"I love the idea," Gio said immediately. "But it's obviously very much a two-way street, especially since all the initial work is yours, and it's going to involve making demands on your job. I completely understand if you don't want to complicate things for a while. We can take our time."
Max rested her head against his. "I don't think my life has evernotbeen complicated. Certainly getting involved with you and a cult didn't make it any simpler."
"Does that mean you want kids?"
"I can teach them self-defense," Max mused. "I wonder what's the earliest that a toddler can learn a jump kick."
"I'm suddenly afraid."
"You can turn to stone; I don't know what you're worried about." Max straightened up suddenly. "What are they going to be like, do you think? Will they shift into jaguars or lions? Will they be able to turn to stone too?"
"It would be interesting if they could do both, wouldn't it? Regular furry jaguar cubs, or little stone ones." Gio had a distant look on his face, as if he was picturing this. "I can only feel this would be unbelievably adorable. At what age do shifters normally begin shifting?"
"It's highly variable," Max said. "It was two or three for me, but I was a precocious kid."
"I'm shocked."
"As long as you're not disappointed if you get leggy teenage jaguars instead of cute, fluffy baby jaguars."
"Max, I would cherish and adore and protect any child of ours, you know that. Nothing about them could disappoint me."
"I know," Max breathed, and then she giggled when he pulled her onto his lap. "Oh, come on. We'll shock the—er." She looked around at the hills covered in olive trees and grape arbors, dusty and still beneath the sun. "The olive trees? No, the donkeys. There might be a donkey around."
"I think if there is, it will just have to deal with the shock," Gio said warmly. He pulled her in for a heated kiss.
Max sank into his lips, and did not care even slightly about the delicate sensibilities of the local donkeys for a while.
EPILOGUE
From all Giohad said about Westerly Cove, Max had been looking forward to seeing the place for herself.
The reality was a lot wetter than she had prepared for. They stonewalked out of the ground into a driving downpour.
It had been hot and brilliantly sunny in Italy. Max was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of capri pants above sandals. She gasped in shock as icy needles of rain blasted her as if she had stepped into a cold shower. She had picked up a jacket because Gio had warned her that Newfoundland summers were chillier than what they were leaving behind, but it was draped loosely over her arm. In her other hand, she clutched a picnic basket which was now getting soaked.
Gio was no better off in a light linen leisure suit with sunglasses pushed up on his head. "I should have checked the weather forecast," he remarked as his hair drooped soggily in his eyes.
Max draped her jacket over the basket for what limited protection the light cotton fabric would offer; it wasn't like it would be much warmer for her than bare arms. Her LA summer wardrobe had ported over nicely to the dry, hot, breezy hills of Gio's Mediterranean land, but she now wished she had considered the vast climate difference of the Canadian Atlantic coast.
"Where are we?" she asked, looking around. It was hard to see much of anything through the fog and sweeping rain, but she glimpsed rain-bowed rosebushes and boulders draped in flowers. They had emerged from the tiled flagstones beside an ornamental fountain.
"This is Mace's family home, Stonegarden," Gio said. "From what Mace said when I talked to him, everyone will be inside. He said we can come on in when we arrive." He laughed softly and offered Max a dripping arm. "My lady. Shall I carry—"
"I've got it, but thanks," Max said brightly. She tucked her arm through his, and Gio gave a little bow of graceful acknowledgement.
They followed a stone-lined path to a large house that Max could see emerging gradually from the veil of rain and fog. It was made of gray rock, and there was a sense of age and solidity to it. Although she couldn't see much, she could tell by the incline in the path that they were on a hill. In clear weather, there was probably a nice view.
They reached a large patio made of tessellated chunks of flat stone. Max paused to look at a statue on the edge of the patio, seeming to rise out of the stone itself. It was a stunningly detailed depiction of a winged creature holding a glass gazing ball in its clawed hands. A gargoyle, Max thought, looking at the jutting jaw, gnarled features, and claw-tipped wings. But not like Javic's crude stoneskins. This was striking, almost beautiful. The rainwater rolling off its stone shoulders made it seem almost as if it moved.
"Mace's work," Gio remarked. "You may be able to see his handiwork on the roof if you look up—ah—but perhaps not today. There are gargoyles on the roofline as well. The town is said to be protected by powerful magic woven into the stones of the land."
"Is it true?" Max asked. Once she would have dismissed this as superstition, but she had seen far too much by now not to find it credible.
"It is indeed. I have experienced it myself. In fact," Gio added, running a hand down the rain-wet stone of the gargoyle's arm, "I know for certain that we are no longer pursued by Javic's cult because the magic allowed me to come here. It wouldn't have before."
"How does it know that?"
"Because it's magic, my love. Shall we?"
