...Poor, unhappy boy, what are we to do with you? Kasha sat by the glowing embers, watching Willem sleep. Trouble was, the boy was no boy any longer. He had grown tall and strong, with deliciously long legs and shoulders broad enough to sleep on. The face that had been elfin in childhood had transformed into even-featured angelic beauty, full, soft lips and all.

The kasha had wondered, twenty years ago, why the spirits had directed him to Horst’s household. The man didn’t seem to need help, nor would he have accepted any. His wife had died after the birth of their third son, but he had coped well enough. The boys grew up flawed, but not too much more than other humans. Gunther lacked imagination, content with a small, provincial life. Kurt grew up cool and distant, not an evil man, but insular and self-absorbed. Then there was Willem, the dreamer, the wool-gatherer, though he had seemed settled as a welder, stable and secure.

When Willem’s life had disintegrated around his ears, that’s when the kasha understood. Not for Horst, this little jaunt so far from home, not for the oldest son, as it had been so often in the past, but for the youngest.

He was here to help Willem. As he blinked luminous green eyes at the lovely creature sleeping on the hearth, he realized he might enjoy the task for once.

* * *

Rain fell, regiments of water soldiers drumming double-time on the roof. Willem thought the downpour had woken him until he felt the soft breath against his throat. Oh, damn…

Someone lay in his arms. Had he been drinking again? He didn’t think so, but things were fuzzy. He couldn’t recall where he was until he blinked the fireplace into focus, the flames burned down to embers. He pulled back in confusion and his breath hitched hard.

His arms were wrapped around the most beautiful young man he had ever seen. Thick, black hair tumbled to his shoulders. Almond-shaped emerald eyes gazed out of a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and a slender, elegant nose. Willem moved his hand along the young man’s back, feeling only the silken slide of naked skin. He must have been drinking, to forget this gorgeous boy.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

“Hush, Willem,” the lovely vision murmured in a throaty baritone. “Go back to sleep.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over Willem’s. “Sleep.”