Shan as she descended the huge staircase in front of the house. The comfy jeans and red, long-sleeved top she'd found on the clothes pile that morning fit perfectly and made her feel clean for the first time in days. Even the tailored wool pea coat looked good.

Shan walked up and closed the door.

"I'd prefer to sit up front, with you," she said. Geof nodded and went to open the other car door for her. "No, no," Shan said quickly, "I've got it." Geof simply smiled and let her.

Shan tucked herself into the car and fastened her seatbelt. She plied Geof with questions as he drove, and even got him to laugh a few times. By the time they arrived at the acupuncturist, they were in a heated argument.

"Jackie Chan, without question," Geof said.

"You've got to be kidding," Shan countered. "Yeah, he's an awesome stuntman, but all his training comes from the Peking Opera. I'd put money on Jet Li over Jackie any day of the week."

Geof snorted. "Have you actually seen any of his latest films?"

Shan laughed. "Oh, and Jackie Chan has been starring in Oscar-winners? But that's not the point."

"The point is," Geof said, "that we've arrived." He pointed to a pleasant ochre-colored building and pulled into one of the four parking spots out front. "I'll be here when you're finished."

Shan unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door. "You're not going to be bored, are you?"

"Absolutely not. I've got some errands to run."

The acupuncturist, a young Caucasian woman named Dr. Kelly, confirmed Shan's diagnosis of one cracked rib and several bruised ones. The doctor went to work with her little steel needles while Shan dozed on the examining table.

"This isn't going to heal you completely," the doctor said. "Ribs take time."

"I know," said Shan, "but I heal quickly, so I'm hoping for the best."

The doctor felt Shan's pulse, studied the color of her tongue, felt the temperature of her fingers and toes. Then she had Shan lay on the bed while she dabbed metal pins into the pressure points along the energy meridians running through Shan's body.

While the acupuncture pins redirected energy to her ribs, Shan's mind drifted to thoughts of her mother.

"Mother, why can't Father fight like you?" Shan stood in front of the shrine and ran her fingers around of the edge of the Jade Circle. Crane, leopard, snake, tiger, crane...and the dragon in the middle. Behind her, Lin-Yao practiced with broadsword. Shan turned and watched. Her mother moved like a silk dragon, smooth and deadly. But Shan was bored. Her mother was ignoring her, and her father wouldn't leave his musty old books. "Mother, why?" she whined.

Lin-Yao continued her practice. The springy blade of the broadsword wobbled with each move, the green sash tied to the handle whipping around like a tail. Soon, other women would fill the chamber. They would meditate before the jade animals, and they would practice the ancient ways. Shan should be practicing, too, but she didn't want to.

Shan's mother finished her sword form, bowed, and finally looked at her daughter. Shan found herself standing straighter immediately. Lin-Yao walked to the wall and hung the broadsword in its place.

"He does not fight because he does not want to, child."

Shan frowned. "But why?"

Lin-Yao smiled at her daughter, and Shan's heart melted. Her mother was the most beautiful woman in the whole Jade Circle. No, the whole world. "Because not everyone is the same, Shan," her mother said.

"I won't ever love someone who doesn't fight," Shan said, knowing her mother would disapprove of her tone. "I won't even be his friend."

Shan expected a rebuff, but her mother simply laughed.

"You are so young, my daughter. I think it impossible that I was ever your age."

Lin-Yao walked over and swept Shan into her arms. "My little tigress." Shan squirmed but didn't actually try to get away. "You will have many friends, child," her mother said, laughing, "and I will always be one of them."

When Shan and Geof returned to Dashell Manor a few hours later, Shan found all three Dashells in the backyard arguing about tea with Aunt Xia. Xia, for her part, looked as if she'd swallowed a rat. Ah, well, Shan thought with a smile, some friendships were simply not meant to be.

They had just a few hours before they needed to leave for the airport. Geof insisted she take all the new clothes, plus a new stack he had added.

Shan picked up the first glittery piece. "What's this?"

"Ian asked me to pick you up some formalwear, on the off chance you haven't five or six appropriate dresses at your flat in Los Angeles." Geof coughed politely. "The Ashton event is, apparently, black tie."

"Black tie?" Shan said stupidly.

"Apparently."

Shan stared back at the slinky dress in her hand, a sick feeling growing in her stomach. Geof let out one of his rare laughs. "Come now, Shan," he said. "You don't look like a woman who shrinks from danger, even of the deplorably aristocratic sort."

She grinned. His English accent made it impossible for her to be angry, even if she wanted to be. "Well, let's hope this dress doesn't shrink from it, either, or the aristocrats are in for quite a show."

"Everything's in," Ian said, slamming the trunk shut. He smiled, and Shan melted. They hadn't spoken about last night, but they were treating each other differently today. The flirting certainly hadn't stopped, but their stolen touches and lingering looks had taken on a depth that shook Shan to her core. Even standing here on the driveway with Xia and Ian's parents, she found her heart beating fast every time Ian looked at her, found her mouth dry and her skin tingling.

And found Xia snorting in disgust with almost every breath.

"I hope we see you again very soon, dear," Janet said to Shan, smiling. "Are you good with children? You look like you'd be good with children."

"Janet..." Mr. Dashell groaned.

Mrs. Dashell touched her husband's arm. "Now, shush, Henry. Shan knows that I'm just teasing. Right, Shan?"

"Of course, Janet," Shan said easily. Ian and his mother may have had issues, but Shan genuinely liked the woman. "And thank you again for Dr. Kelly. I'm feeling much better now."

Janet beamed.

"Okay, enough of this," Ian laughed. "If we don't flee now, we'll be sucked into dinner."

"Ooh, dinner!" said Janet Dashell. "You must stay!"

Somehow they managed to extricate themselves from Dashell Manor and make it to the airport. Mr. Dashell had insisted on buying their tickets to Los Angeles, and, of course, he booked them in first class.

Unfortunately, he assumed Shan would want to sit next to her "aunt" instead of Ian. She could just make out the top of his head three rows in front of her.

Sitting in the wide first class recliner, Xia looked even more like a child, especially because she kept her nose pressed against the window during much of the flight. At first, Xia had tsked and grumped at the incredible waste of space. By the second complementary glass of wine, however, her tune had changed somewhat.

"You have a school in Los Angeles?"

"Yes, Sifu," Shan said. "I named it The Way of the River."

Xia nodded. "I see. Is that tactic working?"

"Yes. We get women and a few men. They don't all stay, but at least they're the right type." Lydia, the real owner of the studio, had wanted to name it something like "Deadly Tiger" or "Golden Dragon" or "Invincible Fist." Something "cool," in Lydia's opinion. But the more dangerous the name of the school, the more attractive it looked to the wrong sort of people--the ones interested in tournaments and bragging rights and how fast they could get their black belt. "The Way of the River" implied a softer, more mental approach, which seemed to appeal more to women.

Shan understood why so many schools used different colored belts to mark status, but she wanted no part of that attitude in her school. Although it was proper to respect an elder and one who demonstrated great skill in something, all people were equal in her mind. Beginning students were still human beings. They didn't deserve to be treated like children just because they were brave enough to try something new late in life. Not all schools used the belt system, but many did. Shan didn't want her students to respect her, or each other, based on the number of stripes around her black belt. Bruce Lee had felt the same way, and, even after his death, most Jeet Kune Do students wore street clothes instead of uniforms to class.

"Sifu," Shan said, "how many of us are left?"

Xia shook her head. "I know what you know. Nothing. When Lin-Yao entrusted me with the dragon, I did not ask questions. I simply fled."

Shan heard something in Xia's voice. Guilt, if her own emotions were any clue. If they had all stayed and defended the sanctuary, would it still be standing? Would her mother still be alive?

Shan lost her taste for the conversation--and for her first-class soy-glazed salmon with rice pilaf.

"I would be honored if you would teach at my school, Sifu," Shan said. "The advanced students, of course."

"I prefer the beginners," Xia said, clearly as eager to leave their discussion of fallen comrades as Shan.

"I'm not sure the beginners are...ready for you, Sifu. Things are very different in the States."

Xia harrumphed and turned her back to Shan, presumably to look out the window. Only it was night. Shan took the hint and went back to playing with her food. If only she'd brought a book, or had even thought to buy a notebook and pen at the airport. Some day, Shan intended to make a record of all the Jade Circle techniques, forms, and philosophical teachings. If she and Xia died, the knowledge would be lost forever. Living artifacts, that's what they were. Suddenly, Shan felt far more tired than her twenty-eight years deserved.

They arrived at the airport in Los Angeles rumpled and exhausted from a day of inaction. The woman at the customs counter gave Shan some trouble about the jade crane, but ultimately let her pass. Within a half an hour, they were outside and waiting for Lydia at LAX's Bradley International terminal.

"So this is L.A.," said Ian. One side of Ian's hair was matted down from his long nap on the plane. Shan longed to scruffle it back to life.

"Smart boy," groused Xia. Her English wasn't nearly as good as her Mandarin and her French, but she managed.

"L.A.'s probably not going to wow you with its beauty," Shan said, ignoring Xia. "But it has an energy that I love. And an incredibly diverse population."

Xia grunted, but said nothing.

They waited almost thirty minutes before Shan began to worry. She left another message on Lydia's cell phone.

"Do you think something's happened?" Ian asked.

"I don't know," Shan said, "but we're sure as hell going to find out." Lydia, just twenty-one and already a dot-com millionaire, had a blindingly bright future ahead of her. If something happened to her...

"Taxi!"

Shan could barely sit still on the long ride back to the Valley. She tried to stretch a little in back of the taxi, but her muscles complained instantly. It wouldn't be safe to continue stretching until she had a chance to warm up and get the blood flowing through her system.

"Lydia's a martial artist, right?" said Ian. "She should be able to take care of herself." He sat in the front with the driver. Xia sat next to Shan, watching the world go by out the window.

"She's only been studying two, maybe three years," Shan said. "She can definitely defend herself from the run-of-the-mill mugger or aggressive date, but a trained killer like One-eye..."

"Right," Ian said. He pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and handed it to the taxi cab driver. "And I'll pay for any tickets."

The driver grinned and hit the accelerator. Shan considered herself lucky if she could hit forty-five on any of the major highways during an L.A. rush hour, but this guy was good. He bobbed and weaved through the lines of traffic like a boxer in the ring.

"One-eye doesn't know where you live, does he?" Ian said.

Shan shook her head. "I certainly didn't tell him. But he and his boss managed to find the Fortiers in Chamonix and our sister Chen Sun in Moscow. I'm not sure what to think now."

"I will kill this man," Xia said, still looking out the window. "It's been a long time since I have killed one of them. My body aches to remember."

Ian shot a quick glance at the taxi driver, but the man kept his expression blank and his eyes on the road. Shan stared at her old teacher, both surprised and not surprised. Xia's pain ran deep, and in China, many of the women had killed to protect the sanctuary and themselves. But Shan had left that world and entered one where killing was called murder and people didn't talk about it like that.

But One-eye...

Shan gritted her teeth. "The man must definitely die, Sifu. Whichever of us has the opportunity first should take it."

"Agreed," Xia said.

Shan looked up at Ian in the front seat, but Ian's gaze was forward and his expression as blank as the driver's.

The Way of the River sat in Studio City, south of the 101, against the hill that separated the San Fernando Valley from the main part of Los Angeles. Originally a home, Lydia had pulled some strings and gotten the place rezoned for commercial use. Shan and Lydia lived upstairs in two of the bedrooms, and one of their students--Pauline--took the third. They kept the fourth bedroom available for guests.

Downstairs, they'd opened up most of the house into a great room with glowing hardwood floors. Raised ceilings allowed for weapon practice. They had a section with mats for falling and rolling, and mirrors along one wall. A small, formal office sat up front, but Shan did most of her practicing and meditating in the large, private sanctuary room in the back where she kept the jade tiger.

Behind the house, Lydia had paid landscapers to install a hot tub and a cool dip pool amid some tall shade trees, wildflowers, and the occasional stone shrine.

To Shan, it was even more beautiful than the Jade Circle sanctuary. That place had been built in a land of legend, tucked into a lush landscape of ancient trees and fresh soil. Simple and welcoming, it had reflected the beauty around it.

But in Los Angeles, the sky was forever dulled by pollution, and everything that tried to live here had a permanently parched look. Hot. Dry. Unchanging. The school's beauty had no choice but to come from within. Shan had dreamed it, and Lydia had made it real with her dot-com wealth. Its power and tranquility spilled out into the land nearby, creating an aura of life within a backdrop of desolation.

Shan told the driver to let them off a few hundred feet away from the school, along with their luggage. They approached slowly, listening.

"Lydia's car." Shan pointed to an apple-red Jetta parked in the driveway. So it wasn't an accident that kept Lydia from picking them up. Though an accident would probably be less dangerous than dealing with whomever One-eye had sent after her.

No, not Lydia too, Shan thought. Please, not Lydia. Shan could feel her skin tingling from her growing energy and the rush of adrenaline. Xia's eyes seemed brighter, too. Shan would have to watch her carefully. After what happened at the Fortier's and with Chen Sun, she guessed that Xia was craving blood. Shan didn't have a problem with that, as long as it wasn't Lydia's or Ian's by accident.

Something smashed on the second floor near Lydia's room.

"Ian, stay here and look for anyone trying to escape," Shan whispered. "Sifu, can you get onto the roof near that second window on the corner?"

Xia grunted indignantly.

"Right," Shan said. "I'll go in the front and up the stairs. We should be able to keep whoever it is trapped." She looked at Xia. "Lydia is about my height, with blonde hair and freckles." Don't hurt her, she added silently, knowing that Xia would chafe under such a direct order.

"Let's go."

Xia ran to the side of the building and started to climb. Shan had no idea how the old woman was finding hand and foot holds on such an apparently sheer face, but she didn't have time to find out. Shan pressed her body against the front door and turned the handle gently. It opened. Frowning, Shan pulled the door open and walked softly inside. Light filtered in through the many windows. It reflected off the mirrored wall, the hardwood floors, and the spears and broadswords on the weapons rack. A light breeze rippled the hanging scrolls on the far wall and tickled the large bamboo chimes dangling from the awning out back. Shan's heart gave a little leap of joy, but she didn't allow herself to linger.

She crept quickly up the stairs. Lydia's door was closed, but Shan heard a series of thumps coming from inside. And then, suddenly, the sound of the window smashing and a woman's scream.

Shan threw herself against the door, but it was locked. She took a quick step back and kicked it just under the knob with her heel. It burst open.

Xia stood over a prone man and punched him repeatedly in the face. Shan's jaw dropped.

The man was Buckley.

Buckley was nude.

Lydia stood in the corner, clearly dazed.

And also nude.

The bed was rumpled. Dishes and wine glasses lay scattered on the floor. Buckley and Lydia were nude. The room smelled of--

"Sifu, stop!" Shan yelled. "Stop!"

Xia didn't hear, or didn't want to hear, because she continued whipping punches into Buckley's face. Shan jumped across the bed and tried to pull her off. Xia fought back, elbowing Shan in the ribs and trying to stomp her foot when she got close. But the old woman's eyes never left Buckley. Her mouth contorted into a terrible grin as punched him again and again.

"Xia! Stop!" Shan grabbed Xia harder this time and forced her back, away from Buckley's bloodied face. "Stop, I said!"

Xia stopped struggling and shook off Shan's grip. She looked around the room. Her gaze fell on Lydia, still panting in the corner, and she seemed to regain her focus. "The girl," she said. "He was--"

"I know," said Shan. "You were trying to help her."

Xia nodded dully, her typical irritated expression replaced by one of surprise and fear.

Ian appeared in the doorway. "Bucks," he said weakly.

Buckley groaned, but appeared to be unconscious. A good choice, in Shan's opinion. He was going to have one hell of a headache when he woke up.

"Ian, will you please take Xia downstairs and make her some tea?"

Ian gulped and pulled his gaze away from his bloody friend. Shan noticed how carefully he avoided looking into Lydia's corner as he did so.

"I'd be glad to," he said. Shan walked Xia over to the door. Ian didn't touch Xia, but motioned for her to precede him into the hallway. She went without a grunt or a foul word. And without looking back.

Shan shut the door behind them.

"Lydia, put your clothes on."

But Lydia just stood there, naked and staring at her lover on the floor. Shan walked in front of her, breaking her line of sight. "Lydia," she said again.

The girl--the woman, Shan corrected--finally looked up at her. "The blood...it's so red," Lydia croaked. "It's going to stain."

"Shhh," Shan said. She pulled Lydia into a hug and felt her friend's answering sobs against her shoulder. Shan held her there for a moment, then carefully separated herself.

"Lydia," Shan said, "you need to focus. Think about your last form, Shadow of a Snake. Remember? You're almost done learning it."

Lydia nodded, her forehead crinkling. "Yes...yes, I remember."

"Good," said Shan. "I want you to think about that form as you get dressed. I'm going to want to see it in a minute, to see how you're coming along with it."

Lydia nodded and took a deep breath. Good, Shan thought. Breathing was the most important part. She watched as Lydia picked up her underwear from the floor and started to pull it on.

"Excellent," Shan said. And to think, she was just telling Ian how well Lydia was coming along in her martial arts, then Lydia completely froze when attacked by a sixty-year-old woman.

Admittedly, Lydia had probably been a bit distracted when the attack occurred, but still. It wasn't good. Shan wasn't teaching her well enough. Or the right things. Or both.

Lydia dressed herself as Shan knelt down and examined Buckley. At least from the neck up. She had no desire to examine him anywhere else in his current state.

Broken nose, definitely. Probably in several places. They'd have to take him the hospital, unless he wanted to live with that "lifetime of boxing" look. She rolled his head to the side and checked his mouth. He wasn't choking on blood or his own tongue, though it was certainly a mess in there. Shan was surprised that he hadn't lost a tooth. Or six. Xia was small, but that hardly mattered when she was channeling chi into her fist and fueling it with blind hate.

No, it was definitely a good thing that Xia wasn't going to the Ashton auction next week.

She hated to do it, but Shan wanted Buckley awake. Even with Ian's help, she doubted they'd be able to haul him to the hospital while he remained unconscious. Shan made a fist with her right hand and raised the knuckle of her middle finger above the others into a position her mother had called "the eye of the phoenix." Cringing, she took her modified fist and pressed the raised knuckle against the base of Buckley's broken nose.

He groaned. A nerve bundle sat just beneath the skin at that point. Apply enough pressure, and the resulting pain sent the brain a big wake-up call. Like this one, Shan thought. She pushed harder and Buckley sputtered awake. He blinked furiously and tried to pull himself away from her.

"Buckley, it's me. It's Shan. Everything's fine now." She touched his arm with her hand and calmed his chi with her own.

"But everything's not fine," said Lydia from behind her. "That evil woman just tried to kill my fiancé!"

CHAPTER 10

"It's just so...sudden," Shan said carefully. She and Lydia sat on a bench under the great weeping willow in the back. Ian was off to the emergency room with Buckley, and Shan had sequestered Xia in the guest bedroom upstairs until she could settle everyone down.

"I know," Lydia said, twirling a plucked daisy between her fingers, "but I love him so much. I don't want to live without him."

Shan bit her tongue. She wanted to say, "You're too young," "It's too fast," and "Good god, girl, it's Buckley!" But she knew what sort of response those would elicit from Lydia. And with good reason. Shan was only seven years older than her student, and in many ways beholden to Lydia. She had no right to treat Lydia like her daughter. Instead, she needed to walk the fine line of friend and older sister.

"He wants to join us," Lydia continued, "join the Jade Circle. He wants to live here with me--with us--and study martial arts and have a family." Lydia smiled as she spoke, barely able to contain her happiness.

"He's a professor at a university, Lydia, and an archaeologist--"

"I know! Isn't that exciting? Isn't it sexy?"

Shan had a hard time arguing with that.

"But he's a professor in New York State..."

"We already talked about that," Lydia said. "He's going to finish the year and move here. He can live here while he's looking for a position at UCLA or USC." Lydia looked into Shan's face, grinning. "We both want three kids, Shan. And two dogs! It's almost too good to be true."

"Almost," Shan muttered.

"Of course, we can't get married before his nose heals," Lydia continued. "That would ruin all the pictures."

Who was this person? The Lydia that Shan knew was a quiet, geeky woman who worked hard and stayed home on Friday nights. She hadn't even dated since the men had attacked her in the parking lot the night Shan rescued her.

Shan covered her face with her hand. She had told Lydia stories of the Jade Circle, and had fooled herself into thinking that Lydia shared Shan's dreams for the future. But the person Shan had met three years ago had been a scared little girl, and the person sitting next to her now was a woman. A woman who deserved to make her own decisions and her own mistakes.

Even if they involved Buckley.

"How long is that woman staying here?" Lydia asked, her voice cold. She stopped twirling her flower and began plucking off its petals. Viciously.

"She's never leaving," Shan said, "at least, if she takes me up on the offer to stay."

"You're joking."

"Not even a little."

"Shan, that woman cannot stay in the same house as Daniel and I. Not after what she did to him."

Shan didn't like the look in Lydia's eyes. She'd only seen in one time before--when she'd taken Lydia down to the police station to identify her attackers.

"Lydia, she's all I have left of the Jade Circle," Shan said quietly. "She has been without a home for so long--I want to share this one with her. I want it to be her home, too."

Lydia turned away from Shan, hiding her face behind a sheet of thin blonde hair. "I don't know if I can do it, Sifu. This is my house, and..."

And you own it, Shan thought. Lydia had never held that over Shan's head before, but she always feared the time would come. She'd just been hoping it would come much later, when Shan had some money of her own.

"If Xia goes, I go too," Shan said. "It's not an ultimatum. I'll still be your friend, and I'll teach you if you want, but I won't stay here without her."

Shan stood up and walked back into the house.

And found Xia in the main room, practicing. The old woman had donned an extra set of workout clothes from the upstairs closet, a pair of loose black pants and a thin black sweatshirt with a white stripe down the sleeves. Shan watched her leap, kick, and drop into a crane stance.

When Xia had finished the form, Shan said, "I don't know that one."

"I know."

Xia brought herself into the starting position, her feet together, her right fist pressed against her left palm, and waited.

Shan hesitated. She needed to buy supplies for the trip to the Ashton thing. She needed to clean the glass out of Lydia's room. And she needed to figure out how she was going to leave Xia, Lydia, and Buckley alone in the house while she and Ian were gone.

But it had been almost fifteen years since she'd had a chance to learn something new from the Jade Circle, or from Xia. And she had certainly been neglecting her training since this whole thing started. A little physical activity would give her mind and body a respite from the real world, at least for a while.

Shan walked into the room and stood a few feet from Xia. "I'm ready, Sifu."

They worked for almost an hour. By the end, Xia was correcting just small things--the angle of Shan's hand when she was spearing her imaginary opponent's throat, the timing of her foot as it arced toward her opponent's head. Sweat slid down Shan's face, cooling her skin with each breeze that swept through the house.

"Good," Xia said. "Ten more times."

Shan nodded and began again. Her sleeves and pant legs snapped in the air as she moved. The new form--"Shrine on the Mountain," Xia called it--had seemed awkward at first. Now, as her body learned the movements, requiring less of her brain, she began to understand its power. A hundred more times, five hundred more times, and she would be able to harness its lessons in a fight.

Afterward, they stood near the front of the school and drank from the water cooler. Shan needed a shower, but not just yet.

"Sifu, I want you to teach here," Shan said. "I thought I was ready to teach, but now...I just don't know."

Xia reached up and tugged on Shan's chin so she could look Shan in the eyes.

"I see the tiger, child. I see its claws deep in you." Xia's voice, raspy and low, had an almost sad quality to it while she spoke. "The tiger has little patience for all but the hunt. That you have done so much against its will speaks highly of your strength, Song Shan."

Shan tried to pull her head away, to avert her gaze, but Xia held her there with a grip of iron.

"You struggle with the tiger spirit, but now is not the time." Something flickered in Xia's eyes. "Your prey is before you, child. Use the tiger; let the tiger use you. Do not fight the ancient forces that want only the same thing you want."

"But Sifu, what about the balance? The five animals exist together, yet for so long now I have only felt the tiger."

Xia smiled, and the vicious scar running across her cheek curled up at its edge. "You were young when you studied at the Jade Circle, Song Shan. We did not complete your training."

"Then finish it now," Shan said. Finish it before I throw myself and Ian into even more danger next week, she added silently. "I will study as hard as I need to."

Xia shook her head. "It's not a matter of study, child. It's a matter of understanding. You have not fully grasped the power of the jade animals."

"Sifu, please," Shan said, her voice almost as tired as she suddenly felt.

"You will find the knowledge when you need to find it," Xia said. "That is how it works for all of us."

Shan pulled away from her teacher. Her sweaty clothes chafed her skin. "I'm too old for riddles, Sifu. Don't treat me like a child."

"For once, Song Shan, I am not treating you like a child," Xia said. The old woman cocked her head to the side like a dog. "I hear the men. I'm going up to shower."

Shan watched Xia bow as she left the room and climbed the stairs toward the bathrooms. As she vanished from Shan's sight, the front door opened, and Buckley walked in with a freshly taped nose.

"Lydia!"

From the backyard, Lydia squealed and ran into the house, pausing only to remove her shoes before running across the hardwood floors and into her lover's arms. Buckley grinned and caught her as she leaped. He spun her around, kissing her the whole while.

Ian stepped around Lydia's spinning limbs and smiled at Shan. He looked tired, as if this last stint at the hospital had finally succeeded in draining his energy, even after all they'd been through. Of course, it could have been the jetlag, or just six hours alone with Buckley that had done it. Whatever it was, his eyes warmed as he looked at her and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn khakis.

"Looks like I'm going to be a best man," he said, grinning.

You already are, Shan thought, but all she managed to say was, "Congratulations."

Later, they all sat around the chunky wood table in the kitchen and ate take-out. Shan put Xia on the end, far enough from Buckley and Lydia that she'd be able to intervene if something started, though Shan suspected that Xia could probably skewer Buckley between the eyes with a chopstick if she really wanted to. Missile weapons had always been a forte of Xia's.

Ian sat opposite Shan, his long legs accidentally brushing hers under the table every time he adjusted his posture. Which was surprisingly often, but still not often enough for Shan's tastes. Apparently she'd regressed back to a high school mentality when she'd met Ian, and footsy had once again become a viable distraction at the dinner table. Not that she was complaining.

"The orange chicken is good," Ian said, breaking the silence. Xia grunted but kept eating.

"Not as good as the stuff from that place in Collegetown," said Buckley, "but almost." He picked up a piece of shrimp from his plate and offered it to Lydia. She leaned forward and bit it, never taking her eyes off of her fiancé.

Fiancé.

Fiancé.

No, it just didn't sound right attached to a man like Buckley. But Ian had said Buckley had sounded sincere when they discussed it at the hospital. Buckley claimed that Lydia was just the sort of change he needed in his life. A bright star showing him a better path, or something like that. Ian seemed as shocked as Shan by the news, but was certainly hiding it better.

"Have you picked a date?" Shan asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Well, we don't want to rush anything," Lydia said immediately, "so we're definitely going to wait until you get back from that thing next week." She beamed at Buckley. Buckley scooped another fist-sized helping of fried rice into his mouth and then smiled back.

"Speaking of that thing," Shan said, happy to change the topic, "I need to go shopping for a few items, and I was hoping you'd join me, Lydia."

"What kind of things?"

Shan ran down her mental list. "Some dressy shoes that I can either fight in or kick off quickly. Accessories for the fancy dresses I picked up in England. And a wig."

"A wig? What color?" said Buckley. "And please say red. Oh god, let it be red." His gaze roamed freely over her body. Shan was suddenly worried that she, not Xia, would leap across the table and throttle him.

One look at Ian, and Shan saw that the thought was crossing his mind, too.

"Oh, stop," grinned Lydia. "He has a thing for redheads," she told Shan, "but I'm not dying my hair. I put my foot down."

"That's right," said Ian. "Good ol' Bucks here has dated a lot of redheads in his day. Sometimes more than one at a time."

Lydia wagged a finger at Ian. "You're not going to get me that easily. Daniel told me all about his sordid past."

"He did? Then you're braver than I thought," Ian countered.

"Very funny, Dash," said Buckley. "Now pass the soy sauce and shut the hell up."

Xia grunted, but, much to Shan's delight, continued to say nothing.

Lydia turned back to Shan. "So, yes, I'd be happy to go shopping with you. And, if we go to the mall, I can show you the bridesmaid dresses I'm considering."

Shan smiled and tried not to choke on her spicy chicken.

The next day, they shopped. Shan found a medium-short blonde wig that didn't look terrible with all her black hair hidden beneath it. With her green eyes, she'd easily be able to pass as a Caucasian at the party, especially when she was draped on Ian's arm.

Mmm. Ian in a tuxedo. Shan let herself study the sleek image that suddenly sprang into her mind. She'd always been a fan of the comfortable clothing favored by the Chinese, but the inventor of the tuxedo had been a genius, Western or not.

The shoe situation proved more challenging, but ultimately resulted in an assortment of low heels and slinky boots. Shan hated wearing heels, but, with a well-placed kick to the chin, it was pretty easy to drive the two-inch spike into someone's throat. Which would be your only option, Shan thought, since you'd kill yourself if you tried to run away in the damn things.

Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.

Shan and Lydia grabbed sandwiches at a mall shop and chatted more about Buckley and the wedding. Shan's objections were definitely starting to dissolve in the wake of Lydia's enthusiasm. The girl glowed from head to foot whenever she talked about it. Shan found herself grinning and smiling and actually feeling good about the whole thing. They talked about closing the school during Lydia's honeymoon and whether or not Buckley would make a good martial artist. Neither of them mentioned Xia, which was just as well. Shan had no desire to ruin such a relaxing afternoon.

But Ian apparently did.

When Shan and Lydia returned, they found Ian at home behind the computer in the front office, busily printing out reams of pages from the Internet.

"Ashton's half Chinese," Ian said as they walked in.

"Hello to you, too," Lydia snorted.

"Really?" said Shan. She dropped her bags on the floor and pulled one of the guest chairs over to Ian's side of the desk. "What else did you find out?"

Ian frowned. "Well, not that much, actually. Ashton stays out of the media, but does a lot with his money. Like sponsoring fighters in the Ultimate Fighting Championships, and funding some research in various parts of the world."

"The UFC. Ugh." A lot of martial arts schools trained their students to fight in that blood bowl. Shan despised it. Martial arts exhibitions were great--a fun way to introduce people to the art. But no-rules fighting for sport as they did in the UFC sickened her. "Did you find any schematics of Ashton's house?"

Ian laughed. "Most people don't put stuff like that up on the Internet."

Shan grinned and shrugged. She understood the value of computers and the Web, but Lydia the tech goddess took care of all that for the school. "Well, I had to ask," she said.

"Ashton calls the island Shangri-La, according to my parents, but I can't find it on any of the maps," continued Ian. "It's not one of the main two-hundred and thirty-five islands around Hong Kong." Several browser windows were open on the computer monitor, all containing different images of China.

"I wouldn't be surprised if the buildings are all subterranean," Shan said. "The government probably thinks the island is uninhabited." The Jade Circle sanctuary had been mostly underground, too. With the advent of planes and satellite photography, keeping a secret had become a lot harder.

"That makes sense," Ian said. "It also means that if we get into trouble while we're there, there's no getting help from the authorities or calling for reinforcements. Of course, that's generally the idea with the black market antiquities trade."

Neither one of them mentioned Ian's parents, who were invited to this event every year and had yet to inform Interpol. It was hard to picture Janet Dashell as a criminal, but the treasures in Dashell Manor hadn't been cheap--or even expensive--knock-offs. They were the real deal. Everyone drew their line in the sand in a different place, Shan thought. She doubted the Dashells would consider killing someone for any of their artifacts, yet the idea had certainly been occupying Shan's mind lately.

"So even if we find the snake and the dragon," Shan said, "we don't have a good way to get off the island."

Ian shook his head. "Nope. My parents said that boats arrive Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, but that no one can leave until Sunday."

"The main auction is Saturday night?"

"Yep."

"Well, we've got to either lay low until Sunday and hope to sneak the statues onto a boat," Shan said, "or blow the whole place to smithereens and cling to the debris until someone finds us."

"I vote for the former," Ian said.

"Then it's unanimous."

Ian continued to research while Shan and Lydia called all The Way of the River's students and told them that classes were canceled for at least another two weeks. Shan had briefly thought about letting Xia teach during that time, but she didn't want to put Xia and Lydia in a situation so rife with danger.

Xia and Ian had settled into the two guest rooms upstairs. For once, the school felt full of life. Shan had to wait to use one of the two bathrooms in the morning, and was forever finding crumbs on the countertops from Buckley's incessant snacking. Lydia laughed often. And, although Xia said very little, she spent most of her time in the main room practicing. Shan joined her as much as she could, pleased that her ribs barely ached at all, even when she back flipped or performed a spinning kick.

The downside of a full house was the lack of privacy. Shan and Ian were forever being interrupted by Lydia or Buckley, and occasionally even by Xia. When Shan dropped to sleep at night, she wanted do it with Ian. But their relationship felt like a secret. Without any sort of verbal agreement, they never touched in front of the others. They flirted, but their innuendos had taken on a new flavor. Nothing they said or hinted at could be shrugged off as idle humor. Every word held a promise, and the anticipation building in Shan's body felt like it was going to reach up and strangle her.

It was Buckley who drove them to the airport on Monday night for their two a.m. flight to Hong Kong.

"Stay out of sight for a while longer," Shan said to Buckley. "One-eye is probably working for Victor Ashton, and Ashton has plenty of money to hire more goons."

"Hey, I don't intend to leave the house, if you know what I mean." Buckley looked away from the road long enough to wink at Shan.

"Yeah," Ian said wearily, "we know what you mean." He still looked tired. Shan wondered if he'd just spent as many sleepless nights as she had.

"Listen, about Xia--"

"Don't worry about that," Buckley said. "I've got a plan for getting those two girls to bond." He grinned, and Shan felt her stomach twist.

"Would anyone but you call it a good plan?" Ian asked.

"No, you'd call it brilliant," said Buckley. "You'll see."

"Okay, now I'm definitely worried," Shan said, and not just about the volatile situation at The Way of the River, she added silently.

Shan had wanted to bring weapons--any weapons--to the island, but with airport security at LAX tighter than ever, she'd have to just make do with what she could find at Ashton's underground lair. And, even without weapons, they were bringing way too much luggage. Outfits for breakfast, outfits for afternoon tea, for fancy dinners and for late-night, black-tie soirees. Bathing suits--two!--and clothes for sleeping and lounging in their room.

Their room. Singular. As in one.

Of course the Dashells, married for almost forty years, had RSVP'd for one room. And, technically speaking, it would certainly be easier for Shan to keep an eye on Ian if things got rough.

It was limiting herself to just an eye that was the problem. Shan suspected that her hands and lips and other body parts would also want to be involved.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask something," Buckley said. He pulled the car onto the 105 and merged into the flow of traffic. "What happens if all five of the jade animals are brought together, anyway?"

Ian turned to look at Shan, clearly interested in her answer. He hadn't pressed her for any information regarding the animals, and, although she'd talked about them with him, she'd always hedged that particular question. As she was going to do now.

"Nothing, if the Circle is respected," Shan said carefully. "At the sanctuary where I grew up, we meditated on the animals and learned how to use their energy to focus our own."

Buckley shrugged. "That doesn't sound so bad."

No, Shan thought, because we were taught to treat the animals with deference, and new students were always monitored around the Circle for the first few years. But other stories were told and warnings passed from one woman to the next.

"It is possible," Shan said slowly, "that a person could try to harness all the power of the animals at once."

"And?" said Buckley.

"And he or she'd be extremely powerful," Shan said. "Speed, strength, flexibility, balance, endurance, intelligence, unpredictability..."

"And?" said Ian.

Shan frowned at him.

"Sorry," he said quickly, "it's the archaeologist talking here."

She sighed, and said, "I know. You guys deserve to know more than I've told you. But it's complicated, and every person interacts with the animals differently, as you saw with Etienne Fortier." Shan stared at the cars whizzing by them on the highway. "With all the animals at your disposal," she continued, "you can actually see chi, the energy that flows through everything in the universe. In addition to being a kick-ass fighter, you can tell truth from lie, love from hate--"

"Wait, wait," said Buckley. "Let's go back to this chi stuff. I'm a European-flavored archaeologist, remember?"

"Have you seen Star Wars?" Shan asked.

"Duh."

"Well, chi is just like the Force," Shan said, "only it's not trademarked." Buckley laughed, as had most of her students when she used that line on them. "If you add in the idea of yin and yang--that everything exists in a balance of opposites--you have the Light and Dark sides of the Force."

"Wow," said Ian, "that's surprisingly applicable."

"George Lucas knows his world cultures," Shan said. "At least for the first three movies."

With a fifteen-hour flight time and another fifteen-hour time difference, they arrived in Hong Kong on Wednesday morning around eight. Once upon a time, Shan had been a Chinese-American martial artist with long, straight black hair. Now, however, she masqueraded as a perky blonde American named Shawna. The ruse might not last, but Shan had her father's eyes in shape and color, and if it made One-eye think twice about attacking her, then it was well worth the effort.

A man in the airport held up a sign saying "Shangri-La." Shan and Ian joined another couple standing beside him. Peter and Gail Chatsworth "of the Toronto Chatsworths" were in their late fifties and clearly excited about the auction. Ian chatted amiably with them as Shan sank into her thoughts. She hadn't been back to China since she had fled the Jade Circle massacre with her father. In her mind, China had always been her home. But now, after spending so many years in America, it was difficult to picture herself ever moving back, even to the glorious beauty of the Hunan Province where the Jade Circle had once stood.

The feeling intensified as their guide drove them to the harbor and led them onto a private yacht. Hong Kong, with its gleaming steel and overcrowded streets, thrummed with life. Boats and barges clustered in the water, home to the rich and the poor and the practically destitute. Asian faces watched her, on the arm of her American, as she climbed aboard The Dragon Swift and stood at the bow.

Tainted, Xia had called it. Shan wanted to think of it as belonging to two worlds instead of one. But here, in her blonde wig, Xia's explanation seemed far more apt.

Ian continued to chat with the other guests as Hong Kong shrank behind them. Three hours later, they found themselves standing on a shaded beach of the island Ashton called Shangri-La.

Shangri-La...

Pretentious? Yes. Accurate? Possibly.

A mountain rose up from the center of the island, a mountain covered in lush greens of every shade imaginable. The smell of the ocean, the breeze that blew Shan's blonde curls around her face and whipped the hem of her dress. The sound of the trees creaking as they swayed, their branches so densely interwoven that they bobbed together like a crowd of dancers.

"Beautiful," Ian breathed, and Shan could only nod her head in agreement.

A man dressed in a simple suit of dark linen led them through the trees along a pebbly path. There were only five guests on this trip: Shan and Ian, the Chatsworths, and an older Korean gentleman. Servants followed, carrying their innumerable suitcases. They walked for almost a mile along the path before reaching the entrance to Ashton's fortress.

Two giant fu temple dogs of red lacquer sat atop two stone pillars at least ten feet in diameter. The male dog had its inside paw atop a sphere representing the world, faithfully guarding his owner's possessions and success. The female dog trapped a baby fu dog under her inside paw, protecting her owner's home and family. Together, the dogs guarded against evil and anyone who would bring harm into the house.

Light spilled off the dogs' curly manes and tails, glinting off their bulbous lacquered eyes. Shan shivered. She wished that she could walk around them instead of between their celestial gaze, but she couldn't, not without raising suspicion.

Between the dogs, set into the base of the mountain, were a pair of gold-covered doors inlaid with two dragons, one Eastern and one Western. The perfect symbols for a person caught between worlds, just like Shan.

These were doors to Victor Ashton's underground fortress, his Shangri-La.

The man leading their party walked forward and rang a gong hidden behind the left fu dog pillar. Its low, brassy tones filled the forest with an eerie calm. A few moments later, the gold-encrusted doors swung open.

They filed inside without a word. No one, including Shan, wanted to disturb the silence as they walked down a sloped passage into the belly of the mountain. Sconces hung at regular intervals on the wall, lit with electricity instead of candles. So Ashton had his own generator, Shan thought. Not surprising. It gave him even more control over his guests, especially since a cell phone would never work this far from civilization and this far underground.

After a few minutes, the hallway turned and opened into a vast chamber that soared fifty feet high and felt like the inside of a huge pagoda. Reds, blacks, golds, and flickering firelight covered the walls in intricate Chinese patterns. A gorgeous gilt dragon curled in the center of the square room, its body glistening with water that spilled from a hole far above in the room's ceiling.

Shan struggled to breathe. The room's beauty bit into her chest, and she turned in place, inviting the sensation as she tried to burn the vision into her mind from every angle. Beside her, Ian looked similarly awed as his gaze swept to the fountain, the ceiling, the walls, and back down to the fountain again. Shan swallowed and shook her head. She felt as if they had walked back in time with each step down that long corridor. It was almost too much.

"Please wait," their guide said. "The Director will be with you shortly."

Shan pulled her gaze down from the ceiling and remembered where she was.

"We're in for quite a ride," Ian whispered. He extended his elbow, and Shan slipped her arm in his, letting her hand rest softly on the sleeve of his shirt. The touch of his body seemed to ground her, help her find her balance again.

"Hope you don't get motion sick," she grinned.

"Archaeologists are immune to such trifles," he countered. "It's all in the brochure."

Just then, a door opened from the right side of room, and a woman walked out. Trim, blonde, and probably mid-thirties, she wore a skirted black suit and walked with the confidence of a professional.

"Ashton likes his employees as beautiful as his artifacts, it seems," Shan whispered to Ian. He didn't answer. Shan looked at him and saw his eyes wide, his mouth twisting into a smile.

"Rachel?" he said.

The woman grinned, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. "Ian!"

Shan pulled her arm away from Ian just as the woman joined them and planted a lingering kiss on Ian's cheek.

"Ian Dashell," the woman said, smiling, "did we ever actually break up?"

CHAPTER 11

Ian pulled himself away from the woman. "Rachel Sexton, this is my friend, Shawna Westin. Shawna, this is Rachel."

"It's a pleasure," said Rachel, extending her hand.

Shan shook it. "It certainly is, Ms. Sexton," Shan said. "Ian speaks of you often."

This seemed to surprise Ian slightly, but Shan just smiled. Well, he had mentioned her back at his house in New York. Of course, he'd been mostly unconscious at the time.

"Is that so?" Rachel said, turning back to Ian. "I didn't know you were still carrying a torch, Dash. How flattering!" Ian shot Shan a dark look, but she just smiled and blinked her eyelashes. "Oh, but the guest registry listed Mr. and Mrs. Dashell. I had assumed that was your parents, Dash, or are you and Shawna more than just friends?"

Oh, great, thought Shan. Rachel was as direct as she was beautiful. They had planned on masquerading as a married couple, but as Rachel knew Ian--and apparently quite well--the story might be harder to maintain.

"We're, uh, engaged," Ian said.

Rachel's gaze went immediately to Shan's left hand, and the notable absence of a ring.

"Recently engaged," Ian added. "The ring is getting appraised."

Rachel nodded, seemingly appeased. "Well, let me just get Mr. Chiang over here to take care of these other guests, and I'll give you two a private tour." She put her hand on Ian's arm.

"We'd love a private tour," said Ian, emphasizing the "we" part a little too obviously, in Shan's opinion, though she appreciated the thought. "I can't wait to get a better look at this place. And to figure out how you landed this gig. Right place at the right time?"

"Hell, no!" Rachel said. "I fought tooth and nail for this job. Private investors are the best thing that ever happened to our field. Just wait until you see this place! You'll be kissing that university of yours good-bye and signing on for lifetime tour."

"I'm feeling a bit tired after the trip," Shan said, "I think I'll take a nap. You two go ahead."

"Well, I guess you're not an archaeologist," Rachel said, smiling. "Dash and I were always energized by long trips. Remember our first trip to Tenochtitlán? We checked in at the site, then went out drinking with the dig crew until dawn. What was the name of that dive where we ended up?"

"El Gato Gris," Ian laughed. "Worst tequila in the world."

"Not that you could tell after the first shot," Rachel said.

"But at least I didn't start dancing on the table and telling the bartender he looked guapo."

"Actually, I think you did," Rachel countered.

Ian winced. "Oh, yeah. That was me."

The two of them laughed. Shan smiled and tried to ignore the sudden pang of...what? Jealousy? Yes, Rachel Sexton was beautiful and smart, and could apparently speak Spanish and hold her liquor... But Shan didn't actually feel threatened by her. At the Jade Circle, girls and women saw each other as sisters, not rivals. If Ian chose to pursue a relationship of some sort with Rachel Sexton, then that would be Ian's choice.

Of course, Shan hoped things didn't progress that way. True, she and Ian had never discussed their growing relationship. They'd never mentioned commitment, exclusivity, or the future. But, all the same, if she found Ian making out with his ex, there wouldn't be a future for them. Shan didn't share her men, even if the tiger would allow such a thing.

So the pang, Shan guessed, was more for a shared past that she was no part of. Shan wanted to see Ian get drunk and silly and dance on tables. She wanted to see him digging pits and studying artifacts and doing whatever else archaeologists do. Rachel Sexton had seen him do these things.

And for that she could be jealous.

Rachel used a walkie-talkie to summon Mr. Chiang, an older Chinese gentleman in a sharp black suit. Ian looked at Shan, a question in his eyes. He said, "Have a good nap, sweetie."

Shan grinned. "I will, darling. You two enjoy your shop talk." She leaned up and kissed him quickly on the mouth--more quickly than she wanted, but just the right amount for a fiancé, she guessed. Despite its speed, the kiss held enough power to tickle Shan's spine. Later, she thought. Later, she would kiss him as herself instead of Shawna.

"I'll bring him back in one piece, I promise," Rachel said. Then she took his arm and whisked him away toward a distant hallway.

Mr. Chiang led Shan and the other guests to their rooms. Shan and Ian had landed the Horse Suite in the Zodiac wing. Fitting, Shan thought, since she suspected that Ian had been born in the year of the horse. With his nobility and penchant for travel, it was almost a sure thing.

Fortunately, the room's theme never veered into tacky. A huge king-sized bed almost covered in pillows of gold and red silk sat on a platform at one end of the suite. A desk with a laptop and phone occupied the main part of the suite, along with a comfy sofa, table, and two wide over-stuffed chairs. The walls were lined with paintings of horses. Many were Chinese, their stark black lines evoking power and grace and the illusion of movement, but other styles were represented as well.

The real show stopper in the room, however, was the hot tub. Tucked into the back corner of the suite, it looked more like a natural hot spring than a tub. Water poured out of a crack in the ceiling and trickled down the rock-faced walls and into the pool. A gentle mist clung to the water, giving the alcove an almost magical aura.

Shan could barely resist the urge to rip off her clothes and dive in. On second thought, screw the clothes. They'd dry soon enough.

But, in the end, her willpower won.

Shan pulled herself away from the grotto and read through the paperwork on the desk. The only event listed for Wednesday was the welcome dinner at six. As it was now almost five, she'd only have a few minutes to snoop around before heading to the big event. Shan leafed through pages describing Thursday's martial arts and research presentations until she found a map.

Shan whistled. The place was even bigger than she'd thought, with four full guest wings and many sections marked "private." The auction items weren't scheduled to be unveiled until Friday, but Shan wanted to find the animals as soon as possible. If she found them today, they might be able to stow away on one of the ships delivering passengers.

Someone knocked on the door. Shan answered, and one of Ashton's servants came in with their bags. Perfect timing. Shan tipped the man, switched into a quieter pair of shoes, and headed off to explore.

The fortress, for all its size, buzzed with activity. Shan passed dozens of servants, guests, and other official-looking people as she walked through the hallways toward the "private" area closest to the auction display room. With all the activity, she only had to wait a few minutes before she had the opportunity to slip behind the thick red curtain covering the passageway.

The ubiquitous wall sconces were only dimly lit, casting just enough of a glow for Shan to see where she was walking. It seemed to be a portrait gallery. Picture after picture hung in elaborate frames along both walls. Shan walked softly down the hallway, looking for security devices or anything unusual about the paintings. The floor seemed devoid of dust, meaning the area was obviously used or at least cleaned regularly.

Shan passed one portrait that, even in the darkness, seemed familiar. She stepped closer and squinted, wishing she had brought a flashlight.

It was Bruce Lee.

Shan smiled. She moved on and saw scientists, historians, and other martial artists, all of which were labeled in both Chinese and English. The hallway ended in a large, arched alcove containing just two paintings.

The first, labeled "Malcolm Ashton," depicted a Caucasian man in his sixties wearing a very British suit. There was a hardness to his eyes, as well... It amazed Shan that the artist had managed to capture such a look.

So this, then, was Victor Ashton's father.

Shan turned to examine the other picture and felt her heart skip a beat. The Chinese woman had been painted in her twenties and wore a beautiful blue cheongsam embroidered with flowers.

Victor Ashton's mother had been a member of the Jade Circle.

Shan studied the face again. She had known Li Jiang as a quiet woman in her fifties, polite and careful with her words. Jiang had never mentioned any sons, though Shan had certainly never asked. Li Jiang had been one of the first to fall when the sanctuary was attacked.

"Can I help you with something?"

Shan gasped and spun around. She almost brought her hands up into a fighting pose, but pulled herself back at the last second. Shawna Westin was no fighter.

"No, I..."

It was Victor Ashton.

Shan wouldn't have been able to recognize him before seeing the portraits, but his parentage was present in every crease in his face. Like Shan, he had Western eyes in shape and color, only his were a bright, startling blue. He wore his dark hair long and straight, though it had started to gray in streaks. And his clothes... The blue silk of his shirt clung to his torso, revealing more muscles than most men approaching their fifties could boast. And the blue--it shone the same color as his eyes, even in the almost-darkness of the alcove. The best of East and West, Shan decided, and with a presence that riled the chi in her body, from head to toe.

"I'm sorry," Shan continued, "but I was trying to find the bathroom." She smiled again and tilted her head in a show of calculated embarrassment.

Ashton smiled, his teeth predictably perfect.

"Well, then you are quite lost, Miss...?"

"Westin, Shawna Westin." Shan held out a hand, and Victor took it in his. At his touch, Shan winced. His energy lapped against her flesh in waves. He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his warm lips to her flesh. Shan shivered. Even if she hadn't seen the portraits, she could recognize power.

"You are quite beautiful, Miss Westin," Ashton said, "even though you are in a part of my home clearly marked private on your map."

Was it a compliment or a threat?

"You're right, Mr. Ashton, I'm not looking for the bathroom." Shan tilted her head and looked up at him through her lashes. "You caught me. I was hoping to steal a glimpse of the items up for auction. There's a piece of porcelain--"

"Ah, the early Yongzheng jar?"

Shan smiled. This felt like a test. "No, a Qing Dynasty vase. But if all you have is Yongzheng..." She let her voice trail off with feigned disappointment.

"I assure you, Miss Westin, we have enough Qing pieces to fill your private warehouse."

"Now you've really whetted my appetite for a sneak peek," Shan said.

"I can't let you see the pieces, my dear, but I can do something about that appetite." He held out his arm, and Shan took it. Chi raced through her body, faster than blood, as they touched again. The tiger was awake and pacing. Not that Shan blamed it. Victor Ashton had more power and charisma in one finger than most men carried in their entire bodies.

She smiled. Fortunately, Ian was not "most men."

The banquet hall was over-the-top extravagant, just as Shan had expected. Too many people, too much gold plating, and almost more exotic spices than her nose could handle.

Of course, it didn't help that she entered the room on the arm of Victor Ashton himself. Or that, across the great room, Rachel Sexton was still firmly attached to Ian's arm. And laughing. At least Ashton had given Shan a chance to change into a slinky, sequined dress--the white one Lydia had so thoughtfully labeled "Big Dinner, Day 1." Ian had changed too--into a timeless tux that accentuated his tall, lean body. Shan itched to trace its tailored lines with her fingers.

Ashton maneuvered Shan slowly through the room, pausing only to shake hands or return an abbreviated bow. His presence was the signal for everyone to find their seats at the great U-shaped table.

"You'll sit next to me," Victor said in a low voice. "Please," he added, probably as an afterthought.

Shan nodded her acquiescence. She was both repelled and attracted by Victor Ashton, but there was no way she was going to pass up a chance to learn more about him...and his interest in the jade animals.

As they reached the top of the table, Rachel and Ian joined them. Ian sent Shan a small smile. She returned it and raised him a wink.

"Miss Westin," Rachel said, "I see you've had a chance to meet Victor. Victor, may I present Professor Ian Dashell, Miss Westin's fiancé?"

Ashton raised an eyebrow at Shan. She smiled and raised an eyebrow right back.

"It is a pleasure, Professor," Victor said. "I hope that you shall join us for dinner. I'm sure Ms. Sexton can find a seat for you next to her. As you and Miss Westin are engaged, I'm sure you can manage to sit apart for the space of one small dinner?"

It wasn't a question; it was a challenge. Victor Ashton had every intention of testing her commitment to Ian, and he meant to start right away.

"Of course we can eat separately, Mr. Ashton," Shan purred. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say. But what they don't say is that it also makes the sex grow hotter." Shan nibbled on the tip of her index finger and smiled. Victor's eyes narrowed, but his gaze stayed on her mouth.

Ian, it seemed, was having trouble breathing. Rachel tried to offer him a glass of water, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Shall we eat?" Victor said to Shan. "I'm getting hungry."

"And I'm ravished," she said.

"Ravishing is more apt."

She let her eyes slip half closed, but kept her gaze on Ashton. He pulled out her chair, and she sat languidly, letting the tiger guide her movements. With energy roiling through her body and sparking off Ashton's, Shan wouldn't be surprised to see every man in the room looking at her. And every woman looking at Ashton.

Shan, however, had to struggle to keep her eyes on him. Her gaze kept straying toward Ian in his tux. Ian with his mussed brown hair. Ian, her anchor, her crane, her balance. She and Ashton were both predators, and when predators tangled, only one survived.

Fortunately, Victor Ashton stood for his opening speech, giving Shan a respite from her tiring femme fatale routine. Who'd have thought little Shawna Westin had it in her? Not Shan, that's for sure. Ride the wind, she thought. The tiger may rule her spirit now, but the other animals were hardly forgotten. Change the plan. Remain flexible. Adapt.

Ashton was, of course, a compelling speaker. His body glistened in its blue silk shirt, his hair fell straight down his back, never a strand out of place. He himself was a work of art.

"Please," Ashton said, "relax in my home and make it your own. Tomorrow, you may watch or participate in a number of martial arts demonstrations. Or, if you bent is more academic," here, he spared a small glance at Ian, "then you may prefer our ongoing research presentations. We have almost a dozen separate digs in operation around the globe at any time, and you'll want to see for yourself the kinds of treasures we're unearthing. Thank you."

He sat to applause. Rachel stood then and reiterated the schedule for the week. "The auction items will be on display in the museum wing on Friday, beginning at ten a.m. This gives you all ample time to check with your experts at home and clear any of the funds you'll need for Saturday's main event."

Shan had difficulty hearing much else, as Victor Ashton's hand was on her knee and slowly creeping up toward her thigh. But, instead of breaking a few of his fingers, Shan placed her hand on top of his, stopping its forward progress.

"We're planning a winter wedding, Mr. Ashton," she said sweetly. "Don't you just love the cold?"

"Not really," he said. "I much prefer...hotter weather." His hand gained another inch.

"Fly too close to the sun, and your wings will melt," Shan said, letting a little too much of her own voice sneak into Shawna's.

Ashton stopped moving his hand and stared at her. Stared into her.

"If you're not nice," he whispered, "I may not buy you a wedding present."

"I like presents," Shan said quietly, "and I'm partial to jade."

It was a risk, and she knew it. But she'd be much happier if the conversation led to fisticuffs than continued to follow its current route.

Ashton lifted his wine glass and swirled it without taking a sip. "It seems we share a similar interest, then," he said. "If you're a good girl, I may have something to show you on Friday."

"Friday?" Shan breathed. "Why not tonight?"

He raised an eyebrow. "So eager now? You must really enjoy your jade."

"Jade's not the only thing I enjoy, Victor. The list is quite long, actually."

He eyed her, more wary now. She'd definitely pushed too far.

"Friday," he said. "And I'll need to see that list."

Waiters arrived bearing plate after plate of steaming food, successfully severing the connection between Shan and Ashton. She ate, but only to keep up her strength. Despite its exotic decoration, the food all tasted bland. And it didn't help that Ian and Rachel were laughing again, no doubt over some shared joke from their shared past.

No matter. She'd made progress with Ashton, regardless of how disgusted the process had made her feel. This was Shawna, she told herself. This wasn't the tiger, and it wasn't her.

Hopefully, she'd be able to remember that the next time she wanted to kick Victor Ashton in the nuts.

"So, do you want to double back and try to sneak into the museum area?"

Shan laughed. She and Ian held hands as they walked back toward their room in the Zodiac wing. After a stifling, tense two hours at dinner, she felt at ease with Ian after only five minutes. Amazing.

"Ashton already caught me there once today," she said. "I'd probably have to sleep with him if he caught me again on the same day."

"Well, we can't have that," Ian said, matter-of-fact. "He's not even an archaeologist."

"Actually, I thought he did have a degree in--"

"Let's not quibble about the details," Ian said, grinning. "Let's talk about how dashing I look in my tux."

"What, did Rachel tell you that?" Shan asked.

"No, but I could see it in her eyes."

"Uh-huh."

"Really," he said, "the woman still wants me, even after all these years. It's quite sad, actually."

Shan laughed. They reached the main entrance hall. Shan pulled Ian toward the golden dragon fountain and sat down on the edge. Water fell from the ceiling and spattered against her back, cool and wet.

"I have no doubt that she does want you, Professor," Shan said, "but you're going to be a little too busy to attend to her needs on this trip."

"I am?" Ian sat next to Shan. Water droplets assaulted his face and clung to the tip of his nose.

Shan leaned forward and kissed the water drops. "Mmm. I was so thirsty."

Ian swallowed. "Yeah, I think I know what you mean."

They kissed.

Shan pulled away, laughing.

Ian pulled away, too. Hurt.

"What?"

Shan took his face in both of her hands, grinning like a fool. "It's just so damn fun to kiss you, Ian. Can't blame me for enjoying myself, can you?"

Ian's shoulders relaxed. His expression returned to its previous playfulness.

"Laughing is fine, but no pointing."

"Agreed," Shan said.

"Then come here."

They kissed again, grinning and smiling and generally bursting with giddiness. Water continued to spatter them, much to Shan's delight. The energy that Victor's presence had summoned in her, wild and dark and barely containable, had spread out and calmed as they had walked. Now chi coursed through her body like a fast-moving river, soothing her aching limbs.

The energy that Ian possessed was no less potent than Ashton's, just more pure. His chi felt like open spaces and freedom, tasted sharp and sweet like an apple. Ashton's power, on the other hand, built prisons. It tasted of iron and blood, and felt sharp, like bones or claws. When she was near Ashton, their energies tested each other, vying for control. Around Ian, her energy sparked and played. Around Ian, it reveled.

A few people walked by while they kissed, but Shan happily ignored them. After all, she was making out with her fiancé, right? And that was a good word for it. Right. Shan soared. The glittering gold scales of the dragon were nothing compared to the sparkle in Ian's eyes and in his smile.

Later, they sauntered back to their room, still drunk from kissing. Shan removed her wig and the mountain of pins that trapped her real hair to her head. She brushed her hair, changed into a cotton nightshirt, and went back into the main room to find Ian.

Who had fallen asleep on the bed, still in his tuxedo.

Shan tried to wake him so he could finish changing, but the man's fatigue proved far stronger. Defeated, Shan removed his shoes and tucked him under the covers. She could have undressed him if she'd really tried, but she wanted that to be something they shared together.

Preferably soon.

Still smiling, Shan crawled under the covers with him. She opened her hand and ran her palm over the soft spikes of his hair, let her fingers walk down the smooth side of his face. If he were awake, she would have climbed on top of him and given him a reason to take off his tux. Instead, she kissed his chin and snuggled into the crook of his arm. She whispered his name one more time, just to hear it, then rested her head on his shoulder and waited for sleep.

Thursday morning, Shan was dressed in comfortable slacks and a sexy, long-sleeved black blouse that circled high up her neck but left her shoulders bare. Lydia's idea of "Skulking Around, Day 2." After a quick breakfast in the atrium and several lingering kisses, she and Ian split up. Ian headed toward the research presentations, more excited than a kid at Disneyland. Shan--showing considerably more restraint, in her opinion--took off for the martial arts wing as fast as her impractical shoes would carry her.

Shan slipped into the first room. Brazilian Capoeira. A circle of men and women bobbed and danced in time to a chorus of drums. Occasionally, one of the dancers would put a hand on the ground and flip her legs over her head. It looked more like breakdancing than martial arts, and that was the idea. Capoeira traced its roots back four hundred years, to African slaves brought to Brazil. Unable to practice martial arts openly, the slaves masqueraded their training as a combination of music, dance and acrobatics.

Victor's people were good, but Shan had seen better in some of the schools in L.A. She moved on to the next room.

A raised stage at the far end of the room held stacks of square pieces of wood and concrete blocks. Thick poles lined the wall, a hundred at least. Men and women in gold and red uniforms bustled on the stage, setting up for a packed room of observers.

Ugh. Breaking.

Shan had never really understood the widespread allure of this discipline. You stacked a bunch of wood or concrete or whatever you could find, and you tried to break it with a fist or a foot or even your head. If you were good, you broke more than other people. She used to think it was a guy thing, but she'd since met many women who claimed to enjoy it, too. Although Shan occasionally had to participate in such things during her years of training in the U.S., she had no desire to teach it at The Way of the River. As Bruce Lee was famous for saying, "Boards don't hit back."

A woman came out first and broke some boards held in the air by other participants. Her form was excellent. They piled up a stack of concrete squares separated by spacers, and she broke that easily with the heel of her foot. The crowd clapped. The spacers, often a pair of plain wooden pencils, made it extremely easy to break a stack like that. When the first block broke, its weight was then used against the next block in addition to the force of the original blow.

The woman bowed, and a dozen uniformed people scurried up to clear the debris. Shan was about to look for something more interesting when a man walked onstage.

Not just any man, but the largest man she'd ever seen.

He wore just the bottoms of his uniform, leaving his broad, muscle-stuffed torso naked for everyone to ogle. But it wasn't just the muscles that drew the eye, though they were ridiculous in size--it was the tattoo. At first, Shan could only see hints of it at his wrists and on the top of his bald head. Then he turned around and she saw...

...a leopard.

Its back was drawn atop the man's back in exquisite detail. Its arms and paws traced the man's arms and hands, and its head, mouth open, was tattooed over the man's scalp. Two great fangs reached down onto his face, just outside of his eyes. Shan could only imagine what the design looked like beneath the man's waist.

They piled concrete in front of the man. Five, seven, ten pieces total, but with no spacers. That was like trying to break over a foot of solid concrete. To make it even more impossible, the man was going to break it with his hand, and not his foot. And the stack was placed directly on the stage floor, instead of on a stand.

They might as well add a bunch of flying monkeys and a pool of sharks under his feet. There was simply no way he could do this, even at his size.

Leopard Man started to breathe, in through his nose, out through his mouth. Even from across the room, Shan could feel--almost even see--his energy building. She couldn't even understand the amount of power he had. It shimmered the air around him like a mirage, and the smell, the taste...

The missing jade leopard.

The man's hand snapped down. His palm hit the stack of concrete. The concrete shattered in an explosion of flying particles and dust.

The crowd applauded wildly as the cloud of dust thinned. Shan's heart beat fast.

Fortier's dragon.

Chen Sun's snake.

And now the leopard.

Victor Ashton had three of the five animals, and the other two sat locked in her safe back in Los Angeles.

All five. Shan knew the location of all five animals.

People cleared the stage once again. This time, Leopard Man stood alone in a wide stance. Eight people grabbed poles from the back wall. They took turns smashing their poles against various parts of Leopard's body: his arms, legs, torso, head, and even his neck. Leopard Man just stood there, grinning, as wood shattered around him.

This, Shan thought, is what happens when you spend fifteen years with the jade leopard. The leopard, whose attributes are power and strength. No wonder she could feel his chi from across the room.

Another man took the stage holding a long spear. He pointed its tip at the base of Leopard Man's throat and prepared to thrust it into his flesh. But just before he did, he turned and looked out at the crowd. His eyes met Shan's.

Rather, his one good eye met Shan's.

One-eye smiled.

CHAPTER 12

So, was One-eye smiling at his archenemy, or just flirting with a blonde who happened to be standing near the door?

Shan didn't wait to find out. She slipped back into the hallway and looked for the next demonstration room.

To hide.

She needed her cover to last until she recovered the animals, and One-eye would certainly recognize her if he got close enough. When you fought someone as much as they'd fought, you could recognize them by the shape of their fist or the curve of their mouth when they snarled.

The next door was closed. Shan opened it, stepped inside, and quietly closed it behind her.

"Ah, Miss Westin," Ashton said from the room's stage, "there's an empty seat up front if you'd like to join us."

Ashton wore a long-sleeved kung-fu suit that looked more like molten gold than the gorgeous silk from which it was sewn. He had pulled his black hair from his face and captured it into one long ponytail that hung to the middle of his back. Three other men and one woman stood onstage next to him, and were therefore essentially invisible.

The room was also packed with people. Men in suits, women in tasteful pearls and understated dresses. And they were all looking at her.

Shan smiled demurely and made her way toward the front of the room.

"Actually, I have a better idea," Ashton said. "Why don't you join me onstage? I was just about to call for a volunteer, and since you're already up..."

Shan saw several of the women in the audience heave audible sighs of disappointment. Several others shot her nasty looks.

"I'd rather watch, Mr. Ashton," Shan said, forcing herself to keep smiling. She glanced back at the door, which was thankfully still closed. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at sports."

"Perfect," Ashton said, "because I want someone untrained for this example." He held out his hand. "Please, I insist."

Shan's smile slipped a little, but she pasted it back quickly and took his hand. Her energy raised its hackles and bared its teeth as he pulled her onto the stage. Ashton continued to hold her hand as he addressed the audience.

"Most of you," Ashton said, "have seen extravagant displays of martial prowess. You've seen people kick higher than their own heads, punch so fast that their hands blur before your eyes. But, when it comes to power, sometimes the more subtle methods are the most effective."

Ashton nodded to someone standing behind Shan. Suddenly, a pair of beefy forearms wrapped around her in a classic bear hug. Shan pretended to look surprised. The man's grip was firm but not uncomfortably tight. His body pressed against her from behind, and he was clearly beginning to enjoy the pose in more than just an educational way.

Dutifully, Shan looked to Ashton to tell her what to do. But, before he could say anything, the door opened.

Shan and Ashton both looked up. Sure enough, it was One-eye, still with that stupid smile on his face. He took a seat in the back row.

"Now," Ashton said to Shan, "I want you to try and get free."

Shan had taught basic self-defense enough to know how a novice was supposed to act. So, she twisted and struggled to free herself from the man's arms, all the while making little noises to denote effort.

What she really wanted to do was stomp his instep, head butt him, sweep him to the ground, and render him unconscious. But with One-eye and Victor Ashton in attendance, that kind of stupidity would probably get her killed.

"As you can see," Ashton said to the crowd, "Miss Westin's attempts to fight his body strength with hers are useless. She needs to fight him with his own body." He turned to Shan. "Miss Westin, please grab one of the man's fingers and lift."

With the right angle, you could easily bring a man--even a big one--to his knees, just by bending his finger or thumb in the correct way. Of course, Shan chose an incorrect way, and the man didn't budge.

Victor attempted to adjust her grip, and, slowly, the man behind her dropped to one knee.

Shan grinned, "I told you I'm not good at this sort of thing."

"You just need better instruction," Ashton said easily. "Walter, step back."

The bear-hug man released Shan, and Ashton took his place. Victor molded his body to hers and wrapped his arms around her. To Shan, it felt like being enclosed in a coffin of white-hot metal. She half expected his arms to leave burn marks across her flesh. It also felt like there was no one else in the room besides her and Victor. The other faces just melted away from the heat onstage.

Except for One-eye. Shan had seen too much of him in the last week to ever lose track of where he was in a room.

"There," Victor whispered in her ear, his cheek pressed against her blonde hair, "now run your hand along mine and grip my middle finger."

Shan breathed deeply. Her chest expanded, and Ashton's grip tightened across her arms and breasts. She reached under his arm and placed her hand atop his, her fingers trembling over several pressure points she knew would cause intense pain. But no, she went for his finger and twisted it back.

"You take direction well," Ashton said softly, just to her. "I like that in a woman." To the crowd, he said, "Now watch as Miss Westin--"

Shan yanked.

Ashton dropped to knees with a yelp.

"Very good, Miss Westin," Ashton said through gritted teeth. "You can let go now."

She didn't. "Wow, this is much easier than it looks," Shan said brightly. She applied more pressure and Ashton was forced to fall on his side to avoid the pain.

"Let go," Ashton said.

She did.

The crowd clapped, much to Ashton's apparent irritation.

"You may take your seat now, Miss Westin," Ashton said to Shan. He stood up and turned to Walter. "Grab me."

Poor Walter.

Shan sat and watched the rest of the demonstration...if you could really call it that. Public whipping was more accurate. Ashton worked out some repressed aggression, and his assistants spent most of the hour flying through the air. But Shan was pleased. She wanted to see how Victor Ashton fought when he got angry, and now she literally had a front row seat.

The man was good. No, by normal standards, the man was excellent, a master even. But Shan's idea of master was a little more complex than most people's. Judging from what she saw today, Ashton was better than One-eye, but not as good as she.

When the demonstration ended, Shan waited by the stage and tried not to look back at One-eye. It didn't take Ashton long to join her.

"Quite impressive, Mr. Ashton," Shan said. "I had no idea you were a man of talent as well as wealth."

Ashton rubbed the back of his neck with a towel then tossed it aside. "Flattery doesn't suit you as well as flirtation, my dear."

"Well, what if I mix the two?" Shan said, her mouth curling into a smile.

Victor's gaze dropped to her lips. "An improvement." He looked back up at her eyes. "I'm required in the research wing. Shall we walk?"

Shan took his offered arm, her fingertips rough against the smooth heat of his silken shirt. Ashton led her toward the door, and past an army of doe-eyed women waiting to speak with him. Shan scanned face after face, but she didn't see One-eye. He must have had someplace else to be.

Shan exhaled. She didn't want a confrontation with him. Not yet.

Later, however, she intended to kill him.

"With your love of jade, I would have expected to find you at the research presentations today," Ashton said. They walked down the center of the hallway, and other people scurried to get out of their way.

Shan shrugged. "There's very little about jade that I don't already know."

"Is that so?"

"Yes," she said, "and since I know nothing about the fighting arts, I thought my time would be better spent learning something new."

"And did you learn something new?"

"That fighting looks painful." Shan wrinkled her nose.

Ashton chuckled. "The martial arts are about more than fighting. They're an aspect of understanding the universe, your own body, and how they work together."

Aptly put, thought Shan. "Like a religion?" she asked.

"To some people, yes," Ashton said. His eyes grew dark, much like his father's in that portrait she'd seen yesterday. So much hate swam there, behind his eyes...

"Victor!"

Rachel Sexton, dressed in an army-green suit with a long fitted skirt and wielding a clipboard, appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Ian followed a step behind her, dressed in his afternoon blazer and tan slacks. Shan grinned at him. He frowned back, his eyes in deep shadow. Something was very wrong to make Ian Dashell look that angry.

"The Hunan Project was a hit," Rachel said, coming to a halt in front of Ashton. "Several guests are interested in investing."

Hunan Project? As in Hunan Province?

Victor looked at Shan, the corner of his mouth twisting up into a cruel smile. But when he spoke, it was back to Rachel. "Excellent, Miss Sexton. I'd like to speak with the interested parties."

"I told them you--"

"What's the Hunan Project?" Shan interrupted.

Rachel's pretty brow furrowed. "Miss Westin, please--"

"You don't know?" Victor asked Shan, interrupting Rachel again. "I thought you knew everything about jade..."

Shan ground her teeth together. "Keep talking. Tell me about the project." Her body temperature rose. She could feel the heat in her face, her hands coursing with her blood. She was seconds away from ripping off her wig and giving Ashton a good look at her inner tiger.

Ashton smiled. "The Hunan Project started about sixteen years--"

"No!"

It was Ian this time. Shan glared at him, her anger jumping from Ashton to him in an instant.

"No?" she hissed.

"No," Ian said quickly. "I was just at the presentation. I'll tell you all about it myself." His gaze darted to Ashton, to Rachel, and back to Shan. "They're busy. We shouldn't keep them."

Ashton laughed.

"No, of course not," Ashton said. He released Shan's arm. "Go with your fiancé, Miss Westin. Let him tell you all about our Hunan Project. Who knows? Maybe you'll want to invest, too." He laughed again. Shan wanted nothing more than to plunge her hand through his ribcage and rip out his heart. If she could find it.

Confused, Rachel tried to restore order to the scene. "This way, Mr. Ashton. The gentlemen are waiting."

Ashton left with Rachel, but Shan's anger was still on the rise. She turned on Ian.

"Why? Why did you do that?"

"Come with me," Ian said. "Come with me back to the room. I'll explain there."

"Explain here," Shan said. "Explain now."

"No."

Shan looked at him. His eyes still hid in the shadows of his face; his lips were a thin line beneath his nose. She needed to hit something, to bite and to shred it. If they went back to the room, that something might be Ian.

But if she stayed here, as angry as she was, it would definitely be him.

"The room," she growled. "Now."

They walked fast without speaking. Wisely, Ian kept his distance. And when they got to the room and entered, he immediately put the heavy wooden desk between them.

Shan locked the door.

"We're here," she said. "Tell me what the Hunan Project is."

Ian looked like a trapped animal behind the desk, but he actually took a step forward when he spoke.

"It's the Jade Circle, Shan. They're excavating the sanctuary."

And, just like that, the rage emptied from her body as if Ian had just pulled the stopper out of the tub. Shan looked away from him, saw herself in a mirror by the door. Some blonde woman, awkward and out of place, stared back at her.

The Jade Circle. From the second Rachel had mentioned Hunan, Shan had known it was the Jade Circle. But could she believe it? Were people really running around the sanctuary, measuring and recording, taking pictures and making little notes in their notebooks? Were they digging up her mother's bones and labeling them for some museum display?

Or worse, to sell to the highest bidder?

Shan wanted to throw up. She wanted to purge herself of this place, of every memory of Ashton touching her. And she wanted to find him--wherever he was, whoever he was with, whatever he was doing--and make him pay for the injustice. Her mother would never have let it come to this. She would have gotten the dragon from Fortier, rescued Chen Sun, found the leopard...

"I hate this place." Shan's voice cracked. "I hate it."

And then Ian's arms were around her, and Ian's face was pressed into her hair.

But it wasn't her hair, it was that blonde woman's. Short and curly and powerless.

Ian seemed to read her mind. His fingers found the pins and pulled them off one at time. He lifted the wig from her head and tossed it away. Then his fingers went to work again, pulling pins from her own dark hair until it, too, fell free.

Shan sighed and leaned against his chest as he stroked her hair. Her own arms wound under his and met near the small of his back. Against her ear, his heart beat its steady rhythm so loudly that it was all she could hear.

She felt close to tears. If he spoke, they would come. But it wasn't time. She needed to contain her anger and her pain, to feed them to the tiger. Let it grow strong on rage, fierce with desperation.

Again, Ian seemed to understand her mood. He stepped back, took her hand, and pulled her toward the grotto in the back of their suite. Shan could feel her muscles, tight and strained, in her neck and back, and all the way down her spine. Even her feet in their high-heeled torture devices throbbed when she thought about them.

She let Ian lead her.

They stepped into the back room and into a different world. Water trickled down the back wall and swirled under the soft mist of the hot spring. Shan felt her own heat rising as Ian freed first one foot, then the other, from her black sandals. His hand grazed her calf. She swallowed thickly.

She felt his fingertips at the base of her neck as he stepped behind her, and then heard the faint purr of metal on metal as he opened the zipper on her blouse. Shan lifted her arms, and Ian peeled the skin-tight material off her body. A gentle pressure behind her back, and then her bra tumbled to the floor in a shallow heap of straps and satin.

She closed her eyes.

Her skin tingled, each nerve awakening as if from a deep sleep. The smooth, cool fabric of Ian's jacket brushed her shoulder blades. She could feel each button of his shirt pressed against her spine. He reached around her waist and unhooked her slacks. With slow, graceful fingers, he slid down the zipper. Shan's breathing deepened, her whole chest expanding and contracting with each breath. Ian's hands found her hips and slipped under the rim of her pants, the thin line of her underwear. He pulled her clothes down along her thighs, grazing the back of her knees with his thumbs. His hands spread heat in a fiery trail along her legs. Down he went, until her shackles lay in a pile at her feet. His touch lingered only a heartbeat on her ankle until its searing caress vanished, too, leaving her naked.

Free.

Her body vibrated, shivered, hummed. Warm mist from the grotto swirled around her, teasing every inch of her bare skin. The wig was gone--the pins, the tightness pulling at her temples, the strange face in the mirror. Gone, gone, gone, along with the rest of those false trappings.

"The water," Ian whispered, his voice thick. "Go."

Shan's eyes opened under heavy lids. She stepped into the pool, and they almost fluttered shut again. The heat of the water matched her own, welcomed her like a sister. The smell of plants and wet rocks and life overwhelmed her senses. She became an ancient goddess as she stepped into the pool, naked, deeper and deeper.

Frustration, anger, pain... The feelings didn't disappear, but they ceded their strength to another deeper, ancient power growing stronger with each moment...

The power of desire.

Shan stood waist deep amidst hot, swirling water. Ian hadn't moved. He crouched by the edge of the pool near the mound of her discarded clothing, and she knew he could feel it, too. It was in his eyes and the way his breathing matched her own. His flesh burned red along his cheeks and ears. Yet he waited.

"Join me," she said. Her voice felt as if it had clawed its way up from her gut--deep and too powerful to be denied.

He stood, his gaze meeting hers, and gave her what she'd been waiting for. The drop of his jacket. The pale line of his smooth, toned chest revealed by long fingers that never hesitated or fumbled. Nothing hurried, nothing slow. His belt. The final trappings that kept his body separate from hers. It all slid away to join hers on the floor.

Graceful, he stood on the banks of her private world. Steady, he stood, and strong. Her Ian, in all the ways that counted.

Shan arched back and dipped her hair into the water. It clung to her, long and sleek and dripping.

Ian inhaled sharply. He stepped into the water, his lean body submerging with each pace. Shan watched the water as it climbed up his flesh, from foot to calf, knee to thigh. She growled softly. From thigh to waist. She circled him, put his back to the natural stone wall alive with its steaming tendrils of water. Shan wanted the rest of the world--everything outside of this secret place--to disappear.

She wanted only Ian.

She wanted all of Ian.

When finally she touched him, flesh on flesh, her need erupted into action.

Her fingers explored, drawing trails of water across his chest that her mouth followed and reclaimed. His hands followed her curves, traveling down her neck to linger on her breasts. Shan groaned and bit his lower lip. He gasped and pulled her into a deep, primal kiss that stole the breath from both of them.

Shan pulled him down into the water's dark embrace. Her need grew until she was barely more woman than tiger. But still woman enough. She raked Ian's back with fingers instead of claws, nibbled his neck and shoulders with teeth instead of fangs. And she rubbed against his hardened body instead of just taking it, here and now, into her own.

Ian answered with an animal of his own, strong and confident and lost to the now. His fingers found her, and she writhed in his arms. Her eyes, she knew, would flash between green and tiger yellow, her pupils large and round and limitless.

The eyes of a hunter.

His lips met hers with a ferocity barely contained. Shan shoved his arm away with a growl and wrapped her legs around his waist. Ian maneuvered them to the edge of the pool for a condom from his discarded pants. She gave him the room he needed to put it on, then reclaimed her place as he drew them back into the deep.

Shan pressed her body against his, strands of her wet hair clinging to her cheeks and throat. She touched the tip of her nose to his nose, her forehead to his, and gazed at him with her tiger eyes.

His pupils widened in the shadow of her.

Shan took the swirling pulse of chi trapped inside of her and projected it through her eyes, through the touch of her hand as she buried it into the hair on the back of his head.

I want this, she told him, but only with you. Only because it's you.

He answered with a look that mirrored her own. He whispered, "Shan..."

She took him.

He gasped. Her lungs screamed for oxygen as she crushed her body to his, trembling from the power of their combined chi. Energy sparked along her meridians--a chain reaction of fireworks igniting every nerve. She couldn't stop saying his name, kissing him, kissing his face, his smile, his brow. And in the depths of his eyes, she read only joy and passion.

Joy. Passion. And what felt like love.

She awoke in the bed, in his arms. Or maybe he was in hers. It was hard to tell by the tangle of their limbs under the sheets. Ian's eyes were already open, watching and protecting her as she slept.

"Mmm." Shan stretched, languid, like a cat in the sun. He kissed her midway through, pulling her body even closer to his until her breasts were almost flattened against his chest.

"Thank you," she said. "For earlier."

Ian laughed. "Yes, I did you a big favor."

"Several, actually," she said, playing with the hair at his temple.

He kissed her forehead, her eyebrow, her nose. "Like...?"

"Like stopping me from killing Ashton in the hallway."

"Oh, that," said Ian. He kissed her lips, her chin, and her chin again. "That was nothing. I wasn't terrified at all. Nope. Not one bit."

Shan laughed, "I didn't think so." She exposed her neck and let his trail of kisses continue.

He looked good after sex. Way too good. And now she had even more appreciation for his toned muscles after feeling them bunch and move under his skin. His hair had always looked like it was mussed from sex, but now that she knew it was...she couldn't keep her fingers out of it.

"I like you," she said, grinning.

"Mmm." He was busy drawing a line down her neck with his tongue. Already her body wanted him again. Her mind and her heart had never stopped.

But hours had passed, and she still needed to find the jade animals. Preferably before they were sold off to the highest bidder at Saturday's auction. The tiger wasn't ready to let her rest.

Ian pulled himself away from her collarbone, but not without giving it one last, deliciously wet kiss.

"Did I mention that I have a present for you?" he said.

Shan raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Another one, you mean?"

Ian groaned happily. "Stop that. All that sexy looking and touching and just, I don't know, being. I'm trying to have a conversation."

"Sorry."

"Good."

"But not really."

He groaned again, then kissed her. On the lips. Shan melted into the bed, her whole body relaxing. Hours. Days. Years. She wanted to do this forever.

Ian ripped the covers off, shattering that daydream, and hopped out of bed. "Stay there," he commanded.

He slipped something out of his pants, still piled on the floor, and climbed back under the sheets. Unfortunately, he'd grabbed a piece of paper and not a condom.

"What's this?" Shan asked. The scrap of white paper had seven numbers scrawled on it: 2082606. "If this is Rachel Sexton's phone number, I'm not amused."

"Oh, I already have her phone number," Ian said easily. "But this is even better."

"Hard to imagine."

"Even if it's the security code to the museum wing?"

Shan looked up from the paper and into Ian's grinning face. "How?"

He shrugged, but was clearly pleased with himself. "Rachel and I go way back. I figured out she was dyslexic on our first dig together, by the way she always wrote down every measurement and read each digit back to me to verify. When we walked by the museum wing door and I saw the security panel, I figured she'd have the number written down somewhere."

"You went through her stuff looking for the number?" Shan asked, astonished.

"So it would appear."

Shan gave him her most dazzling smile. "Ian Dashell, that's the best present anyone's ever given me." She let her gaze wander down his sheet-covered body and remembered the hot tub. "Well, the second best, at any rate."

Ian grabbed the piece of paper from her hand and tossed it over his shoulder. There was a new spark in his eye that brought heat to every part of her. He said, "Let's go for third best, shall we?"

Shan pulled her dark hair into a loose bun at the back of her neck and dressed in conservative black. The big martial arts tournament was starting soon, so Ashton and his lackeys would be busy for hours. There'd never be a better opportunity to go for the jade animals.

"You ready?" Ian asked. He wore another one of his impeccable tuxes. It wasn't fair, Shan thought. The man looked better with every hour that passed. Even the tiger in her seemed torn between heading to the museum wing or ripping off his clothes and staying in.

"Let's do it," Shan said. More sex--even sex as soul shaking as they'd shared--could wait. Soon, all five animals would be reunited in one perfect circle of jade.

Soon, her mother's spirit would be able to rest.

Shan led the way, pretending to be one of Ashton's employees with a guest in tow. She saw few people along the way, and all of them were hurrying toward the big fight. Shan had only an academic interest in tournaments. The way you handled yourself in a controlled fight bore almost no resemblance to how you reacted when your life was at stake.

Shan kept her eyes straight ahead and her expression stoic as they neared the security door, despite the fact that her chi was almost singing in her veins. Ian watched the hallway while Shan tapped the correct sequence on the number pad.

Click.

She was in.

Shan grinned at Ian as they slipped into a dimly-lit antechamber. Wall hangings, statues perched on pedestals, signs in Mandarin and English--Shan ignored them all and headed for the imposing gold doors on the other side.

"Wait," Ian whispered. He caught up to Shan as she was reaching for the huge wooden latch.

"Why?" she hissed.

"Because we don't know what's in there. It could be Ashton, or security guards, or, I don't know, maybe even guard dogs."

"Yes, I know," Shan said, and pushed the door.

It swung open into a huge room with an arched ceiling. Recessed lights cast a yellowish glow on the dozens of black-clad tables arranged like a maze through the room. The artifacts, each with its own tiny spotlight, sat in perfect rows on the dark velvet.

But Shan didn't care about artifacts. All she wanted were the jade animals.

"I'll take the right," Shan whispered. Ian nodded and headed left. Shan watched him a moment longer. His gaze swept the room, not once, not twice, but continually. Something was bothering him, and it was more than just the thought of theft or security guards.

Shan frowned. She didn't like it. But the sooner she found the animals, the sooner she could take Ian and leave this room, this fortress, and this whole damn island.

"Don't touch anything," Ian called softly from the other side of the room. "Pressure sensors."

Shan nodded and turned her gaze to the first table. A dagger. A belt buckle. A small bottle. She moved on to the next table, and the next. Each held an array of seemingly mismatched items--books, jewelry, pottery, weapons, sculpture. Ian would probably understand the groupings.

Especially since he was progressing much slower through the room than she was.

Shan grinned and headed toward the next table.

Something breathed.

Shan stilled her body. Across the room, she saw Ian pause as well, his eyes scanning the darkness.

She heard it again, the heavy pant of an animal, not more than a few feet away from her.

Shan took a deep breath and stepped around the next table toward the noise.

"Ian," she said softly, "I think you were right."

His voice floated back, "About the guard dogs?"

Shan stared into a pair of huge, golden-green eyes. Eyes filled with expanding black pupils and surrounded by orange and black fur.

"Yes," she called back, "but they're not dogs."

CHAPTER 13

Shan knew what a tiger could do--she had studied its methods and prowess her whole life. This one looked to be at least eight or nine feet long, maybe five hundred pounds. Its fur glowed a deep, warm rust color, its stripes crisp and black. Five hundred pounds of muscle and natural grace, edged with deadly fangs and claws. She felt more affinity for this creature than she felt for most other human beings.

And it scared the hell out of her.

The tiger leaped straight at Shan, a blur of fur and flashing teeth. Shan dropped to the ground and rolled. Its back foot grazed her shoulder, and then it was over her, landing on its huge paws and turning to attack again.

Its ears lay flattened against its head. The tiger roared, its huge maw open wide, and ripped the silence of the room to shreds. The roar echoed and echoed, making it sound as if a hundred tigers filled the space instead of just one.

But one is enough, Shan thought.

Shan jumped to her feet and faced the tiger. A low growl crawled out of her throat, threatening. Promising. Chi hummed in her veins, down to her toes and up to her head.

And adrenaline.

And fear.

She let all these energies flow freely. Animals used their instincts as much as their eyes or their noses. She wanted this one to sense her power, to know that she, too, was more predator than prey.

The tiger's tail swished in the air behind it. The damn thing was close to pouncing. Close to leaping at her, claws extended, and trying to rip her throat out with its teeth.

Or, it might just bite her in the neck and wait until she suffocated before disemboweling her with its claws.

Not a pretty set of options, in her opinion.

Shan saw Ian at the edge of her vision, moving quickly from table to table--far faster than he'd been moving earlier. And then, she shut him out.

"It's just me and you," she whispered to the tiger. "Don't tangle with me, or it won't end well for either of us."

The tiger retreated, but only a step.

And then it reared up into the air and balanced on its back legs. It swatted the fragile distance between it and Shan, roaring. Shan could see the soft white fur on its belly, could smell the fresh meat of its last meal still on its breath.

"Oh, shit."

Her plan had worked too well. Now the tiger saw her as competition, as another tiger encroaching on its territory. The tiger danced in front of her. Its claws raked the air far faster than a creature that size had any right to do.

And it wanted to fight her as an equal.

Shan started to back up, but stopped herself. If she showed too much fear, that mass of fur and teeth would be all over her. On the other hand... She took a step back, and a paw whizzed by her head.

Shan felt her mind and body shifting more to fear than strength, and she gritted her teeth to make it stop. She flipped up and forward. She landed softly on an exhibit table near the tiger, her feet on either side of a small stone artifact. Hopefully the pressure sensors were keyed to the artifacts, and not the table. On the other hand, she'd rather be fighting a dozen guards than the beast before her.

No, not until Ian finds the jade animals.

The tiger dropped to all fours, and pounced.

Shan leaped to the side, cartwheeling along the table but keeping her hands and feet off the artifacts. The tiger cleared the table completely. Its claws screeched along the marble floor as it stopped itself. Then it spun around to face her again, snarling.

Shan spared a moment to scan the room for weapons. Not far off, on the wall, Ashton had a display of mostly ornamental swords and spears. But it was the staff that caught her eye. Ornamental or not, that just might keep the tiger at a safe distance.

She ran across the black velvety tables, skipping her feet over small artifacts and hopping over the big ones. Shan didn't look back, just kept her gaze on the staff. When she got close enough, she jumped, somersaulted, and plucked the smooth wooden staff from the wall. She landed softly on the marble floor, the staff resting in her hand just as it did in one of her practice routines.

But the tiger hadn't followed her. Instead, it was back where she'd left it, and it was closing in on Ian.

Ian pressed his back against the wall, his gaze darting left and right for some sort of opening. But the tiger wasn't leaving him any. From this distance, Shan was awed by the tiger's size. It made Ian look like a child, a plaything--and Ian was a hell of a lot taller than she.

"Over here!" Shan pulled out of her staff pose and ran straight at the tiger, yelling.

The tiger's massive head turned in her direction, and it roared its response. It turned and bounded toward her.

Shan planted the tip of her staff on the floor and vaulted into the air. She held onto the top with both hands and kicked. Her foot caught the leaping tiger in the head.

The tiger crashed to the ground, knocking the base of the staff. Shan tumbled hard against the cool marble and regained her feet. She twirled the staff in a wild figure eight until it whirred through the air, its tips blurred with speed. The tiger reared and clawed the air, but was too smart to actually test the wooden barrier Shan had created.

Eight feet tall the tiger stood. Muscle and fur and teeth and claws. Tigers could swim and climb, fight and hunt, leap and balance. It could easily fit her entire head inside its mouth. Shan spun her staff, her heart thudding loudly in her ears.

"They're not here," Ian called from across the room. "I've checked every table."

"They have to be!" Shan yelled back. Her grip on the staff was starting to slip. She spun the weapon behind her back, around, behind her neck, and in a wide arc in front of her, forcing the tiger back. If the tiger called her bluff, she'd only get one chance to hit it before its claws sank into her flesh.

"No," Ian called. "Trust me, they're not here."

If the jade animals weren't here, it meant Victor Ashton wasn't intending to auction them off.

It meant he intended to use them.

Shan looked at the snarling beast in front of her. The tiger radiated raw, untamed power. And the desire for fresh, hot blood. Shan's blood.

"Then let's get the hell out of here," Shan yelled.

"No arguments from me," Ian said. "Just let me know if you need a distraction."

Shan nodded. She spun her staff, mixing up the routine to keep the tiger on the defensive. When she saw Ian disappear behind the double-doors where they had entered, she focused everything on the tiger. And on her plan of escape.

Despite the spinning six-foot-long piece of wood in front of it, the tiger was becoming more bold. It lashed out with a paw and connected with her staff, knocking it from her hands. As the staff clattered to the floor some fifteen feet away, Shan forced herself to stay in control of her fear. To take the energy and divert it into action.

The tiger leaped. Shan dodged, but not fast enough. Her cheek burned as the tiger's claws snagged her flesh and ripped a trio of gashes. Shallow, judging by the fact that she could still use her jaw. Shallow but searing.

But she kept moving. Dodging. Flipping over tables. Flat-out running. Shan yanked the black velvet from one of the tables and threw it over the tiger's charging head. Artifacts flew into the air. Something smashed. Somewhere, Shan knew, alarms were going off.

But, more importantly, the tiger slid to a stop.

It growled and roared, shaking its head and body in attempt to free itself. But Shan didn't stick around to watch the show. She sped across the remaining tables and leaped for the doors. Her hand found the latch, and she pulled.

It didn't budge. Ian had locked the door behind him.

"Ian!"

Shan pounded on the door, then stepped back and kicked it with her heel. The door shuddered, but held. She'd need a lot more weight if she wanted to break it down.

She turned back to the tiger. It had shaken the velvet blanket off of most of its head and shoulders, and was now reorienting itself.

Its gaze found her again.

"Ian, let me out!"

Shan threw her shoulder against the door. She backed up and kicked it. And again. And again. Her heel slammed against the heavy wood. Five more minutes, and she'd break it down, easy.

But she didn't have five more minutes. She didn't even have one.

The tiger's claws screeched against the marble floor as it bounded toward her. Gritting her teeth, Shan held her ground. Sweat trickled down the side of her face and mixed with the blood from the tiger's scratches. Her legs told her to run, leap, hell, even to fly away from that tiger. But her mind proved stronger.

The tiger roared, showing off its four-inch fangs. Under different circumstances, Shan might marvel at its beauty, at the amazing pattern of stripes covering its face and back--as unique to the tiger as fingerprints were to a human.

Instead, she stood with her back to the locked doors and let the tiger come.

It leaped when it was still over a dozen feet away. Five hundred pounds of cat hurtled toward her, claws extended. Shan stared into its eyes, into those fiery pits of pure animal fury.

And dove.

She was still rolling when the tiger's body crashed into the doors and ripped them from their hinges. The tiger disappeared into the other room.

Ian!

Shan rolled to her feet and ran after the tiger. "Come back here, you bastard," she screamed at it. The tiger roared. Something heavy thudded to the floor.

She got to the doorway just in time to see the tiger pounce at the hulking form of Leopard Man. Ian lay crumpled against the wall, rubbing his throat. The thudding sound had been him.

Ian looked up. His gaze met hers. Shan spared him a worried glance, then turned her attention back to the two deadly creatures sharing the room with them.

Leopard Man, probably three hundred pounds himself, shook off the tiger in a shower of red droplets. He grabbed a device clipped to his pants and pressed a button. The tiger howled and reared back. Leopard Man pressed the device again. The tiger fled, running right past Shan and out into the main room.

While the man was still focused on the tiger, Shan leaped at him with a flying kick.

And bounced off his massive torso like a rubber ball. She fell, hard, and winced at the pain shooting up her leg. The man's body felt like solid iron. He reached down to grab Shan's ankle, but she scuttled out of the way.

"He said you would be in here, when he didn't see you at the fight," he said in Mandarin, probably referring to Ashton. "You look tighter than that other Jade Circle bitch--the one with the snake." The man grinned. "If she'd begged like I asked, I would have killed her much faster."

So this thing had raped and killed Chen Sun? Instantly, Sun's smiling face appeared in Shan's mind, but she shut it out. Bile rose in her throat. The tiger fought to defend itself, its territory. It fought to survive. But this thing that called itself a man--this beast--took pleasure in the pain of others. He used his power to destroy and humiliate.

Now was not the time for anger or disgust, however violently they tried to overtake her senses. Shan emptied her mind, relaxed her body into readiness. This fight was new. This fight was different.

This fight would end in death.

The man bent and punched for Shan's gut. She rolled to the side and saw his fist smash into the floor. Six inches into the floor. She kept rolling, trying to draw him away from the corner where Ian was still trapped. Leopard Man followed.

Shan leaped to her feet. The man punched. She dodged. If even a single one of his strikes connected to her body, he'd break every bone he touched. Including her skull.

In contrast, if she hit him anywhere but in his most vulnerable spots, she'd likely hurt herself more than him.

On the next punch, Shan dove between his legs. As she did so, she swept her right foot up and drove her heel into his groin. Most men would have hit the floor immediately. Leopard Man just grunted and turned around.

He reached for her arm. She swiveled, grabbed his wrist for leverage, and kicked him in the bundle of nerves at his underarm. He staggered back a step, clearly surprised. For all his strength, the huge bastard was slow. Yet another example of an incomplete jade circle resulting in an incomplete person.

He kicked at her while she was still on the ground. Shan saw it coming and rolled backward. He kicked again, faster. This time, the tip of his foot caught her in the chest. Shan flew up and backward. Her back collided with a stone pedestal. She fell, face down, onto the marble floor, and groaned.

"She was limber like a gymnast," Leopard Man said, still in Mandarin. "I put her body in positions that would have killed other women."

Shan swallowed thickly and pushed herself off the floor. Her back started to ache, but adrenaline quickly washed away the pain. At least for now. She refused to respond to this man. He was trying to taunt her, trying to force her to make a mistake. But she fought on her own terms, not some--

"You unbelievable bastard."

It was Ian. He was standing now, his perfect tux scuffed and hanging awkwardly across his shoulders, the angles of his face accentuated by his anger.

Leopard Man turned and smiled, as if he'd forgotten that Ian was even in the room with them. Well, he remembered now. The man looked back at Shan.

"Is your man a good lay? I'm not picky about my toys."

Shan charged. She leaped onto Leopard Man's back, and onto the back of the huge cat tattooed there.

At first, the man laughed. A huge, booming sound that jarred her teeth. She tried to snap his spine, but the muscles in his neck were too strong. She went for his eyes, but his big, meaty hand swatted her fingers away.

Under the ears.

Shan squeezed her thighs to hold herself in place, then drove her thumbs into the tiny soft spots under each of Leopard Man's ears.

He shrieked and dropped the tiger device. As he clutched at his ears, Shan dropped to her feet and lunged for the device. She got to it a second after one of Leopard Man's feet smashed it into shards of plastic.

She glanced at the doorway. No tiger. Yet. But she was betting it wouldn't be long before it headed back into the antechamber looking for paybacks.

Shan's hand went to her cheek. The blood oozing from her wound had thickened into sticky lines. As had the shallow scratches on Leopard Man's body, from what she could see. The tiger would be drawn to the freshest blood. It would assume that the wounded prey would be easier to kill.

Therefore, Leopard Man needed to bleed.

Shan flipped backward--once, twice, three times--until she stood near the stone pedestal she'd whacked into earlier. With one quick, snapping kick, she shattered the large vase sitting placidly on top of it. The vase, beautiful when whole, yielded even more beautiful shards when it was broken. Shan grabbed two--one for each hand--and wheeled to face her opponent.

The brute blinked his eyes and shook off the last remnants of his pain stupor. Shan held the vase shards like knives and attacked. Slash, slash. Her first two punches left deep gouges across his chest and almost cut the leopard tattoo in half. He reached for her, but she ducked under his arm and spun. Slash, slash. Two more along his arm. Spin, and slash, slash. Two bloody streaks across his back.

Leopard Man roared, the tattooed leopard head mimicking his movements. He swung his arm in a huge arc and smacked Shan in the side as she tried to leap away. Once again she went flying. The wall came up too fast. She crashed into it, face-first. Pain erupted behind her eyes as her head smacked the marble. Shan slid to the floor near someone's feet. Ian's feet.

"Shan." And then Ian's hands were on her shoulders, helping her stand. Balancing her.

Shan's eyes refused to focus. The room was a dark mass of broken wood and marble, all spattered with blood. Mostly Leopard Man's blood. Even in her haze, she could make out his huge body, slick and crimson.

Leopard Man studied himself, then looked up at Shan. His black eyes seemed like smoldering pits through the haze of her vision. "You fucked up my tattoo."

Shan tried to take a step forward, but her leg wobbled and gave out. Only Ian's warm arms and stabilizing presence kept her from falling to her knees.

"Not good," she mumbled. Her stomach lurched, and she wondered if she was going to throw up.

"I'll distract him," Ian whispered. "You run for the door." He pointed to the first security door they'd entered. "That door."

Shan shook her head. An image of Leopard Man's huge fist smashing into Ian's skull filled her mind and chased the blurriness away. Ian started to move, and Shan grabbed him, pulled him back.

She looked into his eyes, as deeply as she could within the space of a heartbeat. "I need you to be safe, Ian. Please."

He looked like he wanted to argue. She didn't care. She'd knock him unconscious herself if she had to.

But he nodded and stepped back. Just in time. A heavy metal plate whizzed through air where his head had just been. It ricocheted off the wall and clattered to the floor. Leopard Man hefted a large stone statue to throw next.

"Go!" Shan hissed. She pushed Ian left, toward the door, and jumped right. The statue pulverized itself--and much of the wall--upon impact. It could easily have killed either one of them.

Shan flipped twice and ended up in the now-empty doorway leading into the main artifact room. Leopard Man balled his fists and stomped toward her. For all his power, he was slow. She could run back into the artifact room, and keep him away for as long as she needed...

Or until his reinforcements showed up. With guns. And, of course, there was still the problem of--

The tiger.

Leopard Man stopped his advance just as Shan felt the tiger's low growl crawl up her spine. The tiger was close. Too close for her to leap away. Too close for her to do much of anything except get shredded to ribbons by its claws.

Shan closed her eyes, her back still to the tiger. She unleashed her chi, letting the energy in her body flow through her meridians freely. She felt resistance in her head, her back, her side--places where she'd been hurt--and the energy pipelines pinched. She followed the lines of chi into the floor until she could sense the other life forces in the room. The man, bleeding but standing still ten feet in front of her. The tiger behind her, assessing its prey.

Shan jumped an instant before the tiger.

She opened her eyes. Her hands wrapped around the rim of the door frame above her, and she swung her legs up.

The tiger flew past below her, an orange and black streak. It leaped on Leopard Man and bit into his throat. The tiger's rear claws raked the man's belly, digging deep into his flesh and scooping it away.

The man's eyes widened. He reached for his waist and fumbled for the device he'd destroyed earlier. He gave up and tried to yank the tiger off his body, but his strength was already starting to fade. He punched it in the ribs. The tiger's body shuddered, but it didn't let go. The man punched it again. More broken bones.

"Now!" Shan yelled to Ian.

Ian stood by the security door, his face slack with horror as he watched the evisceration. At Shan's words, he wrenched his gaze from the terrible scene and yanked open the door.

Shan swung her legs and used the momentum to flip to land far to the right of the struggling duo. She hesitated an instant, fighting her urge to help a fellow human being in need. But if she did help Leopard Man, it would just be to kill him a minute later.

Besides, she was rooting for the tiger.

Ian held the door open. Shan ran around the perimeter of the room, hurdling a smashed pillar, and made it to his side. She pulled the door closed behind them, and, in that last flash, she saw the tiger rip its head away from the man's neck, a huge chunk of flesh still gripped firmly in its jaws.

The door snicked shut.

"Are you all right?" Ian's arms were on her again, providing a blast of solid warmth that made Shan shudder. Dust clung to his cheeks and formidable nose.

"I'm good, I'm fine," she said, appalled at the quaver in her voice. "Really. We need to keep moving. The alarm--"

Ian kissed her.

His lips pressed hers with an almost overwhelming intensity. Shan felt the tension in her body slide away in the wake of him. His lips. Ian. Shan gripped his jacket, the back of his head, and returned the kiss with a ferocity that surprised her.

Eventually, Ian pulled away. His eyes glowed in the shadow of his brow. With one thumb, he traced the air over the gashes on her cheek. His lips twitched, like he wanted to kiss the wounds away.

"Okay," he said. "Now we can go."

Shan's pulse pounded in her throat. How could she be so happy after just seeing a man killed before her eyes? After being tossed into pillars and walls and clawed by a tiger?

She was either insane, or something far, far worse.

Ian took her hand. "Where to?"

"Anywhere but here," Shan said. "I tripped the alarm, and they're going to find the body when tattoo guy doesn't return to the fight."

They headed down the corridor, Ian in front. Despite his disheveled appearance, he was by far the more normal looking of the two of them.

Footsteps. Shan pulled Ian into an alcove and held him tight against her body. She could feel his breath along the top of her ear, warm and regular, and her own heartbeat strong in her chest.

"All clear," Ian whispered.

"The portrait gallery," Shan said suddenly. Ashton had appeared by her side, but she hadn't heard him coming down the hallway. True, she'd been preoccupied by the discovery of his Jade Circle connection, but it was worth a shot.

"Portrait gallery?"

"I'm hoping for a secret entrance or something," Shan said. She grinned at Ian. "But boy, does that sound silly when I say it out loud."

Ian's eyes glinted in their shadows. "Not to an archaeologist, it doesn't. And not when you're talking about a whacko like Ashton. Lead on, MacDuff."

"I'm not Scottish, in case you haven't noticed." Shan walked quickly and quietly through the corridors. Ian, with all his crane influence, kept up admirably.

"Not Scottish?" Ian whispered in mock outrage. "Everything we've had together is a lie."

Shan motioned for Ian to stand in the shadows as another pair of servants walked past their corridor. When they were gone, she slipped into the new hallway, pulled open the curtains to the portrait gallery, and motioned Ian inside.

"You have a thing for kilts?" she asked as he brushed by her.

"Only when you're in them."

Shan almost laughed, but caught herself in time. Who thought infiltrating the lair of an international crime lord could be so much fun?

She let the heavy velvet curtains drop behind her and paused to let her eyes adjust to the near darkness. Ian was already moving along the right wall, examining the picture frames and touching the wall in various places.

"So, Mr. I'm-an-expert-in-secret-doors, what do I look for?"

"Anything out of the ordinary," Ian said.

Shan frowned at a portrait of Alexander the Great. "Gee, that's helpful."

"Oh, and irregular dust patterns on the floor."

"That's better." She crouched and studied the floor in the almost non-existent light. She couldn't see any dust at all. Shan dragged a finger across the marble and studied that. There it was. A fine coating of dull gray.

She continued along the left wall, prodding, poking, and examining everything she could. The scratches on her cheek burned, but she resisted the urge to risk infection further by touching them her dirty hands. Of course, an infection was nothing compared to rabies. When she got back to Los Angeles, she'd need a fast appointment with her acupuncturist.

When? If. If she got back. Shan's delusions about surviving the weekend had been shredded with each roar of that tiger. Victor Ashton wasn't just an artifact dealer. He was a killer. And with three of the jade animals in his possession, he'd be a pretty tough person to stop.

"I found something."

Shan joined Ian by the portrait of Bruce Lee.

"Light scrape marks on the marble. See?" He pointed to something on the floor.

"No, but continue anyway."

He did. Ian was clearly in professor mode, focused and adorable in his excitement. "And look here. See these smudges? The opening mechanism must be difficult to find, even if you know the general area. Those are fingerprints. And look, there's another set over here."

"Wow, archaeologists are useful," Shan grinned.

Ian placed his hands to either side of Bruce's portrait, and in roughly the same position as Bruce held his.

"And we say the magic words--"

"Abracadabra?"

"No. The magic words are 'Oh, god, I hope this isn't booby trapped.'" Ian pressed his hands into sensors that remained--to Shan's eye--completely invisible.

Click.

A slender piece of the wall near Ian swiveled and became a door.

And just inside that door--shadowed, bloody, and unconscious--lay Buckley.

CHAPTER 14

"Bucks!" Ian pulled the door all the way open and dropped to his knees beside his friend. "Bucks, wake up."

"Is he breathing?" Shan alternated her gaze between the hallway behind them, Buckley, and the dark corridor ahead.

"Yes, and his pulse is strong." Ian lifted up one of his friend's eyelids and whispered, "Please, Daniel, wake up."

Shan's gut twisted at the sound of Ian's quiet fear.

Ian moved his fingers to Buckley's head and started to prod near the coagulated blood. Buckley groaned, and his eyes fluttered open.

Shan exhaled. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

But wait.

If Buckley was here--

"Lydia..." Buckley lifted his arm to point down the secret passage, winced, and lowered it again.

"His arm is broken." Ian's voice had gone monotone.

Shan stopped breathing. Her heart simply refused to beat. Not Lydia. Not Buckley. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. This was her quest, her demon. Ian was a part of it now, but that was his choice. What choice did Lydia and Buckley have, with so much life and happiness before them? They were sitting ducks back at The Way of the River. She should have sent them somewhere else. Somewhere safe.

"Ian, take him back to the room." Now her own voice was dead as well. "I'm going after Lydia."

Ian stood and stepped aside so that she could pass. Her shoulder brushed his chest as she stepped over Buckley. When she turned in that tiny corridor and looked back, Ian's face had been consumed by shadows. Shadows that went far deeper than just the absence of light.

Shan's spine tingled, her brain suddenly fuzzy with an old memory, an old pain. The night the Jade Circle had been destroyed had felt so much like this night. Her parents had passed in the hallway. Her father had taken Shan and the tiger and fled to America. Her mother had turned and fought, and then her mother had died.

They'd never seen each other again after that night, never had the chance to kiss, or talk, or fall asleep in each other's arms.

Shan's throat was thick. She stared at Ian and tried to throw everything in her heart at him through the space between them. His face with its shadows was a wild mirror of her own: dark, pained, distorted with a mixture of anger and need, and...

And then she turned and left him there. Left Ian. Left her sense of balance, of rightness, her hope for any sort of future at all. Shan walked down the pitch-black hall, her hands on the walls in front of her to lead the way.

Duty was an ugly, life-crushing word.

But duty was all she'd ever known.

Ian watched Shan go. In less than a second she had been subsumed by the darkness.

Her eyes.

Dear god, her eyes had been so full. Full of pain and loss, full of longing and maybe even love. Yet she had turned and left him, as he always knew she would. Shan could no more walk away from this fight than the stars could walk away from the heavens. Ian knew it. He had always known it. She'd never been anything but honest about what she wanted.

He'd just been hoping her wants would grow to include him.

Ian knelt and helped Bucks to his feet. Daniel leaned against the wall, his left arm cradling his broken right arm in front of his chest.

"They showed up right after you guys left," Buckley said hoarsely. "They took Lydia. They hurt Xia real bad. She might be dead. I couldn't--"

"Can you walk?" Ian asked briskly. He needed Buckley to stop talking, to stop compounding the fear already spreading like a virus through Ian's mind. Shan needed him to be strong. For Shan, he could be anything--even that.

Bucks looked at him, swallowed, then nodded.

"Good. I'll try to set your arm as soon as we get to the room. We have to move quickly."

Bucks nodded again and whispered, "Lead on, Mac--"

"Don't."

He'd never see Shan again. Her eyes had told him that, and somehow, he believed her. He felt a lump swelling in his throat.

Shan. Beautiful, fierce Shan...

He headed back up the hallway, toward the curtain and the more public areas of Ashton's fortress. Buckley followed. Ian saw Shan's haunted eyes watching him from every painting along the wall. He forced himself to stare straight ahead.

"Dash, wait."

Ian stopped just before the curtain. "What?"

Bucks shifted his weight. Even in the darkness, Ian could see the dark, swollen bruises on Buckley's broken arm.

"I can't just go hide while Lydia's in there." Bucks ran his good hand through his crew-cut hair.

"Shan will save her," Ian said. Shan could do anything.

"But I'm her fiancé, Dash. I should be the one that rides in on the white horse."

"With a broken arm?"

Buckley looked down at the arm pressed against his chest. "Yeah, well, I don't have much choice about that."

"If we go charging in there after Shan, we're just going to make things more difficult for her," Ian said. And there was no way he was going to let that happen, regardless of Bucks's surprising display of honor.

"I know," Buckley nodded. "But I heard One-eye talking to some other guy--Ashton?--and I think I know where there's another entrance."

Ian looked past Buckley and the watchful eyes of a dozen portraits. Somewhere back there in the darkness, Shan was headed into the worst danger of her life.

Danger she was going to face without him at her side.

Ian turned to back to Buckley. "Well, why the hell didn't you say that five minutes ago? Let's move!"

The secret hallway ended in a posh, well-lit corridor lined with yet more artwork. Shan took off at a run, picking hallways at random and checking every door for sounds within.

Meeting rooms, offices, meditation nooks. This is where Ashton ran his business, the part of it not meant for the prying eyes of government. She should have asked Buckley where Lydia was. She never thought this place would be so big.

Shan burst through a door at the end of a short hallway and into a huge spa: high ceilings, a mud pool at the far end, hot tubs, cool dips, a waterfall across one entire wall, and massage tables.

Shan's breathing jerked to a halt.

Suspended in front of the waterfall wall was Xia. Chains hanging down from the ceiling and up from the floor ended in thick cuffs around her wrists and ankles. Her head hung, limp. Blood trickled down her naked body in dark rivulets and congealed in a pool below her feet.

She looked dead. Sweet mother, she was dead.

Next to Xia, Lydia was strapped face-down and naked to a massage table. One-eye stood behind her and a dragged a thin knife through the flesh of her shoulder. Lydia's muffled screams echoed softly in the cavernous serenity of the room.

One-eye looked up when Shan entered and smiled.

"You found my little present," One-eye said in Mandarin. "I'll have two more ready for you in a few minutes. Would you care to wait?"

But Shan was already moving, already running toward him, already in her zone of readiness. One-eye could drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness, and it wouldn't save his life at this point. Not after what he'd done to Xia. Not after whatever he was currently doing to Lydia.

For all his condescending banter, One-eye seemed surprised at her speed. Maybe he thought she'd head to Xia first, or try to free Lydia. Instead, she went for his throat.

One-eye slashed with the knife just as Shan leaped into a flying kick. She cleared the massage table easily, and her right foot smashed into One-eye's chest. She felt One-eye's knife blade slice into her calf. The pain followed in a fiery wake.

Shan landed, spun, kicked again. One-eye blocked, but barely. She kicked again. Punched his face, solar plexus, and groin. Whipped her body around and lashed out again with her other foot. He stumbled back, struggling to block the onslaught of strikes.

Right hook. Uppercut. Spinning back kick. He had no time to counterattack. Blood soaked through Shan's pant leg. Jump kick. Spearhand. Thrust punch to the heart, knifehand to the neck.

One-eye backed into Xia's dangling body and swung it in front of Shan. She stumbled and slipped in the puddle of Xia's blood on the floor. One-eye punched with his knife. Shan back-flipped to get out of range.

Shan stood and tried to wipe the slick blood from the bottom of her shoes. It just smeared. Instead, she kicked off her shoes and gripped the cool floor with her bare feet.

"Not much of a talker," One-eye sneered. "Neither was your mother. I got this one to scream, though." He motioned toward Lydia with his knife hand. "I'll get you to scream, too. It's the least I can do to pay back your mother for my eye."

His words meant nothing. They wafted over her like a foul smell, nothing more.

She could not be touched by such things now.

Ian ran his hand over the fish's head, carefully avoiding the stream of water shooting out of its mouth, and looked for the opening mechanism. Buckley leaned against the alcove wall next to him, his breathing heavy.

"You don't remember anything else?" Ian prodded the wall near the fountain. He lay his cheek against the smooth plaster looked for seams or bumps in the paint.

Bucks grunted. "Why would they explain how to open it? They both already knew."

"Still, there's got to be something else you can tell me." Ian ran his hand over the fountain sculpture again and tested each one of the fish's rusted bronze scales. "Some archaeologist I turned out to be. I can't even find a hidden passage when I know where to look."

"You're a damn good archaeologist, Dash," Bucks said with surprising conviction.

"Where did that come from?"

Buckley shrugged. "It's been a shitty twenty-four hours, and I've had a lot of time to think."

Ian found a loose scale near the fish's tail and pressed it. Nothing. Either it was just a loose scale, or there was another trigger to find. "And you've been thinking what?"

"That you don't deserve all this shit," Buckley said. "And neither do I."

Ian snorted and looked at Buckley. "And Shan does? Or Lydia?"

"Shan and Lydia are part of that Jade Circle thing," Bucks said. "They knew what they were signing up for."

"Bullshit."

"Not bullshit, Dash." Buckley sighed heavily. "Look, they're part of that ancient women's club. No boys allowed. Yeah, we can peek through the windows, but we'll never be invited to the slumber party." He stared at Ian and said solemnly, "We'll never be truly equal."

Ian went back to the fountain. He didn't want to keep looking at Buckley, and he sure as hell didn't want to keep listening to him. Especially when he was starting to make a twisted kind of sense.

But curiosity kills more than just cats. It nabs a fair number of archaeologists, too.

"All right, Buckley, just what the hell are you getting at?"

"There's a boat," Bucks said quietly. "A secret boat." His friend's eyes were intense orbs of black. "I know where the boat is, and I think we should get the fuck out of this place."

A boat, Ian thought. A boat that could get Shan and Lydia off this rock before morning.

"I have to tell Shan," Ian said. "She needs to know about this option." He ran both hands over the molded bronze waves supporting the fish. Come on, mechanism...

Buckley shook his head. "It's no good. She'll never leave here without those jade statues, and Ashton'll never let her have them."

"He doesn't have to let her have them," Ian said. His thumb rubbed a small bump in one of the waves, and the bump depressed. Ian kept his left hand there and felt for the loose fish scale with his right. "Shan doesn't need his permission to take them."

"Don't be an ignorant prick, Dash. This schoolboy crush of yours is going to get you killed."

Ian stared at Buckley, an intense, smoldering anger beginning to crawl through his flesh. "You're engaged to Lydia, yet you're willing to leave her here, and I'm the prick?"

"Dash, I'm trying to save your life. If calling me a prick makes you feel better about that, then bully for you." Buckley's cheek had flushed red, and Ian saw his hands fold into heavy fists--even the hand attached to the broken arm.

Ian turned back to the fountain. He pressed the bump in the wave and the loose scale, and a door swiveled open beside him. The darkness of the secret passage--and eventually Shan--beckoned.

"You go, Daniel," Ian said. "You find that boat and you take it. I won't stop you."

Buckley frowned. His fists tightened. "You're making a mistake, Ian, and it's a fucking big one."

"Then feel free to write 'I told you so' on my gravestone," Ian growled, and he stepped into the abyss.

One-eye wanted to talk, but Shan just wanted him to die.

But he stood over Lydia's body with a knife in his hand. She needed to keep him occupied by something other than the easy target Lydia's flesh made.

"If you want revenge," Shan said quietly, "then come and take it. I'm not going anywhere until this is over."

One-eye's mouth widened into a grin. He dropped the knife onto Lydia's back. It landed on the flat of the blade, gleamed malevolently, but lay still.

"I'm not as good as my mother, but you still won't be able to take me," Shan taunted, her voice filled with the power of stillness.

One-eye stepped around Lydia, starting to cross the floor between them. "No, you're not," One-eye said. "And yes, I will."

Shan let her hands fall to her sides. Ready. Still.

"Show me," she said.

And he came.

Prepared, he was fast. Driven, he was deadly.

Shan dodged and blocked his attacks with an ease that almost surprised her. Her mind was more clear, more empty, than it had ever been. Shan saw One-eye's attacks before he made them. His chi sputtered through his body, pockmarked by his anger.

It made him weaker even as it fed her strength.

He kicked at her head. Shan knocked his foot away with ease. He punched, slashed, jabbed at her eyes. She flowed like the river, always moving, but without thought.

Shan saw an opening in One-eye's defenses and drove her knuckles into the joint at his shoulder. Then she swiveled her arm and drove those same knuckles into his ribcage. As her right hand pulled back, she channeled its force into her left. Her knuckle sank deeply into the soft flesh of his neck.

One-eye stumbled.

Shan whipped out her right hand, all but her two longest fingers folded inward, and pierced his one remaining eye.

The same move her mother had used to blind him over fifteen years ago.

One-eye screamed. He dropped to the floor and writhed, both hands covering his oozing socket.

But Shan did not enjoy suffering, even his. She stomped on his throat and crushed his windpipe.

And quickly--almost quickly enough--One-eye died.

His hands fell away from his face, and Shan forced herself to look, really look, at the damage she had caused. She wanted to feel remorse for taking her first life, but there was no honesty in that emotion for her. The world was a better place for this man's passing. Shan owed him nothing. Even the speedy death she had given him was undeserved.

"Buckley..."

Xia was trying to raise her head. Shan knelt beside One-eye and searched his body. She found keys in his front pocket.

"Buckley," Xia said again, her voice as broken as her body seemed to be.

"He's safe," Shan said. "Ian is taking him back to the room. They're both safe."

She moved to Lydia first. A Chinese character, bloody but precise, was carved into Lydia's shoulder. Shan cursed silently. The character said "whore."

She released Lydia from her straps and helped the young woman sit up. Fresh bruises covered her upper arms, her cheek, her right thigh, yet Shan said nothing about them.

"Hold Xia while I release the cuffs," Shan said. "Don't let her fall."

Lydia, her face tear-streaked and dirty, pulled the gag from her mouth and said, "Buckley's a traitor."

"Dash, wait!"

Ian heard Buckley lumber into the secret passage, but didn't stop. Buckley was willing to leave Lydia here. Lydia, the woman Bucks supposedly loved. This was not the same man who had stood by Ian's side in the wilds of the Brazilian rainforest and faced down a gang of guerillas spoiling for a fight. Something had happened to Bucks, and it wasn't something good.

Ian ran his hand along the smooth wall to his right and stepped carefully, hoping that Ashton hadn't thought to install any pressure-sensitive pits or poison darts or huge rolling boulders. Shan needed to know about the boat, even if Buckley took it for himself. Maybe there was another boat. Its very existence gave them a chance of surviving this night that they didn't have ten minutes ago. Maybe...

Oh, who was he kidding? The boat was simply an excuse to find Shan and to be with her, no matter what happened. Ian had persuaded himself that Shan knew best, that his presence would only weaken her chances of defeating Ashton. But Shan wasn't all-knowing, and she wasn't all-powerful. Help, even his, might be all it took to shift the balance in her favor. And he was willing to risk his own life on that chance.

"Come on, Ian, wait up!"

Amazingly, Bucks remembered to keep his voice down. Ian ignored him anyway.

The hallway ended in a velvet curtain. Ian pulled the curtain back an inch and peered into a large, circular chamber about thirty feet wide. Ringing the wall about ten feet up were dozens of huge monitors showing some elaborate fight scene in unison. In the very center of the room stood a low table carved with intricate animal designs. A statue of pale green jade rested on top of it. Ian squinted and recognized the bottom part of the statue as his crane.

Ashton had rebuilt the Jade Circle.

Buckley shuffled up behind Ian and said, "You should have gone to the boat with me."

"We found it," Ian said. "Where's the boat? As soon as we find Shan and Lydia, we can get the hell out of here."

"You aren't listening."

Ian felt the cold, heavy barrel of a gun pressed against his spine.

In some bizarre self-defense maneuver, Ian's mind filled with rapid-fire images. The only ones that mattered were of Shan. Shan bursting through the door back at the university like some mythic goddess. Shan kissing his chin in the Alps, like a sweet-hearted teenager. Shan in the hot tub... The image flickered, then froze.

Shan in the hot tub.

She'd already rescued him once. She shouldn't have to do it again.

Ian spun and swept the gun away from his back with an arm that suddenly felt like a wing. He kept turning, and his other arm floated up, extended. The edge of his hand slammed into Buckley's neck with the full force of Ian's spinning body behind it.

Buckley choked and fell against the wall, clutching his throat with the hand of his broken arm. He tried to raise his gun, but Ian moved faster, kicked the gun out of Buckley's hand, and heard it skitter into the darkness.

Ian remembered the bar, and Buckley's sudden possession of the gun that chased the bad guys away. He remembered France, and the two wrong turns Buckley had taken when they were driving. All the pieces slid together into a terrible picture of betrayal.

"Money?" Ian said, his voice almost broken.

Buckley laughed. "You'd never understand. Not with your millions in the bank and your fucking twisted ideas about honor. You should have gone to the boat with me. This isn't your fight."

Ian shook his head. How could he have been so stupid? And Shan had trusted them both, risked her life to keep them both safe. He should have seen through the deception.

"You're right. I'll never understand, Daniel," Ian said softly.

And then they were both bathed in light as the curtain opened behind them. Ian started to turn around when something grabbed him around the waist--something invisible but painfully strong--and pulled him backward into Ashton's shrine.

Shan and Lydia eased Xia's torn and bloody body onto the massage table while Shan tried to calm her growing fury. Buckley was a traitor. She had sent Ian with Buckley. Ian was in danger again. Why hadn't she seen through his lies? Why hadn't Ian? Too wrapped up in each other, that's why.

"Lydia..." Xia mumbled. "She...broke his arm."

Shan looked at Lydia.

"He poisoned us," Lydia spat. "And if I hadn't fallen unconscious, I would have broken more than just an arm."

Xia chuckled. Her laughter quickly devolved into spasms.

"Help her," Shan said to Lydia. "If I'm not back soon, then try to hide until Sunday and sneak onto one of the boats. I'm going after the animals."

Lydia's gaze burned.

"And then after Buckley," Shan added. But first, Ian.

Lydia nodded. Shan could feel the hatred swirling inside the girl. If Shan didn't survive this next ordeal, Lydia would be well on her way to becoming another Xia. Lydia deserved so much better than that. Everyone did.

Shan ran, and tried not to think about Ian. But it was hopeless. She saw his face as it had been in the university that night, bloodied and almost unconscious. If Buckley touched him...

Shan growled. She burst into room after room, startling servants and setting off alarms.

It didn't matter. If they came at her, she would drop them. Ian would not die in this place, by his friend's hand. Shan would not allow such an injustice to occur, even if it meant ripping out six dozen throats on her way to find him.

The clusters of servants thickened as Shan raced through the hallways. And dispersed like birds when they saw her coming.

Smart servants.

Ian. He had given her the crane. He had taken her to the dragon. He had brought her to the auction and into the artifact room. He had found the secret passage.

Would she even be here without his help? Her father had never helped her mother like that. He'd sat in his musty room with his books and read all the hours that she trained. Shan's mother had been a better fighter for being more alone. A far better fighter than Shan.

She was getting closer to Ashton. Shan turned a corner. Three men jumped in front of her. She barely slowed as she kicked the first in the groin, popped the second man's shoulder from its joint, and slammed the third man's head into the wall. Four more men came at her. A few screams later, and they were down, clutching their wounds and bleeding into the carpet. They'd live, and they'd remember.

Ahead of her, at the end of the hallway, stood gold-gilt double doors carved with twin dragons. The heart of Ashton's fortress.

And she wanted Ashton's heart.

Ian tried to struggle against the invisible force dragging him backward, but there was nothing to grab hold of, nothing to twist away from. He was helpless as the force yanked him into the room and then pinned his back against the stone wall. Ian tucked his chin down toward his chest just before he hit. No time for another concussion when Shan needed him conscious.

Victor Ashton stood in the center of the room wearing a gold-embroidered kung-fu suit. One of his hands rested on the circle of jade animals while the other hand stretched out and directed the invisible grip around Ian's waist. Ashton smiled.

"Impressive, yes? It's quite a bit more power than even I was expecting. I'm looking forward to testing it on our little Jade Circle friend."

"She's not here," Ian growled. "I'm doing this alone."

Ashton chuckled and twisted his hand slightly. Ian gritted his teeth against the sudden pain crushing his ribs and stomach.

"The circle shows me truth from lies," Ashton said, "and you are most certainly lying." He flicked a finger.

Something kicked Ian in the gut. Air left his lungs in one great whoosh. His body wanted to double over, to ease the pain, but it couldn't. Ashton's power held him firm against the wall.

"Hey, Vic. We agreed you wouldn't kill him."

Buckley had regained his feet and his gun, and now leaned against the wall by the curtain, his broken arm still pulled tight against his torso. He held the gun loosely in his good hand, not an obvious threat, but still a present one.

Ashton's mouth quirked into a smile. "We also agreed that I wouldn't kill you."

They stared at each other, giving Ian a chance to fill his lungs with air again. If Bucks shot Ashton, maybe Ian would have a chance to grab the jade animals and get the hell out. The two golden doors on the opposite side of the room looked like a promising route for escape.

Buckley laughed, breaking the silence. "Yeah, we did agree on that, Vic. You thinking of reneging on that part, too?"

"It depends on what you intend to do with that gun, Daniel."

Ian tried to think. He tried to empty his mind. Those flickering video screens captured his gaze, and he watched the same fight from earlier, a woman against a dozen men.

Buckley's voice cut into Ian's reverie. "I don't want to shoot you, Vic."

Ashton laughed. "Actually, you do want to shoot me," he said, "but the relevant question is, will you try?"

Silence while Buckley pondered. Ian wanted to shout, "Do it! Kill the fucking bastard!" But the longer Ashton's attention stayed trained on Buckley, the better his own chance of survival.

"No," Buckley said finally, "I don't think I will."

Ashton nodded. "Then if you don't want to see your friend die, I suggest you leave now."

Buckley looked at Ian. "Sorry, Dash. I tried."

Ian said nothing. There were no words for what he felt, no number or arrangement of insults that did justice to Buckley's betrayal. If Daniel wanted forgiveness, then he needed to ask his god, because he sure as hell wasn't going to find it on Earth.

Buckley shrugged. He dropped his gun to the floor, turned back, and slipped through the curtain. That cowardly, worthless piece of--

"Now," Ashton said, "let's see what we can do about getting you killed."

Ian only had time to see Ashton's hand start moving before his ears rang from the sounds of his own screams.

CHAPTER 15

The screams were Ian's.

Shan ran for the double-doors. Ashton's lackeys popped out of hallways and alcoves to bar her way. Ian's voice filled her head, made her drunk with anger. She kicked too hard and crushed a man's throat. She broke a woman's knee, and then her other knee. She slammed another man into the wall so hard that his eyes rolled to white.

And still, Ian screamed.

A small part of her mind not occupied with destruction recognized these sounds as a good thing. Ian was alive. Whatever was happening, at least he was still alive.

Ashton, however, was as good as dead.

Shan launched herself at the doors, determined to shatter them as the tiger had done. They opened just before she hit. Shan tumbled into the room, and the doors slammed shut behind her. She flipped to her feet.

Ashton, draped in gold silk, stood in the center of the room with the Jade Circle animals. Ian lay crumpled, but moving, against the far wall, amid several large smears of blood. His screaming had stopped as soon as she had entered the room, but Shan could still hear it in her ears, could still feel it grating against her bones.

Energy crackled and flowed through everything in the room--the walls, the floor, Ian, Shan--and Ashton pulled it all into himself through the Jade Circle. Shan wouldn't be surprised if the net reached even farther, and gathered chi from the mountain itself. Video screens flickered around the room, but Shan ignored them. Her vision only had room for Ashton and the ruined lump of Ian's body behind him.

"Let him go," she said to Ashton.

Ashton dropped his hand. Ian slumped to the floor with a groan, his face hidden against the wall. "That was the only request you get to make," Ashton said.

Shan leaped.

Ashton lashed out and raked the air, his hand shaped like a claw. What felt like four huge knives sliced Shan in the side and flung her backward. She twisted to minimize the damage as she struck the stone. Deep gashes ripped her clothes and flesh. She left her own bloody trail as she slid down the wall.

The pain seared. It felt as if her insides had caught fire. Shan gritted her teeth and struggled to her feet.

"Nice trick." Shan turned and spat blood onto the perfect marble floor.

"I've got more," Ashton said.

His hand blurred. A brick of force smacked Shan in the side of the head and knocked her off her feet again. Blow after blow fell on her body. Her legs and arms bruised. The air left her lungs and refused to return. Her eyes rolled back in her head as her skull hit the floor, the wall, and the floor again. Her body tried to block the onslaught. Tried, and failed.

The attack stopped.

Shan's vision returned as the pain receded. Ashton, with his long black hair, watched her from the center of the room.

"Is this why you don't allow men into the Jade Circle?" Ashton said. "Because we wield the power so much better than you?"

Shan struggled to make sense of his words, but the meaning seemed just out of reach. She shook her head. Blood spattered the floor around her.

"Men..."

It was all she could manage.

"Yes, men," Ashton said. "Do you know how badly I wanted to study there, at the Jade Circle, with my mother?"

"Men..." Shan tried again, "...temple."

Ashton's white teeth glared. "Oh, yes, men can study at the temples. Men can give up their lives and become monks and live off rice and rats in order to learn. But that's not how it worked at the Jade Circle, was it?"

Shan shook her head. The Jade Circle had been full of love, happy children, and adults at peace with life and each other. Martial arts training added texture and depth to one's life; it didn't replace it.

"She sent me away," Ashton continued. "To England. To live with him."

He jerked his hand. Shan's shirt ripped just below her neck, and fresh blood oozed from a new cut. Shan rolled onto her back and let her shirt staunch the flow. So far, Ashton had kept the wounds shallow, but Shan didn't doubt he could reach in and pull out her heart if he wanted.

A plan. She needed a plan. But what could she do? Ashton had all the power.

"Yes, I do," Ashton said.

Truth from lie, thoughts as truth. Her mother had been able to sense people's minds as well, though she used it rarely.

"I'll kill you anyway," Shan growled. Tried to growl. The words came out broken.

Ashton laughed. "Lie! Not even you believe that nonsense, yet you expect me to?"

Shan swallowed, the metallic taste of blood traveling slowly down her throat. Ashton was right. She couldn't kill him. Even before he'd taken the animals, she hadn't been sure that she could. Now...now it was impossible. A lifetime of searching, and she'd lost in the endgame. The Jade Circle was gone forever.

Shan looked up, and her gaze fell on the ring of monitors. The images slowly came into focus.

And when they did, Shan watched her mother die.

The screens--all of them--flickered, and the show began again on every screen. The security cameras in the Jade Circle sanctuary had captured it all.

Her mother ran into the main sanctuary room--probably right after she'd left Shan in the hallway and blinded One-eye. Men attacked. Lin-Yao moved like the ancient dragon, fluid and wise and utterly deadly. Men fell, most dead before they could even scream. Shan had never seen her mother kill. Lin-Yao was so beautiful and even more terrifying in her perfection. Shan could never dream of matching her skill.

The camera angle changed, and now Shan saw a new man in the video. The leader of the assault. A man who was, most definitely, a young Victor Ashton.

More men came, faster and faster. A kick knocked Lin-Yao backward into Ashton's arms.

Ashton snapped her mother's neck.

Shan watched her mother's body, suddenly lifeless, drop to the floor in the only display of clumsiness her mother had ever shown.

The video flickered and started over. Lin-Yao ran into the main sanctuary chamber.

"Good footage, don't you think?" Ashton said. "Just remember, the cameras add ten pounds."

Lin-Yao fought, and men fell.

Ashton continued, "They called your mother the dragon. I remember her from before they sent me away."

More men attacked. Lin-Yao stumbled back.

"You're a pale shadow of her."

Her mother's neck twisted and broke. Her mother slid to the floor.

The video flickered.

Her mother's perfection shone in every frame. Shan had never been as patient or as wise, even as an adult. Her mother would still love her, she knew, but would Lin-Yao actually be proud?

Lin-Yao fought, killed, stumbled backward.

Shan couldn't stop watching. The pain in her chest swelled until she felt as if her heart might explode. Her beautiful, graceful mother, and then...

The video had no sound, but Shan could hear it. The crackle of bones in her mother's spine as they separated, severing nerves and ending life in one meaningless, simple motion.

Is that how Ashton would kill her, too?

"I haven't decided how I'm going to kill you, girl," Ashton said. "But you'll definitely watch the professor die before you go. Of that I am certain."

The video flickered. Lin-Yao ran into the sanctuary room. Men attacked.

Shan was vaguely aware of Ian's voice, harsh and broken, when he said, "I'm not going to die."

Lin-Yao killed the men.

"Of course you're going to die," Ashton said. "You know it, too. Your words were a lie."

One of the men kicked Lin-Yao, and she stumbled backward.

"Maybe so," said Ian, "but Shan will kill you. This is your first and only time with the jade animals."

Lin-Yao spilled onto the floor. The video flickered.

"Lie," Ashton said, but there was a strange tone to his voice.

"No, it's not," Ian said. "She'll kill you."

Lin-Yao fought in the main sanctuary room of the Jade Circle.

Ashton laughed. "Your opinion won't make any difference."

Shan watched her mother fight. Flawless. Beautiful. Her mother spun, and...

Made a mistake.

Her mother had made a mistake. Lin-Yao could have stopped the kick that sent her tumbling back into Ashton's death grip. For all her training, for all her skill, her mother had made a mistake that had cost her life.

But Shan had seen it. Shan would never have made a mistake like that. No, she'd have made different ones. Shan wasn't perfect, but neither had her mother been.

"My opinion does matter," Ian said.

Shan looked away from the video screens as they flickered and restarted. She looked at Ian.

His shadowed eyes stared back at her.

He said, "Because I love her. Because I'm in love with her. Because she can do anything."

Shan was not a pale shadow of her mother. She was a different person entirely.

Tears welled and spilled down her cheeks. Tears born of Ian's love, and tears born of anger and hatred for Ashton. They ran together on her face.

Her mother had loved her.

Ian loved her.

She'd never felt stronger in her life.

Shan rolled onto her stomach and pressed her palms against the marble floor. The chi was there, flowing through everything.

The jade animals didn't create the chi. They weren't a power unto themselves. They helped with focus, like a magnifying glass. One animal focused chi on one aspect of life: strength, tenacity, flexibility, balance, mutability. But all five animals together made a person whole.

And right now, Shan didn't need to touch the animals to feel whole.

She pulled chi in through her feet and hands where they touched the floor. She thought of the snake and its endurance, its powers to heal. Energy flowed through her, knitting skin and cleansing wounds.

Ian loved her. He believed in her. It was about time she started believing in herself.

Ashton didn't see the first blow, but he sure as hell felt it. Shan spun where she stood, her arms outstretched like the crane's powerful wings. Whipcords of energy swept across the room and lashed Ashton in the face. He stumbled, clutching his cheek, and took his hand from the jade animals. He didn't need to touch them to use their power, just as Shan didn't. But maybe he didn't know that.

"You bitch," he said.

Shan laughed.

Ashton unleashed a furious attack of kicks and hand strikes. A fist--either his or a fist of energy--clobbered her in the head and sent her flying. Shan's arms extended again, and she landed gracefully on one foot, in crane stance.

Ashton charged. Shan's hands bit his arms and neck at pressure points like a venomous snake. He countered, his long black hair swirling around his head, his mouth twisted into a half smile. A smile without mercy.

"You couldn't be a part of the Jade Circle," she said, "so you destroyed it."

"When you're dead, and that bitch joins you, the Jade Circle will be just a legend," Ashton spat. "A legend that no one will even bother to remember."

Shan whipped fingers at his temple like a dragon's tail. She pounded at his throat with her fists curled tight like leopard paws. And she raked with hands curved into tiger claws. Raked at his face and his neck and guts, and roared when she tasted blood.

Ashton fought back, his eyes blazing. Shan circled him, catching her breath, and attacked again. She came in low, coiled, and struck his solar plexus. Ashton staggered. He snapped a kick into her ribs, but Shan stayed rooted to the ground.

"I'm going to kill you," she said. "Tell me if that's a lie."

She grabbed his wrist and jerked it up and over his shoulder. He flipped backward to avoid the joint lock.

"You're pathetic, and I pity you," Shan said. "Tell me if that's a lie."

Ashton pulled chi into his body. Shan refused to let him take any of hers or Ian's. He flew at her, his foot extended and aimed at her head.

Shan dodged to the side and punched out his knee with a sickening pop. Ashton screamed.

She grinned. "It's not your neck, but it's a start."

Ashton landed on his good leg and caught her face with his fist. The deep scratches left by the tiger reopened and bled fresh.

Shan paid him back by grabbing his arm and breaking it over her shoulder.

He broke three of her fingers on her left hand.

She kicked him in the groin.

He cracked two of her recently mended ribs.

She jumped, swung her arm in a huge circle, and landed a smothering punch directly over his heart.

Ashton staggered backward, forgot about his broken knee, and fell to the ground. His hair still hung straight and sleek, a perfect black backdrop to his suddenly pale face.

Ashton's heart had stopped. His mouth hung open, a silent cry for air. His Western eyes widened in his Eastern face.

Shan did nothing but watch him die.

When the muscles in his face finally slackened and his head slumped back against the carved pedestal in the middle of the room, Shan pulled her gaze away.

"Ian."

He'd propped himself up on one elbow. His face--his impossible face--was a disaster of blood and flesh. Shan knelt beside him, her own body crying out in pain from the sudden loss of adrenaline.

"Are you in there, Ian? Talk to me."

"Greeb," he said, his voice cracking. "Your eyes are greeb."

Shan smiled. "Good job, professor."

His eyes smiled back, even if his mouth couldn't.

"Can..." He coughed. "Can we go now?"

"Almost," Shan said. "I just needed to see if you were okay. I have one more thing to do."

Ian swallowed, a move that clearly caused him pain, and nodded.

Shan ran her unbroken hand over the tips of his hair, careful not to touch anything that looked like a wound.

Then she turned and shattered every last video screen in the room.

Shan could tell that Rachel Sexton didn't want to believe them. Rachel kept looking at each of them: Shan, Xia, Lydia, Ian, and trying to come up with some plausible explanation for their injuries that didn't involve the cruelty of her late boss. According to Rachel, she'd known about the illegal artifact sales. But the murders, the torture...that was apparently news to Ms. Sexton.

It was Ian who finally convinced her. Ian, Rachel's ex-lover and colleague. Ian who could barely talk through his pain.

"The boat is gone," Rachel said. "I don't know who took it. But I can have another one here from Hong Kong in a few hours." She looked at Ian. "I've already sent for the doctor. Just don't say anything about how this happened. I need time to think this through."

"Thank you," Shan said. "We won't say a word." The jade animals were in a pouch at her waist, and most of the people she cared about were alive and at her side. She couldn't care less what happened to Ashton's estate now that he was dead. "We appreciate your help."

Rachel nodded, her lips pursed, and left the room.

Xia was the worst off, but possibly the most determined to live. Bitterness proved to be a powerful salve when possessed in such quantities.

Lydia...Lydia was more pissed than hurt. Xia had told her what the symbol on her back meant. Shan had already suggested some tattoos that might hide the scar. But Lydia heard none of it. She did as she was told--held bandages and fetched water. Her wounds, Shan feared, would be the slowest to heal of all.

But it was with Ian that Shan spent those last hours before the boat came. She propped him up on the bed where they'd made love earlier that day, and she touched him. Stroked his arm. Ran gentle fingers through his hair.

Ashton had broken his jaw, but not his spirit. Nothing Ashton had done had come close to dulling the brilliant spark in Ian's eyes. Shan sat on the edge of the bed and held his hand in her unbroken one.

"I love you, too, you know," she said.

Ian tried to smile, winced, and stopped. "Then you're not as smart as you look," he mumbled.

Shan laughed.

EPILOGUE

Los Angeles, California
The Way of the River

Shan sat next to Ian on a low wooden bench. Inside the studio, Lydia practiced her new form. Upstairs, Xia finished packing.

Shan lifted Ian's hand up and studied it. "You have long fingers."

"You're very observant," Ian said. Over the last three months his jaw had mostly healed, though a patchwork of silver scars on one side betrayed the latest round of surgery. As if following her thoughts, he ran one of his long fingers over the three parallel scars on her cheek.

"It's like a landing strip," Ian said. "I have no choice but to follow."

He bent over and kissed her. Shan sank into the sensation. It was so like the no-mind state of readiness that she entered when fighting. Except instead of nothing, her mind was filled with thoughts of Ian. Only Ian.

Reluctantly, she pulled back.

"Tell me again how safe you're going to be," she demanded.

"I'll have Xia with me. Does that answer your question? Buckley won't know what hit him." Ian stared into her eyes. "But also, a little not safe. But that's the point, now, isn't it?"

Shan nodded, smiling. "My crane is leaving the nest."

"Your crane will come back part tiger, part dragon, part snake, and part leopard. Your crane will come back more worthy of you."

Heat suffused her face. "You're already more than worthy."

"Then I need to be more worthy of myself. Like I used to be." He bent for another kiss, changed direction, and kissed her chin.

"Harlot," she said.

"Mmm," he countered.

Lydia refused to see Ian and Xia off, still angry that she hadn't been allowed to go with them. Shan drove them to the airport by herself, hugged Xia, and kissed Ian within an inch of his life. When she got back to The Way of the River, Lydia was sitting on the front porch, waiting.

"We got another sign-up while you were gone," Lydia said.

Shan nodded. "That's nine this week. We're going to need more space soon."

Lydia's blonde hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. She turned her head and pretended to stare at the stars. Stars that were never visible in the gloomy gray sky of Los Angeles.

Shan sat in a chair next to Lydia and looked up at the same nothingness.

"They can feel the Circle," Shan said quietly. "That's why they're coming. And they'll keep coming, I think. Men and women, adults and children. They'll come, and we'll welcome them all."

"Etienne will be here next week," Lydia said.

Shan looked at her friend, seeing the struggle for hope so evident on her face. "You'll like him, I think."

Lydia nodded, but said nothing. For now, that was enough.

They both had a lot of work ahead of them. But now it was Shan who drove her own destiny, not the tiger, and not the memory of her mother. It was a good feeling.

Shan gazed up into the L.A. night, and swore she could see the heavens.

THE END

Acknowledgements

So many folks helped me with Jade Tiger. Here are just a few of them:

Christine Ashworth, who read every single chapter minutes after I finished it and convinced me to keep going. Without her, I'd still be working on the prologue. Sally Felt, who got me over every major barrier with her unique brand of creativity and panache. Evelyn Vaughn, for her continuing support, advice, and expertise.

A lot of people read the first draft and gave me fantastic advice. Among them were Sarah Prineas, Tim Pratt, Heather Shaw, Michael Jasper, Shelley Stuart, and Greg van Eekhout. I want to thank Sarah for coining the phrase "Shan fu," which has become an integral part of my vocabulary.

Thanks to Laureen Shea for a great copy edit, to C. A. Hoffman for an endless stream of good advice and friendship, and to Vera Nazarian for far too many things to mention.

Thanks to Deb Coates, Samantha Ling, and Tobias Buckell for help with eBook conversion. Special thanks to artist Timothy Lantz for use of "By the Tail" for this eBook edition.

And finally, I want to thank my martial arts buddies, Lisa Mia Moore and Wally Skelton, as well as the amazing Master Armen Heroian. They offered me a safe, fun place in which to begin my journey in the martial arts. Nothing will ever be as it was before I walked into the studio that summer day in 2001.

About the Author

Jenn Reese
www.jennreese.com

Jenn Reese is a writer, martial artist, and geek. She lives in Los Angeles where she writes science fiction and fantasy adventure stories for readers of all ages. She's currently at work on Above World, a middle grade series for Candlewick Press.

Jade Tiger is her first novel, and combines her love of martial arts, kick-ass women, archaeology, ancient societies, and goofy romance. For a full list of her published stories and novels, visit www.jennreese.com.

About the Artist

Timothy Lantz
www.stygiandarkness.com

Timothy Lantz is a full-time illustrator and graphic artist with degrees in art education and communications.

Lantz's work, often described as "beautiful melancholy," has been inspired by a lifetime of reading. From the best of fantasy fiction and sci-fi to 1930s crime fiction and comic books, Lantz's bold and edgy artistry is all about "story." His themes of mystery, romanticism, tragedy and aspiration convey this, as though his life's quest is to create illustrations for relevant yet aching stories that have not yet been written.

Underpinning Lantz's powerful aesthetic is long experience. His exacting technical abilities, which go far beyond the traditional skill set, combine with core strengths in color and composition to create art that reflects--and refracts--the essence of beauty.

During his career, Lantz's work has included such far-flung projects as weather maps, television commercials, book covers and tarot cards. He is the author and artist of The Archeon Tarot, available from U.S. Games Systems Inc., and has worked for a variety of publishers including: DC Comics, ACE/Penguin Books, Bantam, Juno Books, EDGE Books, AEG, Wildside Press and more.