Free The Matchmaker by Kay Hooper Page B

normal to him.
    "Felice says we are, so I suppose I will. It'll be stifling, too, with a house full of people. I swear if this heat doesn't end, I'm heading north until winter."
    "You hate winter."
    "I've learned to hate summer."
    The conversation remained casual all the way back into town, and it wasn't until he was dressing later that Cyrus allowed himself to consider the question of his birthmark. He paused before putting his shirt on to study it, frowning. No soreness, no heat, no reason at all to suppose he'd done anything to injure that part of his arm and change the mark. But it was definitely different from last year, last week. Different from yesterday.
    He went to his wardrobe and reached into the back to get the cane, then carried it to a chair near his bed and sat studying it. Though the carving of the gold looked merely ornate at first glance, a closer look revealed a number of symbols nearly hidden within meaningless decorative contours. Cyrus had found them the night the cane had been left for him, but they hadn't meant anything to him. Now he wondered if they should.
    Stars, some connected with faint lines. Planets. The sun. And the moon. The quarter moon.
    The crescent shape was carved into the gold on the top of the cane, where a hand would normally rest when it was in use, and it was more deeply carved than any of the other symbols. Cyrus looked at it for a long moment, then held the cane in one hand and pressed that golden quarter moon against the mark on his arm.
    It was a perfect match in size and shape.
    In the silence of his bedroom, Cyrus asked, "But what the hell does it mean?" And there was no answer.
    The timing, he had decided, had to be perfect, and so he had been forced to curb impatience... and wait. He felt an odd fascination for the other, a strong curiosity. What interested him most of all was, the other had no awareness of him. A blind spot, perhaps. He had cer tainly recognized his womb-mate the first time he'd seen him.
    It had been very difficult to contain his rage then, the first time. But it had gotten easier. Especially when he'd understood the other sensed no threat from him. In deed, his womb-mate seemed not to know of his exist ence, of their connection. It was odd. He'd been given the knowledge, so why hadn't the other? He had finally come to the conclusion it was because he was the true son. He had, after all, meddled in the other's life with impunity, arranging several events so skillfully, his shap ing touch had never been detected. It was clear evidence of his superiority.
    He found it amusing to interfere with the destinies of people and course of events, to snip a thread here or there so the pattern became disturbed. He wanted to go on doing that, but a sense of urgency had come over him in recent days. Something new had entered the pattern. He didn't know what it was, but he felt it. The other was changing too quickly. Was it because of the woman? She annoyed him; he couldn't seem to affect her life entirely the way he'd meant to. He had known she was intended for his womb-mate, and he'd made certain she was out of reach, but she hadn't broken as he'd been sure she would.
    Still, it might be amusing to watch the two of them struggle against fate. For a while, anyway. The only danger to his plans would be if they mated now—but she was too terrified to let that happen. He had made very sure she would be.
    In the meantime, he had to consider carefully the best way to proceed. He had the gun primed and ready; all that remained was to decide when to point it and pull the trigger. He found it difficult to think of autumn in the sweltering heat of summer—but it would come, then winter, and it had to be over by then.
    He thought he could afford a little more patience. A few weeks, perhaps. But he'd have to keep a close watch, and be alert to everything that was going on. He'd have to try to discover if there really was something other than the woman causing his womb-mate to