LITMIR.BIZ

      Wyn DeCardian slammed the front door.

      “You were out of line, Caleb!”

      “I don’t know what you mean.” He didn’t feel like arguing, too distracted by the news Lucas Drake had brought. A mauled deer was a blood-drenched message dumped under his nose by Seth Reilly. He’d sensed his rival’s presence on the wind long before Arianna had shown up last night. It was the reason he’d gone riding–to hunt the bitter and dangerous enemy who’d once been his closest fiend.

      You’ve got a storybook life, Seth had once told him, but that had changed three years ago when the Earth upended into the sky, hurtling Caleb and Seth 149 years into the future. It was a hard adjustment for a Union Colonel whose last concise memory was shortly after the Battle of Gettysburg in 1863.

      “Caleb, are you listening?”

      “Not now.” He headed for the kitchen. No reason to contemplate anything, including Seth, on an empty stomach.

      He needed coffee, strong coffee, something he could wrap his head around. He’d come to realize most everything else was watered down or tasteless in this future society, stripped of its natural flavor or replaced by something proclaiming to be “reduced,” “fat-free,” or “diet.” People had gotten soft, few of them engaging in any type of physical labor. Little wonder they needed a fitness regime and calorie-reduced imitation foods to keep them passably trim. He’d never even heard of a blasted calorie before awakening in the twenty-first century. At least breakfast was something he recognized.

      At the table he returned to eating, conscious of Wyn’s glare as he stalked to his side and stood glowering down on him. He’d told Arianna they were brothers but, in reality, Wyn was his great-great-great nephew.

      “I’m not one of your damn soldiers, Uncle. What happened to all that polite courtesy you were heaping on Arianna?”

      Uncle. Wyn only called him that when he was ticked.

      “If you were part of my regiment,” Caleb stressed, sitting back to look up at him, “I’d have you brought up on charges of insubordination.” He picked up a biscuit, slathering it with butter while his nephew stewed. “What is it that can’t wait?”

      “You were playing with Arianna.”

      Caleb arched a brow. “Playing?”

      “Toying, teasing, baiting, whatever the hell you want to call it. I know you can turn it off when you want.”

      “I’m not sure what you mean.”

      “Damn it, Caleb!” Wyn dragged back a chair and sat down. “Look, I know it’s hard for you to be trapped in this time. And your condition–”

      “That would be lycanthropy?” He had Seth to thank for that. Up until three years ago, Caleb had thought werewolves an archaic myth. Viewing what he’d become as an affliction or controllable illness made it easier to discuss, but no less shameful. “Aside from the headaches and those times when you have to lock me up, I’m managing it well.”

      “That’s not in debate. But being what you are gives you an edge. Heightened senses, superior strength, sexual stamina.”

      “There are advantages,” Caleb agreed with a grin. He was toying, but his nephew didn’t bite.

      “You’ve got chemistry on your side,” Wyn said. “Enhanced pheromones. I don’t understand how it works, but I know women have a hard time resisting you. It’s like an alpha male thing, and it’s all wrapped up with that antiquated gentility of yours. The combination is lethal–especially when you can turn the damn thing on and off at will.”

      Losing his taste for breakfast, Caleb shoved his plate aside. “I’m a beta wolf, Winston. Seth is the Alpha.”

      Wyn pointed a finger at him. “Don’t split hairs with me. You know damn well what I mean. I don’t give a shit if you can’t transform at will like that SOB who used to be your friend. And I don’t care what the full moon does to you. I’m talking about everyday persuasive power. You shouldn’t have used it on Arianna.”

      Caleb frowned, disturbed to have his integrity questioned. “I wouldn’t manipulate someone who did me a kindness.”

      Yes, he had the ability Wyn spoke of, but he also understood the responsibility that went hand-in-glove with that influence. Relationships were different in the twenty-first century. In his day, there was no such thing as casual sex. There’d been a handful of women he could call on, if and when he’d felt the need to satisfy his natural instincts. Prostitutes and camp followers trailed after regiments and brigades, and brothels were abundant in most of the larger towns.

      In the present world he’d had to adapt, knowing he couldn’t afford prying questions or emotional entanglements. Men still gathered in drinking establishments–now called bars, women too. He’d learned some of the females were eager to take him home for the night, as keen as he was for a few hours of pleasure.

      “Arianna’s reaction had nothing to do with me being a werewolf.”

      He stood, focused on more coffee. Given his problem with headaches, Wyn had told him to cut back, but coffee was one of the few indulgences he

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